Sofia stood at the center of the newsroom, chaos swirling around her like a storm. The teleprompter had crashed, the feed from the field team was a disaster, and the clock was ticking down to the live broadcast. Yet, she remained steady, issuing clear commands, rerouting the feed, and managing the last-minute scramble with the calm precision she had honed over the years. One problem at a time. One solution at a time. The mantra came to her as she wrapped a band-aid around Aaron's bleeding thumb without disrupting his work or taking her own eyes off the monitor.

Just as she settled the final issue, her phone buzzed with a text. Glancing down, she saw her father's name pop up - Hermes. She allowed herself a moment to read it:

"Queen of the chaos, aren't you? Always in control, even when the world's spinning. Proud of you."

Sofia snorted softly. Only her father could turn a newsroom meltdown into a royal metaphor. Queen, he'd called her. It was said in that playful, easy way Hermes had about him, never taking things too seriously. But as the newsroom settled back into its normal hum, the word stuck with her, resonating deeper than it had any right to.

She had never been one for titles or grand gestures. She wasn't the type to need recognition or praise. But the idea of being a queen - her own queen - stirred something inside her. It wasn't about power or ruling over others, but about the quiet authority she had built, the resilience she carried inside. She didn't need a crown to feel the weight of what she had accomplished.

In a world full of powerful men, gods, and voices demanding attention, Sofia had always known she would need to carve out her own place. She had learned early on not to wait for anyone to hand her a title or a seat at the table. If anything, her strength came from the way she had fought for it. Through long nights, missed opportunities, and battles - both personal and professional - that only she could see.

Hermes' playful remark lingered in her thoughts as she grabbed her bag, the adrenaline of the evening winding down. She caught her reflection in one of the glass panels as she passed. No crown. No regal airs. Just her, tired but steady, with her chin held high and her heart still pushing forward.

Queen.

Not because someone said so. But because she had always been on - fighting her own battles, carrying her own burdens, and ruling her own world with quiet grace.

She didn't need a crown to remind her of that. She never had. © tessisamess