The Guardian Of The Multiverse

(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)

The Rules of King's Gambit:

Each participant may issue a command or request that would further their influence within Zhcted.

The room itself—nobles, military officials, Vanadis—serve as the jury, deciding whether to acknowledge or reject the move.

Gaining majority support earns a point. Losing support loses a point.

The game continues until one side establishes undeniable control over influence in the room.

Sofya was given the first move.

She turned to the court, her expression warm, inviting trust. "My first act is simple.

I call for reason." She clasped her hands together, her voice carrying the calm authority of a mediator.

"This game was challenged on reckless grounds. His Majesty, our king, is being forced to indulge a visitor who holds no standing here. I propose that if Adriel fails even once to garner majority support, he forfeits."

A measured strike—subtle, yet decisive.

Murmurs rippled through the court. Clever.

Adriel's smirk twitched slightly. That wasn't just a move; it was a trap.

Sofya wasn't trying to win by amassing influence.

She was framing the game so that he alone bore the burden of winning every single round.

One misstep, one miscalculation—and the game would end instantly.

A noble nodded in agreement. "It is only fair. If we are playing by our rules, why should an outsider be allowed endless mistakes?"

The shift in momentum was immediate.

The room leaned toward Sofya.

She had painted herself as

the voice of reason, not an opponent.

She wasn't challenging Adriel—she was merely

correcting an imbalance.

A defensive maneuver disguised as an offensive one.

The king's gaze flickered toward Adriel. "A reasonable condition. What do you say?"

Adriel tilted his head. His grin widened.

"What do I say?"

His voice was light, but there was an edge

behind it. "I say checkmate."

Sofya's expression remained placid, but Adriel noticed

the slightest tilt of her head.

A flicker of curiosity.

He raised a hand, gesturing toward the court.

"I reject the condition."

Outrage.

Murmurs turned into scattered exclamations of disbelief. But before their protests could fully erupt, Adriel's voice sliced through the noise. "Let me tell you all something interesting." His gaze swept over them. "Just a few minutes ago, you all wanted me dead. You saw me as an arrogant outsider, a fool who spoke out of turn. But now?" He let the silence stretch, then smiled. "Now, you're so scared of me winning that you need to change the rules."

Silence.

A brutal counterattack.

By rejecting the condition, Adriel had forced the court to acknowledge their fear—whether they realized it or not.

Sofya's move was no longer about fairness.

It was an act of insecurity.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost tangible.

Adriel chuckled. "You want a real game, right? Then play it properly. If she wins, she wins. If I win, I win. No safety nets."

He shrugged. "Or keep your rule, and we all walk away knowing you were too afraid to let me play."

More doubt. More hesitation.

The support Sofya had built wavered.

Some nobles glanced toward her for reassurance.

Others hesitated.

The king studied Adriel for a long moment, then exhaled.

"Very well. No conditions. The game proceeds as is."

Adriel glanced at Sofya. "Your move failed."

She gave him a small, knowing smile.

"Not entirely."

Adriel chuckled. "We'll see."

His turn.

Adriel placed his hands in his pockets and spoke. "My first command? Simple." He turned to the assembled nobles, the knights, the Vanadis.

"I want you to publicly declare that, by the end of this game, you will acknowledge whoever wins as the rightful authority over military influence in Zhcted."

A direct challenge to the king himself.

A stunned silence gripped the room. The sheer audacity of the demand left the court reeling.

One noble rose immediately, his voice sharp. "Preposterous! No one here would swear to such a thing!"

Adriel merely smiled. "Then don't." His tone remained infuriatingly casual. "But know this—whoever refuses is admitting, right here and now, that this game is rigged. That you never intended to follow its outcome, no matter what happens."

Another trap.

The nobles who had been so vocal about "playing fair" now hesitated.

If they refused, they lost credibility.

If they accepted, they acknowledged the game's legitimacy—binding themselves to its result.

The tension was suffocating.

The king's eyes darkened. "You are bold."

Adriel tilted his head, smirking. "Bold? No, Your Majesty." His gaze gleamed. "I just play to win."

The court held its breath, waiting for Sofya Obertas to respond.

The game had only begun, and already, the pieces were shifting in Adriel's favor.

Sofya let out a soft chuckle, the sound like a breeze cutting through dense fog. "A dangerous first move," she mused, tapping her fan lightly against her palm. "You demand absolute commitment before a single piece has been played. How very... brave."

Adriel didn't blink. "Brave? Or simply efficient?" His voice flowed like silk—smooth, but laced with steel. "After all, what's the point of a game if we're only pretending to play?"

Tension tightened like a coiled spring.

The nobles, who had moments before been grumbling among themselves, now found themselves trapped between Sofya's calculated restraint and Adriel's relentless offensive.

This wasn't just a battle of strategy anymore.

It was a war of ideology.

A noble, older and adorned with a crest of noble lineage, finally spoke. "We are not so foolish as to gamble our kingdom's fate on the whims of an outsider!"

Adriel's eyes flicked to him. His smirk sharpened. "Then don't."

A lazy wave of his hand.

"Refuse the terms. And admit, right here in front of everyone, that none of this was ever going to be fair."

He leaned back slightly, his stance utterly relaxed, yet suffocatingly dominant. "Or, you can pretend otherwise, and try to stop me the right way."

Another trap. Another test.

If the nobles refused, they confirmed Adriel's accusation—exposing the game as a farce.

If they accepted, they bound themselves to its conclusion—giving him real power.

Sofya did not interject immediately.

Instead, she let the weight of Adriel's words settle like a storm cloud over the court.

Only after several long beats of silence did she finally speak.

"I do admire your method, Adriel." Her tone was genuine, but laced with measured caution.

She turned, once more addressing the court as though she were merely guiding them, not fighting a battle.

"But there is something to be said about tact," she continued, her voice measured. "Pressing too soon can have consequences."

Her eyes glowed with an almost serene amusement.

"The choice is simple. If we do not acknowledge the legitimacy of this match, then this is no game at all—just a meaningless argument between power-hungry men."

A masterful move.

Sofya had just reinforced Adriel's trap while simultaneously making herself appear like the reasonable one.

Declining the game was no longer an option.

Murmurs shifted once more. Even the most hesitant nobles felt the noose tightening.

The king exhaled slowly, closing his eyes momentarily before turning to his nobles.

"The decision has been made. We proceed. The game shall be honored."

A declaration. A sentence. A submission.

A few nobles visibly clenched their fists, realizing they had just been locked into something they could not escape. But no one dared to openly object.

The battlefield had been set.

Adriel leaned back, satisfied. "Now, that is a much better start."

Sofya's expression remained serene. "Then let us begin in earnest."

She took her turn.

The game of Subjugation wasn't just a battle of strategy.

It was a war of politics, manipulation, and influence.

Sofya, unsurprisingly, did not attack outright.

Instead, she consolidated her foundation.

Her approach was deliberate—measured. She whispered to the nobles without a single spoken word, shaping their thoughts with the gentle precision of a sculptor.

She didn't seek to crush Adriel.

She sought to surround him.

Subtle shifts. Hidden alliances. A network of quiet support forming beneath the surface.

The message was clear: She was not the enemy. She was the only one keeping order.

Adriel watched her work, his smirk never faltering.

"You're playing the long game."

Sofya inclined her head slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Rushing in is rarely wise."

Adriel chuckled. "True." Then, he made his move.

Unlike Sofya's delicate precision, Adriel struck like a hammer.

He did not attempt to gather support.

He aimed to shatter his opponent's control.

"Fear is a powerful thing," he mused aloud, tapping his fingers against the table. "And all of you are terrified."

The room stiffened.

He gestured lazily toward the nobles, the military officials, the Vanadis. "Tell me, nobles—do you truly believe Zhcted is safe?"

His voice slithered into their ears, like a whisper that refused to leave.

"With Brune in chaos, with war on the horizon—who do you think will suffer first when the storm comes?"

The trap snapped shut.

Doubt. Fear. Uncertainty.

It spread through the room like wildfire. The nobles were not warriors. They were survivors, men and women who clung to power only so long as their castles remained standing.

And Adriel had just placed a torch against their foundations.

Sofya's gaze narrowed slightly. "Are you inciting fear to gain power, Adriel? That is a dangerous road."

Adriel chuckled, reclining slightly in his seat. "Not fear. Reality."

He met her gaze directly, and in that moment, the entire court felt the weight of it.

"You play the diplomat. I play the inevitable." His voice was silk, but his words were edged in iron. "Because at the end of the day, diplomacy means nothing if the battlefield is already soaked in blood."

Murmurs. Tension. The court was breaking.

Sofya moved carefully, her fingers brushing over the surface of the table as she spoke.

"Perhaps," she allowed, as though entertaining a foolish idea, "but governance is more than war. It is about leading people. Strength alone does not inspire loyalty."

A delicate shift.

She wasn't refuting him outright. She was reframing the battlefield.

Loyalty wasn't about power.

It was about trust.

The nobles, clinging to any sense of stability, latched onto her words.

Adriel tapped the table once. A sharp, deliberate motion.

"Wrong."

The single word hung in the air like an executioner's blade.

He leaned forward, and for the first time, his gaze hardened.

"Strength is the only thing that ensures loyalty."

His voice was quiet. Cold.

The nobles stilled.

Sofya held her composure, but Adriel saw it. The slight tension in her jaw. The faint shift in her breathing.

Adriel tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he was about to solve.

"You've played this game before, haven't you?"

Sofya's lips curled slightly. "Perhaps."

Adriel's smirk widened. "Then you should already know—this game isn't about who's the kindest, Sofya."

He placed his next piece down.

"It's about who walks away with the throne."

He placed his next piece down.

The atmosphere in the grand hall of Zhcted's palace had grown oppressive, as if the very air itself resisted the words being spoken.

No longer was this a contest of diplomacy—it was a battle of minds, of control, of survival.

Sofya's calm exterior remained intact, but Adriel could see the shift.

The slight hesitation before she spoke.

The measured breath.

The weight behind her gaze.

She was calculating every word, adjusting her position in real-time.

She was good.

But Adriel had long since forced the court out of the realm of politics and into something far more dangerous.

The nobles exchanged worried glances, their murmurs mixing with the distant crackle of torches.

They weren't convinced. Not yet.

Adriel leaned back slightly, his smirk unwavering.

"You're right about one thing, Sofya. Strength alone doesn't inspire loyalty."

He allowed a pause—just long enough for uncertainty to take root.

"But fear does."

The murmurs spiked. Uncertainty turned to unease.

The king's eyes darkened. "And you would rule through fear, then? Is that what you propose?"

Adriel chuckled. "Oh no, Your Majesty. I'm not proposing to rule through fear."

He rose from his seat.

Deliberate. Unhurried.

Every motion was a statement. A claim. A power shift.

He let his gaze drift over the gathered nobles, over the knights, over Sofya.

"I'm saying fear is already ruling this world—you just haven't realized it yet."

Silence.

Adriel had stopped playing. He was controlling the room in real-time.

The nobles stiffened. The military officials looked toward their king, waiting for direction.

But Adriel wasn't waiting.

"You all believe that Brune's collapse is simply the result of human greed, don't you?"

His voice was silk, but it wrapped around the court like a noose.

"That this is just another war, another power struggle? That if you negotiate well enough, or fight hard enough, you can restore balance?"

Sofya's expression didn't change, but her posture did.

A subtle shift. The smallest exhale.

"You speak as if the war in Brune is more than that."

Her voice was steady. Too steady.

She had played enough games to sense when something was amiss.

Adriel sighed, shaking his head. "And here I thought I was playing against a strategist."

The court bristled.

The insult was subtle, but clear.

And Sofya did not respond immediately.

She was watching. Calculating.

That was fine.

Adriel wasn't speaking to her anymore.

He turned toward the gathered nobles, driving his words into the very foundation of the palace.

"The war in Brune is not political."

His voice dropped lower, a quiet intensity replacing his usual arrogance.

"It is not a power struggle."

He let the silence stretch. Tighten.

"It is a consumption."

A ripple of unease spread through the nobles.

The term was wrong—unnatural in the context of war. Wars were fought over land, power, resources.

But consumption?

The king's voice was measured but firm. "Explain."

Adriel's smirk faded just slightly.

This was the edge of truth.

Where revealing too much would fracture the illusion that reality still functioned as they understood it.

So he chose his words carefully.

"There exists a force that does not care for land, gold, or titles," he began, his voice steady.

He let the silence settle.

He watched as the realization began to stir.

"It does not seek conquest. It does not negotiate. It does not even wage war in the way you understand."

He let the words linger, allowing the weight to crash into them.

Because deep down, they already knew.

They just needed someone to say it.

"This force does one thing."

Adriel's gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"It consumes."

Sofya studied him carefully. "Consumes... what, exactly?"

Adriel tilted his head, watching her. "Life. Will. The very essence of what makes this world function."

A ripple of unease spread through the court.

One noble scoffed, crossing his arms. "What superstitious nonsense is this? A force that eats... 'essence'? Do you take us for fools?"

But Sofya did not dismiss him so quickly.

"You speak as if this is more than war," she pressed, her expression unreadable.

Adriel nodded. "It is."

His gaze swept across the room. "You wonder why Brune is collapsing faster than any war in history? Why its armies move without hesitation, without strategy, without fear?"

The murmurs grew. Confusion. Doubt. Recognition.

Adriel took a slow step forward.

"Because the ones fighting are no longer men."

A hush fell over the court.

The torches flickered. The weight of the words hung thick in the air.

King Viktor's voice was slow, measured. "Explain."

Adriel exhaled, dragging his hand through the air in a casual, almost lazy motion.

A faint ripple passed through the space before him.

It was subtle—barely noticeable to those without magic. But the few mages in the room felt it immediately.

A sudden chill. A wrongness.

A shift in reality itself.

Adriel wasn't just speaking anymore.

He was showing.

"There exists a corruption that does not hunger for land, for gold, or even for power." His voice was steady, yet the words slithered into their ears like creeping vines.

"It does not negotiate. It does not conquer. It does not need to."

He let the silence settle.

"Because the moment it touches something..."

He snapped his fingers.

A small, barely noticeable spark of dark energy crackled between them before vanishing.

"It becomes part of it."

A priest standing near the king staggered back, his face pale.

A noble's hand tightened around the pommel of his sword.

They didn't understand the full depth of what Adriel was saying, but they could feel it.

Something terribly wrong was unfolding in Brune.

Sofya's fingers tapped slowly against the table, her posture still composed, yet tense.

"A corruption that spreads without conquest," she echoed. "And yet Brune's armies still march. They still fight."

Her eyes narrowed.

"How do you explain that?"

Adriel chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Because you still think of this as a war."

He let the words linger.

Then he delivered the blow.

"Tell me, Sofya Obertas. Tell me, King Viktor. Tell me, noblemen of Zhcted—"

"Why do none of you have reports from Brune?"

The room fell silent.

The realization hit them all at once.

They had all been waiting for diplomatic envoys. For intelligence reports. For news from Brune's court.

Yet none had come.

Not a single messenger had returned.

No word from allies. No intercepted letters from enemy commanders.

Nothing.

Just... silence.

Hollow. Absolute.

King Viktor's expression darkened.

Sofya's lips parted slightly, though she said nothing.

She had noticed. She had known something was wrong.

But she had not considered why.

Adriel pressed forward.

"Armies move, yet there are no tactics. Wars begin, yet there is no reasoning."

He gestured toward the nobles, his gaze burning.

"You have seen rebellions. You have seen invasions. But have you ever seen a war without any demands? Without negotiations? Without any attempt at self-preservation?"

A sharp breath escaped from one of the younger knights standing near the court's edge.

The weight of Adriel's words crushed their prior doubts.

Because he was right.

Adriel's voice softened, almost sympathetic.

"What you think is war—"

He exhaled, shaking his head.

"—isn't."

Sofya closed her eyes briefly, inhaling.

Adriel could see it now.

The shift.

She wasn't fully convinced.

But she wasn't dismissing him either.

And that was enough.

One noble, his voice trembling, finally spoke.

"Then... what is it?"

Adriel met his gaze, his smirk fading slightly.

"It's feeding."

A shudder passed through the court.

Panic flickered in the noble's eyes. More whispers. More uncertainty.

The fear was setting in.

And fear meant doubt.

Doubt meant control.

Sofya's fingers curled slightly against the table, but she did not refute him.

The king's expression was unreadable.

Adriel could feel it.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place.

Zhcted had just realized that the war they feared... had already been lost.

The king, despite his stern demeanor, had gone quiet. He was considering this.

But Sofya wasn't done.

She lifted her gaze to Adriel once more, her measured voice slicing through the tense silence.

"Even if what you say is true... you offer only fear."

Adriel's smirk remained unfazed. "No, Sofya. I offer you something far better."

His gaze swept across the court, taking in the lingering doubt, the fear bubbling beneath their skepticism.

"I offer the only path forward. Because whether you accept it or not—this game isn't about politics anymore."

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to something sharp, weighty.

"This is about who gets to decide how the story ends."

The silence in the grand hall stretched unbearably.

The court's illusion of control had just been shattered.

But the game was still in play.

Sofya Obertas, ever the poised and calculating Vanadis, was already contemplating her next move.

Adriel could see it—the way her fingers rested lightly on the table, her breath slow and measured. She wasn't rattled, but she was cautious.

Exactly what he wanted.

"You have quite the talent for painting apocalyptic pictures, Adriel," Sofya mused, her voice silk-smooth. "You say Brune has already fallen. That this force is beyond comprehension. And yet, here you stand, offering a solution."

Her lips curled slightly.

"Quite convenient, wouldn't you say?"

The court murmured in agreement.

A noble scoffed, slamming his hand against the table.

"A bold claim! If this... entity, or whatever nonsense you spout, is truly beyond us, why would you be the one to handle it?"

Adriel chuckled, his gaze glinting with mischief.

"Ah. There it is." He tapped the table. "The question that had to come sooner or later. Why me?"

He let the words settle, waiting, watching.

Then, he dropped the nail in the coffin.

"Because the Gods sent me."

The reaction was immediate.

Gasps. Whispers. Outright exclamations of disbelief.

Some nobles laughed bitterly, calling it madness. Others stiffened, their expressions unreadable.

Sofya's gaze narrowed slightly. She was still calm, but there was something else now.

Something closer to concern.

King Viktor's voice, cold and demanding, cut through the chaos.

"Explain."

Adriel leaned back in his chair, completely at ease.

"I don't expect blind faith. After all, mortals tend to demand proof when their Gods decide to act."

His fingers tapped against the table.

"And proof... is something I can provide."

The tension in the room thickened—an oppressive weight pressing down on the gathered nobles.

They wanted to dismiss him. To call his words the arrogance of an outsider.

But Adriel had already planted the seed of doubt.

All he had to do was let it grow.

With the casual air of a man unbothered by consequence, Adriel raised his hand.

And reality shifted.

The nobles and knights did not have the eyes to see beyond the veil.

But they felt it.

Magic unlike any they had witnessed before.

The torches along the walls flickered, not with fire, but with something... unnatural. The polished marble of the palace floor shivered, like water disturbed by an unseen ripple.

For a single moment, Zhcted itself trembled.

Then—

A symbol etched itself into the space above Adriel's palm.

Not drawn. Not invoked.

It simply was.

Many crests burning with soft, golden light.

The sacred crest's of every God that existed in this world.

The room froze.

Eyes widened in shock.

Some nobles stumbled back, others instinctively fell to one knee.

The religious figures present—high-ranking priests and advisors—gasped in utter horror.

Because this was impossible.

No mortal could invoke the crest of a God on their own.

Not even a Vanadis.

Not without divine intervention.

And yet, Adriel had done it without prayer. Without ceremony. Without effort.

The silence was deafening.

Adriel's voice, smooth as ever, cut through the stillness.

"Your Gods are real. And they see what's happening to your world."

His gaze swept across the court, reading every flicker of unease in their expressions.

"But there's one problem."

He let the glowing crest flicker—and vanish.

"They can't stop it."

A wave of dread rippled through the chamber.

The nobles who had been skeptical moments ago now looked terrified.

Sofya remained still. Too still. That usual warmth in her gaze had dimmed, replaced with something colder, sharper.

But the king?

His fists clenched. His voice was steel.

"You dare to claim that the Gods are powerless?"

Adriel tilted his head. Amused.

"I don't claim it." His grin widened. "They admitted it."

The room froze.

He let that sink in.

Then he continued.

"Tir Na Fal. Perkūnas. Even the lesser deities you worship." A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. "They all know the truth."

His smirk vanished.

"The Darks? They exist beyond their reach. The Gods cannot interfere. They cannot destroy them. All they can do is watch as existence itself is devoured."

He crossed his arms, his tone almost casual.

"Which is why they needed someone who could."

The uproar came instantly.

Some nobles shot up from their seats, shouting objections.

Others stayed deathly quiet.

One noble—an older man, the weight of years evident in his voice—spoke in a hushed, shaken tone.

"...Then we are abandoned?"

Adriel turned his gaze toward him, his smirk softening.

"Not abandoned. Just outmatched."

A murmur spread.

A priest gritted his teeth, pointing a trembling finger at Adriel.

"This is blasphemy!"

Adriel didn't blink. "It's reality."

The murmurs deepened.

Some of them—too many of them—were starting to believe.

Sofya exhaled. Her smile returned—but it was forced.

"Quite the tale," she murmured.

Adriel raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

He leaned forward, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Then tell me, Sofya. If I'm lying—" his smirk widened, "—why haven't the Gods denied it?"

The room fell silent.

A cruelly efficient move.

If the Gods had truly disapproved, if Adriel had spoken falsehoods, divine punishment would have already struck him down.

But nothing had happened.

The lack of divine retribution was its own proof.

Sofya sighed, but her eyes sharpened.

"You're dangerous."

Adriel grinned. "You have no idea."

The king, despite his anger, was no fool.

His grip on his throne tightened.

The nobles who had once clung to doubt were now silent.

To deny Adriel now would mean defying the Gods themselves.

To accept him would mean placing their fate in his hands.

And those who believed?

They were already shifting to his side.

Sofya exhaled, then spoke with measured calm. "Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that what you say is true."

Adriel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And here I thought you were calling me a liar."

Sofya ignored the jab. "Then what, exactly, is your solution?"

Adriel's smirk returned.

Checkmate.

Adriel tapped the table once, letting the soft echo linger. "You already know the answer."

His gaze swept across the court, lingering on each noble, each official, each Vanadis.

"Zhcted's army will be under my command. I will handle the problem. And in return—" he leaned back lazily, his smirk widening, "your kingdom doesn't get wiped off the face of history."

Silence.

Sofya's gaze darkened.

The king's jaw clenched.

Adriel could see it—the desperate search for an argument, for a counterattack, for anything to regain control of the conversation.

But there was nothing.

He had cornered them.

Faith. Fear. Reality itself. All had become his weapons.

The nobles sat in stunned silence, grasping at whatever thin strands of doubt remained.

But even those threads were beginning to fray.

Across from him, Sofya remained unreadable.

But Adriel knew—she was backed into a corner.

She had played a brilliant game, maneuvering through politics, logic, and diplomacy.

She had tried to disarm him with reason.

But reason had its limits.

Adriel had bent the very foundation of reality itself.

Now, she had one last move.

And he was ready for it.

Sofya finally exhaled, folding her hands neatly before her. "Adriel Josue."

Her voice was calm. Steady.

Her blue eyes met his without hesitation. "You have proven yourself to be many things—bold, intelligent, and undeniably skilled at turning the tide in your favor."

Then, she tilted her head slightly. "But here is where I challenge you."

Adriel's smirk didn't falter. "Oh? Do tell."

She glanced briefly at the king, at the nobles, at the silent court that hung on her every word.

Then, she spoke.

"You have demonstrated power—terrifying power. But power alone does not make a ruler."

Her voice was measured, firm, yet undeniably sharp.

"Tell me, Adriel—how can we entrust the fate of an entire kingdom to someone we do not understand? To someone who bends the world itself, who speaks with the authority of the Gods—yet claims to walk alone?"

The murmurs in the room stirred again.

Clever.

Sofya wasn't trying to beat him in raw tactics anymore.

She was shifting the battlefield.

She was appealing to uncertainty.

To the fear of the unknown.

To the doubt that still lingered in the room.

And doubt?

Doubt was powerful.

Adriel tilted his head, watching her.

Then he chuckled. "I see what you're doing."

Sofya smiled. "Do you?"

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. "You want me to justify myself. To prove that I won't abuse my position. That I won't simply take Zhcted and run it into the ground."

His voice dropped, razor-sharp. "You want me to tell you what kind of king I would be."

Sofya nodded, unfazed. "If you seek to rule, it is not enough to win. You must inspire."

A single misstep, and everything could unravel.

The nobles watched, waiting, judging.

Adriel exhaled. Then, with absolute ease, he spoke.

"You misunderstand something, Sofya."

He placed both hands on the table.

"I don't want to rule. I don't need a crown. I don't need a throne. I don't even need people to like me."

His words caught the court off guard.

A few nobles exchanged puzzled glances.

Even Sofya frowned slightly. "Then what is it you want?"

Adriel's smirk returned.

"To win."

The air shifted.

The murmurs halted.

Adriel leaned forward, his gaze piercing.

"Zhcted is doomed if it does nothing. You know it. I know it. But you all sit here, debating, hoping that if you stall long enough, the problem will go away."

He shook his head.

"That's not how the world works."

He gestured toward the room.

"I don't want to lead Zhcted because I crave power."

His voice grew sharper.

"I want to lead Zhcted because you need someone who can actually win this war."

He leaned back, casually.

"And so far?"

His smirk widened.

"I'm the only one who can."

Silence.

His unwavering certainty crushed the weight of doubt in the air.

The sheer conviction in his voice left no room for argument.

Then, he drove the final nail into the coffin.

"You nobles fear me because I'm an outsider."

His voice echoed through the chamber.

"Because I don't play by your rules."

Then, he tilted his head. "But let's flip the board for a second."

He gestured toward Sofya.

"She's one of you. She plays by your laws, your traditions. She is bound by everything you hold sacred."

Then—

His smirk turned sharp. Cruel.

"Tell me."

Adriel's gaze swept across the stunned court.

His voice was calm, almost lazy, but the weight of his words settled like a blade at their throats.

"Which one of us do you think your enemies fear more?"

The room froze.

Sofya's breath hitched.

It was a brutal, ruthless statement.

And it was correct.

Brune—no, the enemy controlling Brune—wouldn't hesitate to strike if Sofya were in charge.

Because she was predictable.

She followed the laws of this world.

She played fair.

Adriel?

He was chaos incarnate.

And unpredictability is the one thing that terrifies a strategist more than anything else.

Sofya inhaled sharply. "So you are saying we should follow you out of fear?"

Adriel chuckled, shaking his head. "No."

His smirk returned, sharper this time. "I'm saying you should follow me because I'm the only one who knows how to win a rigged game."

The room watched. Waited.

Then—

Sofya exhaled.

And smiled.

"Then I concede."

The court exploded.

Nobles shouted.

Some in outrage.

Some in disbelief.

And others—those who had begun to see what Adriel saw—in grim acceptance.

Across the chamber, the king's knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his throne.

"You truly mean to take Zhcted's army under your control?"

Adriel stretched lazily, as if he had just finished a casual match.

"It's the only way to win this war."

The king exhaled.

His gaze—despite his fury—was calculating.

He had been cornered.

The game was over.

But a ruler did not fall so easily.

The king's voice was like steel.

"You demand control of my forces."

His eyes locked onto Adriel, sharp and unwavering.

"But if you fail?"

Adriel's smile did not waver.

"I won't."

The king's jaw tightened.

"And if you do?"

Adriel tilted his head, almost amused.

"Then kill me."

The words rippled through the court like a death knell.

Even Sofya's eyes widened slightly.

Murmurs turned into panicked whispers.

A noble took a step back. Another clenched his fists.

Adriel's grin widened.

"That's fair, isn't it?"

His voice was light, almost playful, but the room felt like it had just lost all its air.

"If I lose, I take full responsibility. You can execute me publicly if it makes you feel better."

He leaned forward, resting an elbow against the table.

"But we both know that won't happen."

The sheer audacity.

The king closed his eyes.

For a long, tense moment, he said nothing.

The nobles held their breath.

Sofya's gaze remained locked on Adriel, watching, studying.

Then—

The king exhaled.

Slow. Measured...

Sofya Obertas POV

I exhaled slowly, masking the weight pressing against my chest. My fingers rested lightly against the polished surface of the table, the cool touch grounding me, but nothing could fully steady the storm raging within me.

I had lost.

Not just the game—though that was a fact I could not deny—but something deeper, something more unsettling. I had lost control. I had lost my ability to dictate the pace of the court, to guide the discourse toward reason. The moment Adriel flipped the board and played by rules none of us could even recognize, I had become an observer in my own domain.

I had always prided myself on my ability to navigate the tangled web of politics and diplomacy. I was a Vanadis, after all. A mediator, a strategist, a woman who could weave words as deftly as any warrior wielded a blade. And yet, here I sat, watching an outsider—a man who cared nothing for decorum or tradition—strip me of every advantage I thought I had.

I had faced cunning nobles, ruthless generals, and kings who viewed war as little more than a game of conquest. But Adriel?

Adriel was something else entirely.

He played by no established rules. He was not bound by honor, not shackled by fear, not guided by ambition in any way I could recognize. He did not seek personal gain, nor did he revel in the power he had seized. He was an enigma wrapped in arrogance, a force of nature that had descended upon this court like a storm—unpredictable, devastating, and utterly unstoppable.

And that terrified me.

The murmurs of the nobles had long since faded, yet their presence lingered like the echo of a dying breath. I could feel their eyes on me, on the king, on Adriel. Some were still reeling, their entire worldview cracking under the weight of what they had witnessed. Others had already begun shifting, adjusting their loyalty to align with the new reality.

Adriel had won. And the court knew it.

Yet, what unsettled me most was not his victory—it was the why of it.

I had fought battles of influence before, but those contests were about leverage, about measured gains and calculated risks. This was something else. Adriel had played the game knowing that the board itself was flawed, that the only way to truly win was to change the game entirely. And he had done so effortlessly, making us all dance to a rhythm we hadn't even realized he was conducting.

But even that wasn't what shook me to my core.

It was that, for all his cunning, for all his ruthless efficiency...

I could not decide whether Adriel was a monster, or if he was something far worse—a man who truly believed that what he was doing was necessary.

That kind of conviction is far more dangerous than simple ambition.

He had claimed the gods had sent him. Had demonstrated power beyond comprehension, invoked the crests of the Gods without prayer, without effort. The sacred seal that no mortal should be able to wield—Adriel had conjured it as if it were little more than a signature.

And then he had spoken words that should have been blasphemy.

"They can't stop it."

The gods. Powerless. Forced to watch as their world crumbled.

I had studied history, studied divine intervention, studied the role of faith in guiding nations and kings. Never had such an assertion been spoken aloud within these halls. Never had anyone dared to suggest the gods were mere spectators to the doom unfolding before us.

But the most horrifying part?

No divine retribution had come.

No bolt of lightning. No sudden vision. No unseen force striking him down.

Nothing.

The gods had remained silent.

And that was what rattled me more than anything else.

I knew that my concession had sealed the fate of Zhcted's military. I had given Adriel everything he had demanded, and yet, I couldn't even bring myself to regret it. Not fully.

Because I had seen something in his eyes when he spoke of Brune.

Not hunger. Not power. Not ambition.

I had seen certainty.

Adriel was convinced of the danger. Not as a man seeking leverage, not as a conqueror looking to justify his conquest, but as someone who had already accepted the inevitable.

It was why he could speak with such arrogance. Why he could play this game so recklessly and still come out victorious.

Because, to him, this wasn't a gamble.

It was already decided.

And that left only one question burning in my mind—one I could not yet answer, no matter how I turned the thoughts over in my head.

Was he right?

I inhaled, gathering myself. There was no time for hesitation now. The king's word was law, and the court had no choice but to follow it. The army was his now.

But the court was still watching me.

I had been the one who played against him. I had been the one who had conceded.

If I faltered now, if I showed fear, I would cement his victory even further.

So I did what I had always done.

I adapted.

A slow smile curled at my lips as I finally lifted my gaze toward Adriel.

"I pity whoever tries to play against you next."

His chuckle was light, almost amused. "Don't. It's fun when they struggle."

I studied him for a long moment.

He wasn't lying. That was what unnerved me the most.

Adriel was not a man who needed validation. He was not someone who sought power for the sake of power. He simply was—a force of nature moving toward an outcome only he could see.

And if he was telling the truth—if this war was already lost unless he intervened—then I had made the right choice.

Not because I had been outplayed.

But because, for the first time in my life, I could not see a better option.

I folded my hands together, maintaining my composure as the court erupted around me. The king, the nobles, the warriors—none of them mattered in this moment.

All that mattered was the war that was coming.

And the man I had just handed the keys to our survival.

No POV

The grand hall of Zhcted's palace was still steeped in a heavy, oppressive silence. Despite the roars of protest and the murmurs of disbelief, a decision had been made.

Adriel had won.

King Viktor sat on his throne, his fingers pressed together as if trying to physically restrain his fury. The weight of his decree settled over the court like a thick fog, suffocating those who still refused to believe what had just transpired.

"Very well," the king had declared, his voice like steel grating against stone. "Zhcted's army is yours."

Adriel had merely exhaled, as if he had expected nothing else.

The uproar that followed was immediate.

"Madness!" one noble spat, stepping forward. "You cannot possibly entrust our military to an outsider!"

"This is treason!" another hissed.

A third, a grizzled war general with scars across his brow, merely folded his arms, his gaze unreadable.

Adriel tilted his head, watching the chaos unfold around him with an air of detached amusement. He made no move to silence them. He didn't need to.

The king had spoken.

No matter how much the nobles raged, they had lost.

Sofya Obertas, ever the composed Vanadis, was the first to break the storm of voices.

With a small chuckle, she stepped forward, her eyes resting on Adriel with a mixture of curiosity and something else—something he couldn't quite place.

"It appears you've done the impossible," she mused. "Tamed a kingdom in a single evening."

Adriel smirked. "I wouldn't say tamed," he replied. "Merely... redirected."

Sofya's smile widened, though her eyes sharpened. "Oh? And here I thought you didn't crave power."

Adriel tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "I don't," he admitted. "But I also don't intend to lose."

Sofya exhaled softly, something akin to amusement flashing across her face before she turned to the king. "Your Majesty," she said smoothly, "it seems the court needs time to process what has occurred tonight." She swept a glance over the assembled nobles, some of whom still stood frozen in shock. "Perhaps we should adjourn for now?"

The king gave her a sharp look but nodded begrudgingly. "This meeting is over," he announced. His voice was low, but it carried through the hall like a final decree. "You are all dismissed."

And just like that, the game was truly over.

The nobles departed in a slow, tense exodus.

Some stormed out, muttering curses under their breath, their hands gripping their ceremonial robes so tightly their knuckles had turned white. They would never accept an outsider ruling over Zhcted's forces, no matter what the king had declared.

Others remained frozen in their seats, as if trying to make sense of the battlefield that had formed not with swords, but with words.

A handful of them, however—the keen-eyed tacticians, the pragmatic rulers, the ones who knew how to survive political warfare—watched Adriel with something different in their eyes.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Something more dangerous.

Consideration.

Elen sat through it all, saying nothing.

Her fingers were clenched against the fabric of her cloak, her knuckles pressing into her lap. The weight of what had just happened was crashing down on her.

She had walked into this court believing that she and Adriel were going to plead their case—that she would have to argue, to negotiate, to use her status as a Vanadis to keep him from being outright executed for acting without Zhcted's permission.

But that never happened.

Because Adriel never needed her to.

No. Adriel had never needed anyone at all.

The realization settled like a stone in her stomach.

Everything—the entire month they had spent together, the moments where she had trusted him, confided in him, teased him, let herself believe that she had a grasp of who he was— all of it had been an illusion.

Because the Adriel she had known wasn't real.

The real Adriel was the man who just outmaneuvered the entire Zhcted court without breaking a sweat.

He had never planned to stand beside her as an equal.

He had been aiming for the throne from the very beginning.

And now... he had it.

As the nobles filtered out, Sofya lingered.

She stood beside Adriel, her fingers tapping against the fabric of her sleeve, before finally speaking—softly, just enough for him to hear.

"I wonder, Adriel... is there anyone who truly knows who you are?"

Adriel turned his gaze toward her, his smirk unwavering. "Now, Sofya," he mused, "what would be the fun in that?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I feel sad for those who try to keep up with you... trust you."

Then, she stepped away, leaving him alone with the one person who had been silent this entire time.

Elen.

She didn't say a word as the nobles left.

Didn't move.

Didn't even look at Adriel.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her thoughts racing so fast she could barely grasp any one of them.

She should say something.

She should demand answers.

She should punch him right in the damn face.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

She needed to process it first.

So she simply sat there, waiting until the room had cleared completely, until it was just her and him.

Then—finally—she exhaled sharply and stood up.

Her gaze met his.

And for the first time since they met, she looked at him as if she didn't recognize him at all.

The moment the throne room doors shut, Eleonora grabbed Adriel's wrist and dragged him forward without a word.

She moved with purpose, with force, but Adriel didn't resist.

Not because he couldn't—no, she knew by now that if he wanted to, he could stop her with a single movement.

But he didn't.

Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his tone light, teasing—infuriatingly unchanged.

"Hey, if you wanted some alone time with me, all you had to do was ask."

She didn't respond.

Didn't look at him.

Didn't slow down.

Adriel's smirk faltered slightly. His eyes flickered with something sharper, more calculating.

"...Elen?"

She still didn't answer.

And that?

That was what made Adriel exhale quietly.

Not annoyed. Not frustrated.

Just... resigned.

Like he had already run through every possible way this conversation could go.

And yet, even knowing that, he let her pull him along.

When they were far enough from prying eyes, Elen threw open the nearest door and shoved him inside.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Then, finally, she turned to face him.

Adriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed lazily over his chest, his eyes calm, unreadable.

He was waiting.

Not making excuses.

Not offering explanations.

Just waiting.

And that made something inside her snap.

"Did you ever need me?"

The words left her mouth before she even thought them through.

Not in anger.

Not in rage.

But in something far, far worse.

Betrayal.

Adriel's smirk faded.

"You knew everything, didn't you?" Her voice was steady—too steady. Controlled. But the way her hands clenched at her sides gave her away.

Adriel said nothing.

"You knew what was happening in Brune before any of us," she pressed, taking a slow step forward. "You knew how this would play out. You knew exactly what you were doing when you insisted on coming here."

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"And you knew—you always knew—that you were using me."

Adriel exhaled quietly through his nose. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, but his expression remained calm.

"...Elen—"

"Don't."

The single word stopped him.

"You knew I trusted you," she said, softer this time.

And still, he said nothing.

Because they both knew it was true.

"You let me believe you were just a reckless idiot," she continued, shaking her head. "For a month, I thought you were just some arrogant outsider who got lucky. That all your jokes, your teasing—it was just who you were."

She stepped closer.

"But now I see it."

Her voice cut through the air like a blade.

"You were just waiting."

Adriel's gaze remained steady, but something in his expression shifted.

"You knew I'd let you in. You knew I'd have your back." Elen exhaled sharply. "And the whole time, you were just waiting for the right moment to use me."

Silence.

And then, finally—

Adriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Elen—"

"Was anything real?"

The question hung between them like a drawn sword.

This wasn't about the game.

It wasn't about Zhcted's army.

It was about him.

It was about whether the past month—the drinking, the bickering, the way he had so effortlessly fit into her world—had ever actually meant anything.

Or if she had just been another piece on his board.

Adriel opened his mouth.

Then—

He closed it again.

And that—

That was her answer.

Elen swallowed hard.

"...Forget it."

She turned toward the door.

But before she could leave, she felt it—

A hand gripping her wrist.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned back, her gaze locking onto his.

For a second, she expected him to let go.

He didn't.

Instead, he sighed, his grip loosening just slightly.

"...It wasn't all fake."

Elen's chest tightened.

She wasn't sure if it was from relief or from something worse.

She studied him carefully.

Adriel wasn't smirking. He wasn't teasing.

For once, he wasn't wearing a mask.

"The idiot you spent a month with?" he said quietly. "He's real. Just... not all of him."

She searched his expression. "Then which part was real?"

Adriel exhaled. "You were right about one thing, though."

His grip fell away from her wrist.

"I did use you."

Something inside her cracked.

Adriel leaned back against the doorframe, rubbing a hand down his face. "And I'd do it again."

That—

That was the last straw.

Elen ripped her wrist away, her eyes burning.

"Then I was a fool for trusting you."

And this time—

She walked away.

She didn't look back.

Didn't slow down.

Didn't stop.

Even when she reached the end of the hallway—

Even when her chest felt tight—

She kept walking.

Because if she stopped, she might have done something stupid.

Like turning around.

Like hoping he'd say something else.

Like hoping he'd stop her.

But he didn't.

Because Adriel Josue was not the kind of man who chased after people.

And Eleonora Viltaria was not the kind of woman who waited to be convinced.

Adriel exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.

The hall was empty. The echoes of Elen's footsteps had long since faded, leaving behind only silence.

And yet, her words still clung to him like a weight he couldn't shake.

"Was anything real?"

He knew what she meant.

And he hated that he didn't have an answer.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, letting his body relax while his mind refused to. The weight of the past was a familiar burden—one that never truly left him, no matter how many lifetimes he lived.

He closed his eyes.

For a second—just a second—Chisato's smile flashed in his mind. The way her eyes lit up after pulling off a perfect takedown, the way her voice softened when she teased him.

"Adriel, you're always acting so mysterious. But I see through you, y'know? You want to protect everyone... but who's protecting you?"

His fingers twitched.

Pain.

Not physical. No wound, no cut, no shattered bone could compare to the ache of losing someone who should still be by his side.

But that was the problem, wasn't it?

She wasn't by his side.

Not because she left. Not because she abandoned him.

Because she was taken.

Ripped from his world, erased from his life like she had never been there at all.

He remembered fighting against it.

Struggling.

Screaming.

The pain in his head, the sensation of his memories being unraveled, burned away, shredded into nothing.

His so-called assistant had made sure of that.

"We need a perfect terminator, not a peacemaker."

"You think you have a right to choose where you can be? That's laughable, Karito. Now shut up and do your job as a Guardian of the Multiverse."

He had fought back.

And he had lost.

Just like he always did.

The first time, it was Chisato.

The second time, it was Sasha.

Her laugh echoed in his mind, light and teasing, her Russian accent coloring her words as she bumped her shoulder against his.

"You're always so serious, Adriel. Loosen up. Live a little."

Then—Green Goblin's laughter.

A scream.

And then nothing.

Not even a body to bury.

Adriel clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

The third time...

Rebecca.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

She was supposed to die in the original timeline. But he saved her.

He changed her fate.

He thought—no, he hoped—that meant things would be different.

That, for once, he could hold on to someone.

That, maybe, just maybe, he could have something real.

And then... the same thing happened.

Memory loss.

Forced removal.

He woke up, ripped from her world, his mind blank where her presence should have been.

No matter how hard he tried to hold on, fate always found a way to take them away from him.

He could remember their faces.

Their voices.

The way they made him feel.

But he couldn't remember how to find them.

Where their worlds were.

How to go back.

As if fiction itself had decided that he wasn't allowed to love.

He exhaled, his breath slow and steady, but his heart pounded like war drums in his chest.

This wasn't the first time he had thought about it.

It wouldn't be the last.

He was a Guardian of Fiction.

His existence wasn't meant for stability.

It was meant for conflict.

For battle.

For war.

For saving the story, not becoming part of it.

And yet—

Despite everything, despite all the loss, all the suffering, all the pain—

He still wanted it.

That quiet life.

That peace.

That love.

He still longed for it.

Even though he knew the cost.

Even though he knew it would end in heartbreak.

Adriel scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

"That's fair, isn't it?"

His own words from earlier echoed in his mind.

Love wasn't fair.

It never had been.

And he had stopped expecting it to be a long time ago.

But maybe that was the worst part.

Because no matter how much he tried to bury the desire—no matter how much he told himself he was fine without it—deep down, it still hurt.

Deep down, he still craved it.

And deep down, he was terrified.

Not of love itself.

Not of emotions.

But of what came after.

What happened when it was taken from him again.

What happened when fiction decided that he wasn't meant to have happiness.

What happened when he had to watch another person he loved be erased from his life.

Because, at the end of the day, Adriel wasn't afraid of love.

He was afraid of losing it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until there was nothing left of him but a man who forgot how to love at all.

He opened his eyes, the weight in his chest pressing down like a vice.

His gaze flickered toward the doors Elen had dragged him through.

She had been angry. Hurt. Confused.

She had every right to be.

He had played his role well—the teasing, carefree visitor, the easygoing fighter, the reliable warrior.

And then, in one night, he shattered it all.

He wondered, briefly, if she would ever look at him the same way again.

Then he laughed.

Why did it matter?

What did it change?

His path was already set.

His duty as a Guardian would always come first.

No matter who he had to hurt.

No matter what he had to sacrifice.

And love?

Love was just another sacrifice he wasn't allowed to make.

A few minutes later...

Adriel remained still in the empty corridor, his mind heavy with memories and thoughts he couldn't quite shake. Elen had stormed off, her anger and confusion still palpable in the air. He exhaled, letting the tension settle in his chest, knowing that this confrontation had been inevitable.

Then, he spoke.

"You can come out now."

Silence. But only for a moment.

From the dimly lit hallway beyond the pillars, Ludmila Lourie stepped forward, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Adriel. Her expression was unreadable, calm yet analytical. She had been there for some time—eavesdropping, observing. She had been silent during the King's Gambit, but now, after hearing everything, she had questions of her own.

Her arms crossed, her regal blue attire catching the faint candlelight. She regarded him with scrutiny and intrigue. "You knew I was here."

Adriel smirked. "Hard not to. You breathe a little too softly when you're trying to stay hidden."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is that so? Or is it because you know far more than you should?"

Adriel chuckled but didn't answer. His eyes studied her, reading her stance, her calculated patience. Mila was nothing like Elen. She was refined, meticulous, and most importantly—she was skeptical.

She didn't rush forward with emotions. She thought first.

A dangerous habit.

Mila finally broke the silence. "I held my tongue during your game with Sofya. I wanted to see just how far you would go."

Adriel tilted his head. "And?"

She exhaled, stepping closer. "You weren't playing a game at all, were you?"

His smirk faded slightly. She understood.

"Of course not." He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "I was taking control of a kingdom. That's not something you 'play' at."

Her gaze flickered to the now-closed throne room doors behind them. The lingering presence of authority still loomed, but Adriel had already broken the illusion of power in that room. The king, the nobles—they had lost. And Mila had witnessed it all.

"You're an enigma, Adriel Josue," she admitted. "A man who wields power like a storm but hides it behind a mask of amusement. A man who has spent a month in Elen's castle acting like a carefree fool, yet within a single night, forced an entire kingdom to bow."

Adriel grinned. "I like to keep things interesting."

Mila, however, was not in the mood for amusement. She took another step forward, lowering her voice. "What are you really after?"

Adriel didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched her, gauging her expression. Unlike Elen, Mila wasn't here out of betrayal. She wasn't here to shout or demand explanations.

She was here to understand.

So he gave her something.

"I'm here to fix a problem your world isn't equipped to handle."

Mila raised an eyebrow. "A problem?"

"A war that isn't a war. An enemy that doesn't play by the same rules as you." His tone grew quieter, sharper. "Brune hasn't just fallen to rebellion. It's been consumed by something much worse."

Mila's expression barely shifted, but Adriel saw the flicker of curiosity behind her cool demeanor. He continued.

"Zhcted won't survive what's coming unless someone does what needs to be done."

Mila didn't blink. "And that 'someone' is you?"

He chuckled. "Who else?"

She studied him for a moment longer, then turned her gaze toward the empty corridor behind her, as if weighing her next words carefully. "You played Sofya well. You played the king even better. But what about me?" She turned back to him. "Are you planning to manipulate me as well?"

Adriel smirked. "Depends. Are you planning to get in my way?"

For the first time, Mila smiled.

It wasn't soft like Sofya's, nor playful like Elen's. It was calculated. A sign that she was enjoying this exchange just as much as he was.

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "That depends on whether I find your leadership… acceptable."

Adriel raised an eyebrow. "Acceptable?"

Mila gave him a knowing look. "You want an army, Adriel? That means you'll have to lead. And I don't follow fools."

Adriel chuckled. "Fair enough."

She stepped past him, as if ready to walk away. But before she did, she glanced over her shoulder. "I assume you'll be staying in Zhcted for now?"

He nodded. "For as long as necessary."

Mila considered that. Then, with a small smirk of her own, she added, "Good. That means I'll be watching."

And with that, she disappeared down the corridor, leaving Adriel standing alone.

He exhaled, a faint chuckle escaping under his breath. She's interesting.

Not like Elen, not like Sofya. Mila was different.

She wasn't trying to stop him.

She was trying to figure out if he was worth following.

And that, Adriel thought, might be even more dangerous than opposition.

Adriel made his way through the dimly lit halls of the castle, his pace slow, relaxed. The echoes of his footsteps followed him, yet his mind remained unusually quiet. After everything—Elen's fury, Mila's intrigue—he finally had a moment to breathe.

Or at least, he intended to.

The kitchen was empty, or so it seemed at first glance. But before he could take another step inside, his senses picked up on the presence of another. No hostility. No ill intent. Just quiet observation.

He sighed internally.

Of course she'd be here.

Sofya Obertas sat at a long wooden table, a porcelain teacup resting between her fingers. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated her eyes, reflecting calm amusement as she watched him enter. She was perfectly at ease, as if the events of the past hours hadn't shaken her in the slightest.

Adriel met her gaze but said nothing, heading straight for the food. He wasn't in the mood for politics, not right now. If she wanted to sit there and sip her tea while pretending he didn't just throw an entire kingdom into turmoil, that was fine by him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then, softly, Sofya broke the silence. "You make a mess of an entire kingdom, yet here you are… more focused on your appetite than politics."

Adriel smirked as he grabbed a loaf of bread, tearing a piece off casually. "And here I thought you'd be drafting plans to counter my tyranny already."

Sofya chuckled lightly, setting her cup down. "Oh, I considered it. But then I thought, why waste my energy? You seem quite capable of making your own enemies without my help."

Adriel took a bite, leaning against the counter. "True. But you're still here."

Sofya hummed in agreement. "I am."

Silence stretched between them again, though this time it was different. Sofya wasn't challenging him, nor was she probing aggressively like before. No, this was something else entirely.

She was studying him.

Her gaze was contemplative, thoughtful. As if she were peeling away the layers, seeing what lay beneath the confident smirk and sharp wit.

Finally, she spoke. "Is it tiring? Always playing a role?"

Adriel's chewing slowed for just a fraction of a second. A barely noticeable hesitation before he swallowed. "It's only a role if I don't win."

Sofya smiled faintly. "A clever answer. But not quite an honest one."

Adriel chuckled, shaking his head. "Honesty's overrated."

"Perhaps," Sofya mused. "But it does have its uses."

She lifted her cup, taking another sip, her posture as graceful as ever. Adriel, still leaning against the counter, studied her in return. Unlike Elen, who had confronted him with raw emotion, and Mila, who had analyzed him with cold calculation, Sofya approached things differently.

She didn't need to force answers out of him.

She let the silence do the work for her.

After a moment, she set her cup down once more. "You talk like a man who knows too much. As if you see things before they happen."

Adriel exhaled, his smirk dimming just slightly. "I see patterns."

Sofya tilted her head. "Patterns?"

He shrugged. "Cause and effect. People think they act on impulse, but they don't. They follow habits, routines, instincts. If you pay attention long enough, you can predict them."

Sofya considered this. "And how long have you been paying attention?"

Adriel's grin returned, though it lacked its usual playfulness. "Longer than you'd believe."

That answer seemed to satisfy her, at least for now. She leaned back slightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "You intrigue me, Adriel Josue."

Adriel raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

Sofya nodded. "Most men who seek power do so for ambition, for greed, or for glory. But you… you move with a different purpose. One that I still do not fully understand."

Adriel took another bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully. "And here I thought you had me all figured out."

Sofya smiled. "Not quite. But I do know one thing."

She reached for the teapot and, without a word, poured him a cup. The gesture was smooth, effortless, and yet, it carried weight. A silent offer of something unspoken.

Adriel eyed the tea for a moment before accepting it, bringing the cup to his lips. "Careful. If you start treating me this kindly, people will think I've won you over."

Sofya chuckled. "Perhaps you already have."

Adriel paused, studying her again. There was no sarcasm in her tone, no hidden malice. Just a quiet understanding.

She wasn't his ally.

But she wasn't his enemy, either.

She was something in between.

Sofya lifted her own cup, taking another slow sip before giving him one final glance. "You're not as untouchable as you think, Adriel. Even the strongest pieces can be moved."

Adriel smirked, setting his empty cup down. "Good thing I don't play chess. I play to win."

Sofya gave him a knowing smile before rising from her seat. "Then I look forward to seeing how you handle what comes next."

She turned gracefully, walking toward the exit, leaving Adriel alone in the kitchen once more.

He exhaled, his fingers tapping against the wooden table.

Sofya Obertas was someone worth keeping an eye on.

Adriel sighs, resting his head on the table, "Guess I'm gonna start blessing some weapons and armor..." he thought.

To Be Continued...