The light filtering through the curtains no longer had the softness of the morning—it was warr, more angled, marking the room with golden tones that undoubtedly betrayed that the day had already progressed considerably. The silence inside was different from that of the night; it wasn’t an absence of movent, but rather a natural pause, as if the world outside had already moved on while that space remained behind in ti.
Strax opened his eyes slowly.
For a mont, he didn’t move.
He only breathed.
His body was still heavy, not from bad exhaustion, but from that complete weariness that cos after an intense night... Every muscle seed extrely relaxed, as if he had been forced to slow down in a way he rarely allowed himself. There was a comfortable warmth around him, sothing soft, familiar.
He blinked once.
And then he realized.
His arms weren’t free.
Cassandra and Daniela were there, completely close, their bodies pressed against him, each holding one of his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There was no tension, no sha—only comfort, as if this were a perfectly acceptable state.
Strax let out a small sigh through his nose.
An almost imperceptible smile appeared.
"Good afternoon," he murmured, his voice still slightly hoarse from sleep.
Cassandra opened her eyes first.
There was no surprise.
She just observed him for a second, assessing, as if confirming that he was really awake, and then replied in a calm tone:
"You passed out after fucking us so much." Daniela mumbled sothing from the other side, still with her eyes closed.
"He died yesterday and ca back to life... let him rest," she said, her voice muffled, clearly with no intention of moving yet.
Strax chuckled softly. "I think I’ve rested enough, you two are too rough."
He stretched slightly, or at least tried to, since his arms were restrained. The movent was limited, but still enough to make his muscles react, releasing the rest of the accumulated tension.
Cassandra released his arm just enough to allow movent, but didn’t really move away.
"You were unconscious for hours," she comnted, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. "More than usual."
Strax tilted his head slightly.
"My body is still... adjusting," he replied, looking at the ceiling for a mont. "After everything... it makes sense."
Daniela opened one eye, glancing at him sideways.
"Adjusting, huh?" she said, with a half-smile. "That explains a lot."
Cassandra didn’t react imdiately, but a slight blush appeared on her face.
Strax pretended not to notice.
He let the silence settle for a few seconds, simply enjoying that strange mont of tranquility—sothing rare, considering everything they were experiencing.
But, as always, it didn’t last long.
He exhaled slowly.
"I need to go," he said bluntly.
Cassandra raised her head slightly.
"Already?" she asked, frowning slightly.
Daniela opened her other eye, now clearly paying attention.
Strax nodded.
"The main territory of the Monarch of the White Flas," he explained, his tone more serious now. "I left it open. It can’t be ignored."
The atmosphere had changed.
Not drastically.
But enough.
Cassandra shifted slightly, resting her arm on his chest, thoughtful.
"So you’re going to take another city," she said, more as a statent than a question.
Strax nodded again.
"Yes."
Daniela let out a soft sigh, rolling to her side to look at him better.
"With that..." she began, counting ntally. "That’s three cities."
Cassandra completed, almost automatically:
"Besides Asgard."
Strax looked at the two of them.
"Four, in total," he corrected, with a slight nod. "But that’s not all."
Cassandra raised an eyebrow slightly.
"No?"
He turned his head slightly to look at her.
"The alliance with the Ice Monarch’s territory," he explained. "It’s not a conquest, but it still counts as influence."
Daniela let out a low whistle.
"So basically..." she murmured, looking at the ceiling. "You’re building an empire."
Strax didn’t answer imdiately.
He just remained silent for a mont.
And then—
"Maybe."
The answer ca simply.
But loaded.
Cassandra watched his face for a second longer than usual, as if trying to understand how far this was going.
"And Asgard?" she asked. "Will it stay the sa?"
Strax let out a small sigh.
"No."
Daniela lifted her body slightly, resting her elbow on the bed.
"Finally soone saying sothing sensible," she said with a slight smile. "You need to start expanding this. It’s not just a city anymore."
Cassandra nodded.
"If you’re really going to control all of this..." she continued, more analytically now. "Asgard needs to beco the center."
Daniela completed, without hesitation:
"A capital."
The silence that followed wasn’t one of doubt.
It was one of agreent.
Strax looked at the ceiling again.
Thinking.
Organizing.
Calculating.
"I know," he said finally.
There was a short pause.
And then he continued, more lightly:
"But I’m not going to do that."
Daniela blinked.
"What do you an?"
Cassandra tilted her head slightly.
Strax turned his face back to them, a slight smile appearing.
"I’ll leave this to Monica."
Daniela was silent for a second.
Then she let out a short laugh.
"Of course you will."
Cassandra exhaled slowly, almost amused.
"She’ll like this," she comnted. "She probably already has half of it planned."
Strax nodded.
"That’s why it’s with her."
There was a short silence after that.
Lighter.
Less burdened.
Daniela settled back beside him, pulling his arm back as if nothing had changed.
"So you’re going out again," she said, more quietly now.
Strax didn’t answer imdiately.
But he didn’t deny it.
Cassandra closed her eyes for a mont, resting her forehead lightly against his shoulder.
"Then stay a little longer," she murmured.
The main hall of the Asgard mansion was silent—but it wasn’t a peaceful silence.
It was the kind of silence that cos just before an explosion.
And, in the center of that spacious room, illuminated by tall windows that let the afternoon light flood in, two figures stared at each other with enough intensity to make the air heavy.
Monica stood, arms crossed, with the firm and dominant posture she always carried when dealing with sothing she considered important. Her eyes were fixed on the person in front of her, without any trace of gentleness.
Beatrice was on the other side of the room.
And, by the way she held her own arms, she clearly wasn’t comfortable.
But she wasn’t backing down either.
The problem... was exactly that.
"You can’t continue like this."
Monica’s voice ca directly.
No beating around the bush.
No gentleness. Beatrice frowned imdiately.
"Like what?"
Monica stepped forward.
"Stopped."
A single word.
But loaded with judgnt.
Beatrice let out a short, humorless laugh.
"I’m not standing still."
"Yes, you are."
The answer ca instantly.
Monica uncrossed her arms, gesturing around as if the space itself were proof enough.
"You stay in the mansion. You walk back and forth. You wait for sothing to happen."
Her gaze narrowed slightly.
"That’s not living, Beatrice."
There was a brief silence.
Beatrice looked away for a second.
But only for a second.
Because then she looked back at her mother, clearly irritated.
"And what do you want to do?" she retorted, her tone rising slightly. "Seriously. Explain it to ." Monica didn’t hesitate.
"Grow up."
Beatrice blinked.
The word seed to hit harder than it should have.
"I’ve already grown up."
"Not enough."
The impact ca directly.
Without cushioning.
Beatrice clenched her teeth.
"You can’t just say that as if—"
"I can," Monica interrupted firmly. "Because it’s true."
The atmosphere grew heavier.
Denser.
Beatrice exhaled sharply, clearly trying to control herself.
"Okay," she said, raising her hands slightly. "Then let’s go."
She took a step forward.
"What exactly should I do?"
Her gaze was now heavy.
Not just with irritation.
But sothing deeper.
"Because, from what I see..."
She began to walk slowly across the room, gesturing as she spoke.
"You take care of the city. You manage everything. You organize everything. You solve everything."
She pointed at Monica.
"You’re good at that."
Monica didn’t answer.
Beatrice continued.
"Cassandra, Daniela... they are strong. They fight. They go into the field. They do things I can’t do."
She turned her face, now looking in another direction.
"Cristine and Yennifer work in the shadows. Information, strategy, espionage..."
A small laugh escaped.
No joy.
"And ?"
She opened her arms.
"What do I do?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
"I’m not good at any of that," she continued, lower now, but much more sincere. "I don’t have your head for this. I don’t have their strength. I don’t have the skills of the others."
She looked at Monica again.
And this ti, it wasn’t just irritation.
There was frustration.
"So tell . What exactly do you want to do?"
The silence that followed wasn’t a lack of response.
It was weighty.
Monica observed her daughter for a few seconds.
Without interrupting.
Without reacting imdiately.
When she spoke, her voice wasn’t so harsh anymore.
But it was still firm.
"Find."
Beatrice frowned.
"What?"
"Sothing of yours."
The answer ca simply.
Directly.
Monica took a step forward, closing the distance between them.
"You can’t live comparing yourself to others," she continued. "You’ll never be . Or Cassandra. Or Daniela."
Her gaze locked on her daughter’s. "And it doesn’t even have to be."
Beatrice opened her mouth to reply—
But Monica continued first.
"But you can’t just stand there waiting for soone to give you a role."
Now there was more intensity in her voice.
"You have to search. Test. Fail. Try again."
She made a short gesture with her hand.
"If you don’t know what to do, then find out."
Beatrice was silent.
For a mont.
But then—
"What if I don’t find anything?"
The question ca out lower.
More honest.
Monica didn’t hesitate.
"Then you keep searching."
Silence.
Beatrice looked away again.
And this ti it took longer to look back.
"That’s easy for you to say," she murmured.
Monica sighed slowly.
"It’s not easy for anyone."
There was a short pause.
And then—
Monica crossed her arms again.
"But staying here... waiting—"
She paused.
Shortly.
But long enough.
"—waiting for Strax to co back so we can spend ti together and go around having sex..."
The impact was imdiate.
Beatrice froze.
"Hey—!"
She pointed at Monica, clearly shocked.
"You can’t just—!"
"I can," Monica replied, without flinching. "Because that’s exactly what’s happening."
"That’s not true!"
"No?"
Monica raised an eyebrow.
"Then tell . What have you been doing these past few days?"
Beatrice’s mouth dropped open.
But no answer ca.
And that... was worse than any accusation.
The silence stretched.
And then—
"You’re the crazy one in heat!"
The phrase exploded in the air.
Beatrice was pointing directly at Monica now, her face red, indignation finally breaking through any filter.
"Don’t throw that at !"
Monica blinked.
Once.
Clearly not expecting that.
Beatrice didn’t stop.
"You talk like you’re different!" she continued, now completely engrossed. "But you’re the first to lose your cool when he shows up!"
Monica narrowed her eyes.
"Careful."
But Beatrice had already gone beyond that point.
"Careful about what?" she retorted. "About the truth?"
She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly.
"Or are you going to say you’re not?"
Silence.
Heavy.
The two stared at each other.
Two forces.
Two wills.
Two different ways of dealing with the sa reality.
Monica inhaled slowly.
And then exhaled.
"That has nothing to do with the point."
The answer ca more controlled.
But still firm.
Beatrice laughed.
Humorlessly.
"Of course it does."
She shook her head.
"You just don’t like to listen."
Monica didn’t answer imdiately.
But her gaze... changed.
Less judgnt.
More analysis.
"Maybe," she admitted, finally.
Beatrice blinked, surprised by the answer.
But Monica continued before she could react.
"But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re hiding."
The weight returned.
Different.
More precise. "You’re using that as an excuse."
Beatrice frowned.
"I’m not—"
"Yes, you are."
The interruption ca softly.
But firmly.
"You find it easier to say you’re not good at anything... than to try to figure out what you can be."
Silence.
Beatrice didn’t answer.
Because, this ti—
She wasn’t sure if she could.
Monica took another step forward.
Closing the distance even further.
"I’m not asking you to be soone else," she said, lower now. "I’m asking you to stop running away."
Beatrice swallowed hard.
Her gaze wavered.
For a mont.
And then she looked away.
"I don’t know where to begin," she murmured, almost inaudibly.
Before they could continue, Scarlet entered with Xenovia and Kryssia.
"Can you all shut up? You two can hear us arguing downtown." Scarlet said, cracking her neck. "What the hell is this?" she questioned.
Xenovia nodded. "You’re talking too loudly."
Kryssia remained silent, watching the mother and daughter.
"W-well," Beatrice scratched her head, "and Monica?"
"You," she pointed at Scarlet. "She’s complaining that there’s nothing good about her, beat her until she learns who she is."
Scarlet looked at Monica, then at Beatrice. Then a demonic smile spread across her face. "What a delicious dish... oh yes, I’ll beat her until she finds herself." Scarlet said as she walked towards Beatrice, who began to back away.
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