And now it was on.
We stood at the gates of the kingdom, walking in through the wretched stench that clung to the air like rot. The closer we got, the more I could see it—the look in everyone's eyes as we passed. I heard the whispers ripple through the crowd: "The Conqueror is back."
And I hated it.
Or… did I secretly love it?
The humanity I'd tried so hard to preserve over the years felt like it was slipping—washed away by the fear and adoration in their eyes. I felt it before I noticed it: the beginnings of a smile creeping onto my face.
I turned to look at my daughter.
She was mesmerized by everything. Eyes wide, soaking it all in like it was her birthright.
She really was a glowing reflection of me.
And just like that, we were standing at the foot of the palace once more.
The memories hit me like a storm—my childhood under my mother's cold shadow, the day I left with Lunafreya in search of something better, something peaceful. It was overwhelming. I had to close my eyes for a moment, just to breathe, to stop the flood.
Then I pushed the doors open.
And like clockwork—like she had planned it—she was there.
Sitting on her throne, Quintessa resting across her lap, that sadistic smile carved into her face. Her council stood behind her like statues, loyal and lifeless. Her first words to the son who had abandoned her years ago:
"Child... back so soon?"
No, she hadn't changed. She was still the queen—and everyone else, pawns in her never-ending game.
But her eyes… they no longer lingered on me.
They shifted—to Aurora.
And then she asked, cool and curious, "And who is this?"
Before I could open my mouth to speak, Aurora stepped forward. Her voice was sharp, regal, and cold.
"I am Aurora the Nefarious-born. The heir to the throne you sit on."
I froze.
What happened to the child Lunafreya and I raised? The one who laughed and cried and gave us all the joy in the world? Now all I saw was someone carved of steel and fire—devoid of love, glowing with power. That sadistic smile… even the way she moved… it was like her humanity had been sold for strength.
And I had forged that deal with her.
So who was I to judge?
For a moment, even Persephone looked stunned. That smirk flickered into something rare—genuine surprise. She had never met anyone who dared speak to her like that.
Or anyone exactly like her.
But the shock melted back into amusement as realization settled in.
"So… you're my granddaughter," she said slowly, eyes lighting up.
"The child-destroyer. The next me."
And Persephone stared a hole through Aurora, her gaze piercing. She spoke with her usual chilling authority: "Prove you are the next me—or, as you say, greater than me." It felt like they were playing their own game, and I was just a pawn, pushed aside.
As I opened my mouth to speak, to dispute this, Aurora cut me off, her voice clear and unwavering: "What challenge do you have for me?"
They were one in the same. And Persephone, always quick to shut me down, turned to me with that familiar air of superiority, telling me to stay silent while the important people spoke. She had always seen herself as a god, above all others around her. But now, I could see something shift. She had finally accepted someone as her equal, and it was someone as sadistic as her.
With a flick of her hand, she pointed to one of her council members and announced the challenge: Aurora must fight him to the death. The council member was a man named Iro, infamous in his own right. I hadn't seen him in years, nor did I know what he had been up to, but still, I wasn't worried. No one in the Nefarious empire could even come close to my daughter.
But still, before the fight began, I wanted to have a word with her. As I watched her gear up, I approached her, my heart heavy.
"Why do this?" I asked, my voice thick with pain. "Killing him proves nothing."
She didn't even look at me as she spoke, her voice cold and unwavering. "Kalon," she said, "I remember why I'm here. I'm here because we need an empire to destroy the filthy rats who took my mother. The mother I had to watch die because you were weak and helpless. Now, I will do everything I need to do myself. You are more or less my guide, nothing more. Don't mistake your place in my life."
She walked past me, and I stood there, frozen. Her words cut deeper than I could have imagined. I fell to the floor, clutching my chest. My daughter had completely turned away from me. I was nothing to her anymore.
I had always known our relationship was strained, but hearing those words, spoken so coldly, was like they were etched in stone.
Every time something like this happened, I swore I could see her—Lunafreya—standing there in the shadows. Just staring at me. Hopelessly. Like she was silently asking, Why didn't you stop this? Why didn't you stop her?
But it was too late now.
My daughter was no longer mine.
There were so many points where turning back would've been easier. But we didn't. And now… whatever happened from here wasn't in my hands anymore. But it was still my fault.
And so, the time for the fight came—and as always, the Nefarious Empire turned violence into spectacle.
It was beautiful in its own haunting way.
The arena overflowed with eager spectators. Crimson banners waved in the air, drums pounded like war cries, and the scent of fire and blood lingered like perfume. This was celebration. This was theatre. This was the Empire.
The Queen—Persephone—was introduced to thunderous applause as she took her seat atop the throne. Then came the challengers.
Councilman Iro entered first, greeted by wild cheers and chants. He was a beast of a man, respected and feared in equal measure. The crowd loved him. He was theirs.
And then… Aurora stepped out.
The cheers died. Silence took hold.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't even awe. It was the kind of quiet that came with uncertainty. The match wasn't just a test of strength—it was a question. Was she really what they claimed she was?
The fight began.
Aurora wasted no time. A blazing storm erupted from her fingertips—waves of raw, scorching firepower crashing into the air. She moved with fury, energy exploding in every direction, until the entire arena was swallowed in flame and smoke.
No one could see anything.
But Iro wasn't a councilman for nothing.
With a single gesture, he summoned a howling gust of wind that tore through the smoke, clearing the battlefield in seconds.
And then they stood face to face.
The real fight had only just begun.
The silence hung in the air like a held breath.
Then—movement.
Iro lunged first, his massive frame deceptive in speed. His blade sang as it carved through the wind, aimed straight for Aurora's throat.
She didn't move.
Not until the very last second.
A flicker of motion—her body twisting just enough—and the blade sliced nothing but air.
Then she struck.
A quick step forward, palm outstretched, fire surged from her hand in a narrow, controlled burst. It didn't aim to kill. Not yet. It seared across Iro's side, forcing him back with a snarl of pain. He regained balance fast, eyes narrowing, adjusting.
She was testing him.
And she liked what she saw.
And then, with that sadistic smile curling on her lips, Aurora ignited her signature blue flame—the kind only she could wield. She used it to rocket herself forward, straight at Iro, and the clash shifted into brutal hand-to-hand combat.
It was savage.
Each punch she threw carried a gust of wind sharp enough to slice diamond, and flames so blisteringly hot, even the crowd in the stands flinched from the heat. Blow for blow, they exchanged strikes—dodging, blocking, parrying. It was no longer just a match; it was a war dance, every move deliberate, every impact thunderous.
They broke apart, both catching their breath. The crowd held theirs.
What was supposed to be a one-sided slaughter—Councilman Iro, the seasoned warrior, against the unknown child—had become a brawl between equals. No matter who fell, respect had already been carved into the bloodstained arena.
And then… in that brief pause, Aurora tilted her head. She had an idea.
Without warning, she turned her attention—not to Iro, but to the crowd.
She let loose a wave of flames, hurling it into the stands without hesitation, innocent lives be damned. Screams erupted, people scrambled as the fire tore through the rows like a hungry beast.
Iro, ever the loyal councilman, reacted on instinct. A powerful gust of wind surged from his palms, throwing the flames off course, shielding the people.
And that was the moment Aurora had been waiting for.
She spun mid-air, fingertips crackling with electricity. A bolt of lightning split the sky, lancing through her body and out through her arm. The whole arena felt it—the static, the charge, the fury.
The lightning struck Iro dead center.
He hit the ground hard.
The match was over.
The stands were still burning. People ran in every direction, panic setting in. And Iro… he was alive, barely. Smoke rising from his body. His breathing shallow. The crowd looked on, stunned, unsure whether to cheer or scream.
Aurora had won.
But it wasn't enough.
Slowly, methodically, she walked toward Iro's broken body. Her eyes didn't flicker, didn't waver. As she passed the flickering flames, she looked up—not at the crowd, not at the sky—but straight at Persephone.
And then she raised her hand one last time.
With no hesitation, she set Iro ablaze.
He screamed for only a moment. Then he was ash.
Silence fell over the arena. Not a single voice dared rise.
Aurora turned, cold and emotionless.
There was no question now—she was her grandmother's daughter.