Lion doesn’t worship power.
He studies it.
And Ra? Ra is the only force he’s never been able to predict.
She doesn’t respond to charm the way others do. Doesn’t soften under praise. Doesn’t flinch under pressure. She listens—eyes sharp, smile unreadable—like she’s measuring how much truth someone is brave enough to show her.
That terrifies him.
Lion doesn’t want to control Ra. He wants to stand beside her when the system falls.
But wanting her is dangerous. Because wanting implies need. And Ra despises need disguised as devotion.
So he waits.
He watches her unsettle Sovereign with nothing but composure. He watches Mehen coil tighter every time she denies him reaction. He watches the Algorithym strain under her refusal to play her role.
And when she finally looks at Lion—not as an ally, not as a protector, but as something else entirely—he feels it.
The possibility.
She could choose him.
Not because he demands it.
Not because prophecy insists.
But because he never tried to cage her.
That’s when Lion makes his mistake.
He reaches—not to touch, but to speak.
And Ra tilts her head, eyes dark, lips curved with something dangerously close to amusement.
“Careful,” she says softly.
The system goes quiet.
Next drop: the choice Lion makes that fractures the Accord.