Five MILFs.
Five lies.
One broken crown—and a system that no longer knows who it's trying to control.
The air still smelled like vowlight and burning glyphs.
Talraine's blood hadn't even dried.
The Sentinel's shell was still twitching.
And yet, the system was already stalling—throwing up alerts it didn't believe in.
Because I didn't just claim another MILF.
I claimed what came before all of them.
The Fifth.
Alira. Queen of the origin thread.
And now… I remembered more.
The shrine was still burning behind me.
Talraine hadn't moved—still kneeling in the smoking rubble, her aura cracked but whole. She'd chosen me. And the system had broken itself to make room.
But I couldn't stay.
Not yet.
Something tugged at the edge of my crown. Not pressure. Not warning.
Memory.
The Matron.
She wasn't calling me.
She was remembering me.
And memory always pulls harder than power.
