Several weeks had passed since Aaron's unexpected encounter with his mother in the shadowy alleyways of Mitras. The memory of that night still haunted him, the weight of all the years he had lost, all the pain and anger and longing he had carried with him for so long, hanging heavy on his heart.
But as he sat beside Historia in the grand dining room of the palace, listening to the royal chef's enthusiastic proposals for their wedding banquet, he found his mind drifting, his thoughts consumed by the ghosts of his past.
Historia, on the other hand, was fully engaged in the conversation, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement as she listened to the chef's grand plans for the feast. She nodded and smiled, her hand occasionally reaching out to give Aaron's a gentle squeeze, as if sensing his distraction.
"And for the drinks, Your Majesty?" the chef asked, turning to Aaron with an expectant look. "Is there anything in particular you would like us to serve?"
Aaron blinked, his mind snapping back to the present with a sudden, jarring clarity. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice slightly rough from disuse. "Wine, I suppose. Something red and rich, to complement the meal."
The chef nodded, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "An excellent choice, sir," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, professional enthusiasm. "I have just the vintage in mind."
With a final, respectful bow, the chef gathered up his notes and samples, making his way out of the dining room with a quiet, efficient grace. As the door closed behind him, Historia turned to Aaron, her brow furrowed with a sudden, concerned intensity.
"Is everything alright, love?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with a quiet, gentle understanding. "You seem distracted. Don't tell me you're still thinking about your mother."
Aaron sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair. "I can't help it," he admitted, his voice low and filled with a quiet, resigned frustration. "Every time I step outside the palace walls, it seems like she's there, waiting for me. Insisting that she wants to be a part of my life again, to reconnect with me and Rosy."
Historia's expression softened, her hand coming up to cup Aaron's cheek in a gentle, reassuring gesture. "And what do you want, Aaron?" she asked, her voice filled with a quiet, unwavering support. "What does your heart tell you?"
Aaron's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening with a sudden, fierce intensity. "I want her to leave us alone," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, seething anger. "I want her to stop pretending like she can just waltz back into our lives after everything she's done, everything she's put us through."
He paused, his expression growing distant as he lost himself in the memories of his past. "I'll never forget the day she pointed that knife at us, Historia. The day she told us she couldn't take care of us anymore, that we were on our own. If Marko hadn't taken us in, hadn't given us a home and a family... I don't know what would have become of us."
Historia's heart ached for him, for the pain and the anger and the longing she knew he carried with him every day. She leaned in closer, her forehead coming to rest against his in a gesture of quiet, unwavering support.
"But that's not how things happened, Aaron," she said, her voice soft and filled with a quiet, gentle understanding. "Thanks to Marko, thanks to the choices you made and the battles you fought, you're here with us now. With me."
She paused, her expression growing thoughtful as she considered her next words. "I'm not saying you should thank your mother for what she did, or that you should forgive her for the pain she caused you. But maybe... maybe it's worth hearing her out. Maybe she's sick, or dying, and this is her last chance to make things right with her children."
Aaron's eyes flashed with a sudden, overwhelming emotion, his hand tightening around Historia's with a desperate, clinging intensity. "When you put it like that, it just makes it harder," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, aching vulnerability. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to face her, Historia. To open myself up to that kind of pain again."
Historia smiled, her eyes shining with a soft, loving light. "You're the strongest person I know, Aaron," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, unwavering conviction. "And you don't have to face this alone. I'll be with you every step of the way, no matter what you decide."
Aaron's heart swelled with a sudden, overwhelming love and gratitude, his lips finding hers in a soft, tender kiss. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Historia."
She grinned, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, mischievous light. "Probably get into a lot more trouble, for one thing," she teased, her voice filled with a quiet, playful affection. "But let's not dwell on that now. We have a wedding to plan, remember?"
Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the chair with a soft, dramatic thump. "Don't remind me," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, good-natured dread. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into this whole 'grand royal wedding' thing."
Historia's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with a sudden, irrepressible joy. "Oh, come on," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, teasing enthusiasm. "It'll be fun! Just think of all the food and the dancing and the music..."
She trailed off, her expression growing suddenly serious as a thought occurred to her. "Speaking of which, have you chosen your groomsmen yet?"
Aaron's brow furrowed, a look of confusion passing over his face. "My what now?"
Historia sighed, her expression one of fond, exasperated amusement. "Your groomsmen, Aaron. The friends who will stand beside you at the altar, who will support you on your big day."
Aaron's expression cleared, a look of sudden understanding passing over his face. "Oh, right," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, sheepish embarrassment. "I forgot that was a thing."
He paused, his brow furrowing in thought as he considered his options. "I guess I could ask Levi," he said at last, his voice filled with a quiet, considering intensity. "He's been a good friend and mentor to me over the years, even if he is a bit of a hardass."
Historia nodded, a small, approving smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That's a great choice," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, genuine warmth. "But you'll need a few more than that. What about Neil and Nanaba? They've been by your side through thick and thin, haven't they?"
Aaron's expression grew suddenly uncertain, a flicker of doubt passing over his face. "I don't know," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, hesitant intensity. "Nanaba's a girl, isn't she? I thought the whole 'groomsmen' thing was supposed to be a guy thing."
Historia rolled her eyes, her expression one of fond, exasperated amusement. "Oh, come on, Aaron," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, teasing intensity. "It's the modern age! Girls can be groomsmen too, if you want them to be."
Aaron's expression cleared, a look of sudden, relieved understanding passing over his face. "In that case, yeah, I guess I could ask them," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, considering intensity. "Neil's been a loyal friend and a valued member of my squad for years, and Nanaba... well, she's practically family at this point."
Historia's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with a sudden, mischievous light. "See?" she said, her voice filled with a quiet, playful triumph. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now you just need one more..."
Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the chair with a soft, dramatic thump. "Ugh, fine," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, good-natured dread. "I guess I could ask Jean or Eren. But don't expect me to be happy about it."
Historia's grin widened, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, irrepressible mirth. "I wouldn't dream of it," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, teasing affection. "But I have a feeling they'll be honored to stand beside you on your big day, even if you have to twist their arms a little to get them to agree."
Aaron's lips twitched, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, considering intensity.
Just then, a sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation, the sound echoing through the grand, vaulted ceilings of the dining room with a sudden, jarring intensity.
Historia's brow furrowed, a look of confusion passing over her face as she glanced towards the door. "Come in," she called, her voice ringing out clear and strong in the stillness of the room.
The door swung open, revealing the tall, lanky form of Neil, his face set in a grim, serious expression. He strode into the room, his boots clicking sharply against the polished marble floor as he came to a stop before the royal couple.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, urgent intensity. "Captain Mustang. I apologize for the interruption, but there's been a development."
Aaron's eyes narrowed, his body tensing with a sudden, alert intensity. "What kind of development?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a quiet, focused intensity.
Neil took a deep breath, his expression one of grim, unyielding determination. "Another ship from Marley has arrived," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, serious intensity. "They claim they wish to cooperate, that they come on behalf of someone named Zeke."
Aaron's eyes widened, a flicker of recognition passing over his face. "Zeke," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, considering intensity. "The Beast Titan, the one with the beard. I remember him."
Neil nodded, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. "They've requested an audience with the Queen," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, serious urgency. "Both Captain Levi and the Marleyans. What are your orders, sir?"
Aaron was silent for a long moment, his mind racing with the implications of this sudden, unexpected development. Finally, he nodded, his expression one of grim, focused determination.
"Bring them to the palace as soon as possible," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, unyielding intensity. "We'll grant them their audience tomorrow. In the meantime, double the guard and put the city on high alert. We can't afford to take any chances, not with so much at stake."
Neil nodded, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. "Understood, sir," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, unwavering loyalty. "I'll see to it personally."
With a final, respectful salute, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, his long, lanky form disappearing through the door with a quiet, efficient grace.
Aaron turned to Historia, his expression one of grim, focused determination. "We need to be prepared for anything," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, urgent intensity. "These Marleyans, they're not to be trusted. Not until we know for sure what they want, and what they're willing to do to get it."
Historia nodded, her expression one of grim, focused intensity. "I agree," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, unwavering conviction. "But we'll face this together, Aaron. Just like we always have."
He nodded, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Together," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, intense emotion. "No matter what."
With that, they rose from the table and made their way out into the grand, echoing halls of the palace, their steps quick and purposeful as they hurried to prepare for the challenges that lay ahead.
As they rounded a corner, they nearly collided with a familiar figure, the tall, broad-shouldered form of Commander Pixis. The old soldier's eyes widened in surprise, his hand coming up in a reflexive salute as he caught sight of the Queen and her consort.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice gruff but respectful. "Captain Mustang. I take it you've heard the news?"
Aaron's eyes narrowed, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. "How is it that you knew before the Queen, Pixis?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a quiet, suspicious intensity.
Pixis's lips twitched, a small, wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Never underestimate the reach of my men, Mustang," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, knowing intensity. "We have eyes and ears everywhere, even in places you might not expect."
He paused, his expression growing suddenly serious as he fixed Aaron with a piercing, unwavering stare. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to know what you're planning to do about this situation, Mustang. How you're going to handle these Marleyans, and the threat they represent to our people."
Aaron's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce intensity. "What do you think I'm going to do, old man?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a quiet, mocking intensity. "I'm going to hear what they have to say, just like any other petitioner who comes before the Queen. And then I'm going to make a decision based on what's best for our people, just like I always have."
Pixis's eyes narrowed, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. "That's not good enough, Mustang," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, urgent intensity. "You're young, and you're reckless. You've been playing at being a hero for too long, and it's time for you to grow up and face the reality of the situation we're in."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "The fate of our entire nation hangs in the balance, Mustang. We can't afford to have you running around like a loose cannon, doing whatever you please without regard for the consequences. It's time for you to start listening to those of us who have been doing this a lot longer than you have, and to start acting like the leader you claim to be."
Aaron's eyes flashed with a sudden, fierce anger, his lips curling into a small, mocking smile. "Say whatever you want, old man," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, dismissive intensity. "But I'm going to do what I think is right, no matter what you or anyone else says. I don't give a damn about your little power plays or your attempts to undermine my authority. The only thing that matters to me is keeping our people safe, and I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."
He stepped closer, his tall, muscular form looming over Pixis with a sudden, menacing intensity. "So you can either get on board with that, or you can get the hell out of my way. Because one way or another, I'm going to do what needs to be done to protect the people I love, and the nation I've sworn to serve. And nothing and no one is going to stand in my way, not even you."
Pixis's eyes narrowed, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. But before he could respond, Historia stepped forward, her hand coming to rest on Aaron's arm in a gentle, calming gesture.
"Enough," she said, her voice low and filled with a quiet, regal authority. "We don't have time for this, gentlemen. We have a crisis on our hands, and we need to focus on finding a solution, not on tearing each other down."
She turned to Pixis, her expression one of grim, focused intensity. "Commander Pixis, I appreciate your concern and your experience. But I trust Aaron's judgment, and I believe that he will do what is best for our people, just as he always has. If you have concerns or advice to offer, I will gladly hear them. But I will not tolerate anyone undermining his authority or questioning his loyalty to this nation. Is that clear?"
Pixis was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he studied the young Queen's face. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly in a gesture of quiet, reluctant acceptance.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, subdued intensity. "I will do as you command, and trust in Captain Mustang's judgment, as I always have."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, his long, purposeful strides carrying him quickly out of sight down the long, echoing corridor.
....
In a dimly lit room, far from the bustling halls of the palace, two figures sat hunched over a small, wooden table. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco and the weight of unspoken tension, the only sound the soft, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
Commander Pixis leaned back in his chair, his weathered face etched with lines of worry and concern. Beside him, Commander-in-Chief Zackly sat rigidly, his hands clasped tightly before him on the table.
"Mustang is a liability," Zackly said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, seething intensity. "His reckless, confrontational attitude puts Paradis at risk, especially now, with these delicate negotiations hanging in the balance."
Pixis nodded, his expression one of grim, resigned agreement. "He's always been a loose cannon," he said, his voice gruff and filled with a quiet, weary intensity. "But with the fate of our nation on the line, we can't afford to have him running around unchecked, making decisions that could jeopardize everything we've worked for."
Zackly's eyes narrowed, his expression one of cold, calculating intensity. "Then we have no choice," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, menacing conviction. "We have to lock him up, at least temporarily. Remove him from the equation until the negotiations are complete and the threat has passed."
Pixis's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise passing over his face. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, incredulous intensity. "If we do that, the Queen will have our heads on a platter. She's fiercely protective of Mustang, and she won't take kindly to anyone trying to undermine his authority."
Zackly's lips twisted into a small, cruel smile. "Not if we do it by the book," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, malicious intensity. "Mustang has a history of violence against the nobility, corrupt or not. We have grounds to arrest him, to hold him accountable for his actions."
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a sudden, fierce intensity. "And once he's out of the picture, we can take control of the situation, guide the negotiations in a direction that benefits Paradis, without his interference."
Pixis was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he studied the man before him. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly in a gesture of quiet, reluctant acceptance.
"Very well," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, resigned intensity. "We'll do it your way, Zackly. But mark my words, if this backfires, if the Queen turns against us... it will be on your head, not mine."
Zackly's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a sudden, triumphant intensity. "I'll take that risk," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, menacing conviction. "For the sake of Paradis, for the sake of our people... I'll do whatever it takes to ensure our survival, no matter the cost."
Miles away, in the grand, opulent dining room of the palace, Aaron and Historia sat at the long, polished table, their plates piled high with steaming, savory dishes. The soft, flickering light of the candles cast a warm, inviting glow over the room, the gentle clink of cutlery and the low murmur of conversation filling the air with a sense of peace and contentment.
But the tranquility of the moment was shattered by the sudden, jarring sound of the doors bursting open, the heavy wood slamming against the walls with a resounding crash. Aaron's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as a group of armed men stormed into the room, their faces set in grim, determined expressions.
"Aaron Mustang," the leader of the group said, his voice booming out across the room with a sudden, commanding intensity. "By order of Commander-in-Chief Zackly, you are hereby placed under arrest for crimes against the nobility and the state of Paradis."
Historia's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and anger passing over her face as she recognized the emblem emblazoned on the soldiers' uniforms. "Those are Zackly's men," she said, her voice low and filled with a quiet, seething intensity. "What the hell is he playing at, sending them here?"
But Aaron merely smiled, his expression one of calm, unruffled nonchalance as he slowly rose to his feet. He took a final, deliberate bite of his meal, chewing slowly and methodically before swallowing and setting his fork down on the table with a soft, gentle clink.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, mocking intensity. "I'm afraid you've caught me at a rather inconvenient time. As you can see, I'm in the middle of dinner with my lovely fiancée. Can't this wait until after dessert?"
The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, their hands tightening around the hilts of their swords and the grips of their rifles. They had heard stories about the infamous Aaron Mustang, the Queen's loyal attack dog, the man who could take down a squad of armed men with his bare hands.
But they had their orders, and they would not be deterred. The leader of the group stepped forward, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his blade in a silent, unmistakable threat.
"This is not a request, Mustang," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, menacing intensity. "Come quietly, or we will take you by force."
Aaron's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a sudden, dangerous light. In a blur of motion, he lunged forward, his hand closing around the leader's throat in an iron grip. With a casual, almost negligent motion, he lifted the man off his feet and hurled him through the window, the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood filling the air with a sudden, jarring intensity.
The other soldiers cried out in shock and fear, their weapons coming up in a ragged, uncoordinated volley. But Aaron was already moving, his body a blur of speed and power as he dodged and weaved through the hail of bullets and blades.
A searing pain exploded in his leg as a lucky shot found its mark, the bullet tearing through flesh and muscle with a sickening, wet sound. But Aaron barely seemed to notice, his lips curling into a small, feral grin as he advanced on the remaining soldiers.
"That hurts, you know," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, mocking intensity. "But not as much as what I'm going to do to you."
The soldiers backed away, their faces pale and slick with sweat as they realized the true depth of their predicament. One of them, his voice high and thin with panic, called out in a desperate, pleading tone.
"D-don't try anything funny, Mustang!" he stammered, his rifle shaking in his hands. "If you transform into a Titan, the explosion will kill the Queen too! You wouldn't risk that, would you?"
Aaron's grin widened, his eyes flashing with a sudden, savage intensity. "Oh, I don't need to transform to deal with the likes of you," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, menacing conviction. "I can take you all down with my bare hands, and still have time for a nice, relaxing cup of tea afterwards."
With that, he launched himself at the soldiers, his body moving with a fluid, deadly grace that was almost beautiful to behold. He ducked and weaved through their clumsy, desperate attacks, his hands and feet lashing out in a blur of speed and power.
One soldier went down with a sickening crunch, his nose shattered by a devastating uppercut that sent him flying backwards into the wall. Another screamed in agony as Aaron's foot connected with his kneecap, the bone snapping like a twig under the force of the blow.
The remaining soldiers tried to flee, their courage failing them in the face of Aaron's relentless, unstoppable onslaught. But he was on them in an instant, his hands and feet a blur of motion as he struck them down one by one, leaving them lying broken and bleeding on the polished marble floor.
In a matter of moments, it was over, the dining room a scene of utter devastation. Broken furniture and shattered glass littered the floor, the once-pristine white tablecloth stained with splatters of blood and spilled wine.
Historia sighed, her expression one of exasperated resignation as she surveyed the carnage. "My dining room," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, weary intensity. "Did you really have to make such a mess, Aaron?"
Aaron shrugged, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "They started it," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, unapologetic intensity. "I was just defending myself, and the honor of my Queen."
He turned to one of the servants who had been cowering in the corner, his eyes wide with fear and shock. "You there," Aaron said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, commanding intensity. "Go and fetch Commander Neil of the Military Police, and Section Commander Hange of the Survey Corps. Tell them to come at once, by order of the Queen's consort."
The servant nodded, his hands trembling as he bowed low before scurrying out of the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the sudden, ringing silence.
Aaron turned back to Historia, his expression one of grim, focused intensity. "We need to get to the bottom of this," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, urgent conviction. "Zackly's gone too far this time, sending his goons to arrest me in the middle of dinner. He's up to something, and we need to find out what it is before it's too late."
Historia nodded, her expression one of grim, determined agreement. "Agreed," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, steely resolve. "But first, we need to get that bullet out of your leg and patch you up. I won't have you bleeding all over my nice, clean floors."
Aaron chuckled, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, teasing intensity. "Whatever you command, I shall obey."
Zackly and Pixis sat in tense silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy in the air between them. They had taken a great risk, sending men to arrest Aaron Mustang in the heart of the palace, and now they could only wait to see how the chips would fall.
Pixis reached for his ever-present flask, his hand trembling slightly as he unscrewed the cap and took a long, deep pull of the amber liquid within. "This is madness," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, resigned intensity. "We've unleashed a storm that we may not be able to control, Zackly. Mustang is not a man to be trifled with, and the Queen... she will not take this lying down."
Zackly's lips twisted into a small, cruel smile, his eyes glinting with a cold, calculating intensity. "The Queen is a child," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A little girl playing at being a ruler, propped up by the strength and cunning of her loyal attack dog. But even the mightiest beast can be brought to heel, given the right incentive."
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him in a gesture of smug, self-assured confidence. "Mustang is a wild card, a loose cannon that threatens the stability of our nation. He must be contained, must be controlled, for the greater good of Paradis. And if the Queen stands in the way of that... well, then perhaps it is time for a change in leadership."
Pixis's eyes widened, a flicker of shock and horror passing over his face. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, incredulous intensity. "You're talking about treason, Zackly. About overthrowing the rightful ruler of our nation, the woman who has led us through crisis after crisis and emerged stronger for it."
Zackly's smile widened, his eyes glinting with a sudden, fierce intensity. "I am talking about survival, Pixis," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, menacing conviction. "About doing whatever it takes to ensure the future of our people, even if that means making difficult, unpopular choices."
He leaned forward, his expression one of grim, unyielding determination. "The world is changing, old friend. The enemies at our gates grow stronger by the day, and we cannot afford to be held back by sentiment or loyalty to a single individual. We must be willing to adapt, to evolve, to do whatever it takes to secure our place in the new order that is to come."
Pixis was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he studied the man before him. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in a gesture of quiet, weary resignation.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Zackly," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, warning intensity. "Because if this backfires, if the Queen and her loyal dog come for revenge... it will be our heads on the chopping block, not theirs."
Zackly's smile never wavered, his eyes glinting with a cold, ruthless intensity. "Let them come," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, menacing conviction. "I am ready for whatever storm they may bring. For the sake of Paradis, for the sake of our people... I will not be moved, will not be swayed from my course."
With that, he rose to his feet, his long, black cloak swirling around him like a shroud of darkness. "Come, Pixis," he said, his voice low and filled with a quiet, commanding intensity. "We have work to do, and little time to waste. The future of our nation hangs in the balance, and we must be ready to seize it with both hands, no matter the cost."
Pixis hesitated for a moment, his expression one of grim, resigned uncertainty. But finally, he nodded, his hand reaching for his cane as he struggled to his feet, his old, weathered bones creaking with the effort.
Together, the two men made their way out of the room, their steps slow and measured as they walked through the shadowed, echoing halls of the military headquarters. The die had been cast, the battle lines drawn, and now all that remained was to see who would emerge victorious in the struggle for the soul of Paradis.