The golden sun had barely begun its climb when Rythe received the messenger's urgent dispatch. He read the scroll in silence, eyes dark and thoughtful. Without hesitation, he gave one order:
"Summon the royal court. Now."
Within the hour, the Grand Hall was filled to capacity. The Emperor, stoic and unreadable, sat on his high throne flanked by his newly reinstated queen, Elendra, calm but keen-eyed.
Seated in dignified ranks were the emperor's children — Rythe, Maleus, Kael, Elion, Dain, Rhalia, Vaela, and Astrid, along with their spouses. The court nobles, high-ranking generals, and bureaucrats filled the outer rows, all cloaked in intrigue.
The room was murmuring when the heavy doors opened.
Duke Vernhald entered.
Eyes widened. Mouths dropped.
The man who had most vehemently opposed Rythe's omega knights now walked forward — flanked on either side by two of the very omega knights he had derided. His clothes bore soot, his beard singed, his voice scratchy from smoke.
He bowed deeply.
"My life, my port, and a key outpost of this empire still stands today only because of the intervention of Prince Rythe's knights. I owe them my survival."
"They fought like no warriors I've ever seen — five against an army. One of them nearly died to protect me. An omega, bled for a man who…"
He swallowed.
"…has spent his whole life spitting on them."
Silence fell. Not even the nobles dared to murmur. The emperor leaned forward slightly.
Rythe stood from his seat.
Clad in black, his silver mantle brushing the floor, his face was unreadable — but his voice rang through the hall like a sword drawn in judgment.
"I did not summon you to gloat or to bask in vindication," Rythe began calmly, "but to remind you of what this empire is becoming — and what it needs to survive."
He slowly walked down the aisle to the center of the room, turning in place so all could see his face.
"For generations, Ardan has looked down on omegas, chained them with prejudice, and dimmed their potential simply because of biology — because they do not possess the size or strength of alphas or the steadiness of betas."
"But strength does not belong to gender or presentation. It belongs to those who choose to wield it."
He gestured toward Duke Vernhald.
"Today, one of those omegas bled for a man who hated him simply for being born. That same omega, with the others, saved a vital port and captured an assassin that could've destabilized our coast."
Rythe's voice tightened, heavier now.
"Ardan is under attack. Our enemy remains faceless and unknown. They move in the shadows.
He looked up at the nobles, and then turned his gaze to the royal dais — to his father, his mother, and finally his siblings.
"I was thirteen when I first went to war," he said softly. "Thirteen."
The court stilled further.
"I have led our empire's armies, not once, not twice — but for over a decade. While others sat behind walls or debated policy, I bled on battlefields, I fought to keep your homes and families safe. I am not the commander of Ardan's knights — I am the one who leads his own, loyal, battle-tested warriors. My own knights. And now, these omegas are part of that order."
A long pause.
"All I ask of this court, and of you all, is an open mind."
His voice deepened, shoulders squared as he raised his chin.
"If we are to survive what's coming, I need all the help I can get — every sword, every shield, every mind. I will protect this empire. But I can't do it alone. And I won't turn away warriors just because they were born differently."
He looked to his family again.
"If protecting the empire means bending the rules of tradition — then bend, they shall."
The silence was thunderous. For once, even Kael said nothing — only watched his brother with a dawning understanding.
Just then, the doors opened once more.
Lareth walked in briskly, bowed quickly to the emperor, then leaned toward Rythe, whispering something into his ear. Rythe's features tensed.
He turned back to the room.
"The assassin captured at the port has taken his own life," Rythe announced grimly. "Just like Vereth."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
"No identifiers. No sigils. No allegiance. Once again… we are blind."
The tension in the room reached a fever pitch.
"We are back to where we started. Clueless."
The hall exploded into murmurs and raised voices. Courtiers panicked, nobles whispered frantically, and even the emperor looked disturbed.
Rythe didn't speak again. He simply turned to return to his seat beside his mother, his hand resting briefly on the hilt of his sword — not as a threat, but as a reminder:
He would not fall.
Not now.
Not ever.
The moon hung low over the palace, casting silver light over its towers, but within Rythe's private hall, torchlight danced along stone walls. The scent of steel, sweat, and salve still lingered from earlier training sessions, but the room now held a new kind of weight — one born of hard-won respect.
All fifty omega knights were gathered — silent, standing in uniform lines. Their expressions were tense with anticipation. One of them, Kaelin, bore a tightly bound shoulder — the one who had been gravely injured at Duke Vernhald's port. He stood upright, despite the pain.
The door opened.
Rythe entered, no crown, no mantle — only in a dark shirt and high boots, looking more soldier than prince. A band of tiredness shadowed his sharp features, but his eyes were alight — not with pride, but something deeper.
He didn't speak at first. He simply looked at them, one by one. There was Kaelin, who stood tall even with injury… Mira, who had cleaved through three assassins… Thorne, the quietest of them all, who had protected two of his comrades during the ambush.
Then Rythe walked forward slowly, his voice low but firm.
"You saved a port… You saved a duke who once spat on you… You faced over thirty masked men and didn't run."
He stopped in front of Kaelin, eyes locked with his.
"And one of you… was willing to die for it."
The omega knights stood straighter, though many swallowed hard, their eyes glinting with emotion. Rythe moved down the line, addressing them all.
"You didn't fight like omegas. You didn't fight like alphas or betas either. You fought like knights."
There was a pause. Some blinked rapidly, trying not to show their feelings. Then Rythe turned, finally facing all of them again.
"The court… will adjust. Let them talk. Let them doubt."
"But I've led knights since I was a boy. And I have never seen anyone fight the way you did."
"I chose you — and I choose you still. I will always choose you. Not because you're omegas. But because you are mine."
A silence settled — deep, reverent.
Then, Kaelin dropped to one knee.
"Your Highness… I bled for this empire. I would do it again. For it. For you."
One by one, the rest followed.
All fifty omega knights knelt before Rythe, not because they were commanded to — but because in him, they saw the only noble in Ardan who had ever truly seen them.
Rythe looked away briefly, jaw clenched, almost overcome.
Then he gave a single nod.
"Rise, Knights of the Crescent Sigil."
They rose — together — no longer a hidden project, but a brotherhood sworn in fire and blood.
And that night, in the prince's private hall, a bond was sealed — not just of loyalty, but of family, forged not by birth, but by shared purpose.