[March 6th, 2012 - 9:15 PM]
[The Grand Imperial Citadel - The Crystal Ballroom]
Perspective: Rose Valentine
The Crystal Ballroom was a breathtaking masterpiece of architecture, easily hosting the absolute apex of Asuran society. Exactly 500 of the most elite, influential figures in the entire empire were gathered beneath the massive golden chandeliers.
I stepped further into the ballroom, holding a delicate crystal glass in my hand.
I wore a breathtakingly elegant, off-the-shoulder crimson and gold gown. It was heavily detailed with intricate gold lace and a sweeping skirt that commanded space around me. A delicate gold crown rested perfectly in my long, flowing blonde hair, solidifying my absolute, undeniable authority.
Every eye in the room immediately snapped toward me.
"By the Gods... the Crowned Princess is truly unmatched." a wealthy Viscount murmured to his wife, completely awestruck.
"Her aura alone is terrifying. She looks exactly like a young Empress Rosaline." an older Baron whispered, lowering his head respectfully.
"That dress... it must cost more than my entire estate." a noblewoman gasped.
As I confidently descended the marble staircase, a swarm of powerful figures immediately approached to pay their respects.
"Princess Rose, your radiance graces us all." Grand Duke Atreus bowed deeply, his silver hair catching the light.
"Thank you, Grand Duke. I trust the Northern Territories are prospering?" I replied smoothly, offering a polite but calculated smile.
"Princess," Arch Duke Hael, a scarred, towering veteran of the Imperial Knights, offered a sharp military salute. "The knights stand ready at your absolute command."
"Your loyalty is noted, Arch Duke." I acknowledged.
Countess Noctra, Lord Sterling, and even Sir Galahad of the Royal Knights took their turns kissing the back of my hand and showering me with political praises. I navigated their small talk with flawless precision, carefully analyzing their subtle shifts in tone and body language.
But the real conversation began when a tall, incredibly charismatic man approached me. He had dark brown hair and sharp, calculating green eyes—an older, much more arrogant version of Lucas Reinhardt.
"Princess Rose," Ivan Reinhardt bowed, a charming yet dangerous smirk on his face. "It is an absolute honor."
"Duke Reinhardt," I greeted, my voice cooling slightly. "I saw your son earlier today. He is... adequately representing your house."
"Lucas is a capable boy, but he lacks my... expansive vision," Ivan chuckled smoothly, swirling his wine glass. He stepped just a fraction closer, lowering his voice to a political murmur. "Speaking of vision, Princess. The Reinhardt territory borders the eastern coast. With a simple royal endorsement from you, I could establish a new maritime military academy there. It would greatly expand the Empire's naval dominance... and, of course, provide you with an entirely loyal, private fleet when the time comes for your ascension."
I stared into his green eyes, immediately seeing the massive, greedy ambition hiding behind his charismatic smile. He was planting seeds, trying to secure my support early to rapidly expand his own military power.
"A bold proposal, Duke Reinhardt," I replied carefully, giving nothing away. "We will discuss maritime expansions when the current borders are fully secured. Do not overstep your current tide."
Ivan smirked, stepping back with a respectful bow. "Of course, Your Highness."
Before Ivan could say anything else, the massive golden doors swung open again.
The immediate shift in the room's atmosphere was palpable. The murmurs surrounding me completely died out, replaced by a sudden wave of frantic, excited whispers that swept across the ballroom.
I turned my head, my eyes narrowing dangerously.
Entering the ballroom with perfect, aristocratic grace was Iris Valentine, her arm linked elegantly with Asylym Vexley.
They looked absolutely breathtaking.
Iris wore a grand, breathtaking midnight-violet gown woven from starlight silk, featuring an off-the-shoulder neckline framed by delicate moon-crystal embroidery and a sweeping, heavy skirt layered with shimmering silver thread. A silver tiara adorned with deep sapphires rested in her hair, giving her an aura of majestic, ethereal nobility that directly challenged my dominant, aggressive crimson.
Beside her, Asylym Vexley looked like a high-ranking ducal commander. He wore a tailored midnight-blue ceremonial dress coat fitted with gold epaulets, intricate silver dragon embroidery running down the lapels, and a high mandarin collar. A crisp white formal sash was fastened across his chest by an amethyst Vexley crest broach, and a silver-hilted ceremonial sword hung at his hip, radiating an intimidating, quiet confidence.
"Is it true? Has young Vexley really achieved Knighthood already?!" a Count whispered loudly in shock.
"They look absolutely perfect together... an engagement must be imminent," a Duchess gossiped behind her fan.
I watched them descend the stairs, my grip tightening slightly on my crystal glass.
She did this on purpose.
Irene and Zeus have been here for an hour. Iris purposely waited to enter late, dressing in that grand, ethereal aesthetic alongside a newly minted Knight to completely shatter my entrance. She wants to steal the spotlight.
I didn't feel resentful. I just felt a cold, decisive clarity.
Enjoy your fleeting moment, Iris. I thought coldly. I will take it back soon enough.
However, the calculating tension between Iris and me was instantly broken by the arrival of the true centerpieces of the Imperial family.
The crowd actually parted, falling into a stunned, reverent silence as Seraphina Valentine and her mother, Anastasia Mooncrest, entered the hall.
They looked completely beyond beautiful. They wore matching, breathtaking white and blue dresses that seemed to literally glow under the chandeliers. The delicate starlight fabric cascaded around them like water, and while Anastasia looked undeniably stunning and radiant, it was Seraphina who truly commanded the room.
Seraphina possessed an ethereal, almost devastating beauty. The pretty privilege she held was absolute—every single noble in the room, male or female, stared at her in total, hypnotized awe.
"Goddess above... Princess Seraphina is otherworldly..." Lord Sarper whispered, completely captivated.
"The Mooncrest bloodline is truly blessed by the heavens..." Countess Noctra agreed, entirely mesmerized.
Seraphina smiled softly, gracefully floating across the room until she approached Iris and Asylym.
"Iris. Asylym," Seraphina greeted warmly, her voice like a soothing melody. She looked at Asylym with a gentle smile. "Where are your parents, Asylym? I thought the Vexley family would arrive together."
Asylym immediately offered a deep, incredibly respectful bow. "Princess Seraphina. My father and mother will be arriving a bit late due to border matters. I wanted to be here early to present myself alongside Iris."
Seraphina's smile widened slightly, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. "How chivalrous. You two look absolutely perfect together!"
From the elevated golden thrones at the end of the ballroom, Emperor Noctis observed the arrivals. Seeing that the main figures had gathered, he slowly stood up.
Instantly, the orchestra stopped playing. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the massive ballroom as all 500 guests immediately turned and dropped to one knee, bowing their heads.
I stood tall, turning to face my father with absolute respect.
"Rise..." Noctis's deep, authoritative voice echoed across the Crystal Ballroom, amplified by subtle sound magic.
The nobles slowly stood, hanging onto his every word.
"Today marks the 3000th year of our great Empire," Noctis began, his voice commanding and absolute. "We stand here today surrounded by unparalleled wealth, magic, and military might. But I want you to remember where this all began."
Noctis raised his hand, and a massive, glowing illusion of golden mana materialized above the ballroom.
"Only 3000 years ago, this entire continent was nothing but scattered, warring factions," Noctis explained, the illusion shifting rapidly. "Before we were an Empire, we were a kingdom. Before that, a mere city. Before that, a town. Before that... a struggling village. And before that? Nothing."
The nobles watched in awe as the golden mana beautifully illustrated the history of the continent.
"Our ancestors wrote in the ancient scriptures of a myth," Noctis continued, his tone turning almost reverent. "A single man who started the entire chain of events that led to our absolute dominance today."
With a flick of his wrist, the golden mana condensed, forming a hyper-realistic, life-sized silhouette of a man standing above the crowd.
The man in the illusion wore a sleek black suit, a long dark trench coat, and a blood-red sash strapped across his chest with silver chains—an outfit shockingly similar to the modern one Asylym was currently wearing, but with an aura that felt ancient and overwhelmingly powerful.
"The scriptures describe him as a force of nature..." Noctis shared the long-lost lore, looking up at the glowing figure. "They described him as the most charismatic leader to ever walk the earth. He was dangerously intelligent, incredibly witty, devastatingly handsome, and surprisingly funny."
A few nobles chuckled softly, entirely captivated by the Emperor's storytelling.
"In fact," Noctis joked, a rare, faint smirk touching his lips, "Our ancestors admired him so much, some historians believe they exaggerated his traits. But regardless of the myths... he truly was that special. He was the Emperor of this continent long before the Empire was ever established, commanding absolute authority through his sheer presence alone."
The glowing silhouette slowly turned its head, revealing a pair of piercing, brilliant light blue eyes.
"We do not know his name," Noctis concluded, his voice echoing with profound weight. "But we know he shared our bloodline. He held the same light blue eyes that our royal family holds today. He is the original creator of Asura."
The illusion faded into golden sparks, raining down beautifully over the stunned, mesmerized guests.
"Honor his legacy. Honor the Empire!" Noctis declared, raising his wine glass high. "Celebrate without holding back, and enjoy the Founder's Day Gala!"
"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE ASURA!" the massive crowd roared in unison, raising their glasses before the orchestra instantly resumed with a booming, triumphant symphony.
Noctis sat back down on his golden throne beside my mother.
I watched the golden sparks fade into the chandeliers above, my mind racing with absolute determination.
An Emperor before the Empire... My icy blue eyes glowed with intense, burning ambition. A man who commanded the world through sheer presence and intelligence alone.
I took a slow sip of my wine, looking across the room at the powerful Dukes, the elite Knights, and my rivaling sisters.
I will become an Empress just like him. I will make sure of it.
The orchestra swelled into a triumphant waltz, and the ballroom exploded into celebration. Nobles raised their glasses, clinked crystal against crystal, and the tension that had built during my father's speech dissolved into a sea of laughter and flowing wine.
I didn't join them. I watched.
Within minutes, Iris was already working the room. She moved through the crowd with Asylym at her side like a weapon, introducing him to every powerful noble within reach. Her strategy was transparent to anyone who knew what to look for, but these old men didn't know what to look for.
They saw a beautiful princess and a newly minted Knight and they thought it was romance.
It's not romance. It's an arms deal.
"Grand Duke Atreus, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Sir Asylym Vexley," Iris smiled, her voice carrying just the right amount of affection. "The youngest Knight of the Realm in 3 centuries."
Grand Duke Atreus's silver eyebrows shot up. "3 centuries? Remarkable. Your father must be immensely proud, young man."
"He is," Asylym replied. Two words. That was Asylym's entire conversational range, and somehow it made him seem more impressive, not less.
She's positioning him as the military arm of her faction. Watching Iris guide Asylym from one noble to the next. Asylym's knighthood legitimizes her claim. If she marries into the Vexley line, she controls the most powerful non-royal military house in the Empire.
It's a good move. I would've done the same thing.
I took another sip of my juice, weighing my options. My entrance had been undermined. Iris had stolen the spotlight. Seraphina existed, which meant every nobleman's eyes were magnetically locked to her face regardless of who was actually talking to them.
I needed to reclaim the initiative.
I turned on my heel and walked directly toward Ivan Reinhardt.
He was standing near the eastern balcony, swirling his juice and watching the crowd with the self-satisfied expression of a man who believed he was the smartest person in the room. He wasn't. But he was useful.
"Duke Reinhardt," I said.
Ivan's green eyes flickered with surprise. He straightened immediately. "Princess Rose. You grace me twice in one evening. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I've been thinking about your maritime proposal."
The surprise deepened. Good. I needed him off-balance.
"The eastern coast is strategically vulnerable," I continued, keeping my voice low enough that only he could hear. "A naval presence there would serve the Empire's interests. I'm willing to discuss the specifics... privately. After the gala."
Ivan's eyes widened fractionally before the charismatic mask snapped back into place. "I am... deeply honored, Your Highness. I look forward to the conversation."
"Don't misunderstand me, Duke," I added, meeting his gaze with absolute cold clarity. "I am not endorsing your ambitions. I am evaluating whether they are useful to mine. There is a significant difference."
Ivan stared at me for a long moment, then bowed deeply. "Of course, Your Highness."
I walked away without looking back.
That will reach Iris within the hour. I thought. The rumor that I'm considering the Reinhardt alliance will force her to spend resources countering it instead of building her own network tonight. She'll have to pull Asylym away from the old Dukes to reassure her existing supporters.
One move. Two disruptions. That's efficiency.
I allowed myself the faintest smirk behind my wine glass.
Now. The real problem.
My eyes drifted across the ballroom to Seraphina, who was laughing softly at something Anastasia had whispered in her ear.
She looked effortlessly radiant. Nobles drifted toward her like moths, drawn by a warmth that couldn't be faked because it wasn't fake.
Arch Duke Hael, the scarred old veteran who had saluted me earlier, was currently leaning down to speak with Seraphina in hushed, reverent tones. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I caught the shape of it on his lips — something about "a greater role" and "the Empire would be fortunate."
Anastasia deflected it gracefully, placing a gentle hand on Hael's arm and steering the conversation toward the orchestra's performance. But Seraphina's smile didn't waver. She heard it. She filed it.
The nice sister. I thought, watching her. The one who doesn't want the throne. The one who charms everyone without trying. The one who has never once played a political card in her life.
She's the most dangerous one in this room.
Because you can't counter someone who isn't making moves. There's nothing to block. Nothing to anticipate. She just... exists, and people love her for it. And one day, some ambitious Duke will decide that love is more useful than my competence or Iris's scheming.
I set down my empty glass on a passing servant's tray and excused myself toward the ladies' retiring room.
*
The retiring room was obscenely opulent. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors framed in gold. Crystal perfume bottles arranged on marble vanities. Two handmaidens stood in the corner, ready to adjust hair or fix a stray thread.
I stepped inside, and the temperature of the room immediately changed.
Iris was already there.
She was standing at the central mirror, adjusting a sapphire pin in her tiara. Her handmaiden stepped back as I entered. Iris's indigo-violet eyes met mine in the reflection.
Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The silence was its own language.
"You look tired, Rose." Iris said finally, not turning around. Her voice was perfectly pleasant.
There it is.
"And you look like you rehearsed your entrance for a week." I replied smoothly, stepping up to the mirror beside her and adjusting my own crown. "The timing was impressive. Did you use a stopwatch, or did Asylym count the seconds for you?"
Iris's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "At least my entrance was memorable. Yours was... adequate."
"Adequate is the word I used to describe your fiancé's conversational skills to Duke Reinhardt earlier." I replied. "Speaking of whom, the Duke and I had a fascinating second conversation tonight. About naval expansion. I'm sure you'll hear about it."
Iris turned to face me directly, her indigo violet eyes sharp and cold. "Playing with the Reinhardts now? That's desperate, even for you."
"Desperate is parading your engagement in front of every Duke old enough to forget what century it is." I countered. "I'm simply managing the attention, Iris. Something you'd understand if you spent less time staging theatrical entrances and more time studying actual governance."
The air between us crackled. Iris's handmaiden looked like she wanted to melt into the wall.
"Governance?" Iris smiled, and it was the kind of smile that had nothing warm behind it. "You govern a classroom, Rose. I govern factions. We are not playing the same game."
"You're right. We're not," I said, my voice dropping to its quietest. "Because in my game, the pieces don't need a handler to walk across a room."
The door opened behind us.
We both turned.
Seraphina stood in the doorway, her emerald eyes moving slowly between us. She read the room in half a second — the rigid postures, the controlled breathing, the handmaiden's terrified expression.
"You know." Seraphina said softly, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her, "I've never understood why you two fight."
She walked to the third mirror, unhurried, and began adjusting a loose curl in her chocolate-brown hair.
"There's no throne to inherit if the Empire falls first."
The sentence hung in the air like a blade.
I stared at her reflection. She wasn't looking at either of us. She was looking at herself in the mirror, tucking the curl behind her ear with gentle, precise fingers.
As if she'd said something about the weather.
She's smarter than I thought.
Iris recovered first, her mask sliding back into place. "The Empire isn't falling, Seraphina."
"Isn't it?" Seraphina murmured, her voice light, almost dreamy. "Papa just told 500 people that our entire civilization was built by one man no one can name. He showed them a ghost with blue eyes and called it our legacy." She finished with the curl and turned to face us both, smiling warmly.
"Don't you find that a little... weird? An empire built on a myth nobody can verify?"
Neither Iris nor I had an answer.
Seraphina smiled at us both — the same radiant, disarming smile she'd given the nobles — and walked out.
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my own reflection.
She's right. And she knows she's right. And she delivered it perfectly — not as an attack, not as a warning. The kind you can't argue with because it wasn't aimed at anyone.
Seraphina Valentine is going to be a problem.
I straightened my crown, fixed my expression back to perfect composure, and walked out.
*
When I returned to the ballroom, the atmosphere had shifted. A new arrival had caused a stir near the entrance.
Sir Reed Vexley had finally arrived.
The legendary Greatest Knight of the Realm cut an imposing figure even without trying. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the same intense, focused eyes as his son. But tonight, something was different. His ceremonial uniform was immaculate, but the man wearing it looked... diminished. There were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him. His hands, clasped behind his back in formal military posture, were trembling.
He looks exhausted. I noted. Not physically. Something else. Something behind the eyes.
Lady Vexley stood beside him, composed and elegant, compensating for her husband's uncharacteristic distance with practiced social grace. But I could see the concern she was hiding behind her smile.
Asylym crossed the ballroom immediately to greet his parents. Iris released his arm — reluctantly, I noticed — and let him go.
"Father." Asylym said, bowing crisply. "Mother."
"Son." Reed replied, placing a heavy hand on Asylym's shoulder. His grip was tight. Too tight. "You look well."
"You look tired, Father." Asylym said. Blunt. Direct. No decoration.
Reed's jaw clenched, then released. "Border duties. Nothing more."
He's lying. I thought immediately. Reed Vexley has been on border duties his entire career. It has never once made his hands shake.
The Vexleys exchanged pleasantries with surrounding nobles for several minutes — the required social performance. But I was watching Reed. He kept scanning the room. Not casually. Methodically. Like a soldier checking a perimeter for threats in what should have been a secure environment.
Then Reed leaned close to Asylym and said something too quiet for anyone else to hear.
But I read lips. I'd been trained to since I was 6.
"We need to speak. Privately. Now."
Asylym's expression didn't change. He simply nodded and followed his father toward the eastern corridor, away from the crowd.
I excused myself from a Countess's insufferable commentary on the floral arrangements and moved to a position near the corridor entrance. Close enough to observe, distant enough to seem uninvolved.
Through the gap in the heavy curtains, I could see them. Reed had his back to the wall, one hand pressed against the stone as if steadying himself. Asylym stood facing him, perfectly still.
Reed was speaking. His voice was low, but the corridor's acoustics carried fragments to me.
"So." Reed's deep voice echoed softly off the stone. "You're serious about the engagement."
"I've always been serious, Father." Asylym replied, his posture rigid. "You gave the green light from the border months ago."
"I gave approval on paper." Reed said, crossing his arms. He studied his son's face for a long moment — the way only a father could, searching for something beneath the discipline. "Paper is easy. I wanted to look you in the eyes before I believed it."
He came back for this? I realized. Not border duties. He came back to see if his son was ready.
"It's been months since I've seen you, Asylym." Reed's voice softened, barely. "You've grown taller. Broader. But you look... harder. That concerns me."
"Hard is what the Empire needs." Asylym said flatly.
Reed sighed, a heavy, tired sound. He ran a scarred hand over his face. "That's exactly what concerns me." He paused, then shifted his weight, his expression darkening. "I need to tell you something. Something I can't share with the court. The border situation is deteriorating."
"Deteriorating how?"
"Valerion is mobilizing." Reed said quietly. "But not the way we expected. I've been tracking movements for weeks. The scouts confirmed what I refused to believe. Elves and demons, working together."
Asylym's jaw tightened. "That's impossible. They've been blood-enemies for centuries."
"I know." Reed's voice was grim. "It gets worse. Beastkin and Dragonic clans have been spotted in the same encampments. Races that would sooner burn each other alive than share a campfire. Someone is uniting them. Someone with enough power or enough leverage to make ancient enemies forget 1000 years of hatred."
Elves and demons. Beastkin and Dragonics. Working together.
My fingers tightened involuntarily at my sides. That wasn't a border skirmish.
That was a continental coalition. If Valerion had somehow forged an alliance of the Empire's oldest, most bitter enemies under a single banner...
"A war." Asylym said. It wasn't a question.
"Maybe. Maybe not yet." Reed pressed his palm flat against the stone wall. "But I'll need to stay at the border longer than planned. Weeks. Months. I don't know. Which is why I needed to see you tonight." He looked directly at Asylym. "If a war breaks out — and I mean a real war, not a skirmish, not a raid — will you be capable of giving your life for the person you've chosen to marry?"
Silence stretched between them.
"Princess Iris is your future wife." Reed continued, his voice dropping lower. "That's not a title. That's a person. A person who will depend on you when the world is on fire. Can you stand in front of her when there's a blade aimed at her chest and not hesitate? Not for duty. Not for honor. For her."
"Yes." Asylym said immediately.
"Don't answer so quickly." Reed said sharply. "I've watched soldiers say 'yes' at the altar and freeze on the battlefield. I'm not asking if you're brave, Asylym. I'm asking if you love her enough to die ugly. No glory. No audience. Just bleeding out in some muddy trench with her name as the last word on your tongue."
The corridor went silent.
Then Reed's expression shifted. The hardness melted, just slightly. He reached up and placed his massive, scarred hand on the back of Asylym's head — a gesture so tender it looked almost wrong on a man that large.
"Your mother asked me that same question once." Reed murmured, almost to himself. "Before we married. She sat me down and said, 'Reed, if it comes to it, will you choose me or the Empire?' And I told her the truth."
"What did you say?"
"I said I'd burn the Empire to ashes and build her a house on the ruins." Reed smiled — a real smile, rare and warm. "She called me an idiot. Then she married me anyway."
Something shifted in Asylym's posture. The rigid, mechanical discipline softened, just a fraction.
"I won't hesitate, Father." Asylym said, and this time the words carried a different weight. Not military certainty. Something deeper. "Not for duty. For her."
Reed studied his son's eyes for a long moment. Whatever he found there must have satisfied him, because he nodded once, firmly, and ruffled Asylym's hair with a rough, affectionate hand.
"Good." Reed said. "But you gotta be alive to keep that promise, son. Dead men don't protect anyone."
"I plan to be alive for a long time." Asylym said, straightening. His voice shifted — still controlled, but now carrying a dangerous, burning edge.
"Because I'm not just going to be a Knight of the Realm, Father. I'm going to be the Rank Zero Knight."
Reed blinked. Then he actually laughed — a short, incredulous bark of laughter. "Rank Zero? That doesn't exist, Asylym."
"It will when I create it." Asylym replied without a shred of humor. "You remember the weapon, don't you? Subject 981. From the Foundation."
Reed's laughter died instantly. His face went completely still.
981. I filed the designation immediately. A Foundation subject. Numbered. Not named?
"I remember." Reed said quietly.
"You fought it to a draw." Asylym said. "The only draw in your entire career. 30 years undefeated, and a child pushed you to your absolute limit."
Reed said nothing. His hands — which had been still since the conversation began — started trembling again. Barely visible. But I caught it.
"I'm going to defeat that weapon." Asylym declared, his voice absolute. "And when I do, I'll have surpassed you, Captain Lionel, and every Knight who has ever held the title. I will reach a pinnacle of knighthood that has never existed before. That's my promise to you, Father."
Reed stared at his son. His expression was unreadable — a complex war of pride, fear, and something that looked dangerously close to grief.
He's afraid? I realized, reading the micro-expressions. Not of Asylym failing. Of what Asylym might find if he tries.
For a long moment, Reed didn't speak. Then he placed both hands on Asylym's shoulders, gripping firmly.
"Then fly, son." Reed said, his deep voice rough with emotion. "Fly as high as your wings will carry you. Surpass me. Surpass everyone." His grip tightened. "But don't aim so high that your own wings burn from the rays of the sun. A knight who chases glory for its own sake stops being a protector and becomes a weapon. And weapons..." He paused.
"Weapons don't get the happy endings."
Asylym held his father's gaze. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"I understand, Father. Purpose. Not ego."
"Purpose. Not ego." Reed repeated, squeezing his shoulders once more before releasing him. "Now fix your collar, you look like a vagrant. Your mother will have my head if I let you walk back in looking disheveled."
The faintest hint of a smile touched Asylym's lips — almost imperceptible, but it was there. He adjusted his collar and followed his father back toward the ballroom.
I stepped away from the curtain as they re-entered, my mind processing everything I'd overheard at high speed.
Valerion is building a coalition of ancient enemies. Reed believes a war is coming. Subject 981 — a Foundation weapon that drew against the Greatest Knight of the Realm when it was a child?
And Asylym wants to surpass it.
I filed it all away. Every word. Every tremor in Reed's hands. Every shift in Asylym's posture.
This changes the politics significantly.
*
When I returned to the main ballroom floor, the atmosphere had warmed considerably. The nobles were deep into their drinking and their scheming, and the orchestra had shifted to a lighter, more playful melody.
I was about to find a quiet corner to reassess my strategy when a sound stopped me.
Laughter. My father's laughter.
That was rare enough to be alarming.
I turned toward the thrones and saw something that made my chest tighten in a way I immediately suppressed.
Seraphina was standing at the base of my father's throne, her hands clasped behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels with the expression of a child about to ask for extra dessert. Anastasia stood a few steps behind, watching with a warm, amused smile.
"Papaaaa." Seraphina said, dragging the word out with a playful, musical lilt. "When is the dancing starting?"
Noctis looked down at his daughter from the throne, and — I watched this in real time — the Emperor of the Asuran Empire, the most powerful man on the continent, visibly softened.
"Patience, Seraphina." Noctis said, but there was warmth in his voice. Actual warmth. "The formal dances begin after the second course."
"But that's so far awayyyy." Seraphina pouted, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "Can't you start them early? You're the Emperor. You can do anything!"
Noctis's lips twitched. "Being Emperor does not mean I can rearrange the entire gala schedule because my daughter wants to dance."
"It should." Seraphina beamed, tilting her head with devastating charm. "Besides, I don't want to dance with any boring Dukes. I want the first dance with you, Papa."
A few nearby nobles overheard and chuckled softly, their expressions melting into fond admiration. Noctis glanced sideways at Rosaline, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing — the faintest hint of amusement on her usually severe face.
"You are incorrigible." Noctis said.
"I learned from the best." Seraphina grinned, curtsying dramatically. "Mama says you used to dance with her in the garden when nobody was watching."
"Your mother talks too much." Noctis replied, but he was smiling now. Actually smiling. He reached down and gently flicked her forehead with one finger. "Go enjoy the gala, little butterfly. I'll save you a dance."
"Promise?" Seraphina held out her pinky.
Noctis stared at the offered pinky for a moment. Then, the Emperor of the Asuran Empire — the man who had just delivered a speech about imperial legacy and 3000 years of dominance — hooked his daughter's pinky with his own.
"Promise."
Seraphina's face lit up like the sun itself. She bounced on her toes, kissed her father's knuckle, and floated away into the crowd, pulling Anastasia along by the arm.
I stood thirty feet away, holding an empty glass, watching the entire exchange.
My face was perfectly composed. Not a single muscle out of place. The consummate Crowned Princess, observing her family with calm, regal detachment.
Inside, something cracked.
If I had asked him that — if I had walked up to his throne and called him 'Papa' and asked him to dance — he would have told me I was being childish. He would have reminded me of my station. He would have said a Crowned Princess does not beg for attention.
And he would have been right. Because that's what he taught me. To be perfect. To never ask for things I haven't earned.
But Seraphina just asked. She just... asked. And he said yes.
Walking away before anyone could see the expression I was failing to control.
That's fine. I don't need a dance. I need the throne.
The orchestra swelled. The gala continued. And I stood behind my pillar, alone, watching 500 people celebrate an Empire I was going to rule — whether it loved me back or not.
But my moment of quiet resolve was interrupted by a sudden, unnatural hush falling over the eastern quadrant of the ballroom.
The music hadn't stopped, but the conversation had. A dense circle of nobles had formed near one of the grand tapestries. They weren't mingling. They were listening.
I smoothed the front of my crimson gown, stepped out from behind the pillar, and moved toward the crowd. The nobles parted for me immediately, bowing their heads as I passed, revealing the center of the spectacle.
Evika Lunarstar.
She sat upon a velvet-draped chair that had been pulled from the periphery, looking entirely too comfortable for a commoner in the Imperial Palace. She wore heavy silks of deep midnight blue, silver crescent moons embroidered along her sleeves. Her eyes were milky and unblinking, yet they tracked movement with eerie precision. She was the most famous seer in the continent, known for prophecies that were as arrogant as they were accurate.
And standing directly across from her, holding a delicate crystal cup, was Iris.
"Ah. The Firstborn." Evika's voice was a rich, theatrical purr that carried over the orchestra. She didn't bow. She didn't even lower her chin. "The Crowned Princess graces my humble circle. Tell me, Your Highness, do you wish to know what the stars have written for you?"
"I write my own future, Seer." I replied, my voice perfectly polite. "I suggest you don't waste the court's time with parlor tricks."
"Tricks?" Evika smiled, revealing slightly pointed teeth. "Tell me, Grand Duke Atreus, did I play a trick when I warned you of the poisoned chalice five years ago?"
The elderly Duke swallowed hard, stepping back. "Her vision saved my life, Your Highness. She named the assassin before he even boarded the ship."
"And the fall of the Western Vanguard? The drought in the Grain Provinces?" Evika tilted her head, her milky eyes boring into mine. "The stars do not play tricks, Princess Rose. My foresight is absolute, and it cannot be broken. It simply does not care about your titles."
A ripple of nervous murmurs went through the crowd.
"Then by all means," Iris said smoothly, taking a slow sip of her juice. "Enlighten us, Lady Evika. What do the stars say about the Crowned Princess?"
It's a trap, I thought instantly. Iris arranged this. A public spectacle to undermine my absolute authority.
Evika leaned forward, her milky eyes locking onto mine.
"I see a masterpiece." Evika began, her voice resonating with an unnatural acoustic depth. "A flawless, shining exterior. Forged in darkness, polished to perfection. But inside..." She paused, tilting her head. "Inside, it is entirely hollow. A vessel waiting to be filled with a love it will never receive."
The ballroom grew dangerously quiet.
"You were born with misfortune, Princess." Evika declared, the words ringing out for the entire inner court to hear. "You carry the weight of an Empire, but not the love of your parents. You are a tool. A weapon. And weapons are not loved. They are used."
I held her gaze with absolute, unyielding calm. But inside, beneath the ribs, something cold and sharp twisted directly into my lungs.
What nonsense is she spouting?
"Tonight," Evika continued, her voice rising, theatrical and cruel. "You will watch the Emperor dance. But his hand will not hold yours. Everyone else will feel his warmth, but you, Firstborn, will stand in the cold. Just as you always have."
"Silence, Seer!"
The sharp, military bark came from my left. Captain Lionel pushed his way through the crowd, his silver armor clanking, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his broadsword. Two elite Paladins flanked him. Even limping slightly, his presence was overwhelming.
"You disrespect the Crowned Princess in the Imperial Court." Lionel's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Hold your tongue, or I will have you removed and your seer's license permanently revoked."
Evika didn't flinch. She simply smiled.
"Let her speak, Captain."
Consort Irena Seraphil stepped out from the crowd, her sapphire gown whispering against the marble. She was the absolute picture of high-noble elegance. Cool. Unyielding. The Ice Queen.
"Consort Irena," Lionel said, his jaw tight. "This woman is speaking treason against the heir."
"This woman," Irena corrected, her voice slow and grammatically precise, "is reciting a prophecy. The Lunarstar prophecies have guided this Empire for generations. Or are we suddenly so fragile that we must draw swords against the truth?"
Irena looked at me. Her violet eyes were flat and devoid of any warmth.
"If the Crowned Princess's authority is absolute," Irena said smoothly, "she has nothing to fear from a few words. Let her finish, Captain. That is a direct order."
Lionel looked at me. I could see the conflict in his eyes — the instinct to protect his Emperor's daughter versus the command of an Imperial Consort.
I gave him a nod. Stand down. If you silence her, it proves I am afraid.
Lionel stepped back, though his hand didn't leave his sword.
"Continue, Seer," Irena commanded. "Since you have read the Firstborn's fate, what of the Third? What do the stars write for Princess Iris?"
Iris lowered her cup, her expression perfectly composed, but I could see the faint, anticipatory gleam in her eyes.
Evika turned her milky gaze to Iris. She closed her eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath that seemed to rattle in her chest.
"The Third Daughter," Evika whispered, but the magic in her voice carried the words to the furthest corners of the hall. "Born in the shadow, raised in the frost. I see a future rearranging itself. I see a crown forged not from inherited gold, but from the ashes of the Firstborn's failure."
Gasps rippled through the nobility. Several Dukes exchanged rapid, alarmed glances.
"And the others?" Iris asked softly, ensuring the dagger twisted all the way in.
Evika closed her milky eyes again. "I see the Second Daughter, bathed in sunlight. She will be surrounded by devotion, her path paved with the hearts of those who adore her. The Prince, Zeus, will stand as an unbreakable shield, hailed as a hero of the new age."
Evika opened her eyes, locking them onto me with devastating pity. "But you, Firstborn? You will lose everything. The crown. The power. The illusion of control. And when you fall into the abyss, you will look up and realize there is no one. Not a single soul will reach out their hand to pull you from the dark."
The coldness in the room was absolute. Nobles who had smiled at me an hour ago now looked at me with thinly veiled contempt. A Princess with no destiny, no family, and no love was just a girl playing dress-up.
It was treason. Said aloud, in front of 500 of the Empire's most powerful people. Iris had practically orchestrated a public coronation for herself using a fortune teller as a mouthpiece.
Iris simply looked at me, her eyes conveying everything she didn't say out loud: I govern factions, Rose. You govern classrooms.
"How fascinating."
The crowd parted instantly, as Empress Rosaline Valentine descended the steps from the dais.
My mother moved with a lethal, mesmerizing grace. Her spun-gold hair caught the light of the chandeliers, but her piercing blue eyes were locked entirely on the fortune teller. She didn't look at me. She didn't look at Iris. She didn't even acknowledge Irena.
Rosaline stopped directly in front of Evika's velvet-draped table.
"A crown forged from ashes," Rosaline repeated, her tone conversational. "An architect of shadows. Tell me, Lady Lunarstar... did the stars also tell you what happens to prophets who bore me?"
Evika's arrogant smile faltered. For the first time, the seer looked genuinely uncertain. "Your Imperial Majesty... I only speak what the cosmos reveal."
"The cosmos are mistaken." Rosaline said. She reached out and delicately picked up a silver goblet from a passing servant's tray. "Or perhaps you are simply misinterpreting the tea leaves. It happens to charlatans all the time."
"I assure you, Your Majesty, my visions are absolute—"
"Your visions," Rosaline interrupted, her voice dropping to a register that sent a chill down my spine, "are going to be proven wrong tonight."
Rosaline finally turned her gaze to Iris. Then to Irena.
"The future of the Asura Empire is not read in the stars." Rosaline declared, her voice ringing with absolute authority, sweeping across the entire ballroom to command every ear. "It is built. By us."
She raised her hand, dismissing the seer entirely, and gestured toward the grand orchestra pit.
"The hour grows late, and we have indulged in enough parlor tricks. Maestro," Rosaline commanded. "Play the Imperial Waltz. Let the formal dances begin."
Immediately, the 12 Master Orchestrators in the elevated pit moved in absolute synchronization. These were not mere musicians; they were acoustic mages. Using Sound-Weaver wands alongside traditional violins crafted from Elvian weeping-wood and cellos reinforced with resonant brass, they created music that didn't just fill the room—it touched the skin. The melody of the Imperial Waltz was a sweeping, majestic crescendo that smelled faintly of ozone and felt like a warm summer wind against the cheeks.
Noctis descended the steps of the dais, his midnight-blue cape flowing behind him. Rosaline met him at the center of the ballroom.
Seeing the Emperor dance was a rarity reserved only for events of this magnitude. When he took Rosaline's hand and pulled her into the waltz, the entire court stopped to watch. Their movements were masterful, a flawless display of predatory grace and regal elegance. They didn't just dance; they commanded the space, their steps perfectly synchronized to the magical acoustics.
I walked away from the crowd and took a seat at a small, vacant table near the crystal pillars. I arranged my skirts, folded my hands in my lap, and watched them.
Evika's prophecy doesn't matter... I told myself. It's just lies.
But the hollow ache in my chest refused to subside. I watched my parents glide across the floor, so perfectly aligned, a united front of absolute power.
After a few minutes, the waltz shifted into a slightly faster, lively tempo. Noctis led Rosaline back to the edge of the floor, then offered his hand to Consort Irena. They danced briefly — a precise, formal exchange of steps that looked more like a calculated military maneuver than a waltz.
Then came Consort Anastasia, who brought a vibrant, fluid energy to the floor, her laughter carrying over the music as Noctis expertly spun her.
He was giving them all their moments.
Then, he turned to Seraphina.
She practically flew into his arms, her gold and emerald gown spinning like a blooming flower.
"You're stepping a little slow, Papa." Seraphina teased, her smile radiant as they swept across the marble.
"I am pacing myself so you can keep up, little butterfly." Noctis replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Mama taught me the advanced steps years ago! Watch!"
"I see that. You truly are your mother's daughter."
Seraphina was flawless. Every turn, every dip, was executed with an effortless, joyous beauty that captivated the room. The nobles whispered in sheer adoration. She was the Empire's shining jewel, channeling the unrivaled grace of the dancer Noctis had originally fallen for.
When the song transitioned again, Iris stepped forward.
"May I have this dance, Papa?" Iris asked smoothly, offering a perfect curtsy.
"Of course, Iris." Noctis accepted her hand.
I sat at the table, my fingers gripping the velvet upholstery of my chair. Iris and Noctis moved across the floor.
Everyone else will feel the Emperor's warmth, but you, Firstborn, will stand in the cold.
The seer's words echoed in my head like a curse. I watched my father dance with my mother. With his consorts. With Seraphina. With Iris.
If I sit here, I prove her right.
I stood up. I didn't care about the risk of rejection. I refused to let a blind charlatan dictate my reality.
As the song came to a gentle conclusion, Iris offered a final curtsy and stepped away. Noctis turned, adjusting his cuffs, preparing to return to the dais.
I intercepted him halfway.
The immediate area grew quiet as the nobles noticed the Crowned Princess blocking the Emperor's path.
"Father..." I said, keeping my voice soft but entirely composed.
Noctis paused, looking down at me. "Rose. Are you enjoying the gala?"
"It has been... illuminating." I offered a perfect, sweeping curtsy, dipping lower than protocol demanded. "However, I believe the Crowned Princess has not yet fulfilled her duty to the floor."
I rose, meeting his gaze directly.
"I would be honored to share the next waltz with you, Your Majesty."
Silence fell over the surrounding nobles. They had never seen the Emperor and the Crowned Princess dance. I was known for my academic supremacy, my tactical brilliance, my unapproachable perfection... not my daughterly affection.
Noctis studied my face. I thought I saw hesitation in his deep blue eyes.
He's going to say no. He's going to prove Evika right.
Then, he offered his hand.
"The honor would be mine, Rose."
I placed my hand in his. His grip was firm, warm, and grounding.
As he led me to the center of the ballroom, I couldn't stop the small, genuine smile from breaking through my mask. I glanced toward the dais.
Rosaline was watching us. And on her flawless face, for the first time all evening, was a proud smirk.
I placed my hand on my father's arm. He placed his large, warm hand on my waist. And we moved.
The Imperial Waltz was a sweeping, majestic crescendo, and my father's lead was absolute. Every step, every spin, every shift of weight was flawless. For a moment—just for a single, breathtaking moment—I wasn't a weapon. I wasn't the Firstborn carrying the weight of an Empire's survival. I was just a daughter, dancing with her father.
It's happening... A euphoric warmth spread through my chest as I took my first step. Evika was wrong. I'm going to prove the entire court wrong. He loves me. He's dancing with me.
And then, the music flickered.
It wasn't a missed note. It was a strange, acoustic dissonance, like the sound was being dragged underwater.
Then, with a harsh, vibrating snap of a cello string, the music died entirely.
The silence that followed was so sudden and absolute that it felt physical. My father and I stopped in the center of the floor.
A wave of confused murmurs immediately erupted across the ballroom.
Noctis released my waist. His jaw tightened as he turned his piercing blue eyes toward the elevated orchestra pit.
"Why has the music stopped?" His voice wasn't a shout, but the sheer command in it silenced the murmuring crowd instantly.
From the pit, the leader of the Master Orchestrators stepped forward. She was a high elf named Zahra, dressed in elegant silver robes. Her expression was calm, composed, and entirely unapologetic.
"We are as surprised as you are, Your Imperial Majesty," Zahra said, bowing her head slightly. "But the fault is not ours."
"Explain." Noctis demanded coldly.
"These instruments are not mundane wood and string," Zahra explained, her voice carrying a serene, unbothered confidence. "They are forged with Sound-Weaver magic. They draw upon the surrounding mana and the souls of those on the floor. They possess a life of their own."
"I did not ask for a lecture on acoustic magic," Noctis's tone dropped dangerously. "I asked why they stopped playing."
"Because they refused to operate, Your Majesty."
"Refused?"
"I have played the weeping-wood symphonies for 40 years," Zahra stated, her cold, elvian eyes shifting to look directly at me. "This is the first time in decades that the instruments have completely rejected a subject. It is unexplainable, yet undeniable. The magic finds the Crowned Princess... unworthy. It is unfit to sing for her."
Disgrace washed over me like a bucket of ice water.
500 pairs of eyes stared at me. The Crowned Princess, rejected by the very magic of the Empire.
Before I could force a word through my tight throat, Iris stepped out from the crowd, her expression perfectly concerned, though her eyes glinted with triumph.
"Perhaps it is just a temporary disruption in the mana flow, Papa." Iris suggested smoothly. She turned toward the Vexley family. "Sir Asylym and I were hoping to share a dance. Let us test the floor. If I am worthy, certainly the music should work."
She didn't wait for permission. Iris offered her hand to Asylym, who escorted her to the floor. Iris looked up at the pit and gave Zahra a single, sharp nod.
Instantly, the waltz resumed. The music was flawless, rich, and vibrant. It swelled beautifully as Iris and Asylym glided across the marble.
I stood on the edge of the floor, my father beside me, watching them dance.
Even fate itself doesn't want me to have this moment?
My hands trembled at my sides. Am I truly so hollow? Is my soul so broken, so devoid of anything real, that even the magic of the world refuses to acknowledge me? A masterpiece with a hollow center. A weapon. Was Evika right?
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look at my father.
"It was just a mistake, Father." I whispered, my voice desperate to remain steady.
"Of course." Noctis said, his eyes fixed on Iris and Asylym.
"The mana flow was simply disrupted. We can try again."
"We will."
"They will sing for us."
"Quiet, Rose," Noctis said, his tone clipped. "Let them finish."
When Iris and Asylym finished their dance, the crowd applauded politely. There was no denying it now. The instruments worked perfectly. They had a will of their own.
Noctis turned back to me. He offered his hand again. We stepped back into the center of the floor.
"Play." Noctis commanded.
The music started. We took three steps. I prayed to every god I didn't believe in.
Skrrrch.
The melody warped, choked, and died instantly.
Zahra looked down from the pit, shaking her head. "As I said, Your Majesty. The weeping-wood refuses to sing for her. It does not like the Crowned Princess."
"Oh, dear."
Consort Irena Seraphil stepped forward, her voice dripping with venomous pity. "It seems the seer's prophecy was not a parlor trick after all. Some destinies simply cannot be forced. You should sit down, Emperor Noctis. You must be exhausted from these humiliating half-dances."
"No." The word tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. I looked at my father, my composure fracturing
"Father, one more time. It's a mistake. I'm not unworthy. Please... god. Someone..."
Noctis looked at my face. The absolute desperation breaking through my perfect mask must have moved something in him, because he looked up at the pit.
"One more time." Noctis ordered. "Play."
The music started.
We moved. I closed my eyes, syncing my steps to his, matching his breathing, perfectly aligning my mana output.
Please... I begged the heavens. Just this one moment. I don't want the throne right now. I don't want the power. I don't want to be the Firstborn. I just want this dance. Let me be a daughter. Let me be loved, just for a minute.
We spun. We glided. It was beautiful.
And then, the music shattered. It didn't just stop; the magical resonance collapsed with a horrific sound that echoed through the entire ballroom.
I froze in my father's arms. The silence was deafening.
"One more time." I said, my voice cracking. I grabbed his sleeve, my fingers desperately clutching at the heavy silk of his midnight-blue cape. "Tell them to play it one more time. Please."
"Enough, Rose." Noctis said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, suppressed rage as he pulled his sleeve out of my grip.
"I can fix it! I can lower my mana output, I can adjust my posture—I promise I can fix it!" Tears blurred my vision, but I reached for his hand again, uncaring of how desperate I looked.
"Why did it work for Seraphina? Why did it work for Iris? Why won't it work for me, Father?"
"Because they have grace, Rose." Noctis hissed down at me, his eyes burning with a dark, ruthless anger that made my stomach plunge into ice.
"They bring light and order to this court. You? You bring desperation. You bring mockery."
"I just wanted one dance..." My voice broke into a small, pitiful squeak. "Just one. I work so hard for you. I achieve absolute perfection in every trial, every exam, every single thing you demand of me... I am your Crowned Princess!"
"Academic scores do not make a sovereign!" Noctis cut me off, his voice striking me like an iron whip.
"Look at yourself! Look at the spectacle you have created! I have stood on this floor three separate times, enduring the smirks of every Duke and Lord in the realm, watching my daughter beg like a street urchin!"
"Father, please—"
"Do you have an ounce of dignity left in you?" He leaned down slightly, his words tailored to tear through every defense I had ever built.
"Seraphina danced like a jewel of the Empire. Iris danced like a true ruler. But you stand here, dragging the prestige of the Imperial throne into the mud. You are throwing a pathetic tantrum because a magical instrument exposed what you truly are."
A hollow vessel. Evika's words echoed in my head, loud as a death knell. A masterpiece with a hollow center.
"Please, Papa..." I whispered, tears almost spilling freely down my cheeks now, hot and shameful. "Just once... don't leave me standing in the cold..."
"Do not call me that!" Noctis snapped, his voice ringing out so sharply that even the farthest nobles flinched. "I am your Emperor. And tonight, you have proven yourself completely unfit to carry my bloodline's dignity."
"Noctis!" Consort Anastasia stepped forward from the crowd, her face pale with horror. "She is just a child, the magic is faulty, please don't—"
"Hold your tongue, Anastasia!" Irena snapped instantly, stepping in front of her with a venomous glare. "It is not your place to interfere when the Emperor disciplines his failing heir!"
Noctis didn't even look at Anastasia. His eyes remained locked on my shattered, tear-stained face.
"You begged for a dance..." Noctis said, his voice flat, emotionless, and entirely devoid of any paternal warmth. "And I gave you three. The magic itself rejects your soul. You are simply unworthy to share this floor with me tonight."
He looked at me with an expression of pure, unadulterated disappointment.
"Stand down, Rose. You are unworthy of this dance. You are unworthy of this floor."
He turned his back on me.
And he walked away.
He walked across the floor, ascended the steps of the dais, and sat back down on his throne.
I stood alone in the center of the ballroom.
The quiet didn't last. The whispers started immediately, rushing over me like a tide of poison.
"Did you hear the Emperor?"
"The seer was right. She's cursed."
"Rejected by the magic itself."
"Look at her... her own father couldn't stand the embarrassment."
"Not a single person loves her."
"A hollow masterpiece. She truly has no one."
Every word broke something deeper inside my chest. Evika was right. She had seen the truth that I had spent my entire life trying to erase. Nobody loved me. My father wouldn't dance with me. And when I was drowning in the dark, not a single person would reach out their hand to save me.
I couldn't breathe. The air in the ballroom felt like crushed glass in my lungs.
I turned around.
I began to walk toward the grand exit gates.
My steps, usually so calculated, so precise, were frantic and weak. I stumbled, my vision completely blurred by the tears streaming down my face.
The entire court watched me. Anastasia looked heartbroken. My mother, the Empress, sat on her throne in absolute silence, her face unreadable. My father didn't look at me. And Iris... Iris watched me with a knowing, satisfied expression.
They had done it. They had broken my spirit. Even God himself didn't want me to be happy.
I was the daughter that never received her father's love.
I walked faster, desperate to escape the eyes, desperate to escape the whispers, the pity, the disgust.
And then, my heel caught the heavy, layered fabric of my crimson gown.
I tripped.
I fell hard, my hands slamming against the cold marble floor, the impact jarring my shoulders. The heavy crystal crown on my head slipped, clattering loudly against the stone.
I lay there on the ground.
I didn't get up. I couldn't. The weight of the humiliation, the heartbreak, the absolute isolation pinned me to the floor. I buried my face in my hands, unable to lift my head, and in front of hundreds of the most powerful people in the Asura Empire...
I cried.
You chose them over me.
That hurts. To come in second place with the person you would always put first. That you get happier because of another daughter. That I wasn't enough. That I didn't do enough. That Seraphina and Iris had something I don't have, and they got your attention instead of me.
The murmurs swelled around me, overlapping and cruel, but my father didn't silence them. He just sat on his throne in the distance, observing my ruin with absolute, cold detachment.
I became so vulnerable... I sobbed into my hands, my shoulders shaking violently against the cold marble. I've doubted myself so much. About literally everything. What if I had done my steps better? What if my mana was perfectly aligned? Would he choose me? Was I the girl he would choose above anything and anyone? Would I be worth it? It's not normal how much damage one person can do to someone who loves them. It destroys them completely. Forever.
"Look at her... how pathetic..." A viscount whispered somewhere to my left.
"A hollow princess indeed." Another voice sneered.
I'm sorry... my inner voice screamed in the dark, desperate and broken. I'm sorry I'm not enough for you, I'm sorry I can't do anything right, I'm sorry I ruined your gala. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you happy? Y'know, it's always me. It's always about how I need to change, how I need to fix everything, how I need to try harder. But that's not fair!
I squeezed my eyes shut, gasping for air.
Why should I have to change? I haven't even gotten to find out who I am, who I'm gonna be... that's crazy. You tell me I'm bad, that I'm unworthy, before I even get to be anything! You're really messing with my head, you know that? I'm just a kid... I'm just a 12-year-old kid, and you expect me to just be able to read your mind and know exactly what to do, what to say, who to be. As if you get to pick who I'm gonna be. That's not your choice. But I know it means nothing to you... why would my pain mean anything to you?
And then... a sound pierced through the suffocating murmurs.
CREAAAK.
The massive, heavy iron-wrought doors of the grand entrance gate, which had been sealed for the formal dances, swung open.
The murmuring of the nobles died instantly. A profound, confused silence swept the ballroom.
I didn't look up. I couldn't. I just kept my face buried in my hands, trying to hide my tear-streaked, ruined face from whoever had just arrived to witness my absolute lowest point.
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the marble floor. They bypassed the outer circles of the nobility. They bypassed the Imperial Guards. They were walking directly toward the center of the floor. Directly toward me.
The footsteps stopped.
I felt a presence. A shift in the air, familiar yet overwhelmingly heavy, as someone knelt on the marble right in front of me.
A hand—warm, steady, and ungloved—gently reached out into the dark where no one else would.
I flinched, slowly lifting my face from my hands. My vision was terribly blurred with tears, but as I blinked them away, the figure came into focus.
He was kneeling before me, and my breath caught in my throat.
He wore a masterful, high-collared tailored black coat with asymmetrical tails that swept the floor. A rich, dark crimson sash was draped diagonally across his chest, perfectly matching a long crimson cape that cascaded off his shoulder. Silver chains decorated the sash and his waist, connecting to a striking red gemstone cross that hung near his thigh. Tall black leather lace-up boots completed the ensemble, an outfit of such commanding, regal perfection it seemed to eclipse every Duke and Lord in the room.
He looked exactly my age. 12 years old.
He had messy, midnight-black hair parted down the middle, framing a face of sharp, aristocratic elegance. And when I looked into his eyes—shimmering, piercing light blue eyes that mirrored the very sky—my heart stopped.
The entire ballroom was paralyzed. The Emperor. The Empress. Iris. Anastasia. They were all frozen, staring at the boy who had just walked into the Imperial Gala wearing an outfit that matched the aesthetic of the True Emperor of Asura.
He didn't look at them. He didn't look at Noctis or Rosaline.
He only looked at me.
"Are you okay, Princess?"
His voice was calm, familiar, and completely devoid of the pity I had been drowning in.
My brother was here.
The only one reaching for my hand.
Kaiser Everhart.