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Threads Of Vengeance
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2025-06-08 00:01:36The campus was glowing in the afternoon sun, but Arla-Rosa's eyes were elsewhere. Her mind was already ten steps beyond graduation. She was not just planning for the end of her student life, she was meticulously crafting the destruction of those who once thought her a pawn.
Seth Robinson was arrogant. Predictable. And oh, so easy to bait. She had caught wind of his latest ambition, a tech-medicine cross-integration project tied to military innovation. It was highly classified and involved bio-coding hardware for battlefield use.Arla-Rosa let the bait dangle just right. She approached Seth the week before graduation with that calm, angelic face she wore so well. “I heard about your upcoming project,” she said with a smile. “It’s ambitious. You’ll need someone with both medical and coding experience. I’m offering myself for it.”Seth, smug and foolish, didn’t question her sudden interest. He saw it as her cracking—finally crawling back. “Of c
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As Arla-Rosa stepped into the diagnostic wing, the scent of antiseptic met her, familiar, sterile, grounding. But beneath it, something else clung to the air. Something wrong. The nurses parted silently as she entered. Her presence had always drawn attention, but tonight, it commanded something more. Reverence. They led her into Observation Room Twelve.On the bed, surrounded by softly beeping monitors and an array of confused specialists, lay Minister Thaleus Harenn, Country D’s Director of Foreign Affairs. He was a sharp-tongued diplomat, a skilled negotiator whose wit could be described as unmatched. But now, his face was ashen, his limbs still, and his eyes, half-lidded and vacant, flickered faintly as though trapped in a half-dream.Arla-Rosa did not need scans. She did not need machines. Her eyes narrowed and her senses extended, and she saw it. Not just the shallow pulse, or the faint irregularity in breath, but the subtle shimmer on his skin. The faint discoloration below hi
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The music swelled like a living flame, curling through the sanctuary in waves of drumbeats and flute-song. Lanterns still floated overhead, their golden light catching on sequins, earrings, and tears. It was a celebration of survival, of return,but also of parting.Arla-Rosa spun slowly with Celeste perched on her hip, the little girl’s head resting against her shoulder. Cassian clung to Cedric’s arm, mimicking the deep bows and quick turns of the elder dancers with exaggerated flair.“You're not supposed to duel the musicians, Cass,” Cedric murmured, trying not to laugh as their son held up a breadstick like a sword. The boy puffed out his cheeks and whispered, “I'm practicing for diplomacy.”Across the fire lit square, Arla-Rosa watched her family, bathed in warmth, movement, life, and felt a tightness in her chest she had not known she carried. It was not sadness. It was something else...Wholeness.She stepped back toward the long table, where the last of the emberwine was being po
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Lanterns floated through the sanctuary like captured starlight. The air was sweet with roasted lotus seeds, firefruit wine, and duskroot incense. A celebration was underway, the first true feast the Saphiren Clan had held in decades.At the center of the courtyard, beneath the Phoenix Tree whose bark shimmered with ancestral fire, sat four honored figures: Prince Miguel, Amarantha, Duke Cedric Fleming of Country D, and the Flamebearer herself, Arla-Rosa Lunaria Fleming.The square was filled with laughter and music. Children ran barefoot along glowing stones, citizens of the reborn Saphiren clan danced in robes of gold and ash-gray, and storytellers recited ancient myths made true again.Cassian and Celeste raced around the long banquet table, devouring flamecakes and tossing petal confetti in the air. Their giggles echoed like tiny bells. Arla-Rosa watched them, her fingers lightly curled around Cedric’s under the table. There was warmth in her eyes, but also something distant. A tho
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Twilight bled across the sanctuary like a silken veil, its sky painted in crimson and violet, a tribute to fire and dusk. From the highest spire, a silver bell tolled,once, twice, thrice. A visitor was approaching. Not just any visitor. The Prince of Vespas.Arla-Rosa stood on the Phoenix Balcony, the winds weaving through her robes. Her fingers gripped the balcony rail, heart thudding not with fear, but with something dangerously close to longing.Cedric stepped beside her. “You don’t have to do this alone.” “I’m not afraid,” she said softly. “I’m… curious. Nervous. But not afraid.” He nodded. “That’s the bravest kind of readiness.” Below, the sanctuary gates opened.And through them rode a man cloaked in royal blue, silver embroidery glinting like stars. His beard, now peppered with white, did little to dull the quiet dignity of his stride. His eyes which are gray like the border between storm and memory, scanned the sanctuary with restraint. He bore no guards. No pomp. Just truth.
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Morning light bled into the sanctuary like liquid gold. The flames in the prayer bowls flickered lower, not extinguished, but peaceful, reflecting the change in the air. Arla-Rosa sat at the edge of her bed, eyes fixed on her hands. Hands that had once clung to revenge. Now, they curled softly around the folds of her ceremonial robe, steady. Silent.Her chest still ached from the vision. Her body remembered every lash, every bruise, every bite of starvation. But her soul? Her soul had just glimpsed eternity. The cold. The vows. The ring. The way Cedric had died beside her, not with anger or despair, but devotion so vast it cracked reality itself. Arla-Rosa closed her eyes, drew in a slow breath. "You chose me, Cedric. In a world that never deserved your gentleness." And now, she would choose him.Cedric knocked once before entering. His presence, once magnetic and storm-dark, now stood in hesitant awe. She was already awake. Wearing the soft gray tunic of a Saphiren heir. Hair brushed
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