Elara watched the clip three times before saying anything.
Once to confirm it was real.
Once to admire the cinematography.
Once to savor it.
Malachai stood beside the containment pod, arms folded, posture impeccable, pretending very hard not to notice.
She finally looked up at him.
"…So."
He closed his eyes.
"Before you speak," he said carefully, "I would like to state that—"
"You *dipped her*," Elara interrupted.
Silence.
"That was a full dramatic dip," she continued. "Controlled descent. Eye contact. Wrist placement was *textbook*."
He opened one eye. "I was making a point."
"Oh, you made several," she said brightly. "Including that you lied."
"I did not lie."
"You said you dance poorly."
"I said it was not a core competency."
She grinned. "Father."
He sighed. Deeply.
---
Elara floated slightly within the pod, clearly energized.
"The internet is losing its mind," she said. "Heroes are panicking. Villains are reassessing life choices. Someone made a compilation."
Malachai stiffened. "A compilation."
"Yes," she said. "Set to music."
"What music."
"Pop."
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
---
"You know what my favorite part is?" Elara continued. "The pause before the spin."
"That was tactical timing."
"That was *flirting*."
"I was asserting dominance."
"By being smooth."
"Yes."
She laughed so hard the pod chimed a warning about elevated vitals.
"Dad," she said, wiping imaginary tears, "you accidentally seduced a hero envoy."
"I did no such thing."
"She blushed."
"She was reacting to proximity."
"She *blushed*."
---
Malachai straightened, clearly attempting to reclaim authority.
"You are enjoying this excessively."
"Absolutely," Elara said. "You've spent my entire life telling me image control matters."
"Yes."
"And then you went and became a ballroom menace."
"I demonstrated capability."
"You demonstrated *range*."
She leaned closer to the glass.
"Do you know what they're calling you now?"
He hesitated.
"…No."
"'The Waltzing Warlord.'"
The lab temperature spiked.
She giggled. "Oh don't worry, I stopped the tag from trending."
"…Thank you."
"After screenshotting it."
---
He gave her a look.
She smiled innocently.
"You're handsome, by the way," she added casually.
He froze.
"That is irrelevant."
"No it's not," she said. "You've been hiding under armor and menace for decades, and now half the world is like 'Wait. Oh no.'"
"I do not require public approval."
"No," she agreed. "But you *are* weaponizing it."
He paused.
"…Yes."
She smirked. "Called it."
---
Elara tilted her head, studying him.
"You were nervous at the wedding," she said more softly.
"Yes."
"But not with the hero."
"No."
"Why?"
Malachai considered.
"Because the wedding was not about me," he said. "The confrontation was."
She nodded slowly.
"Okay," she said. "That checks out."
Then her grin returned.
"Still," she added, "next time you pretend to be bad at something, maybe don't be *professionally lethal* at it."
"I will take that under advisement."
"Please don't."
---
She settled back, clearly pleased.
"You know," she said, "if I ever get out of here, I'm absolutely telling everyone you practice in secret."
"I do not practice."
"You *definitely* practice."
"I prepare."
"Same thing."
---
An alert chimed softly.
**Void Interface Stable.**
**Elara—fatigue approaching.**
Malachai stepped closer, voice lowering.
"Rest," he said.
She yawned.
"One last thing," she murmured.
"Yes?"
"If you ever bring a plus one home to meet me…"
He stiffened.
"…Yes?"
"…please don't dip her in front of the pod."
She closed her eyes, smiling.
Malachai stood there for a long moment.
Then—very quietly—
"…Noted."
---
Outside the lab, the world trembled under the weight of his plans.
Heroes hesitated.
Villains recalculated.
Empires balanced on uncertainty.
But in this hidden place, stripped of armor and myth, the Dark Lord endured the most devastating force of all:
A teenage daughter
with receipts
and no fear whatsoever.
And somehow—
That was the only thing he couldn't conquer.