SOULBOUND: THE ABYSS WITHIN

Chapter 71: Mother of Storms

The gilded gates of the Ikemba Estate slid open with seamless grace as Ramses approached, hands respectfully clasped in front of him. Dressed in an immaculate black Soul Academy cloak, he bore none of the arrogance typical of top-ranked students. His golden hair and dark skin gave him an exotic edge, and though he had no notable lineage, his power—and his reputation—carried weight.

At the entrance stood Sir Albert, the ever-composed family butler, clad in traditional black with silver trim. The elder Soulborne's gaze was calm, but piercing, as if he already knew the nature of Ramses' visit.

"You're far from the dorms, young man," Sir Albert said mildly. "State your purpose."

Ramses bowed respectfully. "Forgive the intrusion, Sir Albert. I come with information regarding Cassandra Ikemba… and a certain top-ranking student."

Sir Albert's eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped aside, motioning Ramses to follow. "Walk with me."

—

They moved through the central gardens, where silverleaf trees shimmered under the evening lights. Ramses kept his voice low and precise as he recounted Mira Hawthorne's recent behavior—the unsolicited advances, the stolen kiss, and the continued obsession.

"She attempted to initiate intimate contact without consent," Ramses said, tone clipped. "Cassandra defended herself, of course. But this… behavior could escalate."

They had barely stepped into the inner estate hallway when a loud, crashing boom echoed from above.

"What the hell do you mean someone kissed my baby girl?!"

Ramses blinked.

Sir Albert sighed.

A whirlwind of violet aura crashed down the stairs as Muna Ikemba stomped into view, dressed in a loose black-and-white Soul combat uniform, her dark locks flaring like wild flame. Her hot-headed aura surged as she stormed toward them, teeth bared.

"Which one of those council-bred blue-eyed parasites touched my little Cassie?!"

Sir Albert calmly raised a hand. "Lady Muna, please—"

"Don't you 'Lady Muna' me!" she snapped. "I've warned Cassandra about those stuck-up aristocrat brats! And a Hawthorne of all people?! Michelle's spawn? No. Absolutely not."

Ramses kept his expression neutral. "I only brought the matter to your attention because I feared the consequences if left unchecked."

Muna's fist clenched. "Unchecked?! I'm about to storm their gold-plated mansion and tear down that pretty little tower Michelle calls a spire!"

Sir Albert stepped directly in her path. "Lady Muna. If you so much as knock on the Hawthorne estate, it will ignite a diplomatic headache Soul Island hasn't seen in a century. The Grand Council will intervene. Rose will intervene."

Muna froze at that name.

The tension in the air shifted from pure rage to… defensive irritation.

"Of course she would," Muna growled. "Probably say I'm being too emotional again. That I spoil Cassandra. That I don't let her grow on her own."

"You do overpamper her, my lady," Sir Albert said evenly. "Which is why Lady Rose's guidance has helped temper the worst of it."

Muna looked like she was one insult away from unleashing a spirit storm.

But then she glanced toward the stairs—toward her daughter's wing. Her expression softened. Her rage twisted into something more dangerous: protective pride.

"I'll handle this," she said coldly.

Sir Albert raised an eyebrow. "By 'handle,' you mean…?"

"I won't touch Mira," Muna said through clenched teeth. "Yet. But if she comes near Cassandra again…" She pointed toward Ramses. "You make sure everyone in that little rankings club knows. One more step, and I'll personally redefine the word 'discipline.'"

Ramses bowed again. "Message received, Lady Muna."

She turned, aura still crackling around her like a thundercloud, and stormed off toward the east wing.

Sir Albert exhaled deeply.

"She's been itching for a fight since last council session," he muttered. "And now Mira Hawthorne's just made herself a target."

He turned to Ramses, expression unreadable. "You do play a dangerous game, young man."

Ramses smiled faintly, gold eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Only if the rules are worth rewriting."

And with that, he too disappeared into the night—his piece moved, the board shifting once more.