The week following Willow's explosive visit was a masterclass in corporate warfare. Aylin, with Iuno now as her trusted and ruthlessly efficient lieutenant, moved with the precision of a general. They spent two frantic days fabricating an entire corporate history, a portfolio of fictional projects, and a detailed list of esoteric design demands for the "Vanguard Conglomerate." Iuno, with her brilliant, number focused mind, crafted a beautiful and intricate fiction, complete with flawless financial projections that made the patriarchs' eyes water.
They presented the proposal to a joint council of the Chen and Moon families. The patriarchs, their initial anger completely eclipsed by their greed, were enthralled. The merger was back on, now super charged with the promise of this massive new prize.
It was in the follow up meeting to discuss logistics that Aylin played her next card.
"The next phase of the Vanguard project is critical," she announced, her tone one of grave, professional importance as she addressed Willow and their fathers. "The CEO, Alistair Finch, is a known aficionado of classical European architecture and the modernist movements of the last century. To align with his vision, a period of on site research is non negotiable."
She slid a beautifully printed itinerary across the table. "Miss Li and I will be departing for France next week to study the historical archives and architectural philosophies in Paris. We will then proceed to Barcelona, Spain, to analyze the unique aesthetic of their most influential designers. It is an essential part of the due diligence process."
Willow's eyes narrowed immediately. "I should accompany you," she insisted. "As your fiancée and a representative of Chen Consolidated, my presence would be a sign of our unified strength."
"Absolutely not," Aylin countered smoothly, her rejection absolute. "Your presence, Willow, would be seen as a sign that we are bringing the full weight of the Chen merger to bear before the initial contract is even signed. Finch is notoriously wary of such aggressive tactics. It would jeopardize the entire negotiation." She gave Willow a look that was both an apology and a command. "This preliminary phase must be handled with the utmost subtlety. Only my specialist and I."
The logic was flawless. The business case was sound. Willow, though visibly furious at being outmaneuvered, could not argue.
A week later, Aylin stood before a colossal, winged beast of gleaming white metal, and felt a profound, spiritual confusion.
This is the vessel? she thought, her celestial soul recoiling in aesthetic horror. It is loud, it smells of burnt, refined oils, and it seems to defy all logical principles of aerodynamics. It is an offense to the very concept of air.
Her implanted memories supplied the name: an "airplane."
Iuno, standing beside her and pulling a small suitcase, noticed her boss's strange, intense stare. "First time on a long haul flight, Director?" she asked kindly. "Don't worry, first class is very comfortable."
Aylin simply gave a curt nod, her mind still trying to reconcile this brute force machine with the elegant, effortless grace of flying on a sword. The experience did not improve. Once strapped into her plush chair, she endured a ritualistic pantomime from the smiling attendants about all the potential disasters that could befall them. Finally, with an immense, gut wrenching roar and a surge of unnatural force that pressed her back into her seat, the vessel hurtled into the sky.
Iuno, mistaking her existential bafflement for a common fear of flying, leaned over and whispered, "It's okay, Director. I don't like takeoff either. But the statistics are actually very safe. It's the most secure form of modern travel."
Aylin looked at the earnest, reassuring face of the woman beside her the soul of the Empress of the Netherworld, trying to comfort her with mortal statistics about a flying metal tube. The absurdity of it all was so profound that the tension in her shoulders eased for the first time all day. She had successfully created the perfect cover. She now had weeks alone with the amnesiac soul of her beloved, far from the prying eyes of their enemies.
This world is a bewildering and illogical place, she thought, as the plane banked, revealing the curve of the earth. But she is here, beside me. And for now, that is the only logic that matters.
Their arrival in Paris was a study in contrasts. For Iuno, it was an overwhelming, dream like experience. The strange, beautiful language, the grand, historic architecture it was a world away from the spreadsheets that had defined her entire existence. For Aylin, it was another layer of profound, sensory alienation. The only thing that made it bearable was the woman at her side.
Their accommodations were not a sterile business hotel, but a magnificent, private suite in a historic Haussmann building. It had soaring ceilings, ornate plasterwork, and a small, wrought iron balcony with a breathtaking, picture perfect view of the Eiffel Tower.
"Director…" Iuno whispered, stepping into the grand salon, her eyes wide as saucers. "The nightly rate for a suite like this… it must be more than my yearly salary!"
Aylin, who had once lived in a palace carved from an obsidian mountain, looked around with a critical eye. "It's adequate," she said, her deadpan delivery completely serious. "The ceilings are a bit low."
Iuno did a quick, flustered tour. There was the grand salon, a small but beautiful kitchen, a lavish marble bathroom, and… just one bedroom. A single, enormous bedroom with a king sized bed. She came back out, her expression a mixture of awe and awkwardness.
"Director, it seems there's only one bedroom," she stated, blushing slightly. "That's… that's no problem at all! I'm perfectly happy on the sofa. It looks very comfortable, probably more comfortable than my actual bed at home, to be honest!" She gave a small, nervous laugh, already mentally preparing herself for a week of couch surfing.
Aylin simply looked at her, then at the sofa, then back. "Unacceptable," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You are my Assistant Director, not my housemaid. You will take the bed. Your rest is crucial for the success of this project. I will take the sofa."
"What? No! Director, I couldn't possibly "
"That is an order, Miss Li," Aylin said, her voice quiet but absolute. And that was the end of the discussion.
The next morning, their "work" began. Their destination was the Louvre Museum. The sheer scale of the place was overwhelming. They walked through vast galleries filled with the captured history of a dozen civilizations. Iuno, notepad in hand, tried to take professional notes on "aesthetic principles," while Aylin moved with a strange, focused purpose.
They stood before a grand, epic painting depicting a mythological battle.
"The artist's use of the golden ratio is very effective here," Iuno noted, trying to sound like the specialist Aylin claimed she was.
"The general's flanking maneuver is obvious and poorly executed," Aylin countered, her voice low and critical. "He left his supply lines completely exposed. A foolish, vainglorious strategy. He deserved to lose."
Iuno stared at her, utterly bewildered. "Director, it's… it's a painting."
"All art is a reflection of strategy, Miss Li," Aylin replied, her expression perfectly serious. "It is a story of choices. Remember that."
She led them away from the paintings, deeper into the museum, into the quieter, more ancient wings. They entered the section of Egyptian antiquities, a silent, dimly lit hall filled with sarcophagi. It was here that Aylin found what she was looking for.
In the center of the room, encased in a climate controlled glass box, was the golden death mask of an ancient, legendary pharaoh. It was a masterpiece of burnished gold and inlaid jewels, an object of immense power, history, and absolute, unquestionable authority.
"Look at this piece, Miss Li," Aylin said, her voice a low, compelling murmur. "Look at the craftsmanship. The sheer, indomitable will it projects. This was not just a mask. It was a symbol of divinity. A crown. Can you imagine wearing something with such… weight?"
Iuno stared at the golden mask. The lights of the museum seemed to dim, the murmurs of the other patrons fading into a distant hum. The golden face seemed to shimmer, the ancient, dead eyes boring into her own.
And then, it happened.
A memory, vivid, powerful, and not her own, detonated in her mind.
She was not in a museum. She was in a vast, dark throne room, the air thick with the scent of ozone and incense. She felt the impossible weight of heavy, dark silk robes on her shoulders. She saw her own hands pale, elegant, powerful, tipped with sharp, obsidian nails lifting a heavy, ornate crown made not of gold, but of twisted, demonic jewels that seemed to drink the very light from the air. She felt herself placing it upon her own head, the crushing, metaphysical weight of an entire empire, of a million souls, settling upon her. And she heard it. A sound from a thousand demonic throats, a single, thunderous, adoring roar.
"Empress Xue Lian!"
The vision was so real, so absolute, that she cried out, stumbling backward, her hand flying to her own head, expecting to feel the cold, hard weight of a crown. Her face was as pale as death, her eyes wide with a terror and a confusion so profound it threatened to shatter her sanity.
Aylin was there in an instant, her hand a steady, grounding presence on her arm. "Miss Li?" she asked, her voice a mask of calm, professional concern. "Are you unwell? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Iuno stared at her, her vision blurring, the serene face of Director Moon momentarily overlapping with the memory of a beautiful, celestial warrior kneeling before her throne. "I…" she gasped, her voice a trembling, broken whisper. "I don't know. I just… I remembered something."