The carriage was steeped in oppressive silence. Aside from its gentle rocking and the rhythmic clop of hooves against the stone road, no sound stirred within.
What could be said now, after the humiliating episode that had just unfolded? What words could possibly mend the staggering shame Lady Tremaine and her daughters had suffered at the hands of that… that thing?
He could hardly be called human.
Lady Tremaine felt her beloved cat, Lucifer, curl tighter into her arms. Normally, her caresses soothed him instantly, but not now. A flicker of rare sympathy crossed her cold eyes as she looked down at him shivering in her lap, before her usual indifferent gaze returned, sharp and calculating.
That creature—that man—was unlike anything she had ever faced. Almost. She remembered, as a child, stumbling upon a wild bear: ferocious, towering, eyes like predators, a roar that seemed to shake her entire world. She had been frozen with terror, small and powerless—and she had hated the helplessness she felt ever since.
Power became her obsession. Safety, strength, royalty. From that moment, her path was clear: to become untouchable, feared, and above all else, supreme.
Clenching her fist, her mind sharpened, eyes glinting with wicked calculation. No humiliation. No defeat. Not now. Not by a mere servant girl, not by a stranger.
Her lips curved into a cold sneer, deep creases etching her face into a mask of diabolical intent. The air around her thickened with menace; even Lucifer quivered at the dark pulse radiating from her. The oppressive atmosphere pressed upon everyone in the carriage, though Lady Tremaine remained perfectly composed for the outside eye.
"Hush now, my little one," she murmured softly to Lucifer, stroking him until he calmed, masking the storm within.
"Mother?" Anastasia's voice broke through.
"Yes, Anastasia?" Lady Tremaine responded, her tone deceptively calm.
Her red-haired daughter blinked, confusion flickering across her face. Drizella, the elder, stood upright, sensing the dark currents swirling around their mother, a shadow of the schemes yet to come.
"What are we going to do about what happened? And… that maid—Cinderella—that man she's with…" Anastasia's voice faltered, a blush tinting her cheeks. Even she was captivated, uncertain how to insult him, yet keenly aware of his power and presence.
Lady Tremaine's brow arched slightly. She saw it in them—the fascination, the desire. She even felt it herself, a fleeting, unwelcome stirring of youth and lust at the thought of him. Perhaps only he can awaken the fire still left in me, she mused, a subtle smirk brushing her lips.
"For now," she said, her voice darkening with intent, "you two will do nothing. I leave for the day, but when I return, you will assist me with something… very special and important. Something that will reclaim our power—and our revenge." Her emerald eyes gleamed with malice as she let the words hang, heavy and commanding.
"Home," she finally declared, breaking the tension abruptly. The carriage slowed, stopping at the gates. The sisters, caught between excitement and fear, hesitated, then obeyed, stepping out robotically. Lady Tremaine ignored them, focusing on her own designs.
A scorpion does not spare its young—Lady Tremaine was a scorpion, deadly and venomous, and her plans would unfold accordingly.
Hundreds of miles away, deep within a forest shrouded in shadow, jagged mountains loomed over a land of perpetual gloom. Dark clouds of green and black swirled above, as if the mountains themselves exuded malevolence. Atop the tallest peak rested the Forbidden Castle, a place so dread-filled that even the bravest would hesitate at its gates.
The castle was defended by monstrous beings: trolls, ogres, goblins, all eager to devour trespassers. The terrain itself was lethal, claiming more lives than its fearsome guards. Yet in this moment, silence reigned. Not a shadow of movement disturbed the darkness.
Inside, in a dimly lit chamber, a green glow flickered over a slender figure. A pair of curved horns cast an eerie shadow, lending her a demonic silhouette. Pale green skin, narrow icy features, and a form draped in black and purple robes, she moved with dangerous grace—but now trembled, her posture betraying fear and frustration.
Maleficent, the most powerful of fairies, felt helpless. A being's mere presence had stripped her of control, leaving her immobile, submissive. She had been born to stand tall before gods, to command and dominate—but this creature… this thing… unsettled her utterly.
"Damn it!" she growled, pacing, rubbing her horns. Her yellow eyes dimmed, frustration flaring. She considered summoning rare ingredients, artifacts, even lesser beings, but knew any misstep could mean ruin.
"Diablo!" she called. Instantly, a large black raven landed on her shoulder, its eyes alert to the subtle tremor in her aura. She smiled briefly at the creature, regaining composure, and returned to her table to write a letter.
With a flick of her staff—a golden rod crowned with a lime-green orb—her words vanished into the ether, magically delivered. She hoped Ursula would respond; failure would earn her wrath, and calamari for her minions.
Maleficent's grin widened. Soon, all pieces would fall into place. Her schemes were meticulous, her revenge imminent. The little mermaid, the cursed prince, the tangled web of desires—all were threads she would manipulate with cold precision.
Elsewhere, in a royal chamber, the Queen—Grimhilde—watched two figures vanish into the distance. Her pale, flawless features betrayed no emotion; beneath her regal attire, her mind churned with ambition, venom, and calculation.
A sudden touch broke her contemplation. Warm hands wrapped around her, caressing and planting gentle kisses that made her gasp. When the figure pulled back, she found herself face-to-face with a young prince: strong, fair, charming, with eyes that shimmered in hues of blue and green.
"I don't want you to have such a gloomy look, Grimhilde," he said, his voice tender, commanding, a mix of warmth and power. "Wait for me, my beloved. Soon, you will be the Fairest of the Land." He vanished, leaving the Queen both dazed and intrigued, her mind already plotting how to bend fate to her will.
Back in the greater universe, an unseen presence stirred. Across realms and realities, pillars of power shifted, disrupted by a single, incredible being: Dominic. Its careful order, its intricate balance, threatened by his mere existence.
And now, the moment had come to respond. Its solution: a champion, a knight, a Prince Charming to reclaim what had been disturbed.
A young man awoke, brown eyes shining with intelligence and resolve, hazy for a moment, then clearing. A singular thought dominated his mind: I need to see that girl today.
Driven by a mixture of agitation, curiosity, and inexplicable pull, he prepared himself, unaware that the entire web of realms, villains, and destiny had already begun to twist, shift, and move in response to his presence.
The stage was set, the players unknowingly positioned. The Great Games, whispered of by Warmasters and Lords across the multiverse, had begun.