Transmigrated Into A Women Dominated World-Chapter 216
Daphne stopped, turning to him. "Whatβs wrong? Are you alright?" π§π³π¦β―ππ¦π·π―ππ£π¦π.πΈπ°π
"Yes. I just remembered I was supposed to go shopping with Ysmeine. Sheβs calling me right now." He stepped closer, grabbed her waist, and kissed her. "Can we do this another time? I promised her."
"Sure," Daphne responded without hesitation. "Only if you will come to my house next time,"
"Deal." Zaeryn gave a quick nod before turning and leaving.
He ran through the hallways. The drama with the Council had completely wiped his memory of the morning plans. Ysmeine. The District Center. The chairs heβd destroyed.
She was waiting for him. And honestly, he was looking forward to shopping with her and just spending time together away from the politics of the Citadel.
He hurried out of the fortress, bypassing the labs entirely. Mireille and Arya were already waiting for him by the cruiser. After he got in, they took off, leaving the imposing structure behind.
Twenty minutes later, Zaeryn jogged up the steps of the Sector 7 District Center. It was a massive, open-air complex filled with high-end shops, bustling with civilians enjoying the late afternoon sun.
He spotted her immediately.
Ysmeine was standing near a fountain, looking effortlessly elegant in a casual dress that hugged her curves perfectly. She was checking her comm, a small frown marring her features.
"Sorry!" Zaeryn called out, slowing to a walk as he approached. "Got held up at... work."
Ysmeine looked up, her frown instantly melting into a warm smile. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her eyes sweeping over him with obvious relief.
"Work?" she teased, arching an eyebrow. "Is that what weβre calling βgetting interrogated by the Councilβ these days?"
Zaeryn blinked. "How did you...?"
"News travels fast, Zae. Especially when the High Commander calls an emergency session," she said, stepping into his space. She reached out, straightening his collar. "And Athea told me about you two finally meeting."
"Oh, she did?" Zaeryn responded, a little surprised by how quickly the two of them shared information about him.
"Yes. And Iβm happy you two finally met, even if it was through holograms and under those circumstances." She searched his face, her expression turning serious. "Are you okay?"
"Better now," he responded. Then his expression shifted, a shadow crossing his eyes. "Although, I canβt believe Athea thinks Iβm just some protected asset."
"Oh. Why do you think that?" Ysmeine looked a little concerned.
"Because she said it herself. That Iβm a masterpiece. Like I was built, not born."
"Iβm sure she didnβt mean it like that," Ysmeine soothed, though she understood exactly why he felt that way.
"I hope so."
"Of course she didnβt. You mean a lot to her." She patted his chest gently, then her tone shifted, becoming playful. "Well, Mr. Protected Asset, I hope your royal status doesnβt mean youβre too good to carry furniture."
"Never," Zaeryn grinned, the mood lightening. "I exist to serve."
"Good answer," she purred, linking her arm through his. She pulled him toward the entrance of a sleek home decor store. "Come on. I saw a divan that looks perfect for the living room."
They walked into the store, and Ysmeine immediately took charge. She moved through the aisles with purpose, pointing out textures and fabrics, asking his opinion but clearly already having made up her mind.
Finally, she stopped in front of a plush, oversized divan that looked comfortable enough to swallow a person whole.
"This is it," she decided, running her hand over the velvet fabric. "It matches the drapes."
Zaeryn rolled his sleeves up, preparing himself. "Alright. Just tell me where you want it. Iβll grab it."
He stepped forward, ready to lift the heavy piece, but Ysmeine placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, looking amused.
"Carrying it? Isnβt that my punishment for destroying the patio chairs?"
Ysmeine laughed, a rich sound that turned heads in the quiet store. "Oh, honey. No."
She gestured to a nearby console where a store attendant was already tapping away. "They have automated delivery drones for that. Why would I have you lugging heavy furniture across the mall when we have perfectly good robots? Thatβs just troublesome."
Zaeryn paused, blinking. "Then... there is no punishment?"
Ysmeine stepped closer, her arm sliding through his again, pulling him to her side. She looked up at him, her smoky green eyes sparkling with affection.
"Oh no, Iβm not letting you off that easily. Your real punishment," she said, her voice dropping to a warm purr, "is spending the rest of the day with me. No running off to friends, no sneaking away to play games, and definitely no getting summoned by the Council. Just you and me."
Zaeryn looked down at her, a slow grin spreading across his face. He squeezed her arm against his side.
"Wow," he deadpanned. "That sounds terrible. Torture, really."
Ysmeine pinched his arm lightly. "Brat."
"Iβll survive," he chuckled, leaning down to rest his head against hers for a moment. "If thatβs the price I have to pay, I think I can handle it."
They walked out of the store together, Ysmeineβs arm still linked through his.
---
Meanwhile, somewhere else, far from sector 7.
The Crystal Arena rang with the high-pitched screech of tearing metal and shattering ice.
Viora moved in a blur of white and gold, her body was a weapon honed to perfection. She wasnβt fighting the towering Vorthak constructs today. Instead, the arena floor swarmed with "hatchlings", solid-light simulations of juvenile Vorthaks.
The hatchlings were baby star beasts and they were Small, barely knee-high, but fast, vicious, and moved like a tidal wave of chitin and teeth.
She pirouetted, her blade carving a wide arc of frost that decapitated three creatures in a single stroke. Before their digital corpses hit the ground, she teleported, reappearing ten feet away just as a dozen more lunged at empty air.
From the safety of the observation dais, Lady Calyra watched, leaning comfortably against the railing with a glass of wine in hand, seemingly unbothered by the violence below.
"Donβt you have other hobbies apart from this? Youβre always in here," Calyra called out, her voice carrying easily over the chaotic shrieks of the simulation. "So, what time is wheels-up for Sector 7 tomorrow?"
Viora didnβt pause. She slammed her palm onto the crystal floor, sending a jagged wave of ice spikes erupting outward, skewering a leaping hatchling mid-air.
"0600," Viora grunted, pivoting to drive her heel into another creature, shattering its carapace. "I want to be in and out before the morning patrol cycles shift."
"0600? And you want to be out in less than 2 hours?" Calyra sighed and took a sip of her wine. "You treat this like a covert extraction mission, niece. Itβs a family reunion. You two should spend at least the whole day together."
"Itβs a threat assessment," Viora corrected sharply. "Iβm not going there to bond with him."
She spun, her long white hair whipping around her like a lash as she summoned dual blades of ice. She waded into the thick of the swarm, her movements precise and lethal.
"Iβm going to look him in the eye," Viora said, her breath coming in measured bursts as she sliced through the digital horde. "I need to know who he is. What he is."
She ducked under a leaping claw, grabbed the creature by its throat, and froze it solid before smashing it against the floor.
"If I am to lie to the Tribunal," she continued, her voice cold, "if I am to risk my standing, my honor, and the safety of this entire family... I need to know if heβs actually worth protecting."
Calyra watched the display of lethal grace, her expression softening just a fraction. She swirled the liquid in her glass.
"Oh, he is," Calyra said, her voice dropping to a murmur that somehow cut through the noise of battle.
Viora paused for a split second, decapitating the last simulation with a final, brutal swing. The arena fell silent as the hard-light constructs dissolved into static. She stood amidst the fading digital debris, chest heaving slightly, and looked up at her aunt.
"You havenβt even met him," Viora challenged, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead. "Youβve only seen pictures. How can you be so sure?"
Calyra smiled a slow, enigmatic expression that held a terrifying amount of certainty.
"I havenβt met him, no," Calyra admitted, setting her glass down on the railing. "But Iβve seen enough. Thereβs something about him, Viora. A pull."
She leaned over the rail, looking down at the deadliest Warlady of her generation.
"Youβre going there to judge him, to weigh his value like a strategic asset." Calyraβs voice dropped, almost gentle. "But mark my words, Viora. Youβll take one look at him, just one and youβll realize you would burn the entire world down to keep him safe."
Viora held her auntβs gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then she turned away, dismissing the simulation interface with a gesture.
"Weβll see," she said quietly. But even she didnβt sound convinced.
