Not entirely.
Just enough for me to breathe again without feeling like my teeth would shatter.
Caelia was still holding me, firm as a stone wall.
Neyra’s hand rested on my back—barely there, featherlight—but her presence steadied me more than my own legs.
Velka… Velka wiped away tears I refused to admit had fallen, using the sleeve of her jacket like it was no big deal.
For a moment, that was all we were:
four broken magical girls, trapped in a country that celebrated our suffering as entertainment.
—It’s over —Caelia murmured, loosening her grip just enough to see my face—. You’re not alone. Not this time.
Neyra nodded, her voice soft, almost a secret:
—We’re not letting you fall apart… and we’re not letting them turn you into merchandise either.
Velka snapped her fingers from the sofa:
—And we’re not letting you keep that funeral face. Let’s get something straight: this city wants to eat you alive… so we’re going to devour it first.
I felt something in my chest loosen—just a thread, but enough to let me speak.
—I don’t want to keep crying —I whispered.
—Then don’t —Velka replied—. We’re going to do something else.
And with that something else, everything began.
Velka, perched on the back of the couch as if it were her improvised throne, let out a dry laugh:
—Weren’t we supposed to keep that little thing in your belly a secret, Princess?
—Yes. I ruined it. I got swallowed by emotions. I didn’t think.
Hearing myself say it almost sounded comical.
Neyra, flawless as a freshly groomed cat, tilted her head with surgical calm:
—Do you think it’s a problem?
Caelia —Caelia, who always had the right answer— had none this time.
She only pressed her lips together.
Her silence said everything.
Velka clicked her tongue, grabbed the room phone, and spoke as if ordering pizza for a school sleepover:
—Room service. A bucket of Tiara beers, a bottle of vodka, a bucket of…
She glanced at me, grinning like a demon:
—A bucket of Pacifica. And whatever local greasy food you’ve got. Double. Oh, and another bucket of Tiara. Thanks, sweetheart.
She hung up, walked over, touched my forehead with her cold finger:
—Forget and enjoy, Princess. None of this is coming out of our pocket. So… let’s indulge.
When the door opened, the feast looked like a cheap royal wedding:
Wooden boxes filled with empanadas stuffed with soft cheese and spiced meat.
Golden fried tacos like the ones sold on Seravenn’s corners—only better.
Huge burritos with creamy sauce inspired by Crownlight District cuisine.
Mini burgers glazed with maple and dried chili.
Velka grabbed a Tiara beer, popped it open with a spark of her magic—the cap flew across the room.
She tossed one to Caelia, who caught it with exhausted-commander reflexes.
Another to Neyra, who caught it as if she’d held one all her life.
Mine she placed directly into my palm:
—Let’s toast, Princess.
To the Crown you revealed…
and the crown that’s going to swallow you whole.
We tasted the food.
At first, no reaction.
But the first bite was dynamite: soft spices, juicy meat, sweet-spicy sauce.
Silence was devoured by quiet moans of delight.
Caelia sighed, utterly defeated:
—I can’t believe even this is good here…
The beer went down easily.
The second.
The third.
Between soft laughter and chunks of meat, the news channel shifted to entertainment.
Photos.
Plenty of cleavage shots.
Even more hip shots.
Idiotic headlines.
And the anchor’s voice:
—… and leading every ranking tonight is our sweet foreign beauty, Neyra Solvine. With that gorgeous body, who wouldn’t fall head over heels? And remember: this is just a preview of tomorrow’s new issue of Siren’s Whisper…
Velka choked on her laughter:
—Neyra! I almost saw you naked on national TV. I didn’t know you had that face in you, gorgeous.
We were all expecting a sharp retort, one of those clipped, chilly replies Neyra always used when something unsettled her.
But instead, she took a sip, wiped the foam from her lips with a slow—almost elegant—gesture.
Then she said:
—I didn’t know either. But the attention…
she paused, as if tasting the word—
…I don’t dislike it.
Silence.
Caelia stared at her as if she were looking at someone else entirely.
—They didn’t force you?
Neyra shook her head.
Unhurried.
Certain.
And her smile—a small, new curve, dangerous and beautiful—reshaped her whole face.
—No.
Everything happened because I wanted it.
Velka let out a low whistle.
I just watched Neyra, trying to understand when exactly she had stopped hiding behind my shadow.
Dawn didn’t wake me.
The sound did.
I blinked.
The blue glow of the TV was still on.
Last night’s food lay on the table, cold, eaten down to the paper.
Velka was sleeping face-down, clutching a pillow like a suit of armor.
Caelia snored so softly she could’ve passed for a cat.
And Neyra…
Neyra was sitting at the edge of her bed.
Awake.
Hair finger-combed.
Her slip falling perfectly along her collarbone.
Staring at the Pendelton screen as if it were an oracle.
—What’s… going on? —I muttered, my voice cracked from alcohol and crying.
She didn’t look away.
She just pointed at the TV.
And the world collapsed on top of me.
GLOBAL RANKING — MOMENTS OF THE YEAR
#1: Lyssandra Velcrux — The Blood Crown
Clip: my sword, my scream, my misery turned spectacle.
BEAUTY RANKING — NEW ALTHAMERIA
#3: Neyra Solvine, the Silver Foreigner.
FIGURE RANKING — AURELIS & METROPOLITAN ZONES
#2: Neyra Solvine
#11: Lyssandra Velcrux
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
#23: Velka Aurel
#24: Caelia Vorn
And then, the most humiliating, blaring headline of all:
“The Foreign Goddesses Conquer Aurelis — Who Is the Most Desired?”
I forced myself upright.
The vertigo stabbed straight into my temples.
—What the hell…?
Neyra, meanwhile, had no vertigo.
She had… light.
Not exaggerated.
Not arrogant.
Just a new shine in her eyes—soft, wet, dangerously gentle.
—I didn’t know people saw me like this —she whispered.
She didn’t sound scared.
She sounded… fascinated.
The TV played photos from yesterday’s shoot:
Neyra in the white tulle, her long waist, her perfect legs under the lights.
Public comments scrolled across the screen:
“Who is she?”
“The silver one is unreal.”
“I need more pictures.”
“What country is she from?”
“Math goddess.”
Velka stirred under the blankets.
—Why the hell are you smiling, Neyra…?
Neyra dropped her gaze a little, as if she didn’t want us to see all of her.
But the smile stayed.
Small.
Sharp.
New.
—They don’t look at me like this in Seravenn —she said simply.
And those six words…
split the air.
Caelia sat up immediately—eyes narrowed against the light, but alert.
—Like what?
Neyra looked at her own images again on the screen.
Her chest rose and fell just a little faster.
As if she were feeding on the reflection.
As if the attention—the same attention she always claimed to hate—were a warm coal under her skin.
—Like I matter —she answered.
No one spoke.
Not Velka.
Not Caelia.
Not me.
Because for the first time since she joined the squad…
Neyra Solvine wasn’t hiding behind her intellect, her precision, or her distance.
She was looking at herself.
And she was liking what she saw.
Thirty minutes later.
There was a knock—soft, elegant—against the door.
Caelia stood up instantly, military reflex intact even with bare feet, and opened just enough to assess the threat.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was theater.
A Pendelton attendant, dressed in ivory suit and white gloves, held a crystal tray.
On it sat four immaculate boxes, the size of luxury books, sealed with golden wax.
—Presidential delivery for the guests of Seravenn, —he announced with a rehearsed bow.
Velka whistled.
Neyra, still glowing faintly from the morning’s rankings, stiffened.
And I…
felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Invitations like this never arrived without intention.
Caelia took the tray, and the attendant vanished as if erased from the air.
The boxes were heavy, polished, transparent like carved ice.
When we opened the first, the inner metal card caught the light—
the sun of New Althameria, engraved in gold.
Inside, a sharp-edged invitation:
“Aurelis wishes to honor your recent cultural impact.
Enjoy a day at Sereia Azul, our most exclusive beach.
Rest, shine… and allow the country to see you without filters.”
— O. D’Helios
Velka burst out laughing.
—“See us without filters”? Is that a threat or an invitation to let the whole country fuck us?
Caelia elbowed her—without real irritation.
Neyra opened the second box.
She held her breath.
I saw the fabric before she fully lifted it:
silver, almost liquid.
Too little to be called a garment.
Too intentional to be an accident.
She didn’t smile.
But her eyes lowered to the fabric as if gravity had changed around her.
I opened mine.
White.
Gold.
Chains so fine my fingers recognized them as submission disguised as luxury.
Heat prickled under my skin—insult mixed with adrenaline.
—This isn’t a gift, —I said, my voice lower than expected—
It’s a costume. For them.
Neyra slid a finger over her own silver piece, the shimmer glowing softly against her pale skin.
—Maybe… —she whispered—
maybe it can be for us too.
Caelia opened hers, jaw tightening.
Black.
Militaristic.
Outrageous cutouts.
—They’re using us for his campaign. —she said flatly— It couldn’t be more obvious.
Velka opened the last box and exploded in laughter again:
—OH. MY. GOD. Look at this thing. This isn’t a bikini, it’s a war crime!
…Okay, I love it.
She held the tiny red scraps up like a victorious flag.
I stared at my white bikini again.
A pulse of anger and thrill flickered in my chest.
—He wants us to go, —I said.
Neyra lifted her face.
Her silver eyes sparkled—alive in a way I’d never seen before.
—And we’re going.
There was no argument.
Even if none of us said it aloud, we all knew:
This wasn’t an invitation.
It was a move.
And refusing meant losing ground.
Velka raised her red bikini like a banner of war.
—To the beach, princesses.
Caelia closed the boxes, aligning them like pieces on a war map.
—Then we’d better be ready.
This smells… like a major shift.
I touched the fine golden chain of my bikini, breathing deep.
We changed in silence, though nothing about us felt calm.
There was a current in the air, charged and electric, still smelling faintly of last night’s perfume.
The summer outfits Celestine had forced us to buy felt almost ironic now:
airy dresses,
linen shorts,
soft halter tops,
sandal heels,
oversized sunglasses,
wide summer hats.
We looked like influencers on their way to a luxury retreat.
But beneath the fabric, every one of us carried a different kind of doubt pressed against her skin.
Velka opened the suite door first, turning back to us with a wicked grin:
—Ready to watch me commit crimes under the sun?
Neyra hid a small smile behind her silver-tinted sunglasses.
I saw it.
I saw all of it.
Caelia adjusted her handbag—the one holding the invitations, the documents that always anchored her to duty—with a sigh that tried to be neutral.
It wasn’t.
The moment we stepped into the lobby, the flashes hit like a wave of heat.
—Lyss, one question!
—Is it true you reconciled with Lux?
—Neyra! Neyra! How does it feel to rank #2?
—Are you headed to Sereia Azul by the president’s invitation?
—Is it true one of you is dating a local artist?
Velka posed.
POSED.
Hip tilted, smile promising nothing but chaos.
Neyra—
for the first time in her life—
didn’t shrink.
She didn’t lower her gaze.
She didn’t run.
She stood taller, let the light catch her profile…
and allowed herself to be seen.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or punch a camera.
Caelia muttered:
—To the limousine. Now.
And we obeyed.
When the doors shut, the silence washed over us like cool water.
The air smelled faintly of iced vanilla.
Velka threw herself onto the opposite seat, legs up:
—Gods! I missed feeling famous. This feeds me more than last night’s dinner.
Neyra watched the city pass by through the tinted glass, her eyes bright behind the lenses:
—I didn’t know I could be liked like this.
Not… this much.
Caelia crossed her arms, voice steady:
—Don’t confuse it.
Being liked isn’t the same as mattering.
Neyra lowered her gaze…
but that shy smile didn’t disappear.
I took a slow breath.
—It doesn’t have to be bad.
Just… let’s be careful.
Velka cackled:
—Careful? In Sereia Azul? That place is basically diplomatic Playboy.
Come on, princess. This is going to be memorable.
Caelia shot her a side glance:
—We’re not here to have fun.
We’re here because D’Helios wants us visible.
Velka winked:
—And I plan to give him visibility.
Plenty of it.
The entrance was almost invisible from the outside:
a minimalist white concrete arch, no signs, no logos, no lights.
Just silent luxury.
Perfect palm trees, sand that looked digitally retouched, walkways smoother than marble.
The kind of exclusivity that doesn’t brag—
it dictates.
Three uniformed hosts waited beside a tempered-glass checkpoint.
Caelia stepped forward with her practiced calm, pulling out the invitations like she’d done it her whole life.
—For access. —she said, composed, almost cold.
The attendant scanned the gold-engraved metal cards.
—Welcome. President D’Helios sends his warmest wishes for your stay.
Velka was… already misbehaving.
She flirted with one of the guards, winked at him, asked if he was included with the experience.
Neyra watched everything with an expectant air—
like someone about to step onto the stage of her first major performance.
I felt tension slide down my spine like cold perfume.
And Caelia…
her fractures were becoming visible:
shoulders too tense, jaw tight, fear masquerading as discipline.
I didn’t know if she would protect us—
or break.
But we passed the checkpoint.
And Sereia Azul unfolded before us:
sun, turquoise water, private cabanas,
a beach where the world stops being the world…
and becomes a showcase.
The cabin assigned to us sat at the very end of the wooden path, isolated from the rest, its linen curtains swaying like lazy ghosts in the marine breeze.
Inside, it looked like a temple:
an outdoor shower, embroidered towels, an absurd minibar, beveled mirrors in every corner.
It was a showcase.
Velka walked in first and dropped her bag onto the couch, stretching like a bored supermodel.
—Well, goddesses… who’s going to make this country tremble first? I can start if you want.
Caelia shut the door behind us with a little more force than necessary.
—We behave. We watch each other’s backs. And don’t forget who invited us, —she said.
Her tone was steady, but the tension in her jawline betrayed her.
Neyra opened the silver box on the table.
The shine of the swimsuit reflected in her eyes. She didn’t smile, but something in her expression shifted—quiet, contemplative, as if she were trying to understand a new version of herself.
—I never thought I could look like this… —she murmured.
I opened my own bikini.
White.
Gold.
Fine chains.
A pull tightened inside my chest, a bitter heat that wasn’t sadness.
It was resentment.
Silas.
His name walked across my mind like a burn.
If he could let himself be kissed in front of me…
if he could shatter me with a single broken look…
then I could break something too.
Velka held up her red bikini between two fingers:
—Oh please… look at this thing. If I wear it, someone’s going to faint.
Maybe two.
Maybe three.
Caelia exhaled softly, hardly amused:
—I don’t know if this counts as clothing or state-sanctioned provocation.
Neyra set her swimsuit down carefully, almost delicately.
We each took our bikinis and vanished behind the folding screens.
The cabana filled with the sounds of fabric stretching, straps tightening, quiet breaths.
Then, one by one, we stepped out.
Velka looked like a wildfire wrapped in red.
Caelia, like a commander exiled to a realm of forced glamour.
Neyra…
Neyra was living proof of the rankings that crowned her that morning; there was already a hint of new confidence in her posture, though lightly contained.
And me…
I looked exactly like what Aurelis wanted:
a weapon disguised in light.
A broken sanctity.
Velka scanned us and grinned, wicked and delighted.
—Well… we are absolutely ready to destroy an entire country.
—Let them try, —I answered, not breaking eye contact.
Neyra tilted her head, as if trying to read something in my face.
—Lyss… are you sure you’re okay?
—I’m perfect, —I said.
And for the first time since last night, it wasn’t a lie.
Because as sunlight spilled through the curtains and touched the golden chain across my chest, a clear thought crystallized:
Let Silas see me.
Let him understand what he lost.
Let it sting.
Let it burn.
Let it haunt him.
I smiled.
Not a sweet smile.
—Come on. Aurelis is waiting.
I opened the cabin door.
The sun greeted us like applause.
And we stepped out, ready for anything:
ready to shine, to sink, to be seen,
to bare our teeth—
to bite back.