One morning at Greenlight, with no coach in class and a lazy hush settling over the room, Jerry strolled over to Fred, who was hunched over his sketchpad, drawing furiously like a man possessed. The world blurred around him, he barely noticed the chair creak beside him.
"Hello, Fred?" Jerry called, easing into the seat.
Fred blinked, glancing up, his fingers finally stilling. "Hey, Jerry. How's it going?"
"Thank God that ass isn't in school today. He just keeps bothering you," Jerry said with a smirk.
Fred sighed. Hough had been making his time at Greenlight nearly unbearable, but complaining wouldn't fix anything. He'd learned to endure, pencil first, mouth second.
Jerry leaned in, lowering his voice. "I just wanted to ask you something."
Fred nodded. "Go ahead, I'm listening."
"Is it true what Hough said… about you and Clara? That Clara likes you?" Jerry's eyes narrowed, laced with curiosity, perhaps too much of it.
Fred exhaled slowly. "That's not true. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her that way either. Why do you ask?"
Jerry recoiled with a chuckle. "Oh, nothing really. Just… surprised. The most high-profile girl at Greenlight finally shows interests in someone after a hundred guys tried and failed." He laughed again and walked back to his seat as if nothing had happened.
Fred frowned slightly. Jerry's curiosity felt off, misplaced, and strangely timed. Something about it lingered so deep in his thoughts, like something he couldn't catch. But as always, he lost himself in his art again to silence the noise.
He was just about to sink back into the comfort of lines and shading when Clara appeared before him, her presence drawing a hush over the class. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the air felt like it stopped amidst the lady's emergence.
"Hi," she said with a soft smile.
Fred looked up. "Hey, Clara. How's it going?"
"I'm good," she replied, slipping a small note into his hand. "Open it when I'm gone."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away with that same majestic grace that always seemed to demand attention without trying. Fred could feel students watching him, as if they wish they knew what Clara put in his palm.
Fred opened the note, heart ticking faster than it should.
"Meet me at the coast of the Ocean on Saturday."
The words sent chills to his body. The Ocean? That was deep, deep inside Worthloth Forest. A place people didn't just visit. Even he dared not go that deeper regardless of the fact he stayed at the forests' edge. heart pounded in his chest.
* * *
Far beyond Worthloth City, an empire stood gigantic, it's hard to believe it's real out there. It was bold, remote, magnificent. Nestled in a corner of the urban sprawl of Cypeach, the palatial residence shimmered in quiet dominion. The building towered in splendor, its walls a blend of modern architecture and regal ornamentation, simple magnificence.
Every inch of the estate whispered power. A fleet of luxurious cars glittered under the eternal glow of the city's lights, lined neatly before the mansion. Though luxurious cars fleet the courtyard yet, the compound felt open, spacious, vast enough to drown in. Cypeach never dimmed; its lights were eternal, its bulbs immune to failure. But despite its engineered happiness and thriving prospects, something darker lived in the city's undercurrent. Especially here.
This empire belonged to a queen. A wrathful queen.
And her wrath was not metaphor.
She was a giant, yet breathtakingly a beauty. She was ageless. Her beauty was sculpted of perfection: eyes that held tempests, dark skin like glass under golden light , and a presence that could bend spines and atmosphere. Her servants whispered prayers when she grew quiet. Her fury was legend. It doesn't define all that the queen was using poetic words but the palace contained what's difficult believe exist.
The sun hung hot above the city, gilding the world with intense. The temperature lately at Cypeach had be increasingly unbearable. Before the palace doors stood warrior women, bare-armed, muscled, statuesque, women that are rare to be seen among us today. Each one bore a golden trident-like rod, their posture radiating discipline and menace. Their faces, too flawless, looked almost animated, they carried beauty even with their diligence.
Only women lived here. Some as colossal as the queen herself, others of more familiar stature, but all draped in a native attire of beauty like themselves. Within the mansion, some bustled silently, attending to duties. Others vanished into nooks and crannies, unseen.
Inside, the Queen sat at her dining table, eating slowly. The room glowed with quiet power: furnishings of rare design, metals that could buy kingdoms, and air perfumed with something dangerously sweet.
Her skin was ethereal, soft like silk, yet still hard the durability to restrain almlst anything. Her regal attire veiled curves sculpted within, of something beyond human. Beads adorned her neck and wrists like relics of the ancient time. And yes, the queen still value her culture and seemed not to depart from it.
Beside her stood Àjòkè, her personal servant. Average in size, human in form, but marked by a thin bead band across her brow, that's the symbol of her unwavering loyalty.
The Queen sighed, her voice was sonorous and echoing, and still pleasant to the ears at the same time. "I can't believe Ìràwò took my army… and my gold. She ran with what's mine, drunk on her greed." Her lips, painted in a dark gloss, curled faintly. "She forgets who I am."
Àjòkè spoke carefully, as someone would imagine a person dancing on glass, trying not to make an error. "Your Highness, even in silence, Ìràwò harbored envy. But no one dared speak of it, not with your love for her. She's now lost her final chance, Queen Dùdù."
"She was a mere beast I pulled from the ruins of wars. I raised her, clothed her in honor, gave her command, and now she betrays me?" Dùdù's gaze sharpened. "Because she's a trueblood of the weresnake, she believes the darkest coils belong to her alone. Foolish child."
Àjòkè bowed her head. "It is our blessing, Queen Dùdù, that your blood swims in ours. A gift beyond measure."
The Queen stood. And what a sight she was, tall as ever, grace in motion. She turned, pausing mid-step.
"Fetch Bomi," she said, her voice wrapped in velvet steel. "We'll find this ungrateful soul. Perhaps she'll be fun to play with."
Àjòkè bowed deeply. "Yes, my Queen."
The servants remained frozen in place. None dared breathe too loudly.
Àjòkè watched her queen glide away toward her chambers, her movements wasn't forced but with strides that everyone will like to glance at twice. History said Queen Dùdù hated men, not without reason. They said her rage once destroyed cities, even Cypeach was no exception. They said her hands had taken more male lives than disease or war. But one thing about the queen was that, she kill for no reason, those that taunt her was consumed by her fiery strength.