Micheal's thoughts drifted back to the day his father revealed the arrangement that would bind him to Magda, it has been an year since then. Micheal had always been someone who responded better to coaxing than coercion; his family knew this well. Yet his marriage to Magda marked the first time he had ever been truly forced into anything.
"Micheal," the Duke said firmly one evening, his tone leaving no room for argument, "you will marry Princess Magda."
Micheal looked up from his book, one eyebrow arching in mild amusement. "You can't be serious."
"This isn't negotiable," the Duke snapped, his patience visibly fraying. "The Emperor needs this. And frankly, so do we."
Micheal snorted, leaning back in his chair. "So I'm the sacrificial lamb for imperial peace?"
"You're the best match for her," the Duke retorted sharply. "You'll give her stability—and keep her out of the Race."
The Emperor spared no expense in organizing the wedding of the century for his beloved daughter. The capital was adorned with vibrant banners and blooming flowers, transforming the city into a vision of splendor. Nobles from across the empire attended, their curiosity piqued by the grand event.
Magda's gown was a masterpiece of off-white lace, intricately embroidered with silk and encrusted with gems. Her tiara, crafted from rare pink diamonds, shimmered brilliantly, and her matching necklace—a cherished heirloom of the late Empress—added an air of regality.
Micheal, in contrast, donned a finely tailored white suit that exuded understated elegance, its clean lines and impeccable stitching a testament to the craftsmanship of the Dukedom's finest tailors. The sapphires adorning his cuffs and buttons matched his striking blue eyes, their brilliance catching the light with every movement. His mother had shed a few tears of what he assumed to be happiness when she saw him, a mere 20-year-old, get married before his brothers who were seven years his senior. This subtle yet deliberate display of the wealth and prestige of the Dukedom of Southwest ensured Micheal's presence commanded attention, even amidst the grandeur of the imperial ceremony.
As they stood together during the ceremony, their contrasting demeanors were starkly evident. Magda remained silent and composed, her expression unreadable. Micheal, outwardly poised, exuded a quiet defiance, his subtle resistance palpable to those who knew him well. Yet, beneath the surface, Micheal felt a pang of regret—not for the marriage itself, but for the way it had been forced upon him. He didn't hate Magda; in truth, he liked her. She was intelligent, powerful, and celebrated as one of the Empire's potential Archmages. But his resentment toward his father for orchestrating the union overshadowed any positive feelings he might have developed.
After the grand reception concluded and the guests had departed, Magda found Micheal in the solitude of his chambers. She hesitated briefly at the doorway before stepping inside, a small box clutched in her hands.
"Micheal," she began softly, her voice uncertain.
He glanced up from unbuttoning his cuffs, his expression carefully neutral. "Yes?"
"This…" She held out the box, her movements deliberate. "This was my mother's. It meant a great deal to her. I thought… I thought you should have it."
Micheal opened the box to reveal a beautifully crafted pendant. The intricate design shimmered faintly, a testament to its fine craftsmanship.
"A pendant?" Micheal remarked with a wry smile. "Well, it's less cumbersome than a wedding ring."
Magda flinched ever so slightly, but her composure remained intact. "I hope it will… bring you some protection."
Without much thought, Micheal slipped the pendant around his neck, the weight of it settling against his chest. "Thanks, I guess," he muttered, already turning away. Deep down, he regretted the dismissive tone but struggled to express himself better.
For Magda, it was the first and last proper conversation they would have as husband and wife.
Now sitting under the oak tree, Micheal found himself absently fingering the pendant. The vivid details of his dream lingered, and the pendant's weight felt suddenly significant. Unbeknownst to him, the pendant was a mana regulator and a protective charm, capable of transmitting a distress signal directly to the Emperor. To Micheal, it had merely been a token of his new status—what he mockingly referred to as his family's pawn in the imperial court.
But the novel from his dream had revealed that it had been a token of love between the Emperor and the Empress, passed down to Magda as a symbol of her heritage. Magda had cherished this pendant, knowing its history. Flora later retrieved it from Micheal's corpse, and had it placed on the weak infant she claimed was Ethan's child. The Emperor, pardoned this one child, swayed by the sentimental value of the pendant.
Now, as the dream's haunting details resurfaced, Micheal felt a pang of guilt. "She tried," he thought. "And I couldn't even bother to care."
He sat upright, his fingers brushing against the pendant once more. Despite his indifference toward her, deep down, he had liked Magda. She was a celebrated Imperial Princess, hailed as one of the Empire's potential Archmages, while he was just a boy fascinated by business and eccentric ideas—far from the exceptional husband she deserved.
Micheal leaned back against the oak tree, his fingers grazing the pendant around his neck. The memories of his dream weighed heavily on him, mingling with the frustration of his arranged marriage and the burdens of his eccentric reputation. Lost in thought, he suddenly realized he had been outside for far too long. Barnaby would come looking for him any minute, and the last thing Micheal wanted was to appear vulnerable. He pushed himself to stand up, brushing dirt from his coat, and began making his way back to the workshop.
The workshop was alive with quiet determination. The workers, now wary after Micheal's earlier outburst, moved swiftly to repair the damaged prototypes. The workshop supervisor had carefully repositioned the tampered carriages, ready for repairs. Micheal approached the nearest one, his sharp blue eyes scanning the exposed mechanisms beneath the hood.
It didn't take long for him to spot the missing mana regulators and improperly sealed compartments. He crouched beside the engine, tracing his fingers over the gaps where components should have been. The absence of refined metals in critical sections confirmed what the supervisor had suggested earlier: the theft wasn't malicious but opportunistic.
"These metals," Micheal murmured to himself, "aren't just expensive—they're irreplaceable."
The refined metals had been chosen with meticulous care for their ability to withstand the immense heat and explosive energy generated by the engine. Micheal had spared no expense in ensuring the highest quality components, knowing that anything less could lead to catastrophic failure. To the thief, however, the value of the metals seemed limited to their price tag.
Most of the estate workers saw Micheal as a spoiled, eccentric young lord—a reputation he had earned, in part, for his unconventional ideas and forgiving nature. The thief might have assumed Micheal wouldn't notice or care about a few missing pieces, believing that the horseless carriages would function regardless. What they couldn't have known was the disaster their actions could have caused.
Micheal's jaw tightened as he stood, glancing toward Barnaby, who was watching from the edge of the room with a stormy expression. His butler's frustration was palpable, his emerald eyes glinting with anger as he approached.
"Master Micheal," Barnaby began, his voice low but firm, "this is unacceptable. You must let me take action. These thieves deserve punishment."
Micheal shook his head, his expression softening. "Barnaby, I know you're angry, but this wasn't an act of malice. It was desperation—or perhaps carelessness. Regardless, no one was hurt, and I don't want to set an example of cruelty."
"But, sir—"
"No," Micheal interrupted gently but firmly. "Everyone deserves a second chance." Inwardly, he thought to himself, "I've been given a second chance to make things right—why shouldn't they have one too?"
He turned to the workshop supervisor. "Find the culprit. If they need money, help them. I want to ensure they understand the gravity of their actions, but we'll offer them a chance to redeem themselves."
Then, raising his voice so the workers could hear, Micheal addressed the room. "To everyone here, I want you to know—without the mana regulators, these engines could have exploded. Lives could have been lost. This isn't about stolen parts; it's about safety and responsibility. Let's work together to ensure this never happens again."
Barnaby hesitated, his jaw tightening as he felt a surge of anger on behalf of his young master. To him, Micheal's calmness and fairness were proof of the values he had instilled while raising him. Finally, Barnaby, ever the picture of efficiency, allowed a small, approving smile to cross his face and replied, "As you wish, Master Micheal."
Micheal turned back to the carriages, his mind racing. The dream had shown him the catastrophic consequences of neglect. This time, he would ensure no such mistakes could occur. Forgiveness, he decided, was not weakness but a chance to learn and improve. And Micheal had always believed in improvement.
As Micheal stepped out of the workshop, the cool evening air brushed against his face, easing the lingering tension from the day. His thoughts turned to Magda—the quiet strength she carried, the unfair treatment she endured at the hands of the Shelb family. A pang of guilt settled in his chest. She had been cast aside, undervalued, and isolated, all while shouldering burdens no one acknowledged.
For the first time, Micheal saw Magda not as a reluctant wife thrust upon him but as a person who deserved better. He vowed to approach her differently, to offer her the respect she deserved. If he had been given a second chance to change the course of his story, then surely Magda deserved one too.
His thoughts shifted to her status within the estate. The Shelb family's dismissive treatment of Magda seemed, in hindsight, to be at the heart of their eventual downfall. It wasn't just political missteps or rivalries—it was the way they had alienated and weakened one of their strongest allies. Micheal resolved to change that.
By the time he reached the castle gates, his determination had solidified. He would speak to his father, Duke von Shelb, and propose a shift in the family's allegiance. Elevating Magda's standing within the estate wasn't just a gesture of goodwill; it was a strategic move to alter the narrative of the novel he had dreamed. If the dream was more than a nightmare—if it held any truth—then this was the first step to rewriting their fate. He thought briefly about his father and wondered if he truly saw him as weak to the point of infertility. Feeling a flicker of awkwardness, Micheal muttered to himself, "I'm as infertile as my father is," partially cursing the old man under his breath.
Micheal's gaze turned upward toward the towering silhouette of the castle against the afternoon light. The dream's haunting clarity lingered in his mind, and he resolved to uncover its origins. Was it a warning? A glimpse of what could be? He needed answers, and he would find them.
As Micheal walked through the castle's grand halls, his steps echoed with purpose. His resolve to change both his fate and Magda's burned brighter than ever. This wasn't just about survival; it was about breaking free from the chains of a story written by unseen hands.