Striker of The Gods

The Crown That Devoured Love

The final months of the season became something sacred and terrible at once that could overthrow the need for greatness in which we can take on the little of life that we can have. What is more, this became testimony of the sun that was going to fall upon everything they had.

Caos crossed 400 goals in mid-March with a Thronebreaker Feint against Sevilla that left four defenders tangled in their own legs and the entire stadium chanting his name until their voices gave out. It was just a massacre, but it was also a way to remind them of who he was, The numbers were no longer statistics  they were scripture, carved into the sky above Madrid and the world who were looking closely at him. Yet every goal felt heavier now, every celebration more hollow. This became testament for those who doubted him. The revelation about his father still burned like a brand against his ribs, and Leonor’s silence in the royal box grew louder with each passing week that could take over everyone. That is to say that he was ready for the last battle.

Then came the night that shattered everything, and Leonor was determined to take her country back as a true queen in the shadows of the light.

It was after the Champions League quarter-final second leg  an 11–0 demolition of Manchester City in which Caos scored six and created five opportunties for Vini to score. The Bernabéu was still roaring as Leonor stepped onto the pitch for the first time all season for everyone to see, escorted by royal guards. The crowd hushed instantly. There was something weird about it. Cameras flashed like lightning across the sacred turf and tension that could be in every inch of their faces.

She wore the emerald dress again. She looked as beautiful as an elf. The same one from the night she had first given herself to him. That is to say that nothing could stop her. Even more, now, she had everything that she needed. In her hands she carried a single white envelope sealed with the Bourbon crest.

She walked straight to Caos at the center circle, the grass still torn from his latest singular rampage that could be felt in the whole stadium. Millions watched live across the planet. This became something viral rapidly. The entire world held its breath, and the empire of life showed its face before tyranny.

Leonor’s voice, when it came through the stadium speakers, was clear, steady, and carried the weight of centuries. This could actually be describe as the most loving story that we can have, and no one shall make it apart from the truth.

Leonor:

Spain… my people… my family… my kingdom…my queendom…

Tonight I stand where legends are made, not as a princess watching from the box, but as the heir who must now speak the truth her blood demands and the way we have from the ages.

For months I have been asked to choose between love and duty. Between a man who has given this nation more glory than any king in living memory… and the throne I was born to inherit as the righteous heir.

I have prayed. I have wept. I have fought for this country. I have bled for the this country. I have listened to the Cortes, to my father, to my sister, and to my own heart.

And I have made my choice, and it shall be one that you may remember.

She turned to face Caos directly. Her eyes were dry now. The tears had already been shed in private, in the mansion, in the garden where they had loved each other without crowns or parliaments watching and this is what mattered the most.

Leonor:

I choose Spain and therefore I am come amongst you at this time, not as for my recreation or sport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the battle, to live or die amongst you all; to lay down, for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my people, my honour and my blood, even the dust.

I choose the throne. I choose the line of succession that stretches back through centuries of my blood. I will not step aside. I will not allow my sister to carry what was placed upon my shoulders at birth. This shall be my destiny.

To the man who taught me what it means to burn brighter than any crown…that shall be the one that you can see for the first time.

(her voice cracked for the first time)

I am sorry. I AM REALLY SORRY.

You gave me chaos. You take took my heart. You gave me freedom. You gave me the only real fire I have ever known. But a queen cannot belong to the storm, and this could actually take on me. I know it. I am aware of it.  She must become the sky that contains it.

From this moment forward, our paths must diverge. For the good of the realm. For the stability of the monarchy. For Spain. For the world. For love.

The stadium the same Bernabéu that had worshipped Caos for two seasons fell into a silence so complete it felt like the end of the world and the idea of what it means to see and the ideal of love.

Caos stood motionless in the center circle, and this could actually  be the greatest decision that I have made. The ball at his feet did not move. The violet in his eyes burned brighter than ever, but for once it was not the color of triumph.

It was the color of something breaking that no amount of goals could ever repair.

Caos (voice low, carrying across the pitch without a microphone, heard by millions):

Then take your throne, Leonor.

Wear it well.

I will keep scoring… not for Spain, not for glory, not even for the mother who stayed or the father who hid.

I will score because the only thing left in this world that still feels honest… is the moment the ball leaves my foot and everyone remembers who I am.

He did not touch her. He did not beg. He simply turned, picked up the ball, and walked toward the tunnel as 80,000 people stood in stunned silence and the real thing bacame forceful.

Behind him, Leonor remained on the pitch, shoulders straight, crown invisible but heavier than ever and the world could see.

In the royal box, Princess Sofía watched with a small, carefully hidden smile and the wholeness of life: her secret ambition one decisive step closer to fulfillment.

That night, Caos returned to the mansion alone.

The three maids waited in the hallway, their faces etched with sorrow and quiet fury. Zeraphina’s fists were clenched. Keyla looked ready to burn the Palacio Real down. Michaela’s gentle eyes held tears she refused to let fall in front of him. Every maid shared the same intentions. What is more, they were about to call DOE.

He walked past them without a word and went straight to the garden where he and Leonor had shared so many stolen nights and this really made him cry harder than he had ever cried.

The ball sat at his feet under the moonlight, and the sun could be seen in his eyes.

For the first time all season, he did not train.

He simply stood there, staring at the empty space where she used to stand.

Caos (whispering to the night, voice raw):

I outran the world.

I outscored history.

I outclass everyone.

But I could not outrun the crown that was always going to claim her and the whole world. I should see what we can do with this world. The whole universe shall belong to me.

Somewhere across Madrid, in the Palacio Real, Leonor sat alone on a balcony overlooking the city, the weight of her declaration pressing down like centuries of stone.

She had chosen the throne.

But in the quiet hours before dawn, she allowed herself one final, private truth:

She would never again feel as alive as she had in the arms of the man who scored 430 goals in a single season… simply because he refused to let anything  not even love  slow him down and she could actually feel something blooming in her.

The 2031–32 season still had matches left to play.

Caos would score the remaining goals with a cold, singular fury never seen before.

The storm had not ended.

It had simply learned how to hurt.

Something has broken that day.

To be continued…