The private gym was a cavern of cold, hard stone and enchanted metal, a world away from the opulent warmth of her rooms. The only light came from the harsh, white glow of magelights set high in the ceiling, casting deep shadows in the corners. The air was still and carried the faint, sterile smell of ozone and old stone.

Elreth stood at the center of the vast space, her chest heaving not from exertion, but from the raw, seething emotion her father's command had ignited within her. Before her stood a line of ten training golems, hulking figures of dark, enchanted wood and stone, their featureless faces awaiting her fury.

She didn't shout. The silence was more terrifying.

With a sharp, guttural cry that was pure release, she summoned her black spear. The Law of Fire answered her rage instantly. Crimson flames, shot through with veins of incandescent white, didn't just wrap the spear—they consumed it, roaring to life with a sound like a forge blast. The temperature in the room skyrocketed, the air wavering with heat haze.

She became a whirlwind of destruction.

There was no finesse, no technique. This was pure, unadulterated violence. She lunged at the first golem, her spear a blur of fire. She didn't thrust; she smashed. The blazing weapon cleaved through the construct's torso, exploding it into a shower of splintered wood and molten stone that rained down around her.

She didn't pause. Spinning, she unleashed a horizontal arc of fire that bisected two golems at once. The severed halves toppled, their magical cores sputtering and dying. Another golem took a step toward her, and she met it with a point-blank thrust, the fire around her spear concentrating into a needle-thin beam that punched straight through its chest, leaving a gaping, glowing hole.

The atmosphere was one of controlled chaos. The only sounds were the roar of her flames, the shriek of tearing enchantments, the thunderous crashes of disintegrating golems, and her own ragged breaths. Each destroyed dummy was a stand-in for her frustration—for her father's audacity, for Khione's infuriating victory, for Nero's impossible power, for the humiliation of being reduced to a political pawn in her own life.

For nearly an hour, the carnage continued. She moved through the gym like a force of nature, a living wildfire leaving only scorch marks and rubble in her wake. When the last golem was a smoldering pile of debris, she finally stopped, her spear held tight in her white-knuckled grip, the flames slowly dying down.

She stood amidst the wreckage, chest heaving, sweat and soot streaking her face. The gym was a testament to her rage, but the order still remained, burning in her mind. The venting was over. The real battle, a battle of a different kind, was just beginning.

•••

While the echoes of shattered golems rang through the Leclair estate's gym, a scene of a much different nature was unfolding in another wing. Seated gracefully before a moonlit window, Azalea, the elven princess, held a single, perfect leaf spun from silver. She closed her emerald eyes, and a soft, verdant glow—her prana—flowed from her fingertips, infusing the leaf with life.

The leaf shimmered, its surface rippling like the surface of a pond before expanding into a wide, luminous screen. The image that resolved was one of breathtaking, natural elegance. It showed a throne hall seemingly grown, not built, from the heart of an ancient forest. Living trees formed the arches, their branches intertwining to create a canopy overhead, dappled with soft, magical light.

Seated on a throne woven from the living roots of a great tree was a woman who was the very image of mature grace and power. This was Eletha Zephyr, Queen of the Elves. She possessed the same honey-blonde hair and piercing emerald eyes as her daughter, but where Azalea's beauty was that of a budding flower, Eletha's was that of an ancient, majestic forest. Her expression was serene, yet held an immense, unshakeable authority. Displayed on the wall behind her leaf-and-vine throne was a bow crafted from what appeared to be solidified moonlight and starlight. This was the Aether Bow, one of the legendary Seven Artifacts, a symbol of the elves' ancient power and connection to the world's fundamental energies.

"Mother," Azalea began, her voice as calm and melodic as ever. She proceeded to explain everything with elven precision: Nero's unprecedented awakening of the Law of Lightning, his current relationship with Khione Undine, and the seismic shift this represented in the balance of power.

Eletha listened, her serene expression never faltering, though a keen, calculating light ignited deep within her emerald eyes. After a moment of contemplative silence, the Elven Queen spoke, her voice like the whisper of wind through leaves.

"The Samael Emperor will see only conquest. The Undine Lord sees a shield for his daughter. But we elves see the weaving of a new thread in the tapestry of fate." She leaned forward slightly. "My daughter, the potential this young man represents… it cannot be left to chance or the clumsy hands of others. You must secure his lineage for our people."

She then suggested the very same course of action Solomon Samael had commanded of his daughter.

Unlike Elreth, Azalea did not rage or protest. Instead, a soft, mysterious chuckle escaped her lips. A knowing, almost predatory smile graced her features, a stark contrast to her usual serene demeanor. It was the smile of a player who had just been dealt a fascinating new hand and was already calculating the perfect move.

"I understand, Mother," Azalea said, her voice a confident murmur. "I accept."

The connection faded, the silver leaf returning to its inert state. Azalea sat in the quiet of her room, the mysterious smile still playing on her lips. For her, this was not a crude command. It was the most elegant and intriguing game she had ever been invited to play.

"Fufufu! This is going to be fun. Don't blame me for this, El. Let's make this drama more fun!" Her green eyes gleamed dangerously for a split seconds before her expression reverted back to natural again.