“Your father,” the Queen continued, her voice tinged with a hint of old resentment, “was meant to be the one. He came here, as a young man, to learn, to prepare for his destiny. He spent years among us. He was to marry my mother, the Princess of this kingdom, my elder sister. The union would have been glorious. The prophecy would have been fulfilled. Our lands would have flourished.”She paused, a deep sigh escaping her lips. “But your father… he was a man of the West. He did not understand the sacredness of our traditions. He did not value the ancient ways. He fell in love with another. A woman from his own world. Your mother.”Max felt a surge of anger. “So he chose love? What’s wrong with that? You can’t force someone to marry against their will!”“Love?” the Queen scoffed, a rare flash of emotion in her eyes. “Love is a fleeting emotion, young man. Duty, honor, destiny – these are the foundations of a kingdom. Your father chose to ‘renegade’ on the sacred pact. He broke his promis

“This feels right,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “She would have loved this tree. So old, so strong, so full of life.” She sat down, carefully placing the urn on the ground beside her. “I just wish… I wish I could hear her voice one more time.”Bucky sat beside her, offering a comforting silence. He let her grieve, let her connect with her grandmother’s memory. But even in this moment of shared sorrow, his senses were on high alert. The men in dark suits had moved closer, not directly towards them, but circling the periphery of the shrine. They weren’t looking at Sarai. They were looking at *him*. Or rather, they were looking at anyone who looked like they didn't quite belong. And Bucky, despite his efforts to blend, always stood out.Later that afternoon, they visited the Imperial Palace East Garden. It was a sprawling expanse of manicured lawns, ancient stone walls, and tranquil ponds. Sarai walked slowly, absorbing the quiet beauty, occasionally stopping to admire a

“You want me to become the head of the Becker organization?” Lena asked, disbelief warring with a growing sense of horror. “You want me to embrace the very thing I fought against?”“It’s not about embracing it, Lena,” Tommy corrected, his tone almost paternal, almost helpful, which made it even more sinister. “It’s about surviving it. It’s about protecting what you care about. And who knows? Maybe you can even use it for your own ‘right’ purposes. Control the beast from the inside, as they say.”He paused, letting his words sink in. Then, with that same chilling, mocking smile, Tommy Becker looked directly into Lena’s eyes and said, “Good luck, Lena. You’re going to need it.”He then stood up, signaling to the guard that their visit was over. Bobby, still fuming but silenced, followed him out, casting one last hateful glance at Lena. The door clanged shut behind them, leaving Lena and Nathan in the sterile silence of the room.Lena slowly put the receiver back on its cradle, her hand

Max sighed, frustrated. "Fine. But I don't like it. I hate being in the dark." He picked up a flowing tunic made of a soft, breathable fabric. "At least they're comfortable. They fit well."The guard waited patiently until they had changed into the local attire, then bowed and left, locking the door behind him with the familiar, heavy click."This is weird," Trisha said, smoothing down her new dress. It was made of a soft, shimmering fabric that felt light as air. "It's like they want us to be comfortable, even honored, but they don't want us to know anything. They don't want us to have any control.""That's the point of a golden cage, Trisha," Max said, looking out the window again, his reflection shimmering in the glass. "All the comforts, none of the freedom. All the luxury, none of the answers."Max spent the rest of the day trying different tactics. He would stand at the door, listening intently, trying to pick up any useful sounds or conversations. He'd call out to the guards in

Max picked up one of the scrolls. It was written in the same flowing, elegant script as the guard's earlier message. "What is this? More rules we can't read? More things to confuse us?"Trisha carefully opened the book. It was filled with intricate drawings and text. "It looks like their history, Max. And maybe their myths. Their legends. Their sacred texts." She pointed to a drawing of a man with a glowing aura, standing before a stylized sun. "Look. This looks like the 'Chosen One' they talked about. The one the Queen thinks you are."Max leaned over her shoulder, his interest piqued despite himself. The drawings were compelling. "Can you read any of it?""Not the words, not fluently," Trisha admitted. "But the pictures tell a clear story. See? This man, he's always shown with light, with a radiant glow. And he's fighting shadows, dark, swirling shapes that look like they're trying to swallow the world. And then there's a picture of a city, falling apart, crumbling, and then the man