Autumn foliage covered the once-luxurious garden in a dense, rustling carpet. The autumn sky above Miradel hung scowling, infused with heavy lead. Grey, swollen clouds pulled together rapidly above the city, threatening to drench the paved streets with a prolonged, cold rain at any moment.

Inside the Rosenthal manor itself, everyone was textually driven to their wit's end. Servants who were not occupied with urgent labor gathered anxiously in the passage of the masters' corridor, bated of breath and striving to catch any drifting sound.

Marcus Rosenthal paced the space before the bedroom door nervously, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. When the exhausted, pain-filled cries of Elena drifted from behind the thick oak leaves once more, he was already prepared to burst inside, but Azalea intercepted him by his elbow softly yet firmly.

“Aunt strictly commanded that you ought to wait here, uncle,” Azalea squeezed out a faint, soothing smile, striving with all her might to conceal her own deep anxiety. “Grandmother Henrietta is inside; she is delivering the child and will care for her daughter like no one else.”

Marcus nodded uncertainly, forlornly. More than anything else in the world, he wished to be there right now, holding his beloved wife’s hand and drawing away her pain, but Elena had resolutely driven him out the door the moment he so much as crossed the threshold of the room.

Suddenly, a frantic, piercing cry rent the silence of the corridor and ceased abruptly. And immediately following it, the first, loud and demanding wail of a new human being rang out. In that exact same instant, the pouring rain drummed noisily against the windowpanes.

Marcus, unable to withstand it for another second, wrenched the handle and textually burst into the warm room. Elena lay exhausted upon the pillows. Upon witnessing his weary, pale, yet happily smiling wife, the man rushed to the bed and dropped to his knees before her.

“My dear...  how are you? Are you alright? Does it hurt intensely?” he could no longer and did not wish to check the tears choking him, and wept aloud, burying his face in her palm.

Azalea entered the room soundlessly behind him, closing the door in her wake.

Henrietta Weisshart, carefully holding a tiny, stirring bundle of soft fabric in her hands, neatly positioned it upon her daughter’s chest, her eyes wet with happiness.

“It is a girl, Marcus,” Elena spoke in a broken, quiet voice, gazing at her husband with a faint smile. “We had a daughter.”

Now both parents wept in one voice, gazing at each other and their infant with unutterable, reverent tenderness. A joyful, relieved whisper drifted across the corridor among the peeking servants. Someone exhaled noisily; Ophelia Hansen, standing in the doorway, smiled quietly, pressing her hands to her chest.

Azalea approached closer to the bed and gazed spellbound at the new, smallest member of their family.

“She possesses your nose, aunt,” she said quietly, brushing away a solitary tear that nonetheless rolled down her cheek with a swift movement.

Henrietta, standing nearby, also did not restrain her happy tears as she embraced Marcus by his shoulders. The man carefully, with the greatest trepidation, extended his thumb and barely touched his daughter's tiny, velvet cheek.

“Welcome to this world... our small miracle,” he sniffled his nose, beaming with happiness. “We must devise the most beautiful name for her.”

“Strelitzia,” Elena pronounced calmly, as if having resolved everything long ago, tenderly taking her daughter's tiny hand into her palm.

Azalea looked at her aunt in surprise, and a truly wide, sincere smile appeared upon her face for the first time that day.

“Strelitzia Rosenthal...” Marcus repeated tightly as an echo. He leaned toward his wife responsively and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Thank you for this priceless gift, my own. You exerted yourself intensely.”

While the exhausted yet absolutely happy Elena rested in the silence of the bedroom beside her husband, who kept vigil over the cradle of little Strelitzia, life was boiling at full throttle in the formal hall of the Rosenthal manor. The news regarding the birth of the heiress had encircled the city instantaneously, and now beneath the vaults of the house, people who had become truly close to their family gathered.

Standing here, animatedly conversing and sipping collection wine, was the resplendent Adelheid Aldridge, arm-in-arm with her spouse. Slightly further off were situated around a dozen high-ranking representatives of the local nobility and officials from the Administration. Even the Governor himself along with his spouse honored the manor with their visit, expressing the deepest respect to the Rosenthals. The guests chatted joyfully, their laughter echoing across the room, while an impressive, motley mountain of luxurious gifts intended for the young mother and the newborn infant had already grown in the corner of the hall.

Azalea accepted the congratulations, maintaining a flawless social mask, when the heavy doors of the hall opened awkwardly.

Tom Hansen peeked inside, breathless and flushed from fast walking. In his hands, he carefully held a dense envelope beautifully tied with a silk ribbon, as if it were the greatest treasure. Upon witnessing the luxurious decor, the abundance of silks, jewelry, and the Governor himself, the lad was stunned for a second and lost his bearings beneath the aim of so many noble glances. But catching Azalea's encouraging look, he smiled warmly.

“Forgive me... I seem to have burst in without warning and disrupted your celebration,” Tom pronounced sincerely, striving to speak quieter as he stepped confidently toward the young mistress. “Lady Azalea... I came to check on Ophelia, but I caught the butler on the threshold and learned of the celebration. Regrettably, I am without a gift, because I came to see you... in short, Sara and I intensely wished for you and your family to learn of this first.”

Sara, following on his heels, turned crimson like a ripe cherry from embarrassment before such high guests and vanished hastily behind his broad, dependable shoulder, frantically textually tearing at the edge of her starched apron. Tom extended the envelope to Azalea carefully, with deep respect.

“This is our official invitation to the wedding. For your entire family. If not for your kindness to my sister and to all of us... this happy day simply would not exist.”

A surprised yet soft whisper ran across the hall from the nobility, and Adelheid Aldridge raised her glass approvingly. Azalea accepted the envelope with a warm, sincere smile, feeling a true, living warmth diffuse inside her contrary to all the social pathos. The House of Rosenthal was indeed becoming a place where, despite the estates, a new, happy life bloomed.

Slightly later, leaving the happy family to celebrate, Azalea Rosenthal finally returned to her room. Weariness weighed like a heavy burden upon her shoulders after the tense day. First of all, without undressing, she plonked defenselessly onto the soft bed, staring at the ceiling.

“What exactly do you truly expect from me, Lumisphena?” the girl spoke quietly into the emptiness.

The space of the mattress beside her suddenly sagged softly from an unperceived yet distinct weight.

“And what do you think yourself?”

Lumisphena’s voice rang out directly over her ear - melodious, cascading with silver bells.

Azalea turned her head sharply and shifted her gaze to the goddess, who perfectly calmly lay beside her on her side, propping her head up with her palm.

“Why did you save me back then? Toward what purpose did you endow me with this power?” Azalea asked directly, peering into her unearthly countenance.

Lumisphena shifted her gaze to the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Why, you recall that detailed comic book you read so textually intently in 'that' world?”

Azalea nodded in surprise, everything inside her tightening instantaneously.

“So that is... the exact same future that awaits us all?” She leaped up on the bed abruptly, sitting on her knees and moving closer to the goddess. “Everything that was written there... will it strictly transpire?”

Lumisphena smiled enigmatically, shaking her head.

“Not entirely. Those are merely the most probable, logical events of the oncoming future. But their onset is by no means guaranteed one hundred percent. The probability that history will turn onto another path exists as well.”

“But it would have transpired if I had died or remained in that other world?” Azalea frowned.

Lumisphena sat up smoothly on the bed opposite her. Her face at that moment appeared entirely young, almost childlike.

“To be entirely honest... Azalea, you were never in that world. You never resided among those high-rise buildings and technologies,” Lumisphena bit her pink tongue guiltily and giggled like a naughty girl. “I simply positioned those foreign memories, which I created myself, inside your head. It appeared to me that this way it would be many times easier for you to comprehend the essence of things adaptively and accept those complex insights regarding the structure of the world that I was obligated to transfer to you. But... because of this mental intervention, I slightly... over-cranked the settings. Ruined your own feelings, rendering you too cold. But do not fret; they are already actively restoring.”

“So what I have been experiencing of late...”

“Those are your normal, human feelings and emotions returning to you, Lia. Such things transpire when the Gods dispatch such massive revelations to their chosen ones. Simply mortals do not confront this so frequently.”

“And what regarding the future?” Azalea leaned forward. “What I remember... Do you wish for me to alter it?”

Lumisphena crossed her legs in a Turkish fashion and settled more comfortably, gazing directly into the girl’s soul.

“And what exactly do you remember regarding the future that is prepared for this world?”

Azalea swallowed heavily, feeling a spasm constrict her throat.

“I remember war.”

Lumisphena nodded slowly.

“And because of what did it commence? Do you recall what consequences that war commanded?”

“I remember that the Crown Prince of the Eastern Empire will perish during his journey through Aden. Because of which the Empire will go to war against Aden to a total extent. Headed by a new heir, the army will advance with an immense, terrifying speed. And this new Crown Prince of the Empire will be designated by the people as the 'Bloody Demon' for his powers, which are capable of erasing entire cities from the face of the earth.”

Azalea made a fitful pause, horrifying pictures standing before her eyes.

“King Gerhard of Aden will fall in battle against Crown Prince Raynard, who, following his blood vendetta, will sign a peace agreement that will textually become the document confirming the total fall of the kingdom. Following the ruler's death, Queen Regent Ingrid and the sole child of the king - Princess Abigail, who became the monarch - will be transformed into puppets of the council of nobility. This will lead to the prosperity of corruption and the absolute impunity of the aristocracy. Driven to desperation, the people will stage a revolt, burst into the palace, and capture the Queen Regent and Queen Abigail. Both of them will be executed on the central square, exhibited to everyone - for the sins of those who held them captive. While Aden will cease to exist forever and become a portion of the Eastern Empire.”

End of Part Two. Coming next: Part Three. The Return to Aden.