[Emperor Cassius’s POV]
The air changed the mont we crossed into Elorian soil.
It wasn’t just the temperature or the scent of spring blooming across the high plains—it was sothing deeper. Heavier. A weight that pressed into my bones like an old scar kissed by wind.
The kind only Ho carries.
After three long, blood-drenched years, I was finally back. Behind stretched a trail of broken cities and kingdoms that no longer rembered their own nas. Their banners—torn and faded—flapped like ghosts in the wind.
But none of it mattered now.
Only one na burned in my mind like a war drum echoing through silence.
Lavinia.
My daughter. My fire.
She would be ten in five days.
I wondered... Had she grown taller? I wonder how much she changed.
But...
No matter.
No matter how tall she had beco. No matter how regal they’d made her walk or how polished her tongue had grown...
I just wanted her to run to . To leap into my arms and crush my ribs with a hug.
"Your Majesty," Ravick’s voice pulled back, low and cautious beside . "We’re two leagues from the palace. Shall I ride ahead? Announce our return?"
I shook my head. Slow. Deliberate.
"No."
He frowned. "No?"
I turned to him, voice like granite.
"I want to see her face. Before protocol strangles it into sothing I won’t recognize."
Ravick didn’t question it. He simply nodded.
He knew better.
The road narrowed as we approached the capital. Lined with people on both sides—peasants, rchants, nobles—all kneeling, their heads bowed in fear or reverence. Or both. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
My armor was still stained with the filth of battle. Blood dried into its seams like it belonged there. I hadn’t changed, hadn’t polished my sword, and hadn’t even bothered to hide the burnt silver ring of the Irethene priest that swung like a cursed dal from my saddle.
Cassius the Conqueror.
Cassius the Tyrant.
Cassius the Father.
Let them pick whichever title terrified them most.
A warhorn rang out from the citadel.
The palace gates began to creak open—tall, golden, monstrous things carved with centuries of triumph and sacrifice. And there, she stood.
Lavinia.
My heart staggered in my chest. She was... taller. Her hair was longer, tied back with imperial ribbons. She grew a little taller too.
But I knew her.
I knew those eyes.
I knew that fire.
And I knew—knew—that she would run to . That she would break formation and tear down those steps into my arms like she had when she was seven. So I dismounted without hesitation. Dropped to one knee on the cobbled path.
Spread my arms wide, waiting.
Co, my fla. Run to .
And she did.
Her face lit up like sunrise—beaming—and she dashed forward, her skirts lifting in the wind—
And then...
She skidded to a stop.
Right before .
The courtyard fell into stunned silence. Even the wind seed to hold its breath. Then—She dipped into a perfect, poised bow. Not a flinch. Not a stumble.
"Welco back, Imperial Father," she said gracefully.
My heart didn’t break.
It froze.
Silence thundered louder than any war drum. A silence that scread.
I stared at her. Unmoving. Unblinking.
Imperial father?
Did... did my daughter just call ... Imperial Father?
She stood there, proud and polished like a doll dressed in court obedience. She looked straight at with bright eyes—eyes that sparkled, waiting for praise.
But I felt no pride.
I felt loss.
I rose to my feet slowly, cloak sweeping behind like a shadow of disbelief.
My voice was low. Cold. Sharp.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
She blinked.
Froze.
"...What?" she whispered.
But it didn’t take much to find her again—my daughter, not this polished little marble statue they’d carved in my absence.
I just had to bait the fla.
I tilted my head, narrowed my eyes, and let the words fall like embers. "But you’re still short."
That did it.
Her back stiffened like a drawn bowstring. Her lips parted in disbelief.
And then—"EXCUSE !"
I smirked—slow and deliberate. Her jaw dropped. Her cheeks puffed.
Then—
She jumped at her feet like a cannonball made of silk and fury. "One day I’ll grow taller than you, and you’ll regret this slander!"
There she was.
My chaos.
Wild and untad and perfect.
***
[Present Day—Sitting Room]
And now... she stood before with her arms crossed, a serious little storm bottled in a ten-year-old fra.
Her eyes narrowed. "I heard the rumors, Papa."
I tilted my head, squinting at her. "What rumors?"
She sighed with the weight of soone twice her age. "That you’re naming Irethene as the Lavinia Empire."
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I glared across the table at Regis, who was—very deliberately—sipping tea in front of like he hadn’t just whispered my plan at my daughter’s ears.
He t my glare with a smile. Unfazed. Bastard.
"I should have him beheaded," I muttered.
"Did you say sothing, Your Majesty?" Regis asked, mock-innocent, lifting his cup like we were discussing poetry.
I turned back to Lavinia, who was now seated beside on the long couch of the Royal sitting room, swinging her feet and nibbling a cookie she had no business stealing from the tray.
"Is sothing wrong with that?" I asked at last, keeping my voice calm, asured—like a blade hidden in velvet.
She shrugged, chewing. "Papa, I know you love so much that you’d burn down entire kingdoms for —"
"—correct—"
"—and I think that’s very sweet and scary, but... Lavinia Empire?" She tilted her head. "It sounds weird. A little too much. Kind of like I’m so... divine deity rising from the ashes of your enemies."
I blinked. "And the problem is?"
She rolled her eyes. "It’s embarrassing, Papa."
Embarrassing.
That word stabbed deeper than most arrows ever had.
I straightened, slow and regal, my cloak folding behind like a curtain of war.
"Who told you that?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave lower. "Tell who said it sounds embarrassing. Tell , and I’ll personally carve out their tongue and hang it from the main gate."
Across the room, Ravick unsheathed his sword—without a word, ready to execute on the spot. Loyal to a fault.
But Lavinia didn’t flinch.
She took another bite of cookie, raised one eyebrow, and pointed at herself with dramatic flair.
"I SAID IT."
Ravick froze.
Paused.
Then—so very slowly—he sheathed his sword and stood straighter than a statue, eyes fixed on a point in the wall like it owed him money.
I stared at her. She stared back.
"That’s regicide," I muttered.
"No," she said, smug. "That’s daughter-cide. Illegal."
I grunted.
She smirked.
And then, like she hadn’t just insulted an emperor and stopped an execution with one sentence, she leaned against my arm, still munching away.
"Just saying, Papa," she said through crumbs. "Maybe sothing like Elorian East? Or New Valorin? Sothing grown-up sounding. Not like... ’Lavinia Empire,’ which sounds like a boutique for imperial dresses."
I dragged a hand over my face.
Regis coughed loudly behind his tea. Ravick choked on air.
I leaned toward my daughter and whispered like a tyrant confessing a cri.
"You are the most infuriating gift the gods have ever given ."
She bead. "You’re welco, Papa."
I sighed, long and deep, feeling the weight of the world lt just for a breath. "Fine. Since I’m handing over an empire for your tenth birthday... you may na it."
Her eyes lit up like dawn over the battlefield. "Really?"
I nodded once. "Yes."
She didn’t squeal. She didn’t clap. No, instead—like a true heir to the throne of fire—she simply sat up straighter, chin high, voice calm. "I’m already working on nas," she said. "I made a list."
I stared at her. So, she already knew I’d say yes.
Of course she did.
I couldn’t even be mad. A smile tugged at the edge of my lips—quiet, foreign, dangerous. And then...
"Papa," she said suddenly, turning serious. "I want to ask for your permission... for sothing."
I narrowed my eyes. "What is it?"
"I want to go to the Holy Temple."
The words fell like stones into still water.
I went still. Too still.
"The temple?" I echoed, my voice suddenly edged. "Why?"
She pointed at Marshi, her divine beast, napping like a lazy god beside her.
"I want to learn about him," she said, softer now. "About Rakshar. There’s nothing in the palace archives. I’ve read every book in the imperial library, and... nothing. But Osric said the Temple Library may have records."
My blood cooled.
"No," I said flatly. "You are not going."
She blinked, clearly not expecting the wall to rise so fast. "But why not, Papa?"
I brought my teacup to my lips and took a long, deliberate sip. "Because the Temple Library is sacred ground. It is restricted."
She frowned. "But...I’m your heir. The future Empress of the Empire."
"Exactly," I said calmly. "But only the current emperor is allowed to walk those halls."
Her eyes narrowed. "Says who?"
"."
She didn’t flinch. Instead, she folded her arms with that infuriating stubbornness she inherited from .
"Then... why don’t you just change the rule?" she asked. "Like you change the laws."
I set the teacup down—gently—but with a finality that made even the silence flinch.
"Enough." My voice echoed like the crack of a whip. "Back to your training. You do rember your howork, don’t you?"
She groaned like I’d sentenced her to exile. "Ugh! Fine. I’m going."
She stord off, muttering under her breath about child cruelty and tyranny, her little boots stomping all the way down the corridor.
Only after the sound of her footsteps faded did I finally breathe—truly breathe—as if her presence both steadied my heart and tore it open all at once.
And that’s when I heard it.
Regis. Of course.
His voice was bone-dry and laced with quiet accusation.
"You lied."
I didn’t turn.
He crossed one leg over the other, arms folded like he was judging a puzzle with a sword in its center.
"She’s allowed," he said calmly. "The Temple Library. The heir to the Fla has always had access to the Temple Library."
Still, I said nothing.
His tone softened—just a little. "Why did you lie?"
I finally replied, low and flat: "Because I’m changing the rule again."
Regis scoffed, shaking his head. "You really do change laws like you’re swiping dust off your cloak."
I looked him dead in the eye. "Because I’m the Emperor."
He blinked.
Then gave a long, dramatic sigh, dragging his palm down his face. "So this is what it looks like when divine authority throws a tantrum."
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth?
The truth was sothing I couldn’t afford to say aloud.
Not to Regis.
Not even to her.
Because I knew—what was buried inside that temple. If she went there...If she found that book...If she turned to that page...
She would know.
She would rember.
And she would never look at the sa way again.
Because the truth isn’t just cruel.
It’s unnatural and I can’t let her find that. Not now.
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