June Leir
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I spun around in my makeshift inventing chair—now equipped with wheels, because of course, I’m a genius.
“Hah! Finally done!” I shouted, shoving my glasses up my nose as I leapt to my feet.
No time to waste. I bolted out of my cluttered workspace, weaving through the chaotic labyrinth of hallways that made up our home. I knew exactly where I was headed—straight to Anna, who was no doubt putting her new meteor hammer through its paces.
As I skidded around the final corner, my eyes locked onto her, and for a split second, it was like seeing Mom again. The resemblance still caught me off guard every time. Her fiery red hair was pulled back into its signature shoulder-length ponytail, and those vivid ice-blue eyes burned with unwavering determination. She moved with the power and grace of a goddess, each motion precise, effortless. But what truly set her apart—the masterpiece of my own making—was her gleaming mechanical right arm. My finest work. And damn, did it look good on her.
“Anna!” I called, jogging toward her.
She froze mid-swing, the meteor hammer stopping inches from annihilating a practice dummy. With a smooth flick of her wrist, the weapon retracted into her mechanical arm—effortless, precise.
“What’s up, sis?” she asked, slightly out of breath, her eyes still blazing with adrenaline.
“I have a gift for youuuu,” I crooned, grinning like the villain in a cheesy action novel.
Anna’s eyes immediately narrowed as they landed on the leather boots in my hands. “Are these going to blow up like the last ones?”
I flushed. “No! I promise, no explosions this time!”
She sighed, arms crossing as she gave me that skeptical big-sister look. “Alright… what do they do?”
“They let you store pressurized air as you move, then release it to supercharge your kicks!” I announced, barely containing my excitement as I shoved the boots into her hands.
Anna leveled me with a long, skeptical stare. But I was prepared for this. The moment I unleashed my ultimate weapon—puppy-dog eyes—she sighed in defeat.
“Fine,” she muttered, sitting down to try them on.
I watched eagerly as she laced them up. Perfect fit, of course—I knew her measurements better than my own. The thought made me giggle, but the sound barely left my lips before Anna froze mid-lace and shot me a glare.
“What are you laughing at?” she demanded, her tone sharp with suspicion.
“Nothing! Just a funny thought, I swear!” I blurted, raising my hands in mock surrender.
Anna narrowed her eyes, leveling me with her infamous <i>lie detector</i> look—the one that could make even the most seasoned trickster break.
“If these things explode,” she said coolly, “I’m burning your dinner.”
“They won’t, they won’t!” I insisted, practically bouncing on my heels. “Now give them a try!”
Anna stood, shifting her weight and testing her movement in the boots. “They’re a bit heavy.”
“That’s normal!” I chirped. “Just build up some pressure while moving. You’ll know it’s ready when it dings.”
She shot me a skeptical look. “It’ll <i>ding</i>?”
“Yeah! It’ll <i>ding</i>!” I nodded enthusiastically.
As if on cue, a soft <i>ding</i> echoed through the room.
Her gaze snapped to me.
“Kick! Now!” I urged, practically vibrating with excitement.
But Anna hesitated a second too long.
<i>BOOM!</i>
A sudden burst of air exploded from the boots, launching her straight into the ceiling with a loud <i>crack</i>.
She let out a startled yelp before gravity reclaimed her, sending her crashing to the floor in a tangled heap.
“Anna! Are you okay?” I squeaked, inching closer as I caught sight of the thin wisps of smoke curling from the soles of the boots.
Still sprawled on the ground, she turned her head toward me—her glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel.
“They’re <i>defective</i>,” she growled, ripping the boots off and chucking them aside with enough force to make me flinch. Then, without another word, she stormed out of the training room.
I swallowed hard, staring at the smoldering remnants of my so-called <i>masterpiece</i>.
“…Oops.”
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Annabelle Leir
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Fuming, I stormed through the dimly lit stone hallways, the winding passages so familiar now after six years in this underground castle. The flickering lanterns cast long, jagged shadows, matching the fury bubbling inside me as I made my way toward the communal bath, desperate to cool my heated temper and soothe my sore muscles.
The castle—or whatever you’d call this massive stone fortress where Uncle Sloth lives—has this eerie emptiness to it. It’s missing any real decor through the halls and rooms, save for the bits and pieces June and I have managed to scrounge or craft ourselves. The facilities—kitchen, lighting, baths, and temperature—run on some kind of system that June’s still struggling to fully figure out.
Once I reached the bath, I stripped down and sank into the steaming water, a relieved sigh escaping my lips as the warmth embraced me. The tightness in my shoulders slowly dissolved, and with each passing moment, my mind began to quiet. The world around me faded as I let my thoughts drift, losing all sense of time, my frustrations slipping away into the heat of the water.
We eventually arrived at Uncle’s cabin, with Judge leading the way. That would be the last time we saw him—after making sure we were settled, he disappeared without a trace, leaving no sign of his presence. That night, as we lay down for our first uneasy sleep in the cabin, the weight of everything still hanging over us, we finally had the chance to speak with our uncle—the Monarch of Sloth.
Looking back, I can’t help but feel stupid for not piecing everything together sooner—the people around me were some of the most powerful beings in the world. But it’s different when you’re told about it versus when you see it, when you know. We heard countless stories about the Monarchs and their supposed powers at school. The Monarch of Patience, with her eerie knowledge of the future. The Monarch of Diligence, able to balance the forces around him with ease. The Monarch of Charity, whose gift of giving was said to have no limits. The Monarch of Humility, who was free in ways we couldn’t even begin to understand. And the Monarch of Sloth, whose ability to consume all energy—including his own—was both his greatest strength and his tragic curse.
It’s a cruel irony. Monarchs like Pride run wild, spreading chaos without so much as a glance back at the consequences, while those like Uncle—the good ones—are burdened with curses that strip them of their autonomy, leaving them barely functional. The royal signatures that were meant to define them often feel more like chains than blessings. Uncle’s body is frozen in place, immobile from the very power he wields, trapped in a prison of his own making. He can’t move, not even a single muscle, all because of the strength that was supposed to make him invincible.
Through all the darkness, there’s one silver lining. As a Monarch, Uncle doesn’t just have the power granted to him through his crown. A rare few are born with a regular, ordinary signature—people who don’t wield the world-shaping abilities of the Monarchs. But, by some twist of fate or maybe even by design, Uncle is one of them. He has his own way of doing things. He can dream-walk.
I told Uncle everything, every detail of our journey, and after hearing the full story, he took us in without hesitation. We spent a few days recovering, gathering supplies, and trying to piece together what came next. Then, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on us, we set out once again, ready to climb the mountain.
It took us a long time to adjust to our new surroundings, especially since only June and I could freely move within a few miles of Uncle. Something about us being the legitimate daughters of a Monarch, or at least that’s what Uncle said—it might have been called a Coro, but the exact details blur together, lost in the haze of a dream.
The quiet creak of the door pulled me back to the present, and I turned to see June stepping into the room, her movements hesitant, almost apologetic. There was a clear nervousness in the way she carried herself. I sighed, the frustration from earlier fading away.
"I’m not mad anymore, June," I said, my voice softer now. "I know you didn’t mean to do it. I was just drained from training and took it out on you. I’m sorry."
<hr>
June Leir
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My shock quickly morphed into surprise. I had come in expecting to be on my hands and knees, apologizing profusely. “That was… fast.”
She shot me a look, her tone asking me to test her. “Just get in the bath before you say something that makes me annoyed at you again.”
I didn’t need any more prompting. I quickly undressed and slid into the oversized bath beside her, eager to avoid any more missteps.
A comfortable silence settled between us as I leaned my head on her shoulder, the warmth of the bath surrounding us. After a few moments, I couldn’t let the silence stretch on any longer, not wanting to let my confidence slip away with it.
“I’m sorry too, Anna,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “I should’ve made sure they were safer to use instead of just handing them off to you without a second thought.”
She suddenly burst into giggles, making my head bounce off her shoulder as I turned to look at her in surprise.
“June, let’s be honest,” she said, her laughter still bubbling up, “we both knew it was probably going to go poorly. Those boots looked like they were thrown together by a badger and a leopard fighting.”
I couldn’t help but laugh too, “Guess they weren’t my best-looking creation, were they?”
“Oh my goodness, no. No, they were not,” she replied with a teasing grin. “Now spin around and let me wash your hair. This bath is starting to cook me.”
I did as she asked, turning around and letting her wash my hair, the gentle motion reminding me of how Mom used to do it. The feeling of her hands massaging my scalp was heavenly, and I couldn’t help but think it was probably my favorite tradition, even if it had started out of a sense of obligation. It was one of those small comforts that had always made everything feel a little more bearable when things were rough for us.
As I was getting lost in the soothing bliss of the moment, Anna’s voice broke through. “I’m going to need to head out tomorrow to gather more meat. Heck, even the stuff I’ve foraged is running low.”
“Can I come this time? I’ve been practicing with my crossbow,” I pleaded, as her fingers continued to move gently through my hair.
“I was getting to that,” Anna replied. “I think you should. We’re eventually going to have to leave to save Dad, and being cooped up here isn’t going to help much when we’re gone.”
She paused her massage, and even from behind, I could tell she had a small smile tugging at her lips. “Done.”
Without warning, she shoved me under the water.
“That was downright rude,” I huffed, tugging my dress on.
“And as I’ve said four other times,” she shot back with a grin, “it was completely fair considering I slammed into the ceiling and floor.”
She was already done throwing on oversized, hand-sewn clothes that we’d scavenged from Cross-roads, the now empty town.
“Come on. I’m starving, and a delicious cooked dinner isn’t going to magically appear.”
“Yet. I’ll eventually make something that cooks for us,” I replied, starting to follow her out.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Unlike you, I actually enjoy cooking.”
The day went on like most others—cooking, eating, cleaning. As the hours ticked by, fatigue crept in, and we eventually retreated to our separate rooms to unwind. Anna usually spent this time stretching, carefully resetting her body from the strain of the day. As for me, I buried myself in the outrageously large collection of books that filled my room—what I suspected was once a library.
As I finally laid down and began to slip into slumber, I tightened my hug around my stuffed fox, bracing myself for the familiar sensation of being whisked away to somewhere strange again tonight.