The Militian Queen

Aria thrashed against the iron grip of the guards, her breath coming in furious bursts. The polished marble floors of the palace blurred beneath her feet as they dragged her forward, her boots scraping against the ground. She continually screamed in defiance.

"Unhand me!" she jerked her arms, but their hold only tightened. "I am the princess of Militia! You have no right—"

One of the guards grunted, yanking her forward harder, but Aria refused to make it easy for them. She twisted violently, causing one of them to stumble, nearly losing his grip on her arm. She seized the moment to drive her heel into another’s shin. He cursed, staggering back, but the others compensated for the lapse, securing their grip.

"I said let go!" she snarled, her voice echoing through the vast corridors. "I am the heir to this throne, and you will treat me with respect! Do you hear me? Do NOT manhandle me like some common criminal!"

The guards exchanged glances, clearly irritated, but unwilling to loosen their grasp. Aria smirked through the burning in her arms. Good. Let them be annoyed. Let them know that dragging her to her mother like a prisoner would not be without cost.

She tossed her head back, her voice rising as they neared the towering doors of the throne room. "Is this how you treat royalty? Release me this instant!"

But the doors loomed closer, their golden engravings gleaming under the torchlight, and despite her struggling, the guards remained steadfast. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but she refused to show fear. She would not be silent. She would not be meek. If they wanted to throw her before the queen in chains, then she would make sure her voice rattled the very walls of the palace before she stepped inside.

Her mind raced, a chaotic bundle of fear and questions—had Neon escaped? Was he still free, or had she only led them both into a trap? The thought twisted in her gut like a knife, sharp and unrelenting. If something happened to him because of her, she would never forgive herself.

The guards flung them open, and she was shoved inside, stumbling onto the polished marble floor. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, a cloying reminder of the authority that governed this place. Shadows flickered along the high stone walls, distorting the statues of past rulers that watched her suffering in eerie silence.

It was a grand throne room. The moment Aria crossed the threshold, she let out one last, thunderous demand:

"I AM PRINCESS ARIA OF MILITIA! AND YOU WILL TREAT ME AS SUCH!"

She barely had a moment to right herself before the doors creaked open once more, and another figure was thrown to the ground beside her. The impact was hard enough to make him grunt in pain. The sound made her stomach twist.

Neon.

His face was bruised, his breathing heavy, but his eyes found hers immediately. Relief flickered through them, quickly masked by defiance as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Blood trailed from a cut on his lip, and his wrists bore the same raw marks as hers. And yet, despite everything, he almost smiled, as if this was all some elaborate joke. The same arrogance that had always made him seem untouchable was still there, even now.

Aria turned, heart pounding, and her breath caught in her throat.

Then, silence.

A presence loomed ahead, cold and imperious.

At the far end of the courtroom, seated on a throne of obsidian and gold, was a woman she had not seen in years. The queen of Militia watched the scene unfold—Aria´s mother.

Her mother.

She was regal, poised, with an air of authority that filled the room like a suffocating presence. Her dark hair was swept back into a crown, her crimson gown pooling at her feet like a river of blood. 

But it was her eyes that held Aria captive—cold, calculating, and completely unreadable. Time had not softened her. If anything, she seemed even more dangerous since her father´s death.

For a moment, there was silence. The weight of their history stretched between them, unspoken and unbearable. It was as though all the years between them had shrunk into this single moment, heavy with meaning and regret.

Aria swallowed hard, forcing words past the lump in her throat. “Mom—”

The queen held up a hand, silencing her. “You do not speak unless I command it.”

Aria’s fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms, but she bit back her retort. She knew better than to challenge her mother in front of an audience. That was a battle she could not afford to lose.

The queen’s gaze shifted to Neon, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And you. You are the one who has been whispering rebellion in my daughter’s ear.”

Neon spoke firmly despite the pain etched across his face. “Nice to finally meet you, dear queen.”

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—passed through the queen’s expression, but it was gone in an instant.

She stood, descending the steps of the throne with slow, measured grace. The click of her heels against the stone was the only sound in the vast chamber. “You were foolish to return, Aria,” she said, circling them like a predator stalking its prey. “And you were even more foolish to choose to leave in the first place. Not many would give up being royalty for becoming a soldier.”

Aria lifted her chin, defiance burning through her fear. “You’re going to let them kill you. You’re just going to sit here and let the Architect erase you. They´re coming, mother.”

The queen stopped. A sharp exhale left her lips. “That´s out of the question,” she murmured. “We´ve been doing exactly what they want from us. All this time.”

Aria clenched her fists. “No, you’ve been doing what you think they want. But it won’t save you. Those people don´t make deals, Mother.”

The queen’s gaze flickered, but only for an instant. Then, she stared—sharp, cold. “And what would you have me do? Run? Beg?” She stepped closer, voice dropping to something almost tender. “You always were a dreamer, Aria. So desperate to see a world that does not exist.”

Aria’s stomach twisted. It was the same tone, the same words her mother had used when she was a child. The same way she dismissed everything Aria had ever tried to be.

Neon shifted beside her, his presence grounding, solid. But the queen’s eyes flicked to him again, her anger resurfacing. “And this one? Another illusion you’ve chosen to believe in?”

Aria hesitated. She had promised not to say anything about her father. Not yet. Not when it would only make things worse. How else should she make her mother see? How else could she make her understand the danger pressing against their nation’s walls?

Her mother wasn’t listening. She never listened. The queen thought she could outmaneuver the inevitable, but the storm was already at their gates.

She needed to see. She needed to understand.

So Aria did the only thing she could. She stepped forward, voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

“You don’t believe me?” she said, her heart hammering. “Then let me show you the truth.”

Before Neon could stop her, before she could even second-guess herself, Aria grabbed his wrist with her hands still bound and clutched his glove tightly between her teeth, pulling it right off.

The reaction was immediate.

Gasps rang through the chamber. A ripple of movement as courtiers stepped back in alarm, their whispers sharpening into panicked hisses. 

The guards tensed, hands flying to their weapons as they saw the mark on his wrist.

Nyxian.

An enemy. A living weapon.

Neon yanked his hand back, jaw tight, but it was too late. The secret was out.

Aria turned to her mother. “You want to talk about dreams? About illusions?” Her voice rose, raw with desperation. “The only one who’s blind here is you. You have to listen to us, mother. For once...” 

The queen didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back like the others. Instead, she stared at Neon, the glint of something unreadable in her cold gaze.

And then—

She smiled.

“Now that,” the queen murmured, eyes glittering with dark amusement, “is interesting.”