Star stood at the front gates of the castle, the stone towers rising behind her like silent guardians of a new era. Beside her stood Azrathion—dark hair immaculately styled, red eyes faintly glowing beneath the shadow of the evening sky, his black suit crisp and untouched by battle. Before them, rows upon rows of soldiers stood in flawless formation, armor polished, weapons aligned, boots rooted firmly against the courtyard stone.

A commander stepped forward.

“ATTENTION!”

The sound cracked through the air.

In perfect unison, every soldier raised their salute toward Star and Azrathion.

For a brief moment, silence reigned.

Star stepped forward, her black-and-gold armor catching the fading light, etched symbols along its surface faintly shimmering with ancient power.

“My brothers and sisters,” she began, her voice calm yet carrying effortlessly across the courtyard, “you fought today with honor, integrity, strength, and courage. You defended this kingdom not because you were ordered to—but because you believed in it.”

The soldiers held steady, pride evident in their stillness.

“You will be rewarded with light duty,” she continued. “However, our defenses must be fortified. Move in order. Work at your own pace this week—but it must be completed by next Sunday. You have six days to rest, recover, and prepare our castle for the days ahead.”

Her gold eye flickered briefly.

“Our victory was earned. The Masters will be pleased.”

She lifted her hand in salute.

The soldiers lowered theirs only after she did.

With a sharp motion from the commander, the formation broke in disciplined waves, ranks dispersing efficiently without chaos.

The commander approached the castle steps and bowed slightly.

“My queen, we appreciate your support and acknowledgment.”

Star waved him off gently, neither dismissive nor indulgent—simply assured.

“You’ve earned your rest, Commander. See that they use it wisely.”

He nodded and departed.

Star turned to Azrathion.

“Go please yourself, Executioner,” she said evenly. “You deserve the time.”

He looked down at her, something unreadable passing through his crimson eyes.

“You will call when you require my return?”

“I will.”

He bowed his head once.

“Thank you, my queen.”

His body unraveled into drifting black ash, spiraling upward before vanishing into the sky.

Star entered the castle.

Inside, her assistant waited near the grand hall pillars.

“Are you ready to summon the Masters, Your Highness?”

Star gave a single nod.

She walked to the center of the hall, the ceiling arched high above her. Moonlight filtered through stained glass, casting fractured patterns across the floor.

She knelt.

Head bowed. Hand resting calmly against her thigh.

Then she whispered.

The language was ancient—older than kingdoms, older than memory. The sound echoed through the chamber like distant spirits murmuring through stone.

The air tore open.

A portal formed—dark, swirling, edged with crackling energy.

Seven towering figures stepped through.

The Masters.

Their presence alone altered the temperature of the room.

The leader, Kurohane, rested a katana over his shoulder, eyes assessing the throne room.

“Star,” he said, voice deep and resonant, “you have pleased us once more.”

The others looked around, impressed.

“You have expanded our kingdom,” another added. “You have elevated us in this fractured world.”

Kurohane’s gaze sharpened.

“Jakari must remain contained. We trust you have this handled.”

Star lifted her eyes.

“Yes, Master. Jakari will have nowhere to go. His feet will remain on Arkansas soil.”

The Masters exchanged glances and nodded.

“So be it.”

In unison, they drew their weapons and drove them into the stone floor. From the shadowed mist behind them, black ceremonial chairs emerged. They sat.

“You are dismissed, Star,” Kurohane declared. “Continue with your plan.”

Star rose, bowed deeply in her black samurai armor, then turned without hesitation.

She ascended the staircase toward her office.

The castle doors closed behind her.

And the kingdom moved forward.Her assistant followed closely behind as Star ascended the staircase and entered her private office. The heavy door opened with a low creak.

She stopped.

A shadow lingered in the far corner of the room—tall, still, deliberate. The faint glint of metal caught the light. A dagger spun lazily between thick fingers.

Star didn’t flinch.

She knew that silhouette.

“Leave us,” she told her assistant quietly.

The assistant bowed and exited without question. The door shut with a firm click.

Star stepped fully inside.

“Why are you here, Meko?”

The figure pushed off the wall and emerged from the darkness. He was massive—6’6, built like carved stone, muscles pressing against his fitted shirt. His dark skin contrasted sharply with the long dreaded hair falling past his shoulders. A scar sliced across his left eye, both irises a cold, stormy gray. When he smiled, his teeth looked almost predatory.

“Babygirl,” he said smoothly, voice low. “You didn’t miss me?”

Star vanished.

In a blink she reappeared in front of him, slamming him back against the wall. A dagger pressed to his throat.

“I asked you a question.”

Meko raised his hands slowly—but with one finger casually nudged the blade away from his skin.

“You know why I’m here,” he murmured. “Wondering if you let that weak ex of yours go yet.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“That ex of mine would put you twelve feet deep without trying. Keep talking.”

Meko chuckled, unbothered. “Yet you won’t let me find him. I can handle Jakari. You just won’t give me the chance.”

Star pulled back, walking toward her desk. She poured herself a glass of whiskey.

“It’s handled.”

Meko crossed the room in seconds. His hands landed on her shoulders, firm. He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You’ve got an attitude that needs to be handled, Mamacita.”

For a brief second, something in her expression softened under his grip.

“Sì…” she breathed.

He kissed her—slow, claiming—then stepped back.

She bit her lip, grabbing his wrist. “Papi, you can’t go after him. Jakari is more dangerous than you think. We grew up with him.”

“He’s emotional,” Meko replied. “Unstable. That makes him weak. I can catch him while he’s distracted.”

Star stood and wrapped her arms around him.

“No. I need you here.”

He studied her, then nodded once. “Fine. But if your men fail… I go.”

She looked him up and down. “Sì, papi. I understand.”

She kissed him again before returning to her chair.

“I need a favor, Meko.”

He paused at the door without turning around. “What is it?”

She took a slow sip.

“Bring me the Cursed Blade of Sparta.”

A quiet nod. “Yes, my queen.”

He left.

Silence returned.

Star finished the whiskey straight from the bottle before setting it down. Slowly, she removed her armor piece by piece, letting it fall to the floor. She stepped into the adjoining shower as steam filled the room.

Hot water cascaded over her skin.

For a moment, there was peace.

Then the showerhead shifted.

Metal twisted. Barrels spun.

Gunfire erupted.

Star fell hard against the tile, covering her head as bullets screamed toward her.

The world fractured.

She was small again.

A little girl in a torn white dress soaked in blood. She looked down at her hands—red.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

A man stood before her holding a saw.

At her feet lay her mother—the queen who ruled over half of Japan—her head severed, eyes frozen open, staring directly at her daughter.

The man lifted the head by its hair and turned away.

Star never forgot his face.

The scene flickered.

Her younger self grabbed a pistol from the floor. Without hesitation, she fired.

The man dropped.

Whispers filled the air.

Her mother’s voice.

Star’s eyes went black.

Men rushed into the room only to find a child standing in silence, dress dripping crimson. Lights flickered violently.

She vanished.

The lights blinked once more.

She stood behind them.

“Do you want to play a game with me?” she asked in a distorted child’s voice.

The men raised their weapons.

She dragged a blade across her own neck—

—but remained standing.

Terror swallowed the room.

Darkness fell.

When the lights steadied again, there were only pieces. Silence. And a little girl holding a dagger.

The memory snapped.

Star gasped under the shower, shaking violently. The water ran clear now.

She stepped out slowly and faced the mirror.

Her fingers brushed the faint scar across her neck—barely visible beneath the tattoo that now covered it.

In the mirror, someone stood behind her.

Her mother.

Draped in a long black dress, smiling gently.

“Let them come, my child,” the whisper echoed.

Star’s eyes glowed pink and gold.

“Who are you?” she asked softly.

“I am the part of you death could not claim.”

Her mother stepped closer.

“Be the queen no one will ever forget.”

Star’s lips curved faintly.

The reflection faded.

Her tattoos began to shift along her skin, ancient markings rewriting themselves. Her pink eye slowly drained to white. The gold intensified.

In the mirror, the little girl appeared one last time.

“I will always be a part of your broken soul,” the child said.

Star blinked.

The reflection was gone.

Only the queen remained.

Star tightened the towel around her body and stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, droplets of water tracing slow paths down her shoulders. The office lights were dim now, casting long shadows across the polished floors. She walked past her desk and into the private room hidden behind the carved wooden panel—her bedroom.

The door closed softly behind her.

The room felt different from the rest of the castle. No war maps. No weapons mounted on the walls. Just a large bed, dark silk sheets, and a single bookshelf near the window overlooking the kingdom.

Star sat on the edge of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer.

She pulled out the leather-bound book.

Her fingers lingered on the cover before she opened it.

Photos.

Camp.

She and Jakari standing side by side in tactical uniforms, dirt on their faces, younger—before crowns and curses. Before betrayal carved permanent lines into their expressions.

She traced Jakari’s face with her thumb.

“You were always so serious…” she murmured softly.

Another page.

Jakari at the range. Focused. Calm. Rifle steady. She remembered how he stayed late, long after everyone else left.

“You said control was everything,” she whispered. “Control your breathing. Control your thoughts. Control your fear.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

What if…

What if she could go back?

Back before the island. Before the Masters. Before blood and kingdoms.

She closed the book with a slow sigh.

A knock interrupted the quiet.

Her expression hardened instantly.

“Enter.”

A soldier stepped in, helmet under his arm, eyes uneasy.

“What is it?” she asked, voice cold.

“Your Highness… we have a situation.”

Her eyebrow arched. “You’re wasting time.”

He swallowed. “Dakota… he’s been captured.”

Star stood immediately, the air in the room tightening.

“By who?”

He held out a tablet.

The video played.

Dakota tied to a metal chair. Bloody. Bruised. Barely conscious. Armed men stood behind him.

And the flag.

Black.

Red skull.

Cross behind it.

Star’s jaw clenched.

“The Last Cross…”

Her voice dropped dangerously low.

“Get my men ready. Full combat load. I want a helicopter spinning in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

He ran out.

The door slammed shut.

Star grabbed the glass from her desk and hurled it at the wall. It shattered violently.

She pulled out her phone and texted Meko.

They’re back.

His reply was immediate.

Who?

The Last Cross.

Three dots appeared.

I’m coming back now.

Star locked the screen. Sand began to swirl around her body, wrapping her like a storm. In seconds, the towel dissolved into dust and she stood in black tactical combat gear—vest secured, blades strapped, sidearms holstered.

Outside, soldiers armed themselves with urgency.

In the command tent, a digital map illuminated the island fortress—isolated, cursed.

Star entered.

Conversations stopped.

“Listen carefully,” she said.

The room stiffened.

Moments later, Star stood inside the command tent in full black tactical gear, soldiers gathered around the island projection.

“We’re going dark,” she began. “East side approach. Their outer defenses are thinner there—but it’s intentional. They want intruders to think it’s weak.”

A younger soldier near the back hesitated before speaking.

“Your Highness… how do you know their layout?”

The tent went quiet.

Star didn’t look offended.

“I’ve been there.”

Several soldiers exchanged glances.

“You’ve… been to the island?” another asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Recon mission,” she replied evenly. “Years ago. Jakari and I were sent to assess their fortifications and confirm rumors about the curse.”

One of the veterans frowned. “And?”

Her gaze sharpened.

“It didn’t go well.”

Silence thickened.

“Our powers vanished the moment we stepped on shore,” she continued. “No sand. No enhanced strength. Nothing. Just flesh and bone.”

A soldier swallowed. “You were there without abilities?”

“For six weeks.”

The room stiffened.

“They captured us within the first forty-eight hours. They don’t rush torture on that island. They study you. Break your patterns. Hang you from chains. Starve you. Make you question whether escape is even worth the effort.”

No one spoke.

“How did you get out?” someone finally asked.

Star paused.

“Luck,” she said quietly. “And Jakari.”

Her eyes darkened slightly at the memory.

“He watched. Counted guard rotations. Noted blind spots. Waited for one mistake. When it came… he didn’t hesitate.”

“You escaped together?”

“Yes.”

A soldier near the map shifted nervously. “Your Highness… if abilities vanish there… what’s our advantage?”

“Discipline,” she answered immediately. “Strategy. We don’t rely on gifts. We rely on training.”

She stepped closer to the projection.

“Dakota will be held in the West Wing. Heavy security. Ritual chambers below ground level. If we’re caught, you don’t panic. You don’t freeze. You remember your drills.”

Another soldier spoke up. “If it was that bad… why go back?”

Her voice softened—but only slightly.

“Because Dakota helped me locate Jakari. He stood by us when others didn’t. I don’t abandon my people.”

The men straightened.

“And understand this,” she added, eyes sweeping across them. “That island is not just cursed—it’s calculated. Every hallway has kill angles. Every door has fallback traps. But I’ve walked those halls.”

She tapped the east corridor.

“This is where they underestimated us last time. That won’t happen again.”

Meko stepped into the tent quietly.

“You’re really going back,” he said.

“Yes.”

He looked at the soldiers, then back at her. “You told them?”

“They deserve to know.”

Meko exhaled. “Star… that island nearly killed you.”

She met his gaze steadily.

“It didn’t.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “When you came back… you weren’t the same.”

She didn’t deny it.

One of the soldiers hesitated. “Your Highness… if things go wrong?”

Star’s expression went ice-cold.

“Then we adapt.”

“And if we’re captured?”

Her voice dropped.

“Then you survive long enough for me to break you out.”

The tension shifted—fear replaced by resolve.

“You leave in two hours,” she said firmly. “Eat. Hydrate. Check your gear twice.”

They saluted and filed out.

Meko remained.

His face tightened. “The island? The one you and Jakari barely escaped?”

“Yes.”

“Star, that place strips you of your power. You step on that soil—you’re human.”

“I know.”

“Then why risk it?”

“Because Dakota risked himself for me.”

Meko ran a hand over his face. “That island broke you.”

Star’s gaze hardened. “No. It revealed me.”

He stepped closer. “When you came back… Jakari carried you through those gates. You were unconscious. He looked dead on his feet.”

Her voice softened slightly. “He kept his promise.”

“And what if he doesn’t this time?”

She looked up at him. “Then I survive anyway.”

Meko grabbed her hand. “Let me go after him.”

“No.”

“I can catch him.”

“Jakari is not some street-level target.”

Meko’s jaw clenched. “He got you killed once.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know what I saw.”

Star stepped closer, calm but intense.

“I’ve seen what he can do. Posida challenged him—she’s ash. Mara tried to outplay him—she died begging.”

Meko swallowed.

“They call him Satan’s godson for a reason.”

“He’s still human.”

“And yet he survived what killed others stronger than us.”

Silence.

Meko exhaled slowly. “If your men fail… I go.”

Star studied him.

“And if you go,” she said quietly, “I won’t come save you.”

He didn’t look away. “You won’t have to.”

A small smile crossed her lips.

“When I bring him to you,” he said softly, “we get married.”

She stepped into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

She pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against his.

“Don’t promise me outcomes.”

He smirked faintly. “Then I’ll promise effort.”

She gave a small nod.

“Show me.”

The rotors of the Black Hawk thundered over the castle grounds as Star approached with her team at her back. She gave a single nod. Rifles were lifted, packs adjusted. One of the soldiers tossed her a suppressed .300 Blackout rifle fitted with a green laser. She caught it smoothly and slung it over her shoulder before climbing into the helicopter.

She sat at the open edge as they lifted into the night sky, boots resting on the metal lip, wind tearing at her dark hair. Below, the land faded into black. She stared down, silent.

Then she felt it.

She looked left.

Jakari stood inside the aircraft, one hand gripping the rail, eyes locked on hers.

She blinked.

He was gone.

Star exhaled slowly and looked back toward the horizon.

Hours later, they descended onto a carrier stationed off the coast of Florida. The helicopter powered down as she and her four-man team stepped onto the deck. The new commander—who had assumed control after Dakota’s kidnapping—waited for them.

“How do you plan on getting onto the island?” he asked.

Star shouldered her rifle with one hand. “Easy. We approach by small boat. At five hundred meters, we swim. No engines close to shore. No signatures.”

“Dakota is alive… right?”

She met his eyes. “Let’s hope so.”

She signaled her team. They moved toward a black assault boat resting beside the carrier. “Emergency extraction on standby,” she called back.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The black assault boat cut cleanly across the water, engine low and controlled, moonlight silvering the waves. The carrier faded behind them until it was nothing but a shadow swallowed by the horizon.

It felt wrong.

Too far.

Too long.

Star sat at the bow, rifle resting across her knees, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.

“We’ve been riding for a while,” Douge muttered, checking his watch. “Distance doesn’t add up.”

“It’s the current,” the driver said. “Or tide shift.”

Star didn’t answer.

The ocean felt stretched. The air heavier. Even the sound of the engine seemed distant, like it was echoing through something thicker than air.

“It’s not the current,” she said quietly.

Mike glanced at her. “Then what?”

She kept her eyes forward. “The island doesn’t let you arrive easily. The closer you get, the more it plays with perception. Time stretches. Distance bends.”

Recker scoffed lightly. “With respect, ma’am… islands don’t think.”

“This one does.”

Silence settled.

“How?” Douge asked. “You said you’ve been here before. What happened?”

Star exhaled slowly. “Recon mission. Jakari and I. We thought we were ghosts—best of the best. In and out.”

She looked down at the water.

“The boat ride felt like this. Endless. We had coordinates locked. Fuel calculated perfectly. But the numbers kept shifting. Compass drifted. GPS flickered. We were moving… but not getting closer.”

“What caused it?” Mike pressed.

“Nothing we could measure,” she replied. “Electronics didn’t fail. They just… lied.”

The men exchanged uneasy looks.

“And once you landed?”