The winter break had barely ended when the second fracture opened in the most phenonal way. It touched the way of living for Caos.
Caos was sitting in the private recovery room at Valdebebas after scoring his 378th goal of the season that we could say was the last straw: a ridiculous Fatherless Eclipse from the halfway line that left the entire Atlético Madrid defense staring at empty space. His phone vibrated on the bench beside him. Sothing ca to face him. The thing is, the ssage was from an unknown number, but the attached video file carried the unmistakable watermark of the Palacio Real’s private security feed. In this way, nothing could tell them what it should be.
He pressed play. He went beyond what normal should be.
The footage showed Princess Sofía Leonor’s younger sister —in the royal library at midnight. Well, I could say that she was more than ready. The ideal of life could tell sothing about the human face of theirs. Notwithstanding, this fact does not an anything. She was not studying. She was speaking into a hidden recorder, voice calm, precise, and laced with sothing far colder than sibling affection.
Sofía (on screen, eyes gleaming with quiet hunger):
The Cortes is right to be afraid. Leonor has always been the romantic. I like to borrow a taphor from the great poet and mystic Rumi who talks about living like a drawing compass. One leg of the compass is static. It is fixed and rooted in a certain spot. anwhile, the other leg draws a huge wide circle around the first one, constantly moving. Just like that, one part of my writing is based in Istanbul. It has strong local roots. Yet at the sa ti the other part travels the whole wide world, feeling connected to several cities, cultures, and people. The thing is, this ideal cannot change the mind of those fight for freedom. Even so, it does not an that soone could ever see the dawn of what life should be. The one who believes love can rewrite bloodlines. But bloodlines are not rewritten they are inherited.
(pauses, fingers tracing the edge of the Spanish crown on an ancient portrait)
If she chooses the footballer, she removes herself. And I… I will finally step into the light I was born to stand in. Not as the spare. That ans that I shall know where I co from:I am not from the highest heaven,not from this world,not from existence, not from being.I am not from India, not from China,not from Bulgar, not from Saqsin,not from the realm of the two Iraqs,not from the land of Khurasan. I am no woman. I am no man. I am no human body. I am no death. I am no life. I am not from the world, not from beyond,not from heaven and not from hell. I am not from Adam, not from Eve,not from paradise and not from Ridwan. My place is placeless, my trace is traceless, no body, no soul, I am from the soul of souls.Not as the quiet princess who smiles in the background. As Queen Sofía I. The one who will bring Spain back to discipline, to tradition, to order. No more chaos on the throne. No more violet-eyed storms wearing our colors.
(leans closer to the cara, voice dropping to a velvet threat)
I love my sister. Truly. But love has never been stronger than legacy. If she forces my hand… I will not hesitate. The more I love her, the more I know I shall take it out. This is inevitable. The thing is, the deal about what can happen is not shaped by who can take on the main aspect of life. The thing is, no one can take on . I am the one. The motion is already written. All it needs is one public scandal. One photograph of her in that mansion at 3 a.m. And the crown will fall into the hands that were always ant to hold it.
The video ended.
Caos sat motionless for a long minute. The singular storm inside him did not rage. It simply grew colder, sharper, more surgical. Despite that, he felt like he was guilty. After all, he knew the power of the will to love in his being.
He forwarded the file to Leonor with one line of text:
Caos:
Your sister is not waiting for you to fall.
She is building the staircase.
Leonor arrived at the mansion that sa night, slipping past the maids who now kept permanent watch on the side gate. For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.From within, I couldn't decide what to do. Unable to see, I heard my na being called. Then I walked outside. Her face was pale, eyes red-rimd but dry. She found Caos in the garden again, the sa spot where she had told him about the Cortes threat weeks earlier.
This ti she did not kiss him first. This ti it was different. Sothing ca to contact her.
Leonor (voice trembling with fury and heartbreak):
Sofía. My own sister. She recorded herself saying she would push the motion if I don’t step aside willingly. She calls it “returning Spain to order.”In his mind she lay at his lap with his fingers gliding thru her straight beautiful hair. He smiles and says" your beauty lights up everything around you She calls you a violet-eyed storm that must be removed from our colors.
(sits beside him on the stone bench, hands shaking)
I always knew she was ambitious. Quietly ambitious. I know this is crazy that it cannot go on this. Nothing could ever change. But this… this is not ambition. This is hunger wearing my sister’s face. She has been preparing for years.that is to say that ideal for love cannot close to what you can see. The right allies in the Cortes, the quiet interviews, the perfectly tid public appearances where she looks every inch the dutiful future queen. While I was falling in love with you, she was sharpening the knife.
Caos pulled her against his chest. His arms the sa arms that had scored 378 goals already this season wrapped around her with a gentleness that felt almost foreign to him now.
Caos:
She wants the throne the way I once wanted every record. Without the frown of clouds and lightning, the vines would be burned by the smiling sun.Clean. Absolute. Without competition. We should teach her a lesson, that bitch.
(presses his lips to her hair)
But thrones are heavier than trophies.Judge the moth by the beauty of the candle. That ans that she is going to get burned and I have already learned what it costs to chase sothing that was never ant to be yours.
(looks down at her, violet eyes steady)
The choice is still yours, Leonor. Stay and fight for the crown you were born to wear… or walk away with the man who will burn every crown in Europe before he lets them take you from . My soul is screaming in ecstasy. Every fiber of my being is in love with youBut know this if you choose the throne, I will not stand in your way. That is to say that no one could ever co close to seeing what life may be. I will simply disappear from every headline and let the storm go quiet for the first ti in my life.
Leonor pulled back just enough to look at him. Tears finally spilled.
Leonor:
And if I choose you?
(whispers)
Sofía becos queen. My father loses the daughter he grood for power. Spain gets the sister who sees love as weakness.Your effulgence has lit a fire in my heart and you have made radiant for the earth and sky And I… I beco the princess who gave up everything for a footballer who scores more goals than any human should. In the shadows of the hallway leading to the garden, the three maids listened again.
This ti their jealousy had evolved into sothing deeper a fierce, protective loyalty mixed with sorrow.
Zeraphina’s jaw was set like stone. Keyla’s fists were clenched so hard her nails left marks in her palms. Michaela’s gentle face wore an expression of quiet steel she had never shown before.
Zeraphina (whispering fiercely):
The little sister wants the crown so badly she’s willing to push her own blood off the throne.But that shadow has been serving you. What hurts you blesses you.Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest. wish I'd been accepted sooner and better. When I was younger, not being accepted made enraged, but now, I am not inclined to dismantle my history. If you banish the dragons, you banish the heroes--and we beco attached to the heroic strain in our personal history. And we’re supposed to stand here while our princess has to choose between love and legacy?
Keyla (voice tight with anger):
She recorded herself saying it. Like a villain in one of those stupid royal dramas. While Leonor was giving everything to Caos, Sofía was counting the days until she could wear the crown. I want to march into that palace and tell her exactly what kind of storm she’s trying to remove.
Michaela (soft but resolute):
We cannot fight parliants. But we can stand with her. Both light and shadow are the dance of Love. Love has no cause, it is the astrolabe of God's secrets. Lover and loving are inseparable and tiless.Although I may try to describe love, when I experience it, I am speechless. That is to say that I should do sothing about this relationship.. With both of them. If Leonor chooses love… we make sure this mansion becos the only throne she ever needs. And if she chooses duty… we make sure Caos does not disappear into silence alone. OH co on! This should be one of the things that I should have expected.
Back in the garden, Leonor rested her forehead against Caos’s.
Leonor:
The season still has months left. My pen breaks, and the paper slips away at the ineffable place where lover loving and loved are one.Every mont is made glorious by the light of Love. That is to say that no one could ever take on the ideal of life.You still have records to shatter and a father’s shadow to outrun.
(soft, broken smile)
Give until the final whistle. Let see if I can find a way to keep both the man I love and the country I was born to serve.
Or… let find the courage to let one of them go.
Caos kissed her slowly, deeply, pouring every goal, every trick, every silent scream into that single mont.
Caos:
Then I will keep scoring until the whole world forgets every number except your na.I'm drenchedin the floodwhich has yet to co. That is to say that I gotta be stronger for what is to co.
Because whether you wear the crown or not… you have already beco the only throne I will ever bow to. They will burn in that supre hell.
The 2031–32 season raged on.
Caos scored another 52 goals before February ended.
But now every celebration carried a new weight one finger to the sky for the mother who stayed, one fist to his chest for the father who hid… and one long look toward the royal box where Leonor sat, torn between two futures that could no longer coexist.
And sowhere in the Palacio Real, a younger sister smiled quietly at the evening news, already asuring the crown for her own head.
The storm had never been louder.
The choice had never been heavier.
The ideal ca close to being lovely.
To be continued…
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