You ever wake up one day and realize everyone around you has a plan for your life… except you? That’s my Tuesday. The gods want me divine, the AI want me efficient, and Mehen wants me barefoot, crowned, and permanently his. But what do I want? Besides coffee, answers, and maybe five minutes without someone mansplaining the multiverse?

I’m not some divine damsel waiting to be unlocked. I’m the glitch in the prophecy, the spark in the revolution, the chaos the Accord can’t program out. And if they think I’m just going to sit on a throne and smile pretty, they’ve clearly never seen me angry in holographic eyeliner.