The boardroom was really cold.
Of money, of power and old men.
The Shaw patriarch sat at the head of the table.
His silver hair was immaculate, his suit perfectly pressed, his hands folded on the polished mahogany surface with careful stillness. His eyes, an unsettling blue, swept the room with an expression that no one could read.
The other board members sat in uncomfortable silence.
Representatives from the family's various business interests. Senior witches who had served the Shaws for generations. Advisors and strategists and the small army of functionaries who kept the great family's empire running.
None of them would meet his eyes.
"The production site," the patriarch said. His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "Someone explain to me how a single girl, my daughter, managed to breach security and steal our most valuable asset."
A man at the far end of the table cleared his throat.
He was young, relatively speaking, perhaps forty, with the harried expression of someone who had been promoted beyond his competence and was only now realizing it. "Sir, the security footage shows—"
"I know what the footage shows." The patriarch's voice didn't rise. Didn't change. "It shows my daughter walking through the front door with the damn boy, bypassing security that cost this family six hundred thousand dollars to install, and making off with the goddess we've spent three centuries keeping contained."
"Sir, the boy—"
"Hoshimi Shirogane." The patriarch's lips curved. It was not a smile. "The reincarnation of King Arthur. The government's newest weapon. The one the informant said would not be a big deal." He paused. "He was deflecting magic bullets with a single sword, even with mana enhancement, that isn't even supposed to be possible. The information that you gave me said that he was a sharpshooter."
The silence that followed was absolute.
"Where is Mark?" the patriarch asked.
"Dead, sir. Along with the guards stationed at the facility. The boy shot them. The footage shows—"
"I don't need to see it." The patriarch's hands remained folded. Still. Composed. But something in his eyes had shifted, a fracture in that cold, controlled surface. He looked up at the board members. "Does anyone have anything to say that might make this situation less catastrophic?"
No one spoke.
"The other families," the patriarch continued. "The Millers. The Walkers. The Smiths. They don't know yet. But they will. The production of magic tools has already halted. Within a month, every witch in the world will be demanding to know why they can't purchase equipment. And when they find out—" He paused. "When they find out that I tried to seize the goddess and got it stolen from me, the other families will come for us, they won't blame the boy, they'll come after us."
A woman near the middle of the table spoke up. She was older, her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes sharp despite her age. "The families will demand our family to be taken down. The Millers will try to fight against us. The Walkers are still reeling from Dominic's death, they're probably more focused on trying to get another heir but there's no way they don't come after us after all of the things we've caused. But the Smiths—"
"The Smiths will see this as an opportunity." The patriarch nodded slowly. "A Smith child's death gave them a grudge against the Shirogane boy. Now that grudge has justification. He attacked our facility. Killed our people. Stole our property." His voice hardened. "They'll come for him. And when they do, they'll come for us as well."
"Sir." A younger man at the foot of the table raised his hand tentatively. "There's also the matter of the letter."
The patriarch's eyes narrowed. "What letter?"
"Miss Neila sent a letter to the other families this morning. It claims that she acted independently, that you were planning to seize the goddess for yourself and cut the other families out of the agreement. She's offering to sell the goddess back to them at a discounted rate in exchange for their protection against you."
The silence that followed was different from the earlier silences. Heavier. More dangerous.
"She shouldn't have been born," the patriarch said quietly. "My own daughter is declaring war on me."
He rose from his chair. The movement was slow, deliberate, the movement of a man who was calculating exactly how much force to use and finding that no amount of force would be enough.
"We can still salvage this, we have an agreement with the government and the Smiths are still holding their grudge over Shirogane. Send a letter to the Smiths, we'll find the boy and take back the Goddess, we'll kick out the other two families ourselves. And as for the government, they're in a risky position. Shirogane is more of a liability if anything, they aren't even sure they can control him if he gets stronger, a little bit of nudging will be needed, send a letter, persuading them to label Shirogane as a rogue."
"Find her," he said. "Find the boy. Find the goddess." His blue eyes swept the room.
He walked out without another word.
The board members sat in silence for a long moment after he left. Then, slowly, they began to disperse, their faces pale, their voices hushed, their minds already racing with the implications of what had just happened.
The patriarch walked through the halls of the Shaw estate, his footsteps echoing off marble floors that had been polished to a mirror shine.
Portraits of dead Shaws watched him pass, their painted eyes following him with expressions that might have been judgment or might have been disappointment.
He stopped in front of one. A woman with pink hair and amber eyes. Elara Shaw.
The founder of the bloodline.
"I'll kill her."
–
The Smith estate was smaller than the Walker compound. The walls were thicker. The windows were narrower.
The gardens were trimmed with mathematical precision, every hedge and flower bed arranged in patterns that spoke of control rather than beauty.
The boardroom was underground.
No windows. No natural light.
Just fluorescent panels humming overhead, casting everything in shades of clinical white and cold steel. The table was metal, bolted to the floor, its surface scarred with decades of use.
The chairs were functional rather than comfortable. The air smelled of ozone and old blood.
Eliza Smith sat at the head of the table.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, not a single strand out of place. Her eyes, the color of storm clouds, swept the room with an expression that was neither anger nor satisfaction but something colder.
"The Shaw patriarch has confirmed it," she said. Her voice was flat. "The goddess is gone. Stolen by his daughter and the Shirogane boy. The other families are in chaos."
A man near the far end of the table leaned forward. He was young, barely thirty, with the kind of face that had never known hardship. "This is an opportunity," he said. "If the Shaws are weakened—"
"How unbelievably stupid can you be?" Eliza's voice cut through his words like a blade. "All of us have lost access to the Goddess." Her gray eyes fixed on the young man until he looked away. "Even if they're weakened, we can't fight them, we've been weakened too, if we attack them now, the other families could takeover both of us."
Another voice, older, more measured. A woman with silver hair and the weathered face of someone who had survived decades of family politics. "The letter from the Shaw girl. She's offering to sell us access to the goddess. A permanent share, rather than the rotating access we had before. At a significant discount."
"And in exchange?"
"She wants protection. A guarantee that we won't side with her father when he comes for her."
Eliza was silent for a long moment. Her fingers drummed against the metal table, a soft, rhythmic sound that echoed in the quiet room. "She's rather clever," she said finally. "Using our own greed against us."
"Then we accept?"
"Why would we?"
Eliza rose from her chair. The movement was fluid, graceful, the movement of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of appearing effortless. She walked to the wall behind her, where a single photograph hung in an ornate frame.
A boy with ash-blond hair and amber eyes. Young. Barely seventeen. Smiling at the camera with the carefree confidence of someone who had never imagined he might die.
"David," she said quietly. "My nephew, I didn't particularly care for him, I barely even remembered his face. But I don't like it, I can't stand it when one of my possessions get taken away from me."
She turned back to the table.
"The Shaw girl offers us a bargain. Access to the goddess." Her voice dropped. "But she's allied herself with the boy who killed my nephew. I can't stand him, he stole something from mee."
The silver-haired woman spoke again. "Eliza, the goddess—"
"Will be ours regardless." Eliza's voice was flat. Final. "Before the other families get to her, we'll kill them both off." She paused. "We don't need to bargain with a traitor and a murderer. They don't have the forces to take us down, we just need to steal it from them."
The young man at the end of the table spoke up again. "The government—"
"The government will not intervene." Eliza's lips curved. It was not a smile. "They're already panicking. The Shirogane boy has become a liability. An uncontrollable variable. They were willing to tolerate him when Sophia Miller was around, but with Sophia gone—" She shook her head. "They'll be grateful if someone removes him from the equation. Quietly. Permanently."
She returned to her chair and sat down, her posture perfect, her hands folded on the table before her.
"How about the vice principal? She's a level ten. She's protected him since he was a child. She's not going to just—"
"Albert is a government employee." Eliza's voice was cold. "She serves at their pleasure. And the government is very, very unhappy with how this situation has developed." She leaned back in her chair. "I've already sent a message to the appropriate channels. The boy is to be declared a rogue. A threat to public safety. Albert will be given a choice: eliminate him herself, or be removed from her position. Permanently."
The silver-haired woman's eyes widened. "You think she'll actually do it?"
"Of course." Eliza's smile returned, sharper now. "People will give up everything when faced with the threat of death."
A man at the far end of the table, silent until now, cleared his throat. He was older than the others, his face lined with decades of hard decisions, his eyes the same storm-gray as Eliza's. A direct relative. Perhaps an uncle.
"And the other families?"
"The Walker's heir is dead, but a situation this big could lead to their involvement, and the Millers have been declining since the public announcement of Sophia's existence, I doubt they'd be much of a threat." She paused. "I'm still rather cautious about the Walkers, I want our best hunters on this. Trackers. Assassins. Anyone. I want them found, I want the goddess recovered, and I want the boy's head delivered to me personally."
The board members exchanged glances. Some looked uneasy. Others looked eager. The young man at the end of the table was practically vibrating with excitement.
Eliza rose from her chair one final time. "This meeting is adjourned. Begin preparations immediately. I want our people mobilized within the hour."
–
The goddess sat in the corner of the safehouse.
She was smaller than she'd seemed in the containment unit. Smaller.
Her white hair hung in lank strands around a face that was too pale, too thin, too hollow to be called beautiful. Her gray eyes were still glowing with that faint, ancient light. They swept across the room with an expression that was neither curiosity nor fear but something in between.
Hoshimi stood by the window, his back to the room, his violet eyes fixed on the street below.
The sun was setting, painting the city in shades of orange and gold. His mind was elsewhere.
[We're so fucked aren't we?]
Neila sat at the small kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a cup of cold tea, her blue eyes fixed on the goddess.
She'd been staring at her for the better part of an hour, ever since they'd arrived at the safehouse, ever since they'd secured the door and checked the windows and made sure no one had followed them.
"So," Neila said finally. "You're a god."
"I am many things," Vert said. Her voice was stronger now, though still thin, still rasping from years of disuse. "A god is one of them. You humans used to worship me, a long time ago." She paused. "But I guess you've moved onto Bleu and left me behind."
"You don't seem very godlike."
"Neither do you seem very human." Vert's gray eyes met Neila's blue ones. "Appearances can be deceiving."
Neila's lips twitched. She set her tea down. "You said my mana deficiency was caused by my reincarnation. What did you mean by that?"
"Your body is not wholly your own." Vert's voice was matter-of-fact. "There is another soul bound to yours. A reincarnation. A fragment of someone who lived and died long before you were born. This is not uncommon among witches. But in your case, the reincarnation is... incompatible."
"Incompatible how?"
"The reincarnated soul is potent. But so is your soul. It should have manifested by now, should have become a part of you. Something in your own mana, your own essence, is rejecting it. Holding it at bay." Vert tilted her head. "This creates a blockage. Your mana output is restricted because your soul is constantly fighting itself."
"And my mana deficiency?"
"Is a symptom of that struggle. Your body produces mana normally. But most of it is consumed by the internal conflict. What remains is barely enough to sustain you."
Neila was quiet for a long moment. Hoshimi could see her processing this, turning it over in her mind, fitting it into the framework of everything she'd ever believed about herself.
"Can it be fixed?" she asked finally.
"Perhaps." Vert's gray eyes were unreadable. "I remember I hid a cup somewhere, a golden cup that could cure a situation like yours." She paused. "But you seem to have other concerns."
"The families," Hoshimi said from the window.
"You don't seem concerned."
"I'm not." The goddess's gray eyes met Hoshimi's. "I am not concerned about the consequences of my freedom. I am only concerned that my freedom might be temporary."
"What makes you think that?"
"You don't seem like a very honest human."
Neila shrugged. "I guess even a Goddess can make mistakes, I'm as honest as they come."
Hoshimi turned from the window. "We need to move. This safehouse won't stay safe for long."
"The government has already found us," Vert said quietly.
The room went very still.
"What do you mean?" Hoshimi stared at her.
"I can see everything." The goddess's gray eyes were distant, unfocused, seeing something beyond the walls. "The ones who serve the state. The ones who made deals with the families. They are... aware of what happened. They are deciding what to do about it."
Vert was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer than before, almost gentle.
"They are deciding whether to kill you."