Cipher turned to face the advancing threat just as something ripped free from her mind—raw, untamed energy surging forward. Fire erupted, striking the vampire's eyes.
The gul screeched, its body convulsing as flames consumed it. Within seconds, only ashes remained. Cipher stood frozen and Ren did too.
A phoenix, glimmering with blazing fire, hovered before her. Its golden embers flickered like shards of sunlight. "Cipher, you should be more careful next time," the phoenix warned, its voice calm but firm. Cipher stared, unable to respond. She had never seen anything like this.
The creature sighed, its flames dimming slightly. "I've used too much energy. I need to return to my resting space." With one last burst, it spat fire onto Cipher's sword before vanishing—retreating back into her mind.
Ren approached, wiping blood from his blade as he surveyed the scene. His expression was unreadable. "What the hell was that thing that saved your life?" Cipher's fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. "I—I honestly don't know. I'm as shocked as you are."
Rendell Graves narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure about that?" He didn't believe her. Before she could reply, a familiar voice whispered inside her thoughts.
"You do know me, Cipher," the phoenix spoke again, its presence warm and undeniable. "You saved me on Mars."
Cipher's breath hitched. Mars? The connection clicked, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. "Do you remember?" The phoenix prompted.
Cipher swallowed hard. "You got a name?" It was all she could manage to say. The phoenix hesitated. "Eh… yeah." A short pause. "Zane. Is that okay with you?"
Cipher exhaled, still trying to process everything. "It's fine—if it's cool with you. And… thanks for saving me." Zane chuckled, his voice playful but laced with something deeper. "Come on, don't mention it. If you died, I'd die too." Then, his tone shifted, sharpening. "Besides, I have no idea what that creature would've done to your blood. Remember—Ren warned you not to get bitten."
Cipher pressed her lips together. She didn't need reminding. She had narrowly escaped something far worse than death.
"Did you see that?" Queen Drusilla's voice was sharp with disbelief. She leaned forward, watching the battlefield below. "What was that?"
Dr. Marcellus Thorn stiffened at the question, sensing her need for answers. Her sharp gaze landed on him, expectant. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said respectfully. "I didn't see anything. My mind was occupied, searching for the solution you requested."
Before queen Drusilla could react, Nova Velasquez stepped onto the balcony, her expression cool and unreadable. She placed a hand on the railing, her eyes scanning the battlefield. "I think that was a phoenix," she mused, then added, her tone laced with disdain, "Though I have a bad feeling about that girl."
Queen Drusilla turned toward her cousin. "Why?" Nova scoffed softly. "How does someone just appear in the middle of a battle? Unnoticed?" Queen Drusilla hadn't considered that. "She's fighting on our side," she countered, though the doubt had started to creep into her own mind.
Nova tilted her head slightly. "Still, something about her feels... off." Queen Drusilla sighed. "And you—with all your skill—why aren't you out there helping?"
Nova smirked, her response as effortless as always. "I'm not in the mood." Queen Drusilla narrowed her eyes but let it go. She had long accepted that Nova acted only when she deemed necessary.
Across the battlefield, high upon a black chariot, Queen Victoria observed the scene with quiet calculation. She leaned back, fingers grazing the side of the polished metal as her crimson eyes gleamed on Cipher for the last time.
Who was this girl? Her voice rippled through the air—not spoken, but felt. "Ellise Blackwell," she spoke telepathically, the connection tightening across the battlefield.
On the other end, Commander Ellise stiffened at the intrusion. Queen Victoria 's voice pressed into her mind like a cold, silken whisper. "Who is that girl?"
Ellise exhaled, gripping her bloodied sword tightly. "I don't know," she admitted, resisting the urge to recoil. "But I'll get to the bottom of it."
Queen Victoria's lips curled ever so slightly.
On Fourth Street, house number 127, Rosemary stepped into the study, her gaze sweeping over the cluttered desk where books lay scattered—two noticeably open, one to the left, the other to the right.
Her husband, Peterson, sat hunched over his desk, buried deep in thought. He didn't hear her walk in. "Honey!" She called loudly, startling him.
Peterson tensed, irritation flashing across his face. "Yes?" He muttered, still focused on his work. "What is it?" He hated interruptions—especially when absorbed in his private study time.
Rosemary didn't wait for further reaction. She thrust her Lenovo tablet toward him. "Look!" Peterson's gaze snapped to the screen. His expression shifted. His hands gripped the edges of the tablet.
"This can't be." His voice was barely above a whisper. He stared harder, eyes scanning every detail. On the screen was a young girl—familiar yet impossibly different. She looked like their daughter. But she couldn't be. Their daughter was ten. This girl appeared fifteen, maybe sixteen.
Peterson shook his head. "What is this?" His mind rejected the possibility outright. "She looks like Cynthia, but she can't be. This girl is older."
Rosemary met his gaze, unwavering. "Don't you recognize her?"
Peterson hesitated. Mother's instinct was rarely wrong.
"No," he insisted. "Cynthia is ten. This girl must just… look like her."
But Rosemary wasn't backing down. "Honey, this is an online game. The game must have altered her appearance. You and I both know where Cynthia is—for treatment." She paused, voice laced with certainty. "This is not a coincidence." Silence filled the room. Peterson's fingers hovered over the screen. His wife's words struck something deep within him.
Cipher the name flashed across the interface. Rosemary pressed further. "She goes by the name Cipher. I'm sure she made that up from Cynthia." Peterson's heart thumped. His rational mind fought against the eerie realization creeping in.
"We need to go check on her," he finally said, voice quieter, more thoughtful. "We have to be sure."