She tries to ignore it.
“And what kind offieldare you planting in this particular analogy?” she asks, the question slipping out before she candecide whether to hold it back. She berates herself for the lack of control. The lack of discipline.
Nyrielle doesn’t even hesitate.
“One that answers to me,” she says.
The certainty in it is absolute. No caveat. No consideration. No awareness of what sits beyond that statement.
Lara’s jaw shifts slightly, the only outward sign of anything moving beneath the surface.
“And after?” she asks.
Nyrielle’s gaze flicks to her, faintly puzzled, as if the question itself is unnecessary.
“After what?”
“Afteryou,” Lara clarifies.
There is a brief pause. Then Nyrielle smiles again, smaller this time.
“That isn’t a concern,” she says. “I’m immortal. I will build the world to my exact liking. The world does not need to be kind, you see. It needs to be controlled. Shaped. Given rules for how it should exist.”
And there it is.
Clean.
Uncomplicated.
Final.
Lara wonders suddenly if every tyrant in history believed themselves practical. She feels something settle into place inside her, subtle but irreversible. She had told herself this was survival. A means to an end. A way to carve out something that belonged to her in a world that had never offered it freely.
Land. Authority. A future that did not depend on anyone else’s mercy.
Her mother’s sacrifice had been for that: a chance.
And here she is.Standing in a vault built on stolen memory, negotiating for a piece of a world that would be stripped ofeverything that made it worth inheriting. Beholden to a woman who wants absolute, unchecked power over land, resources, people,her. Built beside a woman who speaks about people the same way merchants speak about livestock.
Seren’s words flood her mind again.
You told me it was men who forgot our power… but you know what I think, Lara? I think it is you who has forgotten.
For a moment, she says nothing.
Then she nods once, slow and deliberate.
“Control,” she says. “Of course.”
Nyrielle’s smile deepens, satisfied in a way that settles the air between them rather than disturbs it.
“Yes,” she says. “Exactly.”
She turns from Lara then, her attention already shifting beyond the vault, beyond the Orbs, toward the war that waits for her. There is no urgency in her movement, no sense that anything could go wrong. She carries her certainty with her as she crosses the chamber, as though the outcome has already been decided and all that remains is to witness it unfold.
“It’s time to remove the threats in Virellin,” Nyrielle says. “Open the Gateway for us. Send the Orbs to the echo-plane and meet us immediately.”
The command lands without weight.
