History lesson

"So, Ms. Eldez... why are you going to Has?" Varin asked as they walked. Her voice was casual, but the question carried a note of curiosity.

Ms. Eldez, without breaking her unnervingly calm demeanor, replied, "I'm looking for someone in the Has Empire."

Varin frowned, her brow furrowing. "Ms. Eldez... don't you mean the Has Republic?"

For the briefest moment, Ms. Eldez paused mid-step. The stillness was unnerving, like a clock missing its usual tick. Then, with the same serene smile plastered on her face, she resumed walking. "Oh dear, yes, of course. My mistake. It's now called the Has Republic."

Her tone didn't change, and her dead, unblinking eyes remained fixed ahead. Something about the way she said it made Varin's skin prickle.

Trying to shake off the strange feeling, Varin pressed on. "Do you know a lot about the Has Republic's history?"

Ms. Eldez let out a soft, polite laugh. "Quite a bit, yes. I grew up near the border of Has."

That made Varin stop in her tracks. She blinked at Ms. Eldez in confusion. "Wait... but Has is an island, surrounded by water on all sides. The only 'border' it has is the shore."

Ms. Eldez didn't turn to look at her but kept walking with a measured grace. "Is that so?" she murmured, almost to herself, before falling silent again.

Varin's curiosity only grew. "Could you tell me more about it? I've always wondered what Has is like."

For a moment, Ms. Eldez said nothing, and the silence stretched just long enough to make Varin regret asking. Then, with the faintest tilt of her head, Ms. Eldez began to speak. Her voice shifted, growing distant, like a scholar reciting a story etched in memory.

"The Has Republic wasn't always a republic," she began. "Once, it was an empire—the Has Empire—spanning vast territories across the known world. It wasn't merely large; it was the largest empire in recorded history. Its influence reached every corner of civilization, from the icy tundras of the north to the blazing deserts of the south. For centuries, it was unmatched in wealth, military power, and cultural advancements."

Varin listened intently, her steps slowing as the world Ms. Eldez described seemed to take shape in her mind.

"But," Ms. Eldez continued, her tone carrying a hint of something—nostalgia? Sadness? "All things that rise so high must eventually fall. The Has Empire shattered three centuries ago. Its downfall was swift and catastrophic. Corruption festered within its heart, rebellions sparked across its provinces, and the once-mighty fleets that controlled the seas were torn apart by storms and rival powers."

Varin's eyes widened. "What happened after it fell?"

"The noble families, desperate to cling to power, attempted to salvage what remained," Ms. Eldez said, her voice soft yet precise. "They established the Has Deran Empire, a shadow of Has's former glory. But it was a fragile creation. The Has Deran Empire crumbled within fifty years, its territories swallowed by neighboring kingdoms, each eager to claim the spoils."

She glanced briefly at Varin, her unnervingly empty smile still in place. "This collapse reshaped the world. The Holy Empire arose from the chaos, uniting fractured lands under its banner of faith. Even the Adventurer's Guild, an organization once dedicated solely to exploration and aid, grew so powerful in the wake of the Has Empire's fall that it became a nation in its own right. Its territory today is vast, its influence second only to the Holy Empire."

Varin was silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of the history Ms. Eldez had just recounted. "That's... incredible. I had no idea the Has Republic had such a dramatic past." She glanced at Ms. Eldez, her curiosity sparking again. "You sure know a lot about history. I didn't realize you were so well-educated!"

Ms. Eldez chuckled softly, though her laughter didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, Varin, one picks up many things over the years."

Her words hung in the air, and Varin couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to Ms. Eldez than she was letting on.

"Wait… Ms. Eldez, you mentioned earlier that the Has Empire fell three hundred years ago," Varin said, her voice hesitant as she pieced together a connection. "And you also said witches died out three hundred years ago. Were those two things… related?"

Ms. Eldez kept walking, her unhurried steps crunching softly against the gravel path. For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, without breaking stride, she replied, "No. Witches were—"

Her words faltered mid-sentence, as though caught in her throat. She stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed ahead, yet her expression remained eerily serene. The pause stretched, unsettling in its length, until Varin, feeling a twist of concern in her chest, reached out to gently touch Ms. Eldez's shoulder.

"Ms. Eldez? Are you alright?" Varin asked softly.

Ms. Eldez blinked, her head tilting ever so slightly, before she turned toward Varin with her usual unsettling smile. "Oh, Varin. Yes. Is something the matter? Do you need something?"

Varin blinked, her concern deepening into confusion. "I mean… you were just talking about witches. How they disappeared three hundred years ago. You stopped mid-sentence like you forgot something."

For the first time since Varin had met her, Ms. Eldez's expression changed. Her smile faltered, giving way to a fleeting shadow of confusion. It was subtle, but the strangeness of it made Varin's stomach churn.

"Was I?" Ms. Eldez murmured, as if speaking to herself. Then, just as suddenly as the expression appeared, it vanished, her face smoothing back into its usual calm mask. "Oh, how careless of me. Let us continue, then."

Varin nodded hesitantly, though she couldn't shake the prickling unease creeping up her spine.

Ms. Eldez's voice softened, taking on a distant, almost dreamlike quality as she began again. "Witches, during their prime, were figures both feared and reviled. Their power was unmatched; wherever they went, chaos seemed to follow. It wasn't always by their doing, mind you. Some believed it was simply their nature—catalysts of disorder in a fragile world."

Her words hung in the air like a spell, heavy with implication.

"They were shunned," Ms. Eldez continued, "hated by kings and common folk alike. Soon, fear gave way to violence. Witches were hunted, driven from their homes, forced into hiding. For years, they scattered, alone and defenseless, until—"

She paused, her gaze drifting upward as if searching for a memory long buried.

"—until three hundred years ago," she said finally, her tone quieter now, almost reverent. "That was when the witches, weary of their persecution, came together. They formed a covenant, a sanctuary unlike any the world had ever seen. Near the border of the Has Empire, they conjured a sphere—a vast, impenetrable orb of pitch-black darkness. It became their refuge, a haven for not just witches, but all those shunned by the world. They called it the Witches' World."

Varin felt a chill race down her spine as Ms. Eldez spoke. Her voice had taken on a strange cadence, each word measured and deliberate.

"For a time, it thrived," Ms. Eldez said, her eyes distant as if she were seeing it herself. "The Witches' World grew in strength, its presence looming over the empires and kingdoms that once hunted its denizens. The neighboring rulers were terrified. They saw it not as a sanctuary, but as a threat. Whispers spread of armies gathering, plans to strike before the witches could strike first."

"What happened?" Varin asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ms. Eldez's gaze snapped back to her, and for a fleeting moment, Varin thought she saw something strange in those hollow eyes. Was it sorrow? Or something far darker?

"They launched their assault," Ms. Eldez said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The armies of the world gathered, their might combined. But the sphere... they couldn't penetrate it. No blade, no magic, no force of nature could breach its surface. For months, they tried. Then, one day—"

She stopped again, this time not from hesitation but from something heavier. Her eyes locked on Varin's, and Varin felt a shiver of unease.

"One day, it vanished," Ms. Eldez said, her tone almost wistful. "The Witches' World was simply… gone. No one knows why or how. All that remained was a crater, vast and empty, as though the land itself mourned their absence."

Varin stared at her, her mind racing to process what she'd heard. "So… they all just disappeared? No trace left behind?"

Ms. Eldez's lips curved into her usual smile, but something about it felt sharper now, colder. "No trace," she said simply.

Her voice carried a strange weight, as if daring Varin to question further. But Varin found herself unable to speak, the eerie story lingering in her thoughts long after Ms. Eldez fell silent.

Varin, still feeling the unsettling chill crawl up her spine, decided to steer the conversation toward something lighter. "So," she began, her tone carefully casual, "you said you're looking for someone in Has? Who are they?" 

Ms. Eldez kept walking, her steps as steady as ever. 

For a moment, Varin thought she hadn't heard her. 

"Ms. Eldez?" she prompted, glancing at the woman's profile. 

But Ms. Eldez didn't answer. She continued forward, her face unchanged, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. 

The silence stretched uncomfortably, each passing second amplifying the weight in the air. 

Varin hesitated, a strange unease settling over her. Had her question been too personal? Or was there something else entirely? 

She opened her mouth to ask again but stopped herself, the back of her neck prickling with the growing sense that it might be better not to know.

____________________________________

Adam hesitated, his usual defiance tempered by a flicker of vulnerability. "...Master," he began, his voice steady but tinged with discomfort. "Can I ask you for something?" His first word carried a trace of forced mirth, but it quickly dissolved into sincerity.

The Queen, lounging with an air of indifference, exhaled softly. "What is it?"

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Could you... maybe get someone to teach me history? I've realized I don't know much about anything. Oh, and... reading and writing too, if possible." His words tumbled out in a mix of embarrassment and determination, his gaze flicking up to her cautiously.

Leah tilted her head, studying him in silence. The corner of her lips twitched, almost betraying her amusement. His flustered sincerity was... unexpectedly endearing. Like a scruffy, rebellious pup trying to win favor without fully submitting. She cleared her throat, masking her growing smile.

"Hmm," she mused, drawing out the word. "I could arrange that..." Her tone shifted abruptly, a dark edge creeping into her voice. "…but I'll want something in return."

Adam stiffened, his spine straightening as he swallowed hard. His gut churned uneasily at the way her words dripped with subtle menace. Still, he held his ground. "I accept," he said firmly, though he deliberately omitted the word master, hoping to reclaim a sliver of autonomy.

Leah's eyes glittered with something unreadable as she gazed at him, her lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.

(Oh, this is precious, she thought, delighting in his defiance. What should I do with him? Something fitting... Maybe red? Red would look good on him. Add spikes? No, too much. A simple chain, perhaps? Elegant and matching me perfectly.)

Her imagination ran rampant as she watched him. To her, Adam didn't just look like a scrappy, rebellious puppy—he was one. His posture, all stiffened bravado, reminded her of a rowdy little dog puffing itself up to seem larger. It was laughably futile, and utterly charming in its own pathetic way.

(I raised a dog like this once, didn't I? Barked at shadows, chewed everything in sight, and still wagged its tail when scolded. Gods, I adored that dog. This one's no different—just as unruly, just as fun to break.) Leah's inner musings swirled between amusement and mischief.

Adam shifted under her gaze, visibly uncomfortable. To him, her prolonged silence felt like she was dissecting him piece by piece.

Finally, Leah leaned back, letting out a soft hum. "Oh, don't worry about the details," she said breezily, the shadow of her smirk deepening. "You'll find out later today."

Her cryptic response sent a shiver down Adam's spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she had in mind, it wasn't going to be as straightforward as he'd hoped. Meanwhile, Leah's mind buzzed with plans, the image of her rebellious little "puppy" firmly etched in her thoughts.

Leah reclined in her throne, her languid posture exuding control as she tapped her fingers idly against the armrest. Her sharp eyes drifted to a familiar figure who had appeared without a sound, her head resting lazily on her palm.

"Ligh," Leah began, her voice soft and laced with amusement. "Tell me, does he not look like a puppy to you?" She tilted her head slightly toward Adam, who had just left the room.

Ligh didn't answer verbally but shook her head, making an exaggerated motion with her hands to indicate no.

Leah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Then what do you think he looks like?"

Ligh brought a finger to her chin, tilting her head in mock contemplation. With a quiet snap of her fingers, she disappeared in a swirl of shadows, reappearing a moment later holding a chalkboard. In a few deft strokes, she drew a small, scrappy kitten with oversized ears and wide, curious eyes.

Leah blinked, then let out a low, throaty chuckle. "A kitten, huh? I see it now... That does fit him, doesn't it? All claws and attitude, but helplessly adorable." Her voice dripped with mockery and a strange sort of affection as she leaned closer to examine the drawing.

Ligh nodded solemnly, her lips quirking up at the corners in a faint smile as if savoring some private joke.

"So," Leah continued, her gaze narrowing slightly, "why are you here? For him? Is his mask ready?"

Ligh nodded again, producing a polished, ornate mask from the folds of her robes. The mask gleamed ominously in the dim light, its intricate design betraying an unsettling combination of elegance and menace.

Leah's smile deepened as she took it in her hands, her thumb brushing over its surface. "Perfect. This will suit him nicely," she murmured, her tone indulgent. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "You see it too, don't you? That potential... to break him and make him something even better?"

Ligh's eyes sparkled with agreement, a silent understanding passing between the two women.

Adam trudged down the corridor toward his room, his shoulders slumped. His mind reeled with questions and unease after his latest interaction with Leah. Her cryptic words and piercing gaze gnawed at him, leaving him tense and distracted.

Before he could reach the door, he felt himself suddenly lifted off the ground, his body weightless. The sensation was eerily familiar, and he squirmed instinctively.

"Ligh…" Adam groaned, recognizing the quiet, shadowy figure who had picked him up like he weighed nothing. Her grip was firm yet oddly gentle, as if she were handling something delicate—or something she enjoyed toying with.

"Ligh, it's been a while," he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. "Can you put me down?"

Ligh tilted her head, inspecting him like a curious child might examine a peculiar new toy. Her lips twitched in amusement, but she said nothing, her silent demeanor somehow more unsettling than words.

"Seriously, this is demeaning," Adam muttered, squirming in her grasp. His irritation only seemed to amuse her further as she shifted her hold slightly, making him feel even more like a kitten being carried by the scruff.

When they rounded a corner, Adam's heart sank. Leah stood waiting, the ornate mask in her hands and a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her gaze swept over the scene, her amusement evident.

"You see it too, don't you, Ligh?" Leah asked, her voice low and syrupy. "He's just like a little stray—wild, defiant, but desperate for structure. All he needs is a little training."

Ligh nodded, her expression one of silent agreement as she set Adam down, though not without ruffling his hair as if he truly were a pet. Adam swatted her hand away, his face burning with frustration and humiliation.

Leah stepped closer, holding the mask out to him. "This will suit you perfectly," she purred, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Don't you agree, Adam?"

Adam stared at her, his unease growing. Whatever this mask symbolized, he knew it was another piece of whatever twisted game Leah was playing—and there was no way to escape it.

The ornate mask in Leah's hands bore a striking resemblance to Ligh's own mask, with its clown-like quality, but where Ligh's mask had a straight, enigmatic line suggesting a subtle smile, Adam's mask featured a drooping frown, the line curving downward at the edges like the exaggerated pout of a melancholic jester. Beneath each hollow eye, symbols were delicately etched—on the left, a three-leaf clover, and on the right, a spade. The craftsmanship was exquisite, but there was something unnervingly personal about it. 

Adam felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. His heart raced as he took in the mask's eerie design. Leah's grin widened as she observed his reaction, her smile bright but filled with mischief. He couldn't see Ligh's expression under her mask, but he could feel the silent laughter radiating from her—a palpable amusement that only heightened his unease. 

Before he could say anything, Ligh stepped forward, swift and silent as a shadow. She tilted her head slightly, as if savoring his growing discomfort, then gently placed the mask over his face. 

For a moment, Adam panicked, his breath catching as the cool surface of the mask settled against his skin. He waited for something—pain, an enchantment, a curse—to take hold. But... nothing happened. 

Opening his eyes, Adam blinked in confusion. The world looked the same, his vision unobstructed. "Huh?" he said aloud, touching the mask hesitantly, his voice muffled slightly by the material. 

That single sound broke the tension. Leah erupted into laughter, her voice rich and melodious, echoing through the grand hall. Even Ligh, usually silent and composed, seemed unable to hold back. Adam felt her hand on his shoulder, shaking with barely-contained mirth. 

"Hey! What the hell is this? What did you do!?" Adam shouted, his voice rising in indignation. He yanked the mask off, glaring at the two women. Their laughter only grew louder. 

Leah wiped a tear from her eye, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, Adam, relax. It was just a little prank," she said between giggles, her tone lighter than he'd ever heard it. She gestured toward the mask still clutched in his hand. "That's your new mask. It's meant to help you stay hidden during future missions. Ligh added a few magical properties to it—you'll hear all about them soon." 

Ligh nodded, her fingers tapping lightly against her own mask, the gesture somehow playful. 

"It's not cursed," Leah added with an exaggeratedly reassuring tone, her grin turning sly. "Ligh and I just wanted to see your reaction." 

Adam stared at them, dumbfounded, as Leah leaned back in her throne with a sigh of satisfaction. "I must say, you didn't disappoint," she added, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. 

Ligh gave Adam a quick pat on the head, as if to console him, though her tilted posture suggested she was still holding back laughter. 

Adam groaned, his face burning with embarrassment. "You two are the worst," he muttered, slipping the mask back on begrudgingly. 

Leah smirked, her eyes sparkling with delight. "And yet, you'll still do exactly as we ask. Such a good little pup." 

Adam gritted his teeth, but he didn't argue. If nothing else, he was starting to understand that resistance was futile—and that Leah and Ligh enjoyed every moment of his discomfort far more than they should.

Leah watched Adam retreat down the hall, her eyes following his every movement with an almost predatory intensity. She sighed, a deep breath of satisfaction escaping her as she leaned back in her throne. The quiet hum of the palace seemed to settle around her, her thoughts simmering beneath the surface.

Leah finally sank into her throne, a long sigh escaping her lips as she closed her eyes, the echoes of Adam's frustration still lingering in the air. "You know, Ligh," she began, her voice a strange mixture of satisfaction and something darker, "I would have given him what he wanted without him asking... but when he came to me with that pitiful, eager look, I just couldn't resist." Her fingers traced the armrest of the throne absentmindedly, as if savoring the feeling of control that ran through her veins. It was a rare pleasure, one she enjoyed but tried to deny.

Ligh, ever observant, remained silent for a moment, the soft rustling of her clothing the only sound in the otherwise still room. Finally, she tilted her head toward Leah, her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity.

Leah, for once, allowed herself a small, self-deprecating smile. "I know it's cruel," she murmured, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "but the darkness, the hunger—it needs to be fed, Ligh. If it's fed, it's easier to control. Easier to keep hidden, even from myself. But when it's starving, it's sharp, calculating, and worse of all, it's cruel."

She let out a heavy breath, closing her eyes in a moment of vulnerability, something she rarely allowed herself. For all her domineering presence, Leah was still trapped in the web of her own manipulations, feeding the darkness within her with each subtle act of control. But there was an undeniable part of her that enjoyed it, a twisted satisfaction she tried not to acknowledge.

"Though," Leah added, her voice low and laced with a quiet thought, "I would be lying if I said I didn't want to see him when he's not trying to act so strong. After all, he's just a child. Our world of nobles... it's a cruel one, don't you think?" Her words seemed to hang in the air, laden with a weight that wasn't just the heaviness of power, but something deeper, something almost fragile. "Might as well enjoy it while I can." The last phrase came out in a soft, near inaudible whisper, as if she were confessing a secret to the cold shadows of her throne room. The weight of it settled heavily within her, pressing on her chest like a stone.

Though her voice carried the unmistakable sharpness of someone accustomed to control, to wielding power without hesitation, there was a tremor beneath it—a quiet vulnerability. It was a momentary lapse, a crack in the facade that few would ever notice. But if one listened closely, they might hear the regret tangled in her words, the faint echo of a humanity she had buried long ago. Leah was both a victim of her own making and an executioner in her world, a world where the hunger of darkness was her only true ally. Each act of cruelty, each game played with lives, fed that insatiable darkness within her. It was a part of her, something she could neither deny nor truly escape.

Back in his room, Adam ripped the mask off his face, throwing it onto the bed with a frustrated growl. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the anger that surged through him, a mixture of confusion, betrayal, and a deep sense of helplessness. "Screw those two," he muttered, pacing back and forth across the room, his fists clenched tightly. "Seriously, I'm starting to think Leah belongs in prison for harassment. What she's doing to me... it's messed up. It's wrong."

The words tasted bitter, but they didn't do justice to the storm brewing inside him. "She treats me like I'm nothing, like I'm some piece on a chessboard, and she's the queen pulling all the strings. It's sickening. I should've never let her get this close, should've never allowed her to play with me like this."

A deep frustration bubbled within him, and for a moment, he was silent, just staring at the floor as if the answers might reveal themselves there. But they didn't. Instead, a gnawing thought began to creep into his mind, one that he couldn't shake. "What if it's not just control...?" he murmured, the question hanging in the air like a heavy weight. "What if she's not just cruel... but twisted in ways I can't even begin to understand?" The thought was unsettling, dark, and it gnawed at him like a phantom, but he forced himself to push it aside. He couldn't afford to dwell on it—not yet, anyway.

The truth was, Adam wasn't particularly worried about himself. He was concerned for the original owner of his body—the one whose life had been overtaken by him. He couldn't stand the idea that this person might be subjected to Leah's manipulations, treated like an object for her amusement. He didn't know who they were or what had happened to them, but the thought of them being trapped in this cruel game, unable to escape, angered him even more.

"I'm sorry, whoever you are," Adam whispered, his voice heavy with regret. "I'll take care of this body for as long as I can. I won't let anyone corrupt it. Not Leah, not anyone. You can rest... for now."

The words felt hollow, and yet, they carried an unexpected weight. He didn't know how he could protect this body or its original soul. He wasn't even sure what his role was in this twisted world. But he was determined to try, to hold on to whatever little humanity he had left—no matter the cost. His resolve hardened as he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The exhaustion in his eyes was undeniable, but so was the flicker of determination that burned beneath it.

One day, he promised himself, Leah would regret underestimating him. He would find a way to flip the tables. He wasn't a pawn, and he wasn't going to stay a pawn.

__________________

Later that night, Adam was summoned to Leah's room. As he entered, he couldn't help the knot that formed in his stomach. He sat before her, trying to keep his composure despite the nervous energy that buzzed beneath his skin. "It's fine," he said, his voice betraying his unease. "Whatever it is you want... as long as it's within my ability, I will do it."

Leah let out a heavy sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of an entire world on her shoulders. She sat back in her chair, her usual composure faltering for a moment, her face suddenly looking so much more tired than it ever had before. She looked at him, but this time her gaze was different—softer, almost vulnerable.

"I want you to... stop looking at me like I'm some monster," she said, her voice quieter than usual, her words hesitant. The sharp, calculating queen that Adam had come to know seemed distant now, replaced by something more fragile. "That's it."

Adam's brow furrowed in confusion. This wasn't what he had expected. He had been preparing himself for a demand—perhaps for his soul or some impossible task. Powerful people, especially those who wielded magic like Leah, often had a taste for the occult. But this... this was different. "That's it?" he asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. "You just want me to stop seeing you as some kind of... monster?"

Leah nodded slowly, her gaze drifting downward, as though her own words weighed heavily on her. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were struggling to hold back something deeper. For a moment, the walls that always seemed to surround her cracked, and Adam saw a glimpse of the person beneath—the one who carried the burden of her own curses.

"I said it before," she continued, her voice unsteady now. "I don't want your forgiveness... just your patience. But every time I look at you and see your eyes... it reminds me of something I've lost. And what matters is... I want you to trust me, Adam."

Adam's breath caught in his throat. Leah swore on her honor as a queen—and a future empress—that she would not harm him. It was an oath that hung in the air between them, a promise so rare that Adam felt an unfamiliar shiver run down his spine. She had always been so cold, so in control, yet now she was offering him something far more fragile—vulnerability. "I swear, I won't treat you like a servant anymore," Leah added, her words faltering for a moment. It was clear that she was fighting with herself, trying to say something that her guarded heart didn't want to release.

"Why?" Adam asked, his voice soft, as if the weight of her confession had stunned him into silence. "Why do you care? Why are you telling me this?"

Leah took in a slow, steadying breath, her eyes never leaving his. She seemed to be searching for the right words, struggling to form them in a way that didn't betray too much of herself. Finally, she spoke again, her voice quieter, more raw than before. "Somewhat like how I cursed you... I too was once cursed," she confessed. "Though mine is different, it... changes me. It makes me become something I don't want to be. Something monstrous. But seeing you fight it... seeing you try to hold onto yourself, it's given me hope."

Adam blinked, trying to process her words, but the meaning behind them was clear. Leah wasn't just the queen. She wasn't just the person who had cursed him. She was someone who had been broken, someone who had suffered, someone who was fighting her own battle. And in a strange way, he had helped her find the strength to keep fighting.

He could see it now, the cracks in her walls, the pain she carried hidden beneath the surface. It was a vulnerability he hadn't expected—and it made him pause. "You... want me to trust you?" he asked, his voice quieter, the edge of his anger dulled by the weight of her words. 

Leah nodded, her expression a mixture of sincerity and something darker, something that hinted at the complexities of her soul. "I don't want to be the monster you think I am. And... maybe, just maybe, I don't want to be that monster anymore." 

In that moment, Adam saw her—truly saw her. Not as the queen, not as the manipulator, but as someone who, in her own way, was just as lost and searching as he was. It didn't excuse her actions, but it changed something inside him. He wasn't sure what would come next, but for the first time, he realized that Leah was more than just a powerful, cold ruler. She was someone who was, in some twisted way, just as human as he was.

And for better or worse, their fates were tied together now.