Royal Reboot: Level up, Your Majesty!

Queen vs ‘Parents’

Eydis watched, unimpressed, as the absurdity played out in a near-empty cafeteria. Technically, there were still classes in session. But the dreaded “meet the parents” character arc had been arranged anyway. Despite her best efforts.

She might as well try to find a silver lining.

But barely. Because… maybe this was worse than facing Athena.

Cleo, her mother, stabbed a piece of calamari and waggled it at Anthony with what Eydis could only hope was exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Say aaah,” she teased.

Anthony groaned. “Cleo, for the love of—not in public.”

The groan was embarrassed, but fond, too. 

Eydis raised an eyebrow. 

Only in public?

She—currently stuck playing the role of an eighteen-year-old girl—resisted the urge to comment. Sarcasm itched, but subtlety was her newfound superpower.

“Nonsense,” Cleo said. “Eydis is used to it, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Eydis debated an eye roll. Teenagers did that, right? But if memory served, the original Eydis had been quiet. Withdrawn. Best to stick with silence.

As she pondered the social etiquette of the commoners, she reached for a knife and spread butter over a slice of bread. Sensing eyes on her, she paused.

Now what?

Her first mistake.

“Eydis! You’ve grown so much!” Cleo said suddenly. “Remember when you couldn’t tell a butter knife from a steak knife?”

Apparently, past-Eydis had been a barbarian. Eydis felt a flash of secondhand embarrassment, then shoved it aside.

“Guess you pick things up at a fancy academy,” she said. Cool. Dismissive. Accurate enough.

Cleo reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Eydis didn’t flinch. Barely.

“We’re just so proud,” Cleo said. “Blue-collar folks like us? Raising someone like you?”

Eydis didn’t know what “blue-collar” meant. She understood the rest. Pride. Surprise. Affection. It was… a lot.

The original Eydis had earned a scholarship through sheer intelligence. But at the Academy, Talent alone didn’t mean success. Gifted students had magic. Elites had influence. Scholarship kids had debt and targets on their backs.

Yet she persisted.

Anthony sighed. “Maybe if we’d had more money, you wouldn’t have had it so rough. We barely scraped by to get you textbooks, let alone new clothes. Maybe that’s why—”

Eydis cut in with a shrug. “Bullies always find something to pick on.” She took a bite of bread, hoping to shift the conversation elsewhere.

Cleo didn’t let go of her hand. “But you turned out perfect.”

Eydis almost choked.

She grabbed a napkin, wiped her mouth, and changed the subject. “Speaking of perfection, how do I get rid of these… pimples?”

Cleo lit up. “Did you hear that? She cares now!”

Anthony frowned. “Who’s the guy?”

Eydis sighed. “It’s a skincare question, father. Not a proposal.”

Her second mistake.

Anthony's shoulders slumped. "You always called me Dad. Just worried about losing you, that's all."

Eydis groaned and buried her face in her hands.

This.

Was.

Torture. She’d faced sorcerers. Assassins. Traps and curses. But lunch with parents?

Unbeatable.

Perhaps, just perhaps, a well-timed amnesia episode wasn't such a bad thing after all.

The door shuddered under the weight of the blow. Dust rained from the frame, and the wood cracked with a dry snap. A splinter shot out and buried itself in Thomas’s palm.

He hissed, clutching his hand, blood seeping between his fingers. “Tiffany, please,” he said shakily. “I just need more time.”

She stood in the center of the room, her once-clear blue eyes now lit with something dark. Violet smoke curled around her fingers, pulsing faintly with power.

Then she raised her hand.

Thomas rose into the air, his shoes scraping against the floor before lifting entirely. An inch. Just enough.

She watched him struggle. “Time for what, Father? Another lesson in how useless I am?” 

His fingers clawed at his neck.

“I used to be afraid of you,” she continued. “Funny, isn’t it? How things change.”

Thomas’s face turned red. “I—I called the Dean,” he forced out. “They won’t take you back. Not after what you did—”

“Call again,” she sneered. “Gifted ones like me are rare. Valuable. And you’re going to make them see that.”

Thomas’s eyes widened as she tilted her head, considering.

“Or maybe Uncle Noah can help.”

Shame flashed across his face. “I’ll call him,” he said. “He has connections—”

“Yes,” she said. “He does.” She flicked her fingers, and he dropped to the floor in a heap. Gasping.

“Go ahead. Call the Senator. Do something useful, for once,” she scoffed, then added, “pathetic.”

She didn’t look at him again as he stumbled out of the room. Once he was gone, she exhaled slowly. The violet smoke around her hands faded.

Then she looked to the empty space beside her.

“Eydis. Amanda. Jillian,” she said softly.

“Tick-tock.”

Professor Indigo Crane sat quietly as the city passed by outside the window: bright signs, lit walkways, and reflective glass buildings sliding by in quick succession.

In the Central Business District, Alchymia wasn’t that different from New York. Same layout. Same architecture. Just fewer people on the streets.

And where New York was a blend of languages, cultures, and movement, Alchymia felt more uniform. More selective.

Still, it didn’t feel unfamiliar.

“We’re here, Professor,” Raul said from the front seat.

Indigo nodded. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

He stepped out of the Rolls-Royce and closed the door behind him.

Crossing the street, he approached a skyscraper, keyed in a sequence, and stepped onto a hidden platform. The elevator rose smoothly without a sound. When the doors slid open, it was already waiting.

The Eye.

It floated and dominated the night sky. Up close, it didn’t just seem real. It was real, veins branching from the iris in a way that felt… human. 

Indigo swallowed. His gaze moved across the Eye’s surface, tracking shape, size, symmetry.

He’d spent hours reviewing drone footage in the lab. But seeing it up close was different. The scale was larger than expected. The surface looked almost organic.

“It’s alive,” he said, without thinking.

“Professor, get in!” a voice called.

He blinked. Turned. A helicopter hovered just meters away. He hadn’t heard it approach. Hadn’t felt the wind, or the noise, or anything else.

That wasn’t good. He was losing focus.

He crossed the platform and climbed into the cabin. The helicopter rocked slightly, then leveled out as it lifted. The pilot kept a wide distance, circling the Eye, while Indigo swapped out his lens for a longer zoom.

“Can we get any closer?” He asked.

“No, sir,” the pilot said. “Anything that gets too close disappears. Instantly. Just gone.”

Indigo nodded. That matched the data. 

He raised his camera and began taking photos. But then, the iris moved. 

It looked at him. 

And then looked away.

Indigo lowered the camera, slower this time, eyes narrowing as he studied the colour more closely. It had changed.

At first, the iris had been bright pink. Almost fluorescent. Now it was darker. Muted. A color closer to damaged tissue.

Was it rotting, or simply… evolving? 

He adjusted the settings. Exposure. Focus. Burst mode. Then held down the shutter.

The Eye didn’t move again.

But Indigo didn’t look away.

It had seen him.

And he was sure it still was.