Indifferent. Heartless. Cold. This defined Isla's interactions with people, or it had.

At this moment, she regretted her change. The warmth seeped from her bones, much like Rydin's ever chilling body. His movements ended, mimicking her own incapacitated state. The situation was authentic but lacked comprehension.

How did this happen? The question repeated, unending and restless.

Nothing made sense—neither his death nor Rein's betrayal. Everything felt empty.

A serene voice pervaded the void, evading her cyclic thoughts. At first, the voice was low and distant like a zephyr's whisper. Yet, the velvet laced tone entwined the strands of sound, blooming into a word—Isla.

She swung her head around, searching for the allure. Her gaze omitted the white plated guards swarming her position. Where was the source? Who beckoned her like early morning honeydew glazed with laudanum? A taste so divine, even Kings begged and pleaded for a sample.

Yet, the origin of sweet temptation was a woman who sullied her history. Her sister.

Layla rushed towards her fallen form, scooping her throbbing head into her lap. "Oh, Isla. Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

Isla stared at the unshed tears glistening at the corners of Layla's eyes. A single push and they would stream from her crystal blues, bruising her cheeks. The wetness would sharpen her rose-tinted skin, creating the perfect persona of a disheartened loving sister.

Her mind argued against movement, but her heart surged into action. This sight evoked a weakness, one growing deeper and thicker roots by the minute. Still, her quick reaction plucked their sprouts, severing the ends.

She lurched forward, away from her sister. Yet, Layla remained steadfast, refusing to cede her fictitious protection. Her body plummeted back into her sister's lap.

"Let me go," Isla said, her voice hoarse and rough.

Another surge and she broke free. Isla folded onto her knees, her body lethargic, but compliant. She curled her fingers, the connection from mind to body renewed. The spell Skye placed over her became a figment of her imagination.

But her imagination failed to conceal her reality. Rydin was dead.

A searing heat burned her shoulder, radiating through her cloak's fabric. The warmth spread throughout, neutralizing the frigid chill she ignored. Oddly, the gesture rejuvenated her body, filling the hollowness of regret. Her unconscious action of repressing her emotions became weak and stupid. What reason did she have to fear herself? Why must she cower and run, like a beaten and abused beast?

No—she wasn't wrong. He was wrong.

She stared at the heat's source. The long, slender fingers with polished, clear, white nails. Her gaze lifted to Layla's frowning face as she kneeled beside her.

"Isla?"

"I'm fine." Her voice surmounted the prior fragility with strength and clarity.

"Oh, Isla. You don't look fine. Let me help you up." Layla grasped her hands, yanking her body. A miraculous display with her thin arms brought Isla to her feet. "Come, let us find a quiet room."

She recoiled against her pull, protesting at her sister's lead. But resistance was futile. Though she recovered from the entrapment spell, her body was exhausted. Her perseverance crumbled and Isla accepted her fate.

Layla tugged Isla's arm and her feet followed along, much like a wooden marionette, her conscious was lost. The world swarmed as darkness seeped into focus. For once, she abstained from thought.

Yet, the quiet, surreal moment ended as they reached their final destination. A room tucked away from the main hallways with plush sofas and chairs beckoning her weary body. With a single tap, she collapsed into a navy and beige high backed settee. She rolled onto her back, staring at the glass-enclosed starry domed sky. A shooting star passed by, drawing her eyes.

"Isla?" Layla said, snapping her trance.

Her gaze wandered downwards, landing on Layla's face. Her pale pink lips arched into a frown and a strand of hair curled against the flow. She hovered on the seat's edge, her back hunched.

"Isla, I'm sorry."

Isla stared at her sister, her sullen mood didn't waver. The words she spoke lacked impact. What was she sorry for?

The door nudged open as Linda joined them. Her gaze darted around, flickering between Isla and Layla. She shuffled to Layla's side, her body shifting from side to side.

"Isla, about Rein. I know this might come as a shock, but grandmother had her suspicions. We were prepared for his betrayal."

What shock? The words glissaded off like angel feathers on silk. No amount of pizazz could enliven her being.

"Earlier, we wanted to tell you, but the timing hadn't seemed right. Even if we did, our words could have been seen as a lie."

"And?" Isla spoke.

Linda intervened, quieting Layla with a hand to her shoulder. "His family was convicted of high treason and were sentenced to death. They conspired in the deaths of thousands of Arcadians. Rein's just another victim of our father."

"Doesn't shock me."

"It seems nothing does," Linda grumbled. "I thought you'd care. Wasn't he your friend?"

"He was my friend. But are you my sister?"

"You-"

"Linda, stop," Layla interrupted, throwing her hand up between her sisters. "She has all the reason in the world to hate and distrust us." Layla paused, clearing her throat. "Isla, this is the truth. You see, both Linda and I have a special gift—we're seers. We knew your arrival would be the spark."

Isla laughed. "So, let me get this straight, you both knew he'd betray me, and let it happen. You let him murder an innocent?"

Layla clenched the armrests and leaned forward. "Please understand, Isla. We planned no ill-will against you or that child. Even for us, our abilities aren't perfect. Predicting the exact moment and hoping the future wouldn't alter dramatically are impossible factors to overcome."

"We made steps," Linda added, "to prevent the kid from dying. They didn't work. He wasn't supposed to be there."

"You've made your point and your ineptitude apparent. What more do you both want?" Isla growled.

They exchanged heartfelt looks at their loss of purpose. She knew they wanted to reconcile, but the anguish and hate embedded within dominated her affection. Still, they bore no blame.

All the responsibility for pushing Rein to the brink lied with her. He revealed slivers of conflict. From his unrecognizable actions to his coward appearance, both revealed a turbulent undertone to his core. Yet, her unquestioning acceptance only bred ignorance and regret.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. The skin on her hands bubbled and peeled.

"What's this pity party for?" Nirvana admonished as she strode into the room.

"Grandmother," Layla uttered.

"What child?"

"Rein's story—why does he side with father? There has to be more to it."

Isla straightened her posture, directing her gaze with an unwavering intensity at Nirvana. "What did you tell him?"

Nirvana flipped open her fan, hiding her lower face. "I didn't tell him anything. He believes what he saw. What he thinks is his decision."

"That's your excuse? You're to blame, aren't you? Rein isn't dumb, and he isn't a fool. There has to be a reason."

She chuckled. "Must I explain everything?"

"No, your deflection speaks volumes. You're no different than our father."

Nirvana snorted and cooled herself. "We all come from the same roots. Blinding yourself to that fact makes you naive. Rein made his choice, accept it."

"Rein was right." Isla shook her head. "Your words hold no value."

Nirvana closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. The white creases carved into her face deepened. The dark purple painting her under eyes strengthened.

"Tell me." Isla lowered her gaze, her heart squeezing. "What's next?" She bit her lip, chewing on the tissue flakes.

"Action cannot be taken over the damages Rein caused. They would only fan the flames of war; one which we are incapable of withstanding. Weakness aside, the Arcadians did not pay a price this time."

"And Rydin?"

The sharp gold of Nirvana's eyes shined with majestic stature, unwavering and refined. "We'll put him properly to rest."

Isla lowered her head, resting on her hands. "This marks our end. I have no desire to watch more die for me."

Nirvana fell silent. Yet, her gaze remained fixated on Isla. She tapped the closed paper fan against her chin and cocked her head.

Her actions halted. "What is it that you seek? Freedom? Power? Status?"

Isla mulled the question, quenching the desire to speak without restraint. "All of them."

"Greedy, aren't we?"

"If you don't like my answer then don't ask the question."

"Befitting a God, I'd say."

Isla straightened herself, fists clenching. "I have other places to be if you're planning to start a fight."

"Calm yourself, child. No harm comes from asking. I merely have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"Replace me."

Isla leaned forward. "What?"

"I need a successor. Your mother had been my replacement before, but times have changed."

"Why me? Why not them?" Isla swung her head towards her sisters, their reactions nonexistent.

"They've tried but failed. The position requires a particular set of skills. One which fits you perfectly."

She bit her lower lip. Her the next Queen of Arcadia? Was Nirvana mad? Why risk her people's lives with her as Queen?

"Why support me? There's nothing for you or the Arcadians to gain."

"Your mind is stuck in the present. There's plenty to gain, not now, but later."

What did she mean? Did she foresee the future like her sisters, or did her sisters reveal a worthy reward? Still, why have a hateful God lead this mass of Seraphines?

"I'm a God, they'd never accept me."

"There are ways around that issue. Especially if you plan to fight against your father. Instead of fear, you'd become a rallying point for the Seraphines."

"I would be a figurehead?"

Nirvana fanned herself. "Temporarily. What could you possibly do right now? You can't even ward off your father. The title would afford you new connections. A chance to change the tide."

How laughable. She just condemned Rein for his decision to abandon freedom for relief. Now, here she sat, prepared to exchange a destructible shackle for an everlasting hassle. Did regret yield a resilient stain on her soul? Enough to hunger towards indescribable power, one with the potential to prevent further damnation.

She needed a decision. One ruling with a complete understanding of the consequences. 

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter isn't that slow there were some things that needed to be said. Thank you to @EmmanouelaManiadaki for your votes. Always nice to see new people reading and giving votes!