"Come in."

The burly guard offered a curt nod, his presence imposing yet strangely humanized by the faint flicker of pity in his eyes. As he swung the heavy wooden doors shut behind you, their deep, resonant thud echoed through the room, a sound that seemed to linger in the still air. You caught yourself wondering what he knew—what unspoken truth lay behind that look—but quickly dismissed the thought.

You hadn’t come here to dwell on what might happen. You’d come here to ensure that it wouldn’t.

The Matriarch sat behind her imposing oak desk, a piece of furniture as ancient and regal as its owner. The grand library stretched out rich mahogany, reached toward the vaulted ceiling, their edges gilded with intricate patterns that shimmered faintly in the soft glow of golden sconces. he didn’t look up as you approached, her focus unwavering on the book in her hands. The soft rustle of pages turning filled the quiet air. For a moment, you caught a glimpse of the title embossed in bold, elegant letters: Leader.

Fitting, you thought. It wasn’t just a word—it was who she was. Every line of her posture, every decision she made, echoed that truth. This wasn’t just a title; it was her essence, her destiny; her presence stretched out across the room like an palpable force. "Mother."

Your voice rang out across the grand hall, the echo lingering like a fragile thread of courage. It felt as though the very walls held their breath. For a moment, she didn’t respond. The silence stretched, taut and unforgiving, before the Matriarch finally looked up, her gaze piercing as it settled on you.

She studied you, her sharp eyes moving over every detail as though dissecting you piece by piece. You could feel her measuring the weight of your presence, the shadow of your most recent—and most humiliating—failure in battle looming between.

You shifted, trying to stand taller, but the trembling in your legs betrayed you.

"So," she said at last, her voice sharp and unyielding, each word landing like a slap. "You’ve come, Youngest."