Hours passed since Derpy’s episode—since the moment he tried to leave.

  The guards had carried him to Vaeloria’s chambers.

  Now in complete control, Vaeloria held full authority to do as she pleased.

  She paced across the polished floor, pink ice petals forming and dissolving at her fingertips like her temper couldn’t decide whether to be beautiful or sharp.

  I have to get this calamity user under control.

  After discovering how coordinated he could be—how he moved pieces on her political board without her knowledge—she couldn’t ignore him anymore.

  She had tried being gentle.

  Tried being kind.

  And he still tried to leave.

  Several pieces on her mental board had shifted since his arrival. She wasn’t sure whether it was intentional… or simply chaos following him.

  Derpy was upright near the bed—held there by magic circles stamped into the air and the floor, binding him like a pinned specimen.

  The collar sat at his throat.

  Quiet.

  Waiting.

  A knock sounded at the chamber door.

  “Enter,” Vaeloria said.

  Lieam stepped in, bowing slightly.

  “Mother… we have a problem.”

  Vaeloria tilted her head, controlled confusion.

  “What is the issue, Lieam?”

  “The Queen of Faydurne is here,” Lieam replied. “And she means business.”

  Derpy stirred.

  His eyes cracked open just enough to hear the words.

  The Queen of Faydurne…?

  His thoughts raced.

  Is she here to take me again? To recruit me into her service?

  He tried to move.

  He couldn’t.

  The circles tightened in response—silent, automatic, absolute.

  Vaeloria noticed.

  She didn’t look away from him when she spoke to Lieam.

  “Tell the Queen of Faydurne I will meet her in an hour,” Vaeloria said. “I have matters to attend to.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Lieam replied, bowing before leaving.

  The door closed.

  Vaeloria turned fully toward Derpy.

  “I don’t know what happened in that… strange place you were trapped in,” she said coldly.

  Pink ice formed around her fingers.

  The temperature in the room dropped sharply.

  “I don’t know whether it was your mind… or something deeper.”

  She stepped closer.

  “And I don’t know why you tried to flee.”

  Her voice softened—barely.

  “…But I am hurt.”

  She embraced him despite the restraints holding him upright.

  It wasn’t comfort.

  It was possession pretending to be closeness.

  “I hate when people try to leave me,” she whispered.

  “Especially those I consider… useful.”

  She stepped back and sat on the edge of her bed.

  “You may not realize it yet,” she said quietly, “but you are mine. Whether you like it or not.”

  Derpy frowned.

  “As much as I appreciate the offer,” he said calmly, “I can’t be yours. I’m my own person. And I already have a partner.”

  The air turned even colder.

  “You don’t understand,” Vaeloria interrupted sharply.

  “You are under my protection.”

  Pink ice formed briefly on Derpy’s back—a crest marking ownership.

  But it vanished instantly.

  In its place appeared a wolf crest on his left hand.

  Vaeloria’s eyes widened.

  “…Someone else has already claimed you.”

  Derpy shook his head slightly.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “I belong to a pack. I earned that right.”

  Vaeloria crossed her legs thoughtfully.

  “You are full of surprises.”

  She studied him carefully, emotions shifting rapidly—too fast to read.

  “Answer me this,” she said.

  “Why do the Ruin Series follow you?”

  “Why does that doll—Riven—obey you?”

  “They are evolving,” Derpy replied. “They have rewritten their own coding.”

  His voice stayed level, but his eyes flicked—just once—like he was checking whether she’d call it treason.

  “They even tried to stop you from leaving the empire,” Vaeloria said, watching him.

  Derpy took a slow breath.

  “Before I answer… tell me where Riven is.”

  Vaeloria pointed toward the corner.

  Riven lay there, smoking slightly, seams torn and charred.

  “She was damaged when you used electricity to escape,” Vaeloria said. “Your magic reacts when you are distressed.”

  Derpy’s chest tightened painfully.

  He leaned forward on instinct—

  and the circles bit tighter.

  Vaeloria watched that reaction closely.

  Then she made a choice.

  One snap of her fingers.

  The binding circles loosened and sank—still present, still ready to clamp down again, but no longer forcing him upright like a display.

  Derpy’s boots hit the floor properly.

  He swayed once, then caught himself.

  Vaeloria’s voice stayed calm.

  “Stand,” she said. “Walk.”

  Derpy looked at her.

  Vaeloria’s eyes didn’t blink.

  “Not because you’re free,” she added. “Because I’m allowing it.”

  Derpy’s jaw tightened.

  But he moved.

  Slowly, carefully, he crossed the room and knelt beside Riven.

  He didn’t touch the torn seams at first—like he was afraid the wrong pressure would hurt her.

  Riven’s eyes flickered.

  “Friend… okay,” she whispered.

  Derpy’s throat tightened.

  “I don’t see her as a doll,” he said quietly to Vaeloria. “I see her as family. As a little sister.”

  “The empire sees weapons and defects,” he continued. “I see people.”

  Vaeloria nodded slowly, as if filing it away for later.

  “And the Mk units?” she asked.

  “They remind me of her,” Derpy answered. “So I treat them the same way.”

  Vaeloria shook her head softly.

  “My kingdom could learn from you,” she murmured.

  Then she stepped closer and held out a red vial.

  “This will restore your magic,” she said. “I made it specifically for you.”

  Derpy took it, but didn’t drink yet.

  Vaeloria’s gaze flicked to the collar.

  “I want a promise,” she said firmly.

  “Never try to escape like that again. If you do… I will personally come after you.”

  Derpy didn’t answer.

  Not yes.

  Not no.

  Just a quiet stare that said he understood the threat.

  Riven shifted weakly, and her calamity book slipped free.

  She pushed it toward him with trembling hands.

  “Take… book… until fixed.”

  Then she shut down.

  Shrinking into a small, torn doll.

  Derpy’s fingers tightened around the book.

  And then the impossible happened.

  Her Phantasm grimoire merged with Celica’s Embers.

  The blackened cover shifted.

  The title rewrote itself like ink deciding it had a new owner.

  Celica’s Phantasm.

  White on one side.

  Purple on the other.

  Vaeloria placed a hand on Derpy’s shoulder—possessive, guiding.

  “You can repair her later,” she said.

  “But for now… I need you to accompany me to the throne room.”

  “There is a meeting.”

  “And I would prefer if you stood beside me.”

  Derpy rose slowly, the torn doll held close, the book heavy in his hand.

  He nodded once.

  Not agreement.

  Not surrender.

  A choice to delay the fight until he could keep Riven from falling apart again.

  Vaeloria gestured to the doors.

  “Walk,” she said again.

  And this time, Derpy did.

  They left Vaeloria’s chambers together—Vaeloria in front, Derpy half a step behind, the collar quiet at his throat like a patient blade.