Lysandra sat by the window, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her wineglass. Her engagement to Caveen had ignited something within her—a quiet hope. Yet, a heavy stillness settled over her as she gazed outside, lost in thought.
The sudden knock on the door cut through the air.
"Enter."
The butler stepped in, holding a sealed parchment—its crimson wax bearing the unmistakable emblem of the Council. He approached Lysandra, offering the letter with a low bow.
"A letter from the Council, Lady Lysandra," he said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation.
Lysandra's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected this, not so soon. She took the letter, breaking the seal with practiced fingers, unfurling the parchment. The weight of the words settled heavily on her chest as she read aloud, her voice faltering as she reached the end:
---
To: Lady Lysandra Moonwell,
The Council has reviewed the recent union proposal between you and Prince Caveen Landon. After careful deliberation, we regret to inform you that the union is disapproved.
Reason:
You, Lysandra Moonwell, are the rightful heir to the Moonwell Clan, a position of great power and responsibility. As such, it is in the best interests of both your clan and the realms that you remain unmarried or marry a lower nobleman. Your marriage to a hybrid prince such as Caveen would weaken your claim to the Moonwell throne, hindering your ability to rule with clarity and strength. The demands of being a wife to such a figure would distract you from your duties as leader.
The Council has decided that Celestine Delacroix should be chosen as your replacement as the bride of Prince Caveen. Her union with him will ensure the stability of both the Landon and Delacroix bloodlines, as well as the continued influence of the noble families.
You are hereby advised to reconsider your position and prepare to yield your place to Celestine for the greater good of the realms.
May wisdom guide your choices,
The Council of Elders.
---
Lysandra's hand trembled, the letter crinkling slightly under her grip. The room, once filled with light, seemed to dim in an instant.
Caveen. Their union—was it so fragile? She set the letter down slowly, her eyes never leaving the words as they blurred before her.
Behind her, the sound of footsteps echoed—steady, familiar.
Carl Landon entered the room first, his sharp gaze flicking to the parchment on the table. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, allowing Lysandra the space to speak. Caveen followed closely, his face unreadable.
Lysandra turned slowly, trying to mask the confusion and hurt in her eyes. She had long known the Council to be powerful, but she had never imagined they would so boldly challenge her future.
"The Council has spoken," she said quietly. "They disapprove of our union."
Caveen stepped forward, his gaze hardening. "What is their reasoning?"
Lysandra's eyes flickered to the parchment once more. "Because I'm the heir to the Moonwell Clan. They believe I will lose my focus as a ruler if I marry a hybrid prince, and that my reign would be tainted by such a union." She swallowed, her voice cracking. "They want Celestine to take my place."
The air in the room thickened. Carl's sharp features tensed, his eyes flicking to the letter before meeting Caveen's.
"You're both of royal blood," Carl muttered under his breath. "A union between the two of you could strengthen both your claims, not weaken them."
Caveen's fist clenched at his side. "The Council thinks they know what's best for everyone, but they don't have the power to dictate my life, or Lysandra's."
Lysandra shook her head, walking over to the window once again. Her fingers tightened around the windowsill as if it were the only thing that kept her grounded.
"But they do," she whispered. "They always have."
Caveen stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "Not anymore."
The words were bold, filled with conviction, yet Lysandra felt the sting of doubt gnawing at her heart. Could they really defy the Council? Could they truly hold onto their future when so much was at stake?
Carl watched them both for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a resigned sigh, he spoke.
"The Council is powerful, but you, Caveen, and you, Lysandra, are not without your own strength. You're both more than they believe you to be."
Lysandra let out a shaky breath. "But it's not just them, is it? Celestine has been groomed for this role her whole life. She's perfect for Caveen in their eyes."
Suddenly, the chamber doors flew open with a bang, the gust of wind trailing behind a figure wrapped in dark velvet and storming purpose.
"Maika?" Carl turned sharply.
Maika swept into the room, her long coat billowing behind her, eyes blazing with the fire of urgency. Her presence drew instant attention, and the air shifted.
She didn't hesitate.
"This—" she hissed, gesturing to the letter on the table, "—is not about Lysandra's position as heir. Not truly. It's a tactic. A manipulation."
Lysandra blinked in shock. "What do you mean?"
Maika strode to the center of the room, the lines of her face sharpened with intensity. "The Council knows exactly what they're doing. Their disapproval isn't about nobility or rule. It's about fear. Fear of what your union might create."
Caveen narrowed his eyes. "Our child?"
Maika turned to face him fully. "Yes. The potential offspring of a Moonwell heir and a Nexus hybrid would be beyond what the Council could predict—too powerful. They're terrified. A child born of both your bloodlines could awaken something ancient, something long suppressed."
Lysandra stepped closer. "What are you talking about?"
Maika's voice dropped to a near-whisper, solemn and heavy. "The Moonwell bloodline holds regenerative magic—sacred, rare, and long believed dormant. In the right vessel, with the right catalyst…it could resurrect."
Carl's eyes darkened. "Cheating death?"
Maika nodded. "Not just surviving wounds, but reversing the severing of soul and body. That's what they fear. A child born of you two—of Caveen's hybrid essence and Lysandra's Moonwell inheritance—could awaken regenerative magic to its full potential. If trained or even simply alive, that child could bring back an Elite from death."
Silence fell like a stone.
"Someone like…" Caveen began, but his throat tightened.
"Lucifer," Maika finished for him.
Everyone turned.
Caveen swallowed hard. "You think they fear Lysandra could birth someone who might bring Lucifer back from true death? The devil, itself That's absurd."
"No," Maika said with certainty, " The idea of resurrection—of rewriting the finality of death—threatens the order of Elites as it's existed for centuries. They would rather separate you than risk what your child might be capable of."
Lysandra staggered slightly, her breath catching.
"I never even knew our bloodline held something like that," she whispered.
Maika stepped forward gently. "Because the Moonwell clan itself has sealed and buried it. You're the last of that pure line, Lysandra. The regenerative gift was considered too dangerous. A power that could unbalance life and death. But your bond with Caveen, with his Nexus and Carello traces...it changes everything."
Carl's fists clenched. "So they'd rather push Celestine forward than allow a child that could disrupt their seat of control."
Maika nodded grimly. "Exactly."
Caveen's voice was low, strained with fury. "So the Council wants me to marry someone who's politically convenient. Someone they can manage. While Lysandra is forced into solitude—ruling in chains."
Lysandra turned to Maika, eyes wide with realization. "What do we do? If we marry, it may bring war. But if we don't, we give them exactly what they want."
Maika's eyes gleamed. "Then we outsmart them. Don't give them the war they expect. Give them a storm they can't contain..but not now."
A long silence followed, but something had shifted in the air. The grief and confusion had transformed into a sharper clarity. Purpose.
Carl looked to Maika, brow furrowed. "Can you find proof of what the Council's planning? If we can expose their fear, their manipulation—"
Maika smirked. "No, we will do what they want..until Lysandra will gave birth..we try to distract them from finding out that Lysandra is carrying a child of Caveen."
Lysandra glanced again at the torn seal of the Council's letter on the table, now nothing more than a meaningless symbol of fear and control.