The Great Dragon

by slcherry

Summary:

Years have passed since the rebirth of Domino. Bloom, now celebrated for her greatest feats and conquests, stands tall as a respected instructor at Alfea and a fierce warrior of her homeland.
Between her demanding lessons and training soon-to-be elite warriors in all the Magic Dimension, Bloom begins to sense unrest. Her people grow disillusioned with the rule of the Queen and King of Sparx, and someone in the shadows is using public opinion to their advantage.
The whispers in the dark call to her. Shadows are watching and whispering in her ear. She knows better than to listen – but she also knows they speak the truth: a revolution is brewing. To restore balance, the Great Dragon and the ancient gods must awaken once more.
What Bloom doesn’t realize is that her quest to reclaim Domino’s former glory will unlock a long-buried truth, sealed by seven keys. And within that truth lies the cure… hidden in the heart of the one who carries it.

Notes:

A few things before reading:

Rókums and pesas are Domino's oficial coins. Rókums are cents and pesas are dollars/euros.

I know that in some dubbed versions Sparx is used instead of Domino. In this fic they coexist: Sparx is the ancient name of Domino, and it has a proper meaning.

This fic has a playlist, but was mainly based on the composition "Revolution" by the amazing Eternal Eclipse. Go check it out! They absolutely deserve it!

Chapter 1: Curiosity

When arrows of fire pierced the flesh of her belly and chest, she wondered how she had ended up there.

Ah, yes. It was that old saying: curiosity killed the cat.

One day, she was bored when she received an offer to teach military strategy. First, at Alfea, then at the Red Fountain, mixed-gender classes followed, and later, the witches from Cloud Tower joined them.

“To begin with, there are no titles here. I’m not anyone’s princess, the guardian fairy of who-knows-where, nor do I have the power of who-knows-what. That shit isn’t important here…” She walked back and forth, observing her students in four formation blocks, each with twenty students from different schools. “Second: as you may already know or have noticed, this class will be quite different from all the others you are used to. I'm here to show you what it’s like to face a scenario where war is no longer a distant threat, but a real possibility. These classes will be, for the most part, if not entirely, practical. Not practical in the sense that you will need a shower and a good night’s sleep at the end. Practical in the sense that, probably, some therapy will come in handy. Third: these classes are mandatory, except in the case of death. If you die, you are exempt from the next lessons. I don’t care if your mother, father, grandmother, uncle, cousin, brother, dog, cat, rabbit, parakeet, fish, or whatever the hell animal you keep as a companion died. There are no days of mourning in war, and there won’t be any here either.” She stood in the center, hands behind her back, facing the kids in front of her. “Did I make myself clear?”

“Aren’t you going to ask our names?” a future specialist asked loudly and firmly from the back of the block.

“Do you think I care about your fucking names?”

If there were other questions, she did not hear them.

Teaching started as a challenge that turned into a pleasure. She had taught before, together with the other Winx, but nothing compared to the proposal that was made to her and the dynamics she implemented. Everyone imagined she would be as she always was – sweet, understanding, patient…

“My idea was to apply what I know about the Royal Training of Domino. Of course, with certain modifications, but the same rigor and demands would be there,” she explained, throwing a folder onto the wooden desk.

“I’ve heard about your training, yes…” Her new boss reached for the set of documents and leafed through them, quickly analyzing what she had in her hands. She couldn’t help but turn up her nose at the proposal. “I don’t know how well it fits into our teaching method…”

“Don’t worry, Headmistress Faragonda. It won’t be anything out of the ordinary. Here are the lesson plans and my intentions for them. I ask you to trust me. Please.”

It took Faragonda a few minutes to look up and smile in acceptance.

She only didn't become known as Griselda 2.0, because she was worse.

“I swear on everything that if you don’t fix your damn defenses, fairy, I’ll kill you myself!” she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the pavilion like thunder.

“I swear I’m trying!” the Alfea student whined from the air, countering a spell from her fellow witch.

“I don’t want you to try, I want you to do it!”

The purpose of the discipline was to ensure that new generations of students would not face the same difficulties that she and her friends had faced. As much as they had taken combat training lessons (especially the Specialists, since all their training had only one focus: defending physically their kingdoms), none of the schools seemed to be sufficiently prepared for an imminent war scenario, much less for a declared one.

She had to learn the hard way, banging her horns against the wall too many times. None of the schools taught her what it was like to constantly fight some fucking lunatic and the determination it took to survive what she and the others had to deal with without shooting themselves in the head before winning (or after, by the way – not that the will to do it was lacking).

“Abigail, are you okay?” Bloom could hear a girl whisper to her classmate as the students formed a block formation again.

“What’s wrong with your colleague?” she had to interrupt, as she didn’t like side conversations while giving them a lecture.

Now she could understand Professor Palladium.

The girl shivered at the warning.

“She… She’s crying…” she explained, concern clear on her face and fear clear in her voice.

“That’s her problem, not yours,” she immediately cut the student off. “If she has a problem, let her solve it. Or will you stop in the middle of a battle to pat her on the back whenever she doesn’t feel good enough? If she has a problem, let her swallow it, because it won’t be the last time she fails.”

“I think what my colleague is trying to point out,” an aspiring witch interjected, “is that we think Bloom is too… insensitive.”

“I don’t remember asking for your input on the conversation, did I?”

She got nothing but silence.

“My sentence ended with a question mark, witch.”

“No,” she finally replied. “You didn’t ask for my input.”

“I need you to understand one thing: I am not here to be your friend. I am your worst enemy. And do you know why? Because out there, there will not be a single being who will feel sorry for you. Do you think they will want to know if your little friend is crying?”

She had to roll her eyes when no one answered her.

They simply didn't learn.

So, she had to scream for the thousandth time: “Question mark, damn it!”

“No, Bloom,” the class replied in unison, but half-heartedly.

“Scream, damn it!”

“No, Bloom!”

She couldn't help but smile. She loved seeing them mad at her. Yet, she hated being mad at them. If she was bad on a good day, on a bad day, she was terrible.

However, certain things must be said.

“I don’t fail. Never. If I promised to give you this class and prepare you for the possibility of a catastrophe, that’s what I’m going to do. You’ll leave here ready to face the world outside, because I brought it inside. And I treat you like dogs for that very reason. You have no idea what I’ve heard, what we’ve all had to hear. In battle, there’s no time to process. Either you swallow every name, threat, insult, and lie thrown at you, or you’re dead long before you start fighting. And listen to me: you don’t want to die inside before you strike the final blow.”

She wandered through the aisles of students, not only to keep them focused, but to check that they remained within arm's length of each other.

She struggled to hide her pride when she realized that, unlike the first lessons, the students from the three schools mingled. Opponents due to their individualities, but united by their similarities.

“You’re all afraid to speak to me outside. That is, except during the obligatory greetings. Maybe if you stopped being fearful and came to tell me what you think to my face, you’d realize that I don’t wish you any harm. Outside, of course. You already know that here, at this hour, in my classroom, I never hit you to scare you if you fight me. Either you beat me, or you run the serious risk of not returning home. One should ask me if I care about you in here…”

“Does Bloom care about us in here?” a shout from the opposite side of the block from where she was standing was heard, interrupting her speech. It was the shout of a specialist.

Damn them. They had made her smile for the second time in one day.

“Thank you, warrior!” she yelled back, trying not to sound too happy. “To answer your question: no, I don’t. Out there, you can count on me to fight by your side. Here, I’ll be your opponent. But I assure you, if I tell you to fuck off more than I should, it’s because, first, you deserve it, and second, it’s for you to get used to it. You won’t always get what you want, life won’t always go your way, and I promise you that in a combat situation, your enemy won’t be the one telling you what you want to hear. He’ll only do it to entice you.”

She stopped next to the crybaby, clearly intending to make herself heard.

“So, if you don’t like me, you have every right to call your parents here, and I will be happy to send them to hell. You will leave here resilient, because I never fail. The sea where you are now rowing, I have already crossed it back and forward.”

The girl lifted her head and held it steady, allowing the tears to roll down her cheeks. Bloom couldn't let that go.

“Dry those fucking tears. They show what torments you. And know that from now on, the next time you fail, it’s exactly on them that I’ll hold on to so I can bring you down again.”

About to return to her post in front of the entire block formation, a trembling voice rocked the pavilion.

“You won’t do it.”

That made her stop in her tracks and stare at the student.

“What did you say, fairy? Because if you don’t have enough confidence to shout it at me, you might as well shove those insignificant words into the same little hole where your brain is.”

The poor thing hesitated. They all became restless – some fidgeted, others scratched themselves, some lowered their heads momentarily to hide their amusement, shame, humiliation, or surprise.

Bloom didn't have the best eyesight, she admitted, but she had noticed the straight line her student's lips had become. Bloom had noticed especially the determination in the fairy's face and movements as, with all her strength, she leaned back slightly and bellowed:

“You won’t put me down!” The girl’s torso thrust forward before arching back again. “Never!”

Bloom only didn't smile a third time because she was too stunned to even have time to feel proud.

It was a success, so to speak – as everything seemed to be with her, according to what was said here and there.

“At first, I was scared when you told me about your… educational tactics. However, I must tell you that I am delightfully surprised. My girls are much stronger, more capable, and more confident. They admit that you were tough, without mercy or pity, but what you taught them paid off.”

Griffin and Bloom walked side by side, both with a glass of punch in their hands, wandering among the students who were dancing happily and lightly tipsy, at the end-of-year party, in Alfea square.

“Thank you so much, Director Griffin, for trusting my work.”

“The credit is all yours, Bloom. Next year will come, and you can count on my students.”

Bloom nodded and saw out of the corner of her eye one of the Alfea fairies approaching.

“Good evening, Bloom,” the student greeted as she approached both teachers. Her nervousness was palpable, as was her vanilla scent.

With a slight nod, Griffin said goodbye and walked away.

“You don’t need to greet me,” Bloom said, looking at her with a gentle smile. “The school year is over. The rules of my classes no longer apply.”

“Sorry, it’s the force of habit,” the girl scratched her arm.

“What do you want from me, Abigail? Shouldn’t you be with your colleagues getting drunk?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“Do you know my name?” The surprise on her face made Bloom smile again.

After all, she had always known. She just didn't know which body the name belonged to.

“I remember one of your classmates calling you in class. It just stuck with me.” She looked around the playground for that classmate. She found her laughing with the person she remembered as the witch who had answered her that time, trying to defend her colleagues. Oh, how bad she had been that day. “Don’t you want to answer my first question mark?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” her hand dropped to her side, “for everything.”

“That’s what I get paid for, honey.”

“I know, but…” Bloom noticed the way the girl nervously laced her fingers together. “When they said you were relentless, I didn’t believe them, because my older sister, Amaryl, said she was in your class every year you were a student here, and that Bloom was… well…”

“Clumsy, smiling, silly, good friend, cocky?” she tried to guess.

“I’m not saying you were! However, I thought what they said about your classes was exaggerated. They were almost right, except it was worse.”

Bloom laughed – really laughed. Noticing that the laugh wasn’t sarcastic as it usually was, Abigail disobeyed one of the rules imposed in the very first class and laughed too (nervously).

“I spoke to your sister before our classes, and she told me that you would be my student. She said that, like you, she had heard things about me, and she asked me to take special care of you, because you were very shy, timid, and, in her words, different from the others. Of course, I didn’t know or try to find out exactly who you were, and I promptly denied the request. You know how I work here. Besides, I’m honestly happy that the idea of me is still the same.”

“I have to thank you for doing that. If you had treated me differently,” Abigail lowered her head, “like everyone else did, I would never have evolved so much in such a short time.” With her head still down, Bloom briefly touched her chin, signaling Abigail of her mistake. The fairy immediately lifted her head. “Others don’t scare me now. Thanks to you. You changed my perspective on, well… the world.”

“I am no goddess, Abigail, and your disability is no limitation. In fact, I must say that I see a new promise of Alfea and Magix in you.”

“Ah…” The fairy blinked severely. “Really?”

“Why not? You are more capable than most of your peers, resilient and stronger. The fact that you are blind does not hold you back. On the contrary, I find it incredible how all your skills and abilities have changed and adapted to replace your vision and have done so in an exemplary way. Speaking of which, Musa loved you. Your ability to assess space and circumstances through sound impressed us both. You are on a great path, little fairy, and I hope to hear a lot about you in the future.”

Little fairy? Where did that come from?

She didn't have time to dwell on memories. She felt her ribs crush and a sharp, piercing pain shoot through the flesh of her back, almost making her hiss in distress. Abigail was hugging her. Her first instinct was to push the girl away and exterminate her completely, but she restrained herself.

After all, she had spent a year trying to teach them self-control. She wasn't going to set a bad example now.

Then, politely, she released herself from Abigail's embrace, who seemed, fortunately, not to notice the embarrassment. The aspiring fairy smiled and, before she could say anything else, was dragged by her friends back into the party.

Bloom gave internal thanks for the deliverance.

Here's the thing about success: like fire, it consumes and doesn't give back. Having it once is the first step to wanting more.

It wasn't an addiction; it was a luxury she didn't want to give up – she only had one addiction: adrenaline.

So, giving risky classes that almost crossed the line of what was ethically and morally correct was not enough for her. She fell in love with Domino’s nightlife. And Professor Wizgiz's metamorphosis classes were worth it – she slipped away too many times.

First, there were nighttime walks, when there were no classes to plan or meetings to attend. Then, she noticed how people talked to each other, how, even though they didn't know each other, they knew each other, as if they were all friends (something she hadn't seen before, not in any other kingdoms, not even in Gardenia). Suddenly, she found herself immersed in the markets, in the stalls that only opened after 11 pm, through narrow alleys, but lit by street lamps of all colors.

“I have herbs of many qualities, miss: medicinal, aromatic, aphrodisiac…”

“I’ve been having very irregular sleep and dreaming a lot. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed.” Bloom admired the number of bottles and jars of powders and plants, roughly legal, displayed in front of her.

“I think I have something that might help you relax.” The man bent down and picked up a jar of purple-looking leaves with a green and white interior from a box on the floor. He unscrewed the cap and held it to her nose. “Smell it!”

The truth is that it was a mixture of sensations: it smelled like tropical humidity, earthy dust, and desert sun. Certainly, something she could only smell in the magical dimension.

“What leaves are these?” she had to ask, in pure delight. “Where did you get them?”

“They’re plitomugas.” The vendor pulled out a toothpick, stirred them, and encouraged her to lean closer so she could see the leaves in detail. “They’re quite rare. You can only find them inside the Forest of Ashes.”

“Forest of Ashes…” Bloom straightened, putting a hand on the pendant on her chest. Her eyebrows furrowed unconsciously, betraying her intrigue. “That’s the forest of…”

“…of the gods, exactly,” the gentleman confirmed.

“I thought getting inside was completely impossible.”

She wasn't the kind of person who analyzed others for signs that would tell her the thoughts and fears of the person in front of her, but his nervousness left no room for doubt.

“It’s just… well, there were people who could. Not me, well, of course, I would never be able to get in, but…” flustered, he shook his head and hand, as if begging Bloom to forget about it. “I saved them, they have many uses, it depends on how you use them. I only have this one bottle left.”

As a matter of good faith, she forgot.

“Then tell me what I can do with them.”

The salesman then went on to explain in detail. The recommendation would be to burn the herbs to relieve stress and calm sleep fluctuations. You could either smoke the herbs or simply burn them on a saucer on the bedside table and breathe them while sleeping. Obviously, the first act would be the most effective.

If wanting to use them as an aphrodisiac, it was advisable to mix them with food and wait two hours for the effect to take place, which would last another five.

Another effect that the herbs could provide would be the enhancement of focus and attention, as well as the reduction of forgetfulness (which would have been great for the times when she studied at Alfea). The only drawback was that they had to be snorted as if it were a line of cocaine, and she had to expect not to have any side effects in the next seven hours, such as a possible seizure. (“It all depends on the amount you snort, mind you,” the salesman added at the time.)

Finally, it was possible to transform the herbs into a cream that, when applied to the soles of the feet, neck, and chest, could alleviate the burden of negative energies. In the case of wounds, it would certainly help with healing. There were even reports that, if they were lucky enough to come with the blessing of the goddess Dahlia, the herbs would heal what had no cure. (A miracle, for the most unaware, and nonsense, for the atheists.)

She didn't believe in gods, but it was worth trying.

“How much is it?”

“Thirty rókums, two pesas.”

A curse sounded from her lips because she had gone flat in a single purchase.

That shit better be miraculous, otherwise there would be no gods who could protect the old man.

“May all the wounds of which your loved ones are unaware be healed,” the merchant wished, with a smile from ear to ear.

She thanked him with a polite smile and continued walking. She put the jar of plants in her bag next to her dagger. By accident, she touched it and felt the river of power throb down her arm.

The feeling of misery took over her mind. There were no herbs that could free her from it.

But a female voice did it.

With instinct running through her spine, she turned her attention away from herself and looked for the source of that voice. She saw a woman sitting at a small table under a shed lit by a colored lamp (they were the fireflies that changed color with each blink).

Unlike the rest of the people in that secluded alley, the lady was dressed in various colors, like her fireflies. The veil covering her head was long, with a pattern of beige embroidered flowers, contrasting with the bright red background and the orange fringes of the fabric. The cache-couer à nouer that accentuated her cleavage was made of a remarkably fine burnt yellow fabric, adorned with a ruby ​​at the bottom of the neckline. From what could be seen, her high-waisted pants were equally light, red, and flowery. She wore a nose ring connected to the earring in her left ear, united with a hoop that hung from the center of her lower lip. Her chest was bare, emphasizing the multiple golden bracelets that adorned her wrists and the rings with mixed-colored stones that adorned her fingers.

Bloom couldn't explain it, but something was mesmerizing about her. So, she had to give her attention.

Bloom also couldn't explain why she had a feeling that the lady already knew she wouldn't ignore her.

“Do you need something?” the woman asked, her voice melodic but firm.

Did she?

"I don't think so."

“Only those who need something can hear me. You certainly do, since you are making a failed attempt to cure something that is only in your head.”

Ah-ha! There it was.

Bloom felt herself stiffen as she pointed a finger in the woman's direction.

“How do you know…?”

“Sit down.”

She did so without hesitation, which, in retrospect, was a bit embarrassing, as it only confirmed that she was indeed a bit curious (and desperate) about the whole thing.

And God, she had to take a deep breath as she took a closer look at the woman in front of her. She was stunningly beautiful with her long brown dreadlocks and eyes as green as the jungle. The other was completely pale and frighteningly lifeless from the huge scar that she assumed must have blinded him.

Oddly enough, that was exactly what most attracted Bloom.

“I come from Isis, Bloom.”

Oh, Isis, right. In addition to all the power of diamonds, crystals, and magical stones, Isis had a great tradition with the powers of mediumship and the mind. The combination, as one can imagine, resulted in a large production of crystal balls, especially for the use of black magic. Acquiring one was the most complicated task, since selling to the public had been completely prohibited, due to their possible negative uses.

It was like cheating in life – after all, with a crystal ball you could find out…

Wait.

Did she call her…?!

“Breathe, Bloom. I won’t hurt you.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Would I really be me if I didn’t know who you are? I know who everyone is, and everyone knows who I am. Not everyone wants to know what I know. What do you want to know?”

Okay… she might be slightly scared.

“I want to know how you know who I am.”

“It’s magic. You always wanted to know what magic was when you were little, Bloom. Now you know it.”

Bloom also knew that people with psychic powers were usually cast aside, if not captured. There were a few kingdoms where the use of these powers was allowed. Most of the psychic population of Isis ceased to exist when they emigrated to other planets. Almost like a genocide. Only this one was not quick and visible to the naked eye, like Domino. No, this one was silent and, worst of all, ignored.

No one chooses their destiny when they are born. People with a gift certainly didn't choose to have it. She had heard that certain Isis natives developed both abilities as they grew older.

Bloom wondered if Diaspro’s tiara, which she always wore, adorned with reddish sequins, was a magic suppressor.

“Does Isis’ royalty still bother you?”

The question caught her off guard.

“No. We became friends, we imposed a truce.”

“This conversation is making you nervous,” the medium stated, as if it were an absolute truth. “You’d better ask now, before you lose your courage. You know you will lose it, and so do I.”

Giving in hurts. However, with that woman in front of her, she did it, strangely, willingly.

“Will I ever get them back?”

The answer came short and harsh.

“Never, Bloom.”

A warm hand casually grabbed hers. The glint of the rings terrifyingly caught her gaze. As much as she wanted to look away and focus on something else, she couldn't. Everything she could see was limited to those sparkling rings and their two hands. How white her skin was compared to the medium's. How the lines of her long fingers seemed to continue to the back of her cold hand, how they seemed to be one, how she couldn't feel it, how she couldn't move it, how she wanted to kiss it, how she...

A flash of light shot into her eyes, and the spiral effect faded.

The woman had withdrawn her hand.

What the hell just happened?

“I understand you much better now,” the medium admitted. Was this a confirmation that she had just been read? “I can tell you things that will interest you. Do you want to hear them?”

Bloom was still in a trance-like state.

Forget it, she was in shock. How had that woman made her lose control of her mind? How had she made her obsess so drastically in a matter of seconds? Had she just driven her out of her mind? Putting her in an endless spiral of thoughts about herself? Was it her, her abilities, or those rings? All their stones and colors?

That… that…

That was real power. Power so strong she swore she would be sucked in. She would be sucked in if that woman had the intention to do so.

Arcadia, she needed them back. She needed to feel complete like this. Why wouldn't she have them back? How could she go on without them? Where would that equate to true power?

“What are you afraid of?” The firm voice of the woman in front of her woke her. “You have a dragon, you don’t need to have them. What you need is already on its way. To cross paths with it, you must follow your night walk.”

What the hell did that even mean?! She didn't have a dragon! God, she had absolutely nothing! No matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she tried to replace her misery, she remained as incomplete as possible.

That woman had to explain herself! She knew – damn it, she said she knew everything! – what she needed to do to get them back.

“But I…!”

And suddenly, everything changed. In a split second, with a single blink, the person in front of her was no longer a psychic woman but a man with gray hair (who made her heart throb due to his painful resemblance to Mike) staring at her from behind a table full of jewelry and trinkets. She was standing, she noticed the next moment, staring back at him.

When had she gotten up exactly?

“Do you want something?” The deep voice, highly contrary to the one that had called her to talk, pulled her out of her perplexity.

Even the fireflies weren't there anymore.

She had to take a deep breath and regain her posture.

“I don’t think so, sir.”

He nodded and she, without much to do, continued through the sales, still a little dazed by the sudden change in atmosphere.

That was certainly something curious.

She wandered for another fifteen minutes and was amazed at the quantity and diversity of merchandise sold there. Magic crystals, lost artifacts, plants, and even animals (most of them divided into parts), hunting traps and weapons, blood... It was like a black market, right under the nose of the Crown.

She was admiring a bench of daggers and knives, pocketknives and other equally lethal objects, when sounds of excitement drew her to a different location.

And then, she found her guilty pleasure: nightclubs.

Not just any ones, of course: the dance halls.

Domino has a strong tradition and a rich cultural heritage, according to her extensive research in the library. Before she even understood what it was and what it entailed, she studied Domino from beginning to end… And became obsessed. It all made so much sense, so magnificently complex that she simply wanted to be part of it, she wanted to participate, she wanted to make that culture hers – entirely and internally hers. (In other words, she wanted to be from Domino. She wanted to be Domino.)

She had always liked belly dancing. In fact, she had taken classes, greatly motivated by Shakira and her music videos that were shown on MTV. She only dropped out due to her average to low academic performance – looking at it from today's perspective, grades mattered little in the long run. In Domino, there were a few differences between the belly dance known worldwide on Earth and that danced by the people of fire and ash. The movements could be more sensual and more indiscreet, but the essence was there. This essence was something that most of the women in Domino had within them, especially those who were related to fire powers.

Lucky for her, she was from the royal family of Domino and held the power of the Dragon Flame within herself – she was the pinnacle of its essence.

That's why, when she entered one of those dance halls called Mirage, she couldn't leave so soon. The way the dancers danced, their loose and colorful clothes, some hidden by the facial veil, others showing the best of their smiles...

They drank, laughed, talked happily to those who passed, and went to the tables several times to socialize. What impressed her most was the normalized exchange of roles: some men danced, some women watched.

She… My God, how had she never come across that place before?!

“How does one get to this place?” she asked a dancer, who had stopped to rest and drink a glass of water. If she wasn’t completely electric, she looked like she was.

“Do you want to dance?” The question was asked with total euphoria.

“No, I’m just curious.”

“I see, I see.” From the look on Bloom’s face, she had the impression that the young woman had misunderstood (or overunderstood). “See that paper? It’s like a sign-up list. You leave your name, your age, and a way to contact you. New girls come in every night to try out, and only the ones who like the atmosphere stay. If you don’t like it here, I’ll be surprised, but there are more houses around Westosburg and Rainstrogk. You can only dance if you’re 21 or older, by the way. Because, like, you know, in case you get paid for more exclusive favors and stuff.”

“Thank you, but I have no intention of dancing. Or getting paid for… well, anything.”

“Well, you know best! If you walk a little more, you’ll find stalls full of clothes. Most of them, as you might expect, are more sensual. You can also look in other shops during the day if you prefer something more restrained. As you can see, anything goes here.”

‘Everything’ was an understatement. If they were on Earth, some of them could be convicted of indecent exposure. One more thing about Domino and its peculiarities: the female and male body was only seen as a body that could be sexualized only when its owner so decided. Bodies, all of them, were normal (and sensual), especially at parties and spaces of that kind.

Obviously, each context called for certain restraint.

“As I said, it is not my interest at all, but thank you for the clarification.”

“I won’t bother you anymore, then! Have fun, but not too much.”

Passing the glass of water to Bloom and saying goodbye with a wink, she went into the rest of the crowd. The girl with blue hair and skin as white as chalk, however, did not leave Bloom's sight any time soon, who watched her move around and shake the loose, long sleeves of her yellow top. She twirled around without stopping and then messed with some young men that Bloom recognized as her inferiors from the Royal Training. 

They laughed and applauded, giving rhythm to the dance of the young woman who had just spoken to them. She stopped to say something and the three of them laughed even more, before another girl appeared, dressed in orange, and sat on the lap of one of them, who immediately planted a kiss on her lips.

Her people were happy, she noticed. She could almost feel it in her heart. And so, she smiled.

At the first rays of sunlight, Bloom was back in her room, untying the knot that held the hood of the red cloak over her head. She admired it, stretched out over the back of the dressing table chair. It smelled of nightlife: of people, tobacco, spices, the open air.

She just had to come back the next night – a matter of life or death, at that point – and dance.

She didn't care much about knowing that the place, seen by those who didn't understand the culture, could be considered a house of pleasures (and, for the record, Domino didn't care about those same houses either – Domino was the pleasures’ house). She didn't care who was watching her, who desired her, or who talked to her during the night. There she could – and did – whatever she wanted. She wasn't the “girl from Earth”, the “american whore”, the princess of a lost kingdom, the teacher, a success. There, she was nobody: she was whoever she wanted to be.

The process of joining was simple. She simply wrote her name and age on a list and was given the blessing to join the group of dancers. She was shown around the establishment, which only seemed small at first glance, due to the second floor being full of rooms for more private events. It turned out that Pamela was an outgoing young woman who had been earning her living in the same dance hall after being thrown out of her foster home in Eraklyon.

“When I heard that Domino had come back to life, I thought, ‘Well, why not?’ and I got out of there. Besides, I was born here after all. Of course, I was afraid that, after so many years living on another planet, I would not fit in. It turns out that Domino fits my lifestyle even more. So, what about you? What made you come back to the Mirage?”

“I’m looking for new hobbies, I guess…”

“Believe me, this is where many stories begin. Yours will be just the beginning of something that will change your life forever. This is our room, where we usually put on makeup, get dressed, and take a break. We share it with the boys, hence the screens separating the two sides. It’s usually a mess at this time of night. If you come during the day, you’ll see it’s much more organized and calmer.”

She put on her robes, applied light makeup like the other girls, laughed, adjusted her face veil, and tucked a dagger into the inside of her thigh, just in case.

Her hair had transformed into the darkness of space, and her eyes into the fertile earth of the farmland around the provinces. With the new name came a new personality, much more sociable and cheerful, which won over not only the owner of the establishment but also the customers, who made her a resident.

“I’ve never seen your face around here. Are you new?”

Angus had been the first person to notice her that first night. He was a sailor, almost ten years older than her, who had recently returned to the province after an accident at work (at least, that was what he told her).

“I recently signed up…” Before she knew it, Bloom was already sharing a table with the man. 

“The province has changed a lot since I was last here. It’s been years,” the man rested his arm on the table. “I’ve never seen so much young blood since the Princess freed us from that place. I wonder if the younger people are immigrating here, or if I’m just getting older faster. Obsidian, my dear, has had quite an effect on us…” The man looked down at his hand, his eyelids fluttering. “All those damned years stuck, frozen in time, and yet watching it pass before our eyes, but not feeling the effects of age…”

“I can’t imagine the terror you must have felt…”

“You weren’t there?” The man looked at her, visibly interested.

“No. At the beginning of the war with the Ancestresses, my mother realized that it wouldn’t end there and sent me to a distant family home, on another planet. She stayed, however, because she worked in the palace and felt the Calling…”

“Ah, well, that damned Calling… It sent us all to that fucking mental prison. Let them rot there with their son, and bless be the Princess who freed us. And the eldest, if she hadn’t had the necessary coolness and discernment at the right moment, would have condemned us to eternal doom! Blessed be the Ninth Nymph of Magix…”

The air in her lungs was completely sucked out by the memory of her sister, who never visited again in dreams or hallucinations after everything was fine.

She had tried to visit Rocca Lucce several times, now that she had the excuse of her classes in Magix. The cave was empty.

Daphne was gone for good.

“She was a great woman.” Her voice came out in a whisper that she couldn’t help but say. If she could materialize those words any further, she was afraid she would have to cry about them too.

She thanked the universe that the man had not noticed.

“They were and are our luck. May the gods, especially Eddia and Iarus, without forgetting the Great Dragon, have mercy on the youngest and reward her, since I cannot do it.”

Deep down, Angus didn't want much more than company and conversation, and Bloom gave it to him. They became something like late-night friends.

Angus's stories weren't the only things she had heard inside that house. There, she had gained a new insight into how her people viewed the royal family. As silly as it was, she was surprised to hear private conversations that shouldn't have mattered so much to a dancer.

The Crown and the people of Domino were going through difficult times. The truth is that freeing Domino from the curse of the Ancestresses and Obsidian was not just a sea of roses – it was during three days (plus another two that took time to cure the hangover of the general population. She never thought that the first impressions she would have of her biological parents would be created by getting drunk with them at a party that lasted for days on end). The planet was free of snow and storms that had haunted it for eighteen years, but their reprisals remained. Crop fields ruined by the intense snowing, houses in ruins from the flames, catacombs and underground tunnels damaged, roads completely destroyed or cut off, fauna and flora almost devastated.

Bodies. Their rottenness was preserved by the ice. The faces of other people's loved ones, petrified in their most varied expressions of horror, fear, fright, disgust, and distrust.

Anguish. Helplessness. Because they had all felt the Calling and had come running towards the slaughter to protect the one thing that had not even been present to witness Domino's fall: the Dragon Flame – her, Bloom, princess and daughter of Sparx.

Those days were spent more on forgetting than celebrating anything.

She and her parents helped rebuild the houses in the province, planted the first fruits and wheat seeds, burned bodies, and visited the Far Lands (crossing the Silent Abyss sea, which had become even more unstable after the war). They made promises, burned more bodies, prayed over them… The cycle became vicious. Three parts of the royalty were alive, the people returned, but Sparx, the true Domino, was dead.

Sacrifices had to be made on both sides. The people just didn't expect that most of the effort would come from them.

“Mandatory military service?! I’m telling you these people are crazy as hell! How are they supposed to send my daughter to that torture they call Training, or whatever they call it!”

“Have you seen the taxes?! One day it will all go to them, all to the Crown! And what do they do with it? They go around, from kingdom to kingdom, at parties and balls, while the poor, oh!” he raised his middle finger “sucks here, do you understand? Cultivating their lands to feed all those nobles!”

There was a lot of talk, bad talk, about the royal family. The rumors and murmurs grew loud enough that some people were no longer discreet.

“This is going to end, my friend. The elections for the Council are coming with great fanfare. Let’s get them going. If we run with the majority, that witch and that damned man won’t be able to do much without the approval of the people. Come here! I heard about a man…”

Bloom cursed herself seven times for being like this, but she couldn't resist.

“Excuse me! Forgive me…” With the most innocent look she could muster, she approached the table of the two men in question, who watched her intrigued. Her forehead was dripping with sweat from dancing. “Could you give me a glass of your wine? I’m very thirsty…”

She was well aware that she wasn't the best at seduction techniques, but she knew the basics that Stella had taught her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and clasped her hands together in front of her, crushing her chest to accentuate her cleavage.

“Sure, miss! Sit down!” The man on her right made room on the couch for her to sit next to him. The other man poured her a glass of wine, which she downed in one go.

She may or may not have left a trail of red wine running down her neck and below on purpose.

She was really thirsty and would need extra courage for that conversation. A conversation that forced her to create even more details for her character.

“I couldn’t help but overhear what you’re saying,” she said finally, putting her glass on the table. “My mother is a cook at the castle, and I am part of Queen Marion’s harem…”

“Seriously?! I’ve never been with a concubine before, I always thought they weren’t allowed to leave the castle, much less come to these places.”

“Oh, we can.” That part was true. “But we make terrible money, so most of us look for income in other places.”

“Do you earn badly? What do you do there?” the man in front of her asked with a frown.

“Not much. Since the Queen got married, the concubines have not been called in. The Queen has not held the celebrations for a long time, and the Princess does not seem interested in holding them either. They send us to do mundane tasks, but pay us poorly. They pay us thirty pesas a week, and give us food, water, and lodging.”

Now that was a lie. The Crown had decided to pay the harem extra for their contributions to the chores. In total, they were paid 150 pesas a week.

As for the celebrations… Bloom liked not to talk about them. (She still didn't quite know whose boxers she'd found on the bedroom floor the last time she'd...celebrated.)

“How horrible. If my daughter lived in those conditions, along with the imminent possibility of becoming a sex slave, I think I would go crazy.”

“Well, technically, no one is a slave, because everyone is of legal age and everyone is well aware of why they are there and what the decision to choose to be part of the harem entails. However, we are poorly paid...” Bloom played with the rings she was carrying, as if she were just making conversation. Then, she decided to inflame the wound: “Things need to change.”

“Those bastards...” the man next to her swore. She had to control herself not to flinch as he slammed his fist on the table, shaking the glasses and wine jug. “I’m telling you! A revolution is needed!” He straightened his body, leaning forward. Both Bloom and the other man approached. “And I know someone who can and will help us,” he muttered. “There’s a man who’s been gathering people. He wants to join the Domino Council but has other plans first. He needs to create a big smokescreen. He’s looking for capable men and women, and he promises a great future. I believe in him. They say he’s got change in his eyes!”

This alerted her.

Not enough for her to back down.

“But…” Bloom straightened her posture. “How is that possible? Who is he?” she asked, pretending to be more curious than interested.

“No one knows,” the man beside her shrugged, reaching for his wine glass to raise it to his lips. “Only those he invites join the group, and he only invites competent people. Some messengers deliver tasks, and if you are capable enough to carry them out, you may have the honor of meeting him in person. They call him the Phoenix Dragon.”

The name Phoenix made her shiver. The smell of damp invaded her nostrils, and a cold sensation ran down her back. She felt her voice escape, her wrists and ankles itching. Metallic claws caressed her cheek, making her want to scream as she heard a whisper promising her the world and...

She had to count to ten to refocus on the present.

“This seems a bit too elaborate to create a simple political party. Are you sure this is legal?” the man in front of them asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

“Yes, it sounds like a description of a gang,” Bloom added, making her real concerns clear.

“Is that so? So be it! I’m sick of those two! They’ve only gotten us into trouble! From buying a war to making us pay for their damages. We deserve better, and the best is with that man! My faith is with the Dragon.”

“Did someone say Dragon?” Pamela suddenly appeared.

“Ah! My dear Pamela!” the man beside Bloom opened his arms with the biggest smile. Pamela held out her arm, and the man took her hand, raising it to his lips. “You are the light in my darkness!”

“I have excellent news for you, Barklin,” she announced, “and Strong”. Her expression radiated happiness. “You’re looking at the newly enlisted offering!”

The expressions of everyone sitting at that table hardened.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s all we needed!” Strong, the man on the other side of the table, downed the remaining liquid in his glass in one go.

“Offerings?” Bloom stared at her, puzzled. “Are you going to offer yourself?”

“Of course! I want to honor our Great Dragon, may He return soon, so that everything can fall back into place and…!”

“Oh, you fool, can’t you see the Dragon is just a conspiracy for those two to keep relevant? Why don’t they offer themselves? Fool! Don’t get involved in that, Pamela!” The Barklin guy exclaimed with his arms raised, as if expecting a miracle to fall from the sky.

“He’s right.” He wasn’t, but that wasn’t what they wanted to hear, so Bloom half-lied again. “Since the Dragon’s collapse, no offerings have survived the ritual…”

“I have the power and the sheer will,” Pamela cut her off immediately, bored with the conversation. It was clear that Bloom wasn’t the first to tell her that. “Just pray that my name is worthy enough. I might have the chance to be the chosen one, to bring the gods back.”

“What a nonsense. The gods are gods because they don’t live on the same plane as us.” Strong had his point, Bloom had to admit. “Why should we want them back if they don’t even belong here with us?”

“You’re going to kill yourself, girl,” Barklin emphasized. “And that’s what they want, a distraction from all the kingdom’s problems. We’ll mourn your death so we don’t have to mourn our misery.”

“Ah! Shut your old chatter, dumbasses! I may even die, but this will bring us closer to meeting the real Dragon. The more we offer ourselves, the more ready he will be to return home.”

Bloom had to stand up before that horrific statement. She understood both sides and especially the dedication to her kingdom as the person who saved it, and she honored the young girl's sacrifice as her princess.

But those men were right about one thing: suicide was certain, and martyrs were still not well paid.

“Pamela, please think carefully about what you will do.”

“Kiera, I’ve known that I wanted to do this since I got here.” She smiled, and it was so genuine that Bloom almost wanted to cry instantly. “Sometimes we have this feeling that Fate is begging us to follow a certain path. This is mine. In a month and a half, I’ll walk through the water chambers and surrender myself to my destiny. Let it do whatever it wants with me, I’ll give myself over willingly.”

Pamela abandoned the three after that speech.

“Stupid girl,” Barklin sighed.

A morbid silence took hold of the three. Bloom was the first to break it.

“Barklin, may I address you as such?” she asked politely and received a positive response. “Tell me more about what you know about this Phoenix Dragon.”

She played every card in the deck with those two, and it worked: they took the bait and led her into the wolf's den.

Lying involves several aspects that people generally don’t stop to think about. It requires a great memory capacity. One must remember the truth, what he lied about, and what others know about both versions; mainly, who knows what. The rest is pure flexibility. Bloom had a lot of that when it came to belly dancing (and other more private activities). She hoped to have it in these little lies, too. After all, hiding her true persona, in her situation, wasn’t such a reprehensible act.

But there is a thing that, no matter how much she pretends to be someone else, doesn't forget who she truly is: trouble.

On the fifteenth night, something changed.

“Kiera!” a male voice called out to her. She needed a second chance to acknowledge the name and go to the source. “Look at you! You seem to get more beautiful every night!”

“And your compliments get better every time I see you.” Bloom leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of the table. “What brings you here today, Angus? Would you like something from the bar? I can get it for free if you want.”

“I want to introduce you to someone.” Angus looked at the man sitting in front of him, also attracting Bloom’s scrutinizing gaze. He was clearly younger than the first, but older than her. 

“You’re the new girl Pamela was talking about, right? The new resident?” were the first two questions he asked her.

“Didn’t I already tell you so?” Angus complained.

“Yes, I am,” Bloom replied anyway, but with a flea in his ear.

“My name is Khyrnir.” The man lifted his hand from the table to shake hers, and she readily returned the gesture.

“I brought him from the South, from the seas of the Silent Abyss.”

“The seas of the Silent Abyss? From what I’ve heard, that route is very dangerous…”

“It was orders from the Crown to get this man,” Angus explained.

“Then you must be something special, Khyrnir.”

“No more than Kiera is to me today. Angus told me that your mother works at the palace, correct? And that you are part of Queen Marion’s harem, right?”

The mention of her mother's name made the hairs on her neck stand up.

“Very correct.”

“I need you to do me a favor, a very important one. I will pay you well if you accept.”

“Ask and I will consider.”

“I need you to get closer to the Princess,” Khyrnir said.

She choked on her saliva.

That had to be one of the best coincidences ever.

"Pardon me?"

“The Crown asked me to find someone close enough to the Princess to keep an eye on her. The Queen and the King suspect that something suspicious is going on and…”

“But they sent fifty fishermen to fetch you from Domino’s deadliest and most treacherous sea. Not me.” Had her tone been bitter? Oops, she couldn’t help it.

“My intentions and those of the Crown are mine and theirs alone. What I ask of you is the Crown’s orders. Be smart, this is an opportunity no one else has had.” The bitter tone was returned to her.

“Why didn’t they talk to me directly? And how do I approach her? As far as I know, the Princess only sleeps with men. She would fall for their charms sooner than mine.”

“I'm sure your imagination has no limits.”

That was an insinuation, and she realized it when Khyrnir gave her a sharp look.

“Name your price.”

“Name yours.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Angus stared at them both, clearly clueless.

“I will not betray the Crown.”

“But that’s not my problem, is it? It’s not like you’re not used to it already.”

And that was a confirmation. A drop of cold sweat ran down her spine, and it wasn't due to fatigue from dancing.

What the hell did this man want?

“Go to your boss and tell her I’ll pay for a room just for us.”

“Don’t even think about doing something to the girl,” Angus threatened through gritted teeth.

“Angus, don’t worry…” Bloom placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, who stared at her.

She didn't deign to return the gesture. She walked to the counter, explained the situation, and got a key, returning to the table with it in her hands. Khyrnir looked at it one last time before moving on. Ready to do so too, a hand pulled her.

“I’ll wait here for you two,” Angus said. She smiled to reassure him.

At that moment, she was the one who needed to be calm.

Okay, they had her figured out. No, they had found out everything. The mistakes, the times she had crossed the line, the fact that she had lied through her teeth about who she was and what she did, the trouble she had caused, all the times she had...

When the door closed behind her, she had to control herself not to draw her dagger. The man in front of her stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a window.

Strategic. If she went forward, whoever was outside would see that something strange was going on inside. She needed to get him out of there if she wanted him...

Well…

Immobilized.

“It wasn’t the Domino Crown, was it?” she blurted out, even before considering the consequences. Years had passed since she had set foot in Magix, years of training, perfecting her skills, battles, failures and victories, and her impulsiveness still insisted on ruling her in times of need. It was a factory defect. “It wasn’t Marion or Oritel who sent you here to get me.”

“Not at all. They don’t even know I exist, and don’t need to know, do they?” The arrogance in his stance unnerved her because it reminded her of all the times she hadn’t been in control.

“It depends. What do you want from me?” And the way she answered questions with more questions as soon as she was asked only revealed that fact even more.

“You have beautiful black hair and big brown eyes... I suppose you’re from Limphea.”

That statement caught her off guard. It was as wrong as the sun rising at night, but the tone in which he said it was so convincing that she decided to question her parents about her origins.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the disappearance of two treasures. A book of the oldest spells of natural medicine and a black magic absorbing jewel, both on display in the Limphea History Museum.”

She remembered his words from just a few minutes ago.

“Coincidence or not, Domino chose to enable fallen houses to create health centers specializing in natural medicine, to alleviate emergencies, within a month. This, five days after the robbery.”

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She didn't know about that shit, God, she didn't know they had intentions of implementing natural Domino medicine to alleviate the emergencies, shit, if she had known she wouldn't have done anything, she would have stayed quiet, that wasn't the intention and why the fuck did they never let her know about the decisions so she would be caught off guard like this and...

“I know you’ve been stealing from other kingdoms by order of the Domino Crown.”

What?!

She almost burst out laughing and would have done so if the stress and anxiety hadn't forced her to remain serious.

“I still want you to spy on the Princess, but it certainly won’t be on behalf of the King and Queen. I also want you to find a way for me to get in so I can talk to Bloom myself. Don’t worry, I have orders from above not to hurt her. We only want to alert her to the situation…”

“Who can guarantee that she doesn’t already know?”

“Bloom? Please, that chick would sooner slit her wrists for the greater good than do anything bad for anyone.”

Well, Bloom didn't know whether to be flattered or offended.

She chose to remain suspicious.

And slightly offended, because, come on, she wasn't that black and white. Was she? Okay, she was offended.

“But you will eliminate me when my mission is complete.”

“Well, no hard feelings. You can always choose to die now or die later. Or the master can always promote you, we’ll never know. It depends on your will. You want to be paid more, don’t you? Especially if they keep paying you thirty pesas for some stolen trinkets.” Khyrnir took two steps forward, playing with Bloom’s black hair between his fingers. “I’m sure the Phoenix Dragon would pay you much more, and for much more than mundane tasks. You could fulfill your true function…”

Bloom felt her heart calm down. He had no real idea about anything. He was just a pawn of this Phoenix Dragon and didn't know shit about who was in front of him. They just used abduction reasoning and concluded that she was stealing in the name of the Crown.

He was referring to her conversation with those two a few weeks ago, not to false identities or suspicious activity.

He was only partly right, and she was only partly safe.

She considered, however. She was dealing with powerful and ruthless people, capable of killing to tie up loose ends, without regard for the means to achieve their ends. On the other hand, this was her kingdom. The people might complain, but her parents' lives were at risk.

And family intrigue aside – she still loved her parents.

Not to mention that she was curious.

“What does the master want to know?”

Promoted to spy… She always wanted to be 007.

Chapter 2: Cleverness

Notes:

I may or may not have forgotten to post this...

Ups.

She was smoking those herbs when the first rays of sunlight warmed her face. It could have been because she was under the possible influence of a hallucinogen, but she had to admit: Domino was breathtaking.

When Bloom first stepped onto dominian soil, once under an absurd amount of layers and layers of snow, she always imagined it similar to Earth, Magix, Solaria, among other planets she had already visited.

It was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. Well, at least the area of ​​Domino that she knew personally – most of the northern hemisphere –  and the one she only knew about – the southern hemisphere – through what people told her (mainly Angus, with his great sailor stories) and showed her (the books she had studied in Alfea’s library).

The castle faced northeast, for reasons Bloom did not understand. A few miles to the southeast lay the enormous waterfall of the Forest of Ashes, also known as the Forest of the Gods. The river ran through the entire gorge. Bloom had never witnessed the waters of the Satorny reach the ocean. Yet according to the books, one of its distant arms plunged from a high cliff and flowed into the only oasis of the Fallen’s Desert.

Only two oceans were named in Domino. The Asterà and the Ysignea oceans shared the Silent Abyss and the Slebigon seas. However, Asterà consumed the Neturous Sea, and Ysignea the Trinity Sea. Asterà was located in the north, while Ysignea was confined to the south.

Until now, Bloom had only known the tormented seas of the Silent Abyss. The paradisiacal beaches of Slebigon and the island of Témera were nothing more than beautiful landscapes from postcards she had seen being sold in the province. 

She hoped to fly far away and explore her kingdom – her home – once everything was settled.

Home… she missed Gardenia. Everything was so simple in her parents' arms, the woman and the man who chose her as their daughter without questioning where she came from and what that entailed.

She lit her finger when the joint threatened to go out. The dreams had ceased, but her body insisted on remaining tired after a good night's sleep. Besides, her power’s low potency was something that had been worrying her lately. She knew she was not in the greatest shape, and staying up all night using shapeshifting magic was not favorable either. However, something was pricking her insides, her core, as if it were a needle.

She preferred to think that it was both side effects of those damned Limphea crystals, and the herbal cream she had managed to prepare with the help of the medicinal book.

At that very moment, in a huge coincidence, the flesh of her back was painfully pierced in two places. Bloom yelped in pain and, in a quick reflex, brought both hands to her practically naked back. With her fingertips, she felt small fragments scattered under the bandages and a sharp pain that made her press her lips together and close her eyes, so as not to scream. She looked at one of her hands when she felt something wet.

Fuck. She was bleeding.

Completely forgetting what she was doing on the balcony, she ran into the room and stood in front of the tall mirror. She looked at herself and noticed two bloodstains on the affected area. Carefully, she undid the bandage that covered her chest and back and looked at the wounds.

The crystals had exploded on Bloom's back, leaving only their fragments attached to the bandage and skin, now even more torn.

“Shit, shit, shit…” she cursed in a grumpy mutter, as she furiously crushed the bandage in her hand, throwing it to the floor. “Shit!”

She was absolutely pissed. The crystal, a black magic supressor, was supposed to suck the black magic and not self-destruct on her back by accumulating that same magic and worsening a situation that – let's face it – was already shitty itself! Not even three weeks had that damn crystal been in contact with the wound and it had already shattered completely and she just wanted to burn something, someone, herself, that shitty bandage and kill that fucking bitch...!

Bloom closed her eyes and counted to ten, three times. Everything was fine, she was fine, she would be fine, everything would be ok, and then, she opened them again, staring at herself in the mirror. For a few seconds, she saw two yellow irises, and then just one, until her normal blue stared back at her.

She still wanted to burn things – just things, this time. It was a progress.

She needed to find a solution, fast. She couldn't call the royal healer, or it would arouse too much suspicion – 'Why in the name of the Great Dragon do you have pieces of a rare stolen crystal from some kingdom on your back?' wasn't exactly the kind of question she wanted to answer (at least not first thing in the morning) – and trying to restore the magical artefact was out of question, as it would be a complete waste of magic and resources – and, of course, she didn’t know how the fuck to do it, because that was not supposed to happen! (Breathe, she needed to breathe, everything was alright.) She had to disinfect the wound, though, and while she had plenty of elasticity, she knew she wasn't delicate enough.

And, in the meantime, she needed to find another solution to the biggest problem. She ignored the fact that she was practically naked and walked over to the bedside table, where the linphean book rested. She had already read most of it, but it had not sparked her interest. However, she had fallen asleep just before reaching the most important part: ‘recovering lost or blocked magic’.

Most of them were spells, recipes, methods for situations where the intention was to recover magic that had been forgotten, fragmented or even stolen in a traumatic episode – situations in which the patient was unable to feel or use his power, because it was, let's say, lost within himself due to an event with greater psychological than physical damage.

Just like what happened to her the first time at Alfea, when the Trix “stole” her powers. It faded inside her, buried beneath the trauma of that night in Gardenia.

People who have suffered from amnesia could also experience this clinical condition. It seems silly, but she had seen this happen to her colleagues during the Training: the training was so intense that some of them momentarily forgot who they were, where they were, how they fought, what they were doing – some of them even lost their motor skills for long hours. The condition worsened in magical beings, such as fairies, wizards, sorcerers and witches, with them losing complete awareness of the power within them. Like memories, they could become inaccessible and, in some cases, impossible to recover.

Perhaps her problem was not physical or magical, but psychological. With the right stimulation, she might unlock her power and make it develop again.

Never, Bloom, were the first words to bring her down.

Vanessa responded to her with those same words when Bloom wished to be a fairy, just like in the stories she read before going to sleep (if she didn't stay up all night doing so).

It's a shame her mother was wrong for such a short time – and that thought only led Bloom to refuse to conclude that the psychic was right.

The book advised drinking magnolia and cinnamon-flavored water from an ornate golden chalice, infused with the best intentions of Limphea's most experienced healers.

Where the fuck was that a natural solution?

Before doing her breathing exercises again, Bloom took a good look at the picture printed on the book. She had seen that chalice before…

Displayed in the halls of the great palace of Eraklyon.

Convenient, really, that a fundraising ball had just been announced the week before, to which the royal family of Domino had been formally invited.

She shouldn't feel so proud of the speed with which her brain concocted a morally gray plan, but she did. First, she needed some paper and a pen, and then she had to trust the exchange program she had made at the Cloud Tower, along with an interesting spell that Mirta had taught her once upon a time.

She had never seen what Mirage was like during the day, but she was about to find out. Ready to kill two birds with one stone, she bandaged her torso again, without disinfecting the wound, and embodied the character of Kiera, who, for the moment, would only be a client.

“Kiera, how did you do this?!”

Pamela, with a pair of tweezers, painstakingly pulled out every little piece of that damned Limphea trinket.

“It was one of my grandmother’s great ideas, for a disability of mine… Ouch!” she hissed, as she felt a sharp fragment come out of her open and sensitive flesh. “As you can see, it backfired on me.”

“You’re lucky! I was just about to pack my last things.” Pamela carefully spread the cold cream on Bloom’s back, who mentally thanked her for her empathy. “I thought we wouldn’t say goodbye before I left.”

“Are you going to go ahead with the offering?”

“I will, Kiera.” Bloom felt a thin fabric stick to her back and saw two hands wrapping bandages around her chest. “I will leave for exile today to begin my spiritual cleansing. You’re ready.”

Bloom got up from the bench and walked over to a mirror. Pamela had a knack for it. Bloom put on her white shirt and tucked it into her trousers, then put her dagger and purse back in place.

“I hope everything goes well for you,” she wished her after a brief moment of reflection. “The sacrifice you are about to make is honorable, and I hope the Great Dragon feels that.”

“It might not be a sacrifice. Have you thought about it? The Dragon and the other gods coming back?”

Pamela's eyes were so bright that Bloom thought she was looking at two pearls. Her eyes were green, the color of hope, and passion was embedded in their depths.

They almost made her believe it was possible. The Dragon would bless Pamela and everyone and restore the balance.

She almost believed that anything was possible, as long as she faced the world with the same brightness as Pamela – with hope.

But Bloom had blue eyes. Not green.

“I feel it in my heart,” she continued. “I feel as if He is right next to me. He tells me that offering myself is necessary.”

Bloom couldn't keep her emotions to herself, and in the next moment, she was hugging Pamela.

“Worthy or not,” she said, her voice trembling, “your sacrifice will not be forgotten. If I could, I would be there.” Pamela pulled away from the embrace, tears trapped in the corners of her eyes. Bloom smiled at her. “It was a pleasure crossing paths with you.”

Pamela wiped her tears and smiled back. The sound of footsteps broke the farewell mood, and two knocks were heard at the door.

“Kiera, there’s a man downstairs who wants to talk to you,” the owner announced, disappearing as quickly as she had come.

Bloom took one last look at Pamela. “Courage, okay?” They hugged a second time before leaving the room.

It was the last time she saw her.

Khyrnir had sat at the same table where they had first spoken. She wasn't nervous, not really, but she had to take two deep breaths to concentrate on the next task.

Being sensitive around a woman was one thing. Being weak in front of a man was another.

And that would never happen again.

“What do you got for me?” was the first thing he demanded to know, watching her with barely concealed interest.

“A meeting with Bloom. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Khyrnir looked at her as if she’d just told him he’d won the lottery. “How did you do it?”

“I’m just too good at what I set out to do.” Especially when all it took was hearing voices in her head and talking to herself. Bloom gave him a completely judgmental look, from top to bottom. He noticed. “You’re going to need new clothes if you’re going to meet the princess at king Sky’s ball.”

“King Sky? She wants to meet in Eraklyon?”

“I think it’s a safety measure. Bloom is smart and well-informed; she has ears everywhere. She must know something big is going to happen.”

“And she prefers to meet in a public place,” Khyrnir concluded to himself. “She has a plan, right? Because otherwise, how am I going to get in there? By stealth?”

“I think she was going to talk to the king and say she wants to introduce you, because you’re an asset… I don’t know, something like that.” She didn’t know at all how she was going to get him in there, but it didn’t matter. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a napkin. “She asked me to give you this. She knows about the Phoenix Dragon” – Bloom didn’t know anything about the Phoenix Dragon, but it was a game she was willing to play – “and she wants to reach a peaceful exchange of words. You’ll be their messenger. So, if your master has anything to say, let him tell you. You will talk better there, I suppose.”

The man read the napkin with obvious suspicion and put it in his coat pocket. He smiled as he rested his elbows on the table and stared at Bloom defiantly.

“Another spell book has disappeared, this time from Callisto…”

Bloom left aside the urge to correct him about the timing the book disappeared. Instead, smiled the way she learned with her greatest enemies.

Let him think he knows something. Let him have his fun with it…  

“I see that you are a woman with experience, and so does the master. He is very interested in you. Perhaps, even more than in the little princess.”

After all, the one who laughs last laughs longest.

“All I see is a scared man who doesn’t have the balls big enough to come and say that to my face.”

She left without another word. Of all the lies she had told, that had been the truth. Why have power if not to show it? And if he was a worthy opponent of the royal family, why not show his face?

On the other hand… it could be a bad sign. He was discreet enough to gather henchmen without anyone knowing. Not showing who he was could be a sign that he had enough power to destroy the Domino State, without an introduction needed.

Or not.

Bloom needed to find out who the Phoenix Dragon was, and she needed to do it fast. She had been setting traps without knowing which animal would fall into them. Hunting blind never worked well.

She was failing in one of the lessons she taught her students: don't underestimate the enemy.

When she arrived at the palace and went down to the conference room, Oritel was with the High Leader of the Domino Royal Guard Command, Ceric, and someone who appeared to be a commissioner.

Judging by the emblem sewn onto the lapel of his coat, he was a commissioner of Callisto.

“We don’t know,” the man replied to a question Bloom hadn’t caught upon arriving. “We don’t know exactly when it disappeared...”

“What’s missing?” Bloom felt entitled to interrupt. The commissioner bowed slightly, and the High Leader tapped his chest twice with his right hand, leaving the other on his sword, and bowed. She smiled at them both, motioning the Leader to straighten up and tapping her chest one time in return.

Looking at her father, she saw how his forehead was wrinkled: a sign that he was worried.

“What bothers you, my King?” She kissed the ring that Oritel was wearing on the index finger of his right hand, leading her to her forehead briefly. Once free, the same hand stroked Bloom’s hair: another sign of distress. Seeing that the King would not be the one to answer her, she addressed the man from Callisto. “What brings you here?”

He looked at Oritel first, as if asking for permission to be truthful. “Problems. A book that was supposed to be preserved in the Mages’ Convent in Callisto was stolen. It is gone, and with it, some of the students who were keeping watch.”

“How many casualties?” the Leader asked.

“Five. We didn’t realize what had happened until yesterday, when the convent alerted us to what had happened. Five dead wizards are not good publicity, but the matter is of great importance.”

In her defense, Bloom didn’t have the intention of killing anyone. She had studied the area well and was prepared to go and leave as quickly and discreetly as she could. However, a surveillance system had been set up that same evening. One thing led to another.

However, what was most shocking was that this had happened months ago. Callisto was a very proud and isolated kingdom and did not have good relations with Domino. She wondered, then, why they would complain to them specifically now.

“Limphea has suffered equally strange subtractions. Melody was the first kingdom to complain…”, Ceric intervened.

What could she say? Melody’s lullabies were universally known for their ability to knock anyone into a deep sleep in a matter of ten seconds. Imagine using that in the middle of a battle? How cool would that be?! They were locked in a museum archive for security measures, but she couldn’t just let that knowledge slide.

“But you didn’t answer my question, Commissioner. What brings you here? Callisto doesn’t like to get involved with the other kingdoms.”

“It’s just… Well…” The man’s cheeks turned as red as his hair. “Callisto thinks there’s a pattern. The disappearance of several powerful items from various kingdoms is worrying and suspicious, to say the least. On top of that, the bodies were completely charred, and traces of magic from your queendom were found throughout the Convent. Limphea also reported the same presence.”

“How strong?” was Oritel’s turn to question, nervously.

The Commissioner glanced at Bloom. “Too strong.”

Over the years, she had learned to camouflage her raw power. Not just for tactical reasons in combat, catching any enemy who tried to confront her off guard. Mostly because, when it came to power and magic, she was a beacon. All those who could sense her surrounded her with their eyes, like moths. Her power was a distinguishing feature. While most of her people had a source of fire within them, she was the source.

“What are your suspicions?” she asked.

“The only power capable of leaving a trail of destruction of that caliber is the Dragon Flame, Princess.”

“You’re not implying that our Princess committed such a horrific act, are you?!” The High Leader would be ready to cause an international scandal if the order were given.

“Not at all! But there is another being who has part of the Dragon Flame with him, and that’s why I am here. I wanted to talk to you about the last time you saw Valtor.”

Valtor.

It had been a long time since she had heard or thought of that name.

“Our last battle and encounter was beneath the Lake Rocca Lucce. He died there, buried when the bottom of the lake gave way. I opened Agador’s box with the magic powder and later used it on him. His body is rotting somewhere, buried beneath the lake.”

“Or should be,” the Callistian replied. “I will alert the Magix Council and request permission to search the lake to see if Valtor is still there. We should have an answer in two days.”

Everyone looked at each other. She apologized and headed to the library.

The siege was beginning to tighten. If they did indeed find Valtor in Rocca Lucce, everything would point solely and exclusively to her. She had to get ahead, otherwise everything would be about to fall apart.

All of this had given her an excellent idea. Why wait for confirmation when she could go and get it herself?

“Bloom? What are you doing here?”

Amaryl had changed little (or nothing). Her face had aged, and her hair was longer, but her features and voice were the same as the last time she had seen her.

“I need Abigail to do me a favor.”

“How do you know where we live? Is everything okay?”

“I have sources.” And by sources, she meant Alfea’s documents, but she chose to leave that out, since she wasn’t supposed to have access to such information. “Call Abigail, please.”

“I’m fine too, thank you for asking,” she said sarcastically. “Arcadia, royalty has spoiled you. Abigail! Someone is here to see you.”

Amaryl and Abigail had been living alone since their parents' divorce. Abigail chose to live with her older sister rather than choose between her parents. When the little girl appeared next to her sister, she reached out an arm, and Bloom took her hand.

“Bloom? What are you doing here?” As much as she tried not to, Bloom was always surprised when Abigail guessed, within a matter of milliseconds, who she was talking to, just by feeling each person’s energy or voice.

“I need you and your abilities.”

“Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

“Not here. In Rocca Lucce.”

Amaryl didn't like the idea or the secrecy very much, but Bloom and Abigail convinced her, under the agreement that she could also go. The fairy didn't like Bloom's teaching methods, which even she understood as acceptable, as they were unorthodox. So, the three of them headed to the Black Mud Swamp and walked to the place in question.

“Do you trust me?” Bloom asked the younger girl, who nodded. “Take my hand and don’t be afraid. Just let yourself be led.”

They both walked towards the water, deeper and deeper.

“Bloom, I can’t swim…” Abigail’s voice carried fear in it.

“You don’t have to, believe me.” Bloom closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she found herself underwater, at the bottom of the lake, with Abigail. Just as Faragonda had done in her first year at Alfea. Bloom looked around and walked to where the last confrontation with Valtor had taken place. “This is it.”

The youngest fairy crouched down and touched the sand that stretched across the bottom with her palm. “There are many magical beings here. Plants, animals, and rocks. What exactly are you looking for?”

“Something that resembles my magic. A source, an energy, a trail, anything.”

The truth was that Bloom didn't remember exactly where her last battle with the wizard had taken place. She needed Abigail to locate him to fulfill the rest of her plan: dig him up, clean up all the remaining traces of their magic, and dump him somewhere else. When the Magix Council came to search the lake, they would fail to find Valtor and think he was out on the loose. Then, Bloom would have to attach his famous mark to her neck whenever she went on her missions.

If she were caught, she would have to blame it on a dead person.

The best plan ever? No, but a plan, nonetheless.

“Give me your hand,” it was Abigail’s turn to ask, and Bloom complied. She watched Abigail’s body light up, without transforming, and move through the waters around her. “I feel a presence very similar to yours. Further east, at the back, in the cave…”

“Ignore it.” Her tone came out harsher and ruder than intended, but neither cared. “Focus on this spot, where we are.”

Abigail took a deep breath, and the light intensified, now restricted to a small perimeter. A tunnel of dim light formed around them until it grew brighter and faded, focusing again on her hand.

“I… I can’t feel anything,” the youngest fairy choked, clearly afraid of her master’s reaction.

“Try again.”

Abigail's eyes narrowed, as if summoning all her strength to accomplish her goal. Once again, the light of her magic emerged from her, explored the waters around her, crawled across the sands, penetrated the bottom...

“Sorry, I…”

“I don’t want your apologies, fairy, I want you to try again and feel something.”

“But that’s the point! Apart from the cave… I don’t feel any other place that emanates fire energy.”

“Don’t look for fire, look for the Flame. Look for my Flame, look for black magic mixed with the Dragon's Flame.”

Abigail then placed her other hand on the ground. The light, once white with orange traces, changed to more reddish tones. Bloom had to dodge an intense shot of magic, which wandered lost around her, and dove with full speed into the lake’s depths. She saw how the fish fled, the water stirred, and the small grains of sand began to float.

The ground shook, and so did the fairy's hands.

“Bloom…”

She then knelt and pressed her hands against Abigail's, transmitting her magic to her.

“I can’t… I can’t do it anymore!” The fairy lifted her head, and Bloom saw that tears would be streaming down her cheeks if they weren’t underwater. “Please, I can’t. I can’t feel anything. Please,” she whispered, pleading.

“Are you sure about what you’re telling me?” She tried unsuccessfully to hide the anger in her voice.

“I do, I do! I swear to you! Please!”

Bloom took one last look at the lake. Their magic swam back and forth, furious. Both of their magics were unstable – Abigail's from exhaustion, Bloom's from desperation.

So, she snapped her fingers and they both returned to shore completely dry, as if they had never been submerged.

From Abigail's expression of disappointment and Bloom's boredom, Amaryl concluded that the mission was unsuccessful.

“I don’t know what you did down there, but I was gifted with a light show. One of the rays almost killed me and went off into the forest. What were you doing?”

Bloom studied Amaryl’s younger sister. The experience had clearly shaken her. She knew the feeling of wanting to impress someone you admire all too well – it usually ended badly. So, she placed a reassuring hand on the fairy’s shoulder.

“Thank you for your effort and sacrifice, Abigail.”

Amaryl tried to inquire about Bloom’s intentions again on the trip back home, but failed. Neither of them spoke about it, and Bloom made the little fairy promise that she wouldn’t talk about it to anyone.

Back on her room’s balcony in time to watch the sunset, Bloom allowed the information to sink in.

The kingdoms began to put two plus two together and concluded that the thefts were not so random after all and that they were the work of someone with the power of the Dragon Flame. Furthermore, Valtor was not dead.

It was a slight, unexpected turning point in events.

Ok, fine.

After assimilating the information, Bloom allowed herself to lose her mind.

Valtor wasn't dead! How was he not dead? She saw it! She saw it with her own eyes! She saw the demon collapse! Everyone saw it! She extinguished his power with her fairy dust! And…! And…!

Cool down. She had to think from another perspective.

She couldn't. All her thoughts were focused on one fact: Valtor wasn't buried where he died. What could mean, on a very high scale, that he was, in fact, out there.

How long ago? Did he even die? If not, where was he all this time? Who helped him? And if Bloom did kill him, how did he come back to life? He has the power of the Dragon Flame; he’s not a phoenix, for God’s sake! But there he was! Rosed again from the ashes!

He… rose again… from the ashes.

A dragon… that rose from ashes… like a phoenix…

Ooooh, shit.

It was him! It was him all along! It had to be! The name, the hidden work, the fact that he didn't like to get his hands dirty with small tasks, that he knew before anyone else that she had been stealing throughout the kingdoms!

Wait, did he know that she, Bloom, was involved in that? No, he knew Kiera had been stealing in Domino's name. Right? Right. Right? Right. It has to be.  If it weren’t, he would probably not wait this long to spoil her little secrets to the universe. She could even imagine it: ‘It seems that your righteous little fairy has been a little naughty lately’ (with that smug tone of his, like he knows everything about everyone).

However, if he knew it, why not use that information sooner? Why wait for an encounter? What the hell would the old wizard want?

It had been years since she felt her brain frying as much as it did at that moment. The worst part was that she knew the only match for her would be him, and so she was racking her brains in despair. Maybe she wasn't the only one – he also knew, he always knew, he had always told her she was his only match. The other side of the same coin. The other half of the apple. (She didn’t agree with that one – if she were the apple, he would be the worm, corroding everything good on the inside).

In the most generous hypothesis, he was afraid of her. It had been eight years since their last confrontation. Her ego was inflamed by the likelihood that he had believed she had evolved her abilities since then. That was why he had not spoken sooner. He had been waiting for a good moment to strike, because – she would bet her wings – he was being as cautious as she was. Khyrnir had been sent to test her, she realized. Hence, the messenger’s furious need to meet with Bloom. Valtor needed to know the amount of power he was dealing with.

Bloom remembered Barklin's words and his anger towards the royalty. Was Valtor considering joining the Domino Council? Under what pretext? Never in his existence would Oritel and Marion allow it.

So, the King and Queen were an obvious target to take down. And then, the only thing stopping him from ascending the Domino throne was her – another reason for her to get her things straight, no matter the cost.

Fuck, she wouldn't even be ready for a battle if there was one. She still felt too weak to fight at that level of demand. Valtor had taught her to be elusive, strategic, and even manipulative. There was a long way between being taught, learning, and surpassing the master. And for God's sake, if there were anyone she would allow herself to admit this to, it was only herself.

Bloom missed seeing those beautifully icy eyes flooded with rage and hunger for blood and death. For her blood and her death. Hunger for herself. She preferred not to remember all the types of hunger she had seen shining in those eyes.

A stubborn voice in the back of her head asked, 'Why not?' She kicked that annoying little voice until she spat blood and didn't dare to utter another word inside her mind.

Valtor could not ascend to the throne. Not to Domino's, nor any other.

Was it just Domino? Would he still desire to be the 'all-powerful' wizard of the magical dimension? Would he still be obsessed with power and revenge like when she met him?

Would he be proud of her? Would she still be his plan?

Bloom pinched herself repeatedly as punishment for daring to consider such a thing. Why did it even matter? It definitely couldn't and didn't matter. It wouldn't matter.

She had to get her ideas straight. First, she would throw Khyrnir off the scene, and then she would kill Valtor for the second time, if that was what it took.

And to kill him, she needed to pull herself together. Quickly.

The ball, she remembered. She had a ball to attend.

Bloom had not worn colors for a long time, and everyone knew it. So, when she appeared in a gray dress, as if it were a worn-out white, there was no surprise on anyone's face. There was surprise, however, that she was there. It was not common – not anymore – to be seen outside of Domino at public celebrations and parties. Much less, with a sword on her belt. However, that was not common to see in any princess. Deep down, she knew that she was not a princess – she could bet that even her parents did not consider her as such. The announcement with the title came, nonetheless.

The first people she noticed missing were the Winx. There was not even a sign of the five women. The first person her gaze landed on was the king of Eraklyon, walking towards her.

“I am very pleased to welcome you to celebrate this noble cause,” Sky said, bowing slightly. Everyone present at the conversation returned the gesture.

“We had to come, in honor of your father, Sky,” Bloom heard her mother’s voice.

“He would be very proud of you, knowing him as I did.” Oritel patted the young adult in front of him twice on the back.

Sky smiled, visibly grateful for the comment. But she could not help but notice there was a mysterious glint within those blue eyes. Could it be nostalgia? Could it be grief? Resentfulness?

Erendor’s fate was still such an incognita, after all.

It was Bloom's turn to be stared at, forcing her to leave the theories aside.

“What time will it be?” Sky asked.

“Right on time, my King,” Bloom replied, prompting a small laugh from Sky at the title. Before bowing discreetly and dispersing, she announced, “I’ll leave you in peace to discuss political matters that will surely pass me by.”

“Bloom…” Her father’s voice sounded close to her, and she felt the shadow of his touch on her shoulder.

“Let her go, Oritel,” it was Marion’s turn to speak, in a dry tone devoid of emotion.

That was the first time she had snuck out that night. She went to one of the bathrooms reserved for those attending the ball, hoping to find no one inside. With a little effort, she molded herself until her body, face, and hair transformed into Kiera’s. Her dress had also been quickly changed with a snap of her fingers into pants and a shirt. The sword that had once been at her waist had shrunk to the normal size of her dagger, which was strapped to her back, hidden by her long hair.

The hardest part was next: imitating Valtor's mark and imprinting it on her skin. She stared at herself in the mirror, prayed that no one would come in, and concentrated on the area on her neck. She was surprised to realize that, even eight years later, she still remembered every detail of his signature mark. It glowed for a few seconds, until the purple turned red and disappeared into her skin.

Bloom tried to suppress all the memories of a voice whispering menacingly to her about the ways he would mark her. She took a deep breath and counted to ten, until she felt strong enough to focus.

Once disguised, she made her way to the palace library. Most guards and servants were concentrated in the gardens, leaving that wing completely neglected. The great doors opened, and Bloom noticed the dust floating through the rays of sunlight emerging from the glass roof.

Eraklyon had never been Bloom's favorite kingdom, and Bloom had never pleased Eraklyon. However, there was one thing she had envied deeply about it: its royal library.

The tendrils of power tickled Bloom's fingertips as she marveled at the vastness of the shelves, the shadow of the trees outside resting on the room contours, the magical objects displayed for all to see and no one to touch.

But she was not no one – she was Bloom, Keeper of the Dragon Flame. So, when she caught sight of the golden chalice protected by four walls of magical glass, she had to touch it. The glass sent bolts of electricity up her fingers, raising the hair on her skin. With a hiss, she pulled her hand away and blew on it to ease the shock. Knowing what kind of protective magic she was dealing with, she braced herself for a second shock by casting a reflective counterspell from herself. As the electricity hit her and she whispered the word ‘Oppositus’, she felt the same shock travel back to the glass shield. The box glowed and vibrated, as if short-circuited, and Bloom touched it again.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Bloom had studied some of the spells created to protect artifacts and other objects and knew it was only a matter of minutes before the defenses would be activated again. So, she lifted the glass dome and removed the chalice.

It was not only heavy in itself – the magical charge was immense. Eraklyon was known as a kingdom of once-forgotten treasures plundering. Some said that even Domino's treasures, after the rule of the Three Ancient Witches, were plundered by Eraklyon's then-king, Erendor.

That Erendor was an opportunist, Bloom knew. That Sky would end his legacy, Bloom was certain.

That chalice had belonged to Limphea, and now belonged to her – a thief who steals from a thief is pardoned for a hundred years. So, Bloom, with a simple trick, sent the object to her room in Domino and turned around, ready to leave the library.

Just as she was approaching the party, she saw her trousers transforming into a dress train, and her brown hair falling over her shoulder, red and braided. Her dagger lengthened into a sword and was fastened at her waist. The silent gait, due to her flat-soled brown boots, was replaced by the tapping of her high heels on the palace floor.

For the second time, the first glance was directed at her by the king with a beard and blond hair tied back in a bun, who had stealthily left the crowd after giving her a mischievous smile.

For the second time that night, Bloom had slipped away. She walked until she could no longer hear the murmurs and laughter of the nobles and climbed a staircase. A few servants looked her up and down, doubt present in every expression, boredom, and indifference.

She didn't give a shit about any of that. And so she knocked rhythmically on one of the white wooden doors. When a hand pulled her inside and a mouth captured hers, her surprise didn't quite surpass her recognition.

It wasn't long before the grey dress and sword were somewhere scattered on the floor, along with a crown and a coat with the royal coat of arms perfectly hand-embroidered on it.

Robbing Eraklyon was fun; fucking its King after the loot was even better.

Bloom should feel guilty.

(She didn't, though.)

“I didn’t see the Winx. Didn’t you invite them?” she had to ask, after all, who would she be if she didn’t? Wrapping herself tighter in the blanket to stay covered, she sat up to face the man lying next to her.

“And cause an international incident? Do I seem that clueless?” He was, but that was a conversation for another time. “I think they’re busy with the whole coup d’état thing Layla’s cousin decided to stage at his brother’s coronation,” Sky continued. Two of his fingers curled around Bloom’s red hair tips. “They all donated, though.”

Bloom nodded and looked away at the crumpled clothes on the floor. Funny, she still didn’t know what the fundraising was for. She concluded that she didn’t care to ask, either. Sky was not satisfied with silence, however. “How are things between you and Stella?”

Bloom was thankful the sword was far away; otherwise, she would have been the clueless one. “As if you didn’t know…”

“I don’t know your version.”

“We…” Bloom searched for a decent word to describe her relationship with the young woman who had once been her best friend. “I think she tolerates my presence now. At least she doesn’t stare at me like she’s going to kill me every time we happen to cross paths at meetings.”

“She loves you, Bloom. I know that hasn’t changed, and you both know it deep down.”

Her eyes stared into ones as blue as the sky, if not bluer. “Brandon almost died because of me.”

“He wasn’t upset with you.”

“Because he’s stupid, like he was when he agreed to go on a suicide mission with me.”

“Which was only not suicidal because he was there.”

“And because he was there, he now has two robotic legs so he can walk.”

“Legs that, thanks to Timmy and Tecna, don’t look much different from real legs. He’s a warrior, always has been!” Sky sat down, wrapping his hands around Bloom’s. “What happened wasn’t either of your faults. You acted on your own, and Brandon believed in you and still does. If you hadn’t gone...”

Her eyes narrowed in a fit of nerves, and one of her hands shushed him. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I would much rather not have been impulsive than have it end the way it did.”

“But you redeemed yourself, didn’t you?” When she looked back at him, Sky was still wearing that same empathetic smile. “You killed her, you avenged yourself and Brandon, and you also rid the dimension of yet another crazy woman.”

“Yes…” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “All this so my mother can pat me on the shoulder and ask me when I’m going to stop chasing crazy people and have a child.”

Sky lay back down, looking rather displeased. “Are your parents still bothering you about getting married?”

“Bothering is an understatement.” A sigh of frustration escaped her lips. “My mother never misses the opportunity to mention that, at my age, she would have already given birth to Daphne. Besides, she resists all my requests, and those of the Royal Guard and the Domino Council, to make me High Leader of the Command.”

“You are at a dead end, then.”

“I refuse to think that way. I’m just… disappointed.” Bloom shrugged and, as she sank into the frustration that this matter caused her, she massaged her temples, trying to regain her sanity. “I saved them, I saved everything they have today, and what they give me in return is the obligation to marry. To marry! That sounds ridiculously bad.”

Oh, it did. However, if one thing could be misinterpreted, it was that her parents' distance and coldness towards her and their stupid demands hurt her feelings – it hurt her ego more.

She was the fucking Keeper of the Dragon Flame, Bloom, Princess of Sparx, the one who defeated the Army of Decay, Lord Darkar, Valtor and Kalshara. Who helped, for a stupid exchange of favors that she later regretted, to restore magic to Earth with the rebirth of Tir Nan Og and his fairies, defeating the wizards of the Black Circle. She, who helped Icy restore Diamond after Kalshara’s defeat.

And they were asking her to make babies?

She wanted to slit her wrists in front of them every time the topic was brought up on the table. That was an attack on her person and everything she had achieved. It was an attack on her adoptive parents, who taught her not to bow her head in the face of such trivialities.

Domino was a queendom of women, great women, powerful women. Not of cows that gave birth. She could even rule Domino one day if she wanted to. However, the throne would be hers alone to sit on. Besides that, she would make sure the floor was polished and immaculate, so as not to soil the pants of the man who sat at her feet.

“If I get married, I will do it because I want to and not because someone demands it of me.”

“And until then,” Sky raised his torso slightly, resting his head on his fist, “this remains, right?”

Bloom was not the only one feeling the pressure of imminent marriage, but unlike her, Sky had no such reservations about sitting a partner by her side (or on his lap). However, if there was one thing they shared, it was marriage for love and not for simple necessity. With the expected death of Erendor, this urgency intensified, since never had a king been crowned without a queen in Eraklyon. Sky had been the first to do so, due to the avoidable succession crisis, and by choice.

It was no secret that Bloom had dated Sky while he was engaged to the Princess of Isis. It was also no secret that Sky had called off the marriage due to his relationship with Bloom. It was equally no secret that Bloom and Sky had broken up after Valtor's defeat, and it seemed to be common knowledge that a possible reunion could arise between the Princess of Domino and the King of Eraklyon.

What was secret, however, was that Sky and Bloom demonstrated it on purpose, to deceive all those who demanded something from them and gain time – which, between gold and success, was everything they didn't have.

Having sex with Sky was a great bonus, she had to admit. They had been dating for three years, which had ended disastrously. Another three years were spent avoiding each other and having unresolved chemistry. Another two years were spent accumulating lust. The next series of sad events brought them together and, in the end, led to them exchanging kisses and, later, positions. Sky had changed – for the better – which made the already familiar something curious.

Not curious enough for her to love him again, though.

The sound of muttering voices outside the bedroom brought her back to reality. Sky was admiring her, waiting for a response.

She smirked. “Are you afraid I’ll replace you?”

“I know this is just a hobby for you. Like I said, I’m not clueless.” A smug smile appeared on his lips. The rushing in the corridor was getting difficult to ignore. “If you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like me enough to marry me…”

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Bloom threw a pillow at his face. "You really want it, don't you? To be the man who tamed the dragon?"

They both laughed. She missed moments like this, where she could almost be who she truly was. Sky reminded her of the Bloom she once was at Alfea.

“All jokes aside. I know you have no intention of having a man, and I know that deep down you always knew it wouldn’t be me…”

“Are we in a sentimental mood now?”

“…but if one day, you decide to give in to pressure and don’t want to end up in the lap of some old man, it won’t be a sacrifice on my part to make you the queen of my people.”

Sometimes, in moments of delirium, she thought about that possibility. It would be so, so much easier to give in just for once. To be the queen, to give orders from one side to the other, to have a husband, to give him a prince, and to forget everything that made her refuse to be like this…

Sometimes she hates being who she is, because if she weren't, she would be in less trouble, and certainly wouldn't have ended up in this shithole.

And then she remembers that she just isn't, doesn't want to be, and can't be. She makes peace with herself and her destiny, holds her head high, and moves on.

Therefore, all that was left to do was turn to Sky with a soft, resigned smile. “I know.”

A huge commotion broke the momentary quietness. The sound of shields and swords being positioned and shouted orders made them both stand up and get dressed, with questions written all over their faces.

Once they left the room, they hurried to approach the guards, who seemed to be surrounding something or someone.

“What’s going on here?” The king’s voice caused some of them to step aside for him and Bloom to pass.

“We found this scoundrel robbing the library, Your Majesty.”

The jerk in question was Khyrnir, who looked more confused than scared when he laid eyes on Bloom.

“He stole a book of old records from the kingdom,” the commander continued explaining.

“It was her!” Khyrnir accused Bloom, his eyes filled with rage. “She told me to steal the book! She wrote it on a napkin and gave it to me through a spy from the Domino Court! She told me to deliver it to the ball!”

The king and princess exchanged glances.

“Oh, is that so?” Sky questioned, looking at Bloom with an amused expression on his face. “Surely you will have the said napkin with you, as proof.”

“I have! It’s in my backpack, see for yourself!”

One of the guards handed the King a brown leather backpack, large enough to hold a book. Sky opened it and took out the book, and as his relaxed expression turned into a questioning one, Bloom guessed what he had seen.

“Well, well, well…” Sky pulled a golden chalice from his backpack, which fell at his feet. “Did you also tell your henchman to steal the Chalice of Sorrows, Bloom?”

“You know I’m quite ambitious,” Bloom joked.

“I… I didn’t steal any of that! I swear to you!”

“And yet, no napkins with orders of dubious morality.” The King handed the chalice to one of the guards, not very pleased with the thief’s insistence.

“I had it! It was in the backpack, she told me to bring it! She tricked me! She’s a bitch!”

Yes, she was. The napkin contained instructions for Khyrnir to enter the castle and steal the Eraklyon records about node magic. However, it had been enchanted to transform into a copy of the chalice once Khyrnir got close to Bloom. The ink would shimmer, rearrange, and the napkin twist into metal, morphing into the image of the pretended object as soon as it felt Bloom’s signature energy around.

And it would be hypocritical of Sky to believe a mere thief instead of the woman he had just slept with (and whom he had declared was willing to marry).

Not that men weren't assholes to that extent, but she was just more hypocritical than Sky, and less clueless than him. Betrayals never come from enemies, and Sky hadn't learned his lesson yet.

She wouldn't be the one to teach him either – again.

Notes:

Well, well, well... Valtor would not be so wrong about our little not-so-noble fairy.

Thank you so much for your support! You're amazing <3

See ya!

Chapter 3: Stupidity

Notes:

«When arrows of fire pierced the flesh of her belly and chest, she wondered how she had ended up there.

Ah, yes. It was that old saying: curiosity killed the cat.»

Two days later, Bloom heard that Khyrnir was to be charged with theft, disobedience, and false accusations against a royalty member. If he escaped death, he would not escape a long stay in Eraklyon prison.

Khyrnir was no longer a topic. However, the one that followed was no better.

“The celebration will be in three days. The girl has been isolated for a month now, and it coincides with the next lunar eclipse of Aeris.”

If there was one thing Bloom didn't like about her queendom, it was its mythology. She had attempted to read about it, but every book became a lullaby within a few pages. She didn't believe the legends, prophecies, or stories about the Seven Moons of Domino.

In any case, as princess of Domino and guardian of its flame, she was invited (and obligatorily summoned) to participate in the celebrations (and see her most recent acquaintance be killed for it).

“If she wanted to offer herself to the Great Dragon, why not wait for the full moon of Pyros? Or for its solar eclipse?”

Each moon represented a god, you see, and there were seven of them: the hawk, the fox, the wolf, the snake, the butterfly, the owl, and, finally, the Great Dragon.

There was no easy way to explain Dominian mythology – and in some ways that was what disenchanted Bloom – but if she had to, she would start by making it clear that each god had an animal form, a human form, and a respective moon. Iarus would be the falcon, the messenger, god of guidance and freedom; Lilia the fox, goddess of cunning, clarity, and strategy; Eddia would be the wolf, goddess of intuition, protection, and leadership; the snake would be personified by Dália, goddess of war, courage, and honor; Ethos was the god of friendship, sexuality, and vanity, represented by the butterfly; the owl symbolized knowledge, wisdom, and change, embodied in the god Dimas.

The human form of these gods was never seen again after the fall of the Great Dragon, who, in turn, had never had a human form or a mortal name. There were many symbolisms attributed to the Dragon; after all, it was He who originated the entire magical dimension. In addition to being a great sum of all the other gods and having been the one to ascend them, Bloom knew (and felt, she could not deny that she also felt it within herself) that the Dragon was synonymous, above all, with power, balance and peace.

What mattered, simply put, was that Pyros was the Dragon's moon, while Aeris was the moon of Iarus. And if Pamela wanted to offer herself to the Great Dragon, it would make sense for it to happen during Pyros's solar eclipse, not Aeris's lunar eclipse.

“If you studied more about it, you’d know that Pyros becomes a full moon every seventy years. The last time Pyros blessed us with a full moon was on the night that you’re born”, her mother’s voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. “There’s no more time to waste. How do you even know what the girl wanted? I don’t remember us discussing it with you.”

Ah, there it was – the good morning humor of her dearest mother.

“People talk.” Especially in a nightclub, after a conversation about dethroning royalty. That part Bloom chose to leave out, after all, what would become of her mother’s little heart if she found out that her daughter was seducing people dressed in indecent clothing in some sleazy house in the province? “Do I have to go?”

“Is that even a question?” Marion’s almond-shaped eyes might as well have been two bullets, because Bloom felt a hole immediately appear in her face. “This is a ceremony of utmost importance that can change the entire course of the queendom and our lives, Bloom. Not to mention that it will be the first one you will attend.”

Bloom had managed to escape from them in the past years. She always had a good excuse. By the look of her mother’s face, she would attend to this one even if she were dead – Marion would drag her corpse through the chambers if it had to be.

“Stop it, mom.” The effort it took not to roll her eyes, followed by a ‘tsk’, was herculean. “Everyone knows it’s certain death.”

Oritel reached out to grab an orange. He wasted no time peeling and cutting it: he bit into it unceremoniously, the juice running down his beard. “Just because the last few attempts failed doesn’t mean this one will too.”

“You too, dad?”

“Your mother is right about that, my sugar heart.” Oritel wiped his chin with the palm of his hand. “You never know what might happen. If the girl can connect with the gods, it could be a new world for us! Imagine the Great Dragon waking up and granting us the balance we have long lacked? We will be protected forever.” His free hand caressed Bloom’s. “No more battles, no more sacrifices for Domino. You can ask for anything you want if He returns. We all know what you want.”

“Judgment,” Marion interrupted, “is what she wants and needs.”

“I just wish that you weren’t so naive about this.” Bloom didn’t know why she wanted – needed – to buy that war. Which was ridiculous, stupid even, since that idiot had accepted her much-vaunted destiny of killing herself for a force that not even Bloom, keeper of the damn Dragon Flame, was sure existed. She didn’t know, but she did it anyway. Her gaze, however, didn’t have the same courage as her words and found neither Marion nor Oritel; her hands were hidden under the table, while her left hand twisted the ring on her ring finger – the entire symbol of commitment to a queendom, to its people, to her family, to its power, to herself. And yet, here she was doubting her entire tradition, which only increased her doubt of really belonging there. “You are sacrificing people, our people, who also very innocently fall for this song of trying to wake up the gods and bring them back. I don’t know who thought of these macabre rituals, but they should think of other types of offerings. I don’t know, a good wine, a good cheese, some caviar. If I were the Dragon, I would be quite happy if I were given a good bottle of…”

“Common sense? Notion? If you stopped being silly and came up with a solution to this problem, maybe we wouldn’t have to sacrifice the people, don’t you think?”

Marion was ruthless, but she rarely snapped. She remembered telling her mother that Daphne had died in battle trying to protect an entire kingdom, and she remembered the exact moment she had felt a tiny thread of connection break.

The Queen had known, had always known, that Daphne had not entered Obsidian with them. A vain hope told her that Daphne would be the one to rescue them, that she had imprisoned Valtor, that she had joined the Company of Light to exact justice and avenge her fallen queendom. Instead, Marion had been presented with her newborn daughter, nineteen years older, a group of five other young women, supposedly what was rumored to be the new Company of Light, and a whole new grief: the loss of her eldest daughter, the light of her days and the moon of her nights.

Nineteen years… all of them lost in time. She had deeply believed that Bloom had died and Daphne had been avenged, when exactly the opposite had happened. Her Dália didn't even recognize her name: Bloom was the name her Earthling parents had given her, and she was already a young woman.

For Marion, no connection broke – there was nothing to break.

For Bloom, no matter how much she tried to get closer to her mother and no matter how much she saw her acting like one would, it was when her mother lost hope of seeing her eldest daughter again that Bloom gained a new perspective on what it would be like to know Marion – the Domino Queen was no longer just her mother, but a grieving warrior.

Bloom would never be Daphne, but she wanted Daphne to be her.

“Yes? And what would that be, my queen?”

Of course, Daphne would never need to talk back to her mother as if her dignity and sanity depended on it.

“Aren’t you the Keeper of the Flame? Why don’t you sacrifice yourself, for example?”

“Marion!”

Her father, when it came to breaking expectations, didn't disappoint. Bloom had grown accustomed to the idea that Oritel was fearless, impulsive, and one of the best warriors ever born in Domino.

Oritel reminded Bloom of a golden retriever. He was all those things, but when it came to her, Oritel had always easily shown that she was his weakness and strength – she was all his heart had. He would kill families for her, he would die for her – he died for her – and he still had plenty of cute nicknames to call her.

Nineteen years had passed since he had last hugged her, and he recognized her immediately. She was his daughter, for whom he had fought so hard, and who had fought to hug him again.

The news of Daphne's death had shaken him greatly, according to what he had told Bloom. However, unlike her mother, the King knew deep down that Daphne had done what anyone would do to protect the Dragon Flame, sacrificing herself to protect her little sister. The death of his eldest daughter was not a shock; it was just a painful confirmation. Nineteen years of separation had become meaningless, because if he could now love his youngest daughter as much as he had loved Daphne, he would.

Bloom and Oritel were each other's mirror images: impulsive, unstoppable, and indestructible. However, they were, above all, gentle and generous. And no one dared to say anything about the other in front of either of them.

Everyone except Marion. For, like Bloom, she simply did not care whose sensibilities she hurt.

“Oh, come on, stop it. If she’s as brave as you think she is, why doesn’t she do it?”

However, there are certain sensibilities that Marion should not hurt.

One of them was Bloom's.

“I won’t do it, because I don’t believe in mystical gods.” The truth escaped Bloom’s mouth faster than the hand covering it. “They weren’t the ones who helped me get through anything.”

“So what do you believe in?” her mother asked back. “In that god that your father on Earth told you about?”

“I believe in myself.” Their eyes met. Bloom could feel the heat filling the small room. “If I got this far, it was because I wanted to. If you’re here today fucking with my head, it’s because I wanted it that way. Otherwise, you’d be rotting in that dimension where we found you.”

There were faces to which certain truths should not be thrown. One of them was Marion, who stood up at once and brought her face close to her daughter's. “Repeat.”

“You are only the queen of Domino because I want you to be. Otherwise, I would have brought this queendom to life myself and ruled it.”

“Bloom…” Her father’s voice sounded more like a warning than a reprimand.

“You forget who put you here in the first place. If you are here, it’s because I wanted to, and if there is one thing I regret, it’s that.”

“Marion.” The warning had clearly become a threat.

“If I had not given birth to you, the day the Flame would be given, and the Witches would be after it, would still be coming. If you had not been born, no one would have been drawn by your Call to save you. Your sister would be alive.”

This time, the snap came from Bloom’s core. A crash echoed off the walls as the chair fell backwards as she stood up. “I didn’t ask to be born!”

“I didn’t ask you to save us!”

“You didn’t have to, Daphne did it.” She fought to keep her emotions from betraying her now and making her cry in front of her mother. Instinctively, her hand reached for the other, took off the ring, and set it on the table. “But if it’s any consolation, I refuse to do it again.”

Marion didn't back down from her position or her gaze for a second, but her cynical smile soon appeared. “We both know that I'm not the one who loses with that statement.”

There was no time to respond, as her legs began a quick stride toward the door before her brain could even give the go-ahead.

“Bloom!” She heard Oritel call her from the table. “Bloom, darling!”

“Oh, and before you go,” Marion began, making Bloom pause in the doorway, “instead of fornicating with everything from my harem, choose one of them to marry and do something useful for the queendom you so willingly wanted to restore.”

When she turned back to the table, she saw Oritel standing in the middle of the room, facing her, his eyes begging her to stay a little longer. Saw her mother picking at the grapes, sitting back in her seat again, with her back to her.

The coward didn't even dare to say something like that to her face, because they both knew who would lose with that statement.

“Why, my Queen? Are you jealous?”

And Marion lost that time.

After that radiant breakfast, Bloom didn't know if she wanted to kill someone or herself.

It was not customary to wear white clothing, especially dresses. However, it was a mandatory aspect during celebrations. When they covered her with a white veil, they told her that it was because she was the only one with the Dragon Flame and that she should be veiled, so that her energies would not interfere with the intention of the gods (or something like that, anyway, she wasn’t exactly paying attention). It didn't make any sense in her head, but she was too upset to question it. So, her thoughts drifted to Pamela and the long road ahead of her.

Pamela had been isolated for a month in a temple called Rimus (which, translated into any language other than Dominian, would mean ‘devotion’). According to what she had studied about these rituals, Pamela had not eaten for five days and had not drunk for three, had washed herself only with clean water from the river Satorny, and was possibly menstruating. If she had not died of malnutrition or thirst, she could very well die of exhaustion from the long walk from the temple to the palace, to the Water Chambers.

Bloom remembered the light in her colleague’s eyes when she showed her how certain she was about it all. She knew that Pamela had survived all the suffering of the first stage of the ritual because she believed in her dedication to offering herself to the gods. Her devotion would bring her safely to the palace, and her unworthiness would kill her. What would happen next, Bloom was not sure. There were few written records, and those that did exist were vague.

In Barklin's words, seeing was believing. Bloom would see it firsthand.

That beneath Domino lay enough tunnels to build an underground city, everyone knew. Most of them connected the various rooms, with a few exceptions – the castle towers (designated as the royal chambers: Oritel and Marion in the northernmost tower, Daphne in the easternmost tower, and Bloom in the tallest tower in the northeast) and the Water Chambers – and led to the other side of the Satorny, passing beneath the Water Chambers and the Satorny itself. 

What many (most) did not know is that the entrance to the Chambers was as inconspicuous as possible: it was the enormous Dragons’ Fountain, located in the center of the castle's atrium, where most of the parties with the people took place.

The fountain was made of gold and featured two dragons locked in combat. One in an attack position on the ground and the other in the air, ready to burn its opponent. Water fell endlessly between the two from the top, pooling in the basin that surrounded them. However, if the most perceptive were attentive, they would see that the crystal-clear waters fell further, as if from a well. When it encountered the staff of the Arcanum, the opening would widen, giving way to a spiral staircase that ended in the Water Chambers. The water from the fountain made its way to the great bay and, eventually, would return to the river. 

Bloom had never been to the Water Chambers before. When she did it, she had easily classified it as the most beautiful place in the palace. There was something divine about that space, perhaps because of the amount of gold mixed with the blue of the waters. She had also read, in her research, that the ritual that had officially made Daphne a Nymph had taken place right there.

Somehow, it made her feel close to her sister. Deep down, she wanted to go back later and try to summon Daphne again, even if it meant another night of crying over her failure.

It didn't matter; at that moment, she had more to think about, like Valtor being alive while she was wasting time with a celebration that would lead to the possible death of her friend.

She let out a shaky breath as she sat at her parents' feet, as was the Domino hierarchical tradition (if Daphne were alive, she would sit at her mother´s feet, while Bloom would sit at Oritel’s, for hierarchical reasons).

Looking to her left, she noticed the view. She saw part of the bridge that connected the castle to the Province full of curious people trying to see what was happening in the Chambers. The moon Aeris was full, but part of it was already obscured. Terram (the moon of the goddess Dália, with a greenish glow) shone more intensely in a crescent shape, while Ignis (the moon of the god Dimas, with its unmistakable purple) was a little overshadowed. Much further away, but still noticeable due to its radiant glow, was Minori, as small as a butterfly.

Bloom would never get used to this view.

When she felt a hand gently touch her shoulder, she looked at her father.

“Nervous?” he asked. Oritel wore a gentle smile. “You can admit it if you are. Your sister didn’t like this part of the celebrations very much either.”

A glance at her mother made her wary of her answer. “No.” Bloom smiled back because she couldn’t fake it any better. “I’m curious.”

“This is the first time the heir of the Dragon Flame has blessed a celebration,” Oritel replied. “I am certain that you will bring us good fortune.”

“May God hear you, my King.” Bloom looked at the finger where the ring was missing.

“How many times must I warn you that your Earth god is not to be mentioned on our soil? Least of all here, Bloom!” Her mother’s harsh whisper nearly made her lose her patience.

“You only hear what you want to hear,” was the first thing that came out in response.

If Marion wanted to fight back, she didn't. The spiral staircases were lit with flames, and several people, including Pamela, descended. She was wearing a simple white dress, stained red at the groin area, and holding a pot full of earth. Most of the people, comprising the Council, the Guard Command, and the High Religious Hierarchy, were seated opposite the royal family, as the Arcanum and Pamela stood at the edge of the stairs that led into the water. The Chamber fell into absolute silence. The only sound that could be heard was the rushing water.

“What do they call you, creature?” The Arcanum’s voice echoed, setting Bloom’s heart on edge.

It was just beginning.

“I was named Pamela. Born on a sunny morning on the 5th and raised in Eraklyon, I was kicked out of my home by my parents, Terus and Sirya, and chose Domino as my home. I have no vocation of any kind, because my path is to dive into these waters.”

“Pamela, what do you have in your hands?”

“I bring with me the land of this queendom.”

“And why not something else?”

“Because it’s all I have and it’s all that truly matters to me. It’s my home, it’s who welcomed me.”

“The waters that will welcome you will only accept you if you are slight. Let go of everything you have and everything you will be, undress, and say goodbye to what is yours. You will enter these waters without any belongings or prejudices. Whatever your intention, may it be as clear as the waters in which you will face the destiny that the gods will give you. You will submerge only you and your body, including your organs and limbs, and that which moves you: your blood, your being, your soul, which must be as pure as your interests, as dirty as your feet.”

Pamela then took off her dress and left it lying beside her, dropping the dirt she was carrying in her hands onto it.

Bloom had a rough idea of ​​what was coming, but seeing it was agonizing in a way that even the pictures in the books couldn't convey. In the Arcanum's hand was a dagger, and when Pamela turned to face him, Bloom held her breath as its tip sank slightly into the top of the girl's forehead. Blood trickled down as the blade tore through the skin on its way down, passing over the bridge of her nose and down to her upper lip.

But that was the first cut. The second and third would be made from the eyelids to the corners of the mouth. Two more cuts, from the corners of the eyes to the ears. From the tongue, to the lower lip, to the chin, to the neck, to the chest, to the navel and belly. From the tips of the middle fingers of each hand, up the arms, until they meet the cut in the chest. From the back of the neck, to the buttocks, down the thighs and leg, through the heel, the palm of the foot, the middle toe, the knee, connecting to the navel.

Looking at Pamela, it almost seemed like child's play. She was bleeding (literally) from every part of her body. The blood that had dripped from the first cut had already bloodied her eyes, and if she hadn't tasted food for five days, now she could taste iron. Bloom's hair stood on end as she saw Pamela turn her back to the Arcanum again, her skin completely torn.

For a moment, the image of Avalon in Realix flashed through her mind. She immediately spat it out.

“They ask you to show yourself,” the Arcanum said after a few moments of silence. “You will know why you came and where you are going in a moment. And if life does not come back to haunt you, you will know that at least it was well lived, if you have already arrived here. If your blood is as worthy as your being, we will meet here.”

Pamela lowered her head, looked at the water, smiling. At the same time, the moon was already completely obscured, appearing in a redder tone than it would eventually be.

It was now, Bloom realized. It was all or nothing.

Pamela took a step forward and went down one step, another, and another, until she was submerged. It was possible to see her body fade away as she swam to the bottom of the bay, until her shadow disappeared completely.

Two minutes of pure nervousness followed – the rest was pure terror.

Bloom was ready for a lot of things, but never that.

The waters shimmered faintly and bubbled. People on the other side could be seen leaning forward slightly, as if trying to get a better view of what was happening in the water. Soft murmurs could be heard, most of them a mixture of hope and intrigue.

Until, in a single movement, everyone retreated with exclamations of horror.

Dyed now a hideously red color, bits of flesh rose to the surface of the water and remained floating. It was as if Pamela's skin had been flayed and cut into strips and pieces. A finger, a shattered eye... was that supposed to be the heart?

If she was supposed to do something, Bloom didn't. The air left her lungs, the veil smothered her face, and her eyes, like Pamela's, wanted to pop out. Her brain stopped processing any of the information her senses were supposed to provide, because she had lost them.

When a piece of Pamela’s scalp came to the surface, Bloom wanted to vomit. She was about to stand up, but a hand held her in place. When a golden goblet full of blood-soaked water was handed to her, Bloom wanted to scream. When her mother told her to drink, Bloom wanted to run away.

“You must drink it. It’s disrespectful if you don’t,” Marion said, kneeling before her. In her eyes, she saw pity and compassion.

“Mother, I…” Bloom cursed herself as her voice broke. At least the queen wouldn’t see the tears that had soaked her cheeks without permission. “Mother, I don’t…”

“Drink,” the tone was no longer complacent, but demanding. “For the girl, Bloom. For the Great Dragon. For Sparx.”

For Sparx. Domino, whom Pamela had chosen as her Sparx, had undone her, just as Barklin had warned it would.

In an act that Bloom had no time to stop, Marion tore off her veil and brought the goblet to her lips, forcing the liquid down her throat. Bloom, trying to slow down before she choked, hurried to hold it, feeling the warmth of her mother's hands in hers.

Everything that happened next, Bloom preferred not to understand why. That mixture was supposed to be the most disgusting thing that had ever ended up in her mouth; she was supposed to spit it all out, vomit her entrails, wishing she could drink bleach to get rid of the taste. She was not prepared – especially because no one warned her that it would be like this – for the fact that that liquid was the best thing she had ever tasted. So good that the urgency to drink it made a lot of it run down the corners of her mouth and chin. It tasted like sangria, with a slight sweet flavour of honey and chocolate, and the bitterness of green olives in the last sip.

It was intoxicating.

She wanted more.

“Bloom.” Her face was completely anchored by her father’s large hand. “Sweetheart, your eyes…”

“More.” The order came out as a growl she couldn’t control (because, deep down, she wasn’t the one in control anymore). Was it her, or was the air getting more stuffy? “I. Need. More.”

“Go fill her cup.” For the first time in a long time, Bloom wanted to hug her mother out of happiness and hit her father for stopping Marion from giving the cup to the Arcanum.

“We don’t know what’s going on. This has never happened. We’re not supposed to give her more. It can be dangerous,” he argued.

The voices began to fade, and her vision began to blur. Her head felt strangely heavy, and she could feel a breath inside her that begged for more. Her entire chest and insides were burning, as if it were a house succumbing to flames. She could feel something purring, but also growling. Maybe her soul was as drunk as she was. But it didn't matter, because they both agreed that they needed…

“…more. She’s the Guardian, we can’t put her at risk without knowing…”

A strong headache destabilized her, causing her to protect it between her hands. Her heart was beating erratically, but Bloom could perceive another rhythm. Far away, distant, but still inside her.

“Come on,” she heard the Arcanum’s voice. “We’d better get her out of here…”

“No!” In a moment of sobriety (little more than a second), she raised her head. “I need more. I…”

She didn't have time to finish her sentence, because the world went out first.

Waking up in her bed, with the curtains closed and the various moonlights dimly illuminating the room, made her imagine she was awake.

Perhaps she was. But if so, how was Pamela in front of her? Standing. Completely naked, looking at Bloom as if she were her only salvation. This made Bloom sit up cautiously, leaning against the headboard.

“Pamela?” she called. Her voice, which had sounded unrecognizable what seemed a moment ago, had returned to normal, with a slight hoarseness.

“You have to find them.”

“Find them?”

Bloom felt her back burn intensely.

Oh, okay.

No, wait, that’s not okay. How did Pamela know?

“Pamela, how did you…?”

“You have to find them.”

With a frown (and, okay, she had to admit, scared, because if there was one thing Bloom didn't like, it was apparitions. The trauma with Daphne had already been enough for her), Bloom jumped out of bed, slowly walking towards the girl.

“You have to find them.”

She stopped inches away from Pamela's body, who didn't change her expression and just followed her with her gaze.

She looked real.

“You have to find him.”

“Find him?”

“You have to find him.”

"Who?"

“You have to find him.”

A burning sensation gripped Bloom's heart, which quickly spread down her chest, to her stomach, and spread to the rest of her limbs.

Would she be talking about Valtor?

But Pamela knew nothing about Valtor. Neither did Bloom.

Right?

Curiosity got the better of her, making her touch the tip of Pamela's nose, who remained stoic.

Well, she was made of flesh.

Bloom's heart skipped a few beats as Pamela's hands grabbed her arms and, with claws instead of thumbs, began to tear her wrists.

Needless to say, Bloom screamed for her to stop. Bloom begged as blood dripped in absurd amounts onto the carpet of her room. The claws were completely embedded and stuck in her flesh, just as Pamela's eyes were locked on hers.

This was something beyond human strength or magic. This was demonic.

“Pamela! Please!”

“You have to find him. To find them. You have to find them. You have to find him. You have to find him. To find them…”

“Pamela! Please, Pamela!” Bloom had tried so hard to pull her arms out of her grip, afraid of tearing her flesh even more. At that moment, all she could do was cry and beg.

Or so she thought, until her eyes opened again and she found herself lying in bed, with the sun's rays illuminating the room.

No Pamela, she realized. Which was good, if it weren’t for her wrists being completely cut and sheets stained with blood. And the worst part was that Bloom didn't feel well at all. She was losing consciousness, she realized.

There was a knock at the door, and two maids entered the room. Bloom did not know what time it was, but she knew that if they were there, it was because she had missed breakfast for several hours.

The hysterical screams did not come from her mouth, but from the two women who dispersed to help her. One continued to scream out loud while the other ran to the bed to stop the wounds on her arms.

When the healer came running into the room, along with the King and Queen, Bloom wished she hadn't begged Pamela to stop.

“I’m telling you the truth,” she assured herself for the thousandth time, fighting the feeling of faintness. “I didn’t do this to myself.”

“How do you expect us to believe you when you say that a dead woman slit your wrists with her claws?” the Queen inquired.

Bloom looked at her father, sitting on her right side, who was watching her with clear concern. “Bloom, we know you haven’t been well…”, Oritel began.

“Oh, for God's sake, dad!”

“And your mother is right, swettie,” he continued, without stopping to listen to his daughter’s interjections.

“Dad, I already told you it wasn’t me! I would never try to kill myself!”

“Subjective,” Marion said. Bloom gave her a slightly angry look. “Don’t look at me like that. You got yourself into the situation that brought you here. Your impulsiveness and quest for heroism will get you killed one day.”

“There’s nothing heroic about trying to commit suicide. Do you really think I would do it?” Bloom looked at them both, disbelief resurfacing for other reasons. “Is that what you think of me?”

Oritel looked at Marion, who didn’t take her eyes off her daughter for a second. “Daphne also had hallucinations after the offerings,” the King argued.

“She would get drunk afterwards, Oritel, she wouldn’t show up with her wrists cut the next day.”

“Bloom’s reaction wasn’t the most normal one, anyway”, Oritel insisted. Bloom could almost see her father’s gears turning and getting somewhere. “It never happened with Daphne. You know very well that she hated the final part of the ritual.”

“Are you saying this might have something to do with the ritual?” Bloom asked. Oritel turned his attention to her. “That it’s a side effect of what you gave me to drink?”

“Enough of this talk.” The Queen stood up, her expression full of nervousness and irritation. She pointed her finger at Bloom. “You, my girl, better get your ideas in order. You are the Keeper of the Dragon Flame, the sole heir to this throne. I don’t want you with crazy ideas. Whatever happened here, you better forget it and don’t repeat it. Are you listening?”

Bloom snorted and turned her head, her vision momentarily blurred by the light coming from the window, as Oritel stood up. Why did no one ever listen to her? Why didn't her mother believe her?

“Rest easy, little ember.” Her father gently stroked her hand, giving her a sad smile. “We’ll talk more later. About anything you want, okay?”

Bloom was too angry to answer him properly.

The second night after the ritual was not easy. When she woke up to a shadow above her bed, Bloom didn't need much to realize that she was, once again, inside her mind.

Pamela's condition, however, exalted her. Her body was skeletal, parts of her head no longer even had hair, and what she still had was visibly weak and lifeless. Her mouth was drooping to one side, and one of her eyes drooped.

Bloom held back the vomiting, but not the shivers.

“You have to find them.”

The voice was no longer soft and gentle. It was hoarse and much deeper. What had once sounded to Bloom like a request had become an order.

This time, she approached the creature with her hands behind her back. There was no way she was going to let Pamela tear her arms apart again.

“You have to find them.”

“Daphne is the one behind this, isn’t she?” she asked. “It’s the only way she can express herself, and she’s using your image to do it.”

“You have to find him.”

“Who?” Bloom felt irritated. If she wanted to play at apparitions, at least she should be direct. “Why would I?”

“You have to find him.”

“Daphne…” Bloom couldn’t help but take Pamela’s fragile, dry hand in hers. “Please, if it’s you, I need to know.”

Pamela's right hand rose. When it rested on the left side of Bloom’s chest, a warm sensation surged through her.

She couldn't hold back her tears or the smile. “It's you, aren’t you? It's you!”

Bloom, in turn, imitated the action. However, she did not feel a single heartbeat coming from the woman in front of her. The flesh was so thin and soft – as if it were rotting – that the only thing she felt against her palm was the bones.

If Bloom wanted to feel something, Pamela made sure to satisfy her. With a single blow, that same cadaverous hand pierced her flesh. The scream that escaped her mouth as she felt her heart being crushed inside her chest was grotesque.

“You have to find him. You have to find him. To find them. You have to find them. You have to find them. You have to find him. You have to find him. You have to find him…”

The pain made Bloom kick and writhe as she tried to pull Pamela's hand out of her. It was as if she were made of stone. Even pulling Oritel's sword out of that rock hadn't cost her as much. The agony was so great that Bloom fought mostly against herself, preventing her soul from escaping her body.

Her heart was beating weakly when she woke up. The blood was bubbling out of her chest, and she had trouble getting air into her lungs. She found the courage and ability to drag herself out of the room, stumbling down the spiral staircase. She found herself face to face with her father, who had come up to see her. “Bloom?” His arms opened instantly, ready to welcome her youngest daughter.

“It wasn’t me…” She took a deep breath, as she pressed the opening in her chest, trying to force as much as her healing magic would allow (which was little).

Looking back, Oritel ordered to find the healer immediately. Without wasting time, he picked her up and took her to the infirmary. The healer immediately appeared, accompanied by the Queen and her assistant.

“What happened?” Marion ran to the bed, seeing Bloom’s chest soaked in blood. Was that… distress?

“I don’t know! I was going to visit her when I found her like that on the stairs. She said it wasn’t her…”

“Daphne…” Bloom whimpered. “I need Daphne…”

“I think she’s entering a state of hallucination.”

“Then do something!” The sharp tone with which the Queen’s order was delivered stopped any conversation.

Hours passed. Bloom found herself recovered, sitting on the edge of her bed, surrounded by her parents and the healer. “I can't figure out the source of these injuries. They're not attacks, but they're not magic either, as they're easily treatable.” The last explained.

“What are you hiding from us, Bloom?”

“Mom, I’m not hiding anything.”

“Don’t fool me. You’re up to something. What evil entity have you messed with this time?”

“Marion, leave her alone. From now on, the healer will spend the night watching over you.”

Pamela appeared again on the third night. Calling the skeleton and its remains Pamela was a hyperbole. That could have been any creature but the girl she had met at Mirage.

“You have to find them.”

“I’m getting seriously sick of this.” Bloom threw the sheets back, rushing up to meet the apparition. “What are you going to do to me this time? Cut me open?”

“You have to find him.”

“You could tell me how, don’t you think?”

“You have to find him. To find them. Find him. Find them. He’s already here. He’s here. He never left.”

Bloom woke up and glanced at the woman in an armchair supposedly responsible for watching her sleep.

She hadn’t seen her slit neck, and talking with her throat cut is a challenge to say the least. So, with the last of her strength, Bloom repeatedly banged on the bedside table, waking the old lady up.

The energy that wrapped around Bloom's neck was not indifferent to her. At that time, it was familiar. The usual.

“Don’t call my parents,” she asked.

“Princess, I don’t…”

“That’s an order. Don’t call them.”

In a contest to see whose gaze would give in first, the woman lost. “If you allow me, the Arcanum can help you.”

The fourth night was different. When she woke up in her dream, she thought she would face Pamela again. However, she was surprised to see a falcon through the window, standing on the balcony.

She got up, slowly, as if not to scare the animal. Walked sneakily, drew back the curtains, and felt the warm floor of the balcony on the soles of her bare feet.

The bird’s black eyes pierced her being, as if they were trying to tell her something.

“This can’t be real.” Her hand was inches away when the animal took flight, vanishing into the air.

When the first rays of sunlight blessed Domino, Bloom dressed according to the requirements dictated by Dominian religion. Barefoot and veiled, she went to the small chapel located in the palace gardens.

The heavy red wooden doors were already open. The chapel was a well-preserved space, although small. There were four benches on each side, the path marked by a large red carpet and eight stone columns, surrounded by rose bushes and small carved dragons.

The altar rose from two more pillars, entwined with living rose bushes, arching over a glass well overflowing with petals. Further ahead, a pile of unlit candles rested.

It was the colors dancing across the floor, reflected by the sunlight, that captured her attention most.

“I didn’t expect you to be the first person to come here today.” The deep voice startled her, making her look ahead. The Arcanum was staring at her from the altar with a solemn smile on his face.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect to find myself here either,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush. Was it embarrassing that the Guardian of the Dragon Flame had only been here once to burn what remained from her sister’s body? Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she avoided being there. “I have a few questions for you, Arcanum. I need your guidance.”

The Arcanum held out his hand. “Come.” Bloom walked over, feeling the rough carpet beneath her feet, and sat down on the stairs with him. “What’s tormenting you?”

What was tormenting her? Everything. Absolutely everything, from falling asleep to breathing. The dog-cat relationship with her mother, the fact that Valtor was alive and in Domino, the cure she couldn't find, no matter how much she searched and begged for one.

“Ever since the offering, I’ve been having strange dreams.” Her fingers intertwined restlessly with each other, or else they curled around the edge of her veil. “The girl comes to visit me and tells me things. Does things to me.”

“What exactly?” One of his hands reached for Bloom’s. Whether he was telling her to stop or assuring her that everything was okay, she couldn’t tell, but the action made her look at him.

She had never been so close to the Arcanum and had never been able to observe him in such detail. When she did so for the first time, she realized that it was a sin to be so beautiful. Almost immaculate, as if he were from another world and not a mere mortal devoted to a religion. She could feel his aura, so electrifying that it reminded her of the storms that had frightened her as a child. Something about him made her uneasy.

“This has been happening for four nights now. The first night, she ripped my wrists open. Then, she squeezed my heart. She cut my neck, too.”

The Arcanum’s eyebrows were raised as he looked away from Bloom, clearly deep in thought. Bloom could almost feel the wheels of his brain working. “What does she tell you?”

“She tells me that I have to find them and find him and that to find them I have to find him. On the third night, she told me that ‘he’ is already here and that ‘he’ has already arrived.”

The man in front of her straightened his posture and finally let go of her hands. His initially light expression was now filled with intrigue. “You told me it had been four nights. What did you dream about this time?”

“With a falcon that appeared to me on the balcony. That’s all.”

The man's gaze lit up. “Of course… Of course it did.”

“Oh my God, you don’t believe me either?!” Bloom stood up instantly, outraged. “I know my parents don’t believe me, but I thought you would be the best person to try to help me. I swear I’m not lying and I swear I’m not self-inflicting…!”

“I know, my Princess. I believe everything you are telling me.” He tapped lightly on the stairs. “Please, sit down. I promise I believe you.”

Bloom sat down on the stairs again.

“The Queen had already confessed to me her concern about the fact that Your Grace insisted on using certain expressions that do not fit our faith.” Bloom opened her mouth to complain, but the Arcanum did not allow it: “It is not in my place, nor do I have the right, to say what you can or cannot believe. I understand that having been educated on a planet completely different from ours, where magic was not, at all, something real, you acquired in your thinking and way of being, way of living, the ideals of the people who created you. As much as I am the prophet of Domino's beliefs, I am not the controller of other people's faith.”

Bloom felt herself relax. “Thank you, Arcanum.”

“However, Bloom… If you do not believe in our religion, it is time you did, for I fear the offering has achieved its purpose.”

Bloom’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Princess, the falcon is not just any animal. It is sacred.”

The Arcanum's expectant gaze hit her, as did the realization of what was happening.

“Are you saying that Pa…” she refrained from revealing her knowledge of Pamela’s identity, “the offering reached the gods? The Great Dragon will be resurrected?”

“I think it’s quite possible. And it makes perfect sense. The offering took place during the lunar eclipse of Aeris. I think Iarus found a way to reach the girl’s soul.”

“And why contact me?”

“Is it natural for you to often forget that you are the keeper of the most absurdly powerful magic that has ever existed?” he asked, his amusement unmistakable. Thanks to the veil, he couldn’t see Bloom’s red cheeks. “The Dragon has trusted you to watch over the Flame while He recharges His strength. Surely the gods feel that you are the best person to heed the messages.”

Bloom became thoughtful.

“When I came to Alfea, before I even knew who I was, Daphne would visit me in my dreams. Couldn’t it be…?”

“I don’t think so”, the Arcanum said immediately. It was as if he had stabbed her in the chest. “Daphne was a nymph, but she had no connection with the gods. That was only proven when the Princess drank the waters of Satorny. Your sister never reacted that way, nor did your mother.”

Bloom didn’t know her mother had participated in the rituals. She thought that only people connected with the power of the Flame or with one of the gifts could do it.

“So, you think it was the god Iarus sending a message?”

“I truly believe so. They cut your wrists because you have the power of the Dragon in your veins. Since no one believed you, they squeezed your heart as a sign of sacrifice. And since your voice was not heard, they cut your throat.”

Well, it was difficult not to believe it when it made sense.

“She… she was rotting more within each dream.”

“It could mean that time is pressing. What do you think the gods want you to look for?”

Telling the truth was not a good path at all. The only thing that made sense to her was that Pamela’s ‘Find him’ was referring to Valtor. Who else would ‘him’ be if not him? However, no one knew he was alive besides her. Confessing that Pamela was asking Bloom to find a dead person was suspicious.

Surely, Bloom could just be paranoid and obsessed. Maybe Iarus didn’t want her to find Valtor after all. Perhaps it was her subconscious trying to give her a good reason to reach out to the bastard.

But wasn’t it a hell of a coincidence, tho?

“I don’t know, honestly”, she ended up saying.

“I think it only remains for me to wish you good luck in fulfilling your mission. You have always succeeded in everything you set out to do. I doubt you will fail now.” The Arcanum stood up and gave her his hand to help her up. “Smile, Princess. This is good news, even if the disturbing dreams persist. It means that the equilibrium is near.”

It was with that sentence in mind that she left the chapel. Her reasoning was interrupted when she noticed the presence of people in the castle atrium. Today, just like the previous nights, the streets would be much busier due to the offering celebrations. There would be street shows, such as fire eaters, dancers, lots of music and wine, but, above all, lots of belly dancers.

Clearly, Kiera had to attend. 

“Kiera! Long time no see!” Angus greeted her, pulling her into a hug (which surprised Bloom by how heartfelt it was). “I was starting to get worried, after what I heard about Khyrnir.”

“I also heard he was caught stealing in Eraklyon. I never liked him.” That wasn’t false, no. Bloom had never liked his insolent tone or his arrogance.

“Maybe it was better this way. I didn’t like the way he treated you. But look at you!” Angus raised his hand high, encouraging her to take a little spin. “You look even more beautiful! And that purple looks enchanting on you.”

“Thank you so much, Angus!”

“I think I’ll go get a glass of wine. Would you like some?”

“Do you think I would ever refuse you anything?”

Angus laughed and walked into the crowd, heading towards one of the tents. Hearing the beginning of a new melody, she too joined the other dancers. This was the well-known fire dance, usually the most performed during celebrations. It was called the fire dance because it attracted anyone who had a connection with the element, and the flames themselves gave the illusion that they were dancing to the beat.

Bloom remembered the first time she had heard it. It had been on the first Day of the Rose she had spent in Magix. Several performances were taking place in the square when Bloom had lost Stella, due to the call not only of the music but also of who was dancing to it.

If one looked at it, one would see that the world doesn’t turn – it capsizes. Now Bloom was dancing (pretending to be someone else) in a Dominian square filled with her people, during a traditional celebration. The feeling, however, was the same: as if all her power ran euphorically through her veins and forced her to move, as if, for just one time, she was connected to all those people by something much greater than culture: by the Flame.

As a sense of overwhelming raw power surrounded her, swallowing her whole to the point of suffocation, she almost blinked – but she didn't, because she was already looking for the beacon. The others didn't notice any of it, and as quickly as it had come, the tightness in her chest disappeared, shaking her.

The music stopped, and the dancers dispersed again, making way for pedestrians wandering the street. Bloom, for her part, couldn’t move.

“If you shake your hips one more time, those medallions will fall out of your skirt,” Angus’s voice laughed behind her. A wooden cup filled with wine was presented to her. “This one’s for you…”

She wasn't paying attention at all to what was happening around her, but to the feeling that was escaping from her chest, as if it were moving away.

And it did so – towards the castle.

“I have to go,” she said quickly, without even looking at Angus.

“What?! Where are you going?!”

Angus didn't get an answer because when he realized it, Bloom was already making her way through the crowd. Her purple and medal-adorned clothes didn't blend in well with the crowd, but she didn't have much time to think about that.

You have to find them. You have to find him. To find them. He's here. He's already here.

Pamela's words assailed her mind. Could it be him? It had to be, right? Her parents weren't going to be around people so openly, and she had never felt this way around them.

No. That was a special connection. As old as the Great Dragon itself.

It was him, and she was going to find him.

During the celebrations, the bridge, the palace atrium, and the gardens were opened to welcome citizens and tourists from across the kingdoms, all eager to witness the best of Domino. The sheer number of visitors, combined with the narrowness of the bridge, considerably slowed the movement.

Bloom's anxiety had begun to show signs of life. Her heart was threatening to explode inside her chest, her hands were slippery with sweat, and her throat was dry. When she finally crossed the bridge, she found herself momentarily lost. Several people were walking through the gardens with glasses of wine or champagne in their hands. They watched the plays and the proclamations of love or sarcasm. There was so much energy that she just wanted to curl up on the ground and cover her ears. She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout – whether for herself or him, it didn’t matter.

A glimpse of power, carried on the night breeze, brought her back into focus. It was coming from the Lovers’ Garden – a private garden, reserved only for the Crown. Only a small part of the garden was not restricted to the public, so, stealthily, she crept in, trying not to arouse too much suspicion – beyond the big trees, the gardens were (or should have been) guarded, as they were already considered restricted public property. She was not at all surprised to see the guards ‘busy’ with two girls from the harem. She would deal with that later. Now, if you asked her how surprised she was to see the secret passage from the Swan Fountain open to the stairs that would lead to the underground tunnels, Bloom would have to admit that she did not expect to see it at all.

What did he want from the tunnels? Or rather, where did he intend to go through them? Without questioning herself any further, Bloom went down and, with a simple snap of her fingers, closed the passage so as not to attract attention.

The tunnel fell into immense darkness, which led her to consider two hypotheses: either he had the vision of a feline, or he was way into the tunnels, as she could see no light from where she stood.

It was part of Crown’s security protocol to be familiar with the main tunnels and memorize the various paths. However, according to the records, the palace contained 247 tunnels and small passages, which branched out to form not only several possible paths and shortcuts, but also a gigantic maze.

Needless to say, Bloom didn't memorize the fucking map. Why the hell would she know all the fucking tunnels? It wasn't as if she would need to chase a criminal through underground passages years later, a criminal who had possible intentions of entering the castle to do who knows what with her parents and...

She took a deep breath and counted to ten just once, because she didn't have time to allow herself to hate herself less. She summoned a small flame and began walking. An intrusive thought told her to sing, because those who sing drive away their troubles. The idea reminded her of Cloud Tower and a plan that gave her victory over Valtor.

Illusory victory. If Bloom had really won, she wouldn't be chasing him through the castle he had destroyed, through the tunnels where so many bodies were found buried, frozen, mutilated, ambushed...

Bloom hadn't succeeded, it occurred to her. For all her success, this wasn't one of them.

She kept walking, though. No one needed to know. In fact, no one would know that she had failed. She would kill him as soon as she found him, and then no one would know that she had failed, again. No – success was hers and always would be.

Her heart anticipated a sharp pounding. It was close, but how close? Was he using some spell to see in the dark? Why was her flame the only thing giving light to that place? And why was her heart warning her that something… was…

Every hair on her body stood on end as she felt a presence behind her. The sensation was so overwhelming that the oxygen was drained from her lungs and blood.

When she was little, when she was afraid of monsters and thieves and heard a strange noise, she pretended to be as quiet as she could under her sheets. At that moment, the only thing covering her body was a skirt and a bralette, and to protect herself from the monster behind her, her body did not dare to move. Even her thoughts seemed like whispers inside her mind.

One wrong move and she would be eaten alive. She could feel his breath lightly hitting the top of her head.

If she were still a child, she could run and escape. But she was the fucking Guardian of the Dragon Flame and she couldn't run (even if everything told her to, fuck it if they called her a coward).

She didn't have to take the initiative, anyway. The unlit torches were lit, illuminating the space completely. A finger ran down her face, pushing back a strand of her brown hair. The same finger continued, tracing a line down her shoulder and playing with the strap, continuing down her back. Bloom already had goosebumps, but it awakened another side of her that she wanted to bury.

He must have noticed her clenched, trembling fists, because he leaned down so that his mouth was dangerously close to Bloom’s ear. “Do I know you, my dear?”

Faced with the silence, a quick movement caused her body to be cornered against the wall. One of his hands held her jaw and the other pinned hers above her head.

She felt as if the skin on her face had been ripped off, accompanied by a cold sensation and a lightning bolt down her spine. Her mask had just been ripped off. “Oh, hello, love. Did you miss me?”

“No. Miss me?”

“You don’t know how much.”

He had the audacity to give her such a voracious kiss that she returned it in a moment of pure madness. He let go of her so he could lose his hands in her hair, now red, and hers instinctively went to his chest. 

Of course, in the next second, in a lapse of dignity and conscience, she captured his lower lip with her teeth and tore it as she pushed him away from her and her mouth. With his eyes blazing, his breathing ragged, his shirt crumpled and his lips moist and swollen, he ran his hand over his mouth, wasting only a second to admire the blood dripping from his lip.

Why was the view so picturesque?

“Always so violent…” He smirked. “I’m glad to know you haven’t lost your affection for me, Bloom.”

“Fuck you”, she growled, the fury of days (weeks, months, God, years!) building inside her.

“Of course, love. What else could I be used for if not to make you scream my name?”

And so the fire arrows followed, fast enough for her not to defend herself. She allowed her body to slide down the wall, ending up on her knees on the floor with her head down.

Fuck her body, honestly. That had hurt her pride much more.

She now realized her weakness. He had been feeding on her all along. This was a display of pure power – her power, turned against her. She almost felt sorry for all those she had defeated.

“You know I don’t like easy victories. I’ve told you that before…”

Noticing two boots right in front of her, she looked up, because she wasn't weak and she wasn't afraid. Not being weak didn't stop her from being stupid, though. She should have known better than to glare at him as she knelt in front of him.

He didn't like easy victories. However, that one she had given to him for free.

He smiled, clearly concluding the same thing she had, hinting at it.

She wanted to spit in his mouth and rip her own heart out of her chest.

“You’re beautiful either way, little fairy, but keep your hair red, will you? I want to see it spread out on my bed…” he said casually, as a hand cupped her chin as if to stop her from looking away. His thumb traced her lip. “Just like old times…” Watching him bend over, she imagined gouging out his eyes. However, her fantasy was cut short when her cheeks were pinched painfully. “Before you leave me to succumb beneath that lake!”

His free hand occupied her neck. It was a miracle her eyes didn't pop out. And, okay, she might be stupid, but she wasn't weak.

“It almost sounds like I hurt your feelings,” the voice came out completely choked and unrecognizable to her ears.

“Not as much as I’m going to hurt that piece of sin you call your body, my love.” Her hair was combed back. It was just a small demonstration of his physical strength: a single hand around her throat and she was already on the verge of passing out, while the other gently caressed the top of her head, sliding his fingers through her soft hair with great care, as if the slightest slip could break them (as if he didn’t want to do that at all). “Unfortunately, however, I have other things to do first. I only wanted to test my theory with this meeting of ours, but it wasn’t necessary. You succumbed to your old habits and came straight to me.”

Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, but she wasn't going to beg.

“Don’t be sad, little fairy. We’ll see each other soon,” he teased, as if her tears were due to their separation, and not to the reduced amount of oxygen in her blood. “You have my word, and you know it’s not as fragile as yours.”

Unfortunately, she had to admit it. Obviously, only to herself.

As she was released, purple and blue dots flew across her visual field. It took her a few seconds to realize that Valtor was already on the opposite side, ready to enter a portal. “Until we meet again, Bloom.”

So she ran. With all the strength her fury could muster, she pulled her fist back, and just as she was about to hit him in the face (which she knew would still be immaculately perfect even with a black eye and a broken nose), he smiled and disappeared.

The portal closed. The torches went out. The wall in front of her took the brunt of the blow, and she could hear bones cracking.

The excuse she gave for walking around with her right hand in a cast for two weeks was that she had fallen down some stairs during the celebration, after a night of heavy drinking.

After all, what's the point of being successful if success doesn't allow us to use the adrenaline to be equally stupid?

Notes:

Well, now we know who shot fire arrows at our fairy.

And now you ask me, "What did Valtor mean by wanting to see Bloom's hair spread in his bed like the old times?", and I'll answer: "The next chapter is an analepsis."

Thank you so much for your support! You have no idea how much it means to me! Be kind to yourselves! <3

See ya!

Chapter 4: Glory

To this day, Bloom has never forgotten the conversation that started it all.

“Did you want to talk to me?” she asked, dragging one of the wide chairs opposite the window and sitting down.

“How are you, Bloom?” The headmistress watched her with her usual caring but analyzing gaze.

“I’m fine, Miss Faragonda.”

A moment of silence followed and was broken when the old woman sighed.

“Bloom, what I’m about to ask of you may be quite delicate,” she began, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose – a tic Bloom noticed Faragonda had whenever she intended to initiate a difficult conversation – “and I want you to know that you can decline if you feel uncomfortable.”

That piqued Bloom's damn curiosity, which, having just turned eighteen, had plenty to satisfy.

(In retrospect, her curiosity was as immortal as her impulsiveness, and one usually led to the other.)

“Of course! But what is it about?”

“I have a mission for you.” Not satisfied, she took her glasses and a cloth from one of the pockets of her skirt, proceeding to clean the lenses. “I think I have a plan, and you are the best person to carry it out.”

At this statement, the only thing that kept Bloom from jumping out of her chair was her good manners. “You… You have?! So what are we doing here? We’d better call the others and…”

About to get up from her seat, Faragonda raised her hand, signaling Bloom to stay still. “I know you must be tired after these last few intensive months, but I ask you to listen to me carefully.” Her glasses were back on her face, and so was her stern gaze. “As I said, it is a plan that suits you best. The others are excused, and please, I ask you not to mention this conversation to them, even if you do not agree to go ahead with it.”

Bloom said nothing. Shifted on the edge of her chair, as if to hear better.

The truth was that she was stupidly nervous (and scared, as much as she didn't like to admit it to herself). Months had passed since Valtor had escaped from Omega, and everything they did seemed to blow up in their faces. They were losing battles owing to exhaustion, stupidity, and fear. Her friends' Enchantix was only powerful enough to keep him on hiatus, but not enough to stop him for good.

At that point, any plan that came to their minds was worth trying. And Bloom was hungry to win. She would eat anything thrown in front of her, as long as it gave them the slightest advantage over the wizard.

Just by mentioning it, Bloom felt the connection between them pulsate inside her. She hated it. Every time she sensed it, it was a reminder that Valtor was still alive – and therefore, it only made her hate him even more, especially because, as much as she knew it was nothing more than a stupid connection, it felt more like he was inside her: breathing, sliding through her blood cells, running through her veins throughout her body, making her heart almost go crazy.

Sometimes the sensations were so intense that she swore he was controlling her body. The chills, the tremors, the sweating, the shortness of breath, the blurred vision, the shaky legs, the urge to scream… (Sometimes it felt like a panic attack – other times, it was like something else that she didn’t want to think about – it was disgusting, but she couldn’t stop it.)

“Whatever you say is best! I accept, I'm ready!”

Especially after the last disastrous encounter on Callisto, where Bloom had, in the eyes of the royal family, let Valtor escape. (In her own eyes, the perception was not so different.)

“I must warn you that the Council has approved it, but if anything goes wrong, they will not be held responsible. Therefore, I ask you to consider this very carefully. For if you fail, your back will be the target.”

Bloom nodded. It was nothing new that she would take the blame if Valtor succeeded. There was no need for Valtor to win; they judged her already. She hadn't attracted good looks since Realix (God, since the Army of Decadence).

“We noticed that Valtor has a… special interest in you.”

“He destroyed my kingdom. Obviously he wants to destroy me, too.”

“Really? I want you to think about all the times you confronted him.”

Bloom did this all too often, looking for mistakes and flaws in her actions that led to successive defeats. Whenever she did so, only one detail insisted on filling her mind: how fierce he seemed wrapped in his flames, ready – always and only about – to catch her.

The image could have been divine. (It was. A dragon at the height of its power, devouring whatever it could freely with its fire, without a single hair disheveled at the end of the battle.) However, the possibility of it being so was not as damaging to her ego as the certainty, which Bloom firmly rejected.

“Have you ever noticed,” Faragonda continued, “that he never uses his full force against you?”

The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

“He had no problem blinding Layla. What was the worst thing he did to you?”

“I… I don’t know. There were so many battles that… well…”

Among those battles, the first one stands out, in which he saved her from the cursed waters of Andros.

Plus, she couldn’t get over the fact that he didn’t kill her when she threw shit at his pretty and immaculate face on Eraklyon, or when he didn’t cast a single spell at her when she pushed him into the lake, after she met with the Council. She could bet not everyone would survive after humiliating him like that.

And yet, there she was – wondering why she hadn’t hurt him those times too.

As if reading her thoughts, the headmistress said: “Don’t you agree? Even though we don’t know its origins, it’s undeniable that he’s interested in you, don’t you think?”

It was then that Bloom began to suspect the woman’s intentions. “Faragonda, what are you asking of me?”

Staring at the cloth she was playing with in her hands, the headmistress sighed. “I’m asking you, my dear, to seduce him.” Her hands stilled, and her gaze met Bloom’s.

There was a bit of shame in her eyes, but also assertiveness, rough certainty. Almost like she had spent several nights in a blank, that being the only conclusion that she had reached: a sacrifice was needed, and it happens that Bloom was great at that task.

“Excuse me,” Bloom took a moment to process the request, and when she did, she doubted her conclusion. “Are you asking me to become a war bride? Is that why the Council is involved and harassing me? Because Valtor asked you to…?!”

“Holy Arcadia, Bloom, we would never ask for such a thing!” The laughter that followed was clearly nervous. “What I meant was for you to try turning that interest against him and use it to your advantage. Use the connection you both have against him. Pretend, for as long as necessary, that what he feels is what you feel for him. Maybe make him believe that it is real, that his victory is real, and that he has power over you.”

“But we don’t know why he doesn’t confront me the way he does with others. How can I use to our advantage something I don’t know about?”

“It’s simple: applying everything you already know about Valtor.” Faragonda stood up and walked to the large windows, admiring the starry sky. “As much as it may hurt to hear, Valtor is not crazy. He is a maniac. He is not driven by madness, nor by greed, nor even by psychopathy. He is driven by obsession. The obsession given to him by his mothers for a throne, the obsession for the unlimited power of the kingdoms he recently acquired…”

“So, how do we stop this obsession?”

“It’s easy. By bringing up another one.” Bloom could see from the reflection in the window that Faragonda was watching her out of the corner of her eye. “And that one will be you.”

The first emotion that shot through her was, shamefully, fear. She knew that all villains had a strange obsession with her power. Now, instigating an obsession, when it was a wizard much more experienced than her who was not chasing her to take her power, but to kill her, was a completely different game, and Bloom was too tired to play tag.

Besides, she didn't know how to seduce: she never needed to, she didn't even know how she had hooked up with the most popular boy in school and a prince who was the future king of some kingdom. She had no idea how to get a guy to buy her a drink on a night out, let alone convince her arch-nemesis that she was into him. Plus, after last year’s events, it seemed… uncomfortably dangerous.

“And who can guarantee that this will work?” Her voice escaped in a murmur.

“Because you are the most precious thing in this universe and any other. I don’t doubt he already knows that. Just give him a chance and he’ll grab you. His ego will certainly do the rest, fooling him into thinking that you, a naive and completely inexperienced fairy with a tendency towards rebellion, fell for his trick. He’ll think he’s facing an easy victory, and he won’t waste you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Bloom’s statement made Faragonda turn to listen, her eyebrows raised as if she was not used to hearing someone tell her she wasn’t right. “Valtor doesn’t like easy victories, and he knows very well I wouldn’t give him one.”

“If you are up to the challenge, it will not be an easy victory. It will be his defeat.” The headmistress approached again, positioning herself between the fairy and her desk. “Don’t give him the idea that this is a win. Just make him doubt your intentions. Make everything around him be you and catch him when everything he knows is despair to have you.”

Bloom looked down at her hands, which were gripping the hem of her skirt so tightly that her knuckles were white. She released her grip, hiding her strangely cold hands between her bare thighs.

As she closed her eyes, she felt it creeping up inside her. It was such a strange sensation that she hadn’t gotten used to the discomfort yet. It was burning in her throat, like when she had her first cigarette in Gardenia. The difference was in the way the heat spread through her chest and then her belly and stomach as she focused more and more on the connection. If she kept going, the fire would run the length of her arms and legs. And then, out of nowhere, an explosion would happen inside her, sending bolts of euphoric energy through her veins. The faint sound of a heartbeat would haunt her head.

She only allowed it to happen once and swore never to do it again.

She never realized whether it was her heart or his. But when it happened, Bloom felt her heart trying to escape from her rib cage. Those beats were different, calmly rhythmic, as she always felt near Lake Rocca Lucce.

It was different when he appeared near her, though. There was no escalation of sensations. Her heart was just pricked with needles, presenting her with a sharp tingle, almost painful. She could feel him in the air, too. Their energies were so opposite that she could feel the weight of his presence in space and time.

All of this made her wonder if that was the interest he had in her. She pondered whether he could also feel all of that, if his heart also ached when she got close, if he could hear her heart beating. If his heart began to beat as strongly as hers, just like hers calmed when she heard his. Did he dare to listen to hers, as she did not dare to listen to his? Did it bring such fear and bitterness to him, besides the strange familiarity and sense of home?

All of this made her wonder what she was getting herself into. None of this crazy plan was safe, because, for one thing, it wasn’t even a plan. It was just a stupid idea: she would have to come up with the actual plan herself.

A long moment of silence must have passed because Bloom felt a hand lift her chin so that she would look at the headmistress, who was smiling at her kindly.

“What do you say, Bloom? Do we have a deal? We are all counting on you, and I need to inform the Council urgently of your decision.”

“I…” Bloom hesitated. “I will consider it.”

“This may be our only chance, Bloom. Unlike your peers, you have lost everything to this demonic man: your sister, your parents, your kingdom, your right to a throne. None of your friends will understand your sacrifice.” The same hand that had been holding her chin quickly reached out to caress her shoulder. “It’s time to make him pay for this. For Domino.”

She left the Alfea headmistress's office without a definitive answer.

Then, Tecna died (presumably), and she lost her mind. They invaded the Cloud Tower, Valtor spilled details about her parents' deaths, and froze her during an attack.

She made her decision as soon as they set foot in Alfea. Bursting into the office, she caught both Griselda and Faragonda by surprise. “I accept. Tell the Council I accept.”

The next night, she struck back. She flew to the witch school and avoided every bolt of lightning that fell from the sky until she reached the top. Using one of Tecna's devices, she managed to break the magical barrier that protected the windows of Griffin's office and entered without ceremony. When she realized that she was alone, she allowed herself to consider her options: either wait for someone to hopefully arrive or venture into the castle.

Fate decided for her. As he entered with a book in his hands and closed the door behind him, Valtor took only a millisecond to look at her.

Bloom didn't know whether he was surprised or intrigued, but they kept their eyes on each other.

“Good evening.” Valtor was the first to break the ice, closing his book and tucking it under his arm, his hands in his trouser pockets. He was wearing only his white shirt and black trousers. Bloom couldn’t remember ever seeing him so… casual. “I think you’re in the wrong school.”

She, for her part, had not undone her transformation. “That spell that trapped me in a block of ice. You’ve never used it before.” In an act of courage (if not recklessness), she walked around the desk so they were closer. “Teach me.”

“Like I said, fairy,” he said, closing the space between them with long but slow steps, the word ‘fairy’ emphasized with a profound mockery, “you’re in the wrong school.”

“Is that fear that I’ll use it against you? I can swear on my wings that I won’t, if that makes you more comfortable.”

All her bones vibrated when she heard the wizard's laughter, an actual laugh, enough to make his head fall back and his shoulders tremble.

He was beautiful.

All her senses went into overdrive as a large, strong hand wrapped around her neck, sending her staggering back into the desk. Her hands scrambled to try to push it away from her. The book, she noticed, had been left half-open, forgotten on the floor.

Suddenly, her body became completely aware of the distance that did not exist between hers and his. When Valtor's mouth came venomously close to hers, she didn’t know what to do.

He was dangerous.

“Boldness doesn’t suit you at all, Bloom.”

“Why? Because it scares you?” Yes, it was risky to try to sting him when she was running out of air, but that didn’t stop her. “No…” A smirk grew on her lips. “Because you weren’t expecting it, were you?”

“From that impulsive and reckless little head of yours, I expect everything.”

That was debatable. He hadn't anticipated a handful of dragon shit in his face weeks ago. While she regretted not having made him roll around in that dunghill with her more than he had, she decided not to use that argument.

“And yet you attack me with your bare hands, no fancy spells nor even a proper counterattack. It seems impulsiveness is highly contagious.”

“Keep talking, dearest. Maybe you’ll convince yourself that you truly have a plan.”

“Well, I don’t.” She couldn’t help but smile wider in one of her fits of chaos. “Do you?”

She doesn't know when she stopped fighting him – she blamed the connection between them for that – and pulled him closer to her. His leg had no choice but to position itself between hers, and she could feel the buttons of his shirt brushing against the bare skin of her belly. What she didn't expect was for Valtor to suspect her attitude and turn her back to him, pinning her against the desk and her hands behind her back. His free hand rushed to press her head against the tabletop. His fingers gripped her hair tightly, almost hurting her. She hissed with the impact. "I plan on killing you if you don't tell me what the hell you're doing here."

Someone was stressed and impatient.

She could calm him down.

No, wait, what?

“I just came here to talk,” she spat through gritted teeth, more irritated with herself than with him, “but your paranoia doesn’t even allow you to trust a good fairy.”

A laugh full of mockery and sarcasm reached Bloom's ears. "Trust a good fairy? The only good thing about you is your body, dearest." Well, at least that was mutual. "You're not as good as you think you are, and everyone knows it."

“And yet, I’m not the one pressing you against a desk. I’m malevolent,” Bloom said sarcastically, making an effort to observe him from the corner of her eye.

“Is this your plan? Testing my patience?”

“If it’s working, maybe it could be. You can try freezing me again, and I can use your spell against you.”

“Now, now, where is the good fairy oath you made a moment ago?”

“You didn’t teach me anything concretely, so there’s no oath that can save you. You can always put me to the test. I'm sure I’m much tougher than your patience.”

Another laugh ricocheted inside Bloom as Valtor's lips surrounded her ear.

“Or I can mark that beautiful neck of yours and never worry about your impulsiveness again.”

Shit. She had forgotten that he could do it. The self-confidence in her chest shriveled. Her legs ached from being in that position for so long. He felt her weakness.

“What, dearest? Don’t tell me you don’t find it funny when you’re the one being threatened. Did you forget that I also possess the Dragon Flame, that I can be as strong as you?”

“Keep talking.” Their faces were so close that the only thing she could see from the corner of her eye was his, piercing blue, enchanted and deadly beautiful. “Maybe you’ll convince yourself that you really are.” She stopped fighting his grip, laying her head on the table and looking over her shoulder. He straightened up, looking down at her. “And it’s precisely because you’re not that you won’t teach me what I want to learn. You’re afraid I’ll steal the one thing you have against me: knowledge.”

He smiled. “I’m not afraid of you, little fairy.”

“Easy to say, when you have me pinned down.”

Abruptly, Bloom was completely released. When she regained her composure after a few seconds, Valtor was already on the other side of the room, next to the door. There wasn’t a book on the floor anymore. The sudden distance froze her, and all the provocations that had seemed to flow from her lips a few seconds ago died on her tongue.

“The spell is activated as soon as you say ‘oppositus’, and you must think of the opposite of the spell they are attacking you with. You attacked me with fire, and I returned with ice. I could have attacked you with water, but it would have been ineffective. It’s all a matter of quick thinking. It’s a white spell; it doesn’t matter if you impose dark or light magic on it. The basis is simply the intention with which you use it.”

The next moment, fire arrows were shot towards Bloom, whose first reaction was to create a shield. However, at the last second, she broke it and shouted “Oppositus!”

The arrows resumed their course back, and moments before hitting Valtor, they disappeared. “As you can see, it is a simple exercise, much more favorable as a surprise counterattack or used in moments of little to no escape.”

Bloom composed herself, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. I promise never to use it against you.”

About to leave him, Valtor stopped her when he said: “Vervoer meye.”

"What?"

“Vervoer meye.”

“Take me…” The translation escaped her before she could contain it. “I know that language.”

“Of course you do. It’s ours. It’s dominian.” He came closer. “Do you want to know another one?”

She shouldn't have, but she nodded. With his eyes fixed on hers, Valtor smoothed back some of her hair that kept slipping out of her eyes. "Vervoer soyu."

The next thing she knew, she was in the Alfea gardens.

That was the first of many more meetings.

“Are you suffering from insomnia again, my dear?”

When he turned around, Bloom couldn't contain her pride at seeing his stoic expression. His eyes roamed over every hidden and exposed curve of her body.

Valtor almost seemed hypnotized.

“You said I couldn’t do it. I wanted to show you firsthand what I’m capable of.” As slowly as time seemed to pass at that moment, Bloom detached herself from the desk and walked in small steps towards her opponent, who followed her with his eyes fixed on her chest.

No, not on her chest – on her pendant.

“Dragon Flame and Enchantix together. Now that sounds like a challenge,” Valtor stated.

“And it will taste like death when you are kneeling before me begging for mercy.”

The wizard couldn't hold back his laughter.

“Love, I can get down on my knees to do a lot of things to you, but begging is out of the question.” One of his gloved hands ran through a lock of her hair. “Begging sounds much better in the timbre of your voice than it does in mine.”

A shiver ran down Bloom’s spine. He hadn’t stopped ogling her since she’d first set foot in Griffin’s office, and she was beginning to feel naked in front of him. Suppressing the urge to swallow hard, she stood her ground. “It’s a shame you’ll never hear it, isn’t it?”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You’re already begging for my attention. Because otherwise, what else are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be catching up with your little prince?”

When a mischievous smile appears on the wizard’s lips, Bloom is sure her wide eyes have given her away. Hell, she just arrived from Pyros. She hasn’t even set foot on Alfea’s grounds – she’s come straight to him, too proud and excited to show him what she’s achieved – thinking nothing so important awaits her there. Apparently, she’s not the only one with news.

So Stella's fairy dust had worked? Had Sky come back? Was he okay?

Valtor seemed to have caught her confusion. With his head tilted slightly to one side (and a look that, if she didn't know better, she would say was almost the same passion a fox shows for a rabbit), there was no mercy in the way the lines of his chin and jaw drew her in. She noticed the tic at the right corner of his mouth, which momentarily went from a straight line to a crooked one, then returned to its normal state. His eyes lost their previous mocking shine and darkened. When she looked at them again, with her head half-down, she felt her throat tighten and an uncomfortable pressure in her eardrums, as if she were drowning in the open sea. "What do you want from me, Bloom?" His tone was softer than she was used to from him, but it was welcome. "Now that you have my attention, you'd better enjoy it."

Oh, yeah, what did she want? Her attention shifted to a mouth that had just ripped a glove off his right hand. Concentration! What did she want, he asked? She… She wanted…

Bloom held her breath, as if it were a standard response, as one of the wizard's fingers ran along the strap of her Enchantix dress. Her eyes followed the movement, so, so slowly, that her body had forgotten to process what it was feeling, leaving only her skin to imagine – fuck, to desire – what his touch would be like if he continued.

When he reached the end of the strap and reached the first frills of the dress that made up the neckline, Valtor then ran along the hem that ran along the entire side of her breast, under her armpit, and stopped only when his fingers found the first wing. It tickled her slightly, causing her wings to beat in a spasm. Fairy dust fell from them, but he didn´t seem to care. He was to immerse in something, as if he was… studying, taking mental notes.

“Of course, hence the choker. There are no straps at the back to make room for the wings…” he murmured so casually, so lost in himself and yet so focused on his task, that Bloom thought she was out of place. Looking at him, she confirmed that Valtor was so mindlessly lost that, for the first time, she was free of the feeling that she was being hunted.

Her cheeks, however, burned with recognition. Used to being the center of the wizard's attention and being scrutinized by him, this was on a whole different level. It was intimate.

If asked which moment would bring Bloom the most uneasiness and alarm with Valtor, moments ago she would have said in a possible final battle, where she would be completely defenseless, with her defeated friends beside her and without her Enchantix, with him staring at her with that murderous and hungry gaze, watching her burn and succumb at his feet. However, there she was: with her Enchantix, without her friends, of her own free will, face to face with Valtor, who admired – in fact, studied – her new transformation, with his hand – that without a glove! Skin to skin! – without even protesting or stopping him.

She doubted the reality she was in when Valtor himself took the frills on her chest with his fingertips, feeling them and absorbing the texture of the fabric. “Silk on the straps, lace on the frills…” Once again, Bloom couldn’t stop her hair from standing on end when he ran his finger along her strap again. However, instead of resuming the initial route, he continued, and Bloom could feel his nail lightly scratching her nipple.

If she had ever breathed normally, if her heart had ever beat carelessly, she had forgotten it. If she had ever reacted, she did not want to do so now – and that was the danger of the whole situation: the imbalance between her lack of and her will to.

“I see. It’s a silk bodysuit, full of lace ruffles, with a longer end to form a short skirt. The last one is just one; otherwise, the ruffles would separate and expose you when you moved.” His gaze met Bloom’s. His mischievous smile invited her to come down to earth, finally. “It looks great on you. It’s a shame it wasn’t made to come off the body. The blues and oranges would give more life to this rug.” He shrugged, looking back at her body. “Not that it can’t be moved, however…”

As soon as his hand moved to smooth her dress again, she snapped out of her inertia and waved it away. “Enough of this nonsense.”

“Didn’t you come to show me your new Enchantix, my love? It’s a shame, I couldn’t contain my curiosity. I’d never seen one so close. I was intrigued to know how it was made.” His hands hid in his trouser pockets. “And I must say, your tech friend’s one is also quite in keeping with her personality.”

“It would be, if you hadn’t killed her.”

Valtor's eyebrow rose, followed by a knowing smile.

She might not know Valtor completely, and she might fall into all the traps, but she managed to understand that it was neither a challenge nor a trap.

It was a gift.

Bloom immediately whispered the words he had taught her the last time they saw each other and disappeared.

Valtor sighed, watching the line of space and time settle. “The pleasure is all mine.”

However, the peace was short-lived. The door behind him opened, revealing three witches in a state close to pitiful.

“We have bad news,” Icy was the first to break the silence, as angry as exhaustion allowed her to be. “She won the Enchantix.”

“Which doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Darcy sat down – or rather, slumped down – in the chair, staring at Valtor. “The poor things were supposed to have to die to evolve their powers…”

“But of course, that stupid Bloom had to be different,” Stormy, more bored and indifferent, sat on the desk next to the psych witch.

“That’s quite easy to explain, actually,” Valtor approached the two witches in front of him. “After all, she was playing at home. Pyros is a moon of Domino, home of the Great Dragon. Did you think Faragonda had sent her there just for the sake of it? It’s where her magic is strongest, it’s her natural habitat.”

“Don’t tell me you also believe in the story of the Dragon god.”

If she had known, Icy would have thought twice before opening her mouth. The look Valtor gave her didn't pierce her flesh because it wasn't physical, but it did choke her pride. "To deny the existence of the Great Dragon is to deny mine, it's to deny all my power and all my history. Just like Bloom's." She turned to look at the three witches simultaneously. "If you deny that the Great Dragon existed, you deny it in the same way you got a beating today."

A brief silence fell over the room until Stormy shook it off, her voice trembling, embarrassment evident in her expression. “So, does that mean…?”

“Are you a god? A demigod?” Darcy added.

Valtor laughed. It had become more common lately. “As flattering as that is, I am, if anything, the exact opposite. However, Bloom will be the first Guardian of the Flame. Someone had to entrust her with such strength, didn’t they?”

“Just as the Ancestresses trusted you?”

“And how did anyone trust them?”

“No. Our mothers found a dark spark wandering in the vast immensity of this universe and took possession of it,” he explained, walking over to his chair.

“And so you were born,” concluded Icy.

He doubted it sometimes. He had taken to sleeping only enough to recharge his batteries and to prevent hallucinations – for they were not dreams, he did not dream, and they were not visions, because he did not foresee the future – from taking over his mind while he rested. He did not like to admit, least of all to himself, how disconcerting they were, for they made him question himself – another thing he hated doing, that he did not allow himself to do.

“And so I am born,” he nodded. “Pyros, after the fall of the Dragon, has become unstable. Dragons are restless, volcanoes unpredictable. No wonder they attacked Bloom. They do not recognize her as Domino’s legitimate daughter, and without our Father, they also do not recognize that she is worthy of the source of power she has.”

“Where is your god, then?” Darcy asks, catching her master’s gaze. “You said the Dragon succumbed. Why?”

That was an excellent question. As far as he knew, no one had a real reason as to why the Great Dragon had left Domino. The most common rumor was that it was asleep, charging its energy for a great battle that was coming. At the time, it was believed that the battle in question would be the one that would later claim Domino’s life. However, what happened was that the Great Dragon did not restore the balance of Domino. No. Instead, it gifted the youngest princess in the queendom, who had just been born, with the greatest strength in the history of the universe.

And so, Bloom was born, in the middle – literally – of a battle. Beneath the palace, somewhere in a dark and damp tunnel, Marion had escaped from the room where Oritel had imprisoned her to keep her safe, because – and this event may have given rise to the ‘like mother, like daughter” – the Domino Queen could not stay away from a minefield for long.

Everyone feared Oritel, but it was always Marion whom everyone ran away from.

She had fire in her eyes, Valtor remembers. Fire that he sees not only reflected in Bloom's eyes but embodied in them. While Marion's heat could be felt, Bloom's burns on and under the skin of all who encounter her – that is the difference between mere Fire and the fatal Flame.

Bloom didn't understand where her powers came from, however.

“It was your willpower, Bloom,” Faragonda repeated, for the third time that night. “You wanted it so badly, and you did it. I’m so proud of you!”

“Are you?” The stars at night didn’t shine as brightly as her eyes.

“Of course. It’s quite a rare thing, if it ever happened. Now, the chances of facing Valtor are even greater…”

Bloom stopped listening to the headmistress's speech. Something was missing there, in that explanation. How had she gotten the Enchantix with just a few exercises, focus, and willpower? Not that she didn't have it – God, ever since she found out there was another transformation, it was all she wanted – but the others had practically faced death for their kingdoms.

And Bloom just… wished?

“So, Enchantix, huh?” Stella hugged her from behind, once back on the ships, back at Alfea, and with Tecna sleeping on Timmy’s lap. “I never doubted you!”

“Well, of course, minus the crying the night you left…”, Layla interrupted, more amused than serious.

“Hey!” The princess of Solaria turned her attention away from Bloom to look at her other friend. “Faragonda told us that she had gone to a super dangerous place from which she might not return. Was I supposed to have a party?”

“It’s okay, Stel,” Bloom placed a hand on her colleague’s shoulder. “I was frightened myself and broke down many times.”

“How was it? Pyros?” Flora asked.

“Chaotic. My days were spent trying not to be a meal for the dragons there. Then I met a friend of Faragonda’s who helped me gain more control over my emotions and power, helping me to focus on my goal. Oh, and I had a visit from our three old friends.”

“The Trix!” Musa interjected, rising from her seat. “How did those three know you were in Pyros?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t care, honestly.” Bloom laughed. “I just know they were the ones who triggered my powers, so I thanked them with the beating of their fucking lives.”

“As you should! Every day is a good day to show those witches what a Winx is capable of.”

She found it funny when she remembered, days later, what Musa had said. Because now, she was living with the news that her Enchantix was... what had Faragonda called it?

Oh, yes: incomplete.

That night, Bloom walked to the Cloud Tower. Untransformed, just her knitted top, denim skirt, knee socks, and high-heeled boots.

When she discovered that the school's large door was unlocked, she was astonished. However, when the large gates closed behind her, the interior of the school fell into complete darkness.

The shock fled, and the shame of feeling afraid in the face of the situation was not great enough to overcome it, as goosebumps appeared on her arms and back, traveling down her spine.

She remembered Musa and her home – not Domino, the truest, Gardenia – and what they both taught her: sing loud and proud, until the evil’s not around.

Afraid of what she might find in the school corridors, she lit a flame. The bubble of light that formed around her dispelled some of her fear. That school was magical; she knew it all too well. It could play tricks on her, tricks she wasn't ready to face that night.

Besides, she was so tired. What the hell was she even doing there? Buying time until a good plan came up. The truth is, some meetings later, time still seemed scarce, as did the plans Faragonda had promised.

Her head couldn't shake the idea that it was a trap. Her heart wanted to believe it wasn't, but it told her to get out of there. Her head, however, ordered her to continue, knowing that she would regret it later.

The regret would be worth it – she would make sure of it.

So she sang the first thing that came to mind. It turned out that Bloom was so terrified that she opened her mouth to keep from making a sound. Her throat was dry, and the melody scratched her throat. The only thing she could hear was her heart destroying the ribcage that protected it, so frantically was the poor thing beating.

Fuck, okay, she liked the adrenaline, but this was too much. She had never liked Cloud Tower, the fucking school was alive, at any moment she could be walking and the next moment she could be swallowed by a wall or a monster or...

She remembered, suddenly, as if it were a minor detail, that this same school was, at that very moment, under the power of her enemies (who, well, using past events and statements, did not want her alive).

Her head changed its mind and begged to go back, fuck it, she wasn't going to, no, no way, she wasn't going to walk all the way through the school until she got to, nah, nah, no way, no fucking way…

Oh, for God's sake! It wasn't the first time she'd been alone in the witches' castle. She'd snuck in with Sky and the Winx before. She'd defeated Icy alone, they'd invaded Realix and defeated Darkar...

…and he almost defeated her, drastically, terribly, her wrists shivering as she felt the cold table, the grip around her, her throat, her body…

No! No, no, no! We're not going there!

Sing away your troubles, Bloom, just sing them away…

“You keep sayin' you've got somethin' for me…” Her voice came out so shaky and rough that Bloom didn't recognize it. “Somethin' you call love but confess” the fear not only present in the whispers, but in the way she looked at everything around her, waiting for a hand to come alive from one of the walls and silence her. “You've been a'messin' where you shouldn't've been a'messin'…”

When a breeze caused her flame to tremble, Bloom staggered back and stopped to take a deep breath.

Oh, come on! What was she afraid of? Facing Valtor? The Trix?! For God's sake, girl, get your bearings! Stop being silly!

He must be laughing so hard right now. Accompanied by those three.

That is, if they are not… busy.

“And now someone else is getting all your best!”

The thought made her wake up. Who do they think they are to laugh (hypothetically) at her?! How many times will she have to send those witches home crying? How many times will she have to undo the shit Valtor does just to prove that, after all, the only thing he has more than her is his nerve and ego?

They had no match for her. And that made her puff out her chest and march like Buddy had taught her.

“These boots are made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.” She almost roared the verses, seeing that her flame had released more light with the courage.

“You keep lyin' when you oughta be truthin'… And you keep losing when you oughta not bet… You keep samin' when you oughta be a'changin'… Now what's right is right but you ain't been right yet.” Turn after turn, Bloom found herself climbing the castle, losing her fear. The sudden breezes no longer frightened her, and she noticed that even the walls had retreated to make room for her walk, for her presence, as if they were dancing to the sound of her voice. Confidence quickened her pace and increased the volume with which she hummed. “These boots are made for walkin' and that's just what they'll do… One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you!”

The sound of her heels echoed within the walls, marking the beat. She hopped up the stairs, almost kicking her butt with her heels, moving to the beat in her head, and landed on the last step with both feet just as the bass struck the last note of the chorus. “You keep playin' where you shouldn't be playin'…” Sensing something trying to reach her from behind … “And you keep thinkin' that you'll never get burnt… Ah!” …she turned around with a jump, eliminating the darkness that had been left behind. The fire briefly covered the walls, leaving a trail of light. She saw the shadows running away. “I just found myself a brand new box of matches, yeah…” She turned again to face the path ahead of her, seeing that her flames lit the corridor. Darkness had lost. “And what he knows you ain't had time to learn…”

By her calculations, she was almost there, just in time to end the song. “These boots are made for walkin'… And that's just what they'll do… One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you…”

In front of Griffin’s office door, she murmured to herself: “Are you ready, boots?” Cracked her neck, tilting it from side to side. “Start walking!”

Bloom entered the office only to find it abandoned. Walking solemnly around the space, she noticed that the desk was emptier than usual, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what was missing.

A dull thud of the door slamming made her jump in surprise. She ran and opened it to see the hallway in the same darkness she had left it in before entering. Successive bangs caught her attention, making her follow the echo, until she noticed a door opening and closing frantically.

About to put her hand on the handle to push the door ajar, two hands appeared in her field of vision, gripping the door frame. “I wonder if you’re going to blame the breeze for bringing you to my room or if you’re going to deny that my bed was your destiny all along.” Valtor’s lips brushed the skin of her neck, and his light breath made her shiver and curl her toes. “You can always show me if you moan as well as you sing...” The tip of his nose followed the curve of her ear.

“Interesting, but no.” For lack of anything better, that was all she could say before turning to face him with her arms crossed. The fire in the candelabra finally lit up the space, and Bloom blamed it as she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. The wizard had his shirt completely unbuttoned, exposing his stupidly sculpted abdomen. It had been easier to beat Icy than to stop the urge to touch him. Still, she stopped it, as she always did. They might both have the Flame, but only one lacked self-control.

However, something vaguely strange invaded her as she looked so closely at her enemy's face. The flames trembled as if they were dancing a ballad, and Valtor, whose eyes never left hers, bathed in them as if he belonged to them, as if they were one. Bloom had seen him surrounded by the raging fire too many times, enough times not to understand how the fire – the Flame – was so much more pronounced in him when there was no anger, no fury.

He was calm, and so were his flames. They painted his face, filling certain corners with shadows and exposing others down to the smallest detail. And those eyes, normally full of ice, melted like gold and bronze, an oasis in the middle of the desert. His hair was tied up, and only a lock of his fringe escaped.

Valtor collected spells. Bloom began to collect sketches in her notebook.

She wanted to burn them all, before they scalded her, before they became embedded in her skin like his mark would, if he knew that the same flames that painted him were the ones that burned her soul at that exact moment.

Why? Why did she come? Why does she do this to herself?

Why does she want to do it?

“Bloom.” The name came out like a plea, a curse. “What is your plan?”

Her gaze fell to his exposed chest, an absurd and unexpected melancholy taking her focus, her strength, her control. “I don’t know…” she murmured in response.

Felt it. Felt it as if claws were climbing up her limbs and consuming her heart, taking refuge there. In the back of her mind, she heard it.

She stared at him, her chest pounding with the sudden palpitations of both his and hers. “You can hear it, can’t you?”

“What, my dear?” Freeing one hand, he took the end of Bloom’s hair and twirled it between his fingers, not bothering to return her gaze. “Your voice continues to echo in my mind, and I fear it will take me longer than I would like to admit to forget it.”

As the wizard straightened, Bloom noticed another peculiar thing: the almost imperceptible swelling under his eyes.

Was he sick? Tired? Was that even possible? In a normal encounter, he would be promising her certain death or teasing her in every way imaginable.

But there he was: calm. Surrounded by his element, which, for the first time, seemed more focused on purifying.

Oh, why did she come when she was so exhausted?

The thought was interrupted when they both felt corruption in space and time. One didn’t need to be a genius to realize that someone had opened a portal.

“Did you see his face? He was about to drool!”

Icy's voice was heard in the hallway, finally waking Bloom from her taciturn state.

“Oh, he was, believe me,” Darcy agreed, her words half-muffled by the click of her heels.

Bloom's gaze barely had time to dart towards Valtor, as he took the initiative to lead them into the room and lock the door. On the other side, the conversation between the three witches could still be heard.

“Isn’t anyone here?” Stormy asked.

“He must be in his chambers,” Icy was referring to their master.

“Does he sleep?” Darcy asked, her footsteps receding.

Valtor was sitting in the green armchair in the room in a very inviting position.

Well, it was his bedroom, right?

Bloom just leaned against the closed door behind her, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I don’t understand you, little fairy.”

“Good. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“I suppose so. You are a puzzle that I would like to have time to solve slowly, but I have so much to do and my time, because of you, is as scarce as my patience. You tire me, and I don’t feel like starting all our mischief with promises of certain death. Be direct, just for today.”

She couldn’t help but smile weakly. “Beg.”

He mimicked her. “We’ve talked about this.” With a sigh, he brought a hand to his temples and massaged them. “Aren’t you tired?”

Well, that had gone beyond all limits of convention – and nothing with Valtor was conventional.

“Is this your plan?” Bloom stepped toward him, waking him up to reality. “Pretending we’re old friends for one night? To appeal to my pity? My compassion?”

He laughed. “Old friends don’t visit each other secretly. Old friends don’t look at me the way you did just now, and old friends certainly won’t make you beg for death as much as I will.”

“No,” she replied, “certainly not…”

Bloom decided to accept her fate and sat down on the double bed to take off her shoes, then lay down again.

The astonishment on the wizard's face should not have tasted so sweet on her tongue.

There were maps plastered across the ceiling, she realized as she lay down on her back. Maps of a planet. A world she had never seen mapped, but whose name haunted her.

Sparx.

Valtor was already at the top of the bed. With one leg bent, Bloom's skirt had risen and exposed parts of her thigh almost as an invitation.

But they were pretending to be casual, right? That was the plan they had unconsciously forged, right? – even though the alignment of their hearts was no coincidence.

Two muscular arms positioned themselves on either side of her head. The same loose lock of his hair now tickled her cheek, the edges of his shirt brushing against her bare arms. Bloom noticed something else interesting that night: a scar on the man's chest that loomed over her.

Bloom had lost that time. She didn't know how long he'd had that mark, so when she brought her fingertips to the spot, she touched it gently, not wanting to hurt him. His magic pricked her, as if it were a needle, and as much as he tried to be discreet, Valtor took a deep, heavy breath. Bloom glanced between the mark and her enemy. "Where did you get it?" she asked as gently as she could.

“Does that matter?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not at all.”

When she touched it with her entire palm, Valtor shivered. She had never seen fear in his gaze, and none of their confrontations had ever made him break. And yet, touching him had been enough to make him tremble over the palm of her hand.

'Heal him,' was the order she gave to her magic. 'Heal him, make him well.'

However, it was as if her healing magic was hitting a wall of enormous darkness, which was swallowing more and more of her energy – feeding off of her.

There it was, Bloom concluded, as amazed as she was frightened by the realization. She had found the root of Valtor and his magic. His essence.

That was the line with which the Ancestresses manipulated his movements. The source of his desires and his dissatisfaction. His thirst.

“What a dangerous game you’re playing, Bloom,” he sighed. The phrase might have been a warning, but it sounded more like an invitation, like a wolf inviting a rabbit to meet his pack.

A masked relief. He felt relieved, as if a weight had lifted from him, and forgotten who he was and what effect it was supposed to have on him.

Looking into his dilated pupils, Bloom could see herself reflected in them. “I told you,” she murmured, sighing as she felt her entire body sink into the mattress with the weight of her enemy, who had finally lain down between her legs. “A plan is a rather generous name for what I don’t have.”

The bitter truth contrasted with the sweet victory of a moment ago. This was definitely not part of the plan. He told her he didn’t want to appeal to her pity – and she didn’t feel it, that wasn’t what this was about – but no one mentioned her altruistic side. Her healer side.

She wanted to help him, but she couldn't. He and the Ancestresses were stopping her. Valtor would be stained forever.

At least until she finds another way to heal it without exhausting herself in the process.

“Sometimes we don’t have plans. We are them.”

They were testing each other's limits, because that night they didn't have the strength to fight physical or intellectual battles.

Bloom admired the maps above them again. “Like you were in Domino, huh? You had no plans, you were the plan, ready to be discarded.”

“No, my dear. I had grand plans for myself. I would conquer the Domino throne, while the witches would take care of the rest of the dimension. My devotion to Sparx was never weak. In fact, I was taught to have it, a desire so ardent that I had, I have, and it will become reality.”

She remembered Faragonda's words on a night of deep darkness and endless despair.

He is not driven by madness, nor greed, nor even psychopathy. He is driven by obsession.

There he was, submerged in his madness, utterly greedy for the fantasy of ruling Sparx.

But then again… wouldn’t they both be psychopaths? Because she would also do anything to regain her kingdom – even secretly meeting with her enemy without a proper plan.

“As for you, little fairy,” he continued, “you are nothing but a plan without a plan and without any notion of what you truly are.”

“I am not a plan.”

“Oh, but you are. Otherwise, what are you? What are you doing here? You tell me you don’t have a plan. Are you lying to me? Or are you lying to yourself?”

The walls of the room closed in around her, suddenly aware of the lack of space and air, of the softness of the mattress and sheet beneath her, of the specks of dust she could see through the shaft of moonlight.

He noticed her despair and smiled, so proud of his findings that he almost seemed maniacal, psychopathic.

“You never thought of it that way, did you?” he asked, as if purring. “You are the plan of the Magic Dimension. Of the Council. Of your dear Faragonda. If there is any evil trying to emerge into the light, there you are, ready to fight it. And I’ve heard that being the leader has led to bad alliances for you. It must be so lonely to carry all the responsibility on your shoulders…”

“I don’t carry everything alone”, she interrupted. “I have them with me.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded mockingly. “Do you have them or do they have you? My sweet, naive Bloom, you’re the only one I see without a plan facing me.”

She narrowed her eyes, feeling suddenly tense. “We’re not facing each other, are we?”

“If we were merely teasing each other, you would respond accordingly, as you always do. If you like, we can pretend to chat like old friends who share much more than history, and I can warn you how manipulated you are.”

“I am not being manipulated!” She raised her voice.

“Manipulation does not always need to be marked, felt, or exercised over you when you are tied to an iron altar. It just needs to be denied, it just needs not to be sensed…”

His words reminded her of the events of the previous year, how Sky had never liked Avalon, how Tecna had tried to kill him.

They knew it, no matter how much she denied it.

No, no, that was different. Faragonda had helped her from the moment she acknowledged her existence. It was obvious that the Winx had to fight against those who wanted to harm them and every dimension. They were made for that!

Well, she was. She could feel it. She had no other purpose. She threw herself headlong into anything that could kill her, because she had to face the possibility of there being a second Domino.

She chose to be this way. She had chosen it every day, like she chose to visit Valtor that night, to lie in the same bed with him, to have this fucking conversation.

She chose, damn it. She chose all of that.

“You don’t have a plan, because this is their plan.”

The truth rang in Bloom's ears, making her wake up to reality.

“Nobody knows I’m here.” That was all she could say, because she felt unable to lie to him.

“You make me redundant, but I have to ask you what you think you’re doing then?”

“I…” A warm trail ran down her face. “I…” A glance made her look back at those maps. An idea flashed before her, and she grabbed it. “You’re the closest thing I have from home.”

That earned her a stoic expression from Valtor, clearly caught off guard. “Enemies don’t admit things like that.”

“Enemies don’t lie in the same bed.” She dared to look him in the eye, ignoring the possibility that he might see her tears. At this point, what the hell did it matter? “You’re the closest person I have to call home.” Come on, Bloom, you need to be more credible than that. “Everything about you cries out for me. Always. I can’t help but come to you, like a...”

“Calling,” Valtor added. The darkness in his eyes bore into hers. Sometimes, Bloom felt as if the sorcerer could hear her thoughts. “I admit it’s quite an overwhelming feeling to ignore it and fight it.”

Playing that card was dangerous. She had lived through it the year before, and she knew the consequences she could suffer if she gave away how deeply her birth family affected her. However, she needed a reason to return to the wolf's den every night.

Above all, she needed a reason for herself, an excuse. She needed a reason to understand why she was going back to the wolf's den and coming back alive.

“I should,” she finally replied.

“Don’t do it. You’ve already done so many things you shouldn’t have. Don’t start behaving now, little fairy.” Valtor’s nose slid along Bloom’s jawline, down her neck. “Even though I love watching you try not to respond to me.”

“I will incinerate you if you go any lower.”

“Oh, honey, but that’s exactly my goal. Besides, we’re so tired, we should relax.”

With his lips already pressed against the fragile skin of her neck, Bloom gathered courage and rolled them over, pinning the wizard's hands above his head and against the mattress.

The bastard smiled. “I sincerely enjoy it when you give me a good fight.”

“I'm not fighting.”

“So, are we on the same page? Are you going to do to me what I was doing to you?”

She brought her face close to his, but not close enough for him to feel her breath on his skin. This time, it was her red hair that formed a curtain around their heads. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to make you pay for everything you did to Sparx.”

“My dear, you would be shocked at how little I have done. Your parents are as guilty as the witches. If they had not shown themselves to be wretched, Domino would not have fallen.” He smiled again, pleasantly. “You have only one chance, my love, before she falls into an obsidian darkness.”

Bloom did not understand what Valtor had confessed to her. “I make my chances. I will restore Domino from the snow and ice, if necessary. I will melt all the misery you have installed.”

“You know what, love? I think you’re right. However, you won’t do it with your precious Faragonda or your beautiful friends. Or your dear little prince.”

Bloom smirked. “Trying to pull me to the dark side?”

“Don’t confuse me with that pseudo-phoenix, Bloom, you insult me. I don’t pull anyone, I lend a hand to those who need it.”

The fairy’s smirk faded away. “I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not a charity.” It was his turn to smile. “It’s a whole future.”

“By your side?”

“Below, above, whatever position you prefer.” His smile widened, and his eyes sparkled with malice. Bloom rolled hers. “I can help you. We can save your parents, we can end the Ancestresses...”

“And we’ll live happily ever after?”

“I fear that such a thing is only possible in the false tales that your boy whispers in your ear. I do not promise you eternal happiness because it does not exist. I promise you something real, I promise to make you live, in all its splendor. Perhaps you will realize then that whoever promises you eternal happiness must also guarantee you desire, vice, and madness, the search for something new every day. Perhaps it will be too late later, and you will have to run into my arms again, hungry and thirsty.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because once you have set your sights on eternal happiness, you will see that only with me will you be able to obtain it. Only I will be able to satisfy your every whim. You will crawl to me, Bloom of Domino, and beg for everything I once promised you.”

She let out a huffed laugh. “You're crazy if you truly believe what you’re saying.”

He shrugged. “I only tell my truths.”

“When I hypothetically crawl and beg you, will you come and pick me up? Or will you say 'I told you so' and kill me?”

“I don’t kill defenseless animals. And if you listen to me better, you’ll see that I’m not warning you. Whoever warns you is your friend, and we are not friends.”

Bloom ignored the initial provocation. Well, partly. “I won’t be helpless. There’s nothing you offer me that I can’t conquer on my own. I’ll have anything I want. I’ll be even more powerful.”

A smile proud of her appeared on his lips, and Bloom felt disturbed. “One day, I will tell you a story and end this conversation,” the wizard said. With so much talk, the strength in Valtor's wrists was lost, allowing him to lift his torso without difficulty. Bloom was now sitting, literally, on top of him, also sitting. God, she hoped he didn't notice her red cheeks, or else everything would be lost.

He didn't. Agile and strong, he lifted them off the bed with her in his arms, letting her slide until her feet hit the carpet.

They were so fucking close, like they were a fucking couple, like it was Sky and all the times he helped her get off the overbike. And just like him, Valtor didn't take his arms off her waist, and she didn't take her hands off the wizard's chest.

“It was a fun night, little fairy, but you should go. It’s so late, and you’re too tired for tomorrow.”

Bloom arched an eyebrow. “That’s it? No teasing about sleeping with you?”

“I’m afraid that if you stayed here, I wouldn’t let us sleep. We both deserve to rest.”

He was the first to leave. He walked to his bedroom window and looked at the moon. Bloom then put on her shoes and walked to the door.

So, that was it? He would allow her to go? Just like that, without any threats, without any attempts at flirting?

Bloom almost felt empty as her hand reached for the door handle and opened it slightly, ready to desert.

“Oh, and Bloom, dearest?”

When Bloom turned to look at him, Valtor was watching her back over his shoulder, hands behind his back, and body turned towards the window. He smiled.

“Sing whenever you come to me. The shadows calm down when they recognize the fire that owns them.”

Notes:

I was about to say 'a penny for your thoughts' but I'm poor guys. I'll not pay you for your comments, but if you're feeling like doing charity, I'm always eager to read them anyways <3

I'm so excited to show you the next chapters! I've been quite indecisive about whether or not to post two chapters a month, but I'm afraid I'll run out of chapters and then it'll take even longer to publish because I'll have to write, revise, translate, and revise again.

I swear this fic has been the Bloom to my Valtor. That's it. Can't describe it better.

Be kind to yourselves. I love you and thank you so so so so soooo much for your support! <3333

See ya!

Notes:

Hi everyone! This fic has been in the works for almost 2 years now. At first, I didn't want to post it, just wanted to have fun and put the ideas that I had on the paper, but my country went through elections this last sunday (18), and, well, seeing the rise of the far-right party reminded me that I should enjoy the liberty of free speech while I can so fuck it, here it goes nothing

I can't express or count the times that this ship and the other authors' fics saved my life. I discovered AO3 when I was going through some really fucked up shit and reading fics of these two helped me enjoy life a little more. I mean, there are so fucking amazing authors around here that my mind was blown away with the amount of talented people this plataform has. So, thank you for making my life better by writing your stories and please don't stop expressing yourselves the way you do <3

Finally, I want to make clear that english IS NOT my first language. It's been years since I wrote something in english, so I'm a little (a lot) rusty. Just like Sofia Vergara once said: I know what I meant to mean, do you even know how smart I am in my own language? (You don't, but I promise you I am.) If you notice something wrong or that doesn't make sense, please please please let me know. I'm using this fic as an opportunity to better my english writing skills.

I've been writing this in my first language and until now, this fic has 9 chapters. They are really long and the fic is far from being concluded. I'm thinking about posting once a month, for me to get time to write the chapter and then proceed to the translation. (And now you're asking: why the fuck don't you write in english already? Well, because I'm dumb idk I really like writing in my language.)

Is there someone still reading this? Well, if you are, feel free to leave a comment, I would really like to know what you think about all of this. Or if you are as much introvert as I am, just leave kudos so I can know that you're at least interested in this.

I think I used my freedom of speech too much for today. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and see you next month! Be kind to yourselves! <3

See ya!