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⪩ Anthise⪨

I sat as still as I could, as relaxed as I could, as I felt one of my few personal handmaidens, Haru, gently paint my eyes with makeup before powdering my cheeks. I did my best to fight the urge to sneeze as the particles from the powder tickled my nose softly, which made Haru giggle at my expense.

“Careful, Your Highness!” She teased.

I could only swish my twin tails at her and wiggle the feline ears on the side of my head to acknowledge her. Anything more would disturb her steady hand as she carefully sculpted my jawline with a blending brush. I knew how to do my own makeup, but Haru would always be better than I for official outings. After all, this was incredibly important to appear as well-put together as possible.

A handful of High Entian scouts – The kingdom that lives on the left shoulder of the Titan we all call our home, the Bionis – Had discovered life that lived on our neighboring Titan, the Mechonis, that once, we believed to be devoid of sentient life at all.

And our fourth neighbors, the Nopon? I wasn’t sure what they were up to. I doubted anyone did, really. They were the true enigma amongst us all.

Apparently, my father, the Emperor Valerian von Nekomata, and the heads of the High Entian kingdom, as well as our third neighbors, the Giants’ ruling council, had been writing back and forth between ourselves and those of the Mechonis, and they had arranged an official meeting to discuss alliances and future affairs concerning all of our races.

Except my father, Bionis bless him, signed me up to meet the dignitaries of Mechonis instead of going, himself.

He had informed me that, since my own coronation was in just a few short months, it would be best if they had met the future Empress, rather than the one that was passing his crown on. It made sense, after all, my father always seemed to know best.

Even if he was suffocating, sometimes. But he had always been that way, since my Mama died when I was a baby, and I did not love him any less for it. I always guessed he was making up for the love I would not get from her.

I remained as still as a living being could until I could almost feel the satisfied smile of Haru in her voice. Even before her words, I could feel the victory in her pulling her makeup brushes away from my face. She carefully dusted my face with a setting spray before I heard the soft thump of the bottle being set on the vanity.

“Done, my lady.” She announced softly.

My painted lips turned up as I opened my eyes slowly. I could hardly feel the makeup sitting on my face as I turned myself to the mirror to admire her work.

I was met with a beautiful sight, and yet, I was not surprised. My face was beautifully powdered to cover any perceived impurities and sculpted with toning colors to prevent my face from looking pale as a ghost. My eyes had been painted with a sparkly light blue that faded to darker hues, equally as shiny, with small gemstones glued to the outline of a swipe of eyeliner.

My big eyelashes flicked with each blink as my lips, painted a light pink as to not clash with how elaborate my eye makeup was, parted to reveal a pleased grin.

“Perfect as always, Haru.” I praised, standing to admire how the colors complimented my dress as the crystals woven into my long, black hair, pulled up into an elaborate hairdo like a bun around my tiara, clinked together softly in a whisper of a symphony.

Haru beamed, a smile that lit up her already warm face. Her own long, ringlet hair, the color of gold – appropriate for a girl named with the Nekomatan character for “sunlight” – bounced near her face as her Nekomatan ears flickered nearly as quick as hummingbird wings.

“I’m so happy, my Lady. Good luck on your diplomacy mission!” She walked around me twice, just to make sure everything was in order. “And be careful.”

I nodded, appreciating her concern.

“Of course,” I agreed, “Though, to be honest, I’m not worried.”

It was mostly true. From what I knew from my eldest sibling and only brother, Tommy, those from the Mechonis, called the Machina, were enthusiastic about the idea of connecting with those that lived across the ocean below. They had amazing technologies that they used to send and receive the letters of the ruling houses of the Bionis – ones that they had traded with High Entian traders that had braved the Mechonis, now just a few short years ago.

My father had told me a few of the stories they had shared. Little anecdotes, and most interestingly, tales of a mechanical goddess that they, themselves, worshipped.

That alone was food for thought. Akin to how the High Entians worshipped the Bionis, so too did the Machina worship the Mechonis, but to them, the Mechonis was their mother. To the High Entia, the Bionis was a male figure, according to the ancient texts the follow, written by their long-dead ancestors that claimed to have known the god.

Us, though? We aren’t particularly religious. Not really. We have our own days of appreciation for the Titan beneath our feet, and there’s plenty of philosophers that debate the life of the Bionis. But our religious excitement easily pales in comparison to the High Entia, who throw full-on festivals and parties in the Bionis’s name every few months or so.

Not that it bothers me, much. To each their own, and the difference in culture is what makes us unique.

Haru waved to me, and I waved back before I hurried out the door. I quietly listened to the clinking of the crystals in my hair as I did my best to appear regal as I could in a hurry. I waved to the servants as I went, which always seemed to lift spirits.

I did my best to regulate my breathing in my form-fitting gown, but the tight fabric did not agree with the expanding of my chest. The gown, a more formal version of the Nekomatan New Years kimonos, sat easily off my shoulders. My upper chest remained exposed, revealing the signature to the Nekomata outside of our ears and tails- the light blue Ether crystal that sat just above my smaller chest.

Usually, the average Nekomata is born with a light gray crystal. It is what gives our kind a connection to Ether at all. Though, there is a low chance of being born with a crystal that cuts off one to every Ether kind except for one. And that is what I was born with.

No one knows exactly what the conditions are to have a child with a sole connection to one element. I always viewed it to be a positive disability, of sorts. I cannot manipulate earth, wind, fire, or anything like that. But, I have a total connection to water, among other things, and with that comes boons of their own. Other than hydromancy.

I knew to move not quite fast enough to perspire- I risked sweating my makeup off, and I’d rather not smell sweaty as well as my perfuming, which smelled of a cocktail of wildflowers. And running in heels is hard, and I’d rather not risk breaking my ankles.

“Anthise! You’re going to leave without saying goodbye?”

I came to a stop, a smile threatening my lips. I peeked over my shoulder, feeling the happiness projecting through my expression.

“Papa, you know I’d never leave without saying bye. I’m just in a hurry!” I explained. “I’m worried I will be late. It is a day trip, after all, and I’d like to give a good first impression!”

Papa, Valerian, the current standing Emperor and patriarch of House von Nekomata, gave me one of his signature grins. His black hair, which had been pulled back into a high ponytail, still hung around his shoulder blades.

I suppose I should explain. Every Nekomata has long hair of sorts. It’s part of our culture- the hair on one’s head is a symbol of status. It’s also common for male Nekomata to grow long beards as well.

Cutting one’s hair beyond the shoulders is seen as a grave dishonor upon one. It is only reserved for condemned criminals- the shorter one’s hair is cut, the worse the offense committed. If your hair is cut just above the shoulder, you committed a petty crime. Anything between the shoulders and the jawline is something more serious, like assault, hate crimes, and larceny.

If one’s hair has been cut to their jawline, or even have been shaved bald, they have committed a terrible crime, such as murder or treason. Those who often have little to no hair are marked for execution. Their lack of hair also helps one know if they’re laying eyes on an escaped convict.

Thankfully, alopecia is rare amongst Nekomatans, and many tailors make wigs for those with that kind of condition. But since wigs can be used for deceitful means by those who might escape confinement, wigs are often monitored when bought, akin to weapons.

“Be careful, Sisi.” I couldn’t help the smile on my face from broadening at the ages-old nickname. “I love you.”

I quickly wrapped my arms around his neck. “I love you, Papa. Make sure to hide Lina’s-”

“You’re not hiding anything again on my watch, Sisi.”

Damn it!

The words crossed my head with a smile as I noticed my siblings approaching. Leading the charge was my eldest sister and second oldest of the current generation of House von Nekomata, Selina, flanked by my eldest sibling, Tommy, and the only sibling that is only older than me, Angela.

Tommy, dressed in his colors of the Nekomatan military today, crossed his arms. The padding on his shoulders made his appear broad and intimidating, though I know beneath the bling, he’s as big a teddy as my Papa. A lover of his family, he wore decoration not just for his feats in diplomacy and keeping the peace as the shogunate of the Nekomatan army…

But a little teddy from Lina, a unicorn Poni from Angela, and a silly face pin from yours truly. Even though my sisters and I tried to make them as unmanly and unserious as possible, Tommy still wore our decorations proudly.

It would make me laugh if he was to go on this trip to meet with the Machina delegates and wear those.

But instead, it is to be me. Not that I’m complaining… too much.

Lina looked me up and down with a smile. Her wine-red hair, as opposed to Papa, Angie, and my own hair, gently blew in the wind as the entourage behind me finished setting things up for me in a Poni-drawn carriage.

“You look great, Sisi.” Lina said, jutting her hip and crossing her arms. She offered me an encouraging smile.

“Thanks.” I responded, looking down to dust the nonexistent dirt from my gown. Colorful leaves fell around the palace doors as Angela chuckled softly.

“Don’t mess it up,” She told me. “No pressure. Break a leg.”

I chuckled at her. She was less inclined to make fun of me as opposed to Lina and Tommy, but I appreciated it. She kept things real with me all the time, outside of the occasional tease. I was the baby of House von Nekomata, after all. The youngest sibling is always the butt of the joke.

It was alright, though. I’m long used to it, and I love to play it up at family gatherings. My ability to go with the flow is one of the reasons I am to be Empress instead of my siblings.

The Nekomatan Royal House’s succession is a little different than the High Entian way. As it seems it usually is on a lot of things. We are the ruling house, yes. But we are also partially democratic, like the Giants. The High Entian people ran on a system of birth, If you were fortunate, or unfortunate to some, to have been born first, you got the throne by default until you died.

On our end, the people have the new generation to choose from, and the chosen Nekomata becomes Emperor and Empress for a hundred or so years.

It gives the Emperor or Empress enough time to produce new heirs, or if they decide not to, other eligible members of the next generation from House von Nekomata, should the siblings of the ruler have any, are chosen to be considered as an eligible heir. From that, it is often encouraged that the Empress or Emperor to have several children, so that the people have multiple choices.

It's a strange system, but it is how it has been since the first von Nekomata. The people seem happy enough, and there has not been an incident with an ill-equipped emperor or empress.

I quietly hoped that I would not be the first. I knew that this diplomacy quest was a test to see if I can handle the bare minimum of what an Empress of Nekomata can do by my father before he steps down.

I knew I could handle this. And yet, the pressure was on.

I turned and peeked over my shoulder as I heard the voice of the chauffeur. He was a well-dressed High Entian man, employed in the capital to work for my family. I didn’t interact with him much, but he seemed really kind. I trusted him to ensure myself and my family had safe trips wherever.

My Papa and siblings gathered around me to give me a hug. They squeezed me tight, wishing me well before I turned to my escort. I was helped into the canopied carriage, and I waved as the carriage jerked softly before taking off.

I watched as the palace, and slowly, the capital city itself, Amatsukami, disappeared on the horizon of the Bionis’s Hip. It was still early morning, just past sunrise, and the first round of discussion between races, both native and xeno, would begin under the first light of twilight. We were on our way to the Bionis Shoulder- the home of the High Entia. They were hosting the delegate meeting in their own capitol, Prunikos. I found myself to be rather excited; it has been a few months since my last visit- almost a year. I got along well with the royals of Prunikos; House Aguilar.

The giants, though, I more often visited. Their own capital was just a handful of miles away from Amatsukami, being situated on the Bionis Leg, as opposed to us being on the Hip. which made trade and visitation with them far easier.

Though, I often found myself specifically, having a harder time getting on with their Council. They seemed… pretentious. I could not place why, not for my life.

I peeked out the window, a wave of exhaustion hitting me as I leaned my head onto the side of the carriage. I had been out of bed since before sunrise getting ready, and now, the sun had climbed nearly halfway into the sky. It took way too long to get ready. I wanted to kick up my feet and take a nap.

But Haru would kill me if I messed up her handiwork.

I don’t think even I could forgive myself if I even partially ruined Haru’s hard work.

And yet, a nap called me with a siren’s temptation. It would take all day to arrive to Prunikos- I would arrive just in time to start the delegation.
And yet, my journey had just started.

Maybe a little nap to avoid eyebags and keeping my sharpness was in order.

⪩ ⪨

I was greeted with seemingly endless stars.

It was beautiful, sure, but rather… off-putting.

I stretched my legs to try and find any ground. My attempt at grounding myself was fruitless, however, as I floated through the starry space. I checked myself as I hovered aimlessly amongst the space, stretching my arms out to see if I could catch hold of anything. Once more, I flailed like an idiot, trying to find something, anything, to anchor myself to.

And then, I felt it. My heels clicked against solid ground.

I looked down as my dress settled with near zero gravity. My hair floated around me as I tried to…

Wait, my hair?

I quickly touched my head. Gone, was the fancy updo Haru and three other handmaids had meticulously put together for me. I quietly panicked. What in the world? Surely, I hadn’t tossed and turned so much in my sleep that I had ruined their hard work?

I decided to put my vain worries to the side for a moment. Where was I?

I peered over the seemingly endless sea of stars. Among them floated balls of various colors… red, gold, orange, just to name the ones visible to my eye. They were so… large. I was certain that they could dwarf me easily, if I just got a little closer.

I dared not, though. I peered over at the closest ball to me… It looked vastly different than the others. It appeared to be… a large ball of water?

Well, not quite. There were swirls of white and stretches of green across it. The colors reminded me of home- the Bionis. The colors of grass and clouds on a pretty summer day. Too bad it was beginning to grow cold now, though. At least the colorful leaves made it relatively better.

I looked down at my covered feet- hidden beneath the fabric of my gown, though the ends of my dress curled upward with the lack of gravity in my situation. I took a careful step forward, feeling my feet encounter… something. I did my best to peer around my dress to see what I stood upon- I doubted it was nothing.

I was only partially right. I did stand on nothing, but… I was still standing on something. Little blue hexagons let me stand in the air without any land in sight.

This was… odd.

I decided to do a full turn of the night-sky-turned-world. I didn’t understand. How did I get here? Why was I brought here?

Nothing offered any answers. The Bionis was not in sight. Neither was Mechonis. I seemed to be alone in this vast nothingness, mottled by distant stars.

Outside of the gigantic star that remained. So close, yet so far away. And far more blinding. It reminded me of the sun… so that is what I will assume it is.

It was then that my skin began to crawl. I looked to my exposed arms, my brows furrowing, before I hugged myself.

And yet, it was not a chill that was making the hair on my neck stand up.

I swiveled my head, glaring at the nothingness in confusion.

It was a sense of being watched, and I didn’t like it one bit.

What bothered me further was the lack of anything existing in this space with me, though the feeling of being dissected by invisible eyes remained. I spun around twice before my hair, that usually fell to my ankles, wrapped around me from the lack of gravity.

Still, no one.

I decided to stop my fruitless turning, and I moved my left arm to get my hair off of me.

My hair continued to float aimlessly as the feeling of being stared at almost intensified.

I was so focused on my surroundings that I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt the odd feeling of what could only be described as cold fingers trailing down my spine.

I turned around faster than I had ever. I could feel the hair on my neck, as well as the fine fur on my twin cat tails, standing up. I bared my teeth, my sharp canines on view to… nothing. Again.

Okay. This is not funny.

I stepped backwards, only to come to a stop. I couldn’t place why, but I couldn’t bring myself to break away anymore.

It was then that I heard something. I had to strain my ears to hear anything, but eventually, I did.

It sounded oddly like… a choir. A group of voices singing what sounded like nonsense. And yet they were chanting sounds, as if they were crying out with worship.

Once more, I felt something move past me. My head snapped to peer over my shoulder, and to the surprise of no one, there was empty space.

There was someone there. And yet, I could not see them.

I went to open my mouth to confront this elusive presence, to demand answers.

“… To exist is to serve.”

I found myself stilling at the sound of a gentle voice in my ear. Who was that?

It sounded as if a voice had broken from the eerie choir to talk to me. It was on the deeper side; surely a male.

“Your fate has been shaped long before you drew breath… The last of a dying world, a queen of ashes and dust.”

Another whispered in my ear. This one sounded oddly feminine.

Creeped out, I took several steps back. Laughter quickly began to bounce around my head, which irritated me. Were these voices laughing at me?

I scowled, suddenly angry. So rude.

I could feel it again. The soft feeling of what could be described as a breeze brushed in front of me this time.

“Show yourselves.” I couldn’t help but snap. I hated it when people were cryptic.

“Such… strength. Such… resolve.” Both voices whispered to me at once, ignoring my demand.

I couldn’t help but scowl.

“Answer my question. Do I know either of you?” I demanded.

The voices laughed once more, the others continuing to sing.

“You will. Your world… so fragile.” They continued softly, the voice slowly beginning to meld together. “There will come a time when you will cast off your mortal chains and kneel. Not in weakness… but in revelation. That throne you cherish so much is but a steppingstone.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“You dream of leading. Of justice. Of peace. But I see what you will become.” I could almost feel the smile in the voice.

I jerked away and turned around to face my voice. And still, nothing. It was beginning to grate my nerves.

“Why can I not see you?” I decided to reign in my irritation. “Why do you call me a “queen of ashes and dust”?!”

The voice chuckled at my demand. The uncanny breeze blew through my long hair as the voice continued, once more ignoring my own requests.

“Three,” The voices whispered, slowly joining as one. The process made me shudder as the sound of my company’s voice settled into a suave male voice, tinged with an accent I did not recognize.

“Not bound by blood… but by divinity.”

This wasn’t making any sense. I was sure that my strange companion knew this.

My hair moved backward, suggesting a disengage. I went to turn to face this disembodied voice, but the sound of glass breaking stopped me. I gasped as I peered at my feet, the strange force letting me stand beginning to splinter.

“Dream well, mortal.”

The simple sentence ghosted my ears before the breaking floor gave way. I screamed as I was suddenly dragged downward, the zero gravity suddenly failing me.

Before everything went black, I could’ve sworn I saw a pair of cold, blue eyes lined by gold hair watching me fall, shining with interest.

⪩ ⪨

I gasped awake in the carriage, nearly hitting my head on the back of the carriage. My hands nearly went to my eyes to rub them, but I quickly stopped. I was wearing makeup.
I looked around for a moment, frowning. So that was a dream, then…

It’s always so wild when a dream feels so real, you forget you’re dreaming…

And yet, it was still unsettling. That place… I have never seen it before. And that voice. It was none that I could put a finger on.

I softly touched my hair. Everything was still in place.

I decided to occupy my mind by peering from the window.

Sure enough, the sun just passed high in the sky. Surely, Prunikos was within a few miles by now.

I was surprised. Somehow, I had slept the whole trip.

I suppose I was tired enough.

I sighed softly, gently putting my hand to my forehead. With a slightly clearer mind, I began to think about that strange dream again.

Nothing about it made sense. Somewhere otherworldly. The choir. The voices. Or… voice. And those eyes.

I found myself hung up on those cold blue eyes. Ones that shone with content, and yet, I felt as if I saw interest in those eyes. But why?

I found myself shrugging it off. He was just a figment of my imagination. It did not mean anything.

Despite this truth, I was still hung up on the memory of those eyes. I had only seen those… and strands of gold hair. Why hadn’t I seen anything else? It was a blur.

My dream stuck to my mind for the rest of the trip. Queen of ash and dust…my throne is a steppingstone?

This was nothing but a dream. And yet I could not shake it off. I decided from that moment that I would sit down and Papa when I got home and talk to him about it. It was silly but I knew it would make me feel better if it still bothered me when I returned home.

I watched out of the window of the carriage, eager, as the High Entia Capital came into view. Situated on the Bionis Shoulder, Prunikos was meticulously build into the mountain.

Terraced levels carve their way up the steep slopes, each layer a marvel of the High Entians’ architecture and engineering. Homes and halls are carved directly into the rock; their faces etched with ancient runes and mosaics that shimmer faintly under the afternoon sun. Narrow bridges of stone and metal thread between outcroppings, connecting towers that pierce the sky like jagged fangs.

At its base, wide gates open into vast caverns where markets bustle under the sun, as well as shops that were carved into the mountains. Waterfalls spill down from springs above, weaving through the city in glittering canals, their sound a constant whisper of nature amid the industry of stonecutters, smiths, and scholars. The higher one climbs, the more rarefied the air—and the more sacred the space.

At the peak rests the citadel, half-temple, half-fortress, from which the ruling council gazes down upon a city that is as much mountain as it is metropolis. It was also where often, the religious High Entians gathered to worship the Bionis every week.

As my carriage made its way through the street, many gathered to view my entourage. I peeked out of my vehicle and waved to as many as I could see out the window. I wanted badly to greet the people, as I usually did on a trip, but it would need to wait until later. I couldn’t keep my fellow delegates waiting.

I relaxed into my seat as the Imperial Palace came into view. I grinned brightly as my carriage trotted to the front gate before being allowed inside. I listened to the sound of the Poni’s hooves hitting the stone before we slowly came to a stop. I awaited inside the carriage for my chauffeur to come and escort me, which did not take long. The lovely High Entian man opened the door before offering me his hand to help me descend from the carriage. Grateful, I gently took his hand and stepped down.

He stepped away from me as a group of imperial guards came to greet me. The first one bowed to me.

“Lady von Nekomata,” he greeted. “It pleases us to see you have arrived safe. Come, the delegates are waiting.”

I smiled to them, pleased. The Imperial Guard here was always so kind to me. It was their job, sure, but I still took the small comforts in having to attend political events. Oh, how I hate politics. And yet, they are unavoidable.

I followed the guards down elaborate hallways. Stained glass windows and statues stood tall amongst the palace, depicting various moments from the sacred High Entian texts. The birth of the three races of the Bionis we all know now as the Giants, Nekomata, and High Entia. The first beings born from the Bionis would go on to become the ruling houses of Nekomata and the High Entia’s ancestors. My many greats grandfather.

There were other things I noticed about the many other works made into stained-glass windows, but they depicted stories that I was unfamiliar with. They were beautiful to see all the same, anyway. I would be lying if I said that they weren’t beautiful just because the Nekomata were not particularly religious.

The guards led me to a large set of familiar double doors. I stood back as the one leading the entourage, as well as the female guard behind him, took hold of a handle each, and opened the doors before me. They bowed at the waist as I went to walk past them. I nodded to the both of them, acknowledging them and giving them a silent thanks for escorting me.

Inside was what I expected. The High Entia round table that was often used for the royal court gatherings was cleared of stuffy nobles and merely sat five people

. I recognized two of the attendees. Buibibi, the Heropon and delegate of the Nopon danced in a seat in the middle. To his left sat Caspian Aguilar, the current standing Emperor, and firstborn son of House Aguilar of the High Entia.

One was a Giant with purple skin and white hair that towered over everyone else. The other two had to be Machina, as they looked unlike anything I had seen before.

After I had entered the room, everyone turned to look at me. I waved to them, a friendly smile on my lips.


“Hello, everyone,” I greeted, “I hope I haven’t kept all of you long.”

Buibibi spun in his chair.

“No, no!” He insisted. “Friends just arrived in big room. Friend is just in time!”

Caspian smiled to me, a smile that was bright and charming.

“The Heropon is correct. Welcome, Lady von Nekomata.” He stood and bowed his head to me to show reverence.

I tilted my head back to him in the same way.

“Lord Aguilar.” I greeted before my eyes fell upon the unknown friends in the room.

“Hello, travelers from the nation of Giants and the inhabitants of the Mechonis.” I pinched different sides of my dress so I could curtsy. “I am Anthise von Nekomata, but Anthise is what I would prefer.”

The Giant turned to me. He put a hand on his chest before bowing his head, akin to Prince Aguilar.

“My Lady,” he greeted, “I am called Arglas, a humble Giant scholar.”
\
I smiled, mirroring his own greeting my placing my hand over my Ether crystal and bowing my head.

“It is a great pleasure, sir.” I clasped my hands together before turning to who had captured my attention.

The children of the Mechonis.

There were two delegates of Mechonis, as opposed to our singular from Bionis. One male, and one female, it seemed.

Both of the Machina imitated the greeting Arglas had just given me.

“Lady Anthise,” The male spoke to me. “I am Egil, and it is a pleasure to finally meet you and your fellow representatives of the Bionis.”

I could not help the swell of excitement that enveloped my heart at the realization that this was my first time meeting a Machina.

The female Machina beamed my way. Her smile was enough to ease my worries of this being a long, boring back and forth between selected members of races.

“Please, call me Vanea,” Her smile reached her eyes. “Egil is my brother. The hospitality of the people of Bionis leaves nothing to be desired.”

“Oh!” I looked back and forth between Egil and Vanea. Knowing now, I could see the resemblance.

I approached them and held out my hand to the closest one to me, Egil. He took my hand and shook it firmly, which made me smile. I turned to Vanea, whom I nodded to her. She gave me a gentle wave, which brought by eyes to a bandage wrapped around her palm.

“What happened?” I asked curiously, eyeing the clean bandages. Vanea’s eyes widened as she noticed I had seen.

“Oh! I just cut my hand. But it’s nothing to worry about.” She reassured me. Instead, I smiled.

“Let me.” I gently took her hand and began to unwrap the bandage. I saw Caspian’s lips turn up in my peripheral, and Buibibi’s wings flared open.

“Friend is going to heal other friend’s hand!” He blurted, which made me sigh.

“And you’ve ruined the surprise.” I smiled, anyway.

“Meh, meh!!” Buibibi gasped.

Turns out, my general friendliness is not the only thing that has made me massively popular amongst the Nekomatan people. And even everyone else beyond the Nekomata Empire borders.

My total connection to water has turned me into the ultimate nurse, giving me the power to obliterate diseased cells and repair broken organic matter.

With my power, my father’s kingdom, and soon, mine, had been rid of disease within a week. I have been able to save victims of horrific accidents with the touch of my hand and a little bit of focus on the water Ether in the air. I have been able to grant terminally ill children a life that they would never have had otherwise.

It has certainly made my early years busier than I would have expected. Or liked, to be honest. And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Vanea looked to me with curious eyes as I finished unwrapping her hand. The bleeding has since stopped, which told me that the cut wasn’t fresh. But it certainly had happened within the last day.
I held her hand in my own dainty ones, the azure crystal in my chest gleaming to life. I focused on the air around me, feeling the subtle, yet ever present sensation of water Ether in the air. The beads clung to everything in this room, as they did to everything else in this world, it seemed. Using the energy gathered within my body, and the water particles in the air, I gently began to exert them onto Vanea’s sliced hand.

The water particles were invisible to the untrained eye, but I knew what I was looking for. I smiled softly as I noticed little dews seeping into the cut on the Machina woman’s hand, stimulating the cellular regeneration in her body. It relieved me that I could do such a thing to a Machina – this was the perfect chance to show good will, and if any member of their kind were ever hurt under my watch, I could help.

Vanea and her brother, Egil, watched in awe as the cut sealed before their eyes. My smile pushed at my own eyes as I inspected Vanea’s hand, ensuring that the cut was no more.

“Does it hurt, any?” I asked as I allowed her to take her hand back.

She flexed her finger, her digits long, slender, and clawed. She sighed in awe as she turned her hand over a few times, her brother looking on in reserved interest.

“That is quite an ability you have, Your Highness.” Egil looked to me, which made me beam happily.

“It’s less common than it should be. But I offer my ability to anyone who needs it.” I watched as Vanea closed her hand into a fist.

Buibibi danced in his chair.

“Empress Friend runs around Bionis, healing sick and injured!” He said to our Machina companions. “Friend has rid other friends of sickness on her own!”

The eyes of the Machina fell to me. It made my cheeks redden in surprise, not expecting to be played up.

“Buibibi, I’m not a miracle worker.” I returned.

“Friend is too modest. Have pride in power!” He scolded, which made me, and even Caspian, laugh. “Friend Empress is gift from Bionis to ease pain and suffering of living for as long as possible!”

Caspian’s lips turned up. He gently clasped his fingers together, closing his eyes.

“Indeed. The Bionis is good,” He acknowledged. “But I would not give him all the credit. It is also you who has decided to lend your power to the betterment of our world. You could have made your life easier and kept the extent of your powers to yourself, Saint-Empress.”

I reddened further, losing my eyes to avoid having to look at my companions.

“Oh, come on, guys. You know I don’t like being made to look good through the words of others.” I pointed out.

It was true. I’d rather others come to their own conclusions about my actions, rather than being propaganda’d to an almost god status. It was common… and it kept expectations low. I would hate to have been believed to… say, revive the dead, and I cannot exactly do that.

Disappointment. It is my worst fear.

Vanea softly took my hands. I was surprised, but I did not pull away from her.

“I think the Nopon is right,” She spoke to me gently. “I believe yours is a power to be proud of.”

“Thanks, Miss Vanea.” I beamed to her, stepping away to go to the seat appointed to me. I pulled out the seat and sat down, crossing my ankles and smiling.

“Now I think we should begin.” I said, interlacing my fingers, my eyes scanning my companions. The Machina took their seats as I scanned the room before my eyes fell upon a large, stained-glass window behind Caspian.

My eyes fell upon the painted blue eyes of the glass window. Painted behind him were a beautiful set of wings that reminded me of those that crowned the High Entian race. He was depicted in flowing white robes, and, interestingly enough, gold hair.

My brows furrowed up at it. I had been in this meeting room before, and yet I had never paid attention to the stained-glass window that Arglas stood next to until now.

“And we should- Hmm? What are you looking at, Lady Anthise?” I came back to reality with Prince Caspian’s voice. I blinked a few times.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Lord Caspian.” I shook my head. “Forgive me for not paying attention. I’m just looking at the stained-glass window, behind you. I suppose I’ve never noticed it before.”

Caspian peered over his shoulder before turning his torso. He smiled up at it.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” He responded. “It’s an old depiction of what our ancestors say the soul of the Bionis looked like.”

I tilted my head. “Is it?”

Egil and Vanea turned to take a good look at the glass artwork themselves.

“It truly is a beautiful work,” Egil complimented. “It is akin to the statues of Lady Meyneth that we have standing at home.”

This made me smile, grounding me from those blue eyes once more.

“Forgive me for derailing the meetings, Caspian, but please, tell me about your home. My Papa says that you call it “Agniritha”.” I leaned in on my palms.

Caspian shook his head.

“I’m not offended. In fact, this is why we are getting together.” He agreed. “To get to know one another in person.”

I beamed, thankful that was his plan, anyway.

“Thank you.” I returned before looking back to the Machina.

It seemed they were eager to speak of home. They spoke of their home city, and even their “Lady Meyneth,” with such affection. It was in about the abdomen of the Mechonis, and was brimming with all kinds of life.

It was enough to convince me to want to visit, myself.

Soon, their attention came to me. They wished to know about the capital city of the Nekomatan people, which I, myself, happily obliged.

It was the fall season, but the city was always beautiful. But I’d say it’s always best in cherry blossom season, or in the winter, once it snows.

“Ah, that reminds me.” I put a finger to my bottom lip. “Please, send a message back to your home.”

Egil blinked at me, and Vanea tilted her head a little.

I smiled.

“I wish to cordially invite the Machina race to my coronation in six months,” I announced to them. It caught their attention quickly- they must know what a “coronation” is, which was good. It saved time. “I believe it would be a wonderful chance for the people of Bionis and Mechonis to intermingle, and it will be one of the biggest festivals in a long time.”

Vanea smiled, clearly eager. Egil, however, remained composed.

“I have heard you are still yet the Crown Princess, your highness,” He acknowledged. “I had wondered why the emperor himself had not come to greet us, not that it changes anything.”

I offered a warm smile.

“My father would have loved to,” I admitted. “But he said it was best if I came. After all, you all will be seeing me far more often than him.”

“It is a fair assessment,” Egil agreed. “We will take your invitation home, your highness. I am certain the other Machina will be overjoyed you have extended invitation to such a momentous occasion to them.”

Eventually, all of us went around the table, speaking of our homes. After me, it was Arglas, then Buibibi. Caspian was less inclined to talk about the Imperial Capital, as the Machina had already been staying there.

We spoke and bantered for hours. The atmosphere surrounding the meetings grew less and less tense with every sentence we all spoke, told stories, and talked about visiting between our peoples.
The hall was full of growing friendship and laughter. And yet, I couldn’t shake the prickling feeling of being observed once more. I peered up at the painted window, locking eyes with the dark blue eyes once more.

And despite the gaze being made of paints, I couldn’t shake that they looked on us, laughing together and forging good will, with disgust.

Chapter Text

I had to hold in a snort as I read the handwriting of a younger High Entian boy that I had gotten with my juice cup. Written on the little piece of paper, in developing handwriting, was my order… and my name, meticulously spelled “Anteese”.

I smiled down at the boy, who couldn’t be much older than thirty years, which made him brighten quickly.

“Thank you for my drink, good sir.” I gently pat his head, which made the wings on his head flutter. “You did well.”

I heard one of my small merry band, Egil, chuckle as the boy ran away, chanting “mommy!”. I turned to Egil, raising a brow before looking at the parchment stuck to the cup with my misspelled name.

“Ah, that’s not the worst spelling I’ve ever seen,” I chuckled as Arglas, the other of our tiny merry band, peered over my shoulder to see the spelling for himself.

“Tommy, my brother, has called me “Aunt Cheese,” and a shop was worried my name was some complicated-spelled name, so they spelled my name as “Andthisbe”.”

I heard Arglas chuckle in amusement, and Egil turned away to keep himself from laughing.

I sighed, shaking my head with a smile at the parchment. I had no pockets, so I had nothing to stash the silly spelling of my name into. So, I decided to leave it for all to see.

Those around us were very attentive to our presence. We were important people, as much as I wished that we weren’t anyone special. The eyes just aren’t for me.

The others did not seem to mind, though. Caspian, Buibibi, and Vanea were off doing their own things, but I got roped into seeing the city with Egil and Arglas. The two got on well, and I decided to third wheel their tour, as I wanted to visit the city. I’d do it by myself, but everyone around me insists I go with someone else, at any time. Even if it’s with a guard.

So I decided to go with friends, instead.

The three of us patrolled the downtown area, eyeing various spots of interest. I liked peeking in the windows of jewelry stores and boutiques – usual girl stuff. We went into a sweet shop, and I ended up buying Egil a bag of sweets. Even if he insisted against it.

He had no choice.

I handed the bag to him with a cheeky grin as we turned to leave the shop. Arglas and I were invested in Egil trying Bionite delicacies. It made me happy to find my endeavor was not fruitless when I noticed the smile that graced his features when he tried the various chocolates.

We wandered for some time more before we found ourselves outside of the city, standing over a cliff. Many miles away stood the looming body of the Mechonis.

I carefully sipped my juice as Egil, Arglas, and I gathered on the cliff overlooking the Mechonis. My feline ears twitched as the wind tickled my skin as I sat on the cliff, my legs hanging off the side as the two men, one Giant and the other, Machina, stood behind me. The sun had long since set, allowing for the moon and stars to sparkle overhead.

It was serene and beautiful. I loved coming out to see the sky on visits to the Imperial Capital.

It was from there, Arglas, the Giant, spoke.

“Egil. Lady Anthise,” He spoke up, breaking the silence. I turned my torso to give him my attention, pulling my legs off the cliff so I might be more comfortable.

“Hmm?” I tilted my head.

“Tell me, why do you think we were born?” Arglas proposed.

I blinked at him in surprise.

“Ah, philosophy!” Egil would speak, a smile turning his lips up. “Alas, I am not good at answering such questions.”

I smiled, myself.

“To be honest, I haven’t, either.” I admitted. “I figured we were created, many years ago, and that was the end of it.”

Arglas tilted his head, himself. His long, white hair shifted with his movement.

“Have you never thought about it?” He questioned. “Never contemplated what lies beyond this world?”

My ears twitched softly.

“Beyond this world?” Egil repeated. I watched as he considered Arglas’s words.

“Lady Meyneth once said that, aside from the Bionis and Mechonis, this world is filled with nothing but boundless ocean.” He would eventually tell us.

Once more, his words had me interested in this “Lady Meyneth.” I would have to ask how to meet her when the time is right.

Arglas shifted, interested in Egil’s words.

“But what lies beyond that?” He would speak again, “We are still young, and unable to leave the Bionis, or the Mechonis. To say goodbye to our creators, our world.”

I watched as the thoughtful smile graced his features from my position on the ground

.
“But our descendants will.” He continued. “They will leave this place and depart for new worlds. Worlds we have never imagined, based on their will alone.”

“Leaving this place?” I would ask. “I had not considered that.”

“I haven’t either,” Egil admitted. “But it would be a truly amazing sight.”

I nodded in agreement, finding the thought to be truly wonderous.

“Moving on to see new worlds, to adventure into the unknown?” I would voice my agreement, “That sounds rather exciting.”

Arglas nodded, seeming pleased that Egil and I shared his sentiment.

“But that makes one wonder. How would our descendants achieve such a feat?” I would hold up a small hand.

Arglas would shake his head.

“That, I do not know.” He admitted. “But, I am sure that, with the combined effort of the Bionis and Mechonis’s descendants, I am sure that we all will find a way.”

“I wish to see that the people of Bionis live in peace and harmony and take care of one another.” He nodded. “I wish to see that for the future of our descendants.”

“Yes, I, too, desire this.” Egil would look at the two of us, the sparkle in his eye one I doubted I would forget.

“As do I,” I chimed in before sipping from my fruit juice. “And my desire for peace extends to the Mechonis, as well. I hope that the prosperity between us all will live on for countless centuries to come.”

I raised my juice cup that I had bought from the vendor. My smile reached my eyes, knowing the two had not bought beverages for myself. Instead, I raised the drink higher, to toast for them.

“To the future.” I announced. The two men laughed, before joining me, Egil lifting an invisible cup. Arglas followed the gesture.

“To the future,” They echoed.

I gently sipped at my drink afterward, the peachy taste spreading on my tongue as I turned back to look at the stars. I watched as the little shines of ether, so far away in the sky, burned bright before fading away in the sky.

⪩ ⪨

I grunted as I parried the strike from father’s blade, the Nekomata heirloom blade that every ruler of our land inherited once they became ruler. The wavy rapier blade shone, the red, blue, gray, green, and white crystals on the crest reflecting the sunlight overhead as Papa drew his sword back, standing tall just a few feet from me, smiling.

“Better,” He praised. “But you are still just a little too slow. You are small, delicate. You will not be able to beat an opponent bigger than you by force. You must outsmart them. Be faster than them!”

I smiled and nodded, huffing. I wiped my brow of sweat, my high ponytail swaying near my hips, around the base of my tail in my spine.

It had been two days since the delegation. After the official ending of our get-together, we all wished each other well before going our separate ways. But I knew we all would get to meet again.

I quietly hoped that the Machina would come to my coronation. I looked forward to meeting more of them – especially the thought of reuniting with Egil and Vanea kept my hopes sky-high.

And now, I am practicing the sword with my Papa. He insisted that, despite my ample powers, I would be able to pick up a sword and fight if I must. He recognized that I was not strong by any means – I’m of a delicate constitution.

With a lack of a better term, it means I am built like a toothpick.

So, instead of focusing on raw strength, my father drilled me about agility.

He believed that I would be better at dodging strikes, and dishing them back in quick, frenzied strikes and singular stabs instead of forcing submission. Either way, it was self-defense, and I was thankful for it.

If trouble came knocking, I knew I couldn’t rely on my guards solely. Or my brother and Papa, as much as I liked to think I could.

Papa jerked his arm out to his side, smiling.

“Come! Attack me, again!” Papa challenged.

I narrowed my eyes a little before dashing forward. My running shoes hit the ground before I feinted Papa by jerking my sword towards his neck. Instinctively, he drew to parry me to protect himself, but I would perform a riposte-like motion to swerve my sword around his block.

Papa jerked his arm to block me again, but I knew he would. I jerked back, angling my blade to poke at his protective breastplate. He stepped back before beginning his counterattack once more, causing me to bunch my loose muscles and jump back.

The swipe barely missed me before I went for a riposte. I lunged to stab at his iron plate once more, but my Papa’s guard caught my own, shoving my blade away from him before the heirloom blade once more went to strike at my breastplate.

I jerked back once more, trying to think quickly. I needed to do something unexpected… and anything went in a normal battle. After all, “all’s fair in love and war,” as Lina says sometimes at family game night. It was a sentiment Papa agreed with.

Papa made a sound of exertion as he went to respond to my movements backward, and that was what I was waiting for.

I brought my sword onto his, my blade sliding down the side to knock him off balance with my own guard. I saw his brows pinch, and my lips turned up. Bingo.

I angled upward, and thrust my blade, the thunk of a blade hitting metal sounded.

My smile widened, my cheeks pushing my eyes. Papa, himself, smiled and nodded his approval at me.

“Well done, Anthise,” He praised. “I think that’s enough for one day, hmm?”

I giggled, quietly thankful. My arms were beginning to ache from the exertion Papa’s training made me put forth.

“Can’t go on, now that I’ve kicked your tails?” I did a little dance as I sheathed my sword.

Papa sheathed the heirloom sword before putting a hand on his chest.

“Beaten by the delicate flower of the Empire. I’ll never live it down!” He announced dramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. It made me laugh.

I knew I was blessed to have such a kind, fun father – I knew how some of the parents of the Nekomatan nobles could be. They’ve got chips on their shoulders the size of mountains, and large sticks in their bums. I hoped I could be just as wonderful to my own kids.

My Papa knew when to be hard on me, but usually, I deserved it. The more one messes about, the more one will find out. But I took pride in my former troublemaking – if one did not mess about, one would never find out.

I knew a shower was in order, as I could smell the sweat on myself. I took comfort in it, as it meant I had worked hard. I would rinse myself, wash my hair, and put on something comfortable. Maybe I would sit in the lounge and read my book, as my schedule was clear for once. No public appearances, no critically injured or sickly Nekomata to tend to, and no debates about new policies for the Nekomatan people.

I walked with Papa back to the living quarters of my family. I was certain he was to shower, too. I stood up on my toes and gave my Papa’s cheek a kiss before I entered my room, alone.

I sighed as I pulled my hair down from its ponytail, the ends almost reaching the ground. I ran my hands through my long sheet of ebony hair, fluffing it out before heading to the bathroom. I could smell the sweet soaps now.

⪩ ⪨


“I’m the one who’s been to these things before. I think some bows would look good on Sisi.”

“Yes… but what about some more frills?”

“Frills? I don’t think frills would look good on Sisi. No offense.”

I grinned, feeling Haru and three other handmaids, and the seamstress trusted with crafting my coronation gown.

“None taken,” I responded.

The boutique was dead at this time – and besides, it was closed now, anyway, so that none could bother the process.

I wanted my gown to be a surprise to the world, anyway.

My sisters, Selina and Angela, though, were here to help me not become a fashion disaster. Thomas was here, also… somewhere. I’m not sure why he came, exactly. He’s not really a fashion kind of guy.

I stood still, my kimono, made of many shades of blue, hung long and flowing. It long surpassed my feet, pooling around my feet. What wasn’t near my feet cascaded down on the platform I stood on in a train. My hair had been rolled into a bun so that the seamstress could work without interference.

My eyes scanned the shop’s many racks of clothing, searching for my brother among them. Despite my vantage point, there was no sign of him.

I frowned a little in thought. Did he leave?

I didn’t really blame him. But why come?

I tuned back into my sisters arguing about augmentations to my dress.

Skirt? They were easy to wear and less stuffy.

Dress? It would give me an ethereal beauty to rival even the greatest works of art.

Tights? Good for wardrobe malfunctions.

Stockings? They were the equivalent of shoes to some women to me. I was always wearing a pair.

Flats? Way easier to dance in. Also, more comfortable.

Heels? Lina loved heels. And they would boost me from my measly 156 centimeters to something that would not have to reach for my dance partner. And I loved heels, myself.

The bickering and refusal to agree on one thing or another was beginning to grate my nerves.
“Ugh, okay. That’s enough!” I raised my voice over their petty squabbles. They quieted to look to me as the seamstress returned with some embroidery needles and thread. She crouched near me as I shot my sisters a dirty look.

“I want to look my best. And I want what I wear to reflect me as a person,” I scolded the two as the seamstress worked behind me. She was meticulously stitching blossom designs into the kimono with gold threads. “Also, my kimono covers my legs. Who cares if I wear tights or socks?”

I laughed at myself.

Lina shrugged; her lips quirked up.

“Ah, but heels will make it easier to walk in that thing!” She put her hands on her hips and puffed out her ample chest. Angela scoffed.

“But comfort, Lina.” She countered.

I held up a hand, trying to douse out another argument. My sleeves rode my elbows before I lowered my hand back to my side, letting the sleeve droop back to my fingers.

“Come on, guys. At this point, my outfit is completely ready. I’ve chosen heels as my shoes, anyway!” I beamed, making Angela sigh.

“Alright, then.” She shrugged.

“Ah, but I’ve put in an order for some dancing slippers. I’ll wear those at the festival.” I grinned brightly as Angela perked up.

“Huh, so the sock gremlin IS smart!” She jutted her hip, making me roll my eyes.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just not stupid, per say.” I countered. “Also, I am NOT a sock gremlin! I am a CONNISEUR. There is a difference.”

“Anthise?”

My head turned to my left. From the rows of clothing in the shop emerged Tommy. My eyebrows raised, my eyes falling to the bag he held on to.

“Oh, there you are,” I felt the seamstress pull on my gown to get more of the fabric to work with. “I kinda thought you left.”

Tommy shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face.

“I did,” He admitted.

I made a face.

“Where did you go?” I crossed my arms.

“Well… I went to the jewelry store down the street,” He admitted. He looked to the bag before reaching inside. He withdrew a velvet box before offering it to me.

“You did?” I gently took the box from his hands. I opened the box to find a meticulously strung choker inside. There were two gold chains inside that would wrap my neck a few centimeters from each other. They were connected with a flower-shaped pendant, the pistil made of a water Ether crystal that was cut into a circle.

My eyes widened at the choker before my sight jerked up to look at Tommy.

“You…” I began.

“I… well… I had it commissioned from that one guy. From Bafalgar. I received word this morning that it had arrived. So… I came along to get it.” He admitted.

I looked down at the choker once more. There was a famous goldsmith in the capital of the Giants, Bafalgar, who was infamously hard to reach and rather expensive, but he was one of the best the Bionis had ever seen.

Interestingly enough, he was a subrace of the Giants, who were smaller than they were. They were the size of Nekomatans and High Entia, actually. They had no defining features to themselves, which defined them on their own.

They were dubbed the “Homs” by the Giants, I think. They were an elusive race, living in colonies of their own, in and out of the established kingdoms and countries. I have only laid eyes on a Homs once in my 124 years of life – he was with a Nekomatan woman, exploring our city. It had to have been a few years since that moment… I wonder how the two are doing, now that I think of it.

“Oh, Tommy. This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” I looked up, my smile wide and bright.

Lina and Angie peered into the box. Lina made a strange face before her head snapped to look at Tommy.

“You jerk!!” Lina slapped his neck, making Tommy squeal. It was a sound that made me snort, and I covered my mouth after. “You’ve never done something this nice for me!!”

Tommy smirked.

“You and Angie will get something. Just not now!” His voice was entertainingly cheery for someone who was getting death stares from my sisters.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Lina said lowly, backing off.

“Hmph.” Angie turned away, her lip protruded.

“Hey, give me a break, here!” Tommy insisted. “It’s Sisi’s coronation. Special occasion.”

“Fine,” Angela returned, exaggeratedly crossing her arms. I heard the chuckling of the seamstress as she worked, and it made me smile, as well.

I looked back down at the choker in the box, a sudden realization hitting me. I was standing in the seamstress’s shop, getting the finishing touches added to my coronation gown.

My coronation was in a few short months.

In a few months, I would be Empress. Queen. Leading my people into the future.

I closed the box slowly, reverently, feeling the weight of the moment settle into my chest. The choker wasn’t just jewelry. It was a symbol. A thread of gold and crystal that tied me to the ceremony ahead, to the future I was stepping into - whether I was ready or not.

I cleared my throat, brushing a sudden tightness from my voice. “I’ll wear it with the kimono.”

Tommy nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes. I saw it just before he turned and tried to play it off by rifling through a rack of scarves nearby.

“You know,” Lina said, softening as she leaned her arm against Angela’s shoulder, “you’re gonna make a beautiful Empress, Sisi.”

Angela raised a brow. “Didn’t you say yesterday she couldn’t even sit in a chair without tripping over her own sleeves?”

“You said what?” I asked.

Selina snorted. “That was yesterday. Today she’s wearing that ridiculous waterfall of silk like she was born to do it.”

I laughed, the tension in the room easing like steam. My heart beat fast and warm in my chest, a rhythm that no longer felt just like nerves.

Chapter Text

⪩Anthise ⪨

I paced back and forth in the large bedroom that was above the Amastukami cathedral. Once more surrounded by four handmaidens, already dressed up for the occasion in more traditional kimonos, as opposed to my long, flowing one made of blues, whites, purples, and pinks. My hair had been curled and drawn up into a bun, decorated with fresh cherry blossoms. Spring had come, and they were in season, as planned. The beautiful gold flower choker my brother had gifted me sat on my throat.

It was finally here.

The royal coronation of me. Anthise von Nekomata.

Haru, of course, was here. Her fair skin was donned in silks, appropriately the colors of sunrise; shades of gold and pink.

Yuriko, a beautiful dark-skinned Nekomata with brown hair, was dressed up in the colors of twilight- deep purples and silvers.

Penelope, a Nekomatan woman with skin as light as mine and hair the color of snow, was wearing a baby pink kimono, embroidered with cherry blossoms on the skirt and sleeves.

And Cordelia, a tanned, black-haired Nekomata, was dressed in an orange dress carefully decorated with a forest of trees on the sleeves.

I felt the gentle hand of Yuriko reach my shoulder. She offered a pleased smile.

“At ease, Your Highness.” She tried to calm my pacing, her voice smooth as velvet. “It is a wonderful day.”

I hesitated. My head turned in the mirror, looking at the girl in long silks who was me, but not quite.

Wonderful. Yes, it was true. But this morning, it rang hollow. Damn cold feet.

“Think this is bad?” Penelope grinned fondly. “Your wedding day will be worse.”

The room broke into soft laughter, but it couldn’t quite thaw the frost in my chest.

I moved to the window that had been blocked by blackout curtains. I peeked outside, unable to help myself.

Surely enough, it was packed like sardines down there. Giants. Nopon. High Entia. Homs. Nekomata-

I had to double take. Homs are here?

I narrowed my eyes to get a better look. Sure enough. I spotted a group of Homs mingling with some High Entians. A few groups away… a large group with a little bit of everyone. I couldn’t help but smile like a child on Noel morning.

Machina. There were a bunch of them, waiting with the people of Bionis, waiting for the cathedral doors to open. They were mingling with every race under the sun.

My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for friends. I was so far up that I couldn’t make out details… But I noticed Arglas about halfway back. His purple skin and white hair were unmistakable. He stood with a group of Machina and High Entia.

I pulled back, letting go of the curtains, taking that small comfort knowing that there would be a familiar face in the crowd.

I turned around. my throat tightening. I looked at the handmaidens; my friends, my sisters in all but blood. Their faith was a warm light in the storm that raged inside me. Still, the weight of the crown waited, invisible and immense. Despite the fact that I had been schooled and drilled endlessly for this day…

“I’m afraid,” I confessed, the words barely more than a breath.

Haru knelt slightly — not with deference, but in solidarity, taking one of my hands into hers. “You don’t have to feel ready, Lady Anthise,” she said softly. “Just be willing. The crown doesn’t need perfection. Only heart.”

Outside, the cathedral bells began to toll, making all of us freeze.

I turned toward the high arched window. The bells rang again, slow and solemn, echoing like a heartbeat through stone. With each chime, the seconds slipped away — toward duty, toward destiny.

Yuriko stepped forward, her fingers deftly tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “You are not alone, Lady Anthise,” she murmured. “We walk with you, always.”

“We sewed your shroud,” added Haru. “Threaded each bead with hope and spite and midnight prayers. You’ll wear all of us with you.”

Penelope approached and flicked her wrist, and a shimmer of ocean-blue silk rippled into place over my shoulders. The shawl was heavy, regal, embroidered with flowers in gold and white, so that it glittered when it caught the light. It matches with the seamstress’s own flower embroidery.

Suddenly I felt as if I were being dressed not just in fabric, but in myth.

“They’ll expect you to look like a queen,” Haru said, rising. “But show them a woman who bleeds, who breathes, who remembers what it is to be afraid.”

I drew a breath. The bells tolled a third time.

There was a knock on the chamber door.

It was time.

The door creaked open, and a palace herald stepped inside, cloaked in white and gold, a ceremonial blade at his hip.

“It is time, Your Highness.”

My heart kicked in my chest like a caged bird.

The handmaidens fell back into a gentle formation behind me, each with a practiced grace. Cordelia moved to adjust the drape of my train.

“Deep breaths, my lady.” Yuriko softly whispered.

I walked to the door.

Beyond it, the corridor stretched like a sacred river — carpeted in crimson. Torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts.

The herald bowed and turned, beginning the solemn procession.

My wedge heels made no sound on the velvet runner. Each step forward felt unreal, as though I were gliding through someone else’s life.

Someone older, wiser, less afraid.

Behind me, the handmaidens followed like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, their silence a vow. I could feel their presence like anchors, tethering me to myself.

My face was calm. Too calm. Only my eyes would betray the tremor inside.

Haru’s words echoed in my mind: Just be willing.

The hallway beyond was awash in filtered light from high stained-glass windows, the images painted in ancient reds and stormy blues. Each step echoed, too loud. Too final. Every inch of me felt too visible—my silks too bright, my shoulders too small, my breath too shallow.

As the cathedral doors loomed ahead, vast and ancient, used for the coronations of every Nekomata Emperor and Empress. And now, I was next.

The final bell rang.

Twelve chimes.

Twelve beats of fate.

At the end of the hall stood a pair of massive cathedral doors—arched, carved, and set with a thousand tiny opals that shimmered in the light. Beyond them: the world. Nobles from every court. Delegates from foreign lands. Enemies pretending to be allies, despite our age of peace. Allies who’d sell my name for a price.

And the crown.

“Wait,” I said, halfway to the doors. I could hear the High Entian High Priest beginning the proceedings.

The herald turned. The handmaidens froze.

“I… just give me a moment.”

Cordelia stepped up beside me. “Take one.”

And I did.

⪩Valerian⪨

I stood next to Pope Theodore the Second, standing tall and broad on the altar. My hair, braided ornately and decorated with hydrangeas at Anthise’s request, hung down my back motionlessly. To my left, Thomas, Selina, and Angela stood, one step down from each other, in descending order of age, dressed in their best. Thomas, ever diligent, retained his silly pins in his colors.

The High Entia man next to me also scanned the crowd silently, his pale eyes unreadable beneath the fine ceremonial plumes cresting his head. I couldn’t tell if he was excited as I was, hiding it behind a veneer of aloofness, or bored.

The cathedral was quiet in that expectant way—like a held breath. Light streamed through the high windows, igniting dust motes in golden fire. Somewhere in the rafters, a dove cooed, too high for the attendants to shoo away. The people of our kingdom, and those beyond, cloaked in their silks and velvets, watched in reverent silence, their eyes all turned toward the far doors, waiting.

Waiting for her.

My daughter. My Anthise.

Sunset. The chosen time of my little Anthise’s coronation. Chosen so that the sun can cast through her crown, signifying the world’s approval of the incoming Nekomatan Emperor or Empress. I had gone through the same, now so long ago. The jewels on the crown would shine their radiance on the people of Bionis, signifying a long and prosperous reign.

And now, they would shine on even those outside of our world. It pleased me greatly that Anthise had branched out to the Mechonis well enough through the delegates… Egil and Vanea, she said their names were, that so many of her people had come to see Anthise become Empress.

I could feel the hair on my neck prickling. And yet, I knew it wasn’t nerves.

It was the feeling one gets when someone is staring at them.

I couldn’t help but look around, my eyes scanning the ample crowd. There was easily hundreds of thousands of bodies in this cathedral.

And yet, none of their eyes laid sharply on me like this gaze.

I turned my head to peer over my shoulder. Nothing.

How strange.

The fine hairs on my neck stopped prickling as Thomas whispered my way.

“You alright, Dad?” He whispered in a hush.

I hesitated before I nodded. Perhaps it was just my nerves getting to me.

“All fine, Tommy.” I responded quietly.

Thomas nodded as a single chime rang from the great bell above us, low, sonorous, and ancient. The signal.

Pope Theodore the Second raised his staff high, its twin bands of gold and lapis, ornately carved with halos and varying circle designs, catching the sun’s last rays, and stepped forward onto the dais. His large head-wings flared, making the rustling of silk and whispers of small talk in the pews fall into a profound hush. His voice, when it came, was not loud, but it carried—clear as the wind over still water.

“In the light of the setting sun,” he began, “and by the will of the heavens and the lineage divine, we gather at the axis of Bionis, and welcome our guests, the sons and daughters of the Mechonis, of past and future. Today, we witness the rising of one chosen not by blood alone, but by wisdom, courage, and compassion.”

He turned slightly toward me, as custom dictated. I inclined my head.

“Valerian, Son of the late Emperor Raijin von Nekomata and late Queen Consort Elena von Nekomata, Steward of the royal Crown, do you bear witness to this ascension?”

“I do,” I said, the words catching ever so slightly in my throat, my heart swelling.

My voice echoed in the vast chamber, and for a brief moment, all was still.

Pope Theodore inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned toward the center of the dais, where the crown—my crown, once—rested upon a cushion of crimson velvet. It gleamed under the amber light like a flame suspended in time.

I stood just behind it, a step above the congregation and yet somehow lower in spirit, overwhelmed by the gravity of what was to come. Not for myself, but for her.

Anthise.

Theodore lifted his staff again. “Then let her come. Let she who bears the name Anthise step forth into the light, that the world may know her, and bow not to power, but to purpose.”

And the great doors, heavy and ancient, carved with the histories of our people, began to open.

Golden light poured in like a second dawn.

And she stood there.

My daughter. My Anthise.

Her silhouette shone like a star reborn.

⪩Anthise ⪨

Light spilled in—cool, gold-edged, and trembling slightly in the drifting incense. My heart thudded once, hard, against my ribs. Then I stepped forward.

Behind me, the quiet rustle of silk marked the presence of my handmaidens, clad in their ornate silks. Ahead, the aisle stretched long, the long pews filled with thousands of faces I did not know.

And yet, they knew me.

I peeled my eyes away from them all, remembering the recitals of this moment.

And yet, I hesitated. A pair of eyes looked on me harder than everyone else. They did not come from the crowd.

Instead, the feeling came from just before me. Down the aisle, despite the fact that the High Priest, the Pope, wasn’t even looking at me. The sunlight bathed me in a gold light.

It was almost as if the sun’s own hard gaze dared me to accept my place. My crown.

It almost felt like a sword to my skin. Threatening to cut me without remorse.

This felt awfully familiar. It was all coming back. Those eyes.

I had to force myself back to reality as I felt Haru softly touch my back, pushing me forward. I inhaled, held my breath, and began to walk.

I drew in the sacred air, held it a heartbeat longer than I should have, and I stepped into the aisle.

And in that moment, the reverent singing began. A choir, singing the ancient song of royal ascension, sung in Nekomatan, as opposed to the common tongue of the world. The words sung prayers for my well-being.

Each step was rehearsed, but still it felt like walking into a dream I hadn’t quite chosen. The floor beneath me, veined white stone carved with sigils older than memory, seemed to echo back not just sound, but intention. As if the very stones were listening.

Haru and the others fell into step behind me, a measured rhythm of grace and tradition. I kept my eyes ahead, refusing to meet the stares on either side, though I could feel them. Lords of trade houses. Silent monks and curious children. Some looked at me with reverence, others with cold calculation. But no one looked away.

The farther I walked, the heavier the air became. Not in pressure, but in meaning. The scent of burning juniper and crushed myrrh thickened. The stained glass above shimmered with the last rays of the setting sun - reds, ambers, and celestial blues painting my path like the brushstrokes of gods. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was walking into a throne room or into legend.

The walk was not long.

But it felt eternal.

The feeling of being stared at like a particularly interesting specimen persisted the whole way down the aisle. I noticed that the light would occasionally bend… like someone was moving through it. And yet, there was no reaction from anyone.

Was… was I the only one seeing this? Was this normal?

I decided in that moment, that it probably was. A part of the coronation ritual.

I crossed the threshold of the sanctum, where the veil of incense thickened, clinging to my skin like silk threaded with smoke. My breath slowed, not out of calm, but necessity—as if the air itself would reject any who dared rush.

The dais rose before me, six steps cut from star-white marble. At the top, the royal heirloom blade rested on the table behind the pope, its cushion of woven skyglass and dusk colored thread. It was beautiful, yes, but in the way a blade glinting under the setting sun is beautiful: terrible, final, and waiting.

I began to wonder what Papa had felt in this moment, long before I was born. I would have to ask.

The music had faded. The murmurs had died. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

I reached the first step and paused.

Something passed behind me. Far too close to be Haru.

I turned, but no one else moved. Haru’s eyes were lowered. The others remained still, locked in their roles. But I could feel it; the air shifted again.

Not a breeze. Not even movement. Just… shift. As if something old and patient had tilted its head toward me.

The lurker in the light, watching from within the glow.

There was something unnatural happening. But I dared not interrupt the ceremony in favor of being paranoid.

I ascended the first step.

It felt colder than the others, though I knew that was impossible. The marble should have held the heat of the day, but instead, it drank the warmth from my skin. I pressed forward. One step. Then another.

Each step I took sent a sound rippling outward—sharp, ceremonial, deliberate. They were the only sounds now, aside from the distant flutter of incense banners suspended from the vaulting. Even the choir had fallen silent, as though the moment demanded stillness rather than song.

I blinked. My foot hovered above the next step. Had someone whispered? Was it in the glass, the incense, the memory of my father’s voice? Something far older than this coronation, something far older than me, was lurking. There had to be.

My sensitivity to Ether was never wrong. Someone who did not want to be seen by the masses was here, and they were watching me.

No one else moved. No one else reacted.

So I continued.

Step four. Step five.

By the sixth and final step, my pulse was steady but cold, like water trapped beneath winter ice. My father, His Majesty, Valerian, stood like a statue carved from stormlight, eyes half-lidded, his long hands hovering just above the relic blade.

“Come forward, Anthise,” he said, his voice a low rumble beneath the cathedral hush.

I walked the steps slowly, trying not to look up at the murals overhead. Nekomatans were far from religious, but they still had their holy murals inside of this sacred place.

They depicted the Bionis’s descent, as described in the High Entian scripture,supposedly. I had only read certain stories out of it.

He looked just as he did in the meeting room in Prunikos- a blonde haired, blue-eyed Homs-looking man with wings. His arms were outstretched - not in embrace, but in judgment. One of them held light. The other held a blade.

The Nekomatans believed that the High Entian scriptures gave him too much credit. Our ancestors believed he was a little more merciless than the High Entians described.

Papa was waiting for me to kneel.

And so, I did.

The floor beneath my knees hummed faintly. Not from power—at least, not any power I recognized. It felt like… breath. Like the sanctum itself was alive, exhaling through the stones.

A glimmer in the stained glass caught my eye. My eyes flicked upward without moving my head to avoid interrupting the proceedings.

High above, in the depiction of the First Emperor’s ascension, a figure had appeared—one that hadn’t been there during my final rehearsal.

Or any rehearsal for that matter.

Slender. Rayed in gold. Half-turned, face obscured by light.

I could swear it watched me.

I blinked again, and it was gone.

Was I losing my mind? I hadn’t had alcohol in days. I surely wasn’t drunk. Had I eaten something funny? I quickly remembered what I had eaten.

Last night, I had eaten a strip of Armu steak, as I had a craving. Fruits for lunch today, to whet my appetite for the catering as soon as this was over.

Nothing that would induce hallucinations.

Unless hallucinations were part of the rite. Some sacred vision I hadn’t been warned about.

Surely Papa would have said something to prepare me, if that was the case.

Papa stood at the base of the dais, robed in indigo and iron, the mantle of Regent slung heavy across his shoulders. His eyes, usually sharp as flint, softened as they met mine.

He did not smile, but neither did he frown. Papa’s face was a mountain - weathered, immovable, and carved by at least a century of duty.

The rays from the oculus above pierced the moted gloom and fell upon the dias in perfect symmetry. It made the whole chamber feel like a sundial. Or a stage.

Papa stood in front of me whilst I kept my head bowed. He unsheathed the blade he used for any reason, such was the tradition of the sword.

The blade gleamed, unnaturally so. Even under the golden light, it shimmered as though it remembered blood.

I didn’t look up. The rite demanded humility, not curiosity.

“Anthise, Daughter of the Emperor, Valerian von Nekomata and late Queen Consort Amalthea von Nekomata,” Papa intoned, and his voice filled the vaulted space, all the more mighty for its restraint. I noticed a spark of sadness in his eyes as he spoke my mother’s name. “Born of hope and bound to the lineage of light unending.”

The ceremonial words. I knew them. I had whispered them into my pillow as a child, pretending my doll was an empress and the footstool was a throne.

But now they tasted strange on his tongue, as if shaped by a will other than his own.

“Do you, in full clarity of mind and flesh, take the mantle of Empress? Keeper of the Peace, Steward of the Weak, Sovereign of Nekomata?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but something caught in my throat.

Not doubt. Not fear.

Something else.

The light from the oculus pulsed—just once. It could’ve been a trick of the eye, or the wind shifting above.

But the hall grew colder.

My knees tensed, unbidden, as if to rise. As if some instinct screamed that I should flee.

That force was still watching.

Had it moved closer?

“Speak, Sisi,” Papa whispered, close enough now that only I could hear. “The people wait.”

I swallowed. Right.

“I do,” I said, though the words rang faint in my ears. “I take the mantle. By the breath of the Bionis, I vow it.”

Papa stepped back and raised the sword - not to strike, but to complete the arc of ritual. He traced the blade over my bowed head, first the left shoulder, then the right, then the center of my brow.

Flanking to my left, the Pope approached with the crown. As I kept my eyes down, I felt it be placed on my brow.

“Then rise, Anthise,” he declared. “Rise, and be known.”

I rose.

Papa’s voice rose louder as I turned around to face the masses. Those who knew, stood up. High Entian elders, Nekomatans. Those out of the know, such as the Homs and Machina, followed suit.

“Ladies and gentlemen. May I present for the very first time; Her Majesty, Empress Anthise von Nekomata!!” My father’s voice thundered through the cathedral.

The cheers came, bright and loud. They warmed my heart.

The sun shone through my crown, casting a crystalline glow across the masses.

The beam struck, clean and perfect. The audience gasped in awe as the prism colors danced across the masses. But across the dais, the Pope’s eyes narrowed, not in joy, but in calculation. A few High Entian elders who sat in the first few rows whispered amongst each other instead of celebrating. Even Papa’s eyes shone with interest.

What was going on?

My mouth was dry. I swallowed, trying to bring myself back to the moment—to the joy that was supposed to be mine.

I raised my hand in a royal wave. My fingers trembled.

The light shifted with me, following the crown as if drawn to it. And again, the colors changed—sunlight passing through something that shouldn’t have bent it that way. Something alive.

Papa applauded, but it was slower now. Measured. Watching.

The choir began once more, signifying that it was the end of the ceremony. It was time to freshen up before the festivities that would go on into the night.

I stepped down the steps and began to walk down the aisle. My handmaidens followed me through the crowd and out of the door.

I all but noticed the stares I was getting from High Entians who were far older than I.

⪩ ⪨

My eyes scanned the crowd, incredibly pleased. There were so many different races here, mingling. Giants, Nekomata, High Entia…

My eyes sparkled as I spotted many Machina, and even Homs, in the crowd. Everyone was getting on, and no fighting.

It made my heart so happy.

My audience had quieted down after cheering for my presence. I crossed my arms, standing tall.

“What are you guys waiting for? Come on, let’s begin the festivities!” I clapped in the direction of the hired band, who eagerly began to play music.

The music rose, lively and warm, the kind that made even the most stone-faced Giants nod to the rhythm. Lutes, flutes, and hand drums all blending together in a symphony of old world and new. I laughed, a real, full laugh, as a pair of Nopon scurried past me carrying fruit platters stacked almost comically high.

Petals fell from the upper balconies. Bright pinks and whites, caught in the lazy twilight light. Some stuck to my sleeves. I didn’t brush them away.

Guests began to filter toward the open plaza beyond the cathedral, where tables of food, drink, and carefully arranged gifts waited. The palace staff moved like clockwork—almost too perfectly, like they’d rehearsed every step a hundred times. Perhaps they had.

“Empress Anthise,” a young High Entia noble said with a bow, holding out a jeweled glass. “To unity.”

I raised my own, clinking it gently against his, and smiled. “To peace.”

And yet… as the music swelled and laughter echoed through the courtyard, I noticed small things.

A group of old High Entia who never uncrossed their arms. A Nekomata servant hurriedly extinguishing a flame beneath an incense burner with a cloth - too quickly, too nervously.

I should have felt like the sun itself. But instead, I felt like the moon—glowing, yes, but only by borrowing someone else’s light.

Still, the people deserved their joy. Even if I didn’t fully trust it.

I made my way to the table my family sat at. Many of the seats had been taken… but they were only for friends of the Nekomata family. Selina had friends from boarding school. Tommy, his friends from boot camp. Angela, friends from the theatre troupe.

And mine? My friends from the delegation.

I smiled brightly as I noticed the presence of Vanea, Caspian, Egil, Buibibi, and Arglas at the table. When Vanea noticed me, her face brightened like a torch that had just been lit.

She got up and rushed to me.

“Lady Anthise! Congratulations!” She cheered. She raised her arms before hesitating. “Err.. can I hug you?”

I grinned brightly, myself. “All hugs are welcome.” I responded.

We eagerly hugged before we walked side-by-side to the table. I smoothed my kimono as I sat between Lina and Vanea.

Lina offered me a piece of candied root on a slender skewer, her smile cheeky. “The Empress still sits with us plebs. I’m honored.”

“You’re only a “pleb” because you keep stealing court documents to doodle on,” I teased, accepting the treat with a mock regal nod.

Vanea laughed, a full sound from her chest.

Arglas offered me a toast with his glass, probably his third drink, and Buibibi, already halfway into a spicy dumpling, gave me a wide-eyed thumbs-up with his wing, mouth too full to speak.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but then I felt it again.

That faint warmth on my head. The subtle shift of light. Like something unseen had passed above us, bending the sun’s rays just slightly off course. I glanced down at the table. The light from my crown had refracted onto the lacquered wood, casting small, shifting prisms. Beautiful. But they moved wrong.

I noticed Caspian’s brows pinch. That reminded me.

“… Papa,” I waved to my father, who conveniently sat across from me. He looked to me with a smile.

“I have a question.” I began, “Why were those High Entians looking at me funny?”

I saw Papa’s brows crease.

“Ah. That.” He cleared his throat. Caspian swallowed his dumpling, sitting up straight. “The sun shone through your crown unusually.”

I tilted my head. “It did?” I asked.

Caspian nodded. “Usually, the light shines in straight lines through the Nekomatan crown. Instead, yours were dynamic. None before you has had that happen.” He explained. “Those old crones probably think it means something bad.”

Vanea tilted her head.

“The Lady Anthise is far from cruel, Emperor Caspian.” She spoke. “I believe the future is in good hands with her at the helm.”

I offered her a smile, feeling reassurance at her kind words.

Arglas nodded.

“Yes,” He agreed. “Perhaps it just means that the Lady Anthise will face something none before her has. Nothing more.”

I nodded, my heart swelling. I was so happy they believed in me.

I felt my belly grumble. I was starting to feel only having fruit for lunch.

Angela caught the sound of my stomach and snorted. “There’s our real Empress, hungry like the rest of us mortals.”

“I am mortal,” I muttered, laughing. “Just... very shiny.”

I stood, dusting my kimono again. “I’ll be back. I’m off to get a plate!” I announced.

“There’s some delicious cake bites at the end of the table,” Vanea smiled as she turned her head to the large tables full of food, stealing one of the mini cakes off of Egil’s plate, which earned her an unamused eye from him.

“What? Since when?!” I knew exactly what I was looking at. Brownie cake bites with caramel baked inside. My favorites from the sweet shoppe on the corner closest to the palace. I could live off of them.

They are dangerous.

“I’ll be back. If my rolls are missing, I will know who did it!!” I hurried away as Vanea laughed. It truly was a beautiful sound.

I smiled as I hurried through the crowd to get to the refreshment table. I could taste the caramel chocolate truffle bites already.

And right then.

I could feel it again. That invisible gaze.

Again. First, while I was being crowned, and now, this moment.

It threw me heavily off guard, like a spotlight had suddenly been placed on me. The breath was suddenly sucked from my lungs, making me feel lightheaded.

I gasped as my feet tangled in my gown. I flailed, gasping again as I fell backwards, hitting someone. I heard, what sounded like a male voice, gasp as I hit him. However, arms hooked under my own, holding me up.

My head snapped up, meeting the gray eyes of a High Entian man. His company, a woman, wearing a suit of all things, turned to view me, as well. She had big, curious eyes as she peered at me.

I blinked up at the man who caught me a few times, certain that if I had not been wearing a face-full of makeup, my face would be red as a tomato.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir!” I quickly stood up, smoothing the skirt of my flowing kimono. “I… I didn’t mean to…”

I quietly cursed those everwatchful eyes. The blue they were in my dream, now so long ago, remained fresh. Who was he? Why did the memory of that strange being looking at me follow me like a specter?

My thoughts of that blonde-haired, cold blue-eyed being came to a halt as the High Entian Lord offered me a kind smile.

“Please, Your Majesty,” He said, his smile bashful and kind. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was a strange look on a man, as someone who was used to the males in her life being the paragons of strength and menace. He reminded me of Tommy when he wasn’t acting as the Shogunate of our military, or my father in his normal, non-emperor persona.

It was comforting. I liked this guy, already.

I smiled back at him, putting my hand over my clothed Ether chest crystal.
“Thank you for catching me...”

I tilted my head. This made me realize that I wasn’t certain who I was talking to. I thought I had known almost every High Entian noble… clearly, the “almost” was showing in my knowledge.

The man offered me a smile before placing his hand on his own chest and bowed at the waist.

“I am Altair Antiqua, Your Majesty.” Altair leaned back up with a smile as gentle as the wind on a summer day. He looked to his suit-clad female companion, who I quickly began to guess the relation. She looked like he did. Maybe she was- “This… err, , is-“

The woman smiled, an unapologetic grin that could only work on her own face.

“Circe Antiqua. The older, and cooler, sibling.” She placed her hands on her hips, doing a little dance with her shoulders. “But my stinky Auntie says to leave nobility to Alty. Because I’m too… “brutish”.”

She scoffed, which made me laugh.

“Brutish?” I repeated, suddenly curious.

It dawned on me quickly that the question may be intrusive into her personal life. However, before I could backtrack, Circe, all too eager, began to talk.

“Oh yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Apparently throwing a man through a door during Noel season dinner is “bad optics”.”

I blinked rapidly. “You threw someone through a door?”

“He insulted my mother for “raising an animal instead of a lady”,” she said simply, like that justified everything. “And it was more of a push with emphasis. The door was just in the way.”

I covered my mouth to hide a grin as Circe turned up her nose.

“It taught him a lesson, and he never insulted my mother again.” Circe said before shrugging. Stinky Valentia didn’t approve. Like she does everything I did. Apparently, I solve too many problems with my fists and not enough with my words.”

She paced a little now, energized by the story—or maybe just by moving. Altair and I watched her as the rest of the guests mingled beneath the blooming cherry blossoms. Altair scoffed next to me, which made me smile again. What a funny duo.

“Come on—if someone tries to invade Prunikos, are they gonna be intimidated by a boy who faints at the sight of blood?” Circe leaned in, grinning. “No offense, Alty.”

Altair blew out air, buzzing his lips. “You are a menace,” he said. “For the record, it was once, and I was twelve.”

“Twice,” Circe corrected, holding up two fingers. “You’re forgetting the fencing match in the east courtyard.”

“That was heat exhaustion!” Altair protested, his pointed ears turning pink. “It was SUMMER.”

“Whatever you say,” Circe said with a shrug, clearly enjoying herself. “Just saying, if someone storms the gates, I don’t think they’ll be scared of a guy who needs smelling salts after a paper cut.”

I laughed then, and even Altair cracked a smile, though he shook his head.

Circe flopped dramatically onto a bench nearby, folding her arms and gazing at the clouds. “Maybe if I wore more silk and fluttered my lashes at House Aguilar, Stinky Valentia wouldn’t have passed over me. Besides,” she said in a tragic tone, “muscles like mine are out this season.”

“Muscles like yours have been out for TWELVE seasons,” Altair muttered.

Circe stuck out her tongue at him. “And yet I still carry your luggage when we travel.”

“By choice!” he exclaimed. “You LIKE it!”

“I like efficiency,” she corrected with mock severity. “Not watching you struggle with a duffel bag like it’s a siege weapon.”

I was trying so hard not to laugh at their unapologetic banter in front of someone like me. It was so refreshing to see a House leader and his sister be themselves instead of sucking up to me to gain favor.

Circe continued like their conversation hadn’t just derailed.

“Stinky Aunt Valentia has been taking care of Altair and I since we were kids,” Circe began filling in the blanks before I could even ask. “Our parents just kind of… disappeared. On a mission. Apparently, they went on some sort of trip and never came back. In fact, the whole travel party went MIA. There was almost no trace that anyone even went through there. All they found were traces of highly-concentrated Ether that were left behind by… something.”

I blinked in surprise, my brows pinching in worry. I couldn’t imagine any of my family going missing without any closure. To not know if they were alive or dead…

“I’m… very sorry,” I began, but Altair quickly spoke up, cutting off my condolences.

“Circe, this is Lady Anthise’s coronation reception. Let’s not dampen the mood…” Altair lowered his voice to avoid anyone else hearing him scold his sister. I held up a hand, making him quiet.

“Please, I’m more than happy to listen. Everyone’s story deserves to be heard,” I explained. “The story of your parents is a tragedy, Lord Antiqua. I wish to express my sincerest condolences.”

Altair averted his eyes, and Circe grinned.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Altair said, raising his head.

I nodded once to him before looking back to his sister.

“Now, if you please… continue.” I blinked twice, which made Circe grin brightly.

“I like you, Your Majesty. You are not repulsed by how I choose to speak. I think we will be good friends. Aaanyway…” Circe tapped her chin before perking up. “Ah. Stinky Valentia. Yeah, she is your textbook noblewoman. Snobbish. Fat bitch.”

My eyebrows shot up in shock at the swear drop, but my lips turned up, betraying my amusement. My Papa did once say that those who swear the most are the most honest… not that he does. Our position as royals demand a filter at any point during public outings. Seeing my amusement, Altair did not rein in his sister.

“She hated me for being too “boyish” and being unwilling to conform to what she wanted. Even when I cared about what she thought, nothing I or Alty did made her happy.” Circe’s brows pinched, darkening her expression. “Really, I think she was mad because we reminded her of our parents. That, or that Alty and I would be the heads of House Antiqua instead of her. We will permanently be more relevant than she will ever be.”

Circe let out an evil laugh that was contagious. Altair and I laughed alongside her, completely forgetting the previous worries I had. The looming feeling of a pair of eyes always on me in a crowd dissipated, which helped keep my skin from crawling.

“Say, I’m on my way to get a plate of catering.” I offered. “I’ve got a table with some Machina friends and a Giant friend, alongside my Papa and siblings. Would you like to join us? There’s a few seats left.”

Circe brightened immediately. Even Altair, who tried to be professional, visibly appeared interested.

“Yes, please, Your Highness.” Altair accepted before Circe could say something entertaining in their favor. Bummer.

I turned to go get a plate, and so, I did. Circe tailed me like a bodyguard, and Altair stayed close to her. As soon as I got enough food, which would certainly be too much, I led the way back to the table. I knew my friends would love the Antiqua siblings.

Chapter Text

⪩Anthise ⪨

I carefully handed a napkin to Vanea, who had laughed so hard, heart peach juice came from her nose. I was still chuckling at her expense as she covered her face with the handkerchief, looking down. She was smiling, by the crinkle in her eyes.

Circe had told a story of her own time in boarding school. She was a good student, despite her delinquent attitude. But that didn’t stop her from having her own fun. She was a prankster and became well-known in her graduating class as the “class clown” – constantly cracking jokes and using her free time and strength to create harmless fun.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the reveal of Circe’s arm muscles out of my head.

I’m so used to small women, such as myself. We’re seen as dainty and needed to be protected. Not that I have much objection to that. I’m happy in my own skin.

But Circe? She had the build of a wrestler, if they were female. She had temporarily shrugged off her suit jacket to show us all the fruit of her love of exercise.

She was well toned and could supposedly bench several times my weight. I often had thought that muscles didn’t look good on a girl, which would be why almost no woman around me ever bothered to get physically strong, but I was proven wrong.

Circe made it work. I could see why her terrible Auntie called her “boyish.” But to me, that’s not a bad thing.

In fact, I am envious of it. She can take care of herself. No shady figure would ever mess with her, in their right mind.

Circe had told a story about how she and a few friends stole the intercom system rigged into the school. They hid in the ceiling and played music, said the most random things that would come to mind, and told jokes all day at random points. They returned the system’s motherboard at the end of the day, but everyone knew it was Circe and her entourage, so they got in trouble. Vanea had laughed at a joke one of Circe’s friends had told.

The table had fallen into warm laughter, Vanea still chuckling under her breath at the absurdity of Circe’s story. Even Papa had smiled, though it faded quickly as the noise settled and a thoughtful quiet began to creep in around the edges of the group.

The kind of quiet that invites reflection.

Someone refilled their glass. Silverware clinked faintly. Outside the open windows, the dusk breeze curled in, brushing the back of my neck like a whisper.

We began to share other stories. Angela told a behind the scenes story about a musical she had participated in. It was a silly story about rigging up one of the scenes. It took many attempts to get it right without the worry of an actor falling a hundred feet during a number.

Tommy told a story of his own. He spoke of the day he got his callsign – “Happy Feet.” He got through a stealthy mock mission by, apparently, dancing through the traps. Doing some kind of fancy footwork to avoid traps. His team thought it was the funniest thing.

The dancing matched the combat bells that the Nekomata wore, and made a little jingle as he danced. They were akin to the dog tags that the Giants had for military purposes; they had the name of the soldier written on them.

The bells, when used in actual combat, had the little balls inside that made them jingle taken out. Outside, and in times of peace however, they remained inside the bells. The sounds of twinkling made sure that the presence of soldiers was known.

The story spurred Arglas to speak up, his voice casual, but his eyes carrying that familiar glint of curiosity.

Arglas spoke up, his voice casual, but his eyes carrying that familiar glint of curiosity. “Tell me something,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass. “This is very off topic. But I’m curious. What do you think - Do monsters make war… or does war make monsters?”

It was the sort of question that came naturally to Arglas. A half-smile played on his lips, not because he thought it amusing, but because he already knew the conversation it would start. He asked such things often - not to preach, but to listen. To stir thought. To see the world through someone else’s logic for a moment.

The question lingered in the air, settling softly between the clinking of glasses and the distant swell of music. I couldn’t help but smile, and I caught the look of familiarity in Egil’s relaxing brow.

Arglas was philosophizing again.

Vanea raised an eyebrow. “Can’t it be both?” she said. “War sharpens the claws, but the monster was already there. Just… waiting.”

Arglas inclined his head, acknowledging the thought with genuine interest. “So, war is a mirror, then?”

“Maybe a forge,” countered Tommy from a few seats down, already halfway through his second drink. “You don’t see what’s in you until the heat hits. Some people burn. Some turn to steel.”

Circe chuckled, “And some melt into puddles.”

“Ah,” Arglas said, grinning now, “but what do we call the ones who watch the forge and do nothing?”

That quieted them. Not uncomfortably—just enough to shift the air.

Moments like these always felt like falling through a trapdoor beneath the laughter and silk, slipping into something older, deeper.

Not unwelcome. Just… unexpected.

I noticed Altair lean back in his chair, eyes moving to the pink cherry blooms above. “Maybe they’re the smart ones,” he said. “The watchers. They stay out of the fire.”

Circe swirled her drink, smirking. “Or cowards.”

“Or survivors,” Vanea added softly. Her gaze didn’t move from her glass.

A silence followed - not the awkward kind, but one that asked to be left alone for a few seconds.

Arglas didn’t break it. He simply let it stretch, content to see where it settled. This, for him, was the dance. Not the waltzes to come, not the toasts and formalities. This was the real music.

Finally, Egil gave a loud, theatrical sigh. “Gods, Arglas, it’s a coronation, not a funeral.”

Laughter rippled around the table, and just like that, the tension broke. Conversations splintered off in new directions.

Someone refilled glasses. Someone else leaned in to tell a story. The formality softened, loosened at the edges.

I found myself caught in one of those drifting threads. Angela was getting up to go get more food, and she had offered to those around us to bring something back.

What Vanea told Angela floored me.

She smiled politely and shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll pass. Machina don’t need to eat.”

My eyebrows raised.

“What?” I asked. “I watched you eat some of the sweets just earlier.”

Vanea smiled faintly. “We don’t eat because we need to. Machina systems are sustained by internal power cells, not nutrients. And taste…” She gave a small shrug. “Our sensory arrays don’t process flavor the way yours do. We register temperature and texture, but the actual taste? It’s just noise to us.”

The Machina didn’t skip meals out of efficiency. They couldn’t actually taste food.

Their sensory systems didn’t process flavor the way ours did; to them, eating was a texture experience at best, not a pleasure.

“Seriously?” I was astonished. I couldn’t imagine having no sense of taste.

Vanea laughed.

“It’s true,” She admitted. “Perhaps you haven’t seen the Machina have not bothered much with the food table. But I like how this… “food,” makes my mouth feel.”

I blinked at her. “That’s so sad. I mean, food is one of the best parts of being alive.”

Vanea tilted her head, clearly amused. “That’s a very Bionite thing to say.”

“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “But still. No sweetness? No spice? No fresh-baked anything?”

“I can tell texture,” she said, gently running a finger along the rim of her goblet. “Heat, cool, bitterness—like signals. But not the way you feel them. I memorize patterns, not pleasure.”

That made me pause. “So when you eat… it’s just data?”

“Data, yes,” she agreed. “But data is not meaningless. I remember what honey feels like in the mouth. Even if I don’t crave it, I know it means joy to others.”

She looked at me then, truly looked.

“Just as I can’t taste food, you likely can’t feel the hum of stars, or hear the pull of magnetic fields.”

I stared. “You can?”

Vanea smiled, a little mischievous now. “We all miss something. Even when we believe we are whole.”

I wasn’t sure why that hit me like it did. But I nodded slowly, letting the words sink under my skin.

“Still,” I said lightly, “you’re missing out on cake.”

That made her laugh again—sharp, silver, and bright enough to scatter the tension clinging to me like smoke.
For a second, it almost felt normal.

But the moment didn’t last.

My head turned as Cordelia gently cleared her throat to get my father’s attention. She whispered something to him, which made him smile.

“Excuse me, everyone.” He pushed his chair back and left with Cordelia.

I tilted my head. Was it time for the sword dance?

Surely, it had to be.

Thousands upon thousands of fake swords were created and held for the occasion. The only real sword on the dancefloor would be mine.

Father would pass on the royal heirloom blade he had always used to me. It’s said that the first Emperor of Nekomata, Sujin von Nekomata, had made the sword himself out of raw metals and Ether crystals to help him channel the elements whilst he wielded the weapon. It was a far less peaceful time, so I have heard, what with territory squabbles and supposedly answering to the divine.

Supposedly, it helped fell a powerful insurgent Nekomata who had gorged himself on Ether. He had become so powerful through immoral and unnatural means that none could stop him. The emperor of Nekomata at the time only managed to kill him by using his cockiness against him, luring him into a trap and causing him to burn to ash.

It would go from one sovereign’s hands to the next, as it has for millennia. I would pass it on to the son or daughter of mine who succeeds me.

I’ve lost count where I am in the line of royal succession. I’ll have to ask Papa when I see him again.

That insurgent… he’s the boogeyman of our history.

Our Ether Crystals are essentially exposed heart pieces. A conduit of power; A Nekomatan’s Achilles’ heel. Fragile and sacred. Destroy it, and it’s all over. It’s easily the most protected part of the body for our kind.

And yet, it gives us an edge over the High Entia in raw power. Through our crystals, we can absorb ambient Ether and convert it directly into strength, amplifying our abilities far beyond natural limits.

Handled with precision and care, the Ether Crystal can elevate a Nekomata to a state of near-divine power. The stories say that he, named Shi Haruka, moved quick as lightning, moved with impossible grace, and defied the laws that binds lesser creatures.

He was an odd one out, however.

Mismanage it, which is far more common, and the results are catastrophic.

Ether is volatile. It responds to desire, to ego, to desperation. Draw too much, too quickly, or with the wrong intent, and the flow turns against you. The Crystal overloads, your body fractures from the inside out, and your soul burns, reduced to ash in a matter of seconds. Not even ash, in some cases.

Just... nothing. Gone, as if you never were.

As he was.

After the attempted coup by Shi - whose obsession with limitless power nearly consumed us all - the practice of Ether absorption was outlawed. Not just because of his betrayal, but because the path he walked is a dangerous one. One wrong step, and it leads to annihilation.

The path to power through Ether is intoxicating. It's beautiful. It's addictive. And it will betray you the moment you falter.

Even now, in the shadows, there are whispers. Rogue Nekomata seeking forbidden techniques. Crystal forgers experimenting with unstable refinements and augmentation. Some believe the law is a cage, and that true evolution demands risk. That the law is preventing the Nekomata from taking steps closer to the divine.

It is a hotly debated topic during roundtable sessions.

The sound of a bugle brought me out of my thoughts. I peeked up, viewing my father, standing on the stairs of the palace. Our reception party was being had on the front lawn.

I carefully pushed my own chair back, standing up. With a quiet breath, I stepped forward, the hem of my ceremonial robes trailing like mist over the polished stone path.

A hush fell over the crowd as I made my way toward the armory dais, where a line of ornate, glimmering swords lay in presentation. Beautifully crafted, each one was forged of dull ceremonial metal - elegant, harmless replicas.

Theirs were for tradition. Mine was for truth.

I bypassed the gilded fakes, heading for my Papa. The only difference between when he had left the table and now was that there was an obsidian blade fastened to his hip.

The masses began to gather, getting into lines that spanned the perimeter of the lawn to await a sword to dance with. Papa held out the sheathed blade to me, the eyes of the attendees on me. I carefully took the scabbard from him, then moved to stand next to him while everyone else who wanted a sword got one.

My eyes darted left and right before I decided to speak to Papa. I needed to know.

“Papa,” I whispered to him. His eyes cut to me at the edge of his eye sockets before he turned his head to me.

“What is it, Sisi?” He whispered back.

I twiddled my thumbs for a moment before stepping closer. I gripped the scabbard in my hand.

“Did you… see anything strange, at all?” I breathed. “Today, and… at your own coronation, I mean.”

I noticed Papa’s brow furrow. He turned to me more fully.

“What happened.” His words were a command, not a question.

I hesitated.

“Promise me you won’t laugh? Or think I’m crazy?” I responded, instead.

Papa nodded quietly. I held my breath before leaning in further.

“Did you get the feeling someone was… watching? And I don’t mean the masses.” I began to explain. “It felt like… something else.”

My Papa’s brow furrowed deeper. He almost looked angry as he looked away in thought. This alone made me frown, the long, furred ears on my head twitching like hummingbird wings. Had I truly said something wrong?

His voice came low and taut. “Where were you standing when you felt it?”

“Well…” I silenced to think. “I felt it almost through the entire ceremony. I thought I saw something in the window of the First Emperor, too…”

He didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched.

“… there was a stare. Not from anyone else in the room.” He whispered back, he himself acknowledging my feelings of being watched. “There are not any special visions like that, that are part of the rite of passage.”

Papa looked back to me.

“I never felt as if there was something lurking just out of sight at my own coronation. It was just me, my mother, and the people of Bionis.” His whisper was final. It made my skin crawl. “Do not forget this conversation, Sisi. Let’s talk, later.”

I flicked my feline ears at him in acknowledgement as I lowered my head, putting the lovely scabbard over my head and lowering it to my hip.

To soothe my nerves, my Ether crystal began to glow. The light blue gleam was subtle, yet it caught my Papa’s eye. In my hand formed little orbs of water, which I began to idly toy with. Papa lifted his head back with a soft smile as I began to form it into different shapes.

I was far from a painter or drawer, but I always seemed to make water sculptures pretty nicely. Too bad there is no way to instantly freeze these.

I began to make the likeness of those I knew. My Papa, standing next to me. My brother and sisters. I moved on to my friends.

I had few, up until recently. Those around me saw me as more than them, so they kept their distance. Like I was some untouchable creature that wasn’t even worth their time.

Such was my youth. As the “Saint-Empress,” even long before this day. It seemed everyone knew that the people would want me as their Queen.

People didn’t see me - they saw what I was supposed to become. What I had to become. Expectations clung to me like frost on a windowpane - delicate from afar, but cold and biting when pressed too close. I was expected to smile with grace, speak with wisdom, and never falter, even when I barely understood what any of it meant.

I hated it. I still do.

High expectations aren’t flattering. They’re suffocating. They turn every mistake into a scandal, every quiet moment into suspicion. And the worst part? The better you are, the more they want. Excellence isn’t enough – it’s the new minimum.

I shaped a small likeness of myself in the water. The face was calm, composed. Serene. I crushed it with a flick of my fingers, watching as the collected Ether fell to the ground with a “splat.” That version of me… never felt real.

Papa doesn’t ask those things of me, not truly. But the world does. And I’m so tired of it pretending it knows who I should be, when I’m still trying to find that out for myself.

Certainly, I loved being the “Saint-Empress.” The name originates from my power. The ability to save the lives around me. So that the people of Bionis, and now, Mechonis, can live their days to the fullest.

But now, with the delegates, and even the Antiquas? Who knew of my power and status and still treated me like a person? It made me so happy.

I needed to get my hands on that device Papa uses to speak to the Machina so I might keep in touch with them.

I see Emperor Caspian pretty frequently. Arglas, I was sure I could twist his, albeit large, arm to agree to be my pen pal.

Same with the Antiqua siblings. I would have to get their mailing address, as well. I wanted to hear more of Circe’s stories.

Papa and I watched the dancing blades deplete, and those eager to take part in the royal blade dance take their places.

Across the lawn, a Nekomatan woman moved gracefully with her partner, a Nekomatan male, her amber eyes sharp as she instructed a group Homs and Machina. Their curious faces reflected a mixture of awe and apprehension as they learned the delicate footwork and precise strikes required for the royal blade dance.

It was more than a dance. I would know – I’ve been long since drilled on how to dance this correctly.

The lanterns hanging from the cherry blossom trees flickered against the emerald green grass, casting long shadows that danced in rhythm with the music. My ears twitched, catching the subtle hum of excitement mingled with underlying tension in the air.

Yet, despite the ceremony’s brightness, a chill crept through me. The weight of Papa’s words settled like a shadow over the celebrations. He had not had the feeling that there was a lurker just beyond the veil.

Whoever - or whatever - had been watching wasn’t ready to reveal itself, but the feeling lingered, prickling at the edges of my skin. Despite the lack of feeling of observation, I shifted to soothe myself.

I glanced back at Papa. His gaze was distant, focused on something beyond the revelry, as if he were seeing through walls. It was that look he got when he was deep in thought.

I smiled to my Papa, grabbing his hand. It brought him back to the present as I dragged him to the center of the lawn.

The beading of the sash clinked as I stepped, interacting with my dress and the scabbard of the heirloom blade. I turned and looked at him, standing in the center of the waiting crowd.

“Papa, would you be my partner for my first dance as Empress?” I asked, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

His distant look was a memory as he smiled fondly.

“I can’t say no to Her Majesty,” He bowed at the waist to me, unsheathing the blade at his own waist.

He unsheathed the blade with the grace of an old warrior, its polished edge catching the lanternlight like a ripple across a still pond. The crowd around us hushed as my blade was drawn from the scabbard with a high-pitched squeal.

The guests began to gather into pairs to dance, themselves. I noticed Egil and Vanea paired, as well as other interesting pairs. Tommy and Circe. Altair and Selina. Angela and Caspian.

The music began again, slower now. The rhythm was one I had memorized since childhood, etched into the bones of every royal heir. Step, pivot, draw. Circle, blade high. A formality dressed as elegance.

As we began the dance, our feet moved in perfect synchrony. My gown whispered across the grass, a silken echo of the past Empresses who had danced here before me. But I could feel it- - something beneath. Not the earth. Not the music. A thrum, almost like a second heartbeat that didn’t belong to either of us.

Papa must’ve felt it too. His smile never faltered, but there was a flicker behind his eyes—familiar, cautious. He dipped me, his free hand steadying mine as the blade swept in a graceful arc overhead. “Eyes open, little flower,” he murmured under his breath, just for me. “Not all shadows wait until dark.”

The crowd clapped at the flourish, but I barely heard them. Something shifted behind the trees.

I didn’t stop dancing.

But my grip on the heirloom tightened.

The music flowed around us like water, but each note now felt sharper—thinner. I moved on instinct, the training taking over where thought might falter. Step, slide, cross. Our blades met in a choreographed clash - in time with everyone else - symbolic and restrained, yet I felt the vibration hum through the steel like a warning.

The dance turned again, carrying us further into the waltz. The ceremonial part of the music neared its end - the final stanza where blade meets blade in mutual salute. I raised mine to meet his, the metal kissing with a clear, ringing note.

That was when I felt it. A sudden pull, like gravity bending sideways. My vision blurred for half a heartbeat, just long enough for the trees behind Arglas, who was contently watching, to… ripple.

No. Something disturbed the air near my Giant friend. I noticed him freeze up for a moment. That moment passed as he shuddered before settling down.

Only I saw it.

Only I knew.

And still I smiled, lifting my chin as the music faded, echoing like a bell through the warm spring air. The crowd burst into applause.

I bowed to Papa. He bowed to me.

The moment broke like glass, but the edges remained - sharp and waiting.

The musicians transitioned to a lighter melody meant for mingling. Servants moved through the garden with trays of spiced tea and flower cakes. On the surface, everything resumed as it should - joyful, poised, untouched.

But I knew better.

I made my way through the revelers with my Papa, exchanging practiced smiles, feeling the weight of their eyes on my back. Not out of suspicion - no, that would’ve been easier. They saw only a young Empress stepping into tradition, not the girl who felt the veil between worlds stir and breathe.

I wanted to grasp onto my Papa like a scared child.

So, I did.

I wrapped my arms around my Papa’s. He looked to me with a smile, but I could see the concern in his eyes; a protectiveness underneath his love for me.

He escorted me back to our table, where our friends began to gather once more. I watched as Lina and Angie returned with their own friends, as well as my own friends. Tommy, however, remained in the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot him. He was talking to a…

Oh, wow. The tall, muscular Giant was unmistakable. Tommy has been an admirer of his for quite some time. He was probably giddy the runed, blonde Giant was here, despite the fact there would be no conflict. I suppose it really was true that anyone who was anyone was here.

“Who’s that?” Egil must have seen me staring. I shook my head before turning my head to look at him.

“That’s Dickson,” I explained. “He’s a famous Giant gladiator. It’s said he’s never lost a brawl in his life. Apparently, he’s that strong. And always looking for a fight.”

I noticed Circe look to the Giant, and she quickly began to ogle.

“Oh. My. Gods.” I could tell immediately she was a fan. She shot up.

“Wait here. I’ll be back!” I watched as Circe rushed away to go meet with Tommy and Dickson.

I chuckled as I looked back to my brother. He was clearly interested, and it seemed the Giant gladiator was, as well. Dickson was quite tall, even for a Giant, so he was dwarfing my brother a little. It was entertaining, especially to me.

He is the one who makes me the brunt of short jokes.

I wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but I left them be as Caspian returned to the table.

“Ah, Caspian.” My Papa spoke up before Caspian could sit. The High Entian Emperor tilted his head with a smile.

“Lord Valerian,” He returned politely.

Papa stood up, his feline ears twitching multiple times. That set me off to something being wrong.

Usually, a Nekomatan’s ears twitch that fast when they are distressed.

I frowned as Papa made a follow motion with his hand.

“Please, I must speak with you, privately.” He said, nodding. Caspian nodded as Papa bowed at the waist.

“Excuse me, everyone.” He pushed in his chair and walked away into the trees. I could see Caspian hesitate before he hurried after my father.

I felt my brows pinch. I glared at the direction they went in before I cleared my throat. I pushed my own seat back with my legs, standing.

“Excuse me, everyone,” I whispered. “I’m going to get some more food.”

I could feel the eyes of my accomplices as I ran after my father and Caspian. The opposite way of the food.

I did my best to avoid making sound as I tried to find Papa and Caspian. I held up the front of my dress to avoid stepping on it in my rush.

It was then that I heard the sound of whispers. My ears twitched softly as I peeked around brush to find Caspian and Papa speaking in hushed tones.

I strained to listen, only to find the small sounds of talk too quiet. Whatever they were talking about, they didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Too afraid to get closer, I sat down in some bushes. Placing my hands over my clothed chest crystal, to make sure that its shine was not obvious even beneath my gown, I tuned in.

Water has memory. And so, through the water in the air, I would listen to Papa and Caspian speak.

Whispers of the coronation. Whispers about me.

They had gone so far from the party to talk about me.

“Lord Aguilar,” Papa had greeted him, “Please, I have a request to make of you.”

“Anything, Lord von Nekomata,” Caspian would return.

Papa would hesitate.

“This is sudden. I know. But tell the Council of the Covenant to gather in Prunikos in three days,” Papa would tell Caspian. “It’s an emergency.”

I was shocked. The Covenant Council? They came together usually one a year to meet with the High Entian Roundtable to discuss religious happenings for the High Entian Empire. They weren’t due to meet for several more months.

Even Caspian was alarmed.

“Your Maje- Highness,” He corrected himself, as Majesty was now reserved for me. “Whatever is the matter?”

Papa exhaled heavily, as if each word to follow might betray something he hadn’t dared admit aloud.

“There is… I must speak with those who know of the teachings of your kind’s scriptures.” Papa admitted. “I do not know them well. But Anthise confided in me. Something happened to her during the coronation that has never been recorded in the history of our crownings. I dare not explain it here, as unwanted ears may be listening.”

I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Papa was always looking out for me.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Caspian agreed, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. “I will send word immediately. The Covenant will heed your call.”

“Tell them,” Papa added, his voice lower now, “to bring the old texts, as well. The ones they’ve kept sealed since the division of the Realms. Make certain the Pope is there, as well.”

A flutter of panic stirred in my chest. The Pope? Sure, he had come to bestow my crown upon me, but that was just tradition. He had always been distant. Cold, even. He was a man of the old ways.

I doubted I’d forget the look I got from the Pope after the sun sent its light through the crystals set on my crown.

Yet now, Papa was placing his trust in him?

There was a shift in the air—one that didn’t belong to wind. It felt like the water around me trembled, sensing my fear, reflecting it.

“Do you think this is divine?” Caspian asked quietly.

Papa did not answer for a long moment.

“I think,” he said at last, “that if we don’t find answers, it won’t matter what we believe. It will find her either way.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling against the crystal beneath my gown. It was no longer just a pulse now - it was warm. A heartbeat to reflect my nerves.

The voices ahead had quieted. I could no longer make out words, just the low hum of men burdened by decisions.

I rose carefully, brushing grass from my skirt, the crystal’s heat fading back to a subtle thrum beneath my ribs.

I had heard enough.

They were gathering priests. Summoning scriptures. Calling in the Covenant.

All because of me.
I turned back toward the glow of the party, the music now distant and too sweet, like fruit left too long on the branch. My slippers made no sound on the grass, but every step felt impossibly loud in my chest.

What had happened?

And worse: others had noticed.

Papa had felt it. Heck, the entire crowd watched as my crown shone in a way that broke the norm.

I reached the edge of the trees, the laughter and light spilling toward me like a veil I would have to wear again. My hand lingered on the bark, trying to muster the courage to enter the party again.

I stepped forward.

The moment I crossed from shadow into light, I stepped back to the table my friends were sat at. There was just a breath’s worth of silence, as I sat back down, but enough for me to feel it settle over my shoulders like a second shawl.

Tommy and Circe had returned to the table. I could see Circe cock her head at me.

“Lady Anthise,” she greeted me.

I smiled politely; practiced, distant. The way royalty does when their world is shifting beneath their feet.

“Forgive my absence,” I said softly, voice steadier than I felt. “I needed air.”

Circe didn’t press, but her silver eyes lingered on me a little too long. Instead, she smiled.

“I told these guys you’d probably had gone to find a secret lover in the hedges. Something scandalous to make the bards happy.” Her unapologetic smile returned as I nearly snorted.

“I’m afraid I found only grass and trees,” I replied, brushing at my skirts as though to prove it. “No mysterious lovers. Just the breeze.”

Circe and Lina laughed at my response. My eyes roamed over the table, glad to be in the company of friends once more. It soothed my nerves.

It was then I noticed.

“Hey, where’d Arglas go?” I found myself asking. He was noticeably absent from the table, if not just for the fact he would be looming over us all.

Egil peered around. I noticed the corners of his lips turn down.

“I saw him going somewhere else,” He revealed. “He didn’t tell me where.”

Arglas left?

The thought disappointed me.

“Maybe he’ll be back.” I responded. “Maybe he’s doing as I did. Stepping out for a moment of silence.”

“Maybe,” Egil said, though he didn’t sound convinced. He swirled the wine in his goblet but didn’t drink.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said, but my fingers found the edge of my shawl and toyed with the fabric. The crystal beneath my chest remained dormant - but I could feel something crawling beneath my skin. A tension, like the pause before lightning strikes.

Tommy looked toward the outer paths. “Want me to look for him?”

I shook my head. “No. He would’ve said something if it were urgent.”

Still, my gaze wandered. Beyond the tables. Past the lanterns. Toward the tree line I had just left.

Something was off.

Not just with me. Now with Arglas, too.

“Maybe he’s fetching something,” Circe offered, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Or maybe the Pope pulled him aside. He’s always meddling in things that aren’t his business.”

Tommy leaned back with a scoff. “That man gives me chills. Looks at people like he already knows how they’ll die.”

Circe rolled her eyes. “You’ve just got a guilty conscience.”

“I haven’t done anything worth confessing,” he said with a grin. “Yet.”

They kept talking - banter, sharp and glimmering like broken glass - but I couldn’t stay with it. My mind was back in the trees, in whispers overheard.

I glanced at Egil. He hadn’t said much since mentioning Arglas. His eyes were unfocused, watching the dark.

“Egil?” I asked quietly.

He blinked. Looked at me. “Hm?”

“Did he look...normal?”

He frowned at the question, like it unsettled something he hadn’t realized was sitting wrong.

“I… I think so,” he said slowly. “But he was in a hurry. Not panicked. Just...focused.”

Focused.

The word settled like a cold stone in my stomach.

“I’m probably overthinking,” I murmured, more to myself than to Egil.

But he didn’t respond. Just gave a slow, uncertain nod and looked down at his hands.

Circe was watching me again, this time without pretense.

“You’re not fine,” she said, blunt as ever. “You came back from the trees like you’d seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I did,” I said before I could stop myself.

Tommy glanced between us, the grin finally gone from his face. “Is there something we should know?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

What could I even say?

That my father was summoning ancient priests and the Pope himself because something potentially divine takes interest in watching me at important moments?

That Arglas, the ever-constant shadow, had disappeared into the dark without a word, especially after watching him shudder in the way he had during another one of my strange episodes?

I took a breath instead. “Not yet. But if it becomes something... I’ll tell you.”

Vanea looked like she might protest. But she nodded.

Tommy didn’t.

Egil just watched me with quiet eyes. Always the quiet ones who saw the most.

It was then that I decided to turn my attention to my Machina company. Maybe they had some answers I could lean on.

“Egil. Vanea,” I addressed them. Vanea perked up, and Egil did not make any further movements.

“You guys have your holy ceremonies, right?” I tilted my head as Vanea nodded with a smile.

“Yes,” She agreed. “We have our ceremonies a few times a year, as you do. When she is awake, she comes to mingle amongst us.”

“When she is awake,” I echoed. “You mean your goddess?”

Vanea nodded again, this time with a reverence that softened her entire face.

“Yes,” She revealed, “She dreams for long periods of time, but during the ceremony of Renewal, she opens her eyes. Just for a moment. It’s enough.”

“Enough for what?” I asked.

“To remind us we are seen,” she said, simply.

That answer stirred something in me—unsettling and magnetic at once. To be seen. That was exactly what I had felt beneath the crown.

That’s when I knew I had to ask.

“Riddle me this, then.” I began. “How can you tell when Lady Meyneth is awake before she reveals herself?”

Chapter Text

⪩Anthise ⪨

Vanea smiled, but it wasn’t smug. It was the kind of smile that carried the weight of centuries.

“You can’t,” she said. “Not with your eyes, anyway.”

I blinked. “Then how?”

She turned her gaze skyward, to where the stars pierced the clouds like the eyes of a prophet. “The air changes. Like the world is holding its breath. Birds stop singing. The ether shifts, just slightly. And if you’re quiet enough… if your soul is listening instead of your ears… you feel it.”

I waited. She looked back at me, searching my face as if weighing whether I could bear the answer.

“It’s not a matter of proof,” she went on. “It’s resonance. Like something inside you hums at a frequency you forgot you carried. It’s the pulse of Her awareness brushing against yours. The briefest touch. That’s all.”

That sounded just like how I had felt. Once, months ago, at our very meeting. Inside the Cathedral. During the dance.

This can’t be a coincidence.

“…Have either you ever felt it yourself?” I asked.

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said at last, her voice quieter than before. “At least, I have. Once.”

“And?”

Vanea’s gaze dropped, her expression distant, as though looking inward to a moment preserved in crystal.

“I wasn’t prepared,” she said. “None of us are, the first time. I had studied Her doctrine, Her form, Her function, all passed down by our forefathers who knew Lady Meyneth before us. I thought I understood the Mechonis. Thought reverence was enough. But when it happened…”

She paused, folding her hands in front of her chest like she was steadying something fragile inside.

“I was standing near the core. Monitoring ether density fluctuations. Routine. Then it hit me - like a chord struck across every fiber of my being. Not pain. Not fear. Just… total vulnerability. As if she had peeled away everything artificial in me and looked straight into what remained.”

I noticed Egil tilting his head. “What did she see?” He would ask before I could.

Vanea’s eyes shimmered. “I don’t know. But I wept. Quietly. Not out of sorrow. It was like… being forgiven for something I didn’t know I’d done.”

The silence between us settled like dust.

That’s not at all what I had felt. Hers, Meyneth’s, was described like a soothing rain.

What I had felt was crushing. Uncomfortable. Judgemental.

Like every fracture in my soul had been exposed beneath a divine gaze that condemned.

I looked down at my hands.

The memory of weight. Of being seen in a way that didn’t comfort, didn’t forgive… but evaluated. It made my heart race in my chest in a way I didn’t think possible.

Altair’s voice carefully peeled back the veil of temporary silence that followed.

“You experienced something,” He spoke, “That is why you said that you said you think you’ve seen a ghost.”

Altair’s words struck with the precision of a blade, gentle but sharp.

I hesitated. I didn’t want to cause a panic at my own party.

The others turned toward me, curiosity barely veiled behind concern. Even Egil - ever the skeptic - narrowed his eyes, as if trying to peer through my silence and into the truth I was withholding.

There was enough I wasn’t speaking of. Father and Caspian were gathering the Covenant to speak about the oddities. They believed something higher than just a “ghost” was watching us all, and was bothering me in particular.

“I did,” I said, though my voice came out thinner than I intended. “But not in the way you might think.”

Vanea watched me closely now, her expression unreadable but patient. She knew I was holding something back. Maybe she even suspected what.

“I’m not certain what I felt,” I confessed. “But it all happened just before the crowning. Like it was buildup to the way the sunlight shone through my crown crookedly.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. He didn’t interrupt, but I could tell he’d filed that detail away for later.

“I remember thinking it was beautiful, at first. Like divine favor.” I continued to explain. My eyes scanned the coronation party, which continued to bustle with guests. “But… clearly, that’s not right.”

“Resonance,” Vanea suddenly murmured, echoing her earlier words. “But inverted.”

I blinked. “Inverted?”

She drew closer, her voice low. “When Lady Meyneth stirs, the soul feels lightened. As though the ether within us becomes harmonized with something greater. It uplifts.”

I swallowed. I decided a little divulgence couldn’t hurt. “This didn’t.”

Vanea nodded solemnly. “Then it wasn’t Her.”

Egil folded his arms, his voice low and edged with something I couldn’t quite place - concern, maybe. Or suspicion. “So, what was it?”

Vanea didn’t answer right away. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She looked troubled in a way I’d never seen before - not analytical, not precise. Unmoored.

Circe spoke up before the silence could rot into panic. “It may be nothing more than a reflection,” she offered, almost too quickly. “A convergence of stray ether currents, magnified by the ceremony’s significance. I don’t know if that’s a thing, since your da was crowned a few years before I was born, but it’s an idea.”

That line from Circe landed like a silk curtain - meant to soothe, but too thin to stop the draft seeping in.

“… no,” I said, quieter than I meant to. “It was aware.”

The scorn I could feel was too real. So were those blue eyes. They continued to follow me, even months after I had first seen them.

It was grating to my nerves. No normal being could do that to me.

That brought silence back again. Real silence. Even the music from the band seemed to fade beneath the weight of that admission.

Altair’s brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

I hesitated. Yes.

It was then an idea came to me. The chances Altair or Circe would know was low, but I needed to ask them before Papa and Caspian returned to the table.

They didn’t need to know I followed them to listen.

“Circe, Altair,” I turned to look at them. “What do you know about the “old texts”?”

I noticed Altair’s eyebrows shoot up. Circe’s head cocked to the side.

“The old texts?” He was surprised. “A lot of the High Entia these days have never read them. You’ve got to get put into the Council of the Covenant in order to even think of laying eyes on those texts. Why do you ask?”

Of course.

I shook my head.

“No reason,” I lied, “I just… heard, an old High Entian mention it. I didn’t know.”

That was odd. Why weren’t the old texts readily available to the public?

Altair didn’t seem convinced by my answer, but he didn’t press. Circe, on the other hand, glanced toward the head of the banquet hall—perhaps instinctively checking if Father or Caspian were on their way back.

“They’re sealed for a reason,” she said, her voice dipping just below casual. “Or, so I have heard. Relics of a darker age. It’s forbidden to speak of their contents outside of religious roundtables.”

“Really?” Lina leaned in, a wide smile spreading across her lips. “What’s the dirt?”

Circe shrugged.

“Believe me, I’ve tried almost everything to get my hands on a copy, bar my body, and actually joining the Council.” She laughed. “Those things are sealed up tighter than Stinky Valentia’s butt.”

I had to choke down a snort. The voices of Altair and Angie, who had been quietly listening up to this point, laugh.

Circe’s smile lingered for a moment longer before her brow furrowed, her lips turning down in a serious look.

“Seriously, though,” She said, her voice low. “Almost no one gets to read into those bad boys. Maybe the royals, like yourself, if you asked. If you can, please do! I want to be a little… fly on the wall. A birdie in the window. I want to know the juicy secrets.”

Her smile returned. I rolled my eyes, humored.

“Alright. I will,” I agreed.

That seemed to satisfy her - for now. But I could still feel Circe’s curiosity buzzing like static in the air, a thread she wouldn’t drop so easily. The moment I cracked those pages, she’d be hovering like a moth to flame.

Altair quietly pondered for a moment longer. What luck that the Antiqua siblings had any knowledge of what my father was asking for at all.

“Whatever’s in those texts… they weren’t sealed just to keep the commoners out. They were sealed to keep something in. That, I’m sure of. There’s no confirmation, but one doesn’t just seal up history like this unless there’s something to hide.” Altair thought aloud. I could feel that was enough to get gears turning. “Perhaps secrets about House Aguilar? Unsavory things about the Bionis? Truths that would cause our populace to panic?”

The thought of that made Circe’s grin widen even further, if that was even possible. It crinkled her eyes, making them sparkle under the lantern light. Altair swirled his wine glass in his hand, making the liquid inside spin.

“I’m aware that the Nekomata aren’t keen on worshipping the Bionis like us High Entia do,” He spoke, “It’s a topic our kind look down upon yours for. I think it’s silly, but whatever.”

I frowned. I was aware- I knew of the whispers from the High Entia about their disapproval for our lack of devoutness. Something about the final judgement, or whatever is in their holy books.

I tilted my head.

“Be honest, Altair,” I addressed. “I promise I won’t judge you. Where do you stand? This extends to you, Circe.”

Altair, ever the thoughtful one, debated his choice of words. Circe went for it.

“I think the religion is onto something. But other than that, it’s a buncha BS.” She went on. “It came from somewhere, right? So surely there’s truth to it. But I haven’t seen the Bionis do anything that the stories say it does. So, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

I could feel a wind pull at my shawl. It made my shoulders tense for a moment in its chill before I relaxed.

Altair would answer after his sister.

“Circe has a point. Seeing is believing, but my suspension of disbelief goes further than Circe,” He explained, “I’ve read the available texts from front to back. I believe that the Bionis is alive, like the rest of our kind. I’m fascinated by the unexplainable, honestly…”

I nodded. That was a fair thing to be interested in.

Altair offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I believe in the goodness of the Bionis. Something ancient, something guiding—but I don’t think it looks the way the Church paints it. The Bionis may be divine, but if it is, then it’s a god that sleeps without much of a care for us.” Altair sounded almost disappointed. “He gave us the land we live on and the flora and fauna we eat. And yet, hearing that the Mechonis frequents her subjects… do we worship a god, or a ghost?”

I saw Vanea frown in pity.

She didn’t interrupt him, but her expression said enough. That subtle downturn of her lips, so rare for someone so composed, held centuries of knowledge.

“She does care,” Vanea said softly, as if reminding herself. “Lady Meyneth listens, even when it costs her.”

Circe tilted her head. “And yet the Bionis is silent. Why? Our texts only say that he went to sleep millennia ago. Nothing about why, or when he will wake up, again.

Altair’s gaze darkened.

“That’s because we weren’t meant to ask,” he said. “There’s plenty of conspiracy theories out there about the Bionis, but something tells me our ancestors sealed the old texts when they realized some truths don’t offer comfort. Only consequence.”

Circe narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“No,” Tommy agreed, “but it’s the only one the Covenant will allow to survive.”

His words left a stillness hanging, like a thread drawn tight.

Dirty secrets… I shouldn’t be surprised. Both of our kingdoms had long histories, it was almost inevitable some things would get buried by the sands of time. But things being deliberately hidden to hide an even uglier truth?

This made me need to know. I would demand the answers from my Papa as soon as he returned from the summoning. This was far deeper than a few withheld words.

This was the foundation of our world.

I must have been making a face, as I felt Vanea’s lanky fingers softly grab my shoulder.

“Lady Anthise, are you alright?” She softly inquired.

I blinked, coming back to myself like surfacing from deep water. My jaw had gone tense without realizing, my hands balled into fists beneath the table.

I looked at her, saw the genuine concern in those ruby eyes - not pity, not worry for protocol, but something warmer. Protective.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed the opposite. “Just… thinking.”

Vanea didn’t press. Her hand gave the barest squeeze - comforting, grounding - before she released me.

I couldn’t have been more thankful for Vanea’s presence than in that moment. I smiled at her, hoping it was enough to express my gratitude. I saw Egil tilt his head down to smile.

Tommy’s fingers had interlaced, his brow furrowed so deeply, he almost looked angry.

“Whatever’s buried beneath this, the Covenant made sure it stayed that way for a reason. Some truths aren’t buried to protect us. They’re buried to protect the lie.” Tommy’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried weight; the kind of statement that made your ribs feel too tight. “Our ancestors believed the Bionis was a brutal master. That is one of the reasons we do not love Him as much as the High Entia do.”

Tommy sat up straight. I could feel the disturbance of a strange understanding, though sudden, in his ether.

“The records we still have of the First Emperor suggested that the Bionis was unforgiving, and his love was a tough thing to earn… and very conditional.” I noticed Egil’s head snap up, as well as Vanea’s eyes widen in shock.

Lady Meyneth would never, if I could gauge by their reaction. Lady Meyneth, by all we knew, extended love freely. Unconditional. Gentle. A goddess who met her own with open arms, not closed fists.

I nodded in my own agreement. I also had not finished my own readings of the First Emperor’s surviving records (which I needed to get on), but it was clear Tommy had.

The weight of Tommy’s words lingered in the air like fog - thick, clinging, impossible to wave away.

This was something else.

I turned to Tommy, a new kind of respect sharpening my gaze. “You’ve read them all?”

He nodded. “The fragments, yes. What survived, anyway. They were buried deep in our archive, and most of them were written in a primitive version of Nekomatan.”

“What else do they say?” Circe asked, eager.

My brother exhaled. “That the First Emperor feared the Bionis more than he worshipped Him. That communion came at a cost. That the god demanded loyalty not through faith, but submission. And that if we ever saw Him stir again, it would not be as a savior - but as a reckoner.”

The eyebrows nearly raised from Altair’s forehead. Lina and Angela exchanged glances.

“What?” Altair was puzzled. “It’s said that the day the Bionis returns will be one to celebrate. It will be a day of rebirth… of peace.”

Tommy shook his head.

“Many-Greats Grandfather believes the opposite.” Tommy continued to speak. “He believes it will be Armageddon, based on what he understood about the god in the Bionis. I’m not certain what kind of favoritism the first Emperor of Prunikos got from the Bionis, but it seemed we did not get the same.”

That line hit like a pulse through the ether.

Even the lights above us seemed dimmer in that moment - like the Bionis itself was listening to us gossip about him.

“I mean…” Circe said, her voice unusually quiet, “if this is true, then our whole faith - our whole world - is built on a bad translation.”

“Not a bad one,” Tommy corrected. “A convenient one.”

Circe looked troubled. “If the Nekomatan Emperor is right, why would the Covenant lie? Why change the story? What’s the point of painting what sounds like a hardass as a savior? We could’ve handled it.”

Tommy answered without hesitation. “Hope. Order. Obedience. Because if the people believed the truth, that the Bionis might awaken not to heal but to cleanse, then panic would spread like wildfire.”

No one tried to rationalize it this time. No one said it was stress, or the weight of the crown, or ceremonial buildup. The truth was here, sitting uninvited at our table, wearing the shape of the ground beneath our feet.

Tommy folded his arms. “We need to read the fragments. All of them. Us. Tonight.”

My own brows raised up.

“What?” I was shocked.

Tommy looked to me. He was usually tight-lipped about our family’s secrets. But my strange experience has opened him up.

“Should the worst happen, you need to understand what we’re really standing on,” he said. “The foundation beneath our kingdom, beneath our faith - beneath you.”

I swallowed, my seat suddenly uncomfortable.

“… look, I followed Papa and Caspian,” I disclosed. I noticed Lina tilt her head, her dark red hair falling with the movement. “Papa wants to summon the Covenant to take a look at the old texts. He thinks… I know, there’s something unnatural happening tonight.”

“That’s your ghost,” It dawned on Angela.

I nodded quietly.

“Yes. There was something… or someone, watching at my coronation. Papa felt it, too.” I finally disclosed what was on my mind. I was certain now, that my companions would not panic.

Their reactions were immediate, but not chaotic.

Altair leaned forward, brows drawn, his voice calm but firm. “What did it feel like?”

“Like being measured,” I said. “Like every piece of me was being inspected… not cruelly, but not kindly either. Just… indifferently.”

As if I were a piece in a larger design it hadn’t yet decided to keep.

Angela rubbed her temple. “So Papa felt it too… and now he’s summoning the Covenant?”

“Yes,” I said. “He’s going to ask for a reading of the old texts. Or at least, their version of them… now I’m afraid those will be fabricated, too.”

Egil’s jaw tightened. “Which means whatever they don’t like, they’ll burn or rewrite before it ever reaches you.”

That thought made my chest tighten. All that history… all that truth, snuffed out by ceremony and fear.

Tommy nodded grimly. “That’s how they’ve kept control for generations. Let the people think they know the story, while the real one rots in a vault.”

Circe looked furious. Altair just stared.

Their entire worldview was being trampled. I couldn’t blame them.

“Then… Tommy.” I looked to him with a resolute look. “You’re right. As soon as we have an excuse, we take our friends here to the vault. Not only do I want to see what our many-greats Grandfather thought of the divine… I want our friends to know, too. They must have both sides of the story.”

Altair nodded slowly. I crossed my arms, my shawl shifting quietly.

“I will ask Papa what he got from the Covenant when he comes back.” I continued. “But, no one mention his summoning to him or Caspian at any point before he leaves in two days.”

Everyone nodded in silent agreement. The pact between us was sealed - not in blood, but in trust. A dangerous kind of trust.

Circe leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tightly. “So we smile, we toast, we pretend we’re none the wiser… and the moment they look the other way, we disappear into the dark.”

Angela glanced toward the closed door to the palace. “You sure you want to play it like that? Wait for him to come to you?”

I nodded. “Yes. He worries too much about me… he’ll shut down. But if I ask carefully, if I play the good little daughter, I can learn what they’re feeding him. What version of the texts they’ve allowed. But I believe Papa will get the truth out of them. He can be… scary, if he needs to be. He won’t be pacified with a simple answer, especially if it potentially concerns the health of one of his kids.”

I looked up.

“He’s trying to protect me from it,” I finished. “Even if that means standing in the way.”

Altair exhaled, his gaze distant. “I never thought I’d say this, but I hope your father does scare them. Maybe we’ll finally get a glimpse of how far the Covenant is willing to go to keep control over the past.”

Circe leaned forward, tapping the table. “And while he plays chess with the priests, we slide in and read the pieces they thought they’ve taken off the board in the archives they can’t touch.”

Tommy cracked a faint grin at that. “Exactly. We’ll move once the guests start thinning out, during the late bell change. That’s when the guards switch.”

Angela nodded. “We’ll need a lookout posted near the north corridor and someone to keep eyes on the eastern wing. We’re not just sneaking into a vault; we’re poking the ribs of a sleeping system.”

“I’ll handle the distraction,” Vanea said calmly. “I know how to keep attention without raising suspicion.”

“And I’ll go with you,” Egil added. “In case someone decides to follow you instead of look away.”

I glanced around the table one more time. My friends, my allies. The ones I trusted to follow me into forgotten places, even if they didn’t like what waited there.

“Then it’s settled,” I said.

My shawl shifted again as I stood, the air somehow colder now.

Circe gave a half-hearted salute. “Guess we’re breaking into the apocalypse files. Today really is a day for new things!”

Vanea didn’t smile.

Neither did I.

Because if the First Emperor was right, the reckoning hadn’t begun—

It was only waiting for someone worthy enough to trigger it.

And I had a sinking feeling…

It had already found them.

Chapter Text

⪩Anthise ⪨

My eyes wandered the still lively celebration before settling back on my Papa, who had since returned. His light gray eyes found mine, which crinkled in a smile.

But I knew better. I saw the worry in their depths. The weight of what he had asked Caspian to do for him.

I really hoped he didn’t see the fact that my siblings and I were plotting to take our Machina and High Entian friends to the archives to read the secret documentations written by Many-Greats Grandpapa Sujin.

The ones that would challenge the outlook of the High Entians, according to my brother’s recount of what the archive wrote about.

I remembered my own short reading of the private archive. It was general knowledge to the Nekomatans what the First Emperor thought- it was why many of us remained unreligious. Many of my brethren were wary of such an entity that was viewed by our forefathers as unforgiving and conditional.

Thankfully, the newer generations of High Entia are far more open to the ideas of Nekomata. When my great-great-great grandfather was a child, the High Entians hated the Nekomatans for having the belief that the Bionis may be dangerous.

That hatred had simmered over centuries; sometimes as prejudice, sometimes as policy. In public, it had softened into polite disagreement. Our empires have long-since been on good terms for centuries.

But the archives didn’t lie.

I remembered what Tommy had said about being unsure if House Aguilar had “special treatment” from the Bionis. Why?

Why did the High Entians sing the praises of the Bionis – or, whatever consciousness slept inside of it – whilst my own held him at a distance?

Our archives from the journal of Sujin von Nekomata were incomplete, but I began to wonder if the answers to that truth were hidden in there somewhere.

The songs of the High Entia spoke of glory, of ascension, of unity under the divine gaze of the Bionis. But our songs, when we still sang them, were different. Cautionary. Reverent, yes, but laced with warning. The tone of those old lullabies was never joyful.

I thought of the image of the First Nekomatan Emperor that had been passed down long after his death. A warrior, a scholar, a man burdened with an uncertain future, if the fragments were to be believed. His writings were scattered, damaged by age… or maybe, even intention.

The chittering of none other but Buibibi drew me from my thoughts. The Heropon skipped passed me, yet another plate of food in his wings.

I smiled and shook my head before my smile dropped.

“Buibibi!” I called to him, making him turn around.

“Yes?” He held onto the plate. “Before you ask, no! Heropon will not share!”

It made me laugh.

“Hehe, no, no. I’m not asking for food. Could you come with me for a moment?” I ushered for the Nopon to follow me.

I led him just beyond the outskirts of the party. My head swiveled before I scanned the water in the Ether, ensuring there were no listeners. Once I was satisfied, I crouched to be eye level with the Nopon.

“Buibibi, I need to ask you something important,” I whispered. “Me and the others will be making a trip to the library. Want to come with?”

His usual wide-eyed curiosity was on full display before me. “Library? You mean scary dusty place with too many big words?”

I nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

He tilted his head. “Why you want Heropon Buibibi to get in trouble? That place not for sneaky-sneaks.”

“I’m not trying to start trouble,” I assured, though even I wasn’t sure how true that was. “I think… I think there’s something we need to see. Something important. Something about the Bionis. Maybe even why the Nekomatans see it so differently from everyone else.”

Buibibi’s eyes widened slightly at the mention. He looked down at the plate in his wings. “Heropon... hears stories. Rumors. Of blacked-out texts. Of old warnings in First Tongue, too ancient for most to read now. Elders say those words bring bad luck. Heropon Buibibi does not like scary things,”

I nodded. “That’s okay,” I reassured, “Bu it’s the truth, Nothing is scarier than that. If you face it, who’s to say anymore that you aren’t the true Heropon?”

“Heropon Buibibi IS the true Heropon! Buibibi does not need to prove that.” He reclined his head. “But… Heropon likes friends. And truth is truth, even if buried under dust and spooky poetry.”

I grinned. “So you’ll help?”

He gave a solemn nod, puffing out his little chest. “But if Heropon dies of ghost archive curse, you must put big pile of food on gravestone every spring!”

I laughed. “Deal.”

⪩⪨

I smiled softly as I nestled into the velvet cushions, surrounded by the ones who had stood beside me long before the crown ever touched my head. My handmaidens; loyal, brilliant, and endlessly kind. They had tended to me with unwavering care day after day.

I would feel like a terrible person if I didn’t spend at least a few moments with them.

Haru grinned at me, her feline ears trembling a few times before stilling. Penelope, Yuriko, and Cordelia also regarded me with the usual warmth. It was enough to settle my nerves from the supernatural happenings that have been happening all afternoon.

“Lady Anthise!” Haru chirped, her voice bright with affection.

I chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Haru, this is a party. Just Anthise tonight, please.”

She gasped theatrically, ears perked. “The Empress, shedding her title? What scandal! What chaos!”

Yuriko shook her head with a sigh, folding her delicate fan with a soft snap. “She’s had too much fruit wine,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile.

Penelope didn’t speak, but she reached over and gently placed a honeyed biscuit in my hand, her soft eyes meeting mine in quiet insistence. “You haven’t eaten,” she murmured.

“Thank you, Penny,” I said, squeezing her hand briefly.

The front yard glowed around us, the floating lanterns overhead casting a warm, golden shimmer across the polished floors and jeweled gowns. Music drifted in from the string ensemble tucked away in the corner, the melodies delicate enough not to drown out our laughter.

For a fleeting moment, the strange energies that had buzzed through the cathedral all day felt like a distant dream.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, not needing to raise my voice. “All of you. I needed this.”

“And we always will be,” Yuriko said, voice calm and sure. “You carry a queen’s crown now, Anthise, but you’ll never carry it alone.”

I felt my throat tighten just a little. The weight of everything—the responsibility, the expectations… I felt a bit lighter in this circle. In their eyes, I wasn’t some heir or ruler. I was simply… me.

Cordelia raised her glass. “To our Empress,” she said, with a teasing lilt, “who somehow hasn’t tripped over her own gown once tonight.”

“Hush,” I said, grinning as I playfully nudged her foot with mine beneath the table. “You sound like my sister!”

Haru raised her glass too, tails flicking behind her. “To the only person I’d ever consider kneeling to. Besides your dad.”

The scent of spiced pastries, fresh flowers, and citrus wine danced through the air as the party continued around us, servants darting through with trays, music lulling in waves, laughter and dancing filling the spaces where politics had no room. But in our little alcove, time felt slower. Softer. Real.

Cordelia glanced out over the balcony behind us, where soft moonlight was spilling across the royal gardens. “It’s a beautiful night,” she murmured.

“It is,” I said quietly, then looked at each of them in turn. “And it’s better because you’re all here.”

There was a silence; not awkward, but full. Full of love, shared stories, years of trust, and everything we’d weathered together. The shawl they had embroidered for me felt even lighter on my shoulders.

Then Haru broke it.

“So… can I ask the question now?”

I blinked. “What question?”

She leaned in, her eyes wide with mock seriousness. “How does it feel to be so powerful and majestic that people literally bow when you sneeze?”

I burst out laughing. “I don’t think anyone’s actually done that—”

“Yet,” she said smugly. “Give it time.”

“You’re impossible,” I said through a laugh, shaking my head.

“She’s just jealous,” Cordelia said, swirling her glass. “Because she’s not the one in the tiara.”

“Oh please.” Haru flicked her tail lazily. “If I wore that thing, I’d be assassinated before breakfast.”

“That implies you’d survive long enough to get to breakfast,” Yuriko quipped.

Haru stuck out her tongue. “Joke’s on you. I am breakfast.”

We all groaned in unison, though Penelope was laughing too hard to pretend to be annoyed.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” I wheezed.

“It doesn’t have to,” Haru replied, flashing a grin. “I’m cute enough to get away with nonsense.”

“You’re lucky I adore you,” I said, sipping from the cup Penelope had just refilled for me. “All of you.”

Cordelia tilted her head slightly. “You’ve gotten sappy lately.”

“Have I?” I asked, not denying it.

“A little,” Yuriko admitted, though she was smiling. “But I think it suits you. You’ve… softened.”

I looked down at the table for a second, feeling the silk trim beneath my fingertips. “It’s not the crown. It’s just that—sometimes I think about how different this could’ve been. How much lonelier.”

That quiet hush came back again—not sad, just weighty with shared understanding.

“You remember when I got sick,” I said softly. “That winter. Before any of this.”

They all nodded. Penelope reached across the table and touched my wrist. “We thought we were going to lose you.”

“I remember the ceiling spinning. The way the light hurt. I remember your voices… even when I couldn’t speak.” I smiled.

Yuriko exhaled, long and steady. “We took shifts, you know. Watching over you. Reading to you. Haru tried to bribe the palace cook to sneak in candied plum tea.”

“Tried?” Haru sniffed, like she could remember the smell. “Succeeded. I had a whole network of kitchen maids. It was a full-on operation. Penelope nearly blew our cover.”

Penelope covered her mouth, blushing slightly. “I was only trying to be quiet. The teacups were just so loud that day.”

Cordelia chuckled. “That was the moment I knew we’d follow you through anything. Watching you lie there, still fighting, still clinging to breath like it was a war you could win. And you did.”

“I didn’t win alone,” I said.

“No,” Yuriko said. “You never did. There will never be a war you fight alone. We will always be there to support you, even if you don’t know it.”

I blinked against the heat rising behind my eyes again. Gods, how had I gotten so lucky?

We sat there, suspended in a silence made not of sorrow, but of memory. The kind that wraps around your heart and squeezes gently, reminding you where you came from. Who made you.

Haru stood suddenly, placing a hand on her hip and raising her glass high above her head.

“To our Anthise,” she declared, tail flicking with pride. “Who may now have a title, a throne, and a very dramatic entrance fanfare, but will always be the same gremlin we rescued from the cherry blossom tree in the late Queen Amalthea’s garden when she was forty-two.”

“Oh no,” I groaned, covering my face. “Not that story again.”

“Oh yes,” Haru said, grinning like a fox who’d just found the henhouse. “You were stuck in that tree for three hours. Three. Screaming about royal dignity while your skirts were tangled in the branches.”

“You climbed the tree in heels,” Cordelia reminded me, raising an eyebrow. “What was the plan there, exactly?”

“I was forty-two! I didn’t have a plan!” I protested, peeking through my fingers in mock horror.

“You said, and I quote, ‘the blossoms looked like baked sweets and I needed to know what they smelled like up close,’” Yuriko said, deadpan.

Penelope giggled. “And then you sneezed so hard you almost fell.”

“I did fall,” I muttered. “You all caught me.”

“Barely,” Haru said, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “You landed on Cordelia and broke her favorite comb.”

“I still have it,” Cordelia said proudly. “It’s snapped in half, but I keep it in my jewelry box. A royal memento of poor life choices.”

“And we’ve been stuck with you ever since,” Haru added, nudging my arm affectionately.

I dropped my hands and looked at them, my cheeks aching from smiling so much. “You make it sound like a curse.”

“It is,” Cordelia said smoothly. “A delightful, lifelong curse.”

“An honor-bound hex,” Yuriko added, raising her glass.

Penelope lifted hers too, her voice soft but steady. “To our gremlin Empress.”

“To our gremlin Empress!” the others echoed, voices loud enough that a few nearby guests glanced our way. When I turned my head to look, my Papa had been among them. He flashed me a cheeky smile before he turned away.

I held in my laugh as I raised my own cup in surrender, warmth blooming in my chest like the blossoms that had once gotten me stuck in a tree. These girls - these incredible women - they had seen every version of me. And still, they chose to stay.

It was then that lightning struck somewhere close. A collective cacophony of gasps and shouts ran through the party.

Or… maybe it wasn’t lightning. The surge of ether that surged through everyone was too powerful to be just that. The chest gems of every Nekomatan lit up like countless lanterns beneath their clothes, or the spaces around them if they chose not to conceal them.

My own eyes fell to my own, which had lit up like a flame in darkness before my head lifted again to gauge the others.

The Homs and Giants stumbled back as if something had struck them. I could see the gladiator, Dickson, in the crowd, and he was the only one who remained still. It was almost as if he was a boulder.

Remind me to never get into a fight with him.

The High Entians almost collectively began to itch at their skin. Altair grimaced next to me as he itched his arms, and Circe made a face as she itched her neck.

The Machina seemed unbothered outside of the concerned looks on their faces. It was a little uncanny, but I chocked it up to being them reacting to ether differently than us Bionites.

“What the heck was that?” I heard Haru gasp.

The look on Papa’s face was hard as stone as he shouted to the guards nearby.

“To me!” His powerful voice carried over the sounds of concerned back-and-forth between the party attendees. The guards scrambled to his side without hesitation as I found myself stepping away in fear.

There were too many possibilities in my head to keep from feeling at least nervous.

My hand instinctively pressed against the gem embedded in my chest. It still pulsed faintly, like it was listening to something far away.

As Papa and the guards led the charge toward the source of that lightning strike, I felt my brother grab my arm.

“Sisi, let’s go, now.” He whispered, jerking my arm.

I could only nod my head once as my handmaidens looked to me.

“Sorry, ladies. My brother needs me for just a few!” I felt like I said that far too quickly. Buibibi, who had been just standing around until now, waved his wings.

“Friends, Feline people are ready,” The Heropon went around, corralling my entourage. I saw him waddling next to Altair and Circe, while Lina and Angie had gone to get Egil and Vanea.

I knew what Tommy meant.

We were to slip into the archive in the midst of the confusion.

Tommy didn’t wait for a response. He tugged me into motion, and the others followed without question. Circe fell into step beside me, her scruffy silver hair bouncing with urgency as her eyes scanned the dispersing crowd. Egil took the rear, walking just slow enough to make sure no one was watching.

We moved like shadows between the cracks of chaos.

I knew where Tommy would take us in at.

The Nekomatan palace was a huge building. As we walked, Egil kept watch of the rear. No one followed – they were far more interested in what just happened somewhere outside of the coronation party.

It seemed that Vanea’s diversion would not be needed, thankfully.

Tommy carefully peeled back a thick layer of lichen that hung from the cliffside, revealing a cavern. He would be taking us to the castle library through the servants’ passageway.

We slipped inside one by one, ducking beneath the curtain of lichen as the scent of moss and old stone filled my nose. The cavern’s interior was cool and damp, lit only by the faint glow of Nekomatan Ether gems. I could hear the soft trickle of water somewhere deeper in, echoing off the walls like whispers.

Tommy didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Us Nekomatan children all knew the routes through the castle – just in case of emergency.

Tommy’s Ether crystal gleamed as he touched the stone before us, exerting just enough power to force the secret door open. Another failsafe should someone have found this place.

The stone door gave a low groan as it slid inward, the ancient mechanism responding to Tommy’s Ether signature with a reluctant grind of gears. Dust drifted down in the glow of our gems, stirred for the first time in who knows how long.

Beyond it was the servants’ corridor - tight, steep, and uneven. The old stairwell wound upward at an angle, carved long ago to let the kitchen staff and delivery hands avoid crossing into noble halls.

We pressed forward in silence for a few moments.

“… hey, Tommy?” I called up. “Did you do that? The lightning… thing, distraction.”

“No.” Came Tommy’s response.

No? Then what was that?

At the top, another door—this one smaller and less ornate, half hidden behind a stack of untouched wine barrels and broken crates. I had to crouch to fit through it, my ears brushing the frame.

This suddenly made me think of my Machina friends, whose larger headpieces may make this a chore. I peeked behind myself, searching for them. I could see them bringing up the rear, behing Buibibi, who had remained quiet.

“Egil? Vanea? You two okay back there?” I called quietly.

“… yes,” Came Egil’s voice. “It’s a tight fit. But we’re fine.”

“Good,” I responded softly before facing forward again.

Then, just like that, we were inside the palace. Not the grand halls that guests saw, but the narrow maintenance halls - still lit with old flickering etherlamps, still bearing the quiet hum of the unseen tech that had allowed the palace to withstand the test of time.

I could hear Angela sneeze behind me. She didn’t complain – it was a rarity - but I caught the soft exhale that hinted at mild annoyance.

“Remind me,” she muttered, “to help widen this tunnel when all this is over.”

“If we survive what we’re about to read, I’ll bring the pickaxe myself,” Lina whispered back, just loud enough for me to hear. I smirked and shook my head.

We moved as one through the ancient corridor, our footsteps muffled by the worn runner that had once cushioned servant feet. The air grew heavier the closer we got to the library. Not dusty - clean, strangely - but dense,

Tommy paused at a junction, peeking around the corner before giving the all-clear. From here, we could hear faint echoes from the distant halls above - raised voices, hurried footsteps. Whatever had happened during the party just a few minutes ago was still causing ripples.

“… welcome, to the Royal Library.” Tommy’s voice quietly announced, drawing my attention.

The final passage opened into the back wall of the royal library. Once everyone had exited the servant passage, the door slid shut with a quiet, yet heavy rumble.

“… wow,” I heard Vanea breathe softly.

The library was certainly no slouch. Golden etherlamps cast a soft, warm glow across polished floors and endless rows of bookshelves that spanned several stories. The architecture was unmistakably Nekomatan - ornate but not ostentatious. Curved motifs lined the arches above, carved in delicate strokes that shimmered faintly with residual Ether.

This place wasn’t just a library. It was a vault of memory, a monument to thought.

“It’s beautiful,” Egil said, stepping forward reverently. “And huge.”

“It’s bigger than the High Entian Ministry’s,” Circe murmured, looking up. “I didn’t know you had a place like this.”

I smiled.

“Really?” I asked. “The library’s open to the public.”

She shook her head.

“Stinky Valentia didn’t really let me go places because she thought I was an embarrassment,” She admitted casually. “So this is my first time here.”

She then clapped her hands together, as if she hadn’t revealed something honestly rather depressing, rubbing them together.

“So! Where’s that juicy diary?” She whispered to me.

My lips turned up again.

“This way,” I breathed to her, ushering for my friends to follow.

They followed me without hesitation, various shoes and metal feet clicking softly against polished stone. I led them around the outer ring of the grand library, past ancient volumes written in script no one had used in centuries, past etched murals depicting the lineage of Nekomatan rulers, past busts of Emperors and Empresses long since returned to dust.

We stopped before what looked like an empty wall beneath a low arch, ivy creeping through the stone above from the level of my mother’s garden. To the untrained eye, it was an empty section of stone paneling. But those of us born into House von Nekomata knew otherwise.

I stepped forward and placed my palm against the etched sigil, the carved lines faint after generations of weathering. My gem flared softly, and the wall responded with a quiet click.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the restricted section,” I revealed as the wall began to split down the middle.

A hush fell over the group as the wall split apart, the stone sliding with a soft hiss into hidden grooves. A thin veil of cold air rushed out to greet us, carrying with it the faint scent of dust, old parchment, and something older - ether residue clinging to memory.

Altair let out a low whistle. “Okay, now this feels illegal.”

Circe elbowed him lightly. “It is illegal.”

“Its not, because you’re being escorted by the Royal Family,” Tommy countered, ushering everyone into the corridor.

The passage beyond was narrower, darker. The decorative opulence of the library gave way to sheer function - smooth black stone walls, ether runes inlaid at intervals to provide faint illumination. The glow here was colder than above. Less welcoming. Like the air itself knew it was guarding something dangerous.

Because it was. It guarded secrets and truths that were dangerous to the public.

The Nekomatans prided themselves in being an open civilization. There were little secrets between the ruling houses and the working class. The restricted section, for the most part, protected the original editions of important texts.

But my family did not remind the people if they began to forget some ugly truths about the past.

That gave me pause. Did… did that make us any better than the Covenant?

… surely. At least we did not actively sweep it under the rug,

We just… stopped reminding people where to look.

I clenched my jaw as I stepped further into the chamber, my fingertips brushing the black stone walls. They felt colder than they should’ve. Not dead, just sleeping. Like the room itself remembered more than any of us ever could.

Behind me, I heard the quiet shift of my friends falling into formation - Circe walking at my side, Altair slightly ahead, Tommy watching the rear with practiced caution. Egil and Vanea followed with the silent grace only the Machina could pull, built as they were.

The inside was just as graceful as the library outside. Maybe even more so, thanks to its mystique.

The chamber was circular, with a domed ceiling that arched overhead like the inside of a watchful eye. The ether runes here weren’t just functional, they were artistic.

The runes were written in the primitive version of Nekomatan that Many-Greats Grandpapa Sujin wrote his notes in. They shimmered in shifting patterns across the stone like constellations slowly turning. Quietly alive. They cast the room in a cool, blue glow.

“… oh. My. Bionis,” Circe’s hands clapped together, her fingers intwining as she kicked up a leg backward in excitement. It was a gesture that made me laugh.

Her excitement was infectious. Even Egil’s brow twitched in what might have been amusement. Vanea gave a small chuckle, but she quickly schooled her face into something more composed as she glanced around the chamber.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice quiet in a way that sounded almost reverent. “I’ve never seen runes move like that. Not even in Agniritha’s databanks.”

“They’re old,” I said, stepping toward the center. “And they’re keyed to us. Blood, memory… intent. This whole chamber is an echo of Sujin’s Ether. He built this place to preserve ”

Lina paced in a slow circle around the edge, where a large, towering bookcase gathered dust, her eyes wide and curious. “Feels like the walls are listening.”

“They probably are,” Tommy said flatly, though not unkindly.

I could feel the journal before I even saw it.

Its presence tugged at me - like it recognized me. Like it had been waiting.

I stepped onto the center platform where a smooth, black pedestal rose from the floor. Hovering just above it, suspended in a cradle of softly spinning Ether, was the journal itself.

Sujin von Nekomata’s original chronicle.

The one he wrote, when he still believed someone would listen.

My eyes scanned the protective barrier around the archive. The Ether flared gently as I approached, the runes in the ceiling shifting ever so slightly, casting new constellations overhead. They weren’t random. They moved in rhythm with the pulse of the Ether crystal in my chest.

It recognized me. It recognized my brother. It recognized my sisters.

It was almost as if the remnants of Sujin von Nekomata lingered here, and he was happy to see us.

I reached out, and the field didn’t resist me.

It folded away like mist in the morning sun - no sound, no force. Just acceptance.

The journal lowered gently into my waiting hands, as if Sujin himself had passed it to me.

Its surface was smooth and worn, the leather softened by age. Not just old Nekomatan - his Nekomatan. The raw, primal version.

Before the scholars polished it. Before the nobles made it beautiful.

This wasn’t meant to impress.

It was meant to endure.

I held it close to my chest for a moment, just breathing.

The others said nothing.

I opened the cover.

Scrawled on the pages were the characters that made up the Nekomatan language. Circe made a face.

“You can read that?” She asked, indignantly.

I laughed.

“I sure can,” I confirmed. I sucked in a breath of air, and began to read.

“Day One, Imperial Year One. The land stirs with Ether, the skies part with blessing, and the voice of the Bionis sings through all who will listen. It is divine. I believe this.” I turned the page, “I have seen the miracles. Crops made to grow in ash-choked fields. Wounded bretheren rising from what should have been their deathbeds. Weather stilled by prayer. I have knelt before its sacred pulse and felt my soul lifted. In its presence, there is no fear. Only purpose.”

My eyes scanned the page.

“The High Entians are right to praise Him. The Monado, its sacred blade, is the proof of its will - a blade that chooses not the strongest, but the worthy.”

I saw Egil blink rapidly.

“The Monado?” He asked, stopping my read. “That’s the name of Lady Meyneth’s sword.”

I tilted my head at him.

“Really?” I turned my head to look at the pages again, reading over them once more. “That’s a heck of a coincidence. Maybe they decided to name their swords in conjunction to one another before they split off to make their own civilizations?”

“I suppose that would make sense,” Egil would respond before I went back to reading.

“It speaks, in ways no voice should. Not in words, but through Ether. Through instinct. Through dreams. And what it offers… is clarity.” I turned the page once more. “No ruler, no priest, no scholar alive has known peace like what I felt beneath the Bionis’s gaze. I was nothing. And in that nothingness, I understood what it meant to belong to something greater.”

I paused, the weight of his faith echoing off the chamber walls. For a moment, I could feel it too - the certainty, the peace.

“Tommy, these don’t read like someone who fears the Bionis,” I pointed out.

Tommy nodded his head only once.

“Keep reading, Sisi.” His voice was a quiet command.

I looked back down at the page, the journal steady in my hands despite the slight tremble in my fingers.

“Day Six, Imperial Year One. A dream last night,” I read aloud. “The Bionis stood before me - not in flesh, but in silhouette. I could not see his face, but I knew it watched me. An unmistakable pair of blue eyes peered at me. I awoke weeping, though I could not say why. I could not forget His gaze all through the day.”

That gave me pause once more.

Blue eyes that followed Sujin.

“It was not a sad dream. But it was not joyous either. It simply… was. As if something ancient pressed its thoughts into mine like a seal onto wax. Why did Lord Zanza choose to visit me last night, I wonder.”

I paused again.

“”Zanza”?” I repeated. “Is… is that the name of the Bionis?”

Altair crossed his arms.

“It’s gotta be,” He agreed. “Doesn’t make sense for it to be anything else. That’s interesting to know – The High Entian texts just call him the Bionis. Zanza…”

He repeated the name, as if testing it. I nodded, flipping to the next entry.

“Day Two-Hundred, Imperial Year One. I stood atop the cliffside temple in the southern hills. Offered the first harvest to Him. The Ether in the air surged, thick and heavy. The priests said it was a blessing. I agreed. Until the animals in the field began to cry out… all at once.”

Buibibi’s wings curved to be placed on his hips.

“They scattered, panicked, despite the stillness of the wind. One of them, a Nopon, looked straight at me and did not run. It just stared. Unmoving. Until its body collapsed, as if its soul had simply left.”

“That's…” Circe trailed off, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Weird,” Lina finished the thought for her.

I hummed my agreement.

“Day Two-Hundred and Five, Imperial Year One,” I continued. “I asked again why the Bionis does not speak plainly. Why it must whisper, through Ether and dreams. I received no answer.”

“Day Two-Hundred and Forty-Four. Imperial Year One. The priests call me restless. They say my questions are a test of faith. I am inclined to believe them. For what am I, if not mortal and curious? I dreamed again; blue eyes. Watching.”

I turned the page again.
“Day Thirty-One. Imperial Year Two. I summoned the High Entian scholars. Asked them to calculate the Ether fluctuations around the sacred sites. They grew defensive. Told me the readings were unnecessary. Told me the Bionis’s will is not a subject for instruments.”

“But numbers do not lie.”

“There are spikes. Always after offerings. Always centered around places of worship. And always followed by a silence in the Ether. As though something is… full.”

I looked at my friends again.

No one said anything this time.

Just silence.

I stared at the worn book in my hands as my friends read over my shoulders. One particular paragraph stood out to me as I did my best to translate the symbols of Nekomata to the common tongue.

“Day Thirty-Nine, Imperial Year Two. I withheld the harvest today. No ceremony. No offering. I wished to see what would happen. The wind died. The clouds parted, but there was no sun. Only Ether, sharp and thin like broken glass, tearing through the fields. My daughter collapsed before noon. She had nearly died.”

I frowned, peering at the ripped remains of removed pages before moving on.

“Day Two, Imperial Year Three. The High Entian priest returned today. Not one of the ones I summoned. This one came uninvited. He brought with him a new decree, supposedly received through a dreamstate—one I was not permitted to witness. The message was simple: Increase offerings. Double the Ether drawn from the mines. No more questioning. I asked him, “Whose dream was it?” He did not answer.”

I continued.

“Day Eleven. Imperial Year Three. The Telethia have descended upon a village of my people. The priests say this is proof of moral decay, that the Bionis is purging the unworthy. A warning against my choices of testing His kindness.”

I paused. What’s a “telethia?”

“Day One-Hundred and Thirteen, Imperial Year Five?” I raised an eyebrow at the jump in days. There was a good chunk of what used to be pages, ripped from the binding. Yikes.

I put aside my confusion and kept going.

“We called Him divine. I called Him divine. We mistook stillness for peace. Obedience for grace. But what shepherd demands silence? What god feeds on veneration like it is blood? The Bionis does not guide us. It cages us.”

“Huh?” I found myself saying aloud. “What happened?”

“And I, fool that I was, helped build the bars. We raised temples to Him. We taught our children that sacrifice was sacred. I can no longer bear their eyes. The ones who trusted me. I would beg forgiveness if I believed anyone but Him was left to hear it.”

“Zanza watches us not like a shepherd, but like a lion waits in tall grass. If He loves us, it is the kind of love that demands sacrifice before affection. I have bowed low, and still I am not certain I have survived His gaze.”

“I dream no longer, but I remember too much. His silence is not absence; it is pressure. Like a great weight above the world, waiting to fall. Waiting for us to kneel again. And still, they sing His name.”

My hands gripped the journal harder. My eyes scanned the remnants of ripped pages as I continued to read.

“Day One-Hundred and Fifty, Imperial Year Five. The High Entians chant hymns of unity and glory. The Giants call Him the spine of the world. The Homs call His hunger a holy thing. They do not see the cage as the Nekomata have. Not yet. But they will. One day, they will kneel and find no peace. Only stillness. Only silence. Only eyes watching from the dark. And on that day, I fear they will understand me too late.”

I continued to read, everyone but Tommy hanging on my every translation.

“I have tried to speak. I have tried to warn. They call me tired. Troubled. Overburdened with power and age. They do not see the marks He has left - not on my skin, but in my soul. I have written more than I should. And yet, not enough. Every word I write feels stolen. Every thought, trespass. He is inside the Ether now, woven through it. Watching. Listening. Maybe He always was.”

I faltered, swallowing hard. My own Ether gem pulsed faintly beneath my clothes—as if the words alone had stirred something ancient in the room.

“They call Him creator. Patron. Divine architect of life itself. But He is not a savior. He does not build; He resets. He does not preserve; He consumes. Every age He has touched has ended in silence. Every being who has bowed to Him have, in time, vanished. Not forgotten. Erased. That is His love. To break you before you can break away.”

Vanea was quiet, her arms wrapped around Egil’s bicep. Egil’s hands had clenched into fists.

Altair looked pale, his gaze locked on the glowing runes above.

Circe, for once, had nothing to say.

“There is no uprising to plan. No war to fight. He is not a tyrant to be overthrown. He is the world. I cannot kill the air. I cannot flee the sky. The fact the Nekomata managed to survive before Zanza returned to sleep is a miracle, even with all of the sacrifices we had to make to appease him, but I will take the small victories. There is only one thing I can leave. Truth. We are not the first. And we will not be the last. He will awaken again, but he will not bring the gilded promises he spoke of in the beginning. He will bring the end. This, I am certain of.”

“You are not chosen. You are counted. A number. A thread in a tapestry He can unravel at will. But if you remember, truly remember, you can become more than that. You can become free.”

“The descendants of the children of my Empire will never know the feet of Zanza, the lies of his envoys. I will not allow it. And that, I believe, is the only thing He cannot stand.”

I turned the page, only to find the back of the journal. I frowned before closing it.

“That’s all there is.” I opened the book to the last pages. “So much has been torn out of that journal… we’re missing so much. What happened? He went from telling good tales of this “Zanza” to warning against him. And…”

My manicured brows pinches.

“Sacrifices to appease the Bionis?” I was puzzled. “Why did Grandpapa Sujin begin to withhold the tributes? What happened? What did we do?”

No one spoke.

I carefully put the journal back beneath the runes that would take it back. Even the runes above us had dimmed slightly, as if mourning the man who had poured his soul into those pages - pages written not for glory or power, but for us.

“I’m willing to bet that those torn pages were stolen.” Circe sneered in disdain. “Someone didn’t want the rest to be read.”

Buibibi began to pace. “It almost looks as if Feline peoples’ king just… tested Bionis and found out. Suddenly turned Feline King’s thoughts against him...”

“But… that can’t be right,” I said again, quieter this time. “He was scared. Angry, yes… but deliberate. Every word in that journal had purpose. Until it didn’t.”

Circe’s brows drew together. “If someone stole those pages… maybe they only left what they couldn’t erase.”

“Or maybe,” Vanea said softly, “He was stopped.”

I looked back at the pedestal. The light from the runes flickered now, slow and faint.

“Sujin couldn’t have been the only one who saw the ugly side of the Bionis,” I pointed out, “Almost the entirety of Nekomata don’t worship the Bionis as the others do.”

Angie nodded slowly. “We’ve always kept our distance. Called it respect… but maybe it was something older than that.”

“A memory,” Lina murmured. “A warning passed down without words.”

“Generational trauma,” Circe said, rubbing her arm. “Only instead of a war or a famine, it was a god.

Vanea’s grip on Egil’s arm tightened.

“We’re missing so much,” Tommy finally spoke up after remaining silent the whole time. “All we have are the records of Sujin believing, then the warnings of reckoning. And that it was a miracle our kind managed to survive until the titan fell asleep. Something happened. And it’s been erased.”

“We don’t erase things like that,” I said. “Not us. Not the Nekomata.”

“But someone did,” Altair said flatly.

Circe crossed her arms, her tail flicking once behind her. “If Sujin’s writings were tampered with, then the truth wasn’t just dangerous. It was threatening.”

“Threatening to who?” Lina asked. “Zanza? His followers? Or just… people who needed to believe?”

Tommy shook his head. “Does it matter? The outcome’s the same.”

My brows furrowed. My head tilted up as a thought hit me, making me look to Egil and Vanea.

“Could the two of you do a favor for me?”

Vanea tilted her head, leaning in.

“If it is within our power. What can we do for you?” She asked.

I blinked slowly.

“Please, I ask when you return to Agniritha, the next time your Lady Meyneth awakens… Could you ask her about the being that sleeps in the Bionis… Zanza? Do you think she’d know?”

Vanea looked at Egil. He gave a single nod.

“I’m not certain, but we will ask,” she promised. “If anyone knows what Zanza truly is… it would be Lady Meyneth.”

“Thank you,” I said, the words catching slightly in my throat. “I need to know if she sees what Sujin saw.”

Vanea stepped forward and gently placed her hand on my shoulder.

“She will answer, if she can,” she said.

Her voice was soft, but there was strength behind it - the kind born not from certainty, but from shared purpose.

I nodded, feeling the warmth of her touch through the shawl on my shoulders.

“Good… I hope she can help clear this up-“

“Shh, shh. You hear that?” Egil stopped me from speaking further. Every one of us froze up, listening.

Sure enough, I could hear footsteps.

Someone had discovered the opening to the restricted section that we had failed to seal up behind us.

We all tensed up as the steps got closer.

I did not expect the purple skinned, white haired Giant to come lumbering out of the shadows.

My mood instantly lifted.

“Arglas! Thank the Bionis!” I dashed forward without thinking. “Are you okay? You just kind of left, and –“

I put a spring into my step and jumped to wrap my arms around my friend.

He did not reciprocate, and I felt it.

My eyes shot open.

His Ether. There was something not right with his Ether.

My arms fell away from Arglas, allowing me to drop to my feet on the ground with a soft sound from my slippers. It…

It hardly felt like Arglas at all. His Ether was… bigger. More powerful. It was him, sure… but if you peeled back many layers of power.

I couldn’t help myself but step away.

He tilted his head at me—just slightly—but it was wrong. Too slow. Too deliberate.

“Apologies,” he said at last, his voice low and even. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I simply had come to find you.”

Something in my stomach twisted.

What? How did he know where we were?

Circe’s voice sounded behind me. “You good, big guy?”

It was also then, that I noticed the rather large, red sword strapped to Arglas.

“Oh… err, what’s that?” I leaned in forward as Egil came to my side. “What did you find?”

Arglas didn’t answer right away.

He simply reached up, almost lazily, and rested a hand on the hilt of the sword. I could see the hilt gleaming softly with a lovely blue Ether.

Something behind him, surely the sword, pulsed - once. A slow, deliberate throb, like a heartbeat. I felt Egil’s Ether surge just slightly, a ripple of defensive instinct.

“I found it near the outer ring,” Arglas said finally, eyes still locked on me. “The ground was scorched.”

Egil tried to get a better look, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“What is it?” He inquired.

“It’s a sword,” Arglas would respond, but there was something too casual in his voice. Too smooth.

My gaze flicked to the blade again. I could hardly see it behind the Giant, but I could tell that wasn’t a normal weapon. It radiated like the very walls of this chamber, like it had its own life. And it saw us now.

He turned slightly so the red blade peeked out over his shoulder, catching the dim blue glow of the chamber’s runes. The Ether shimmer that clung to it no longer looked benign. It was watching.

“Must be a relic,” Lina murmured. “That’s not standard-issue anything. Why in the world was a sword like that just… laying around outside?”

Arglas offered a small shrug, as if Lina had asked about the weather.

“I imagine it was buried… until recently,” he said. “Something drew it up from the old strata.”

He said it lightly. Almost academically. But his gaze lingered a fraction too long on the glowing runes above.

Circe leaned closer to Egil, whispering under her breath, “That’s the kind of sword that comes with a body count.”

I said nothing.

Egil cleared his throat gently. “Did you just… pick it up?”

He smiled at that, faintly. “Not quite. It touched me.”

“Touched you?” Egil repeated carefully.

“Not literally.” Arglas waved a hand. “More like… a feeling. Recognition. As if it had been waiting for someone.”

He let those words hang for a moment before softening his tone again.

“That’s a little creepy,” Circe jutted a hip, crossing her arms. “Is it a magic sword?”

Arglas chuckled softly.

“If it is, it hasn’t cast any spells on me yet,” he said, with a disarming tilt of the head.

His tone was light, but his words were careful, each one chosen with the ease of someone who wanted to sound harmless. I was well versed in the tactics of politicians in the roundtable sessions, and my usually relaxed, philosophy-loving Giant friend was setting off the alarms.

The alarms of a snake.

Circe raised an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what someone with a cursed sword would say.”

“Wouldn’t I be more dramatic if it were cursed?” he replied, gesturing lazily. “Writhing on the floor? Eyes glowing? Whispering in tongues?”

Arglas just chuckled. I could tell Egil was on the same page as I. We knew Arglas better than anyone else in this room.

Something wasn’t quite right.

Arglas’s eyes fell from me to Egil.

I could’ve sworn I saw a spark of scorn in their depths. But just as it appeared, it was gone.

“I’ve brought it back to show to the archivists. Or perhaps one of the old weapon masters. I figured someone down here might recognize the craftsmanship.”

He looked around—at us, at the runes, at the still-air of the sealed vault.

“I don’t mean to alarm anyone. I feel fine. Better than fine, really.” He looked at me. “I only came to find you. When I didn’t see you at the ceremony when I came back, I grew concerned.”

I forced a smile. “That’s sweet of you.”

That still didn’t reveal how he knew we were in the library.

My mouth said the words.

But my Ether screamed.

The way he looked at us - not with worry, not with affection.

Instead, they shared the intensity of a look I couldn’t forget.

“And now that I’ve found you all,” he said with a smile, “perhaps I should ask: what did you find? I can’t imagine you would unveil the secret archive of the Nekomata ruling family just to browse.”

I swallowed.

That question didn’t feel casual.

He’d led with warmth. With friendship. But now, with that simple line, he was prodding.

Circe shifted next to me.

“Just old records,” I said carefully, which was true. “This section holds the first editions of Nekomatan records. I had just brought our other friends to view the highlights. Nothing too interesting… I would’ve invited you, but… we couldn’t find you.”

The room was deathly quiet.

Then Arglas gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good,” he said. “For a moment, I feared I had missed something important.”

I let myself exhale, slow and silent through my nose.

“Still,” he added, “you all look like you've seen a ghost.”

Buibibi turned to look at the journal. “Ancient vaults do that.” His wings placed on his hips.

“Mm.” Arglas stepped forward, just once, just enough to make my heart lurch.

He turned his head toward the runes above the dais, hands still relaxed at his sides.

“Tell me, Anthise,” he said. “Do you believe everything your ancestors wrote?”

The question landed like a stone in the pit of my stomach.

He wasn’t asking about the archives.

I met his gaze.

“I believe people write what they’re afraid to say aloud,” I said evenly.

“Wise,” he murmured.

And then he smiled again - too bright, too calm.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands once, the sound sharp in the stillness. “No sense lurking in dusty catacombs forever. Shall we return to the surface? Valerian is looking for you, Anthise… and he seems frayed.”

He chuckled at my father’s expense, which made me frown.

“I imagine he’ll be relieved to know you’re safe. You’ve always been… important to him,” Arglas said, tone light.

I nodded quietly.

“… yes,” I agreed. “I guess we didn’t tell him we were going anywhere. Let’s get back.”

I backed up a step before I realized I had moved.

“Of course,” Arglas said with a warm nod, as if nothing had happened at all.

He turned, gesturing toward the tunnel. “After you.”

Of course.

The walk back was far too quiet.

I led, because someone had to. Arglas followed behind us now - light on his feet, humming a soft tune.

It sounded familiar. But where had I heard it before?

Each step was a choice not to run.

When we emerged once more into the upper library, bathed again in soft golden glow, it almost felt like the world had exhaled.

Almost.

I turned to seal back up the restricted archive, and as the door slid back shut, it hit me.

That tune that Arglas had been humming reminded me of that song in my dream so long ago, now. The one that invisible choir had been eerily singing as I was adrift in the night sky.

This is freaky. I hate it.

What happened to Arglas? If this is a prank, it’s not funny.

Arglas stepped past me, brushing nonexistent dust off his shoulder. “Lovely place, really. I should come down more often.”

I didn’t answer him right away.

My heart was still catching up with my thoughts. The door to the archive clicked shut behind me; quiet, final.

I stared at Arglas, searching his face for… something. He looked normal. Calm. A little too calm. That lazy smile. The way his posture was relaxed, like he hadn’t just walked through one of the most sacred and terrifying places in our history.

And that hum. Still low. Still under his breath.

“Where’d you hear that song?” I asked carefully.

Arglas looked to me.

“Song? Oh. It’s a choir chant.” He said dismissively before walking away, toward the large double doors to the library.

Choir chant? Certainly. I believed that.

I guess my lack of going to masses was showing. But that hardly matters to me, now.

Now, the same tune had followed me up from the place where Sujin’s words still echoed like thunder in my veins. And that Arglas had just shown up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

Altair stepped in close beside me, voice low. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.