The President had taken his time with each honoree as he recounted their heroics before the flashing cameras. For every medal pinned, for every hand clasped, there was another story of sacrifice and defiance against impossible odds.

The last man before Kaiden had no legs. His wheelchair practically vibrated due to the bright camera lights. He wept openly with his shoulders shaking as the President leaned down to clasp his hand firmly.

"Your sacrifice will never be forgotten," the President said, tying the medal to his chest. "America stands today because of men like you."

The chamber stood and applauded. Cameras zoomed in on the tears streaming down the man's face, his broken body framed by the brilliance of his courage. The applause swelled until it felt like the very walls of the chamber shook.

And then, as the ovation settled, the President's gaze shifted. His eyes hardened in acknowledgment of the seriousness of what was to come. The cameras followed his line of sight, and millions held their breath when Kaiden Grey and his companions came into full view.

Kaiden himself stood tall, wearing a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, the cut emphasizing his broad shoulders and powerful frame. No tie, no frills; just a clean, sharp look that demanded respect.

At his sides were his women. Aria wore a sleek midnight-blue gown that traced her athletic curves. Luna stood radiant in a storm-gray dress split at the thigh. Her every movement was graceful and charged with a hidden electricity. Nyx chose a daring black ensemble with shimmering pink accents.

And then there was Bastet, standing with her golden skin illuminated beneath the lights. Her dress was a regal crimson trimmed with gold. However, she had traded her usual desert-inspired attire for something more traditionally American. Though, despite the more binding nature of western clothes, her tail still swayed proudly behind her hips, free and unhidden.

Kaiden was asked by the assistants who prepared them for the occasion if he wanted them to strap her tail down beneath the dress, but he instantly refused. As such, a hole had been cut for the black tail of the Ra-Blessed Felinid, which she shook happily, visibly joyous of her Master's decision to let her be herself even as the assistants looked unsure of his decision.

But, of course, Kaiden did not care. He asked Bastet to dress in American clothes for the occasion, as it felt proper, but she was still his beloved tanned kitten.

And that filled Bastet's chest with fuzzy warmth.

While the felinid's tail swished rapidly behind her perky butt, Maximilian stared blankly at the podium. His vision was tunneling, eyes cloudy. His heart pounded against his ribs so hard it hurt. He barely noticed the feminine voice beside him suddenly ringing.

"Excuse me, are these seats free?"

He nodded automatically, absent-minded. No one ever sat next to him, for why would they? His enormous frame spilled into all three seats, making it uncomfortable for anyone foolish enough to try. It had always been his unspoken right to take three seats; even the organizers knew it and prepared the seats accordingly.

But then…

Flashes.

Dozens of cameras turned, bulbs exploding like fireworks, all pointed towards him. At him. Maximilian froze. The press never wasted shots on his face unless he was giving a speech, so why…

He twisted his neck and felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

On his left, sitting with the poise of a model posing for shots, was a woman dressed in a sharp crimson suit. Her fiery red hair glowed so brightly it could be mistaken for real flames.

"W-what!" Maximilian squeaked, lurching upright in his seat. His fat belly wobbled like jelly against his suit buttons.

Scarlet.

The Flame Monarch.

The world's greatest pyromancer was sitting next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ves, I didn't know you could dress so well. Your fashion sense isn't hopeless after all." Scarlet chuckled.

"Ves?" Maximilian repeated dumbly. Slowly, stiff as a corpse, he turned his head to the right.

There, on his other side, sat a woman draped in black silk that seemed to absorb light, her hair darker than midnight, her eyes as sharp as daggers. She didn't look at him, not once. Her gaze was fixed on the stage, unblinking.

Vespera Ashborn.

The Shadow Monarch.

"!!!" Maximilian nearly shat himself on the spot as a panicked squelch choked in his throat until an attendant leaned down and whispered sharply into his ear.

"Sir, we'll be escorting you out if you can't remain composed."

His head bobbed. "Y-yes…"

Meanwhile, Vespera finally spoke. "My fashion sense," she said smoothly, "is impeccable."

Scarlet's laugh rang bright and mocking. "Oh, I could beg to differ… but I won't. I don't feel like arguing against that stubborn head of yours, at least not today."

The corner of her lips tugged upward. "Tell me, Ves, do you feel proud?"

For the first time, Vespera's expression softened. Her eyes were locked on Kaiden at the podium as if it was impossible to avert her gaze and look at the other heroes. Then, she parted her lips.

"I have always been proud."

However, she was aware that her actions today could be taken to connect the dots, the dots her daughter seemed adamant to point out to the whole world, so the woman tactically added, "Proud of the American people, for their bravery in this man-made apocalypse."

Scarlet smirked knowingly. "Indeed… every reason to be proud of the 'American people.'"

The two Monarchs sat like lionesses on either side of him with their suffocating presence and conversation that weaved around him as if he were furniture. Their voices were calm, steady, but to Maximilian every syllable was a dagger. He shrank into himself, suddenly aware of every inch of fat pinning him into the seat.

He didn't dare breathe too loudly. The world's two apex predators were conversing inches from his ears, and he was the prey stuck between them.

Now, Maximilian's body was pressed so tightly into the chair that no one in Congress would complain about sitting next to him.

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