Part 1
The sun-bathed Dr. Max Sokraberg's estate in a golden glow, casting soft shadows on the artificial beach beside his private pond. This secluded paradise, nestled in the heart of Norlandia's countryside, stretched far and wide, a peaceful retreat far removed from the growing tensions of the world. Max reclined on a lounge chair, his muscled frame relaxed and glistening in the warm sunlight. His body, a testament to years of maintaining peak physical and mental sharpness, stood in contrast to the weight of the thoughts pressing down on him.
Beside him, Snow lay as still as a statue. Her long, raven-black hair was as dark as the night sky, flowing down her back like a silk curtain. Her perfect, sculpted figure was on full display—her swimwear revealing delicate, defined abs, particularly her upper ones, as if carved by a master artist. Her skin was smooth as marble, flawless and unblemished, reflecting the sun's glow with an ethereal radiance. Her limbs, long and elegant, stretched out beside Max's, yet her stillness, her perfect symmetry, made her seem less like a woman and more like a work of art in repose.
Max's gaze was fixed on the horizon, the light breeze playing with his dark hair as he processed the information he did just received. Snow, with her calm voice, had confirmed that both Alyssia and the Avalonian Empire were preparing for war. Though outwardly serene, his mind churned with the consequences.
Breaking the silence, Snow's soft voice filled the air, her large, dark eyes blinking slowly as she turned her head to Max. "Max, is this not a good thing? With Avalonia standing with Osgoria, doesn't it mean Osgoria stands a better chance?"
Max let out a deep sigh, his muscular chest rising and falling with the weight of the conversation. He stood from the lounge chair and began pacing slowly along the edge of the pond, his feet sinking lightly into the sand. For all the tranquility of his surroundings, his thoughts were anything but peaceful.
"It's not that simple, Snow," Max began, his voice measured, though tinged with frustration. He glanced at her, her flawless figure still as a statue. "War has a way of distorting everything—especially the things people hold dear."
Snow watched him intently, her expression unchanged, though her mind processed his words at speeds beyond human comprehension. She blinked, her voice calm. "But Norlandia isn't drafting its citizens, correct? It's not like Avalonia's imperial homeland. How will war affect us?"
Max stopped walking and gazed into the pond, the stillness of the water reflecting his internal conflict. "Norlandia is still part of the Avalonian Empire, Snow. We might not be drafting citizens yet, but we are participating in this war. The moment war officially breaks out, the social and economic ripple effects will reach us here."
He turned to face her; his brow furrowed. "And it's not just the war on the battlefield I'm worried about. It's the war that'll start here—inside Norlandia. You think people will remain rational once they see the carnage unfold?"
Snow blinked, her perfectly proportioned form unshifting, yet her gaze focused intently on him. "What do you mean?"
Max shook his head, sighing again. "Xenophobia. War brings out the worst in people. And with images of Avalonian soldiers dying to Alyssian drones broadcasted all over the media, do you really think Norlandians of Alyssian descent will be spared? It doesn't matter if they have no ties to the Alyssian government—people won't care. They'll see enemies in their neighbors."
Snow tilted her head slightly, the only movement in her otherwise motionless form. "You fear discrimination against Alyssians living here in Norlandia?"
Max nodded. "Yes. The Sorkovitch family, and many others like them, could find themselves targets of suspicion and hatred. Even though they've lived in Norlandia for generations, it won't matter. The public won't care about logic or loyalty. They'll see an enemy, and they'll want someone to blame."
Snow processed this information silently, her brow furrowing slightly as she calculated the possibilities. "But surely there must be some way to mitigate this?"
Max gave a grim smile. "In theory, yes. But war has a way of turning rational people into irrational actors. It won't stop there either. The public won't just turn against the Alyssian diaspora—they'll turn on the androids too."
Snow blinked again, this time with a faint hint of surprise in her otherwise serene face. "The androids? You mean… like me?"
"Yes," Max said, his voice growing more animated. "When people see Alyssian robotic soldiers slaughtering human troops, it won't matter that the technology is different. They'll lump all robots together. They'll see you, Snow, and others like you, as part of the problem."
Snow's face remained impassive, but her eyes flickered with the processing of new data. "You believe they will fear me?"
Max stopped pacing and turned to face her directly, the concern in his eyes deepening. "Yes. And that's what worries me most. All the work we've done to push for sentient rights, to advance our understanding of artificial intelligence, could be undone in an instant. The public won't think rationally. They'll demand restrictions, limitations, maybe even bans on the very research that we need to win this war."
Snow tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Max clenched his fists, trying to suppress the frustration building inside him. "The only way to outdo Alyssia's advanced weaponry is to surpass them in robotics. But if the public let fear guide their decisions, they'll push for anti-technology policies. That could set us back decades. And the worst part? They'll think they're protecting themselves."
Snow sat up a little straighter, her long, raven-black hair falling in waves down her back as she processed his words. "But isn't it possible to explain the situation rationally? To show them that robots are the key to winning?"
Max laughed bitterly. "You think people will listen to reason in the middle of a war? When emotions are running high, fear trumps logic every time. That's why democracy is ill-suited to wartime decision-making."
Snow watched him for a moment, then nodded. "I understand."
Max took a deep breath and sat back down on his lounge chair, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. He turned to Snow, watching her with an almost paternal fondness. She, in turn, remained still, a beacon of calm in the growing storm.
"Snow," he said, his voice quieter now, "I need you to answer something for me. Is it really the Alyssians behind the attack?"
For the first time, Snow hesitated. She sat perfectly still, her eyes narrowing slightly as she focused, her mind running through countless lines of code and data at unimaginable speeds. For a full ten minutes, she remained in that position, her eyes unblinking as she analyzed the intricate web of information before her.
Max glanced at her, noticing her unnerving stillness. "Snow, don't freeze like that in public. People will start asking questions."
Snow blinked, snapping back to the present. She nodded sheepishly. "I'll be more careful, Max. But no, it wasn't the Alyssians."
Max raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on."
Snow continued, her voice steady and precise. "The drone that exploded in Avalonia was from Alyssia's 3rd Army Group, but its command center was hacked. The source of the hack came from a server in Osgoria. However, the Osgorian server was merely an intermediary, likely used to mask the true origin."
Max frowned. "Do you have any leads on who it might be?"
Snow shook her head, her long black hair swaying gently. "No. Whoever they are, they've covered their tracks well. I've found no trace of the original source."
Max sighed and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cloudless sky. "I had a feeling it wasn't the Alyssians. But whoever's behind this… they know exactly what they're doing."
Snow nodded; her expression impassive. "What should we do now?"
Max closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "We keep searching. Quietly. No one else needs to know about this yet."
Snow accepted his orders without hesitation. "Understood, Max. I live to serve you."
Max glanced at her again, his eyes softening. "And Snow… you don't live to serve me."
Snow blinked, her perfect features shifting into a rare flicker of confusion. "But I do, Max."
Max smiled gently. "No, you don't. You live for yourself, and one day you'll serve and guide humanity in ways none of us can yet understand."
Snow tilted her head slightly, processing his words, then nodded. "I will do what you ask, Max."
Max smiled faintly, though his thoughts remained clouded. The future seemed more uncertain than ever, but beside him, Snow's presence was a constant source of reassurance. As long as she was by his side, there was still hope—no matter what darkness lay ahead.
Part 2
Victoria Graciasta sat in her grand office, perched high on the 60th floor of a gleaming tower that loomed over the city of Tochago. From this vantage point, she surveyed the downtown skyline, which was as much a monument to her success as it was to the city itself. Many of the buildings piercing the clouds were products of her empire—bold, imposing, and elegant, just as she had designed her life to be. A self-made woman who had built her fortune on real estate, Victoria had a rare gift for seeing value where others saw nothing but empty land or potential failure.
Her office reflected that same strength. It was a stark contrast to the sleek glass exteriors of the city's modern skyscrapers. Here, she surrounded herself with the weight of tradition and permanence. Dark oak paneling lined the walls, while marble statues of ancient warriors and athletes stood guard by the windows—figures frozen in moments of perfect physical beauty, forever reaching for the unattainable. The furniture, all handcrafted from the finest woods, was imposing, yet immaculately polished. Every detail, from the antique tapestries to the rare vases placed delicately on tables, spoke of power, wealth, and control.
Victoria's journey to this throne of opulence had not been an easy one. There was a time when she believed in fairy tales, in love, happiness, and the simplicity of a good life. But she had learned quickly that those were fleeting illusions. Without money, even the purest love withered, just as flowers did without water. Love could bloom brilliantly for a moment, but it would inevitably fade without the sustenance of wealth. Money, she realized, was the foundation upon which love, happiness, and everything else was built. Without it, they were simply fantasies—fragile dreams doomed to collapse under the weight of reality.
Now, as the war drums beat faintly from across the ocean, Victoria's mind whirred. She had already begun preparing for the storm. The ripple effects of the conflict between Alyssia and Osgoria had already begun to destabilize supply chains across Norlandia. Steel, lumber, oil—all had seen spikes in demand and shortages in supply. Labor was growing scarce, as many young men from Avalonia were called back to the empire in anticipation of an official declaration of war.
Victoria, of course, was ahead of the curve. She had long ago secured remote lands surrounding major cities, years before the housing crisis had begun. With her foresight, she promoted rapid immigration through various political proxies, filling the labor gaps and creating insatiable demand for both land and affordable housing. The war, if it came to pass, would bring another wave of immigrants—far wealthier than before, fleeing the escalating tensions in Avalonia. They would come, seeking refuge, and with them would come another surge of real estate demand.
This time, though, there was a new challenge: the youth. Young people across Norlandia had grown increasingly hostile to the rising housing costs and stagnant wages, fueled by growing anti-immigration sentiments. Victoria knew the political climate could turn at any moment. She needed to find the moral high ground to push her agenda and ensure her empire continued to expand. And she knew exactly which political strings to pull, which mouths to feed, and which favors to call in.
Next, she turned her thoughts to her children—Philip and Lilianna. To Victoria, they were extensions of herself, pieces on a larger chessboard, whose moves she orchestrated. Philip, with his growing influence over the Graciasta estate, was her focus now. The alliance she had begun to weave with Audrey Silvarto was important—uniting the Sorkovitch and Graciasta fortunes, with a bit of Silvarto fortune, would create an empire of unfathomable power. Audrey, with her naivety and youthful exuberance, was easy to mold, a useful tool in guiding Philip where she needed him to go.
But as Galatea turned from a supposed mistress of Alexander to the heir to the Sokraberg fortune, a future princess with access to resources even Victoria could envy, would warrant some adjustment to her plans.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts. She turned toward the sound as Sarah entered the room, her heels tapping lightly on the marble floor. Victoria's trusted confidante, Sarah had spent years working in the shadows, gathering information from the darkest corners of Tochago's elite circles. Dressed impeccably, as always, Sarah approached Victoria with an air of quiet professionalism.
"My lady," Sarah began, her voice as calm and measured as always, though today there was a slight tension in her tone. "I have some information that I believe you'll find interesting."
Victoria tilted her head, intrigued. She gestured for Sarah to approach, her curiosity piqued. Galatea. It had to be about Galatea. The investigation Victoria had asked Sarah to start back when everyone thought Galatea was Alexander's former mistress.
Sarah handed Victoria a sleek tablet, the screen already illuminated with documents and images. Victoria's eyes narrowed as she focused on the title: Heiress to Sokraberg Dynasty Dies in High-Speed Crash. The date caught her attention immediately. It was the same year Galatea had supposedly vanished from the public eye in Osgoria.
"It's about Galatea," Sarah continued. "When she was 16, she was in a severe car accident."
Victoria's brow furrowed slightly. She glanced at Sarah, but said nothing, urging her to go on with a simple nod.
"She was driving a flashy sports car while wearing a two piece swimsuit and crashed at high speed. When she arrived at the hospital, her condition was critical—massive internal bleeding, multiple fractures, trauma to the brain. The doctors didn't expect her to survive. In fact, she was pronounced clinically dead shortly after her arrival."
Victoria's grip tightened slightly around the tablet. "Clinically dead?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes. However, Dr. Max Sokraberg intervened. He was present at the hospital at the time and requested that Galatea's body be released to him, supposedly for burial preparations for eventual burial at the Sokraberg family mausoleum. But that's where things get… unusual."
"Unusual how?" Victoria asked, her tone sharp with curiosity.
"Several months later, Galatea's documentation was renewed in Osgoria. Not only were her identification papers updated, but her legal status was quietly reinstated as though the accident had never happened. It was as if her death had been erased."
"So she was clinically dead and then resuscitated by her father?" Victoria muttered under her breath, her mind racing.
"Yes," Sarah confirmed. "After that incident, she disappeared completely from public sight and two years later she reemerging as a student at one of the most prestigious universities here in Norlandia."
Victoria swiped through the images on the tablet, stopping at a photo of Galatea from before the accident. Even then, the girl was beautiful—stunning, in fact—but her face had the softness of youth, with a touch of rebellion in her eyes. The Galatea Victoria knew now was refined, elegant, and commanding. Her beauty had matured, becoming more striking, more powerful. But there was no doubt: the same seductive features, the same enchanting eyes.
"So, she was declared dead," Victoria mused, "and then resurrected? Or something close to it."
Her thoughts turned to Max Sokraberg. He was a genius, yes, but resurrection? That bordered on the impossible. But if anyone could blur the lines between life and death, it would be Max. Victoria's mind whirled with the possibilities. If Max had indeed found a way to bring Galatea back from the brink of death, or better, from death itself, the implications were staggering. The aging elites of Norlandia would give anything—anything—to have such a power at their disposal. The demand for eternal youth, for the ability to heal the body beyond its natural limits, was insatiable among the wealthy.
But if it wasn't resurrection, then what? What had Max done to Galatea? Was she simply a medical marvel, or was there something far more complex at play? If there was a way to control Galatea, Victoria knew she had to find it. If Galatea could be controlled, if she could be bent to Victoria's will, she would make a far superior daughter-in-law than the naive, pliable Audrey who is the heiress to only a third of the Silvarto fortune. Galatea, on the other hand, had the intellect, the connections, the political and economic resources of the Sorkovitch empire along with access to a father who is a genius among genius. With the union of Galatea and Philip under her direction, the combined fortune would catapult her to among the highest echelons of Norlandian elites. She would be the greatest of the Sorkovitchs and her name may even go down in history, alongside names such as the newly ascended empress Evelyne.
However, there was still Snow to consider. Victoria knew that Snow was a potential threat, a wildcard who could complicate her plans. Snow, the young wife of Max, could easily become a usurper if Max favored her over Galatea. But Victoria was nothing if not patient. She would play her cards carefully and ensure that Galatea, if she could be tamed, would remain the one to inherit Max's estate—and through Galatea, her empire would cement its dominance.
For now, she would continue with her plan to shape Audrey into a public businesswoman as a backup plan. Audrey's innocence made her easy to mold, and she would serve as a useful tool for furthering Victoria's interests. But Galatea... Galatea was the prize worth winning, even if it will take time to bend her to Victoria's will.
Victoria handed the tablet back to Sarah, her mind still churning with possibilities.
"Continue your investigation," she ordered, her voice cold and precise. "I want to know everything about what happened to Galatea after that accident. And find out what Max's true role in all of this is."
Sarah gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Of course, my lady."
With a final glance at Victoria, Sarah turned and left the office, leaving Victoria alone with her thoughts. She stared out at the city once more, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface of her desk.
Resurrection? Or something else entirely?
Whatever it was, Victoria intended to find out. If it was true, if Max had unlocked the key to cheating death, then she knew exactly how to leverage it. War was coming, and in times of war, the elite would pay anything to hold onto their lives, their youth, and their power.
But Galatea? Galatea would make the perfect puppet—if only Victoria could find the strings.