In the imperial office, the scent of fresh ink mingled with that of still-warm tea and delicately sweet pastries arranged on a low table. The silence was broken only by two steady sounds: the continuous scratch of a quill against parchment and a soft, absent-minded humming—almost childlike—that drifted intermittently from the sofa near the window.
Lily sat there with a newfound ease. Before her lay a spread worthy of the imperial kitchens: candied fruits, flaky biscuits, light cream, all served on fine porcelain. She held her cup with both hands and sipped her tea without haste, her shoulders less rigid than before. Though her gaze remained attentive, it no longer scanned every shadow in the office as a potential threat.
A few meters away, the Empress had been writing for hours without lifting her eyes. The massive desk was buried beneath neatly ordered stacks of plans, reports, technical schematics, and strategic briefings. Each completed page was added to an already structured collection with near-maniacal precision. Nothing spilled over. Nothing was left to chance.
Since the Conclave, their relationship had evolved. At Anastasia's explicit request, Lily had learned to partially relax her vigilance when they were in secure spaces. The imperial office—guarded by multiple layers of magical and physical protection—was one of those rare places. Lily was no longer constantly on alert.
At least, not here.
Gradually, encouraged by the Empress, she had also learned to express simple preferences: a particular dessert, a specific drink, a more comfortable cushion. She had even begun giving instructions to the servants without excessive hesitation.
The quill continued to scratch across the parchment when three measured knocks echoed against the door.
The sound, unusual in their studious routine, briefly silenced Lily's humming. She straightened instinctively, her gaze sharpening.
"Enter," Anastasia said without looking up.
The door opened smoothly. Lily tensed for a fraction of a second, then relaxed immediately upon recognizing the figure who stepped inside.
Ophar.
The Archduke bowed deeply, his posture perfectly aligned with imperial etiquette.
"It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Majesty the Empress."
Anastasia finished the line she was writing before responding. She set the quill down carefully, blew lightly over the still-wet ink, and aligned the page with the existing stack.
"The pleasure is mutual, Ophar. Do you know how overwhelmed I have been in your absence?"
Her tone was neither plaintive nor accusatory. She was stating a fact.
"I have heard from my subordinates that you made quite an impression during the Imperial Conclave," he replied calmly.
A faint smile touched Anastasia's lips.
"Indeed."
She gathered the documents, adjusted them with methodical precision, and finally raised her eyes to meet his.
"It has already been two weeks since the Conclave. Time passes quickly… How did your mission proceed?"
Ophar did not change posture.
"It was executed flawlessly, in accordance with your directives."
Anastasia held his gaze for several seconds, evaluating more than his words. Then she nodded slightly.
"Perfect. That is good news."
She rose slowly and walked around the desk to stand before the large window. The afternoon light sharpened the clarity of her features.
"Now that you have returned, it is time to respond to the invitations I have received. I will personally visit several key points of my plan."
Ophar straightened slightly.
"The administration and scholars remaining at the palace were informed of your imminent absence prior to my arrival. During your journey, they will maintain standard operations according to established protocols."
He paused briefly before adding,
"I have also taken the liberty of selecting two additional elite guards. In addition to Lily and myself. As a precaution, Your Highness."
Anastasia observed him in silence. Efficient. Foresighted. Always one step ahead. She crossed her arms, faintly amused.
Is he not the perfect hound?
The thought contained neither contempt nor affection. Only a cold acknowledgment of his loyalty and utility.
She walked to a large cabinet against the side wall.
Inside, carefully aligned, rested several dark leather cases she had commissioned in advance, each reinforced with a subtle preservation seal. She opened the first without hesitation and placed a full stack of dossiers inside. She repeated the process methodically until six separate sets of documents were distributed among six cases.
"Then let us go," she said calmly.
At those words, space split open cleanly, revealing a stable opening with faintly rippling edges. Without waiting for further instruction, Ophar stepped forward and extended his arms, anticipating her next movement. Anastasia placed the cases one by one onto his forearms, forming a perfectly balanced stack that he supported without visible effort.
She retrieved her katana from beside the desk, holding it in hand, then stepped through the spatial distortion. The shift in environment was immediate.
She found herself on a raised platform overlooking a vast training ground.
Below, dozens of demons trained with discipline: some sparred in hand-to-hand combat or with short blades; others struck reinforced mannequins marked with magical seals; a smaller group meditated cross-legged, focusing on stabilizing their mana. Off to one side, several armored squads practiced coordinated movement and formation drills.
Anastasia observed briefly. Most of the guards present emanated a stable, dense aura—comparable to Lily in terms of raw strength, though not potential. None, however, approached Ophar's level.
At the sight of the Archduke, the demons halted their exercises almost simultaneously. Weapons were lowered, postures straightened, and the entire camp formed ranks with impressive speed. All inclined their upper bodies in unison.
"Salutations to Archduke Ophar, First of the Empire," they declared in a unified voice.
One demon stepped out of formation and approached the platform with assurance.
His gray skin, thick and stretched like tanned leather, absorbed the cold light without reflecting it. Two massive horns curved like those of a bull framed black hair pulled back from eyes that burned red, steady and unwavering. His build was imposing without being excessive—compact, constructed to endure and strike. A clean scar cut across his left brow.
He bowed according to protocol, neither too low nor too brief, radiating contained strength rather than mere politeness.
"Vice-Captain Rhaelor of the Imperial Guard, at your service. I greet you, Ophar, First Archduke."
"At ease," Ophar replied evenly.
The tension eased instantly, though discipline remained intact. Rhaelor straightened and allowed himself a faint, more natural smile.
"You arrive at a good time. The new recruits are finally beginning to understand that striking harder does not mean striking better."
"They will improve," Ophar said. "So long as you remain demanding."
Rhaelor nodded, then noticed the stacked cases on Ophar's arms.
"Allow me to assist."
He gestured toward two demons standing near a weapons rack.
They approached with firm steps, their thick overlapping armor designed for front-line combat. Their purple skin contrasted with the dark metal, and their six perfectly symmetrical arms moved with unsettling coordination. Long red hair fell down their backs, framing nearly identical faces and red eyes devoid of hesitation.
There was no doubt they were twins.
"This is Guül and Gaäl," Rhaelor said with mild amusement. "Excellent soldiers. You may rely on them—at least a little."
The two demons inclined their heads simultaneously.
"We are honored," they said in eerily synchronized voices.
Each took three cases without difficulty, distributing the weight efficiently across their multiple arms.
Anastasia observed with interest. The two exuded significant brute strength paired with rare natural coordination. She noted mentally that she could have prepared more dossiers. They could have carried more.
"But who are they?" Rhaelor finally asked, respectfully indicating Anastasia and Lily.
"My guests," Ophar replied without hesitation, making it clear he would say no more. "They are part of the mission."
Anastasia immediately understood the choice of words. Her existence had been revealed only to the elite during the Conclave, and the rumor had been strictly contained pending her coronation. There was no need to widen the circle.
Rhaelor, assuming he was addressing a noblewoman of very high rank, bowed politely. His gaze flicked for a fraction of a second toward the katana Anastasia held, lingering just long enough to register its presence, then returned to her face as if nothing had been noticed.
"It is an honor to welcome you to the training camp, madam."
He pretends he saw nothing. Intelligent… despite his brute appearance, she thought calmly.
"Enchanted. My name is Anastasia," she replied with dignity, offering no title.
He then turned his attention to Lily, whose youth contrasted with the quiet steadiness in her gaze.
"And to you as well, young lady."
Lily inclined her head slightly, neither smiling nor hostile.
Anastasia briefly observed Ophar exchanging a few additional words with the vice-captain. Their tone was looser, almost familiar. She noted the contrast. Seeing him integrated into this military structure revealed another facet beyond the perfectly docile servant he embodied in her presence.
"We depart immediately," Ophar finally declared.
He opened another spatial distortion, this one oriented toward a distant point. A colder breeze escaped from it, carrying dry air and the scent of stone.
Their destination was the northern region of the Empire—the White Fang Mountains.
Guül and Gaäl adjusted the cases across their multiple arms, ready to cross.
Without another word, the small group stepped through the portal, leaving the training ground for a destination hundreds of kilometers away, toward the mountains that housed one of the seven great demonic clans.
The transition ended in a sudden shift of pressure and temperature. The ground beneath their feet was no longer smooth stone but compacted snow hardened by wind and time. The cold struck immediately—dry and biting—driven by a constant wind sweeping between the peaks unhindered.
Before them rose a stark mountain range, its ridges sharp and almost brutal. The summits cut into a pale sky devoid of warmth. Nothing here was softened. Nothing ornamental.
Lower down, carved directly into the rock face, stood the fortress of the White Fangs.
There was nothing decorative about it. Massive stone structures reinforced with dark metal beams clung to the mountainside, connected by suspended walkways and terraces carved into the cliff. Watchtowers guarded narrow passes, positioned to control every approach. Thick smoke rose from forges embedded deep within the rock, and the rhythmic clash of metal against metal carried to them on the wind.
Anastasia observed in silence. This place did not seek to impress through grandeur.
It existed to endure.
This was not a court.
It was a fortress.
Good.
She took the first step forward.