The food was some of the best I had ever eaten in my life.
And I wasn't being polite — it was the raw truth of someone whose culinary skills had always come down to a good instant noodle, and whose sister elevated cooking to the maximum level of an egg with instant noodle and sometimes good bacon. So when I say it was good, I mean each forkful made me question whether I had truly lived until then without knowing food could be that. Even with the stares focused on me — hundreds of eyes that still hadn't decided whether I was hero, villain, or circus attraction — I didn't care. I ate like someone who hadn't eaten decently in months. Because, in a way, I hadn't.
After nearly eight plates, things began to settle down. The mess hall emptied gradually, the stares diminished, and the murmuring about the farm guy who was three meters tall had become background noise.
It didn't take long before the person I was expecting appeared.
The Matriarch of the Unicorns crossed the mess hall with the naturalness of someone walking through their own home — because it was. Each step in my direction was measured, each centimeter of posture communicated that that place, that ship, that entire alliance existed because she allowed it. At her side, two companions: one to the right, another to the left, flanking her with the symmetry of someone who knows that being beside that woman was position and not coincidence.
"Lord Leonidas. I'm pleased to see our food was positive for your palate." Her smile was genuine — or at least so well constructed that the difference didn't matter. "May I sit with you for a few minutes to talk?"
It was ironic to think she had waited for me to finish eating to appear. To me, it was clear there were enough eyes and ears in that place for her to know exactly how many plates I had eaten, in what order, and probably what I had said between each forkful. She was the owner of everything there, and by the voice — by the way each word came out calibrated, by the control over the rhythm of her own sentence — she seemed to have a controlling enough profile that nothing happened on that ship without her knowing.
The coincidence of her arrival was too obvious to be mere chance.
"Of course, ma'am… Forgive me, I still don't know your name."
Even after crossing paths with her twice — the first when I woke, the second when she stopped that fat man from killing me — the opportunity for a formal introduction had been lost among the happenstances and inopportune moments that world made a point of accumulating. Both she and I knew that there, with a full belly and a healed body, was the right moment for any conversation.
"Of course. But first—"
She raised her hand and clapped. Once. Dry. The sound wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of someone who doesn't need to repeat gestures.
Four people emerged from a place I hadn't noticed before — a side door near the dessert table that now revealed itself as the kitchen entrance. They advanced to our table with an efficiency that bordered on choreographed: plates collected, glasses removed, crumbs swept — all in seconds, with the precision of someone who does it several times a day and has transformed the task into art.
Including the enormous strawberry cake Helena was still eating.
"Hey! I'm still eating that!"
Unfortunately, before the sentence finished, the men had already disappeared back through the side door — without a trace, without a remnant, with the table as clean as when we chose it to sit down. Another thing that would pass unnoticed by anyone but not by me was that everyone who was still in the mess hall had simply vanished, just like the men who took the food.
The three-story hall that, minutes ago, even emptier than when I arrived, still buzzed with dozens of voices, with cutlery against plates — was empty. Completely empty. As though the entire population of that ship had received a silent order and obeyed before the echo of the last conversation died.
Only Helena and I remained.
"Don't worry, dear Helena." The matriarch said with the softness of someone who knows they'll compensate for what they took. "There's a sweet I appreciate very much and they're going to bring it. And believe me — it will be much better than that cake."
The sincere smile and sweet words melted my sister in record time. The face that seconds ago was pure indignation — someone stole my cake — transformed into something between curiosity and desire. Helena was predictable when it came to sweets, and Izabel had clearly already noticed that.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Very well. Allow me to introduce myself." The woman with beautiful dark violet hair straightened in the chair with the formality of someone who knows introductions are contracts and not courtesies. "My name is Izabel Von Unicorn. But you can simply call me Bel."
She lowered herself subtly in cordiality — a brief, precise gesture that lasted exactly the time necessary to be noticed and no more.
"This, to my right, is our guest Draco Bloodline."
On the right side, a man white as snow greeted me. Not with words — with a smile. And the smile was the type that said nothing but insinuated everything. Enigmatic. Sinister. The smile of someone who keeps secrets and likes others to know he keeps them, without ever revealing what. The eyes were dark red and deep, and gave me a shiver that climbed up my spine before I could decide whether the man was dangerous or merely strange.
"And this, to my left, you must know through my husband. Rose Crivald."
The heterochromatic eyes found me — one violet, one black — and I recognized them immediately. Rose. The woman I thought was merely a secretary when I met her in the patriarch's flying car. The one who coughed diplomatically to cut conversations. The one who carried the tablet like a shield and whom everyone in the vehicle feared without her doing anything to deserve the fear.
Rose Crivald. Crivald.
Apparently, my capacity to underestimate the people around me was as impressive as my capacity to fight.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Lord Leonidas."
Her voice was the same — measured, polite, with that softness I now understood wasn't gentleness, but strategy. Izabel didn't seem surprised by the fact that we knew each other — I had fulfilled a mission for the Crivald. However, the information seemed to be news to Draco, who turned suddenly to Rose with raised eyebrows.
"Well, well. It seems everyone knew about this unpolished jewel except me." The sinister smile became something resembling amused indignation. "You used to tell me more about what happened on the planets under your jurisdiction. Or perhaps I should mix my blood with your families to truly belong."
Rose's humorless smile contrasted with Izabel's indifference, who quickly cut the interaction between the two by sitting down with us at the table.
"Very well. Since I've come here, I think it's wise for us to have an honest conversation."
Two dessert plates arrived before she could continue — one for Helena, another for her. My sister looked at the plate with eyes I only saw when she was a child and found something she didn't expect. That seemed to seal the alliance between the two in a way no military strategy could achieve.
"What do I need to do?"
As soon as the waiter left, I went straight to the point. Time was short — too short to measure words, to dance around the subject, to pretend we were there out of courtesy. I needed to know exactly my role. And mainly, to understand why two representatives from different families were seated with us as though they were part of the same equation.
"Very well. I like men like that." Izabel said, and for the first time I saw approval on her face that wasn't a concession. "Well then. What's happening is that our strategy — the same one you discussed with my daughter — has had some setbacks, as you must suspect. And so, we're going to have to make adjustments." The violet eyes fixed on mine. "That's where you come in."
She withdrew from her ring a device that projected a three-dimensional map over the table. Kazadun's moon shone between us — Erebus, with its oceans and its darkness — and around it, the attack points Verônica had shown me. But what I saw now was different from what Verônica had shown me.
It wasn't one point of attack.
It was two.
"Your new tactic is to divide the attack into two fronts?" My voice came out sharp. "Don't you think that's dangerous? We're fighting against Infernals."
I could have been more subtle. But I felt that what I was saying was already too much subtlety for what she was showing. Invading a territory dominated by another race was already Herculean — however much you study the enemy's terrain, you'll never know it better than the enemy itself. What she was asking was that we not only attack, but divide forces that were already few. It was the arithmetic of defeat.
"I understand what you're saying." Izabel said with the patience of someone who already heard the objection before I made it. "But what we have in our hands now is an extremely delicate situation."Her finger moved on the hologram, rotating the map until it stopped at a new point — a location that had no map, no coordinates, nothing beyond an empty marker blinking in the dark. "Our main target has become secondary. Our true target now is here."
I looked at the empty point. Then looked at her. Then looked at the point again.
"If this is the main location, why do we still have to divide forces?"
The question wasn't difficult. It made no sense to fight for a place that was no longer relevant — unless…
My eyes moved to the two guests.
Draco and Rose looked at Izabel with absolute attention — but not the attention of someone awaiting information. The attention of someone awaiting an answer and afraid of what will come out. I saw on their faces something that didn't match the posture of nobility they wore: uncertainty. Fear that the woman before them would say out loud what everyone already knew in silence.
I understood.
"You want to create a distraction and you need a decoy."
My voice came out heavier than I intended — because I knew what it was to be used. And now I could see clearly what was happening: I would be sent to one of the attack points not to win, but to attract. To suck the enemy's attention while the real force went to the place that mattered. I would be the bait. The sacrifice. The lamb — and the irony of the word didn't escape me.
Helena stopped eating the sweet.
The fork settled on the plate with a sound that, in that silence, sounded like a gunshot. My sister's eyes turned to Izabel with a rage I knew well — the same rage she felt when someone messed with those she loved.
"What does that mean? You want to kill my brother?"
"Miss, I don't think it wise to use him for—"
Draco began to speak, but before his line of reasoning reached anywhere, Izabel's hand rose. The gesture was minimal — fingers raised, palm open — but the effect was that of a wall descending between his sentence and the rest of the world. Draco fell silent.
However, Izabel's words weren't to stop Draco.
They were for me.
"I've heard many things about you from the Crivald family, mainly thanks to Rose. A shame that poor girl didn't survive the Purge." Her voice changed. The commander's tone receded, and what appeared beneath was something I didn't expect: vulnerability. Contained, controlled, trapped behind a façade that was cracking — but there. "I would like to know what you would do if you had two hundred soldiers from my family under your command and needed to protect a station for two weeks." Her eyes found mine. "Money will not be a problem. Control over the subordinates, neither. What I want to know is whether you could withstand a mission as complicated as the one you overcame."
The words finally came out.
The truth.
I knew it was the truth because I felt, even from a distance, her heart accelerate — one extra beat, one second of syncopation she tried to hide and that her posture almost managed to disguise. Almost.
She was asking me to be the distraction. Or the sacrifice. Honestly, I still didn't know which of the two.
"So what you want is for me and a few others to enter a heavily protected place, conquer it, and defend it for not days — weeks." My voice rose. "Why go to so much trouble? We could simply attack multiple points and cause a massive rupture in the enemy forces through division and false alerts. I can't understand the reason for focusing on just one point. This is insane."
What she was asking was more than madness. Something didn't fit.
Infernals. Creatures that were already stronger by nature — each of them born for combat in a way that humans, even the best, needed technology and magic and fusion to try to match. The Unicorns had a power that made them formidable, yes — but it wasn't infinite. The rebound existed. The creature paid. And against enemies that were already naturally superior on the ground, the power of fusion was an advantage that diminished with time. Our advantage would come from attacking multiple points creating breaches that could be exploited in a guerrilla fashion, rather than something as concrete as protecting a specific place.
That was more than a difficult mission.
It was suicidal.
I stood up.
The chair scraped against the floor. The sound cut the silence that had settled over the table — and I saw, on Draco's and Rose's faces, the shock of someone who had never seen anyone stand before Izabel Von Unicorn with rage on their face. Perhaps they had never imagined someone would speak that way to that woman.
But if I was going to risk my life, it wouldn't be for an idiotic idea like being left in a place to be buried by enemy forces.
"How dare you treat an elder of the Unicorns this way!"
Draco stood up with me. The sinister smile had disappeared — in its place, a hostility that came from an ancient place, the kind of loyalty that doesn't ask whether the queen is right before defending. The tension between the two of us rose several degrees in a second.
And then Izabel stood up.
But her face didn't show hardness. Didn't show rage. Didn't show the unshakable command I had seen when she stopped that fat man with a sentence and silenced an entire hall with a look.
What I saw was uncertainty.
And fear.
"The truth is that this mission involves much more than just distraction. They kidnapped my daughter. You know her — I'm talking about Carla."
The sentence came out like something she had been holding for too long and that finally escaped — not by choice, but by exhaustion. The voice cracked on the name. The hands that seconds ago commanded holograms and stopped sentences with gestures trembled for a fraction she tried to hide and couldn't.
Rose reacted immediately.
"My lady, I think he doesn't need to know these details, he isn't—"
Izabel's hands rose. The gesture was the same as before — fingers raised, palm open — but now it trembled.
"Enough secrets. I'm alone in this."
Rose fell silent.
And Izabel, the matriarch of House Unicorn, the woman who built a dynasty with a unique construction blueprint, who silenced elders with a look and controlled ships with a palm — let herself be seen.
"Unfortunately, Lord Leonidas, as you yourself pointed out, this mission is extremely difficult." Her voice tried to remain professional, but failed at the edges — and each failure was a crack that showed what was underneath. "We already know that our target has been altered to the new location and it makes no sense to attack another location that brings no benefit to my family and to my people. However, as a mother…"
She lowered her eyes. Breathed deep. The kind of breath that comes before saying something that hurts.
"When we were attacked, I… I had to make a choice. Protect my family or my daughter."The words came out squeezed, as though each one cost something she didn't have to spare. "I made the choice and I don't regret it. Many stayed alive because I was there to protect them. That is what a leader must do — collect, but also protect." Her voice broke for a second before returning. "I must admit I thought I could handle it. Thought I would be strong enough to deal with the consequences of my choices. But a new opportunity has been given to me and…"
The tears came.
Not the way Helena cried — openly, without shame, with the honesty of someone who doesn't know how to hide pain. Izabel's tears were different. They descended slowly, controlled until the last second, running down a face that was straining not to crumble. The square chin trembled. The lips pressed tight. And the violet eyes — the same ones that stopped halls and commanded armies — were full of something no amount of power could cure: the guilt of a mother who couldn't protect her daughter.
"The truth is that this mission isn't something shared by my family." She raised her face. Firm. Even with the tears on her face, even with the cracked voice, the chin rose. "I have power. But not enough to decide everything that involves the greater good. But I have influence, money, and I have this."
She raised her hand.
And between her fingers, glowing with an inner light I recognized because it was identical to my Vivarium's — but smaller, more concentrated — was an item. A dark glass sphere the size of a fist, inside which I could see, if I looked carefully, a vast green plain stretching toward a horizon that didn't exist.
And inside it, running, two creatures.
A Unicorn white as snow.
And another black as night.
The two galloped side by side with a synchrony that seemed more dance than movement — and even compressed inside that sphere, even in miniature, their presence was undeniable. The light they radiated made the entire item pulse.
"This was meant for the person who accepted my daughter's hand." Izabel said, and her voice had returned — not whole, not the one from before, but enough to carry the weight of what she offered. "But that no longer matters." Her eyes found mine. "Protect her. Just as you did with the Crivald's descendant. And I will give you this — and the secret of my family."
The two beside her seemed to know about the Unicorns — the item wasn't a surprise. But the secret of fusion, the power that only family members had, being offered to a stranger — that shocked them. I saw on Draco's and Rose's faces the same expression: that of someone watching a queen burn her own cards because the alternative is losing the only thing cards can't buy.
"Please, I know that what I'm asking isn't something sensible…" Izabel's voice descended to a whisper. "I promise to dominate that planet in two weeks, but I need to know my daughter is safe while I do this. With you, perhaps I won't need to make the same choice again."
The matriarch of House Unicorn — the most powerful woman I had ever met, the woman who stopped an elder with a sentence, the woman whose eyes made an entire room stop breathing — began to descend.
The knees bending.
The body curving toward the floor with the devastating slowness of someone who never bows and who, because of that, when they bow, the gesture carries the weight of everything she is and everything she built. Draco and Rose watched shocked, paralyzed, not knowing whether they should stop her or whether stopping would be a greater offense than watching.
"Please. Protect my legacy."
Before her knees touched the floor, I grabbed her.
My hands on her shoulders. Firm. Stopping the fall — not out of protocol, not out of politeness, but because something inside me refused to see a mother kneeling, begging to save her daughter. I had already seen too much. Had already seen Leda embracing her brother. Had already seen Eris's name vanishing in the sky. I had already seen too much.
"Ma'am." My voice came out low. "Explain your idea to me. And I will answer."