With Relia Amia's help, Empress Lola was gaining strength…
and losing it just as fast.
Every surge of power that Relia Amia poured into her was immediately drained away, siphoned by the child in her womb.
The baby absorbed her strength greedily, instinctively, like an ancient creature clinging to life in the only way it knew. It just showed that something mighty was about to be given birth to.
Lola's arms trembled, her lips turned pale, and sweat soaked through her hair.
Relia Amia saw it all.
She saw the flicker of Lola's life ebbing each time she poured more energy in. She saw the baby's unnatural pull. She saw the seconds slipping away like grains of sand.
And she knew—ordinary methods would fail.
Her jaw tightened.
She placed her hand on Lola's forehead.
"Then we go into her mind."
Relia closed her eyes and activated one of her memory palaces, forcing open the mental gates of her ability. A shimmering doorway materialized before Lola's fading consciousness—tall, dark, quietly beckoning. In her weakened state, Lola couldn't resist; her mind was drawn in like a feather caught in the tide.
The world around her dissolved.
---
She found herself standing in a sunlit courtyard.
Her body felt… light. No pressure, no pain, no child twisting inside her like a trapped beast. Her skin glowed, her posture straight, her clothing clean. She raised a hand to her face and touched the smoothness of her cheek, confused.
"Where… am I?"
Then she saw it.
Naze, younger and less burdened, sharpening a knife by the old grinding stone. Limro sitting beside him, laughing about something trivial and peaceful. And from the right—
Conrad Stan, swaggering toward her with that familiar playful smirk.
"Hey Lola," he called, "where have you been? Your crush is out there being chased by half the town's women. You better do something before your darling prince becomes a taken man."
Lola didn't mean to answer.
She didn't even plan to speak.
But the memory pulled her like a puppet string, and her lips curved into the exact smirk she wore years ago.
"Nobody can take what's mine."
The old scenery dissolved into motion as she walked toward the town square—toward him.
And there he was.
Josh.
The late emperor. The Black Dragon. Her impossible, untouchable, terrifyingly beautiful man.
He was mounted on a horse, armor gleaming, hair tousled by the wind. Women surrounded him—dozens—offering thanks, offering smiles, offering themselves. They had all gathered to see the hero who saved their town. Their faces glowed with adoration.
But Lola's heart whispered one thing:
Come back to me…
She watched the past version of herself step forward—bold, jealous, fearless. Young Lola marched right up to Josh's horse, grabbed the saddle, and lifted herself effortlessly behind him. One arm slipped around his waist like it belonged there. Her chin touched his shoulder. Her entire presence screamed:
He is mine.
The gathered women shrank back, intimidated, defeated but unwilling to leave.
Josh glanced over his shoulder, amused and secretly pleased at her possessiveness.
That moment—full of love, full of fire—exploded inside Lola's heart like a star.
And the memory shattered.
---
Her consciousness slammed back into her body. But this time, it wasn't fragile.
It was blazing.
Her lungs filled. Her spine straightened. Her heartbeat roared with something ancient and powerful.
Relia felt the shift—Lola's mind was no longer drowning. It was rising.
With a final, primal surge, Lola pushed.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then—
A piercing cry tore through the chamber.
The baby.
Alive.
Strong.
Born.
But this was no ordinary birth.
The moment the child's first wail touched the air, reality shuddered.
A deep, resonant BOOM exploded outward like a celestial war drum.
The walls trembled.
The ground cracked in thin spiderwebs.
The torches flickered violently as though bowing to a new presence.
Then came the thunderclap—a deafening roar so massive it felt as if the heavens themselves were being split apart. Clouds twisted in the sky above the hidden dome. Birds in the forest dropped mid-flight. Animals scattered in blind panic.
It was the sound of something ancient announcing itself.
The sound of power entering the world.
Those inside the protective dome heard nothing—the barrier swallowed the noise, shielding them from the sheer violent majesty of it. Inside, the chamber remained eerily calm, unaware of the cosmic ripple that had just been unleashed.
But outside?
Outside, men and beasts across a hundred miles froze.
Hunters dropped their bows.
Travelers halted mid-step, eyes wide.
Children clung to their mothers.
And every mage, warrior, and spirit-sensitive being felt the same thing:
Terror.
Raw and primal.
As if the world had just given birth to a calamity.
In distant villages, old seers looked to the horizon and whispered,
"Something… has awakened."
The land itself quivered.
The wind bowed.
A new force had entered the world—one that would either save it… or burn it.
And only those within the dome remained blissfully unaware that the child in Lola's arms had just shaken the world to its very core.
The midwives rushed forward, but Lola's heavy breaths were focused on one person—the exhausted, trembling general beside her.
Relia Amia's face was white, her limbs shaking from the brutal strain of forcing a memory palace on someone mid-childbirth. Sweat rolled down her temples. Her breath was shallow.
Lola lifted a weak hand and grabbed her sleeve.
Then she pulled her into a deep, shaking embrace.
A hug that carried years of unspoken words.
A hug of gratitude, apology, relief, and the bond they'd let politics bury.
Relia stiffened at first—habit, discipline—but then her arms wrapped around Lola tightly, fiercely, as if she feared letting go would make this moment fade too.
Ever since Lola became empress, distance had crept in. Duty had replaced friendship. Etiquette had silenced laughter.
But nothing can sever a bond birthed in shared battles and childhood roads.
As they held each other, trembling, breathing the same air, they both felt it:
The bond had never died.
It had only been sleeping.
And now—just like the newborn child—it had awakened again.
A new-born prince had entered the world.
The moment Relia Amia confirmed the baby was breathing steadily, the midwives moved with trained precision. The child—still glowing faintly with the warmth of birth—was lifted gently and carried to a basin of warm, enchanted water. His tiny fists were still clenched as though he had brought a fragment of the heavens down with him.
They washed him carefully, reverently, as if he were a relic rather than a newborn. Soft towels woven with imperial silk wrapped around his skin.
Then came the robes—miniature royal garments crafted long ago for the heir of Emperor Josh Aratat, threaded with gold and the blue of the royal lineage. They slid onto the child like destiny itself embracing him.
Meanwhile, Empress Lola was guided away by Nymia and two midwives. She could barely stand, but her heart was stronger than her legs. They bathed her in warm herbal water, perfumed her skin with sacred oils, and adorned her in a resplendent violet gown—embroidered in silver flames, the emblem of the Aratat bloodline.
Thanks to Amber Nois' foresight, the storage rings and dimensional crates she left behind contained enough resources to sustain an entire hidden court. Food. Clothing. Medicines. Even ceremonial regalia. Everything the empire had lost above ground, they had regained in this pocket sanctuary.
By the time Lola emerged again, she was radiant. Not because she was rested—she wasn't. Not because her pain was gone—traces still lingered.
But because there was fire in her eyes again.
A fire that had nearly died three days ago.
Now, it burned for her son.
Outside, in the grand hall the Archmage constructed within the illusionary refuge, the atmosphere shifted. Soldiers stood in rigid lines. Generals took their places, solemn and steady. The wives and daughters of trusted warriors arranged themselves behind the empress's throne. Torches flared to life along the walls, bathing the hall in golden warmth.
The air carried anticipation.
Reverence.
Hope—fragile but present.
The ceremony to name a prince was about to begin.
And though none of them knew it, the name they would give would one day shake the heavens and resurrect an empire.