The admission hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Calyra's taunting expression softened into one of genuine, weary sympathy. This was the sister she knew, buried beneath layers of ice and duty.

"Then let me help you," Calyra said, her voice gentle now. She moved to Athea's side, her hand resting briefly on her sister's rigid shoulder. "Let me meet him. I can be the bridge. The fun aunt who tells him stories about his real mother, the one who isn't just a cold portrait in the stars but a woman who would tear down galaxies for him." She gave a wry, sad smile. "Let me tell him why you can't."

Athea squeezed her eyes shut, the weight of eighteen years of secrets pressing down on her. "You would only make it worse," she murmured, pulling away from Calyra's touch. "You're too much like me. You'd see him as a strategic asset before you saw him as family."

Calyra's hand dropped, a flicker of hurt in her eyes. "You're wrong," she said quietly. "I see him as the most interesting thing to happen to this boring family in a century."

"Even if I wanted to let you meet him. It wouldn't be now."

"Why not?"

"Because he is no longer going to be a secret Male Vitae wielder for long Calyra," Athea said, her voice regaining its cold, strategic edge. She turned from the star-charts to face her sister fully. "I've had him enrolled in the Vitae Academy at the Aureth Citadel. Sector 7."

Calyra's eyebrows shot up, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across her face. "You didn't," she breathed, half in shock, half in utter admiration for the sheer audacity of the move.

"I did," Athea confirmed. Her gaze drifted back to the star-charts, as if the cold, predictable patterns of the cosmos were a comfort. "Which means, starting now, every eye in the Citadel will be on him."

Calyra let out a low humm, a sound of pure, unadulterated appreciation for the chaos her sister had just unleashed. She swirled the liqueur in her glass, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"And here I thought your idea of a risk was serving the wrong vintage of wine at a state dinner." She took a slow sip. "You didn't just put him in the spotlight, Athea. You strapped him to the front of a comet."

A muscle in Athea's jaw twitched. "It was a necessity. His secrecy was becoming untenable. Ysmeine and Lysara both argued his powers are growing too unstable to remain untrained."

"Unstable powers don't force the hand of a woman who can move fleets with a whisper," Calyra countered, setting her glass down with a soft click. Her playful tone vanished, replaced by a sharp, knowing edge. "This has Ysmeine's fingerprints all over it, doesn't it? She finally backed you into a corner."

Athea flinched, a barely perceptible motion, but Calyra saw it. "She... presented a compelling argument."

"Oh, I'm sure it was convincing," Calyra purred, circling the desk like a predator sensing a weakness. "What was it? Did she threaten to stop sending you pictures? Or did she finally threaten to tell him the truth about the cold, distant benefactor who pays his bills?"

The words were designed to cut, and they did. Athea finally broke, her perfect composure shattering into a million pieces. She sank into her chair, bringing a trembling hand to her temple.

"He already knows, she is not his real mother and I am. She threatened to cut me off," Athea whispered, the words raw and full of a pain she rarely allowed herself to show. "Completely. To raise him as her own and never speak my name to him again. That he would grow up believing I was nothing to him." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"I understand. And the thought of him ... hating you... It was a future you couldn't accept." Calyra's sharp expression softened instantly. She saw the truth then: not a political miscalculation, but a mother's desperate, clumsy act of love. She moved to Athea's side, resting a hand on her sister's rigid shoulder.

"So you chose the firestorm over the silence," she murmured, a profound understanding in her voice. "You chose to risk the crown, the Queendom, everything... just to keep a tenuous thread connected to him."

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by Athea's shaky breath. Calyra pulled her hand back, her eyes thoughtful. A slow, mischievous smile returned to her lips.

"A boy who can bring the great Princess Athea to her knees without even knowing it," she mused. "Now I really have to meet him."

"No," Athea replied instantly, shaking her head as she regained a fraction of her control. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

"Why not? He's my nephew," Calyra insisted, her voice firm again, the playful challenge returning. "I stood by your treason for eighteen years. I risked my own neck for you countless times. I have more than earned the right to meet the source of all this delightful chaos."

She started for the door, a woman with a newfound purpose. "I want to see for myself if he has your terrible taste in drinks or, Goddess forbid, your complete inability to take a joke."

Athea showed a faint smile. "Well, you won't be disappointed, cause he's the complete opposite of me."

___

The Lyceum's cafeteria hummed with the low murmur of a hundred conversations. Students were scattered across tables, their glowing meal trays casting soft light on their faces.

Zaeryn sat at the table, happily lost in a bowl of surprisingly decent synth-noodle soup. The spicy, savory broth was a welcome comfort after the chaos, or more truthfully, getting his ass handed to him by Leia.

Across from him, Jyn was energetically stabbing at a salad, while Yuna beside her picked at her meal with a quiet, thoughtful grace. For a few minutes, there was no conversation between them.

"Okay, I can't hold it in anymore," Jyn finally burst out, setting her fork down with a clatter.

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