You Already Won

Eirian floated in a once noble royal bathhouse, her blue hair fanning out across the water like silk.

Gold eyes stared upward, unfocused. Fifteen minutes—that was her rule. A ritual she never broke. Some habits refused to die, even in a fantasy world permanently set to hard mode.

She'd joined the military for this exact feeling. The anticipation of battle. Front-line chaos. Fighting to protect freedom. She was top of her JROTC class, and she wore that pride like a badge. On her off days, she'd dive into Astral Sovereigns Online—a high-fantasy MMO where she'd forged her second identity. That was where she met him.

Back when she was Annabelle Williams, and he was Steven Hilt.

She loved commanding squads, barking orders across the field. He loved vanishing into PvP zones and going solo until his thumbs nearly fell off. They bickered constantly, but somewhere between warzones and world events, friendship bloomed. A year later, it was something more.

Two years after that, they met in real life.

Canada and New York weren't worlds apart, but it felt that way. She still remembered that first date. The awkwardness not from disappointment, but from reality finally syncing with fantasy. Their avatars were hot. So were they. That wasn't the problem.

It was the surreal weight of standing across from someone you'd only ever known through a screen.

They went to the park. Watched a movie. Grabbed dinner.

And ended the night tangled together in her apartment.

She envisioned his hands, strong and sure, tracing delicate patterns up and down the soft expanse of her thigh, sending shivers of anticipation through her body.

His lips, warm and inviting, brushed against both sets of hers, igniting a fire within her.

The subtle scratch of his beard against her skin was a tantalizing contrast, a rough caress that left her yearning for more.

Unbeknownst to her, her own hands began to mimic his imagined touch, exploring the curves of her body with a newfound hunger. Her eyes fluttered closed, blocking out the world and allowing her to fully immerse herself in the fantasy. A moan built in her throat, a sound of pure, unbridled desire, but she bit her lip, holding it back, savoring the tension that coiled within her.

Each touch, each sensation, was a promise of the pleasure that awaited her. In the privacy of her thoughts, she surrendered to the fantasy, letting it wash over her, carrying her away to a place where only the two of them existed.

A knock on the door snapped her back to reality. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she sank lower into the water.

Right—her fifteen minutes of solitude were up. With a quiet sigh, she straightened and pulled herself upright. Caelus was fine; he'd return soon with word from their goddess. And when he did… her reward for carrying out her duties here wouldn't be another stolen quarter hour. No, she'd have far more than that with him on the night of his return.

Until then, she was the commander of Veltrisse.

"Enter, Dienari," she called, voice steady once more.

A figure stepped inside—tall, long-eared, with two gleaming earrings in each ear. Black and violet fur rippled faintly beneath the edge of his cloak, giving him the silhouette of an upright jackal. Anubis, Eirian thought, the resemblance so strong it drew a fleeting smile.

She didn't flinch at his presence in the bathhouse. Though he was nominally male, his nonhuman nature made the moment feel far less intimate. Besides, his expression was carved from stone; nothing in his demeanor suggested he cared about the triviality of a commander submerged in steaming water.

"Something the matter, Dienari?"

He inclined his head.

"Civen has requested an audience with you."

Eirian's brow furrowed. Civen. Already? She had hoped Caelus would be back before that moment arrived. Not that she feared her—she was certain her strength outstripped hers. But numbers carried weight, and Civen's banners stretched further than hers. Worse, she and Caelus weren't holding just soldiers; thousands of civilians lived under their charge. Without Caelus beside her, every move risked more than her own skin.

She drew in a slow breath, steam curling around her face.

"Does she come alone, or with force?"

"Only her honor guard," Dienari answered, his jackal-sharp features unreadable. "But an honor guard can become a spearpoint, should she wish for it."

Her lips pressed thin. "So it becomes a question—do we stall until Caelus returns, or do I face her now?"

Dienari's ears tilted forward, voice low. "If you delay, she will read it as hesitation. But if you meet her, she may push for concessions. Civen thrives on imbalance."

She tapped a finger against the bath's edge, lost in thought. "Caelus steadies the field. With him, I can speak freely and fight if pressed. Alone…" She shook her head. "Alone, the risk grows."

"Then the choice is yours," Dienari said. "To buy time or to test Civen's resolve."

Eirian's gaze hardened, the commander's mask settling over her features once more. "Then we plan both paths. If I meet her, you'll set contingencies in place. If we stall, we'll find ways to keep her waiting until Caelus comes back… have the civilians move into warded buildings as protocol goes. Tell everyone it's green eggs and ham day."

Dienari's words still echoed in her ears as she stepped into the hallway. Clad in gleaming silver-and-blue armor, her sapphire cloak flowed behind her with each purposeful stride. The steel in her gaze matched the glint of her sword; her golden eyes were as commanding as the banners of Veltrisse itself. Around her, order disguised as chaos unfolded—soldiers hurrying, messengers weaving through knots of warriors, the air thick with anticipation.

As she neared the old city hall—abandoned long ago by its former rulers—she caught sight of her men posted at the entrance. Their spears were steady, but their shoulders betrayed unease.

"Commander," one guard began, shifting under her gaze.

She let her voice carry like tempered steel. "Stand firm. No fear belongs on your face. Civen comes to speak, not to break us. And while I walk through those doors, you will remember: this city holds because you hold."

The reassurance steadied them; their grips tightened with new resolve. But one braver warrior dared to ask, "Will you not bring anyone with you inside, Commander?"

Eirian's lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile. "No. I'll be fine. If Civen wanted war, she would not have come draped in diplomacy. This is a meeting, not a battlefield."

Another stepped forward, voice low with warning. "Still—Civen is a Ranker known for her schemes."

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That earned a fuller smile, sharp and confident. "And I," she replied, "am a Legendary Cadet known for putting Rankers in their place. Schemes are not Civen's alone to wield." Her cloak swirled as she turned. "Remember that."

With that, she entered the city hall.

The once-grand chamber had been stripped of its old decadence and reformed for her purpose. Banners of the city's past hung on the walls. The cracked marble floor bore new rugs, and the dust of abandonment had given way to polished wood. Long tables stretched the room into a council hall, lanternlight glowing off their oaken surface. At the far end stood the high-backed chair prepared for her.

Eirian strode to it and sat, placing herself at the head of the table. Beside her, the second chair remained empty—for now. That seat belonged to Caelus when he returned, the weight of his presence balancing hers.

She laid a hand on the table's edge, closing her eyes for a heartbeat, steadying her breath. When she opened them again, her commander's calm was set in stone. She would wrest the best outcome from this encounter—schemer or not, Civen would find Veltrisse unshaken.

Eirian felt them before she saw them—the shift in air pressure, the faint ripple of aura brushing against her senses. Outside, her men stood taut with nerves, but their faith in her steadied their lines. She thought briefly of Dienari; her right hand would have been at her side if not for the greater duty of shepherding civilians and marshalling troops in case of war. No—this burden was hers alone. If the moment demanded, she would bear it.

A knock.

"Come in."

The door swung open, and the chamber seemed to darken with presence.

Civen—the Flayer of Three Rivers—stepped through. A crimson dress clung to her form like woven fire. Her long hair poured down her back in waves of red, swaying with each step. The upper half of her body was feline—sleek auburn fur, shoulders sculpted with predatory strength, ears flicking at unseen whispers. A tail coiled lazily at her side, its tip gleaming like a blade. From the waist down, however, emerald and gold scales caught the lanternlight, a mermaid's body fused to the predator above. She walked as though the world itself bowed to her legend.

At her side lumbered a towering figure—a Qualirn. Its skeletal frame loomed, jagged bones wrapped in mismatched robes that trailed across the floor. Hollow sockets burned with a dull green glow, and jagged teeth clattered faintly when it shifted. A weaponless hand of bleached ivory dangled by its side, as if every gesture promised carnage. [Level 400].

And beyond it, Eirian's gaze caught on the third presence. A woman clad in forest-green Ryun armor, its plates etched with spirit-markings of old rebellions. Her eyes—bright red and unflinching—fixed on Eirian with soldier's poise. Keryna Vel Dross. A native, yes, but bloodline whispered of more—her grandmother had been an Outlander Ranker, and the inheritance of power flowed true. Eirian's stat-eye revealed her strength: [Level 455]. A formidable ally for Civen.

Civen herself was veiled, her stats hidden behind layers of Ryun. Of course they were. But it hardly mattered. Eirian knew her own standing. [Level 465]. Higher than Caelus, higher than any other in this hall. The strongest here—whether Civen revealed her cards or not.

The chamber grew still.

Civen glided to her seat opposite Eirian, her smile curling like a blade's edge. Neither spoke. For a long moment, there was only silence—the weight of two legends staring across a table remade for war and peace alike.

Civen's smile softened, almost warm, as she folded herself gracefully into the chair opposite. "Eirian, Blade of the Dawn," she purred, "Your reputation does not disappoint. Veltrisse is as disciplined as they say, and its commander… even more so. I thank you for receiving me."

Eirian inclined her head, her own tone measured, polite. "Civen. Flayer of Three Rivers. Your presence is certainly… unexpected."

For a heartbeat, the meeting might have seemed civil, even pleasant. But as Civen's lips parted to continue, Eirian leaned forward slightly, golden eyes gleaming like twin blades.

"Let's not dance with veiled words. I have no interest in lies woven into pleasantries, nor in schemes that drag ruin to my gates. Speak plain, or not at all."

The silence hung for a breath. Then Civen threw back her head and laughed, the sound rolling like fire across stone. "Direct. I see why they fear you, warrior. Very well."

Her tail flicked against the chair, eyes alight with mischief. "I didn't come here to tangle you in riddles. I came here because I want to kill Vari's Jujisn."

The name struck the air like a thrown dagger.

Eirian's eyes narrowed slightly. "What is a Jujisn?"

Civen leaned back, crimson hair flowing like liquid fire. "A being at the origin of Supremes. Or Absolutes. The seed of what they are, before they rise beyond reach." She raised a clawed hand—not in defiance, but to still Eirian's questions. "Neither I nor the gods I serve fully understand them. They are shadows of those untouchable. But shadows can be touched. Shadows can be slain. I plan to remind them of that."

Eirian inclined her head, golden gaze sharp. "So Vari's Jujisn is the cause of all this?"

Civen's smile thinned. "She plays a very large part. But she is not alone. Two others have appeared within this event—one tied to Rituain, and another… tied to a King. Which King, I cannot yet say."

That made Eirian's thoughts stir like storm clouds. The implications stretched far wider than one warlord's feud.

"Then why request this meeting?" Eirian pressed.

Civen gestured lazily toward her companions. "Revenge. Nothing more noble than that." Her crimson tipped tail flicked, pointing first toward the towering skeletal figure whose hollow eyes never left Eirian. "AAA-Ka-Nier. A native of this region. Nothing would please him more than tearing down the yoke strangling his people."

Then to the armored woman beside him. "Keryna Vel Dross. Ascending the Narloic ranks with my hand at her back. Blood of rebels, blood of Outlanders, and more courage than most. She serves because she knows the chains binding us all." Civen's gaze locked with Eirian's, her smile fading to steel. "That is what I'm doing. Gathering those who are willing. To end this Supreme farce. A bite back, sharp enough to draw blood."

Eirian tilted her chin, unyielding. "Yet you say you'll face Vari Jujisn yourself. Why gather so many?"

Civen's eyes flared, amused at the challenge. "Because it is more than Vari. The event your 'gamer types' cling to? That system was carved into existence by a Jujisn. They are not harmless tricksters. They are architects of cages."

Eirian's jaw hardened, her stare cold as stone.

"Yes," Civen said softly, almost in triumph, "you begin to understand. That is how dangerous they are. That is why they must die. For that, a large force is needed. And it cannot happen if we waste ourselves fighting each other."

Eirian folded her arms. "Then how can I trust you? Your reputation precedes you—and it is not one of mercy or truth."

Civen laughed, a rich, cutting sound that filled the chamber. "Good. You shouldn't trust me. It's wise to be cautious."

The table between them seemed to grow heavier, every word another stone stacked upon it.

Civen rested her chin against the back of her hand, eyes glinting like molten gold. "I'm willing to do whatever I need to prove I can work with you, Eirian."

Eirian studied her in silence, the stillness of a commander weighing every word. Then she spoke. "Most of my faction are civilians. Farmers. Families. Children. Tell me, Civen—are they to be dragged into this crusade of yours?"

Civen's smile softened, though the predatory edge never left her. "Of course not. Only those willing to fight. As for myself, this entire event is beneath me—no offense, commander." She gave a careless flick of her tail. "I'm here for one thing: revenge. And in chasing it, I've found ways to loosen the curse the Supremes have chained us with. That's all."

Eirian considered that, the weight of her aura pressing faintly against the table. But before she could respond, Civen's grin sharpened. "I should also mention… I've acquired quite a few gems. And I know you have a few purples stashed around here."

At that, Eirian's aura flared like a hammer blow, rattling the lanterns on their hooks. Keryna's hand went to her blade, and AAA-Ka-Nier's hollow sockets blazed brighter.

But Civen lifted her hand in a halting gesture, calm as ever. "Peace. I've no intention of fighting over them." A circle of Ryun shimmered into being above her palm, four red gems floating in the air, glowing like captured hearts. With a flex of her fingers, they vanished. "As you see—I have enough for partnership to remain… profitable."

Eirian narrowed her eyes, thinking. "Then answer me this—will you help protect the civilians? That is not negotiable."

Civen's tail flicked again, this time slower. "If that's the price of alliance, I'll pay it. I'll see your civilians shielded."

Silence stretched between them as Eirian weighed aura against intent, menace against truth. So far, Civen's words rang clear—no tremor of falsehood. For all her menace, she seemed genuine.

Finally, Eirian leaned forward, and her presence fell like a storm upon the three opposite her. The Qualirn's bones creaked under the weight, Keryna stiffened, and even Civen's grin flickered for the briefest heartbeat.

"I'm willing to work with you," Eirian said at last. "But only with pacts. Safeguards. I won't follow blindly—but I cannot deny the partnership's worth. Nor the information you can provide."

Civen's teeth gleamed as her smile returned. Excellent.

"Good, then—"

The floor roared.

The chamber shook violently as a blue light burst upward, symbols etching themselves across the stone in burning lines. The summoning circle spiraled open with crackling force, throwing all four occupants off balance.

Eirian was on her feet in an instant, blade singing free as she prepared to strike. Her aura blazed like fire against the unknown—until her eyes fixed on the figure collapsing within the circle.

Her heart dropped.

Blood pooled across the floor as an all-too-familiar frame lay unconscious in the light.

"Caelus—"

She ran, sword lowering, all command forgotten in the shock. Behind her, Civen gathered herself quickly, regaining composure, her guards moving to shield her.

But the Flayer of Three Rivers only smiled faintly as she watched.

Oh, Calmbrand, she thought. You do have the best timing.