Amazing — you're on fire!
Let's dive right into
Nymera walked through the shattered battlefield like a ghost made flesh.
Blood dried stiff against the tattered remains of her gown. Her fingers, still clutching the bloodied dagger, trembled — but not from fear.
From focus.
Every step she took away from the battlefield, the system chimed softly in her mind:
> [Fate Points: 170 (+120 Victory, +50 Hero Mercy)]
[Titles: The One Who Defies Destiny, Predator Slayer]
[Skill Upgrade Available: Survival Instinct Lv.2 (Pending)]
She ignored it for now.
The battlefield's smoke thinned into rolling hills dotted with battered outposts. Beyond them, rising like a black crown against the blood-red sky, loomed the Royal City: Veyladoris.
Home of sovereigns.
Home of traitors.
Home of those who would either crown her anew—or slit her throat while smiling.
Nymera tightened her grip on the dagger, pressing the blade's flat edge against her palm, grounding herself in the sting.
She would not fall this time.
She would not be a puppet dancing to their songs.
Not anymore.
---
By the time she reached the outskirts of the Royal City, night had fallen.
The massive gates, reinforced with ancient sigils and black iron, swung open at her approach, guards stiffening at the sight of her bloodstained figure.
They did not stop her.
They would not dare.
The Vaelis name still carried weight—even if much of it was soaked in blood and whispered curses.
Inside, the city pulsed with dark energy.
Noble houses still lit their towers with crystal lamps; banners still flew, emblazoned with the golden lion, the silver rose, the black falcon.
To the commoners, the war was distant thunder.
To the nobility, it was a chess game they wagered souls upon.
Nymera's lip curled.
She was done being someone's pawn.
---
The Grand Hall awaited her.
It sprawled across the heart of the city, a sprawling edifice of black marble and crimson glass. High spires clawed at the heavens, and the great gate bore the symbol of the monarchy: a broken sword encircled by thorns.
As she crossed the threshold, the low murmur of conversation inside faltered.
Hundreds of heads turned toward her — Lords in heavy brocades, Ladies glittering in gemstone silks, Ministers, Knights, Magi.
All stared.
At the villainess who refused to die.
At the harbinger of ruin who now walked unbowed through their sanctified halls.
---
Nymera did not flinch.
She raised her chin, every inch a queen stripped of her crown but not her pride, and stepped forward.
The crowd parted before her like smoke, some bowing stiffly, others sneering behind jeweled fans and wine goblets.
At the far end of the hall, perched atop the Onyx Throne, sat King Alaric III — a thin, silver-haired man draped in black robes, a scepter of bone and gold clutched in one withered hand.
Beside him, the Queen Consort — Lady Selvaris — radiated cool contempt, her emerald gown shimmering like a viper poised to strike.
And at their sides, the nobles of the Sovereign Houses.
The true vipers.
The ones who had sent the Predator Knight after her.
Nymera could feel their hatred bleeding from their cold smiles, their tight grips on jeweled cups and ceremonial blades.
But none moved against her.
Not yet.
---
King Alaric's voice echoed through the hall, brittle but sharp:
"Nymera Vaelis," he said. "Daughter of the Fallen Court. Slayer of the Predator."
A ripple of murmurs skittered through the gathered court.
Nymera knelt, dipping her head in a parody of submission.
"Your Majesty," she said, voice smooth as silk and sharp as broken glass. "I return victorious, though many wished me otherwise."
A few ministers shifted uncomfortably.
The Queen's mouth tightened.
Alaric studied her for a long moment, fingers drumming a slow, hollow rhythm on his throne.
"You defy death as easily as you defy law," he said at last.
Nymera lifted her gaze, letting him see the steel in her violet eyes.
"Perhaps death fears to claim what the law has already forsaken."
A dangerous answer — but she had not come this far to cower now.
---
> [System Alert: Political Maneuver Detected — King's Interest: 32%. Court Loyalty: 17%. Threat Level: 63%.]
The percentages blinked inside her mind.
Useful — but also terrifying.
She was one misstep away from a noose.
---
The King leaned forward slightly.
"I should have you executed for treason," he mused. "For the blood you have spilled. For the wars your ambition ignited."
Another murmur from the court.
Nymera smiled, slow and deliberate.
"And yet, Your Majesty," she said softly, "you need me."
Gasps.
Scandalized whispers.
Nymera pressed on, each word a hammer strike.
"Your enemies grow bolder while you cling to crumbling treaties. The people whisper of rebellion. The foreign courts smell blood in the water."
She spread her arms, the bloody dagger gleaming in her hand like a promise.
"And here I stand: the monster they fear. The weapon they cannot tame. A shield you can wield—or destroy and leave yourself defenseless."
Silence choked the hall.
Even Queen Selvaris's perfect mask cracked for a heartbeat.
King Alaric's thin mouth twitched — not a smile, but something close.
Amusement. Calculation.
Exactly what she wanted.
---
> [System Alert: Political Outcome: 62% Favorable.]
[Hidden Quest Unlocked: Survive the Court for 30 Days.]
[Reward: Skill Upgrade + Hidden Ally Revealed.]
Nymera allowed herself a tiny breath of relief.
Not victory — not yet — but survival.
A start.
---
The King lifted his scepter.
"So be it," he said.
The hall shuddered with the force of unspoken decrees.
"Nymera Vaelis, you shall be granted provisional sanctuary within the court. You will attend all councils, advise on matters of war and peace — and submit yourself to judgment at the end of thirty days."
Thirty days.
A month to prove her worth.
Or be executed.
"Rise," Alaric commanded.
Nymera rose, meeting his gaze without fear.
The court burst into a frenzy of murmured alliances, whispered assassinations, hurried calculations.
The game had begun.
And Nymera was ready to play.
---
As she turned to leave the dais, a shadow peeled itself from the throng.
A man — no, a wolf wrapped in the skin of a courtier — approached.
Dark hair tied back at his nape.
Eyes like winter frost, cold and sharp.
A dark crimson cloak swept behind him.
Lucien Draegaris.
The Hero.
Alive. Watching.
Nymera's heart stuttered once — but she showed no weakness.
Lucien inclined his head slightly, lips curving in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Lady Vaelis," he murmured. "We must speak... soon."
The words were polite.
The promise underneath them was not.
Nymera smiled sweetly, dagger still dangling from her bloodied fingertips.
"I look forward to it, my lord," she said.