Chapter 73: The Shadow's Ultimatum
A chill slithered through the ruined house like a whisper, coiling itself around the Master as he stood before the fractured mirror. His eyes, once cold with calculated control, now reflected something far more dangerous—panic.
"You made a vow," came a voice, not from the room but from the shadows clinging to the corners. It didn't echo—it sank. The mirror's reflection dimmed unnaturally, warping not with shape but with presence. Though the shadow never took form, its presence coiled behind the Master like a predator watching from a higher plane.
"You were given power," the voice continued, low and without emotion. "Children to command. Time to reshape the world. And now, you falter."
The Master's hands trembled, but he steadied them against the cold edge of the basin beneath the mirror. "They were obedient. Loyal. Until now."
"They think," the shadow whispered. "They question. And your hold on them crumbles."
He drew in a sharp breath. "Little 7. Little 9. I raised them. I broke them. I can still fix them."
"You don't have time," the voice replied, more wind than sound. "They are not alone. The guardians shield the girls now. You are exposed. Weak. Every moment you delay, they advance."
"I haven't figured out how to break through the girls' protection," the Master snapped. "Those guardians of the chosen one—since our last clash, they haven't left their side. I make one wrong move, and they'll crush me."
"Then find a right move. Or you will be replaced."
The air went still. The shadow never moved, never touched, but its absence after speaking was heavier than its presence. The Master stood alone once more—yet he felt watched.
He exhaled slowly. "If the boys won't listen… then I'll destroy them."
—
Percy sat on the edge of the broken fountain in the overgrown courtyard, the moonlight casting long streaks across the weeds and cracked stone. He flicked a stone into the water, watching the ripples twist what little reflection he could see.
He thought of Little 9's warning. Little 7's fury. The words they'd said—accusing the Master, speaking of lies, of stolen childhoods, of truth buried under commands.
"What if they're right?" Percy muttered. The question made his chest tighten. "What if…"
But he shook the thought away like a sickness.
No. That wasn't his place. He wasn't like them. He didn't lead or fight. He followed orders. Questioning meant betrayal, and betrayal led to ruin. He stood and turned his back on the reflection, refusing to see himself doubting.
Yet the ripples in the water did not stop when he walked away.
—
Elara and Ariella both woke gasping.
They hadn't fallen asleep. Not really. One moment they'd been watching the stars, the next—gone, pulled into something else.
A vision.
The world around them had shifted into a vast silvery expanse where time itself felt paused. And in that stillness, the Blue and White Queens stood, not as bodies, but as vivid memories infused with magic. Their eyes glowed with soft sorrow.
"The Master is not the end," the Blue Queen's voice echoed.
"Then who is?" Ariella asked.
The White Queen looked beyond them, toward something unseen. "He is a vessel. Dangerous, yes—but controlled. There is another behind him. A figure cloaked in the shadows, ancient and patient. The true source of this conflict."
Elara's breath caught. "Even if we stop him…"
"He will rise again," the Blue Queen whispered. "Not in that body, perhaps. But in another. He is the author behind the script, and the Master merely performs it."
"But what do we do?" Elara asked, desperation rising. "We've spent so long preparing to fight the Master—how do we reach the one behind him?"
"You must find the link between them," the White Queen said. "The pact. The bargain that binds them. Break that, and you sever the shadow's grip."
The light faded. And just like that, the girls were back beneath the stars—no time had passed, but their hearts pounded as if they'd seen years.
—
Elsewhere, in the crumbling remains of the Master's domain, Little 9 hurled a blazing rock through an arched window. Flames consumed the velvet curtains and the map-lined wall behind it. Each ember rising into the air was a memory erased.
Little 7 stood calmly beside him, driving his foot through a display case that once held relics of old victories. "Let it burn," he said. "He built this empire on lies. Let it fall with him."
Little 9 said nothing. He only turned, raised his hand, and sent another pillar of fire through the corridor.
Behind a distant wall, the Master stood still, his fists clenched at his sides.
He had not moved to stop them.
But the next time he did—he would not come to speak.
He would come to kill.