Milena exhaled contentedly, as if she’d just wrapped up a pleasant afternoon tea rather than, you know, casually unspooling the existential knots of our lives.

"Well," she said, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves, "that concludes today’s lesson in divine manipulation and ironic tragedy."

I squinted. "That’s seriously your exit line?"

She winked. "Oh, don’t worry. You’ll miss me."

And then—without fanfare, without magic circles or glowing lights—she simply began to fade.

Literally.

Like mist dissipating in sunlight, or a memory slipping through the cracks of sleep. One moment, she was there.

The next, gone.

No sound. No trace. Not even a dramatic flutter of feathers.

Just... gone. Dissipating into the air.

And it hit me.

That was too hard. No, too fast even.

I stood frozen in place, the silence suddenly too loud.

My lungs felt tight, like the air itself had dropped in pressure. I hated it. Hated how sudden it was. Hated that she left just like that—after everything.

My voice caught somewhere in my throat.

I didn’t even know why I felt this devastated. It wasn’t like I liked her. But maybe that was the problem—she left before I could even decide.

Before I could yell at her properly.

Before I could understand.

Selene, across from me, had gone pale. Paler than usual.

Like the strength drained out of her body and mind all at once. She wasn’t saying anything. Not even blinking. Just standing there, arms limp at her sides, like a marionette someone had stopped puppeteering.

"...Oh no," I muttered in my head. "She’s entering her depression arc."

Azalea’s voice broke the silence, loud and offended. "Hey! No! We’re not done here!"

She jumped to her feet, practically chasing the last particles of where Milena had stood.

"You don’t get to just drop soul-crushing revelations, insult everyone’s life choices, emotionally damage the party, and then vanish! That’s my job, damn it!"

Still no response. Not that there could be.

Azalea stomped once more—then turned, face fuming, straight toward Selene.

"And Milena you b*tch, do you want this? Fine!"

She snapped, digging something from her pocket.

"Here, take it!"

With a huff, she slapped Arthur’s ring into Selene’s hand.

Selene blinked, sluggishly looking down at it like she barely recognized the object.

Azalea crossed her arms, fuming, and jabbed a finger at her. "There. Happy now? You get your stupid ring back. Symbol of loyalty or betrayal or whatever. Go ahead. Be tragic."

She made a face—one of those scrunched-up, exaggerated ’ugh’ expressions—but beneath all that frustration, I could see it.

The worry.

The quiet rage that came from watching two people she cared about spiral and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

Selene didn’t respond. Her hand just closed slowly around the ring.

She looked like she might cry. Or collapse. Or vanish too.

Gods.

I hated this.

"Cool," I said weakly, trying to pull my composure back together.

"So we’ve got one monster goddess missing in action, one alchemist fading into emotional ruin, and one friend suffering a complete character crisis."

Azalea raised a hand. "Don’t forget the ring delivery. That was peak drama."

"Right. Great. That makes everything better."

Silence followed.

Awkward. Heavy. Honest.

I hated that too.

Because for once—I didn’t know what to do.

All the shouting, emotional meltdowns, and violent energy radiating off Azalea must’ve finally reached critical mass—because from the corner cot came a groggy noise.

Helena stirred.

Then sat up.

Like one of those cursed pizza delivery memes, where the guy walks in holding a box and the room’s already on fire.

She blinked in confusion, eyes sweeping the scene with the expression of someone whose soul had just reloaded on hard mode.

Kairi looks devastated. Selene looks hollow. Azalea looks like she could burn Aethelgarten Akademiya down with both hands.

"...Did I miss something?" Helena rasped, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Azalea immediately rounded on her like a volcano being given a new mountain to erupt on. "Oh, look who finally woke up! Took your sweet time, didn’t you?"

Helena winced, shielding her face with a hand. "Okay, what the hell did I just wake up to? This feels like a love triangle imploded and then got rewritten as a Greek tragedy."

I didn’t respond. I was still mentally suspended in the emotional whiplash Milena left behind.

Selene, meanwhile, hadn’t said a word since Azalea slammed the ring into her hand... but now—

But inside?

Inside was a different story.

I looked at her.

And I read her.

One glance into that mind and—

Glitter. Pure, euphoric, sparkly brain static.

Like a child who’d finally gotten the most expensive toy in the shop.

Her eyes sparkled.

"She gave me the ring. The actual ring. She gave me the—ring—!!"

The internal screaming was deafening. The excitement was unfiltered. Full-on fantasy-core, twirling-in-a-field-of-flowers levels of serotonin.

Because she was looking at that ring. The ring.

The ring.

And the internal monologue happening was not normal.

Something along the lines of:

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I GOT A RING. A RING. THIS IS IT. THIS IS A MOMENT. IT’S SPARKLY. IT’S SYMBOLIC. THIS IS PEAK RECOGNITION. IS THIS WHAT BEING CHOSEN FEELS LIKE?? IS THIS MY TROPHY??? IT’S LIKE THE UNIVERSE JUST HANDED ME THE LIMITED EDITION CURE FOR IMPOSTER SYNDROME IN A CIRCULAR METAL FORM.

Externally?

Stone-faced. Totally serious. Regal, even.

Internally?

"✨I finally got the ring.✨✨Arthur’s ring.✨✨The one I always wanted.✨✨It’s even warm in my hand!✨

I blinked. Slowly.

"...Selene."

She jolted slightly, like I’d caught her watching fan edits of us on loop.

"I can hear you," I said flatly.

Her ears flushed red. "N-No, you can’t."

Azalea narrowed her eyes. "Wait, what’s going on now? Why does she look like she just won a hundred-year-old ancient relic?"

I rubbed my temples. "She’s happy."

"She looks traumatized."

"No. That’s her trying to contain glitterbrain euphoria."

Helena blinked again. "Glitterbrain what now?"

Azalea groaned, dramatically flopping onto the nearest chair like a noblewoman fainting in court. "Great. One’s dead inside. One’s vibrating with bridal delusions. And one’s been violated by bird magic."

Helena raised her hand weakly. "Do I still get to punch someone?"

"No," I said. "But you can scream into a pillow. We’re currently out of emotionally stable characters."

"Figures," Helena muttered.

And just like that, the absurdity came full circle. I was surrounded by idiots, magical trauma, and emotionally imploding demigods.

I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

Probably both.