UE Rewrite: B5 — 19. Threads of Truth (Patreon)

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Isabelle (Our Lich Empress' French Auntie!)

Elinor (Our Lich Empress Raises A Mummy!)

Undying Empire Index

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[Isabelle’s POV]

The throne room’s oppressive silence shattered the moment Elinor turned away, thousands of voices erupting in a cacophony that made Isabelle’s head spin. Yet, somehow, despite the chaos, it was muted in her mind as she stared up at her family—rulers.

She was cold. Her hands were clammy. Memories of France returning, before The Oscillation, before the conflict with her little sister, before her world fell apart.

…I was wrong. I changed, Tiff… 

The thoughts echoed in her hollow chest, unsure what they meant. 

Her gaze fell. The world moved like an old film reel—faded, flickering, frames missing. Sound warped. She wasn’t here. She was in France, years ago, screaming at Tiffany about—

No. Don’t think about that… Not that.

Around her, humans wept openly—some clutching each other, others falling to their knees. A woman nearby sobbed into her hands, repeating “My baby, my baby—return my baby to me” over and over like a prayer. An older man stood frozen, face slack with shock, as if his mind couldn’t process what he’d just seen or been promised.

Memories of her little Ellie clashed with the image of the empress who had just spoken, playing with dolls and making a mess of her makeup. The mistakes she’d made that estranged her from her sister melted into the frame.

I’ve changed. I was wrong…

Isabelle pressed a trembling hand against her sternum, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. The air felt too thick, too hot, despite the cavernous space. Her vision swept across what she could see of the throne room—not the throne room of a government building or corporate boardroom, but something else entirely.

An alien race. She was on a new planet. Her niece ruled an alien empire. Her sister was split into two personalities. Personalities Isabelle had struggled with their whole life… Her husband gave up his humanity for his little girl.

The thirteen thrones loomed above like monuments to gods, each illuminated by gemstones the size of cars that pulsed with their own eerie light. The central white throne—sized for something monstrous—dominated everything, and Ellie had stood before it as if she belonged there.

She’s sixteen years old, Tiff… Your baby girl is sixteen-years-old.

Isabelle’s knees wobbled.

Ri’bot throat sacs vibrated with rapid-fire conversations in a language she didn’t understand. Undead soldiers stood at perfect attention throughout the chamber, their stillness more unnerving than any movement. And scattered among the living were things she didn’t have names for—monkey-birds with too many limbs, eyes that glowed, skin that reflected light wrong.

A hand touched her shoulder.

She yelped, spinning so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Whoa, easy!” A young man with sandy blonde hair and an apologetic grin raised both hands in surrender. His eyes were kind, his face beyond handsome, but when Isabelle really looked at him, she realized the truth of her niece’s power at work.

He’s one of the smart undead…

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice carried warmth that seemed impossible for something without a heartbeat. “You look like you could use some air. Or maybe a chair. Possibly both?”

“Lucky,” a woman’s voice cut in, exasperated but fond. A redhead appeared beside the blonde man, arms full of notebooks, wearing a professional concern mixed with personal exhaustion. “You can’t just grab people. Especially not the Empress’ aunt.”

The blonde—Lucky—winced. “Oh, c’mon, Gwen, I didn’t grab her! I was offering support.”

“You grabbed,” the woman huffed, giving her a sweet smile. She had flaws, which meant she was probably living.

“Okay, yes, fine, I grabbed a little. But you’re still the apple of my eye!”

“Stop.”

Despite everything, Isabelle felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her throat. These two bickered like an old married couple, which was somehow the most normal thing she’d witnessed in this impossible scene.

The redhead turned to her, offering a strained but genuine smile. “I’m Gwen. Former bus passenger, current ‘official mayor of living humans’—though that title is Lucky’s doing, not mine. This disaster of a man is Lucky. He’s…well, he’s Lucky.”

“I’m delightful,” Lucky corrected.

“You’re a pretty handful.”

“Ah, but pretty, you admit! A pretty and delightfully handful.”

Gwen ignored him, her brown eyes studying Isabelle with the kind of focus that suggested she’d become very good at reading people under pressure. “You’re Queen Tiffany’s sister, right?”

Isabelle’s mouth opened. Closed. Then she glanced up, where Edmon was taking the stand to fill in the gap left by his daughter. He wasn’t looking at her, but the pressure in her chest rose with a strained smile.

It felt like bad milk on her nightstand—something awful that you couldn’t let go to waste… An old soul, she couldn’t give up… Ten fingers wrapped around her throat.

Edmon… I’m stuck in this trench, counting all my sins while you try to smooth everything over for me. I’m just singing sad songs in my heart for my screwed-up thoughts. Elinor basically said you get what you give… But I can’t give shit. 

Smile becoming curt, she aimed it at the pair, trying not to let her turbulent emotions rise to the surface. “Edmon asked you to check on me, didn’t he? I know they can communicate telepathically. Tell him I’m fine.”

“Is that so?” Lucky muttered, his perfect smile fading as his stare sharpened. “By the ashes in your eyes, I see you burning bridges that needn’t be set ablaze. Don’t make everything so transactional or conspiratorial. We simply wanted to introduce ourselves.”

“What?”

Isabelle’s shoulders tensed, stomach knotting upon locking with his bright blue eyes.

“Lucky,” Gwen intervened, stepping in to place a hand on his chest and guiding him back; he gave in to her, though his expression didn’t change. “No need to press her. She’s probably going through a lot.”

“That’s why we came to check on her,” he returned, though his tone wasn’t confrontational but somehow more gentle than Gwen. “I’m just saying, don’t smack every hand that is offered. There’s a fine line between pity and friendliness. I’ll leave it at that. Don’t be a stranger.”

He disengaged with a grin and mock salute, moving to a group of crying women who looked lost. High above, Edmon stood like a statue, letting the emotions of the crowd pass instead of interrupting them.

“Sorry about him,” Gwen whispered, stepping closer, her voice dropping to something gentler with the blond’s exit. “He can be pretty direct, I know. He means well.”

“He’s…certainly a handful,” she returned with a stressed laugh, her gaze lingering on him for a moment. “…Sweeter than I deserve.”

Gwen’s brow furrowed. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.” She paused, then giggled with the woman. “What a name to have. I—”

The room tilted.

Gwen’s hand shot out, catching her elbow before she actually hit the ground. “Hey! Maybe we should get you to a less crowded place.”

Isabelle barely registered the journey as Edmon’s deep, resonant voice took command of the meeting. All she saw were flashes of parting crowds—undead, who seemed to be positioned in a way to allow a clear exit for those who needed it. The corridors seemed to stretch forever.

At some point, she found herself in a smaller chamber off one of the main corridors, surprisingly cozy compared to the grand halls, meant for reading. Someone had set up mismatched furniture—Earth chairs alongside massive alien designs—creating a space that felt almost…human.

Gwen pressed a cup of water into her hands. “Drink. Breathe. You’re not the first person to have this reaction—be kind to yourself.”

Isabelle sipped mechanically, her mind still spinning.

“You were in the group that was kidnapped from Earth with my niece and sister, weren’t you?” she whispered, sucking in her bottom lip for a moment. “I couldn’t imagine. I thought The Oscillation was bad… The chaos that came from it around the world… Nations collapsing. But being abducted by aliens to a new world? I just…I couldn’t imagine.”

Gwen’s eyes lost focus, and she saw the flashes of memories painted across the woman’s face.

Isabelle swiftly spoke up, sitting straighter. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything—”

The redhead held up her hand and shook her head before her fingernails curled into her palm. Still, it took her a few seconds to speak, her words a mix of emotions.

“…I’m a long way from then…” She sat back, breathing out, and smoothed out her dress before smiling at her. “I’m a long way from when I couldn’t move…”

Gwen puffed up her cheeks as they grew redder, and she wiped away a tear. “When I was frozen, watching helplessly… But I understand where you’re coming from. That hole in your head and heart. Telling myself it’s only chemicals. If I scream, I’ll die. If I cry…I’ll die. Trapped in that hell in my own mind… It’s only chemicals.”

“That’s horrible,” was all Isabelle could whisper.

Yet, Gwen slowly shook her head, offering a stronger smile, meeting her gaze directly. 

“But I survived. I’m not alone… I’m safe… I’m safe. Empress Elinor, your niece, gave me that. She gave me the space where I could fight my own nightmares. Nethermore is a place for new beginnings.”

Heat pricked Isabelle’s nose. “…I’m not that strong.”

Gwen didn’t jump in or deny her. Instead, her gaze fell to her trembling hands, and she slowly reached out to hold them before looking up with a look that made Gwen’s tears fall from her eyes.

“Isabelle, I’m not trying to tell you what to do… I’m just telling you how I feel. You’re a part of our community… Isabelle, whatever you think. Know you are loved… You are loved.”

Isabelle blinked, vision blurry, hiccups jumping in her throat as she allowed Gwen to hold her. She didn’t know what was said after; it didn’t matter.

In her own head, she’d held a vacancy in the picture frame that was her family—a prisoner by her own hand. Impossible to apologize to her sister, outlined in guilt, placed in a gallery where her walls lay bare.

Now, a fire burned through that empty house that her heart was locked in with each confessional tear that fell. All that mattered was the emotions growing in her damaged chest.

She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t as powerful as her niece. She wasn’t as beautiful or smart as her little sister. She didn’t get the perfect man. But she didn’t need to have any of that to be loved.

She had family…and it was a family born of love.

✧⸻✧⸻✧

[Elinor’s POV]

Through the Nexus, Elinor sent a message to her father to take command of the assembly, orienting the newcomers to the empire. His deep voice resonated through the throne room with authority he was becoming quite adept at projecting.

She didn’t need to be present for the logistical discussions—housing rotations, food distribution, security protocols. It became increasingly apparent that she needed to delegate positions as the mysteries and her reach grew.

Mom, she directed, her gaze drifting to the gentler side, causing her darker half to frown. I know you both can heal, but which is better at it? Can you direct one of the maids to bring you the materials you need?

White Tiffany’s response came immediately, tinged with curiosity and concern as she looked at the bundles of silk the ri’bot scouts were hidden in.

“I’m almost scared to ask how bad it is… It’s mostly mental. Yes, Azalea?”

The blue-haired spider was bobbing to her own tune. “Oh, no, no. I took care of that. They don’t have any brain damage. I was very, very careful! Only full-body skinning.”

Tiff’s face paled, brown irises darting to the arachnid. “Huh? What do you mean, only? You skinned them?”

“Don’t be so defensive,” her counterpart huffed, hands collapsed at her front. “They’re still alive. Right, Azalea? It’s merely skin reattachment.”

Before they could get into an ethical argument again, she interrupted them as Tiff got a protective, motherly look Elinor knew from years of rebellion—it was weird seeing what must have been an ethical fight between two sides of her mom’s soul.

Right now, we need to focus on healing them, Mom. Elinor moved away from the ritual cameras, Butter falling into step beside her, the blonde’s usual brightness dimmed slightly as she caught the tension. They’re unconscious until Azalea wakes them.

Her little sister’s voice cut through the connection. “Why didn’t you ask me, Priss? I am a healer. Life is my element! Are you trying to say something?”

Elinor puffed out a long stream of air, gaze drifting from the silk to Roman, still basking in the glow of the topaz throne.

I don’t like Roman being here, and saying he needs you? He could siphon some of your power. Maybe I am being paranoid. His timing and target being you? He’s a general Legendkin who thinks thirty steps ahead. Until that’s solved, I’ll ask you to restrain yourself.

Her sister’s wrinkled nose smoothed immediately, aquamarine eyes practically glowing. “You’re worried about me! So sweet. I thought about that, too, but I also wanted to see what he might do if I did use my power. Let’s spring the trap!”

Butter…

Their mothers’ mouths creased—both of them—Tiff adjusting her white witch’s hat and moving forward; she’d already sent orders to her alabaster ravens to bring ingredients.

“I think we’re all in agreement that we don’t trust that man, sweetheart,” the light half whispered with a distrustful stare that had Camellia and Azalea’s bright eyes lock onto him with hunger. “Let me handle this one.”

Roman’s sunglasses gleamed in the overhead light as he tilted his head toward the smiling, blue-haired young woman. The gulp and slight crease to his smile said enough before his head turned to her.

Elinor was perfectly fine with him feeling the tension his presence brought to his court—let him squirm. Of course, every action he took was strategic. He wanted them to think he felt vulnerable, which was just a part of the game their relationship demanded.

Butter’s smile held the sun. “I’m just glad you’re so protective of me. Okay. I want to see how your ritual functions anyway, Mom. Can I help draw the ritual? Show me what to do!”

Her mother’s guarded glare toward Roman turned to joy. “Absolutely.”

Elinor heard whispers below amidst her father’s talks as the white ravens swooped in, carrying ingredient after ingredient. No one below could see them behind the thrones from their elevated position, so the mystery must have fueled their imagination.

She didn’t waste time as Azalea unwound the web bundles on prompt. The ri’bot were neatly spaced in rows on the ground. What was revealed truly would be a nightmare for Elinor before her death.

Without skin, they looked like anatomical diagrams—muscle fibers glistening wet, exposed nerve clusters twitching at the slightest air current. One of them made a low, keening sound. This made her soft-hearted mother go very still.

“Elinor,” she said quietly—privately. “This is…wrong. Even if they’re our enemies, the pain they’re going through is…unimaginable.” Her focus drifted to the bubbly spider girl, mind buzzing with a million questions and fascinations. “She did this just to understand them?”

She sighed, seeing Butter also wearing a small frown, hands on her hips, though she didn’t say anything. Elinor knew Tiffany was probably mocking her gentler-hearted self in their private soul communication.

I’m going to talk to her, Mom. Please, heal them.

“Right…”

Though the look she gave Elinor wasn’t one she expected—the look of a mother who had bandaged scraped knees, who’d held her after nightmares, who’d taught her that cruelty without purpose was the mark of a weak soul. Then, she tucked it away to complete the task, knowing their ethics weren’t so black and white in this hostile world.

She began handing Butter items: Ritual chalk, crystallized blood, pressed herbs that smelled of mint and copper. Then, her narrowed vision shifted to the curious arachnid.

“I’ll need a power source,” she muttered through the Nexus, Butter following her instructions perfectly on sketching the diagrams on the stone floor. A white dove circled the high ceiling. “Azalea, would you be the means by which they’re healed?”

Elinor’s gut twisted at the obvious reason her mother directed that question, fingers tightening around her wrist at her back. She didn’t look Roman’s way. Azalea was their strongest enforcement asset outside Butter and her; strategically, weakening her with a dubious figure present wasn’t the smartest idea. Her mother needed to feel justice, though. 

Azalea didn’t even hesitate, a blur of movement and rushed wind as she materialized before them, practically vibrating with interest.

“Mmm! Mmm! I’d love to be the power object. How will it feel? Could I experience this…soul aspect I’ve been hearing about, knitting things together?”

“Maybe… Here, stay still and hold her with care…”

Tiff held out a hand as the dove flew down to land in Azalea’s outstretched hand, looking up at the world-conquering spider creature’s smile. She rubbed her thumb in a ruby-like liquid from a vial and pressed it against the dove’s bowed head.

In solemn silence, she moved to each corpse, including those with their skins, and placed the same mark on their foreheads. Upon finishing, she laid a piece of Azalea’s silk atop each figure and moved to the edge, where Butter waited.

Azalea’s blinding pink irises were fixated on the dove in her hands, wide with wonder and excitement. Tiff stood over the massive ritual area, holding a single thread that connected it all. Her words held a vow, her tone soft as power radiated, chalk lines glowed, white, then gold—her expression frozen fire.

“There’s an ache beneath everything you hear. You tremble in the cold, buried in the hurt so deep your names are lost, and through that silent nightmare, you learn to scream again…”

The ruby light flashed the color of snow, falling as a tear down the dove’s forehead to land on Azalea’s hand, sinking into flesh. She stiffened, whiteness bleeding into her veins like ink. Elinor’s mouth tightened as she felt not only the energy leaving her, but the pain of each ri’bot flowing in reverse—everything they felt, transferring to the world devourer.

“You stitch yourself with borrowed thread until you are whole again, but healing never asks how you feel… It just covers the wound, masking what is broken in layers of forgotten pain. Mercy covers truth… Lies return you with peace for your shattered minds.”

A flinch and a single sapphire tear were all that came from Azalea’s eye as the chalk flowed away by a gentle wind, the ritual whipped up. Camellia fidgeted more than her little sister as the curious girl wiped it away with a blooming smile, despite what unbearable torment the witch’s transferal ritual had caused.

“How…educational,” she whispered, veins returning to normal as she allowed the dove to fly back into the air.

Within seconds, the last patches of raw flesh sealed beneath pristine new skin—slightly paler than their original coloring, but functional and pain-free. Her own silk had been used to seal the ri’bot skin back into place as she examined them with renewed fervor in their dazed state, her hair snaking out to prick them on the back of the necks to paralyse the soldiers.

“That was what they experienced? I didn’t think it was possible to feel weaker than I already do, constrained by your System, Empress.”

“She truly is a monster,” her mother’s uncomfortable mumble reached Elinor in private.

“Oh, grow up,” Tiffany groaned to her counterpart, crossing her arms from her position under the crimson throne. “Azalea is not hiding who she is, and we aren’t going to change what she is, so you should accept that. Work around it if you choose, but accept it.”

As callous as that was, Elinor had to agree with the darker side of her mother. It was becoming apparent to her that each of the spider sisters, especially their mother, would have her own unique way of dealing with the world. Camellia was the most human since she was the weakest and needed validation that she was doing well—that just made her moldable.

Through the Nexus, she reached out as her mothers got into another predictable spat.

Hatshepsut, I’m not exactly sure how thorough it was or what my mother did to the ri’bot through her ritual, but could you fix any lingering…issues?

The Prophetess’ response carried golden warmth. “I will be there momentarily, Empress.

Butter drifted closer, not enjoying the conflict, yet Hatshepsut’s approach brightened her mood as the pharaoh’s golden eyes swept the scene, assessing the scouts’ condition.

“You wish me to remove all traces of their encounter with Azalea—the capture, the interrogation, the…procedures. Replace it with a clean entry into the valley, discovery by our forces, and…a peaceful detention? I could include how overwhelmingly powerful Azalea is to reinforce that violence would be…unadvised.”

Yes, Elinor commanded, already moving away from the gathering toward the Kaspir portal, noting the study it was currently located in within the House of Ravens. And add everything regarding this State of the Union that they missed. Mix into it images of the city, our people, human culture observed…everything they would have seen.

Her gaze slid from the Witch Queens to the Queen of Assassins, then settled on the Great Clan spies.

“As you command. I do not have those memories, but I can pull them from the Nexus from the perspective of the serving staff… Of those who agree to share their memories for the task.”

I leave it to you.

The Prophetess inclined her head, moving to the first scout. Her perfect fingernails caressed the first’s toad-like skin, leaving traces of gold that flowed into his soul. His eyes widened, turning the color of her irises as her power took hold, and his life was rewritten as sweet, foreign memories sank into his reality.

Butter skipped forward to join her, liquid locks bouncing and flowing in slow waves. Elinor didn’t need to look to her left as she heard the soft taps of Roman’s cane drawing near, each of her Court members immediately clocking him, yet no one moved to intervene.

Lilya’s private whisper held the royal notes she’d come to expect from the former queen of Kaspir. “He asked me if I’d be willing to trade for a potion that enchants the mind, Empress.”

Elinor raised an eyebrow as Butter asked the question before she could.

“Ooh! Can you make those? I mean, not that we necessarily need something like that with Hatshepsut, but another tool we can use when she’s not around.”

Lilya’s mouth became a line as Edmon called her forward to explain her place in the empire and how Kaspir fit into their alliances to the newcomers.

“The ingredients are rare with materials in Kaspir, but Roman gave me a plant that appears to have the properties required… I believe it originates in your world and is five times more potent than the herb I studied here.”

Elinor’s bun hung to the left with her tilted head as she shifted her focus to the open doorway behind Ke’Thra’Ma’s throne. Inside showed a cosmic soup of wonder that she called the Galaxy Pathway, leading to a radiant white sealed door, which Butter said pulsed with Life Force.

That’s rather dangerous. Can it affect the undead? I suspect you tested it?

“On mice, yes. It does not work on undead.”

Fortunate. Its effects?

“Inhaling it as a gas would turn someone into a mindless slave for twenty-four hours. A sip, and one look at someone, and they’ll lose all control. Drinking it all? It would be incredibly difficult to tell they were different from their typical self… It breaks all barriers of resistance to the first person they hear and see, imprinting on them.”

Her gaze shifted to the man as she took center stage. “They’d be fully functional and totally devoted to their object of focus for a week, with gradually fading effects over two months… They would act normally, and anything their muse asks is treated in a purely logical way.”

Roman stopped ten feet away, one hand behind his back, sunglasses reflecting the stars within the gateway. He was dressed more formally than usual—tailored suit, polished shoes, hair swept back with what must have been Kasper’s version of gel.

He removed his top hat and bowed to her. Elinor shifted her gaze to acknowledge his presence. Butter was openly studying him as if he were a fun puzzle.

“So,” her twin began conversationally, “what game are you here to play this time? Planning on setting up a war between Kaspir and the Delva Empire again?”

His lips curved into that infuriating smile, pupilless eyes hidden from view as his invisible sight no doubt hovered all around them, observing from every angle.

“Empresses. And nothing so bloody, High Queen. My, you have a ravenous appetite. Was conquering Earth and several other species not enough for you in that Crystal Conquest I’ve heard whispered between your serving staff?”

Roman thrived on exchanges like this—concessions disguised as curiosity. Butter did too, given the chance; she could trade words for hours if left unchecked. Elinor had no intention of allowing that. If Roman wanted her time, he would have to offer something worth taking. Existing and social banter wasn’t enough.

“I don’t have time for word games, Roman. Why are you here, and why do you specifically want Butter? Why should I lend you the High Queen of my empire?”

Butter perked up. “How possessive of you, Big Sis. Are you trying to butter me up to make me give you the floor? Because it’s working! Keep telling me how important and amazing I am.”

More than I can ever express, Little Sis.

“You called me little sis! I love it.”

Roman's smile widened fractionally. “Direct as always, Elinor. Very well. I have a proposition that requires the High Queen’s… Let’s call it her unique talents.”

“Ooh. I do have many unique talents!” Butter nodded, practically glowing. “See, Priss? I am so popular. People appreciate me!”

Elinor resisted her sister’s jabbing need for affection, so she answered privately in her own way. “A fat butterfly willing to float into every honey pot trap she sees? I wonder why.”

“You love me. Don’t deny my beautiful appeal!”

“What proposition?” Elinor demanded, ignoring her twin’s preening.

The legend gestured vaguely to their right. “There is an ancient ruin in the Western Jesna Desert. Pre-Kaspir construction, possibly older than the desert itself. The structure is locked—sealed by mechanisms that respond only to specific resonances of, well, Life Energy, combined with dimensional awareness, among…other possibilities.”

He looked directly at Butter.

“The High Queen possesses both. I do not. Lilya does not. You, Elinor, could theoretically force entry through raw power, corrupting the doors, but that could cause… Well, it could trigger all sorts of undesirable outcomes. Butter can simply…coax it open.”

The blonde’s aquamarine eyes lit up, like someone had just offered her the world’s most interesting puzzle box. “Ancient ruins? Mysterious locks? Secrets only I can unlock? That sounds amazing! But…”

She drew out the word with a wink toward her. “You are trying to cheat your Legend Quest, aren’t you? You should be courting some divine figure or obtaining another artifact, but instead are coming to me. Could you be trying to skip levels?”

Elinor returned the look with an internal sigh. Yes, you’re a smart blonde.

“Indeed, I am. But I want to go, Big Sis! Please! Please, please, please!”

You know my answer.

“Aww… Booo! I want adventure, but I get it. Still, we need to fish for answers. Go ahead. Fooey…”

“Why? What’s in this ruin that’s worth dealing with me, because we both know asking me a favor is like pulling teeth, especially when it concerns my little sister.”

Roman’s expression turned serious. “This isn’t purely selfish, but yes, this could provide a wealth of Experience for us both, and I believe you could use a few levels, since you and your sister are linked, you stand to gain a lot.”

He gestured with his cane toward the portal. “Also, there are answers for your Princess of Storms…. About Castria. About why a pink-eyed Tempest is prophesied to save or doom this reality, I am charged to save. Perhaps even the forces that orchestrated our change…and a certain mysterious High Goddess we are both cautious of.”

Nungal… Elinor thought, the smirking violet-haired young woman invading her mind.

Butter’s excitement dimmed slightly, her smile turning sharper and her fingers curled in, no doubt recalling her last interaction, where Mika’s soul had been stolen out of her hands. 

“…Anything dealing with Nungal is a big deal, Elinor. We can’t ignore that, even if he’s trying to string us along. He’s leading us to believe this is a temple to Nungal.”

Elinor studied him carefully as Hatshepsut joined them, her royal gaze fixated on the blind man. “It is hard to tell, Empress, given his many protections. Though I would side with the belief that he is being truthful… Mostly. It is just wrapped in a convenient package.”

“This is why I hate dealing with you,” she said flatly.

“I don’t make moves that I am not sure will net me results.” Roman didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Our interests align.”

“…You’ve made your pitch,” she said after several tense seconds as Azalea hopped over to look at Roman from several angles that put the man on guard. “Your adventure will have to wait, though. We have a conflict in priorities.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“We’re on the verge of war with the Great Clans to our east, and I have several other tasks that require my presence, and one of us needs to be in the empire. Even with Kaspir’s time dilation, a journey to the Western Jesna Desert and back would take weeks.”

His mouth tightened further, head shifting to the former queen of the Kaspir Kingdom, knowing she was privately feeding Elinor logistical data. Yet, Elinor didn’t give him room to try to counter. She stepped forward, emerald eyes blazing.

“So here’s your chance, Roman. Solve the issue in a way I’d accept. The ball is in your court.” She smiled coldly. “And without further information on what you plan to do with that dangerous potion, the answer is no.”

Roman’s shoulders sank. “You truly are a frustrating one to deal with, Elinor.”

A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Roman laughed and shrugged.

“The troubles of running an empire. Very well. Give me…forty-eight hours. I’ll find a solution…or force one. I think you’ve given me all the pieces I require,” he mused, head turning toward the ri’bot scouts as they blinked and tried to reorient themselves.

“You do that.”

Elinor turned on her heel, leaving Butter and Roman to chat. The conversation faded behind her as she walked toward the cosmic hallway, its swirling darkness calling to something deep within her death-aligned soul.

She paused at its threshold, one hand extended toward the galaxy-like void.

So many mysteries. What lies beyond this? she wondered. What did Ke’Thra’Ma use this for? Obviously, this hallway must have a way to rise up the tower. But how? And where does that door at the end lead? Hmm… Maybe I should open up a journal of mysteries. There are so many, I’m losing track of them all.

The stars within the seemingly endless area shifted in response to her presence, reorganizing themselves into patterns that created an aurora-like pathway forward.

Klaus wants me to come to the Nalvean Empire to meet their princess… So many things tugging at my attention. I need to prioritize and make a list.

She stepped forward.

The cosmic void swallowed her whole. Sound vanished. Light warped. The throne room disappeared as if it had never existed, replaced by an endless expanse of stars that pulsed with rhythms older than worlds.

Elinor floated in the nothing, alone with the infinite.

She smiled.

Her empire was growing.

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