Milan, Italy — 7:15 a.m.
The paper cup was still warm in La Reyna's hand. Inside — a double espresso, no sugar — the drink that had become her morning ritual for the past three years. She stood beside a narrow alley near Caffè Cordusio, her favorite spot ever since returning to Milan after the Lyon tragedy.
The café was small, its walls half-covered in moss, and the bell on the door always rang off-key. But it held memories. At the back-right table, her mother once sat — quietly reading notes from artifact buyers. Now, only silence remained. Here, La Reyna could pass as an ordinary woman reviewing invoices and replying to clients from Istanbul and Kyoto.
But this morning, she knew someone was watching.
The hair on her neck rose. Her fingers tightened around the cup until it creased slightly. Her pulse wasn't from caffeine. It was instinct — the instinct of someone who had lived too long in the shadows of danger.
Two tables behind, a man in a grey jacket sat silently. He hadn't ordered anything. Just sat, face half-hidden behind black glasses. He never turned toward her. But he had arrived too early to be just another customer.
She knew exactly how the Council operated.
La Reyna returned to the gallery beneath her apartment. She carried a leather folder containing her latest orders. A few artifacts from Libya would arrive tomorrow. One of them — she recognized instantly. It once hung in her father's study.
She unlocked the door with a private code. The familiar scent of aged leather and scorched wood greeted her. This place was built to feel safe. But even walls could store shadows.
A note on her main desk read:
"Ms. Reyna, the client from Florence canceled. But the Swiss artifact shipment is complete."
She placed her Valextra Iside handbag in smoke-grey on the table. Her Loro Piana Winter Voyager coat — knee-length, made of Mongolian cashmere — was draped carefully over the chair, still kissed by early dew. She had left too early this morning, chasing answers.
She reached toward the keyboard, but before logging in, a shadow approached. A wooden box was placed at the far edge of the table by a hand she knew too well — Lucien.
She turned slowly.
"What is this?"
Lucien didn't answer. He sat across from her.
"I should have given you this earlier. But I was afraid."
La Reyna opened the box. Inside was a single piece of aged parchment — in her father's handwriting. Her hands trembled, but her eyes remained fixed:
"If you're reading this, then I am gone. In your blood lies something older than El'Raez. If they find you first, the truth will be buried with our history. Go to where it all began. The Vault only opens to those willing to die for the truth."
La Reyna closed her eyes. Her breath caught. Between all the vengeance, today brought another weight: a truth long kept from her.
Her father's words weren't just a warning. They were a map to something far older — and far more dangerous.
Lucien's voice came softly. "Do you want me to come with you?"
She shook her head. "No. But I need you ready... if I fail."
Lucien exhaled. His face was heavy with something unsaid.
"I have to go to Madrid for a few days. Unavoidable. It's about your father's old archives. I hope—"
"I know," La Reyna cut in gently. "Even if you're not here, I'll still go."
He stepped beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"If you fall, I'll make sure everything doesn't die with you. And if you return... I'll be right here. Waiting."
Lucien bowed his head, eyes memorizing her like it might be the last time. His fingers curled slightly on the table — so many words unsaid.
But he only whispered, "I believe you'll return with more than the truth. You'll return as its rightful heir."
Their eyes met. And in that silence, a vow was sealed.
Beneath the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière, Lyon
"She's moving," said a masked man to Maeryss.
The woman smiled faintly. But her eyes were sharp like cracked glass.
"Let her run. That Vault won't save her. In fact, it will open the door to something far worse."
And so... La Reyna began to move.
Not for vengeance. But to discover who she truly was. And what legacy her blood had inherited.
Her first step was clear: Istanbul.
There, the last El'Raez archive was hidden. And somewhere in the decaying walls of an old madrasah... the first door to the Vault might be waiting.