Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, coloring the polished floors in reds and golds. The circular court chamber was packed — nobles in their robes, court officials, clan heads, and members of the royal family seated in the elevated rows above. The room buzzed with murmurs.
At the center, Prince Rythe stood like a tower of calm, draped in black and silver, flanked by Lareth and two of his senior knights — one alpha, one omega.
The Emperor sat on his throne above, silent, observing. His expression unreadable.
Then Duke Vernhald, silver-haired and sharp-tongued, stepped forward from the nobles' side and bowed stiffly.
"Your Majesty, Princes and Princesses, and esteemed members of the court," he began, voice echoing. "We request immediate reconsideration of Prince Rythe's unprecedented and — forgive me — dangerous appointment of fifty omegas to the imperial knighthood."
Whispers rippled like waves.
"With all due respect to the Prince," the Duke continued, "the battlefield requires strength, endurance, and above all, discipline. Traits we have traditionally relied on alphas and betas to deliver. These omegas, regardless of training, are not fit for frontline combat."
"And how many battles have you personally fought in, Duke Vernhald?" Rythe's voice cut across the room like a blade.
Gasps. The Duke straightened. "Prince Rythe—"
"Because I've seen the battlefield, Your Grace. I've bled on it. Buried brothers on it. And if strength were limited to gender or designation, I'd have died a long time ago."
"This is not just about strength," another noble interjected — Lady Cerene of House Talverin. "It's about image, Your Highness. Omegas as knights? What will other kingdoms think? It undermines the hierarchy that has held this empire firm for generations!"
Rythe's eyes narrowed.
"If this hierarchy excludes the worthy and empowers only the privileged, then it deserves to be shaken."
A stir.
"You dare insult the order of Ardan?" Cerene snapped.
"No," Rythe said flatly. "I dare to improve it."
He stepped forward into the light.
"These omegas trained under my eyes. I pushed them harder than I do the elite. They broke. They rose. They fought. And they earned the right to wear the Ardan crest."
"You are placing them in danger," the Duke snapped. "When they fall, the court will hold you accountable."
"Then let it," Rythe said. "Because I would rather stand with fifty determined warriors — regardless of their designation — than ten thousand cowards who cower behind tradition."
Silence.
The Emperor finally stirred, his voice deep and thoughtful:
"The court has spoken its fears. And my son has spoken his conviction. Let it be known: The decision stands. The omega knights are to serve under Prince Rythe's command."
The nobles looked stunned. A few protested quietly. But they did not speak again.
Rythe gave a nod of gratitude to his father. Then to the chamber:
"For those who doubt them — watch them fight. And if any of you believe you can best one of them in a duel, I welcome you to try."
The court broke into uneasy silence.
But among the crowd, Princess Astrid clapped slowly, followed by Vaela, then Maleus, until the applause spread, hesitant but growing.
The tide was beginning to turn.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm orange glow over the sprawling coastal port of Vernhald, one of the empire's most strategic gateways for trade and military shipments. Bustling with crates, sails, dockworkers, and the scent of saltwater, the port should have been in its usual state of organized chaos.
But it wasn't.
A strange stillness lingered, the kind that prickled beneath the skin.
The five omega knights, armored in muted greys and silver with the Ardan crest etched on their pauldrons, arrived on horseback — alert and sharp-eyed. Their leader, Renna, dismounted first and motioned to the others.
"Something's wrong. No guards. No sound," she said, narrowing her eyes.
A soft whistle in the wind.
Then — chaos.
From behind stacks of shipping crates, masked assassins in dark leather leapt out, blades gleaming, eyes wild and focused. Over thirty men surged forward in silence and coordination, descending like a wave on the five omegas.
"Formation!" Renna shouted, already unsheathing her twin blades.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew. The omegas fought like wind and shadow — fast, fluid, precise. Their smaller frames allowed for swifter movement, evasion, and redirection. They struck not with brute force but with discipline, agility, and unified teamwork.
Despite being outnumbered six-to-one, they held the line.
Sir Kaelir, the youngest of the five, took a deep cut to his side while protecting a civilian who had stumbled into the fight — blood seeping through his side as he gritted his teeth and kept fighting. The others fought around him, covering his flank.
Their blades sang through the air as they downed attacker after attacker, pushing them back step by step — refusing to fall. Their coordination was flawless, honed by Rythe's relentless training.
Finally, Renna kicked one of the masked men down, pressing her blade to his throat.
"Who sent you?" she demanded.
The man spat blood and cursed but said nothing.
Still, he was alive. And that was enough.
The rest of the attackers were either slain, captured, or scattered into the hills. Smoke began to curl from a small fire someone had tried to set in the cargo hold — extinguished by Sir Deyne just in time.
From behind a broken column, Duke Vernhald himself emerged, bruised and pale, eyes wide with disbelief.
He had been caught in the ambush, hiding after his guards were cut down. He looked at the five omega knights standing amid the wreckage, bloodied but standing tall. The unconscious prisoner bound at their feet.
"You… saved this port," he whispered.
"We were only sent to pick up a shipment," Renna replied evenly, wiping blood from her blade. "Protecting it was an unexpected bonus."
Behind her, Kaelir collapsed, and the others rushed to his side. They worked quickly, applying pressure, checking the wound. No panic. Only precision.
Duke Vernhald stood in stunned silence, watching as Renna and her companions, even wounded, took charge of restoring order, directing guards, and protecting civilians.
For the first time, the duke saw not their designation…
…but their strength.