A new day had begun, but the atmosphere in the villa was anything but fresh.
Everyone had woken up less motivated—the discussion beneath the tree had drained more than just their stamina.
Eghosa stood in the kitchen, dressed in an orange nightgown, hair disheveled, eyes still heavy with sleep. In her hands was a block from the nutritional dispenser—what passed for a proper breakfast here. Grey, odorless, temperatureless. Food in the most technical sense of the word.
Melissa stood beside her, equally unrested, leaning against the counter in silence. The air felt stale, unmoving.
Through the open space of the villa, Eghosa noticed Rekthar in the living room, pacing and muttering under his breath. His posture was tense—disturbed.
She pushed the thought aside.
A him thing, she told herself.
Her mind drifted instead to the academy—to the shroud that seemed to hang over it like an unseen storm. She had come here believing this place was her chance to be great, to make her family proud. She had never imagined being pulled into something this much bigger.
She wasn't ready.
On the outside, she stood tall and composed, acting like she knew exactly what she was doing. But inside, fear gnawed at her relentlessly. And to make matters worse, she couldn't contact her brother—or anyone at all. She had tried. It simply wasn't possible.
She was alone.
"…What are you thinking about?"
The voice startled her.
Eghosa turned to see Olenna standing beside her. She hadn't noticed her approach.
"Nothing," Eghosa replied quickly.
"That's a lie," Olenna said without hesitation. "I sense worry. Anxiety."
"Olenna, leave her alone," Melissa cut in sharply.
Eghosa glanced back at the dispenser. The blocks were ready now. Three of them. She placed them on plates—the only courtesy she could afford food this terrible.
Originally, she had prepared only for herself and Melissa, but with Olenna present, she shared it without comment.
She carried the plates to the table.
"Here, Melissa.
Olenna…
And me."
"Thank you," Melissa said.
"Thank you," Olenna echoed.
They ate in silence, each trying—unsuccessfully—to forget how trashy the food tasted.
Then Olenna spoke again.
"Eghosa," she said softly, curiosity threading her voice. "I felt your thoughts. You were worried. Scared. Why?"
The air shifted.
Silence settled over the table like a weight.
Olenna's horns dimmed slightly as realization crept in. "I… I might have asked something sensitive."
Eghosa opened her mouth to respond, but Melissa spoke first.
She turned to Olenna, her voice firm, unyielding.
"It's not okay to dig into other people's feelings. And it's worse to force them to share. That's wrong."
It was the first time Eghosa had ever seen Melissa genuinely angry.
And strangely enough, it wasn't about herself—it was for someone else.
Eghosa had always thought of Melissa as laid-back, carefree, a noble who acted simply because she could. Now she realized how shallow that judgment had been. Everyone here had reasons. Everyone carried something.
"It's okay," Eghosa said gently.
She looked at Olenna, who now seemed on the verge of tears. Even her horns had dulled.
"'Mother Melissa' is right," Eghosa continued. "But I'll tell you why I'm worried—if you tell me why you want to know."
Olenna's eyes lit up instantly.
Before she could speak, Melissa groaned.
"Hey—who are you calling Mother Melissa?"
Eghosa laughed. "I knew you heard that."
Melissa's scowl cracked. "You scold just like my mother."
"No, I don't," Melissa retorted.
"Yes, you do," Olenna chimed in.
For a moment, the kitchen was silent.
Then all three burst into laughter.
When it settled, Eghosa leaned forward. "Alright. Why are you so curious about my feelings?"
Olenna straightened, answering with the enthusiasm of a student eager to explain.
"I'm Jada," she said. "We are psychic—sensitive to emotions. In my homeworld, we're taught that humans are among the most emotionally diverse species in the galaxy."
She smiled faintly.
"And meeting you all… it's true."
"To a Jada," she continued, "being around good emotions is like breathing clean air. Bad emotions feel like sick air. So we remove the bad ones."
She tilted her head. "I wanted to know why anyone would choose bad air."
Eghosa was silent.
You can just decide not to be sad?
Would that even allow you to be… human?
She didn't voice the thought. Instead, she looked at Melissa—who returned the stare, equally stumped.
Melissa shrugged. Don't ask me.
Eghosa finally spoke.
"Worrying… hurting… feeling bad," she said slowly, "is something we humans do. Understanding those feelings—facing them—is how we grow. Without them, we'd remain bland. Stagnant."
Melissa nodded in agreement.
"I see," Olenna said. Her horns glowed softly. "But not opening up causes rot. Decay. That's why Jada elders examine our psyche—to help us understand."
This time, Melissa responded.
"We don't reject sharing," she said. "But we choose who we share with. Trust matters."
"Trust?" Olenna repeated.
"Yes," Melissa said. "Trust is earned—with time, trials, and deeds. Because feelings in the wrong hands are deadly."
Olenna went quiet.
"Have you heard the story of Venon Moraga?" Melissa asked.
Eghosa and Olenna shook their heads.
Melissa leaned back slightly.
"Then let me tell you."
Melissa leaned back slightly, her tone changing—not dramatic, not soft, but measured, like someone reciting a truth that had already decided to exist.
"Venon Moraga," she began, "was a human."
She paused, letting that settle.
"During the Human–Uduak War, when entire systems were burning and diplomacy had long rotted, humanity needed someone who could hold the line without shaking. Someone who could decide who lived, who died, and not confuse mercy with weakness."
Her eyes lowered.
"That man was Venon."
The name carried no reverence in her voice. Only fact.
"He was not kind. He was not cruel. He was precise. Every order he gave had a cost, and he accounted for it before issuing it. Soldiers followed him not because they loved him—but because when Venon Moraga spoke, the chaos quieted."
Olenna listened without blinking.
"They called him The Untouchable General," Melissa continued. "Not because he was unreachable, but because nothing reached him. Fear didn't. Grief didn't. Victory didn't intoxicate him. Loss didn't hollow him."
Eghosa felt a strange tightening in her chest.
"He mastered himself," Melissa said. "That was his true weapon."
She folded her arms.
"But war changes the shape of people. Not just bodies—souls. Venon saw what constant efficiency was doing to his officers. They obeyed perfectly… and stopped questioning why they fought at all."
Melissa's voice lowered slightly.
"So Venon did something rare."
He spoke.
"Not to soldiers. Not to the public. To the High Command. To nobles who controlled supply lines, reinforcements, and history itself."
He didn't confess weakness.
"He said he feared what victory would cost humanity. That if they continued without reflection, they would win the war—and lose themselves."
Melissa exhaled slowly.
"That was all."
Olenna frowned. "That doesn't sound dangerous."
"It wasn't," Melissa replied calmly. "Not to enemies."
She glanced at Eghosa.
"But to allies? It was everything."
The nobles didn't argue.
"They listened. They nodded. They praised his honesty."
Then they archived it.
"They reframed his words. Twisted restraint into hesitation. Reflection into doubt. They whispered that Moraga was slowing. That the war required harder hands."
When a decisive battle arrived, they maneuvered around him.
"Resources were delayed. Orders contradicted. Outcomes forced."
Venon adapted. He always did.
"But when the cost came," Melissa said quietly, "they placed it at his feet."
The war was won soon after.
"Venon Moraga was removed from command without ceremony. No trial. No execution. Just… absence."
History recorded him as:
Necessary
Ruthless
Eventually obsolete
His private words were never published—only their interpretation.
Melissa looked at Olenna then.
"And among nobles, his story became a warning."
She quoted it without embellishment:
> 'Even the strongest fall when they reveal too much.'
Silence followed.
Olenna's horns dimmed slightly. "So… he shouldn't have spoken?"
Melissa shook her head once.
"No. He shouldn't have spoken to them."
She leaned forward.
"Emotion isn't weakness. Uncontrolled access is."
She glanced briefly at Eghosa—not accusing, not comforting.
"Venon Moraga did not lose because he felt. He lost because he trusted people who valued leverage more than truth."
The kitchen was quiet again.
Somewhere in the villa, Rekthar stopped muttering.
Melissa stood. "That's why trust isn't given freely where I come from. And why nobles teach caution before vulnerability."
She paused at the doorway.
"Because once your inner world is mapped by the wrong hands… you never own it again."
As the story ended, the girls noticed a figure at the kitchen entrance—book in hand, dressed in a weird imperial like attire.
It was Amos.
He had been listening.
"Amos…" Eghosa said, caught off guard.
Before she could continue, Melissa spoke, almost absently.
"Fun fact," she said.
"Venon Moraga is Amos' favorite general in history."
Silence settled over the room.
Amos did not react.
He simply turned a page.