What happened?

The garden behind the Celestian palace was always quiet at this hour, filtered by dusk and the hush of distant fountains. Lara walked among the trimmed hedges and low-blooming gold and crimson flowers, barely noticing any of it.

She was breathing, just breathing—each inhale sharp and cold, each exhale burning her throat as if she'd swallowed smoke.

She'd meant to go to her room, but her feet had carried her elsewhere, as if they, too, didn't trust what might happen if she were alone in a small space. She needed sky overhead and earth under her boots.

Needed distance from the echoing silence of those marble halls, from the memory of Sarisa's sharp, disappointed glare. From the sick, alien thing that still lingered in her bones, like poison in her blood.

She stopped by a patch of black roses, one hand bracing against the rough trunk of a tree.

The pain in her head had faded to a throbbing, insistent ache—deep, grinding, as if someone had taken a hot brand to the inside of her skull.

"What the fuck," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. "What the fuck just happened…"

She had lost control. There was no other way to say it. Not just a mistake, not a slip of technique or pride. Something had moved in her.

Had steered her hand, clenched her jaw. She remembered the sensation exactly: a coldness, crawling along her spine, snapping her muscles taut. She'd felt trapped behind her own eyes, a passenger in her own skin.

It wasn't fear that gripped her now, but something worse—a deep, bone-deep dread. She could fight almost anything. But how did you fight your own body?

A crunch of gravel. Footsteps, light and familiar. She tensed, ready to brush off whatever palace aide or guard had come to hound her about duty or rules.

But it was Malvoria who appeared—her younger sister, Demon Queen of half the continent, flame-eyed and unreadable, strolling between the hedges as if she owned the world.

Malvoria paused, folding her arms. "You look like you just ate a barrel of rotten lemons."

Lara forced a laugh, but it came out wrong—strained and thin. "I feel like I did. Or maybe I'm just developing a taste for chaos."

Malvoria tilted her head, her gaze sharpening as she took in the lines of tension in Lara's posture.

"So, what happened? You disappear after training. Sarisa looked like she wanted to turn someone into a toad. Aliyah's whispering about how 'Mama Lara broke the prince's bones,' and the guards are all pretending nothing's wrong. Spill."

Lara pinched the bridge of her nose, letting the truth tumble out.

"I fought Vaelen. It was just a spar—wooden swords, no magic, nothing serious. But then… I lost control. Not like losing my temper, Mal. I mean I literally wasn't…me. My body moved on its own. I hit him—hard. Hard enough to bleed. It felt like something else took over."

Malvoria's brow creased. She didn't scoff or tease, as Lara half expected. Instead, she stepped closer, her voice low and intent. "You're serious."

"Yeah." Lara's voice was rough. "After the hit, I could barely drop my sword. My head's still pounding. It was like—being possessed. Or cursed. I've never felt anything like it."

Malvoria went silent, her gaze drifting from Lara's face to the jagged scar—still fresh—on Lara's upper arm, the one she'd gotten fighting the dragon.

"Didn't you get that during the rogue dragon fight?" Malvoria asked, gesturing to the wound.

"Yeah." Lara rolled her shoulder, wincing. "It bit me—didn't break the bone, but it bled pretty bad. I healed up after, but it's never felt quite right. Sometimes it aches, like something's inside."

Malvoria clicked her tongue. "That could be it. You know old dragon magic is weird. Some dragons, especially northern ones, have venom—not just poison, but stuff that messes with your head, your body. Ancient magics that linger even after you heal. And if it got into your blood…"

Lara looked down at her arm, suddenly conscious of every ache and twitch. "You think that's what happened today? The dragon's magic…possessed me?"

Malvoria shrugged. "I'm not a dragonologist. But I know enough to say it's possible. Especially with your demonic blood—some magics stick around longer, twist themselves up in you."

She frowned, then nodded, decision hardening her features. "Let's just go see Mom. She's good with this kind of stuff."

"Veylira?" Lara hesitated. "I'm not sure—"

Malvoria held up a hand, brooking no argument. "You're not taking risks with your head, Lara. If it's magic, she'll find it. If it's not, she'll fix you up anyway. And I'm staying here. Somebody has to make sure nothing else goes wrong tonight."

For a long moment, Lara just stared at her little sister—the Demon Queen, the warlord, the one who had always known how to take charge in a crisis. She was right, of course. Lara couldn't trust herself, not now.

She nodded, slow but certain. "Yeah. Alright. I'll go. You'll look after everyone?"

Malvoria grinned, firelight glinting in her eyes. "Please. Nobody's dying on my watch. I'll send word if anything explodes."

"Try not to burn down the palace." Lara managed a weak smile.

"No promises." Malvoria winked, but her gaze softened, just for a heartbeat. "Take care of yourself, big sister. I need you at your best. Chaos isn't as fun without you."

Lara turned, following the garden path to the teleportation stones at the far edge. She paused, glancing back only once—catching the sight of Malvoria standing, arms crossed, vigilant beneath the first stars.

With a breath that trembled in her chest, Lara pressed her palm to the cool stone and summoned her magic.

The circle flared to life, runes glowing gold around her feet. The world spun, blurred, then reassembled into the quiet, shadowy halls of Veylira's ancestral castle.

Veylira was in her study, surrounded by maps and tomes, firelight flickering across her midnight hair and stern, clever face. She looked up as Lara entered, her sharp gaze softening only a fraction.

"Well, that's a rare sight. My prodigal daughter, arriving unannounced and—" Veylira's eyes narrowed. "—looking like she got dragged behind a stampede. Sit."

Lara obeyed, sinking into the overstuffed chair across from her mother. For the first time in hours, some of the tension drained from her shoulders.

Veylira studied her, eyes flicking to the bandaged arm. "Tell me everything."