At the same time, in another wing of the enormous Leclair estate, was a room that had been utterly transformed. This was the guest chamber assigned to Elreth, and she had stamped her personality onto it so completely it was like a splash of paint.

Where other rooms in the estate were decorated in soft silvers, cool blues, or earthy tones, this one was dominated by a single, powerful color: red.

A thick, plush carpet in a deep crimson covered the floor from wall to wall, softening every footstep. The heavy curtains framing the large window were a rich shade of scarlet, blocking out the night and holding the room in a warm, private glow. The silken bedspread, the cushions piled high on the chairs, even the delicate patterns on the vases—all of them were some variation of ruby, vermilion, or burgundy. It was a room that didn't whisper elegance; it shouted passion, power, and a will that could not be ignored. It was a nest of fire, perfectly suited to the fiery princess who called it, for now, her home.

As soon as she crossed the threshold into her crimson sanctuary, Elreth allowed the last vestiges of her public composure to fall away. The door clicked shut, sealing her in her private world of fire and shadow. Without a moment's hesitation, she moved directly through the sitting area and into the adjoining bathing chamber.

Steam soon clouded the mirrors as she sank into a deep, scented bath, the hot water a balm on muscles still humming with the phantom energy of Nero's lightning. For a long time, she simply lay there, her fiery hair fanning out around her, orange eyes closed as she replayed every moment of their clash—the blinding speed, the crackling power, the sheer, impossible fact of his dual Laws.

When she emerged, her skin flushed and clean, she did not choose a nightgown. Instead, she dressed in a comfortable, yet still impeccably tailored, robe of dark crimson silk. It was attire fit for a private audience, even a virtual one.

Padding barefoot back into the main room, she approached an ornately carved desk. From a locked drawer, she retrieved an object that seemed to suck the warmth from the air around it. It was the official seal of the Samael Imperial Clan, her birthright. Crafted from a single piece of obsidian and edged in gold, it was heavy and cold in her palm. The image carved into its surface was unmistakable and legendary: a majestic phoenix, its wings spread wide, clutching a formidable spear in its talons—a symbol of eternal rebirth and unconquerable power.

She placed the seal carefully on the desk's polished surface, its dark sheen a stark contrast to the reds of her room. She took a steadying breath, her expression shifting from thoughtful to one of resolute determination. The time for casual observation was over. The game had changed, and it was time to bring the Emperor into play. She was about to contact her father.

Elreth placed her palm flat upon the cold, dark surface of the obsidian seal. She closed her eyes, focusing her will, and a stream of her inner energy—her prana—flowed from her core, down her arm, and into the artifact.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a flicker of dark gold flame, the color of molten embers, sparked to life above the seal. The flame grew, not like a wild fire, but with a disciplined, magical purpose. It stretched and widened, painting the air until it formed a shimmering, rectangular screen of pure light, hovering just above her desk. It was a real-time, magical videoconference, a bridge spanning the vast distance between her room and the heart of her family's empire.

On the other side of that screen was a sight designed to inspire awe and fear. The backdrop was the immense Samael throne hall, a cavernous space of black stone and soaring pillars. Torches burned with an eternal flame, casting long, dancing shadows.

And there, centered in the view, sat the source of much of that power. On a colossal throne carved from what appeared to be dark red gold sat her father, Solomon Samael. He was a man who looked every bit the title of "Strongest Zodiac." His long, fiery red hair fell around broad shoulders like a lion's mane, and a thick, well-groomed beard of the same vibrant color framed a face of stern, imperial authority. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature—they burned with a live, intense orange light, as if miniature suns blazed behind them, missing no detail.

Leaning against the arm of his throne was an object that radiated a palpable, terrifying aura even through the magical screen. It was a long spear, its dark red shaft and blade seeming to drink the light from the hall. Tiny, infernal runes glowed faintly along its length, and the very air around it shimmered with heat haze. This was one of the legendary Seven Artifacts: the Hellfire Spear.

His burning gaze focused on the screen, on his daughter. A deep, resonant voice, accustomed to command, rumbled through her room. "Elreth. This is an unexpected contact. Explain."

Elreth did not curtsy. She did not offer a flowery greeting. She met her father's burning gaze with an intensity that mirrored his own, and delivered the news like a general reporting a world-altering strategic development.

"Papa," she said, her voice clear and cutting, devoid of any hesitation. "Nero has awakened a second Law: the Law of Lightning."

The words hung in the air, simple, direct, and utterly earth-shattering.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint, crackling hum of the magical connection. The live, solar fury in Solomon Samael's eyes did not change, but the absolute stillness that fell over his massive frame was more telling than any shout. The fingers of one hand, which had been resting idly on the arm of his throne, slowly curled inward, the knuckles tightening until they were white. The air in the throne hall seemed to grow heavier, the flames in the torches flickering as if pressed down by an invisible weight.

He leaned forward, just an inch, but the movement carried the gravity of a shifting mountain. The Hellfire Spear beside him seemed to pulse in response, its dark red hue deepening.

"Repeat that," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, like distant thunder before a storm breaks.

Elreth didn't flinch. "It is the truth. I have seen it with my own eyes. He commands the lightning as naturally as he commands fire. He is the first. There has never been another."

She watched as the implications—the strategic, historical, and divine implications—washed over the strongest man on the continent. She saw the moment his mind, a mind that constantly calculated the balance of power across empires, began to recalculate everything. The board had not just been reset; a new, unpredictable piece of unimaginable power had been dropped directly into the center of their game. They must have him at all cost.