The silence after the light dome vanished was unnatural.
Not because no one spoke.
But because everyone knew something had changed.
The air tasted different. Denser. Like truth had passed through the room and left a residue behind.
The Empress did not rise from her throne.
She leaned forward.
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly, studying her daughter, then the white-haired boy who stood before her like a prophet reborn. For a brief moment, the Empress did not know who she feared more: the stranger, or her own child who seemed to look at the world like she had seen the end and remembered it.
Hector took one step forward. His hands folded neatly behind his back. No deference. No trembling. No apology.
"Your Majesty," he said calmly. "Why was I summoned here?"
The words rang sharper than any ceremonial address could have. There was no diplomatic honey coating the question.
Just precision.
A blade drawn under candlelight.
The chamber stirred.
A few nobles exchanged wary glances. A guard's grip shifted subtly on their halberd. Even the servants blinked twice, unsure if they had heard correctly.
The Empress tilted her head, her expression unchanged. But in the corner of her mouth, a twitch of amusement flickered.
"You do not waste time, do you?" she said.
"I rarely have any to waste," Hector replied.
She regarded him a moment longer, then stood. Her presence filled the throne hall like wildfire.
"Since the war ended," Seraphine said, walking slowly down the crimson-carpeted dais, "the Elves have chosen silence. For nearly eleven years, not a word. No trade. No alliance. Not even the courtesy of shared weather patterns."
The nobles behind her chuckled faintly, but she did not.
"Our empire thrives regardless, but isolation is not sustainable. Peace is a blade that dulls when not tempered. And it would seem the Elves now wish to sharpen something anew."
She stopped a few paces before him.
"So they sent you."
"No," Hector said. "I came on my own. They only opened the door."
The Empress's gaze narrowed.
"You speak as if you're their king."
"I speak as someone they trust."
More murmurs.
Victoria was silent but watching, her expression unreadable. But her eyes flicked, just once, to the side—toward her mother.
Seraphine noticed.
She turned back to Hector. "And what, pray tell, is your suggestion?"
Hector smiled slightly. "You want trade restored. Borders softened. Ties mended."
The Empress didn't reply.
"Then," Hector continued, "I would like to take the Princess on a small adventure."
The entire court seemed to inhale.
Even Victoria blinked.
"Adventure?" Seraphine echoed.
He nodded. "A journey. Unscripted. Not through royal corridors or polished banquet halls, but through the world. Where we can find ourselves. Who we are. Why we are."
Seraphine's voice dropped. "Absolutely not."
He didn't flinch. "You summoned me without telling my guardians. I believe I have earned at least a request."
"You want to take my daughter—the heir to an empire—gallivanting across the wilds? For what? Philosophy?"
"Perspective," Hector said. "We are angelborn. Purpose-built. If you want her to lead your people, she must first understand them beyond courtly artifice."
"I've hired the finest tutors, trained her in etiquette, war, negotiation—"
"And she's brilliant," Hector said. "But she's never walked alone through a market. Never talked to a farmer without an armed escort. You trained a princess. I'm asking you to let her become a person."
The court went deathly still.
Even Seraphine stopped moving.
Then, her jaw set. "I said—"
"She won't be in danger," Hector interrupted, soft but clear. "You've heard of my Imprints. My soulweave. You know I carry over three thousand lives in me. I know war. Poison. Assassination. I know how to detect deceit. I can feel it."
"You're eleven," Seraphine snapped.
"I've lived more lives than your entire court combined."
His voice didn't raise, but it struck like thunder.
And then, the final blow:
"The Elven Kingdom listens to me, Empress. They trust me. If I speak favorably of this alliance, they will reopen their hearts. But only if I know it's worth reopening."
That stopped her.
A pause like a battlefield after the first cannon blast.
Seraphine turned her head slightly toward her daughter. "And what do you want, Victoria?"
Victoria looked at Hector.
Then at her mother.
Then back.
"I want to go," she said.
Another inhale from the room.
Seraphine's face betrayed nothing.
"You have a way with manipulation," she said to Hector.
"I'm not manipulating," he said. "Just… reminding."
"Of what?"
He grinned. "That your daughter hums to the same song as I do."
The Empress's lips thinned.
She took one final step closer. "And what exactly do you plan to do with my daughter out there?"
Hector paused.
Then smiled.
"Make her my woman, obviously."
The silence shattered.
Half the nobles gasped.
Victoria turned bright red.
Seraphine's pupils shrank.
Hector shrugged. "Kidding. That's what we call a joke. I haven't even kissed anyone yet. I'm eleven."
Seraphine's mouth twitched. "Then what do you want?"
Hector's face turned serious.
"I want meaning. I want to know why I carry all these lives. Why I was born different. Why she and I hum to the same silence."
He looked at Victoria.
"And I think she does too."
Victoria nodded slowly.
But inside, her thoughts spiraled like the facets of her Mirror Core. Every possible version of herself — the loyal daughter, the obedient heir, the warrior molded by tutors — flickered past her mind's eye. Each one paused, whispered, then faded. She had lived with so many shadows of herself it was hard to tell where the real Victoria began.
And yet, when Hector had spoken… something inside her aligned.
He wasn't asking for her hand.
He wasn't demanding loyalty.
He was offering her freedom.
Not the kind her mother promised with titles and borders. But the kind no crown could give.
She remembered the hum — that unspoken code between them. The sound that felt like home, like before-thought. It had always lingered in her, a pull she could never explain. Now she knew why.
Hector was the only person in the world who felt like the truth.
He didn't speak like a prince. He didn't bow like a subject. He didn't treat her like something fragile or precious.
He spoke to her like she already mattered.
And in that moment, as the court held its breath and her mother calculated the costs, Victoria made her choice.
Not as a princess.
But as a girl who wanted to find herself before the world told her who to be.
"I don't want to be a weapon someone built. I want to be someone I built."
Seraphine stared at them both.
For a long time, she said nothing.
Then she turned.
Walked back to her throne.
Sat down.
And waved her hand.
"Fine," she said, almost too quietly.
"But you take three shadow guards. Non-negotiable."
"Agreed."
"And if either of you are harmed…"
"You'll know before the wind does," Hector said.
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "You're a strange child."
"So I've been told."
The court exhaled.
And far above them, something smiled.