Through the Emperor's private garden, falling leaves danced on a chill breeze.
Empress Camilla stood perfectly still, her legendary composure intact even now. Before her, Emperor Tiberius sat on a simple stone bench, his overwhelming power carefully contained once more.
"The Summer Palace," she said, her voice carrying no trace of emotion. "How appropriate. I always did enjoy the southern provinces in winter."
"It's not meant to be comfortable, Camilla." The Emperor's voice was weary rather than angry. "But neither is it meant to be cruel. You'll maintain your title, your dignity. Just... far from the capital. Far from opportunities to weave more schemes."
"And our daughter? The Broken Plains? Those demon lands are rather less pleasant than a summer retreat. Men who've fought on that border often return with nothing of themselves left."
"Lyanna needs to learn what real power means. What real responsibility feels like." He looked up at his wife of thirty years. "You taught her ambition without wisdom, strength without restraint. Perhaps ten years on the frontlines will teach her what you could not."
"You were always too soft with them," Camilla observed, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her perfectly pressed robes. "Even now, even after what we did, you can't bring yourself to true punishment."
"Is that what you want? Public execution? Stripped of titles and left to common justice?" The Emperor's power flickered briefly, making the leaves freeze mid-fall. "Would that satisfy whatever drives you to such calculations?"
"It would be cleaner," she admitted. "Clearer. This... mercy... will only breed more problems later."
"Perhaps. I once made a mistake as a younger man, but I also chose mercy all those years ago after what you did to Mikhail's mother. That choice gave me a son who saved my life, and saved the empire itself. Perhaps mercy now will yield similar fruits."
The Empress's perfect mask cracked slightly. "Mikhail - that wretch. I should have seen it sooner. Should have recognised that same calculating patience you showed in your youth. He played us all perfectly."
"He protected his family - all of his family - while undoing your schemes." The Emperor stood. "You could learn from his example, if you chose to."
"Learn from a bastard?" The old disdain crept into her voice.
"Learn from a better royal than either of us." He turned away. "Your escort leaves in three days. I suggest you use this time to reflect on what your ambitions have cost you."
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
In another part of the palace, Lyanna paced her chambers like a caged tiger.
Her ceremonial armour had been replaced with simple military garb - she would face her exile as a soldier, not a failed empress.
"Ten years," she spat as Aether watched from a corner. "Ten years fighting demons and other vile monsters while that bastard probably takes my place as heir."
"You tried to kill Father," Aether said quietly. "Did you expect praise?"
"I tried to strengthen the empire! Everything I did was for-"
"Power," Aether interrupted. "Everything you did was for power. Don't lie to yourself, sister. It's unbecoming."
"And you?" She rounded on him. "Happy to remain the forgotten prince? Content to watch Mikhail rise while you fade into obscurity?"
Something dark flickered in Aether's eyes. "I have my own plans," he whispered.
"Aether..." For the first time, concern crept into Lyanna's voice. "What have you been doing?"
Their conversation was interrupted by guards arriving to escort Lyanna to her deployment.
She cast one last worried look at her brother before squaring her shoulders and marching out with perfect military bearing.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
In the healing wing, Bartholomew lay propped against stark white pillows, his once-powerful frame now wasted and frail.
The monitoring crystals pulsed weakly, matching his shattered aura core's erratic rhythm. When Mikhail entered, the fallen prince tried to straighten, to maintain some dignity, but managed only a pained grimace.
"Brother," Bartholomew attempted, his voice hoarse. "Come to check on your handiwork?"
"I was just thinking about the winter feast," Mikhail said softly, settling into a chair beside the bed, his pleasant tone at odds with the cold look in his eyes. "When you had the servants pour ice water on my bed. Do you remember how hard I shivered? How blue my lips turned?"
Bartholomew's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? I never-"
"Or perhaps," Mikhail continued as if he hadn't spoken, his mana beginning to fill the room, "you prefer to remember the time you convinced the stable master I'd stolen from him? Three days in the punishment cell, wasn't it?"
"Mikhail, I don't know what you're talking about." Bartholomew's aura flickered weakly, instinctively trying to resist the pressure of Mikhail's power. "None of that ever happened-"
"No?" Mikhail's smile was terrible in its gentleness. "What about the portrait? Mother's portrait that you burned while making me watch?" His mana pulsed, making the monitoring crystals shriek in protest.
"You're speaking nonsense," Bartholomew snapped, though his voice trembled. "Your mother's portrait hangs in Father's eastern gallery. Everyone knows that. I've never-" He broke off with a gasp as Mikhail's power pressed down harder.
"It's fascinating," Mikhail mused, watching his brother struggle to breathe, "how cruelty can feel so different from the other side. How does it feel, brother? Having your aura core shattered, being trapped in a body that won't obey you?" His mana crystallised the air between them. "Knowing you'll never regain your former strength?"
"You've gone mad," Bartholomew whispered, his weak aura attempting to push back against Mikhail's overwhelming pressure. "These things you speak of - they never happened. We fought, yes, but I never-"
"Never what?" Mikhail's power flared again, and Bartholomew's pitiful attempt at an aura defence crumbled instantly. "Never tormented a helpless child? Never delighted in causing pain? Never understood what true weakness felt like until now?"
"Please," Bartholomew gasped, tears forming in his eyes as his aura core spasmed under the strain. "Whatever you think I did-"
"Think?" Mikhail laughed softly. "Oh, I don't think, brother. I remember. Every moment, every casual cruelty, every time you made me feel worthless." He leaned forward, his pleasant expression never changing. "The fact that you don't remember, makes no difference to me. I remember."
"You're raving mad," Bartholomew managed, though he'd pressed himself back against his pillows, trying to escape the pressure of Mikhail's power. "These memories you claim - they're delusions-"
"Are they?" Another pulse of mana made Bartholomew whimper as his aura core flickered in protest. "Perhaps. I understand why you think that. I suppose you're right in anyway…"
"Mikhail, I beg you-"
"That's right," Mikhail's smile widened. "Beg. Like I did. Though I suppose from your perspective, that never happened either." He stood, his power now so dense it made Bartholomew shiver. "Live with your weakness, brother. Live knowing that the helpless bastard you once dismissed now holds power you can't even comprehend."
As he turned to leave, Mikhail paused at the door. "I'll visit again soon. Perhaps I'll share more memories you don't recall. Won't that be nice?" His final smile was razor-sharp. "Sweet dreams, brother. Try not to let your shattered core keep you awake."
He closed the door softly behind him, leaving Bartholomew trembling in his bed, his weakened aura core aching from the strain. The fallen prince stared at the door, genuine fear mixing with utter confusion.
"Madness," he whispered to the empty room. "Complete madness." But the tremor in his voice suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Meanwhile, in a sunlit chamber overlooking the palace gardens, Duke Draconus knelt as Valerie crashed into his arms. The Mark of Submission was still on his face but the other runes carved into his skin had been removed, and his body was healing.
"My brilliant daughter," he whispered into her hair. "My brave, brilliant girl. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you better."
"You did protect me," Valerie pulled back, smiling through tears. "You taught me everything I needed to survive. To recognise true nobility when I saw it."
"Yes... Mikhail." the Duke mused, following her gaze. "He is rather remarkable, isn't he? Nothing at all like what the rumours claimed."
Their reunion was nonetheless tinged with sorrow - both for what they'd endured and for the uncertain future ahead.
House Draconus would remain, and although they would be weaker for the next century, they would still wield immense power within the empire.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
As evening fell across the capital, the Emperor stood in his private study, drafting proclamations and punishment - House Lumina would get the worst of it. Declarations of justice and mercy, of restoration and exile, of new beginnings and ancient powers.
But in a darkened chamber deep within the palace, Aether bent over forbidden texts, his fingers tracing symbols that should never be awakened. Mikhail's power terrified him, and drove him to seek answers in shadowed places. As midnight approached, something answered his desperate calls. Something ancient. Something hungry.
The price of power, after all, was different for everyone. And some prices were higher than others.
Dawn would bring public pronouncements and political upheaval. But this night belonged to family - to love and loss, to redemption and revenge, to bonds strengthened and bonds shattered beyond repair.