Queen Victoria stood tall, unwavering, her piercing gaze locked onto Lord Dramada.
"There is a human girl I want you to capture for me," she declared, her voice steady and commanding.
"Her name is Cipher. You will deliver her to my doorstep." She paused deliberately, letting the weight of her words settle before adding, "In return, I will give you the one thing you lack most."
Lord Dramada chuckled, a slow, rumbling sound filled with mockery. "Wow," he mused. "The great Queen of the Guls—unable to capture a mere girl? And you call yourself a ruler?"
His expression dripped with amusement. "Tell me, what is this thing that I supposedly lack? My fortress holds everything I need."
Queen Victoria clenched her fist but kept her composure. Losing her temper would gain her nothing.
"It is not failure," she corrected sharply. "Circumstances do not favor me." Her tone hardened.
"Cipher will be in the Evil Forest. I cannot operate there—it is beyond my reach. You, however… you have navigated that cursed forest more times than I can count."
Lord Dramada leaned forward slightly, intrigued but guarded.
"Capture her for me," she continued, "and I will give you the potion that will allow the Govanda vampires to evolve into day walkers." A heavy silence fell.
Lord Dramada's fingers drummed against the armrest as he contemplated the offer. His mind raced. Day walkers? If his faction had that ability—if they no longer needed the veil of night—what could they accomplish? The possibilities stretched beyond the limits of imagination.
His voice, when he spoke, was slow and calculating. "And how do I know you will keep your word? For all I know, you are nothing but a treacherous star."
Queen Victoria smirked slightly, sensing his interest. The negotiation was shifting in her favor. "The exchange will take place on neutral ground," she offered.
Lord Dramada shook his head. "No. You will come in person and take her from my fortress—at night. This is the place where I am strongest, even when the sun rises."
Queen Victoria inhaled deeply, holding back the urge to curse. But she knew she had to concede. "Fine. It's a deal." She moved to conclude the conversation.
Lord Dramada wasn't finished. "Out of curiosity," he mused, his tone bordering on suspicion, "why do you need her so desperately? And why are you so willing to share the very power that makes you distinctive?"
Queen Victoria swallowed her irritation, forcing it deep within herself. "I won't tell you," she responded coldly. "What would stop you from using my secret against me?" Her eyes gleamed with warning. "You do your part, and I will do mine. And don't—"don't"—try to double-cross me." She leaned in slightly. "That's not a threat. It's a warning. Strength is not the only weapon worth fearing."
Lord Dramada chuckled again, more amused than unnerved. "Alright then," he agreed. "It's a deal."
"When will she be there?" he added.
Queen Victoria flashed a satisfied smile. "I will send an informant." With that, the meeting was sealed, and the Queen of the Guls turned on her heel, vanishing into the darkness.
Nova watched Cipher jolt suddenly, her body twitching as though caught in a nightmare. A ripple of energy pulsed through the air, subtle yet undeniable. Cipher's breathing grew uneven, her fingers tightening into fists. And then—like shattered glass piecing itself back together—flashes of memories invaded her mind.
Scenes of a distant past flickered before her eyes. Voices—some familiar, some foreign—echoed in fragmented whispers. In her mind, she had been pulled into the depths of her own history.
"Hum—excuse me, sir, my mum sent me to buy the sliced one," Cynthia corrected the mistake, her eyes filled with dissatisfaction as she looked at the seller.
"Sorry, miss. The sliced ones are done. You came late," the shopkeeper explained nonchalantly. Cynthia realized she had no choice—she couldn't go home empty-handed.
"Okay, I'll take this same one," she reluctantly accepted and started walking back home.
Frustration burned within her; she cursed silently. She preferred sliced bread because she could sneak two pieces from the middle without her mother noticing. But today, things were different.
What was she going to do now? She sighed, tore open the loaf, and started eating right there on the street. Passersby were stunned.
"Hey dear, look at that girl, eating a whole loaf of bread by herself!" an old woman exclaimed in disbelief.
"She must come from a rich family," another woman chimed in.
Cynthia laughed heartily. If only they knew—it wasn't wealth, but circumstances that forced her into this situation. They were exaggerating, she thought. Ignoring the whispers around her, she finally reached home.
"Did you manage to get the bread?" Rosemary, her mother, asked.
"Yes," Cynthia answered, though fear gnawed at her. She knew what she had done. Her mother examined the loaf curiously. "What happened to the bread?"
"Ma, I was hungry, so I ate a little bit," Cynthia admitted hesitantly, knowing full well that almost a quarter of the loaf was missing. "Alright," her mother said dismissively, as though it didn't matter.
Cynthia blinked in surprise. She had expected a scolding, maybe even a beating, but her mother simply brushed it off.
That evening, dinner was prepared. Rosemary called everyone to the table—herself, Cynthia, and her cousin, Marcelino. As they ate, Rosemary turned to Cynthia. "Cynthia?"
"Mum?" Cynthia responded, already halfway through her meal. "What is your father's surname?" Rosemary asked mischievously. Cynthia scratched her head. She had no idea. Her mother burst into laughter.
"As big as you are, you don't know your own father's surname?" Truthfully, Cynthia didn't. "Tell me, mother," she pleaded, her eyes begging for the answer.
"You are the cleverest person I know, but also very stupid at the same time,"
Rosemary teased, chuckling.
"Mum, please?" Cynthia implored, desperate to know.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to figure that out on your own," Rosemary said, refusing to hand her the answer on a silver plate. Cynthia sighed, defeated.
Despite the playful teasing, dinner was lovely. Dad was absent, as usual—he worked late hours. On some days, Cynthia had to take food to him. After supper, they went to sleep.
The scene changed to next morning, the aroma of breakfast filled the house. Rosemary set the table and served Marcelino tea and bread.
But when Cynthia sat down, she was given only tea.
"Mum?" Cynthia called.
"Yes, Cynthia, my child?" Rosemary responded with a curved, mischievous smile.
"Did you forget to give me bread?" Cynthia asked, her face full of surprise.
Her mother broke into hysterical laughter. "You ate your share yesterday. The rest is for me and Marcelino!"
Nova's heart jolted. She had been watching Cipher for hours, waiting for any sign of life, and now—finally—there was movement. Cipher's closed eyes twitched, her breathing hitched. "Cipher!" Nova called, gripping her hand tighter.