The information spread quickly like a creeping flame affecting everything in its path. The soldiers were jubilant.
Cheers, sobs, and relieved laughter rippled through the hidden sanctuary as the announcement spread:
Both the Empress—and the newborn Prince—had survived.
For the first time since the fall of the Nazare Blade Empire, hope breathed again.
General Naze exhaled heavily, the tension leaving his shoulders in a single quiet shudder. His call—his intervention—had saved her. Lola was more than an empress to him; she was his friend… the beloved wife of his master, and best friend, the late emperor Josh.
If she had died, he would never have forgiven himself.
Now it was time for the Naming Ceremony.
Everyone gathered with a sense of purpose. Mages worked alongside cooks, their crafts woven seamlessly—warming spells keeping food steaming and fragrant, cryo-runes keeping drinks cold and crisp.
Within minutes, the ceremonial grounds inside the dome were transformed into a grand display: banners of the Aratat flame sigil, lanterns glowing with gentle white light, petals scattered across polished marble floors. It was a gala fit for royalty—even in exile.
When Empress Lola entered, everyone rose to their feet.
She moved slowly, each step deliberate, supported gently by two maids. Her body still trembled from the brutality of childbirth—her legs weak, her breaths shallow—but the light in her eyes burned brighter than ever.
Excitement—raw, desperate, grateful excitement—was the pillar holding her upright, pushing her forward like an invisible force.
The moment she appeared, the hall stirred.
Soldiers, mages, servants, generals—every single one of them instinctively stepped forward, eager to greet their empress, to touch her, to congratulate her, to simply reassure themselves that she was truly alive.
But they never got close.
The warrior-guards surrounding her shifted smoothly, forming a living barrier. Their movements were respectful, not harsh, but unmistakably firm.
A measured distance was maintained—not out of coldness, but for order, balance, and harmony.
The empress was sacred tonight.
This moment was sacred.
Those closest bowed deeply. Those behind them followed, waves of reverence sweeping outward like ripples in still water.
Lola tried to smile at them all—her people, her protectors, the last hope of an empire shattered yet unbroken. Her hand trembled slightly as she lifted it in acknowledgment.
Relia Amia flanked her on the left, alert and protective, her eyes sweeping the room like a hawk.
Nymia was on the right, steady and composed, with her daughters Ouale and Ouake just behind, hands on their blades.
Together, they escorted the empress toward the center of the beautifully decorated chamber—toward the place where her newborn son would be named.
And as she passed, the people bowed even deeper, whispering blessings, gratitude, and renewed hope:
"Our empress lives…"
"The prince is born…"
"A new dawn begins…"
Lola inhaled shakily, overwhelmed.
For the first time since Josh's death, she felt… not whole, not healed—but guided.
As if the weight crushing her heart had shifted slightly, leaving her just enough room to breathe.
The ceremony could begin.
Relia Amia had a thousand things she wanted to say to the empress.
Words of relief.
Words of pride.
Words of the fear she had felt when she saw Lola fading… and the fierce joy she felt now, knowing she had saved her.
But she said none of them aloud.
Instead, she walked beside the empress with a quiet smile—soft, warm, and deeply satisfied. Helping Lola had not just saved a life; it had revived a future.
Word of what she had done had already spread through the hidden settlement like wildfire.
The people whispered her name with reverence.
Relia Amia, the Memory General.
The savior of the empress.
The woman who safeguarded the heir of the empire.
To them, she wasn't just a general—she was a symbol, a legend reborn.
Ever since the great Archmage had declared that the key to the empire's future rested with the empress, the people clung to Lola with all the hope they had left. And because Relia Amia had saved Lola… she had, in their eyes, saved the future itself.
The legend of Josh's generals—those thirteen mighty warriors he left behind—grew stronger with each heroic deed.
They were already respected.
Now, they were revered.
And among those legends, one name towered above the rest:
Naze, the Blind Swordsman.
His story alone was enough to inspire entire villages. A man without sight, who could read the wind, listen to the heartbeats of enemies, and split mountains with a single draw of his blade—his fame bordered on myth.
And his wife, Nymia, once a shy, soft-spoken woman overlooked by many… was no longer the timid flower people remembered.
Living beside a legend had reshaped her.
Her steps were confident now.
Her gaze steady.
Her demeanor carried a quiet but unmistakable warning:
"If you know who my husband is, you would rethink your next action."
It was not arrogance—just truth.
Standing beside the empress, dressed in ceremonial garments, Nymia radiated a calm, intimidating grace. Even the fiercest warriors stepped aside respectfully when she passed.
The thirteen generals each had their own aura… but together, as they gathered around the empress on this monumental day, they looked like the living pillars of a fallen empire, each one carrying a fragment of Josh Aratat's legacy.
And tonight, as the people whispered their names in awe, the legends felt alive again.
General Conrad Stan, the oldest and most respected general remaining, stepped onto the podium. The hall fell silent instantly. His voice carried with the weight of age, loss, and unfaltering loyalty.
"Today," Conrad began, "our empress has brought forth a new prince… and with him, a new dawn."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"The Great Archmage told us that the key to our future lies with the empress. And today, before our very eyes, that prophecy has begun. She has delivered to us the heir to the Nazare Blade Empire—our future king and emperor. The one who will reclaim our land from the treacherous Aloysius and his cyclopean horde."
His hand rose as he held a sealed scroll.
"The empress has provided names for consideration. But today, we honor not only her wishes—but the legacy of the man whose sacrifice still shields our spirits."
He unrolled the scroll with reverence.
"In honor of our late emperor… the name of our prince shall be—
Josh the Second,
son of Josh the Great,
scion of the Aratat Bloodline."
He lifted his fist.
"All hail the prince!"
The soldiers echoed with thunder:
"ALL HAIL THE PRINCE!
ALL HAIL THE PRINCE!"
The dome trembled with the roar of voices united once more.
Then—something impossible happened.
The newborn, wrapped in golden silk, opened his tiny mouth and uttered a sound no infant should produce—a soft, ancient word, laced with divine resonance.
A word that meant:
"The gods approve…"
Silence.
Shock.
Then awe washed through the hall like a holy storm.
Some dropped to their knees. Others wept openly. For a people who had lost everything, this single moment felt like a sign—clear, undeniable—that fate had not abandoned them.
The ceremony continued with renewed fervor. Music rose, food and wine were served, and laughter found its way back into hearts that had forgotten its warmth.
Tonight, in a hidden corner of the world, a prince had been named.
A destiny had been affirmed.
A future had been reborn.
And none of them knew—
the soul inside the child had once ruled them all.
Josh had returned.