In a room that was the epitome of opulence—lit by high-tech fixtures that seemed to mimic the glow of stars, with leather sofas so plush they looked like clouds, and carpets so expansive they might as well have been maps of forgotten empires—sat three girls.
The air was heavy, not with tension exactly, but with the kind of charged quiet that comes when titans meet to decide the fate of their world. Each of them sat in her chosen seat as though it were a throne, and though no crown adorned their heads, their presence alone was regal.
On the left sat a girl who exuded calm like a still mountain lake. Seraphina Zenith's silver hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall caught mid-motion, gleaming even in the subdued lighting. Her pale blue eyes were cold, analytical, but carried a subtle weight, as though she were assessing not just the room, but the world beyond it. She wore a simple white top and navy-blue jeans—practical yet impossibly elegant, as though even her casualness were deliberate. Daughter of the Sect Leader of Mount Hua, she was the princess of the East, though her stoic expression suggested she regarded the title with indifference.
Opposite her, sprawled with the casual grace of a predator biding its time, was Cecilia Slatemark. Her golden hair shimmered, framing a face that seemed born for mischief. Her ruby-red eyes glinted with amusement—or was it challenge? She wore a crop top that revealed a toned midriff and a black skirt that clung just enough to remind everyone that even queens could be playful. She was the daughter of the Emperor of Slatemark, the princess of the Central Continent, and her smirk carried the weight of knowing she could command the world's attention with a tilt of her head.
On the sofa between them sat the angel of the trio, though today her radiance was dimmed by the slightest pout. Rachel Creighton, princess of the Northern Continent, daughter of the King of the Creighton family, was a vision of purity in a white sundress that looked as though it had been stitched from the clouds themselves. Her sapphire eyes, so often filled with a mischievous twinkle, were narrowed in irritation, and her hands were clasped on her lap as though restraining the urge to point fingers. Her golden hair, brighter and more voluminous than Cecilia's, framed her face in a way that made her seem almost too good for this mortal coil.
The three of them had many things in common—status, power, brilliance in mana. But more than anything, they shared one pivotal truth.
They were all hopelessly in love with Arthur Nightingale.
Which brought them here, together, for a conversation that none of them particularly wanted to have but all of them knew was inevitable.
Rachel broke the silence first, her sapphire eyes fixing on the other two like a hawk sighting prey. "We decided I was going to be the first wife."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a statement. It was a decree.
Cecilia, lounging as though she had all the time in the world to dismantle such a claim, raised an eyebrow and allowed the faintest hint of a smirk to play at her lips. "We did," she said, her voice honeyed, "but I've decided I don't want to anymore."
Rachel's expression froze for a moment, as though her brain needed time to process such insolence. Before she could respond, Cecilia continued, crossing her legs with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to command attention. "I was the first to kiss him, the first to train with him, the first to—" she paused, letting the sentence dangle just enough to suggest everything and confirm nothing. "So really, if we're talking about firsts, it should be me."
Rachel's lips parted, a retort ready, but she was interrupted by the faintest shake of Seraphina's head.
"No," the girl from the East said, her voice quiet but firm, like the settling of a mountain. She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to. The sheer weight of her word was enough to make both of them pause.
Cecilia turned to her, her ruby-red eyes narrowing. "No?" she echoed, incredulous. "What do you mean, no?"
Seraphina tilted her head slightly, her silver hair catching the light in a way that made her seem otherworldly. "It doesn't matter who was first," she said calmly. "What matters is who is best."
Cecilia rolled her eyes, though the faint flush in her cheeks suggested she didn't entirely disagree. Rachel, on the other hand, straightened her back, her angelic poise giving way to something more fiery. "And you're saying that's you?"
Seraphina's gaze didn't waver. "I'm saying it's not you."
For a moment, silence fell over the room, thick and stifling. Then Cecilia laughed—a low, melodic sound that somehow carried both amusement and menace. "You two really think this is how we should decide? By bickering like children?"
Rachel and Seraphina turned to her, their expressions a mix of irritation and curiosity. Cecilia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Here's an idea," she said, her voice silky. "Why don't we let Arthur decide?"
Both Rachel and Seraphina stiffened at the suggestion. Rachel, because she knew Arthur's tendency to avoid conflict might lead him to deflect the question entirely. Seraphina, because she suspected Arthur would find a way to make all three of them feel like queens without actually answering the question.
Cecilia's smirk widened as she saw the hesitation in their eyes. "Exactly," she said, leaning back. "We all know what he'll say. So why not just accept that it's going to be a tie?"
"A tie?" Rachel's voice rose an octave, her sapphire eyes blazing. "You're talking about marriage, not a tournament!"
Seraphina's lips tightened, but she nodded. "Agreed. This isn't something to be decided casually."
"And yet here we are," Cecilia shot back, gesturing at the lavish room around them. "Three princesses arguing over one man. If that's not casual, I don't know what is."
The words stung, but they also brought a reluctant smile to Rachel's lips. "You're insufferable."
"And you're adorable," Cecilia retorted, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "But let's be real—none of us is going to give up on this. So we might as well accept that Arthur's stuck with all of us."
Seraphina sighed, her pale blue eyes glinting with reluctant agreement. "For once, I don't disagree."
"I suppose," Rachel murmured, adjusting the hem of her sundress with an almost petulant sigh, "we can call it a draw. For now."
Cecilia chuckled, her ruby-red eyes gleaming with amusement as she leaned back into the plush leather sofa. "Gracious of you, Rachel. Truly, the epitome of generosity."
"Don't push it," Rachel shot back, though her sapphire eyes carried a spark of humor.
Seraphina, ever the composed one, allowed a faint smirk to grace her doll-like features. "At least we've proven we can be civil. That alone is a minor miracle."
The tension eased further, the trio settling into an unspoken camaraderie that was rare but not unwelcome. For all their differences—and their fierce affection for the same man—they were, at the end of the day, allies. Perhaps even something like friends.
But just as the fragile peace began to root itself, the air in the room thickened.
It was subtle at first, a strange ripple that seemed to resonate in the bones, barely noticeable but impossible to ignore. The soft hum of mana conduits faltered, replaced by a low, ominous vibration that sent a shiver through the floor beneath their feet.
Seraphina's pale blue eyes narrowed. She was the first to notice, her senses honed to detect even the faintest shifts in mana. "Something's wrong," she said, her voice steady but tinged with urgency.
Cecilia sat up straight, the playful smirk vanishing from her face as the air around her seemed to shimmer with latent energy. "That's not just wrong. That's—"
And then it hit.
A wave of mana surged through the room, crashing over them like a tidal force that defied description. It wasn't merely powerful—it was oppressive, ancient, and overwhelming, carrying with it a weight that made even the air feel heavy and sluggish.
Rachel gasped, her sapphire eyes widening as she instinctively reached for the mana flowing through her core, but it was like trying to grasp water with bare hands. "What is this?!" she cried, her voice tinged with shock.
Cecilia's ruby-red eyes flickered with the spark of her Gift, but even her prodigious talent in magic felt small against the sheer magnitude of the force bearing down on them. "This isn't normal mana. It's—" She stopped, her voice faltering as realization dawned.
"Primordial," Seraphina finished grimly. Her silver hair seemed almost luminous in the dimming light as she stood, her movements deliberate despite the oppressive force. "This… this isn't something from our world."
The words had barely left her lips when the light began to fade. Not gradually, but suddenly, as though an unseen hand had extinguished the sun itself. The room, once bathed in the glow of its advanced lighting, was consumed by a darkness so absolute it felt alive.
The three girls stood back to back, their Ascendant-rank power pooling instinctively as they prepared for whatever might come next. But even their combined strength felt dwarfed by the incomprehensible presence that filled the space around them.
"Rachel," Cecilia said, her voice low and steady despite the tension in the air. "Can you see anything?"
"Nothing," Rachel whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's like the world itself is gone."
And then, without warning, the darkness deepened.
It wasn't simply the absence of light—it was the absence of everything. Of sound, of sensation, of existence itself. It pressed against them, cold and vast, as if the universe had folded inward to swallow them whole.
For a moment, there was nothing.
And then, as if the darkness itself had claimed them, there was silence.