Six years had passed since the night the Castrian army vanished into the void. The Empire had flourished under the dual reign of the Cinderwisp Prince and the Grand Chancellor. But for all the laws passed and borders secured, a massive, silent gap remained in the heart of the imperial family.
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Today was the opening of the new academic session at the Royal Academy of Aetherbind, the most prestigious institution for the gifted and the noble. As was tradition, Draven stood before the towering iron gates, draped in his ceremonial royal red and gold, ready to inspect the new intake of students.
He was speaking with the Headmaster when the air suddenly grew crisp, the temperature dropping just enough to make the horses whinny. A carriage, carved from midnight-black wood and pulled by six stallions with eyes like dying embers, pulled to a halt at the edge of the courtyard.
The door opened. Regina stepped out, her presence as commanding and ethereal as the day she was named Grand Chancellor. But Draven's eyes didn't stay on her.
Beside her, a small hand reached out.
Six-year-old Valerie stepped onto the cobblestones. She was a vision that sent a physical jolt through Draven's heart. She had his dark brown hair, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, but her eyes were the deep, piercing black of the Obsidian bloodline. She walked with a terrifyingly beautiful grace—calm, composed, and polite, her head held high with a confidence that mirrored her mother's. She was a Sovereign in miniature.
Draven's breath hitched. A chaotic storm of emotions surged within him: a father's instinctive affection, a sinner's crushing guilt, and a man's stinging shame. He looked at the child he had once called a "curse" and felt the weight of every day he had missed.
His feet moved before his mind could forbid them. He walked toward them, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He expected Regina to raise a hand, to call her shadows, or to simply turn her back on him as he had once done to her.
But Regina stood her ground. She watched him approach with those unreadable violet eyes, her expression neutral. She didn't move to hide Valerie; she stood as a silent witness to the collision of the past and the present.
Draven stopped three paces away. He felt small in his golden armor. He looked down at Valerie, who tilted her head slightly, observing him with a curious, quiet intelligence that felt far older than six years.
"Grand Chancellor," Draven managed to say, his voice thick and unstable. Then, his gaze dropped to the little girl. "And... you must be Valerie."
The child didn't shrink away. She offered a perfect, formal curtsey—the kind usually reserved for kings.
"Greetings, Your Highness, the Crown Prince," she said. Her voice was clear and sweet, yet it held the steady weight of her mother's tone. "It is an honor to meet the hero of the Cinderwisp."
Draven flinched at the word hero. He felt like a fraud under her innocent, dark gaze. He reached out a hand, his fingers trembling, wanting to touch her hair or hold her hand, yet he froze, terrified that his touch might stain the perfection she had become without him.