“You know I can’t,” Iskareth said, his tone hardening. “If you act against that empire without imperial sanction, it will be seen as an act of war.”

“Oh?” Liviana scoffed, her smile brittle and humorless as anger surged. “So, it’s the Sun Empire.”

At that, Captain Louis stepped forward, “Saintess, I believe it's best not to jump to conclusions. We don't have any direct evidence linking—”

“Who else, then?!” Liviana cut him off. “Who else stands as our enemy with such venom as the Sun Empire does? Who else would dare to move against our people from the shadows? Who else would not hesitate to dirty their hands with blood and then wash them away as if it were nothing but rain?!”

She then turns her back on them. “I’ll make them pay for everyone I’ve lost. This discussion is over. I will go—”

“Liviana,” Thoren said sharply, stepping in front of her path. “Enough.”

Liviana paused.

“I know you’re grieving,” he continued. “But you’re not just Magnus’ disciple anymore. You are the Saintess of Aetheris. You represent both the Temple and the Empire, and every move you make resonates beyond our borders. The world is watching, and if you ignite this fire recklessly... it won’t end with you.”

Liviana's hands clenched into fists.

Iskareth's added, “The peace treaty between the Aetheris Empire and the Sun Empire has held for over two decades. Emperor Lucien is many things, but a fool isn't one of them. He gains nothing by provoking us—not now. He might be orchestrating this for reasons I can't fathom, or perhaps he's finally decided to break the treaty. However, based on my recent interaction with him, I believe he understands that any open conflict would cripple the trade routes between our empires. The Silk Road through the Seran Corridor—one of the few remaining safe land passages—runs directly through our shared border. Half his empire’s luxuries come through Aetherian ports, and half our grain comes from southern merchants protected under their flag. A war would devastate both our economies.”

He stopped a few paces from Liviana.

“And more than that, he knows we have you.”

Liviana slowly turned back to face him.

“Your power,” Iskareth continued, “is not unknown to him. The Sun Empire doesn't have a Saintess of their own—not yet. But they have spies, just as we do. They know what you're capable of. If Lucien truly saw you and me as his enemies... he wouldn't be sending mere assailants. He'd be leading his army, unleashing his mages, or summoning gods.”

For a moment, silence filled the throne room.

“How well do you know Emperor Lucien to be so sure he wouldn't choose blood over coin, if it served him better?” Liviana countered.

Iskareth frowned.

Liviana let out a bitter, angry laugh, “First my parents, and now my master. Maybe it’s me the Sun Empire truly despises—not you, Your Majesty.”

Seeing Iskareth had no response, Liviana demanded, “Fine, then what are you saying, Your Majesty? That it wasn't the Sun Empire? That it's someone within our borders?”

“I am not sitting idle, Saintess. After the attempt, I’ve deployed my men to find the assailants. The High Inquisitor has been summoned to the capital to begin silent interrogations throughout the empire. And starting this hour, all outgoing letters from the nobility are to be inspected for foreign contact—covertly, of course. No one must suspect we’re watching them.”

Louis and Thoren blinked in surprise but said nothing.

“I will have answers, Liviana. But I will do so without handing our enemies the war they want.”

Iskareth met Liviana's gaze again, steel returning to his voice.

“And I would ask the Saintess of Aetheris not to act independently—not because I doubt your strength, but because if you move alone, the Empire moves with you, whether it wishes to or not.”

Liviana glanced toward the discarded letter on the floor, then back at Iskareth. Her voice was quieter now, “Three days. That’s all I’ll give you. I expect answers by then. Or I will find them myself.”

And with that, she swept from the throne room.

Thoren lingered behind, meeting Iskareth’s eyes. “She’s grieving, Your Majesty. But she’s not wrong.”

Iskareth nodded slowly. “I know. That’s what makes her dangerous.” He paused, a shadow crossing his expression. “Tell her Magnus has been laid to rest in the Sanctum of Everlight.”

And with that, Thoren and Louis too departed.

The throne room fell into silence once more, save for the soft rustling of the discarded letter at the Emperor’s feet.

Iskareth let out a quiet sigh. “She's twenty five years my junior, and yet somehow, she carries herself like she's lived a century more,” he murmured.

When Liviana arrived at the Sanctum of Everlight, she wasted no time. The air was heavy—rows of ancient tombs carved in silver and stone, each bearing the names of the Empire's greatest heroes. But Liviana’s eyes searched only for one: Magnus.

It didn’t take long.

She spotted his name etched into the black marble, its golden inlay catching the dim light of the sanctum’s ever-burning torches.

Her breath caught. Her knees buckled.

And then she sank—quietly, without grace—onto the cold stone floor before his resting place, her body folding under the weight of it all. The grief hit her so hard it stole her breath, sharp and merciless, as if something had carved straight through her chest.

Behind her, Thoren and Captain Louis stood at a respectful distance, offering no words—only their silent presence. Neither dared to interrupt her mourning.

It took some time, but when the storm of her sobs finally subsided and her trembling hands grew still, Liviana wiped her eyes and looked at the tomb properly for the first time.

A pang of guilt struck her heart.

She came with nothing—no candle, no flower, not even a proper offering of farewell. In her haste and rising anger, she hadn’t stopped to think of such things. All that filled her was the need to see him, to know with her own eyes that her master was truly gone.

“You know,” Louis said gently, breaking the silence, “Magnus has a son.”

Liviana flinched.

Right. He has. But she had never met him—not once.

“I heard some talk while we were on the way here,” Thoren added.  “Apparently… Magnus brought his son with him to the banquet that night.”

“What?” Liviana turned to him sharply, her brows furrowing. “What did you just say?”

“Didn’t you hear the rumors earlier?” he asked, confused.

Liviana shook her head slowly. “No. My mind was elsewhere. I didn’t even notice anyone speaking.”

Louis then responded, “The boy was there when it happened. They say he’s still recovering from the shock.”

Liviana’s throat tightened, “Gods…”

“I can’t imagine what that kid is feeling right now,” Louis added quietly.

Liviana’s eyes widened, “Then… he saw what happened. He might have seen the assassin—”

“Whoa, no.” Thoren stepped forward, raising a hand to stop her. “I know where you’re going with this, Liviana. But let’s not drag the boy into this—not yet. The child just lost his father. His world is probably shattered.”

Liviana looked away. She hadn’t even realized what she was about to suggest.

“Right,” she murmured. “Sorry. That was… thoughtless and insensitive of me.”

There was a long pause before Liviana spoke again, “Do we know where he is?”

“Magnus lives in the Magic Tower, remember? Maybe he's there,” Louis answered.

“Alright, let’s visit the child sometime,” Liviana said.

An hour later, Liviana and Thoren arrived at the Temple, their horses kicking up dust as they came to a halt before the sacred gates. Louis had returned to the castle to aid in the investigation.

As soon as they dismounted, a group of priests approached them, smiling with practiced ease. Their greetings echoed the same hollow pleasantries as always:

“Welcome back, Saintess. Vice Commander. May Aetheris bless your return.”

“We trust your duties were carried out with grace and purpose.”

“Your presence brings light to the Temple.”

It was all noise to Liviana. She had heard these lines too many times, each one more performative than the last. Beneath their polished words and courteous nods, their eyes betrayed what they truly thought. She saw it—and so did Thoren. The subtle downturn of their lips. The way their gazes lingered on the dried blood streaking her armor. The twitch of their hands, as if fighting the urge to recoil.

Of course, they looked at her that way.

A Saintess was supposed to be serene, unblemished, a figure of grace and virtue cloaked in divine light. Not a warrior returning from battle, bloodstained and weary. Her mere presence defied everything they thought a Saintess should be—and they resented her for it.

Liviana didn’t care. Let them sneer behind their smiles. Let them pretend their disdain was concern.

Liviana was never meant to be a Saintess. She was just a commoner—a child of a mercenary father and a street vendor mother. She lived a simple life, filled with ordinary joys and struggles. As a little girl, she would spend her days at her mother’s side, hawking fruits on the busy streets, or following her father into the woods to gather firewood. She was cheerful, hardworking, and dutiful, her dreams modest—one day, she thought, perhaps she could become a merchant, if she were lucky.

One fateful day, everything changed.

A group of knights stormed into their home, swords drawn, their harsh orders a jumble of foreign words that Liviana couldn’t understand. Her mother didn’t hesitate. She scooped Liviana into her arms and ran, while her father stayed behind to fight.

They ran, but the soldiers were relentless. It wasn’t long before the sound of pursuing footsteps grew closer, and fear gnawed at Liviana’s heart.

Her mother stopped running, breath ragged, and set her down. In a voice as firm as it was desperate, she told Liviana to run. Liviana’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to leave her, not now, not when the danger was so close. But her mother’s hands were pushing her away, urging her to escape, to survive. Before she could protest, her mother thrust a dagger into her trembling hands.

“Run, Liviana,” her mother urged, her voice breaking. “Go!”

With one last glance at the woman who had given her life, Liviana turned and fled.

Three hours had passed before she finally gathered the courage to return to where her mother was, despite the dread twisting in her chest.

There, her mother’s lifeless body lay on the ground, blood pooling around her like a cruel mockery of life. Liviana fell to her knees, her heart breaking as she hugged her mother’s body, sobbing apologies into the cold, lifeless skin. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have stayed.”

But then, a terrifying thought struck her—her father.

She ran, faster now, desperation fueling her every step. When she reached their home, the sight that greeted her made her stomach churn. The walls were splattered with blood, the floor littered with bodies, their faces frozen in death. Liviana barely suppressed the bile rising in her throat as she pushed through the carnage, calling out for him.

And then she saw him—her father, slumped against the wall, his hand pressed to the wound in his side.

She was too late.

Her knees gave out beneath her, and she crumpled to the floor beside him, her cries echoing through the empty house.

And then, as though the world was mocking her, she heard the distinct sound of steel unsheathing behind her.

Liviana didn’t think. She acted. Grabbing the nearest sword, she spun around just in time to block the knight’s attack. The knight staggered back, surprised that a mere child had managed to halt his strike. The moment of hesitation gave Liviana the chance to gather herself, and she fought—fought with the desperation of a girl who had lost everything, fought for the vengeance she knew she would never find in this life.

Her father had trained her—small as she was, he had taught her to defend herself. He had always said it was for when the day came that she needed to protect herself from the world’s darkness. 

He had known.

Liviana fought on, driven by the thought of her parents, the need to avenge them, and the hope—no, the foolish wish—that somehow, through this fight, they would come back to her. But as she swung, her body was enveloped in a brilliant light, and the knight, caught off guard, stumbled back, his eyes blinded by the radiance.

In that moment of vulnerability, Liviana drove the sword into his stomach, her heart racing. 

The knight staggered back, and then he crumpled.

She had won—but it didn’t matter. Her parents were gone.

Just then, a second group of knights appeared. They were different—more polished, their armor gleaming in the dim light. At the head of the knights rode none other than the Emperor himself—Iskareth.

Without hesitation, the Emperor ordered his men to clear the bodies for investigation, but his gaze fell upon Liviana as she sat, weeping beside her father’s body.

Magnus, standing by the Emperor’s side, leaned in and whispered, “Your Majesty, I sense a divine power here.”

Iskareth’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “What?”

Magnus’ gaze shifted to Liviana. “More specifically, it’s emanating from that child.”

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. He turned his head slowly, letting his gaze settle on the bloodstained girl clutching her father’s lifeless body. After a long, silent moment, he stepped forward. 

He crouched before her and asked, quietly, “Would you like to come with me?”

Liviana didn’t respond at first. She remained frozen, arms wrapped tightly around her father. Her tears had long since dried into salty streaks.

She was alone now. No mother. No father. Just a dagger in her belt, a sword stained with blood, and the fading warmth of the only family she had ever known. The thought of surviving on her own sent a cold chill through her bones. She was only a child—how long would she last?

But the Emperor... maybe if she went with him, things would be different. Perhaps she would have a roof over her head—a place to sleep. Maybe one day, she’d be strong enough—powerful enough—to avenge the ones she lost.

She looked up at him, eyes still brimming with sorrow, and gave a faint nod.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come with you… Your Majesty.”

That day marked the turning point of her life—an irreversible shift in the course of her destiny, one she could never have foreseen.