Lucien Verdeca had always been a quiet child.
Not scared. Not weak. Just… quiet.
He had learned early on that silence was safer. That if he stayed still, if he made himself small, no one would bother him. Being too loud, too noticeable—that only brought trouble.
The Empress, his mother, had never paid much attention to him.
Until now.
Lucien sat stiffly on the bed, his small hands clenched around the blankets. His mother—his mother—was beside him, her arm wrapped around him in a loose but warm embrace.
This was strange.
Very, very strange.
His mother never hugged him. She never even looked at him for long. If she did, it was usually with a distant expression, like she was thinking of something else—something more important.
But today…
Today, she had held him tightly. She had cried. She had apologized. She had looked at him like he was someone precious.
Lucien didn't know what to do with that.
It wasn't that he disliked it.
It was just… confusing.
His mother wasn't like this. She was always cold, always composed. She never sought him out unless it was for formal occasions, never touched him unless it was required.
And yet, she was here. Holding him.
Lucien shifted slightly, unsure.
Her embrace tightened.
He went still.
Her breathing was soft, slow. The kind of sleep that only came when someone was very, very tired.
Was she sick?
Carefully, he turned his head, studying her face.
Her silver hair, damp from earlier, clung to her cheek. Her long lashes cast faint shadows over her pale skin. The sharp, unreadable expression she always wore was gone. In its place was something softer, something… vulnerable.
Lucien frowned.
She looked exhausted. Not just tired from lack of sleep, but… deeper than that.
She was different.
The Empress he knew was always poised, always distant. This woman—this mother—was warm.
Lucien didn't know which one was real.
A soft knock on the door made him tense.
"Your Highness?" A maid's voice called quietly. "Shall we help the Empress back to her chambers?"
Lucien turned his gaze to the door.
He should say yes. That was how it always was. His mother stayed in the Empress's chambers, and he stayed here, in his own.
That was the rule.
But…
He glanced at her again.
His mother.
She had held him today. She had looked at him, had told him she missed him.
Something small and uncertain curled inside his chest.
He hesitated.
Then, softly, he said, "Leave."
A pause.
"Your Highness—"
"She stays," Lucien said, firmer this time.
Another pause. Then, at last, a quiet, "As you wish, Your Highness."
Footsteps retreated.
Lucien let out a slow breath.
He wasn't sure why he had done that.
Maybe… maybe he just wanted to see if she would still be here when morning came.
---
Morning
Lucien woke up to warmth.
It was an unfamiliar feeling.
His mother was still beside him. Still holding him.
Sometime during the night, she had shifted, her head resting lightly against his, her arm draped protectively over his small frame.
Lucien stayed still.
His young mind struggled to understand it.
He was five years old. He was too old to be held like this.
But… it wasn't bad.
The warmth. The quiet breathing. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
It was strange.
But not bad.
Carefully, he turned his head slightly. "Mother?"
A soft hum. Then, slowly, golden eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, she just blinked at him, as if she didn't quite know where she was.
Then, a slow, gentle smile spread across her lips.
"Good morning, Lucien."
Lucien didn't know how to respond.
She had never greeted him like this before.
After a moment, he hesitated, then said softly, "…Good morning."
A quiet chuckle escaped her.
She stretched slightly, her arm still around him, and sighed. "I haven't slept that well in years."
Lucien hesitated. "You were very tired."
His mother stilled.
Then, to his surprise, she nodded. "I was."
Lucien studied her carefully. She looked different from yesterday—calmer, somehow. But there was still something in her expression, something new.
He didn't know what it was.
"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked carefully.
His mother blinked, then let out a soft laugh. "No, my dear."
Lucien's fingers curled slightly around the blanket. "Then… why?"
His mother tilted her head slightly. "Why what?"
Lucien hesitated.
Then, finally, he asked, "Why did you stay?"
Her expression softened.
For a long moment, she didn't say anything.
Then, gently, she reached out and brushed his hair back.
Her fingers were warm against his forehead.
"Because I wanted to," she said simply.
Lucien wasn't sure how to respond to that.
She had never wanted to be near him before.
His confusion must have shown on his face because his mother let out a quiet sigh and said, "I've made many mistakes, Lucien. But this… you… are not one of them."
Lucien blinked.
Something in his chest tightened.
He didn't know what to do with these words, with this new version of his mother.
But…
Slowly, cautiously, he reached out.
He didn't grab her hand. That would be too much.
Instead, he just held onto the edge of her sleeve.
Just lightly.
Just enough to feel the fabric between his fingers.
Just enough to make sure she was still here.
His mother stilled slightly.
Then, without hesitation, she pulled him into a warm, secure embrace.
Lucien hesitated.
For only a moment.
Then, slowly, he let her.
And for the first time in his small life, he let himself believe—just a little bit—that maybe, just maybe, his mother truly wanted to stay.
*****
Diana sat in her dimly lit chambers, her fingers gripping the quill tightly as she stared at the parchment before her. The flickering candle cast long shadows on the desk, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the future, on the past, on everything she had lost and everything she still had left to protect.
Five years. That was all the time she had. In five years, the world would be thrown into chaos. The demon gods would awaken, their corruption spreading like an unseen plague. Cultists would rise, whispering madness into the ears of nobles and commoners alike. War would erupt in the western territories, and Verdeca would be dragged into the conflict, forced to fight on multiple fronts. Rebellions would shake the empire, enemies lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And worst of all, Lucien would die.
Diana closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The memory was still raw, still burned into her soul. Her son, the only person in this world who had truly been hers, had been taken from her.
His death had been brushed aside, dismissed as an unfortunate tragedy, a mere fever that claimed the life of a sickly prince. But Diana knew better. It had been murder. And this time, she would not sit back and let it happen.
Her hand moved across the parchment, writing down everything she remembered. The continent of Thea was vast, divided by six kingdoms and two powerful empires. One was Verdeca, the empire she once ruled beside Cassian Adrien Verdeca, her husband. No—her former husband in her past life. A man who had abandoned her, discarded her, and yet still held the fate of the empire in his hands. The other was the Holy Empire of Eryndel, ruled by the Pope, a man as much a king as he was a religious leader. He held power not through swords and armies, but through faith, an unshakable force that bound countless people to his will.
Between these two empires lay six kingdoms, each playing their own games of power and survival. The kingdom of Alderrac, with its wealth and trade, always scheming, always shifting its allegiance to whoever benefited them the most. Veltara, the land of warriors, where strength decided one's worth and honor was paid for in blood. Sorvenia, home to scholars and mages, where knowledge was both a weapon and a shield. Callis, the naval powerhouse, controlling the seas and trade routes, a kingdom that thrived on its ability to dictate commerce. Rydholm, a frozen land of unyielding warriors, once a close ally of Verdeca, but in the past, that alliance had crumbled. And Valmere, deeply tied to the Holy Empire, its rulers mere puppets dancing on the Pope's strings.
Diana's quill scratched against the paper as she wrote down the events to come. The first signs would be subtle—disappearances in remote villages, nobles losing their minds, whispers of dark rituals performed in secret. The demon gods were patient, their influence creeping through the cracks of society like poison. By the time anyone realized the threat, it would already be too late.
Then, the cultists would rise. Branded as heretics by the church, they would be hunted down, but it would not be enough. They had already rooted themselves deep within the noble houses, hidden behind wealth and status. Some would even welcome them, believing in their false promises of power and immortality.
While Verdeca struggled with the cultists, war would break out in the west. Callis would make the first move, attacking its neighbors, dragging Veltara and Rydholm into the conflict. Verdeca, already weakened, would be forced to intervene. Cassian, ever the warrior, would lead the charge, his attention consumed by battles on foreign soil. And while the Emperor was away, the empire would rot from within.
Rebellion would spread like wildfire. Dissatisfied nobles, ambitious generals, those who had been waiting for a moment of weakness—they would all rise. The empire would become a battlefield, torn apart by enemies within and without. And amid all this chaos, Lucien would be left vulnerable.
Diana's grip on the quill tightened.
She had not been able to protect him before. She had been a fool, blinded by her own pain, too lost in her own suffering to see the danger closing in around her son. But this time, she would not be weak. This time, she would not let history repeat itself.
Her thoughts drifted to Liliana, the woman who had stolen everything from her. The kind, gentle queen beloved by the people. The woman who had played the victim so well that even Cassian had been fooled. But Diana knew the truth. Liliana was not innocent. She was not kind. She was calculating, manipulative, a woman who knew exactly how to twist the world to her advantage.
Had she been the one behind Lucien's death?
Diana didn't have proof. But she remembered how conveniently things had fallen into place for Liliana. How Lucien had been sent away, his presence slowly erased from the palace. How, after his death, no one had questioned it, no one had mourned, as if he had never existed at all. And how, shortly after, Liliana's own son had been named heir to the empire.
Diana exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay calm. If Liliana had truly been behind Lucien's death, then she would make sure she paid the price. But she could not act recklessly. Not yet. First, she needed to gather information. She needed to be sure.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Your Majesty," a voice called softly. It was one of her personal maids. "Would you like some tea?"
Diana glanced at the clock. It was late. She had been writing for hours, lost in her own mind. Her body ached, exhaustion settling in, but she could not afford to rest. Not yet.
"Leave it outside," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She waited until she heard the retreating footsteps before sighing. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for another sheet of parchment. There was still so much to do.
She needed allies. People she could trust, people who had not been swayed by Cassian or Liliana's influence. She needed to uncover the truth, to find out who had been responsible for Lucien's death. She needed power—enough to protect herself, enough to protect her son.
Most of all, she needed time.
Five years.
It was not long.
But it would be enough.
Diana set her quill down for a moment, rubbing her temples. She was tired. More tired than she had been in years.
She would not make the same mistakes again.
This time, she would fight.
This time, she would win.