Marissa

Lord Enlai didn’t meet their eyes when he turned.

“Follow me, please,” he said.

His voice carried its usual precision, but not its usual confidence. There was a tightness behind it—like a man caught between reverence and unease. He didn’t wait; he moved quickly but with measured steps, as though afraid they might start asking questions.

The twins exchanged a glance. Marissa stayed silent and followed.

They moved through a side corridor none of them had ever used before—tucked behind a warded faculty wing, hidden by illusion glyphs and locked thresholds. The air changed as they walked.

It smelled clean. Too clean. Polished wood and fresh incense. The light grew warmer, softer. The corridor widened.

That was when the illusion began to crack.

Are we still at school? Marissa thought.

The floor gleamed with brushed obsidian. The walls hung with fresh banners—deep purple, embroidered with gold filigree and crestwork. A velvet runner lay down the center, still wrinkled from being unrolled in a hurry. Mana-lit lanterns stood on pedestals marking their path.

Two servants waited at the end, hands folded, trying not to look as confused as they clearly were.

The doors ahead were tall—darkwood reinforced with arcanum glyphwork. Not school-issue. Two Palace Guards in crimson uniforms stood before them, stone-faced and unmistakable.

Marissa’s fan stayed tightly closed at her side.

Lord Enlai bowed. “They are expected.”

The guards opened the doors.

Inside wasn’t a classroom or an office—it was a receiving hall. Round, high-ceilinged, lit by suspended mana-globes that floated in a perfect circle. The floor was mirror-polished silverstone etched with the Imperial crest—moon, mirror, and crown—pulsing faintly underfoot. The room was empty, but at its center stood a figure robed in deep violet and gold. Posture straight. Hands folded.

She wore a veil.

A sheer, mana-threaded cascade fell from a delicate circlet, obscuring her features without hiding them. Her face could still be seen, but the shimmer made it unplaceable. Familiar. Unfamiliar. Like a dream half-remembered.

The robe’s imperial cut, the hand-stitched sigils, the silence itself—unmistakable.

The figure stood in silence watching them. The room seemed to bend around her—not with magic, but with the gravity of her person.

Marissa stopped short, eyes wide. Emily exhaled like she couldn’t. Elise looked like she was facing down a herd of mana beasts.

None of them bowed. Not yet. They didn’t understand why they wanted to.

They only knew—instinctively—that this was someone who could command the Empire if she chose.

The doors clicked shut behind them.

The veiled woman lifted her head. The room hummed with presence. No flaring cores, no pulsing mana—her gravity came from something deeper, quieter.

Marissa didn’t need a name. She knew. So did the others.

Emily’s breath caught. Elise’s spine locked tight, her hands folding at her waist in perfect composure. Marissa just stared. The Princess. At our school. Wanting to meet us.

For a moment, none of them moved.

Then, softly but unmistakably, the veiled woman said, “Everyone out.”

The guards hesitated. A servant glanced to the wall, looking for an overrule.

She didn’t raise her voice. “Out.”

Her tone was gentle, royal, and quite final.

Yeah, this was the Princess for sure.

Within moments, only the three girls remained. The silence stretched—dense and expectant.

Then, almost anticlimactically, the woman raised her hands and removed the veil.

She unclipped the circlet, drew away the silk, and set both aside with calm precision. Then she untied her sash, slipped free of the ceremonial robe, and stepped out from its folds. Beneath, she wore sleek black trousers and a high-collared jacket—simple, elegant, unadorned.

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The Princess was gone. What remained was a girl—poised, beautiful, undeniably imperial—but no longer distant.

She exhaled, rolled her shoulders, brushed her hair back.

“I apologize for the theatrics,” she said, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t do all that to flex imperial muscle.”

Her eyes met theirs. “I did it so you’d know who I was—without a dozen introductions and a wasted afternoon. What I’m going to ask requires you to know exactly who’s asking.”

She let that settle. “So. Now that you do—we can talk.”

The silence thickened. Marissa opened her mouth to speak—to say something, anything—but couldn’t find the words. Emily seemed to struggle to reconcile her knowledge of the Princess with the girl standing before her. Elise’s jaw literally dropped.

Marissa whispered first. “It’s really you… wow.”

It came out smaller than she meant it to.

This wasn’t just a noble in fine clothing. This wasn’t a court figurehead giving a staged performance. This was Princess Sophie Virelyn—the Golden Mirror of the Imperial Court—standing before them without her veil, her guard, or her retinue.

Was this even legal? They weren’t about to be thrown in jail, were they?

The Princess gave them a soft smile, and even stripped of veil and sigils, she didn’t need a title to command the room.

She was breathtaking. Her unbound hair spilled in waves of sunlit gold, as though it had absorbed warmth from the heavens themselves. Her golden-ringed eyes, sharp and intelligent, seemed trained for warfare. Her posture was disciplined, athletic—not soft, but not overly muscular or masculine. She cocked a hip as she watched them.

Rumor whispered she had once been ranked among the Four Great Beauties—the Sun Behind the Mirror. Standing here now, it was undeniable. Had she ever claimed it, the ranking would’ve shattered.

Before they could speak, another voice cut in from the shadows.

“You could’ve warmed them up a little. They look like they got hit by lightning.”

The girls flinched, turning.

A tall woman in deep blue stepped forward, pale-blue blonde hair braided in a crown twist, eyes cool and assessing. No crest, no emblem—but she didn’t need one. She moved like someone always ten steps ahead. She was clearly an operator—the kind you never noticed until the plan was already in motion.

Sophie didn’t even look her way. She only snorted softly. “I don’t have time for soft landings.”

She stepped forward and met each girl’s eyes in turn.

“I asked you here for a reason. I need help. Specifically—your help.”

No elaboration. No apology. Just clean lines. Direct words.

“You’re going to a Zhou estate near the south western coast. From there, upriver, inland, past the Green Basin cliffs—to the Riven Shrine.”

“Unofficially?” Elise asked.

“Officially,” Sophie said, “it doesn’t exist.”

The name hung in the air.

“The shrine sits atop what we believe was once an active Gate.”

Marissa tilted her head. “A Gate? Like a pocket realm?”

Sophie’s lips twitched. “Yes. But not just any. This Gate was the property of a very specific sect back in the day. Their remnants remain there, and we need to go see them.”

Marissa and the twins exchanged a look.

She gestured to the crest underfoot. “Gates aren’t made. They’re left behind. Test-arenas. Storage sites. Divine, or not. Some say relics of the First War. Others say forges to cultivate chosen mortals. What we know is this: they’re alive. And the Riven Shrine sits on one.”

Silence. Each girl digesting it differently.

Sophie pressed on.

“The shrine is still functional. Maintained by a caretaker sect tied to the Divine Moon Goddess—long removed from the political pantheon, but still honored in hidden corners of the Empire.”

She didn’t name her. Not yet. Just a whisper of myth.

“There’s a guardian,” Sophie said. “My intelligence suggests a spirit. Maybe more. You’ll have to pass through them.”

“Pass through?” Marissa asked.

“There will be trials to overcome—one of Combat, of Clarity, and of Resistance. The kind only the divine demand—and usually far more illustrative than we wish to acknowledge.”

“And you want something inside,” Elise said. “Something that you can only find in this Gate.”

“Exactly.” Sophie’s gaze sharpened. “We are looking to obtain a particularly pure piece of Divine Moonsteel.”

The room froze; the whole group stared.

Even in rumor, Moonsteel was rare—soul-reactive, nearly indestructible, attuned to resonance in ways no alloy could match. Forged in rites few smiths dared pronounce. One of the only known materials that worked cleanly with divine power.

“If it’s there, we need it,” Sophie said. “And it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Divine Moonsteel. What on earth could you need Divine Moonsteel for that would be a matter of life or death?” Marissa asked.

“I cannot divulge that yet. I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “What matters is access—with discretion and timing.”

She folded her hands. “This is why I’m approaching you. The Zhou estate on the southern coast gives us proximity and a home base. The Lin routes provide cover for transportation. We need to get there, overcome the trials, and retrieve the Divine Moonsteel. And we need to do it immediately.”

“You said there were tests. Why?” Elise asked.

“That part is unclear. My assets think it was something set up by the Goddess herself to test who is worthy. The only test that’s really clear is the spirit guardian.”

“So we pass the Gate’s test,” Marissa said, “and take the steel—quietly.”

Sophie nodded. “Yes. And do it before other forces—demonic, divine, or otherwise—move. Because they will.”

“So you need people who can move quietly,” Elise said.

“I need people who won’t be questioned,” Sophie corrected. “And people I can trust.”

She let the pause stretch.

“Which is why you’re coming with me.”

All three girls looked up.

“We’ll travel together. Secured route out of Northspire until we reach a transportation hub controlled by the Lin family. That is where you come in, Marissa. We’ll secure transport through diplomatic channels. Don’t worry about the fees—we have untraceable resources. Once we reach the Zhou estate, we’ll stop for supplies. Then we make for the Cliffs Moher. From there, we engage this task.”

“All five of us?” Marissa asked.

“Six,” Sophie said.

They stared.

She waited one beat, then delivered it plainly:

“We need to retrieve Vivian Li.”

The room stilled.

“I have been told the shrine’s spirit guardian is heat-aspected and has a particular weakness for cold. The trial sets strict conditions—age, cultivation cap, elemental affinity. Vivian is the only duelist who qualifies and has a real chance of surviving. There is no doubt she’s the best cold-aspected swordswoman under thirty.”

“She’s at Lotus Peak,” Emily murmured.

Sophie nodded. “We’ll collect her on the way.”

“She won’t like that,” Elise said.

“She doesn’t have to,” Sophie replied. “She just has to come.”