THE CHOOSEN ONES

The air in the room was thick, suffocating, like the calm before a storm. My father stood before me, his presence as imposing as ever, his eyes sharp and calculating.

The cold precision in his voice cut through the silence like a blade. "How are you going to explain what you said to the Young Duke just now, Selantia?" He demanded, his tone devoid of any warmth.

His gaze bore into me, a mirror of my own—cold, ruthless, and terrifying. It was a look that had earned me the name Madam Nyxveil in another life, a name whispered in fear and reverence. But now, it was directed at me, his daughter—or rather, his opponent.

When had he ever treated me as his daughter? The question lingered in my mind, bitter and unspoken.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. From this moment on, I would handle him as I had handled every adversary in my past life: with calculated precision and unyielding resolve.

"Your Excellency," I began, my voice calm but laced with an edge that made his eyes narrow slightly. "Before I answer you, may I ask you something? You are not bound to respond, but it would make our conversation... more transparent." I paused, letting the weight of my words settle.

He gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "What do you see when you think of the future of House Nyxveil?"

His eyes widened—just a fraction, but enough to betray his surprise. He hadn't expected this. Good. I needed him off balance; I needed him to see me not as the daughter he could control but as a force to be reckoned with.

My suspicions about Master not being part of the demon cult had been cleared, but my father? He remained an enigma, a shadow I couldn't yet pierce.

Without a divine sword and in this weaker body, I stood no chance against him in a direct confrontation—especially if he was aligned with the cult. My only option was to tread carefully, to test the waters before making my move.

My initial plan had succeeded—Ezekian's sympathy was mine. Now, my next goal was clear: to be officially recognized as the Heir of Nyxveil and to infiltrate the family's inner workings.

Only then could I uncover the truth, whether my father was a traitor or merely a pawn in a larger game.

Father hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his response. "Be honest, Your Excellency," I pressed, stepping closer to him. My voice was slow and deliberate, each word carefully chosen to provoke. "Don't you think House Nyxveil deserves far more than where we stand today?"

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or ambition—before he masked it. But I had seen it. I had struck a nerve.

"You should choose your words carefully, Selantia," he warned, his voice icy but tinged with something darker, something almost... eager.

I smirked, holding his gaze as I stepped back and moved toward the window. The sunlight streamed in, casting long shadows across the room. I stood before the light, my silhouette stark against the brightness, my eyes never leaving his.

"Your Excellency," I continued, my tone steady, "you might not want to accept this, but a marriage between me and Ezekian Nordwyn is a losing deal for Nyxveil." I paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Isn't it a great loss to let go of me?"

And then I unleashed my aura.

It began as a ripple, a faint shimmer in the air, before erupting into a torrent of red and black energy. The room seemed to tremble as my aura expanded, swirling like a storm, crackling with lightning-like tendrils of power.

It was a force both beautiful and terrifying, a manifestation of the raw, untamed strength within me. The aura spilled out of the room, engulfing the entire mansion, a living, breathing entity that pulsed with my will.

I could feel the strain immediately—my muscles screamed in protest, and my organs felt as though they were being crushed under the weight of my own power. But I held on, gritting my teeth against the pain. I needed him to see and understand just how valuable I was.

I needed him to realize that I was not a pawn to be traded but something that could fulfill his lifelong ambition.

Father's eyes widened, his composure slipping for the first time. He took a step back, his own aura instinctively rising to meet mine, but he didn't lash out.

Instead, he stood there, his expression a mix of awe and something else—something that sent a chill down my spine. Excitement. He was excited.

And he wasn't the only one.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Edwin in his cat form, his eyes gleaming with a strange, almost predatory interest. He had always been drawn to power, to potential, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He knew what I was and what I could become.

And then there was Ezekian, standing in the doorway, his chest heaving as though he had run a great distance. His eyes were wide, his face pale as he struggled under the weight of my aura. He wasn't ready for this—not yet. But he would be. He would be far stronger than I ever would be when his second enlightenment would come to him at the age of 25.

The aura began to recede, the red and black energy folding back into me like a tide pulling away from the shore.

The room grew still, the air heavy with the aftermath of my display. I coughed, blood staining my lips, but I didn't falter. I stood tall, my smile proud and defiant.

Father stared at me, his expression unreadable. But I could see it—the respect, the fear, the realization that I was no longer a child to be controlled. I was a force of nature, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

And I would stop at nothing to protect what was mine. The incident that had ruined my life, that had claimed so many others—I would uncover the truth. I would destroy the demon cult. And I would do it as the Heir of Nyxveil.