Varek's debut gala was more than a formal introduction to the Community of Thirteen—it was his unveiling to the world, showcasing the skills cultivated through lineage and honed under the guidance of Doctor Darían.
Beneath golden lights and classical music echoing through the hall, the leaders of the Houses watched his every move, assessing him like a chess piece on a grand board.
Dean Björn, a sharp-tongued councilor known for his biting sarcasm, raised his glass while locking eyes with Varek.
—Your first gala, Varek. Tell me, what's it like being the center of attention? —he asked, voice laced with a carefully veiled irony—. Comitas patris tui. (Like your father.)
Varek held his gaze and raised his own glass, lips barely twitching in a defiant smirk.
—Nu sunt tatăl tău. (I am not your father) —he answered softly, with unwavering certainty.
Elsewhere in the mansion, Aisha observed the garden gala from a balcony, detached from the chatter and prying glances. She adjusted the sash of her dress, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders. But she wasn't alone.
Ibrahim appeared beside her, his presence as unsettling as ever.
—Misha, what a lovely surprise —he said gently, his dark eyes gleaming with unreadable intent—. Your beloved father has succeeded... Soon, your mother will awaken. —He sipped from his glass.
His words struck Aisha like a blast of cold air, and the red rose she held slipped from her fingers. Her body trembled with frustration and fear. Before she could reply, the balcony door opened and Varek stepped in, eyes narrowing at Ibrahim's closeness to her.
—Aisha, everything alright? —he asked, voice laced with protective concern.
Aisha pulled her hand away from Ibrahim's touch and nodded stiffly, saying nothing.
—I believe there's been a misunderstanding —Ibrahim said, retrieving the rose with his usual façade of innocent charm. He stepped back, but not before casting a meaningful glance at Aisha—. Until next time, miss.
Varek remained still until Ibrahim left. Then he gently took the champagne from Aisha's hand, placing it on the ledge and setting the rose against her wrist.
—You shouldn't be drinking this, Aisha.
She looked at him irritably and let out a long sigh.
—I feel suffocated, Varek. It's all too much.
Their tension hung in the air, unspoken. But before they could speak again, the loudspeakers announced the final match of the evening: Aisha vs. Clear.
Both girls stepped onto the stage, dressed in simple leather-based combat attire. The audience gathered, eager for the duel.
Clear's stare was filled with challenge. Aisha didn't back down. As the match began, Clear attacked swiftly, showcasing her agility. But Aisha, driven by her bottled-up anger, dodged with precision, exploiting every mistake.
In one fluid motion, Aisha disarmed Clear, her wooden sword landing just inches from her rival. Silence fell. Then, cheers erupted from the crowd.
Aisha extended her hand to help Clear up.
—Good match, Clear.
Clear accepted it, though her eyes still burned with rivalry.
—You're better than you seem, Aisha. Maybe one day you'll prove it offstage too.
As they stepped off the platform, Varek greeted Aisha with a teasing smile.
—You did well, but I think you won't like the trophy —he joked.
Still breathing heavily, Aisha ignored him and headed straight for the exit. She climbed into the waiting car, leaving the celebration and its players behind—more strangers than allies.
That night, rain lashed against the mansion's windows as Aisha returned home. Ibrahim's words echoed in her mind. Something in his tone had burrowed deep, awakening questions she wasn't ready to ask.
Upon arriving, she found a gift left on her desk, wrapped in golden cloth with a black ribbon: a dagger.
Its blade shimmered under the storm's flickering light, as the note's words echoed in her thoughts:
With affection —your father.
"A symbol of power, wealth, courage, and honesty. That's how I see my daughter."
The words weighed more than they should.
—What a wonderful gift… a threat or a reminder you'd rather see me dead? —Aisha muttered, studying the polished blade—. At least it's beautiful... and dangerous.
A soft noise by the door startled her. She opened it instantly—no one there. But something in the air felt wrong.
Following her instinct, she crept barefoot down the halls. Turning a corner, she saw the silhouette of a man with silver hair beneath the moonlight.
—Ibrahim? —she whispered, heart racing.
The figure vanished. But the sense of unease lingered.
The next morning, Aisha went to the greenhouse—and there he was. Ibrahim stood among the plants, pristine yet visibly exhausted, sweating under the sun. His youth and vitality seemed untouched by time.
—So clever —Aisha said, handing him a towel, trying to mask her unease.
—You found me —Ibrahim replied, wiping his neck, exposing a defined torso. He noticed her discomfort and smirked—. Cat got your tongue? Or is it the first time you've seen a man bare-chested?
Aisha turned her gaze, pressing her lips together to contain her irritation.
—You were in my room last night... Why? —she asked, voice trembling despite her resolve.
—It's hot —Ibrahim whispered, stepping closer until his breath grazed her skin. He brushed a strand of her hair and murmured—: I had a feeling you'd come. I was right.
—Just tell me what you want —Aisha snapped, stepping back to reestablish distance.
Ibrahim smiled slyly.
—Mary never told you, did she?
Aisha's brow furrowed. A chill passed through her.
—Told me what?
Before he could reply, Mary rushed into view, her face stricken with concern.
—Another interruption. How unpleasant —Ibrahim sighed, casting her a contemptuous glance before turning back to Aisha—. Your father isn't the right one to protect you. He never understood what you truly are. But I do… and deep down, so do you.
Aisha stared at him, his words sinking into her like barbs.
—It's your choice —he said, brushing the back of her hand—. I was the one who brought your mother into this community. That's why your father fears me. He knows I'm the better option.
She yanked her hand away, fury in her eyes.
—Who the hell do you think you are?! Don't touch me again!
Ibrahim laughed softly, mocking her outrage.
—Oh, forgive me. That was rude. I ask for little… just let me see Sleeping Beauty.
—We're not that close. Consider this a warning. —Aisha's voice dripped with venom.
Mary stayed silent, escorting Aisha back to the house. Aisha's thoughts swirled:
"That bastard thinks he can get to my mother through me. Disgusting."
That night, a butler left a parcel on her bed. Inside was the dagger, along with a note:
"A symbol of power, wealth, courage, and honesty. That's how I see my daughter. —Darían, the father who cherishes you."
The words echoed as she stared at the gleaming blade. Before she could process it, a letter arrived at her boarding school days later.
As she opened it, a death certificate fluttered to the floor.
Name: Mary.Cause: Drowning.
Disbelief consumed her. Her knees gave out as her hands trembled around the document.
—No… this must be a mistake. Mary can't be dead. She was just with me… I saw her… No... —she whispered, voice breaking.
Her confusion gave way to rage. She bit her finger until pain grounded her.
—Bastard... —she growled through clenched teeth, tearing the certificate to shreds.
That night, she made a decision. Taking pen and paper, she wrote a note to Ibrahim in cold resolve:
"I await your reply. Always yours, Ibrahim."
As she folded the letter, the ink still wet, a dark resolve settled in her heart.If Darían had destroyed the last maternal link she had left, she wouldn't hesitate to strike back.
"If my father wants a war, he'll have one.And the first to fall… will be him."