The streets of Celestafell buzzed with an electric energy, a palpable anticipation that hung in the air like the hum of the Requiem Core's magic. Every corner of the city had been transformed into a vibrant spectacle: banners of black and crimson draped over rooftops and balconies, lanterns glowing with enchanted light floating above the throng of townsfolk, and the scent of roasting meats and spiced wines wafting through the narrow alleys. Performers—jugglers, fire breathers, and magicians—drew pockets of laughter and applause from the gathered crowd.
Though the central plaza was packed with bodies, the Vengeful One's decree had been clear: everyone was to be included in the festivities. Extra space was carved out wherever possible. Makeshift platforms extended the viewing areas, and the newly expanded city guards ensured that even the humblest citizens could participate in the grand occasion.
At the heart of it all stood a grand, elevated stage, decorated with polished obsidian and draped in velvet banners. A massive, gilded chair awaited Serena, and beside it, a smaller seat for Lucien—a symbolic throne for the reluctant heir she had forced into submission. The crowd roared as the Dark Messiah herself emerged, flanked by a procession of guards in their newly minted uniforms.
Serena ascended the platform with a regal grace that silenced the masses. Her obsidian armor gleamed under the enchanted lanterns, her crimson hair tied into an elegant braid that trailed behind her like a river of fire. Her horns curved upward, their black sheen catching the light, giving her an air of both divine authority and mortal danger. The crown she would soon wear rested on a pillow of velvet beside the throne, its jagged edges adorned with dark rubies and silver, a perfect symbol of her reign.
Behind her, Lucien Vaeral followed, his hands shackled only for ceremonial effect. His stormy gaze burned with barely concealed rage, though he kept his head high, his pride refusing to crumble entirely. Despite his defiance, he looked like a mere shadow next to Serena's commanding presence.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Serena stood at the edge of the platform, gazing down at the people. She raised one gloved hand, and the noise instantly quieted—a testament to her authority. Her eyes swept over the thousands who had gathered, taking in the sea of faces that ranged from awe to trepidation.
The officiant, a stooped elder with a voice like gravel, approached with the crown. His hands trembled slightly as he placed it atop her head, the weight of the symbol settling into place. "I crown you Vengeful One, Queen, ruler of Celestafell, bearer of the Requiem Core, and the Dark Messiah of Nethoria. May your reign be everlasting."
The crowd erupted, a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and applause filling the air. Serena allowed a smile—small, deliberate—to grace her lips. She turned to face them fully, her crown gleaming, her cloak billowing in the breeze. With an unspoken spell, her voice amplified, cutting cleanly through the chaos of the celebration.
"Citizens of Celestafell!" Her tone carried both warmth and steel, a blend of menace and gratitude. The crowd fell silent, hanging on her every word.
"Today marks a new chapter in the history of our city. Together, we have cast off the chains of corruption, despair, and stagnation. Together, we have begun to build something stronger, something greater than any one of us could achieve alone."
She spread her arms wide, her gaze sweeping over the throng. "And so, I thank you—the people who make this city thrive. To the guards who patrol our streets and keep us safe, to the carpenters and masons who fortify our walls, to the blacksmiths who arm our soldiers, and to the merchants and vendors who breathe life into our markets—your hard work has made today possible."
The crowd stirred with murmurs of pride, and Serena continued, her voice steady and commanding. "To the farmers and foragers who feed us, the tailors who clothe us, and the performers who bring joy to our hearts—even to the weary travelers who find refuge within our walls—I see your efforts. Today, we celebrate all of you."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "Today is a day for feasting, for drinking, for joy. Eat your fill, drink deeply, and know that this celebration belongs to you. Together, we will make Celestafell not just a sanctuary, but a beacon for all of Nethoria."
The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, the noise rolling across the plaza like a wave. Serena stepped back, allowing the people to revel in their moment. As the music struck up and fireworks began to pop in the night sky, she turned briefly toward Lucien, who sat chained beside her.
His expression was a storm of fury and disbelief, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as though he might crack his teeth. "Audacious, aren't you?" he hissed under his breath, his voice drowned out by the crowd's cheering.
Serena turned her head slightly, her lips curling into a smirk just for him. "A queen must set an example, Lucien. The people need hope. And you… you'll make an excellent symbol of their unity under my reign."
He glared daggers at her, his hands gripping the arms of his ceremonial seat. "You think this farce makes them love you? You think chaining me here changes what you've done?"
"Oh, Lucien," she replied smoothly, her tone dripping with amusement. "Love is irrelevant. They fear me, they respect me, and today, they celebrate me. That's all I need."
As the fireworks painted the sky in bursts of crimson and gold, Serena raised her hand in a regal wave, basking in the adoration of the crowd. Behind her, Lucien seethed, his hatred simmering like an ember waiting to ignite. The city's cheers roared on, drowning out the storm of fury building quietly at her side.
The private dining chamber was an ornate but intimate space, lit by the soft golden glow of enchanted chandeliers. A long table stretched between them, laden with an array of dishes: roasted game, freshly baked bread, and soups spiced with herbs harvested from the fertile outskirts of Celestafell. Despite the sumptuous feast before them, the air between Serena and Lucien crackled with unspoken tension.
Serena reclined in her chair, her fork idly tracing patterns through the sauce on her plate. She studied Lucien from across the table, her crimson eyes gleaming with curiosity. He sat stiffly, his shackled wrists resting on the polished wood, his plate barely touched. His jaw was tight, his stormy gaze fixed somewhere just past her shoulder.
She broke the silence first, her voice light, almost conversational. "Tell me, Lucien. Why do you still hate me?"
Lucien's eyes flicked to hers, burning with quiet fury. "Do you really need me to spell it out? Or do you just enjoy playing coy?"
Serena tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The people are thriving, Lucien. They're happier, more prosperous than they've been in years. Trade routes have reopened, corruption is down, and the city flourishes under my reign. By every measure, I've done more for Celestafell in a week than your father managed in decades." She took a deliberate bite of bread, chewing slowly. "So, I ask again: why do you still hate me?"
Lucien's hands tightened into fists, the metal of his shackles clinking softly. "Because you didn't just take the city—you took everything." His voice was low, venomous. "My father. My title. My freedom. You've reduced me to a prop in your twisted pageantry. You might have fooled the people with your grand speeches and shiny new banners, but I see you for what you are. A tyrant."
Serena chuckled softly, the sound rich and amused. "A tyrant? Interesting. Would you prefer I let your father's cronies bleed the city dry? Would you rather the gates stay barred to anyone who couldn't pay their way in?"
"That's not the point!" Lucien snapped, his voice rising for the first time. He leaned forward, his chained hands gripping the edge of the table. "You didn't come here to save Celestafell. You came to conquer it. Don't pretend this is all altruism. You enjoy the power, the control. You revel in watching people bow at your feet."
Serena's smile faded slightly, her expression turning thoughtful. "Perhaps I do," she admitted after a pause, her tone calm, unflinching. "But does it matter? The people get what they need: safety, stability, prosperity. If the price of their happiness is my control, so be it."
Lucien scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a bitter laugh. "You think that justifies everything? Murdering my father, forcing me into this farce of a marriage—do you even care about the lives you've destroyed along the way?"
"Your father was a parasite, Lucien," Serena said sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "He leeched off this city for years while people starved in the streets. His death wasn't just necessary—it was justice. As for you…" She leaned forward slightly, her crimson eyes locking onto his. "You're alive because I see potential in you, despite your endless tantrums. But don't mistake my mercy for weakness."
Lucien's lips curled into a sneer. "Mercy? Is that what you call this? Chaining me, parading me around like a trophy? Tell me, Serena—what's merciful about ripping someone's entire life away and then forcing them to sit across from the one who did it?"
Her gaze softened slightly, her voice lowering. "I could have killed you, Lucien. But I didn't. Because despite everything, I wanted to give you a chance to rise above the man your father was. To be more."
"More?" he repeated bitterly. "More than what? Your prisoner? Your pet? Your pawn in this sick game you're playing?"
Serena sighed, setting her fork down with a quiet clink. "I understand your anger. Truly, I do. But hating me will only chain you to the past. The people have moved forward—they've accepted this new chapter for Celestafell. Why can't you?"
Lucien's eyes flared with indignation. "Because they didn't lose what I lost! They didn't watch their family torn apart, their name dragged through the mud, their very existence reduced to a footnote in someone else's story!" He slumped back in his chair, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. "I hate you because you don't see the destruction you leave behind. Or worse… you see it and don't care."
The room fell silent for a long moment, the weight of his words settling between them. Serena studied him, her expression unreadable. Finally, she rose from her seat, her cloak swaying behind her as she moved to stand beside him.
"Do you think your father's hands were clean, Lucien?" she asked, her gaze unrelenting. "You speak of loss and destruction as though they're unique to you. Let me remind you—your father tore apart countless families in this city, not just one."
Lucien's lips tightened, his fists clenching against the polished table. "He did what he had to do to maintain order," he snapped, though the conviction in his voice wavered.
Serena scoffed, standing from her chair with a deliberate, fluid motion. The quiet clink of her heels against the floor echoed in the intimate space as she circled toward him. "Order? You call crushing the livelihoods of innocent people 'order'? How many families lost their homes because they couldn't afford his bribes? How many children went hungry while he dined on imported delicacies and hoarded the city's wealth?"
Lucien's jaw clenched harder, his eyes darting away as though trying to escape her piercing gaze. "You don't know what it was like to govern. The city needed resources—"
"The city needed leadership," Serena interrupted sharply. "And your father failed. Tell me, Lucien, when was the last time you walked through the outer wards? Or saw the faces of those who begged at the gates, only to be turned away because they didn't have enough coin?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Do you know what it's like to watch your child starve while guards laugh at your empty purse? Because I do. I've seen it in their memories—those your father's greed destroyed."
He flinched at her words, his defiance faltering as a flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. But he quickly shook his head, refusing to yield. "Even if mistakes were made, that doesn't excuse what you did. You didn't just take the city—you stole everything. You made us nothing!"
Serena straightened, folding her arms across her chest, her expression cold and unyielding. "Nothing?" she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. "No, Lucien. I made you accountable. I stripped away the illusion of nobility and left you with what your father always refused to see: the truth. The people of Celestafell deserved better than his corruption, and I gave them that."
She gestured toward the door, where the distant hum of celebration filtered through the halls. "Listen to them, Lucien. The people are thriving because they're no longer suffocating under the weight of his taxes and bribes. Every family in this city has gained something they never had under your father's rule: hope."
Lucien's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "And you think that makes you better? You think you're some savior because you cut down one man and took his place? What happens when your power turns into greed? What happens when they're bowing to another tyrant?"
Serena's eyes flared with intensity, her voice unwavering. "I am no savior, Lucien, and I never claimed to be. But unlike your father, I am honest about what I am. I rule with strength because this world respects nothing else. If that makes me a tyrant in your eyes, so be it—but I'll be a tyrant who protects this city, who ensures its people thrive. Your father's greed served only himself. My reign serves all of Celestafell."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling between them like a storm ready to break. Lucien's chest heaved with restrained anger, but he couldn't meet her gaze. For the first time, her arguments pierced through the veil of his hatred, forcing him to confront the uncomfortable truth she laid bare.
Serena sighed softly, stepping back to her chair and sinking into it with deliberate grace. "You can hate me all you want, Lucien, but at least hate me for the right reasons. Don't defend a man who left this city to rot while he lived in luxury. Hate me because I won't coddle your self-pity or feed your illusions. Hate me because I'll force you to confront the truth."
Lucien's voice was low, strained, when he finally spoke. "And what truth is that?"
She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "That the life you lost wasn't worth defending, and the man you mourn was never the hero you thought him to be. If you're so determined to carry this hatred, then let it make you better—not bitter. Prove to me that you're more than just your father's shadow. Otherwise, Lucien, you'll remain exactly what you think I made you: nothing."