The teleportation portals of the Raizen network were not gentle. They were brutal, efficient conduits of spatial magic that wrenched a traveler from one location and slammed them into another with disorienting force. For Elysia, it was a familiar, if unpleasant, sensation. In a matter of hours, she had traversed the vast distance from the frozen, monster-scarred north to the warm, opulent heart of the Raizen Duchy in Constel. She emerged from the central portal chamber of the main estate, her dark red armor still carrying the faint, ozone-tinged chill of the battlefield.

She did not pause to admire the familiar, intimidating grandeur of her home—the vaulted ceilings, the banners bearing the Raizen sigil, the guards who snapped to attention as she passed. Her stride was purposeful, her golden eyes fixed on a single destination: her father's war room.

She found him not poring over maps, but standing before a massive, enchanted window that looked out over the city, his hands clasped behind his back. Azariah Raizen turned as she entered, his own golden eyes, so like her own, assessing her instantly.

"The report from Frostfall preceded you," he stated, his voice a low rumble. "They are calling you 'The Lightning Scourge.' Efficient work."

"It was an inconvenience," Elysia replied coolly, stopping a few paces before him. "The matter of our… asset… is of greater priority."

A faint, approving smirk touched Azariah's lips. "Indeed. Nero. A second Law. It changes everything."

"It elevates him from a regrettable oversight to the most valuable strategic resource on the continent," Elysia corrected, her tone utterly clinical. "His return is no longer an option. It is a necessity. His potential, his very bloodline, must be secured for the Raizen legacy."

"Barak is unfit," Azariah said, the words a blunt, unforgiving dismissal of his other heir. "He lacks the vision. The will. He sees a rival. We see a tool of unparalleled power."

"Then we are in agreement," Elysia said. "We must move before the Samael or the Undines attempt to secure him permanently. We must bring him back. By persuasion if possible. By force if necessary. What he wants is irrelevant. He is a Raizen. His destiny belongs to this family."

Azariah gave a slow, decisive nod. "You will lead the reclamation. Use whatever resources you require. But understand, Elysia, failure is not an option. We either bring him back into the fold, or we ensure no one else can ever wield him against us."

The unspoken command hung in the air between them, cold and absolute. It was a sanction for assassination should Nero prove recalcitrant.

"I understand perfectly, Father," Elysia said, her voice devoid of emotion. She turned to leave, her business concluded.

"One more thing," Azariah's voice stopped her at the door. "Your brother. He was… displeased by the news. See to it that his petty emotions do not become another inconvenience."

A flicker of something dark and eager passed through Elysia's eyes. "Of course."

She found Barak not in his villa, but in one of the estate's private training halls. He was not training. He was destroying a high-grade training dummy with wild, unfocused blows, his golden hair matted with sweat, his face a contorted mask of rage and self-pity. The air stank of ozone and charred wood.

He saw her enter and froze, his chest heaving. "Elysia," he spat. "Come to gloat? Come to see the 'unfit' heir wallowing in his failure?"

She didn't answer. She simply looked at him, her expression one of cold contempt. She slowly unclasped the fastenings of her armored gauntlets, letting them drop to the floor with two heavy, metallic clangs.

"I have no time for your tantrums, Barak," she said, her voice quiet but carrying through the vast hall. "Your weakness is an embarrassment. Your jealousy is a liability. Father has given me a task of utmost importance, and your sniveling threatens to complicate it."

"My sniveling?" Barak roared, lightning crackling around his fists. "He's giving my birthright to that cursed bastard! That should be me! I am the true heir!"

"You are nothing," Elysia stated, and in that moment, she began to walk toward him. "You are a placeholder. A flawed prototype."

With a scream of pure fury, Barak unleashed a torrent of golden lightning, a desperate, wide-arcing blast meant to overwhelm her.

Elysia didn't dodge. She didn't block. She simply raised a hand and the chaotic stream of lightning bent, swirling around her like a tame river before being absorbed into her palm, the energy dissipating harmlessly. The difference in their control was astronomical.

His eyes widened in shock. Before he could react, she Flash Stepped.

She wasn't a blur; she was simply there, inside his guard. Her hand, now wreathed in the same black lightning that had unmade the monster horde, shot out and seized him by the throat. The touch was not meant to kill, but to punish. The dark energy surged into him, not destroying, but attacking his nervous system with waves of agonizing, paralyzing pain. He gasped, his body locking up, his own lightning sputtering and dying.

"You see no further than your own pride," Elysia hissed, her face inches from his, her golden eyes blazing into his terrified ones. "You think this is about a title. It is about power. The absolute power that Nero represents. And you are in the way."

She threw him. He flew across the training hall like a ragdoll, smashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch of armor and bone. He slid to the floor, groaning.

She was on him again before he could draw breath. She didn't use her sword. This was a lesson, delivered with fists and feet and crackling energy. Each blow was precise, brutal, and humiliating. A kick to his ribs that cracked them. A palm strike to his shoulder that dislocated it with a wet pop. She moved with the cold, dispassionate efficiency of an artisan dismantling a faulty machine.

He tried to fight back, summoning his lightning for one last, desperate attack. Elysia merely caught his lightning-wreathed fist in her hand, the black energy around her fingers snuffing out his golden power as if it were a candle. She squeezed, and the bones in his hand creaked ominously.

"You will stay out of my way," she commanded, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You will not interfere. You will not speak his name. You are irrelevant. Remember your place, or the next time I lay hands on you, I will not be so merciful."

She released him, and he collapsed into a broken, whimpering heap on the floor. She looked down at him for a moment longer, her expression one of utter disgust, before turning and walking away. She collected her gauntlets and left the training hall without a backward glance.

Left alone in the silence, Barak curled into a ball, the physical pain a mere echo of the total, soul-crushing humiliation. He had been not just defeated, but dismantled. And he knew, with terrifying certainty, that his sister had not been bluffing. In the new world order that Nero's power had created, he was indeed irrelevant. And the Raizen family had no use for irrelevance.