Montmartre, Paris — its walls adorned with classical paintings and a ceiling carved with the El'Raez family crest.
La Reyna stood before the wide glass window, a cup of steaming Arabica coffee cradled in her hand. Outside, the Eiffel Tower seemed to bow to the sharp gaze hidden behind lace curtains.
She lived like royalty, but her soul remained shackled to yesterday's wounds.
Each morning followed the same ritual — her body tended to by her personal maid, Inez, a middle-aged woman who once pulled Fathya from death in the Rhône River. Inez was more than a caretaker. She was a keeper of secrets, a herbal healer, and the only soul who knew where Reyna buried her grief.
Breakfast was served: warm French bread, soft cheese, and fresh pomegranate.
But La Reyna merely stared at the tray.
"Food doesn't ease the burning inside, Inez. But I appreciate the effort."
Her voice was flat. Not cold — tired.
Beneath the villa, in the underground vault, shadows clung to ancient documents — secret files from the Blood Council, identities of traitorous families, and a marked map showing the last known location of a Sigil once wielded by Raezmir.
Lucien entered — suited in dark grey and leather, a satellite phone in hand.
"The Marseille deal is done," he reported. "But Lyon's gone quiet. Someone may have leaked our mission."
Reyna turned slowly.
"Tell me, Lucien. How many still whisper the name El'Raez… with fear?"
Lucien paused before stepping closer. His fingers brushed the back of her hand.
"I can revive their fear, Reyna. But only you can turn it into a legacy."
⸻
That afternoon, she boarded a black Bentley, driven by Nico — her personal driver, former mercenary, and now sworn blade. They headed to an industrial district on Paris's fringe.
There stood an old factory, reforged into an underground intelligence hub known as The Glass Room.
Lucien ran this empire in shadows — not of drugs or weapons, but bloodlines. Mystic ancestry, blood debts, hidden heirs. Every file bled with ancient secrets.
Reyna reviewed the latest logs. One name surfaced.
Annelise D'Orion — one of the last Sigil Keepers.
By dusk, she returned to the villa. The silence wrapped around her like a prayer.
She sat at her writing desk, quill in hand, composing a letter she never intended to send.
If I die on this mission, do not burn my body. Let me rot on the soil where my family's blood was spilled. For from that decay, a new generation will rise.
Lucien entered silently.
"Don't write your will, Reyna. We're not done yet."
A faint smile curved her lips.
"I never write to die. I write… to remember."
⸻
A Sleepless Night in Montmartre
Night crept into the villa like an old lover uninvited, but familiar. Fog drifted across the Parisian sky, veiling the stars as if hiding secrets.
In the living room, only a dim lamp flickered. La Reyna reclined on a sapphire velvet sofa, eyes lost in the dance of the flames. Her wounded hand, still wrapped in rune-cloth, twitched gently, healing on the outside, raw within.
Inez, who normally retired early, stayed up that night. She stirred herbal soup in the kitchen, stealing glances at the girl she never bore — but silently claimed as her own.
"Why does she look the strongest… when I know she's breaking?"
Reyna never asked for comfort. Yet Inez placed a thick blanket over the edge of the sofa, and a warm teacup beside her.
"Sleep. Even if only a moment. Even if you have to pretend."
Reyna didn't argue.
"Inez… if I fall tomorrow, don't look for my body."
Inez took her hand, cold and stiff, and whispered,
"If you fall, I'll dig through the world to bring you back."
⸻
Lucien entered next. No words, just silence. He removed his coat and sat beside her. Close enough to be felt. Far enough not to demand.
"You don't have to be strong every second," he said without looking.
"If I stop being strong, I'll collapse," Reyna replied.
Their eyes met,no kiss. No promises.
Only a hand placed against his chest, where his heart beat steady, telling her she wasn't alone. Not tonight.
Inez slipped away to her room. But before she did, she whispered to herself,
"I didn't birth her. But God knows… I'm the only mother this child has left."
Outside, the villa stood still as if bracing for the storm to come.
The Paris sky didn't know:
In this quiet hillside sanctuary, vengeance was sharpening its steps…
And silent love had become the shield of a woman who vowed never to fall.
Tomorrow, they would go to Notre-Dame.
But tonight…
was the last night La Reyna would feel protected —
…and loved.