Reina’s footsteps echoed against the crystal-blue stone floor. Each step sent subtle tremors across the grand hall, as if her presence disturbed the very air. Towering pillars, as tall as ancient teak trees, held up the vaulted ceiling where a magical depiction of the night sky and its twin moons glowed faintly. Greenish torchlight licked the stone walls like the breath of guardian spirits.
Before her, the elders and royal council members sat in a circular formation—like a sacred tribunal. At the center, seated upon an obsidian throne, was the Maharaja of Swastamita, cloaked in black robes embroidered with golden thread. His face was cold, his eyes sharp as a blade forged from ancestral fire.
Reina swallowed hard. She felt like a small deer thrown into a hunting ground.
“You… girl from Arunika?” the Maharaja’s voice was deep, reverberating.
Reina nodded slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Your name?”
“Reina Dharma Nirmala.”
Murmurs spread among the council. One elder, his beard as white as morning mist, leaned forward. “You come from a world without magic. You have no mystic bloodline. How could the sacred artifact choose you?”
Reina looked down at the ring on her finger. Cakra Adhiwara glowed faintly, as if offended by their doubt. But her voice wouldn’t come. Her heart pounded—not just in fear, but in a strange ache that none of them saw her as a person. To them, she was a puzzle. A threat. Or maybe just a puppet of fate.
“You appear weak,” another council member from the military scoffed. “Do you even know how to wield your artifact?”
Reina met their eyes one by one. She wanted to respond—but her throat closed up.
Then Bhirendra’s heavy voice cut through the silence from her side. “She is untrained. But that does not make her unworthy.”
“And you would vouch for her?” the Maharaja asked. “You would stake your life on a girl with no abilities?”
Bhirendra met the ruler’s gaze. “I am not gambling. I am taking responsibility.”
A stir rippled through the hall. Tension thickened. The air turned cold, biting against skin.
The Maharaja rose. “Then listen well, Commander. You will protect her, guide her, and ensure this mission succeeds without flaw. Because if it fails… it won’t just be the girl from Arunika who perishes. You will follow her into ruin.”
The silence was deafening. Only Reina’s ragged breathing filled the stillness. She glanced at Bhirendra, who said nothing, showed nothing in response to the threat.
Then came soft but deliberate footsteps from the darker side of the hall. A faint clink of metal brushing stone. A long cloth dragging behind.
Emerging from the shadows was the second prince of Swastamita—Radeeva Kana Kanitra.
“Allow me to volunteer,” he said, voice calm but resounding.
All eyes turned to him. Some surprised, others visibly relieved. The Maharaja raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because this is the most crucial mission in our kingdom’s history. And because I do not fully trust vague destinies and relics that choose on their own,” Radeeva replied smoothly. “I will observe them. Report to the court. And should anything go awry, I will handle it myself.”
His eyes met Reina’s—and for a brief moment, just a flicker—something stirred between them. It felt as if he could read her thoughts, uncover her fears, and expose the hesitation she hadn’t dared to speak aloud.
The Maharaja nodded slowly. “Then so be it. Radeeva will accompany them—as Overseer and Balancer.”
Reina clenched her fingers. Her chest tightened. No one had asked her. No one offered a choice. They decided her life like moving chess pieces.
She wanted to scream. To rise and shout, No! I don’t want this! But all she did was stand there, frozen.
In her heart, she understood a bitter truth: she did not matter to them. Only the mission did. Her body, her soul, was merely a vessel for an ancient destiny she could not escape.
When the session ended and the hall began to empty, Reina remained where she stood. Bhirendra was to her right—solid, unmoving like a shield. Radeeva on her left—sharp, poised like a blade waiting to draw blood.
This world would not wait for her to catch her breath. And she began to understand—if she didn’t find her own strength soon, it would destroy her from within.
As the echoes of footsteps faded, Radeeva approached Reina, still frozen in place.
“Reina,” he said softly, gentler than usual. “Let’s return to your chamber. The three of us need to discuss the next step.”
She didn’t answer. Only turned, face unreadable, eyes hollow like mirrors that reflected nothing. Then she walked—quickly. Too quickly. Almost a run. Her plain gown flared lightly as she darted down the corridor, leaving the two men behind.
Bhirendra made to follow, but stopped when Radeeva raised a hand.
“Let her go. Don’t chase her,” he murmured, eyes on her disappearing figure.
He felt something shift in her aura. Emotions boiling. Nearly breaking—but sealed in suffocating silence. As a practitioner of Mantram Alitkasa, the rare atmospheric magic that manipulates emotional pressure, he knew when to act.
With a barely visible gesture, he whispered a spell in the ancient tongue:
“Atmasoma shanti ananta.”
The air around Reina began to change. The temperature lowered just slightly, pressure easing to match her breathing rhythm. The tension gripping her heart loosened. It wouldn’t feel like magic. Only like... the air had become easier to breathe.
When she reached her chamber door, her steps slowed. Her breath steadied. She touched the doorknob and—without looking back—said softly, “Come in.”
The door creaked open.
The room was warm and simple, filled with dark wood and soft light from hanging magical lanterns. A blue-veined stone table sat at the center with three chairs around it. In the corner, long drapes concealed the bed and personal items.
Reina sat first, her expression more composed now. She chose the seat directly facing the door, as if guarding herself with a clear escape. Radeeva sat across from her—neat, calm, fingers interlaced on the table.
Bhirendra remained near the open window, arms crossed, bathed in pale light from the twin moons. He said nothing. But his presence filled the room.
Silence. Thick and heavy—but not empty.
Finally, Reina spoke. “Did you all decide this from the beginning? That I would just… follow orders?”
Her voice held no anger. Only weariness. And pain that didn’t bleed.
Radeeva didn’t reply right away. He lowered his gaze, then looked back up. “It’s not like that, Reina. The artifact chose you. None of us made that decision.”
“But no one cared if I was ready,” she whispered, looking down at her fingers. “I’m used to being the one who fixes things. But now I don’t even know who I am in this world.”
Bhirendra turned slightly—but remained silent. His eyes held weight, as if he wanted to object, but couldn’t.
“You’re still Reina,” Radeeva answered gently. “But the fate you carry now is older than any of us.”
She looked up—straight into his eyes. “Then who will protect me from that fate?”
This time, it was not Radeeva who answered.
“…I will,” said Bhirendra from the window, his voice firm. “I’ll guard you from everything that tries to break you. Even… your fate.”
Reina stared at him—and for a breathless moment, time stood still.
A silent promise passed between them, no words needed.
But Radeeva knew: this night was only the beginning of a long journey.
And the three of their destinies… were already entwined in a conversation that had no end.