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  Once Marisia left the office, the silence stretched into infinity—time slowed; the hallway distorted, as if reality itself recoiled. Vertigo struck hard, clenching, scattering, and seizing her stomach, thoughts, and heart in a vice. Mind and soul exposed, laid bare for judgment.

  Clank

  “Damn it… burgh!”

  Marisia seized a vase, body convulsing in a rejection deeper than illness—each heave a violent purge of guilt, grief, and truth she could no longer contain.

  No different—the illusion shattered, piece by piece, like a broken plate laced with poison.

  Years of swallowing toxic ambition and disguised greed had built to this breaking point—her body now rejecting it all like poison. Only now did Marisia feel the pain with the clarity of finality, as if every heave was a desperate attempt to purge what had quietly been killing her all along.

  We are not so different—five words that corroded her worldview like acid on silk. A feast of rot, dressed with silverware on fine porcelain, that she’d been swallowing her entire life.

  ‘We are not so different,’ Marisia murmured, setting the vase down with a trembling hand, her throat raw from the purge. The poison hadn’t left—it coiled quietly within, a final echo of a gilded illusion she hadn’t fully broken free from: the hunger, the legacy, the lie of luxury masquerading as purpose.

  Marisia turned cautiously; the oak door to the office loomed like a judgment passed in wood and silence—a threshold guarding the butcher’s kitchen, where pain was plated like delicacy and despair seasoned with glee.

  “I’m no different from her.” The admission scraped out in a whisper—soft, but razor-edged. A truth buried deep, now clawing its way into the light, demanding to be heard at last.

  Memories broke through cracked defenses—nights spent draining Elisabeth’s miasma, believing it was an act of love, only to see now that she’d been feeding a nightmare, not soothing it. Helping had meant hurting.

  ‘How many chances did I waste staying silent?’ The thought struck like a whip—merciless and long overdue.

  Marisia turned away, footsteps near silent—like a thief retreating from a sacred vault, a robber of futures. Her sister’s fate draped over her like funeral silk, gilded and heavy. Could the world forgive her? Could she’d seen as innocent? Perhaps. But it didn’t matter. Not to a conscience cracked by truth.

  Every step grew heavier, her cape unraveling like torn honor. The hallway melted into a mire of mud and memory, each ripple revealing buried truths Marisia wished she’d never seen—fragments of guilt and ambition to wade through. With every push forward, her mind deepened into a chasm no one could escape.

  ‘This is wrong,’ every portrait Marisia walked past as if she was judged by her ancestors, but it felt horrible—no frown, side-glance, lips heaved in disgust, or wrinkle of a nose—joy. They were proud, like monsters watching their younglings ripping each other apart, their eyes conveying all.

  Marisia slowed, her shredded cloak trailing behind her as golden-plated skeletons emerged slowly from the muck—ghosts of legacy rising to greet with admiration and applause. What remained of her fingernails dug deep into her palms, as if clawing the dirt of guilt from her very flesh. Memories—sharp, relentless—spun through her mind. The conversation with her mother replayed like a cruel tapestry, each thread needled into her soul with surgical precision, forming a picture she could not unsee: a brutal masterpiece stitched in the colors of her own complicity.

  Stories of her ancestors began to flicker like living memories, their so-called honor revealed as scaffolding built on blood and despair—on sacrifices made by the very family they claimed to protect.

  Sluggishness overtook Marisia. ‘It’s not just Mother,’ she thought, each step carving away pain and pride. Blame belonged to all—herself included—for feeding a desperation born of shallow, unspoken desires loathed to name. And yet, as the mud crept higher, swallowing her step by step, she felt a strange warmth in the surrender.

  Like a pup perched on a corpse frozen in its final scream, Marisia was encircled by monsters—ravenous for the same cracked oil paint that lined the walls like dried blood. It was a symbol of worth she had always claimed to reject… hadn’t she?

  ‘I wanted this,’ Marisia told herself, a futile attempt to justify, to deflect the rising tide of guilt. She tried to cast the blame—on legacy, on tradition, on upbringing—but none of it held. The truth was simpler, crueler: she had destroyed her sister by becoming everything she loathed.

  Dirty, viscous water seeped into her lungs, choking any breath left as Marisia tangled deeper into her own failing strength, her [Aura] bleeding in scarlet with despair and guilt. She had lived within a maze of excuses—but in the end, only one truth remained: every person bore the weight of their own actions. That realization cut deeper than any blade, urging her to simply let go, to drift downward into the abyss and never surface again.

  ‘Huh?’ Marisia stopped. The illusions evaporated away like evening mist under a rising moon, steam laced in gold and dark scarlet seeping quietly back into her skin. And there it stood—a door, not merely of wood and metal, but a threshold to a choice that could no longer be avoided.

  A soft thump against the carpet—Marisia collapsed, her forehead pressed against the hardwood. ‘I’m sorry.’ Three small words, yet they struck like a blade through her core, flipping her stomach and choking her breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered again, tears streaming freely now as her hand clutched her shoulder, fingers bunching the fabric of her dyed dress like a lifeline.

  Marisia couldn’t give up—it wasn’t in her nature. ‘I am better.’ Will, forged in grief and regret, trembled but held like tempered steel. She would descend into the abyss if she had to, not to vanish, but to cut through it—like a searing sword plunging into mire, carving a path not to escape, but to purify.

  Clank

  With a push that felt like unsealing the gates of a kingdom, she no longer hesitated. Marisia opened the door. Her stance sharpened, her expression carved from pure resolve. “Good evening.” Was it arrogance? Pride? An ego aiming to carve a new fate from the scars in her blood. “How are you, Eli?”

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  Elisabeth’s uncontrollable [Aura] assaulted Marisia, a torrent of raw brutality and despair. No doubt was left—this was the catalyst that drove her to a choice steeped in pain, a sacrifice carved from the marrow of love and regret.

  “Urgh.” A pitiful whisper from the corner—Elisabeth huddled amid a room reduced to ruin, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood. Her body trembled, fingers clawing at her own skin in a desperate bid to reclaim a sliver of control, each motion both futile and frantic.

  Marisia clenched her hands, her resolve hardening like an ingot beneath a blacksmith’s hammer. She could run, retreat, pretend the wounds she’d inflicted never bled. It would be easy—to remain part of the cycle, another link in the Leonandra chain, forged in blood and guilt to uphold a legacy built on suffering.

  “Eli,” each step forward, feeling like an echo of defiance against the path she could’ve taken—the safer one, the expected one. “We need to talk.”

  But ease was not her path. Not anymore. Someone had to rise first—to crack the chain, to sever brutality from legacy, and begin again where despair had long been the only language spoken.

  “Mari,” Elisabeth’s voice trembled, eyes wide with a desperate gleam that shimmered between hope and panic. “You have to help me—I can’t hold it…” Her hands shook violently, [Aura] spiraling out of control, lashing the room in erratic waves. “Please! PLEASE—I need you!”

  Like the epitome of justice, Marisia looked down at her sister with stoic eyes, judging the desperation. Every step toward her became a verdict—greed and desperation. Elisabeth wasn’t seeking salvation or peace. No. Simply becoming something that only brought more pain, even if it meant climbing over corpses of her own blood.

  Marisia stood like a statue of judgment, her eyes cold, her presence carved from the very concept of code she decided upon everyone. Each step toward Elisabeth was a sentence passed—not on guilt alone, but on the desperation clawing at her sister’s soul. This wasn’t a plea for salvation. This was hunger masked as grief, ambition cloaked in panic. Elisabeth wasn’t reaching out to be saved—she was willing to burn everything, even family, just to keep rising.

  “I see,” Marisia murmured, guilt shading every line of her face. “I should’ve never helped you—” Her teeth caught her bottom lip, trembling. “The way you’ve become… that’s on me. I will carry that burden. Don’t worry.”

  Elisabeth starred, eyes that of a starved beast—a single purpose lay before, like a piece of meat, unable to reach. Was Elisabeth also to blame? Perhaps—but that judgment wasn’t Marisia’s. All she could do now was carry as much of the burden as she could bear. It was selfish, even indulgent—an offering made not just out of love, but guilt. Elisabeth would be the last sacrifice to the grotesque structure that molded them into monsters. No more would follow.

  “I’m sorry,” Marisia whispered, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart. “This is my fault—and I’ll carry it.”

  “What—” Elisabeth’s eyes, once the tranquil green of a forest at dusk, now churned with scarlet mist. Her once-cheerful voice was ragged from endless screams, and the body that had once seemed like something divine even fabric longed to hold, now bore scars, blemishes, and claw marks—etched proof of everything she had lost, and everything she might never reclaim.

  “You must flee,” Marisia said, her voice stoic, brutal, unshakably honest. The words struck the air like falling glass. “I made a deal with Mother.” It was a half-truth—but truth enough. Their mother had no mercy for failures, and Marisia trusted her about as far as shadow trusted fire. Deep down, she feared Elisabeth might still choose to continue—still chase the role of heir, even if it tore apart everything beautiful.

  Elisabeth’s [Aura] and [Energy] erupted—raw, jagged, scarlet tendrils lashing out and tearing into Marisia’s flesh with feral precision. “You thief!” The scream tore through the air, soaked in shattered dreams and fractured pride. “It’s your fault!”

  Marisia didn’t resist—her body moved before any thought could intervene. She kneeled, meeting Elisabeth eye to eye, offering her the dignity and recognition generations before had been starved for. “It’s okay,” she whispered, pulling her into a quiet, steady embrace—one that radiated honesty, and something rarer: appreciation. “You are great. You did great.”

  It was tender—but to Marisia; it felt dangerously close to condescension. Like soothing a wild pup with a pat on the head, bypassing Elisabeth’s pride and ego, offering what Marisia herself had long craved: a hug, a kind word, the illusion that love didn’t demand success to be earned.

  Elisabeth’s power surged—wild, trembling, unshaped. “Why?!” she sobbed, her voice breaking beneath the weight of it all. As she clung to Marisia, nails sank into her back, desperate and accusing. “WHY?!”

  Marisia endured, knowing all too well the weight of such desperation—a descent from legacy to footnote. It was a fate she had lived with for as long as she could remember. And now, Elisabeth stood at that same precipice, desperate to reclaim what had once been hers, unable to let go of the intoxicating illusion of glory—an illusion that would only drag her into ruin if left unchallenged.

  “I love you.”

  Marisia didn’t want her to shatter—didn’t want Elisabeth to become a hollow reflection of what was truly worthy. She would guide her, gently intoxicating of being seen without condition.

  “You did great, Eli.”

  It was hypocritical—forcing her beliefs onto another. Marisia was her mother’s echo, the next verse in a chorus of control—but better. Not through fear, not through pain, but through something enduring: love, recognition, and trust. A different brush to repaint a legacy soaked in blood.

  “I am always there for you.”

  Elisabeth’s onslaught slowly ebbed. “I... I’m sorry...” Her nails slipped free from Marisia’s skin, trembling fingers retreating as her body inched back, as if afraid of what she’d done—or afraid of what remained. “I—”

  Even though Elisabeth had apologized, Marisia didn’t mind. No—she welcomed the pain. It was her penance, a threadbare path to redemption she clung to, not out of nobility, but out of a selfish need to feel worthy of forgiveness.

  “It’s fine,” Marisia said, her voice low, a fragile smile ghosting across her lips—woven with pain, guilt, and something softer she didn’t dare name: grace.

  “Are you—”

  Marisia gently tapped her lips, silencing Elisabeth with a gesture soft as a vow. “I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, pulling her into another embrace—firmer this time, not of apology, but promise. “I’m sorry—for everything.”

  “What—”

  Without hesitation, Marisia unleashed her [Aura], overwhelming Elisabeth’s resistance in a wave of silent resolve. Her fangs pierced the gland with precision, drawing out the venomous torment that had consumed her sister.

  “Stop… argh!” Elisabeth cried, voice caught between pain and release.

  It was still greed—a hunger rooted in desire—but it had shifted. Now it felt refined, not brutal. Justified. Honorable. As Elisabeth’s presence seeped into Marisia, the [Aura] shifted—scarlet at first, then dissolving into an invisible alloy of pride, determination, and resolve. It didn’t seek to dominate. It transformed—hostility into compromise, brutality into fairness, and despair into something resembling grace.

  ‘This is right.’ Marisia closed her eyes, her [Aura] flaring stronger, even as Elisabeth’s [Energy] enacted punishment. This was the path she had chosen—painful, absolute, hers alone. A creed written not in tradition, but in defiance. Someday, she would make them all see what it truly meant to be a Leonandra—not through legacy, but through reinvention.

  As the last wisps of everything broken seeped into Marisia, Elisabeth’s body went limp, collapsed, regaining tranquility as the breathing became shallow and peaceful. Gently, Marisia withdrew her fangs. “You did great,” she whispered, voice threadbare but full of pride. With what strength remained, she eased Elisabeth to the floor. “Tomorrow, Saly will come and take you somewhere safe—peaceful.” A smile touched her lips, tired but genuine. “And I’ll visit you. As often as I can. I promise.”

  With trembling legs, Marisia rose, her mind pounding like hammer strikes against raw iron. Pain coursed through her body—deep, rhythmic—yet beneath it, she heard something else: the faint, chiming echo of divine bells. “Huh?”

  It was different—something deeper stirred within her, resonant and undeniable. As she opened the [System Window], her breath caught. A new skill pulsed into view, one she had never seen or read before. “[The Pride of the Divine Phoenix]?”

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