Days later.
The Grand Courtyard of Ardan was packed with nobles, military heads, and all the royal family. The emperor sat at the center, flanked by the queen and royal siblings — all dressed in ceremonial garb.
Gasps and murmurs spread as fifty omegas, dressed in black and silver, stepped into the courtyard.
Rythe stood in front of them, his voice echoing.
"For too long, we have drawn lines — between alpha, beta, and omega. But when blood spills on the battlefield, it does not distinguish."
He raised his blade.
"These fifty stood when many would have fled. They defended this empire even when it shunned them. Today, I return their loyalty with honor."
He began to call them forward one by one — touching each shoulder with his sword.
"By the authority given to me as Prince of Ardan, I name you Knight of the Crescent Sigil."
Tears glistened in the eyes of many spectators — even some nobles who had once sneered.
The emperor remained still, but his gaze on Rythe was proud. The queen dabbed her eyes quietly. Even some of the older generals nodded in respect.
When the last knight had been knighted, Rythe turned.
"These are no longer hidden soldiers. They are the sword in the darkness. The shield of the weak. Knights of Ardan."
The courtyard erupted — not in thunderous applause, but in somber, reverent silence.
Because something had changed.
And the world knew it.
The courtyard had long emptied. Training swords had been stacked. The banners folded. The twilight had deepened into a navy sky, and only the gentle hum of night creatures could be heard.
Rythe stood alone beneath the training post where the new Crescent Sigil banner fluttered softly in the wind. He was watching it — as if trying to memorize the weight of it, the shape of it against the stars.
A soft footfall echoed behind him. He didn't turn. He already knew who it was.
"You should be resting, Cael."
The young omega came to stand beside him, his short curls damp with sweat, his tunic stained from training.
"I couldn't sleep," Cael admitted quietly. "Not after today."
Rythe said nothing. The banner waved gently above them.
Cael's voice dropped to a murmur.
"You know… most of us never even believed we'd wear a sword openly. Let alone serve under a prince. Let alone be named."
He looked up at the banner, his hands in loose fists at his sides.
"The Crescent… It feels like something sacred. Like a beginning."
Rythe finally turned his head toward him, eyes unreadable but softer than usual.
"It is a beginning. One that cost us both more than anyone else will ever understand."
Cael glanced at him then — carefully.
"Why did you do it, Your Highness?"
"You could have made your life easier by staying silent. Letting us remain forgotten. The court would have preferred it."
Rythe looked away again, his jaw tightening faintly.
"Because I know what it is to be feared for what you are. To be underestimated. To be hated for breathing in a space you were never invited into."
He paused, the breeze tugging at his cloak.
"I spent most of my life fighting enemies outside our walls. It's only in recent years I began to realize how many enemies we have within."
He looked at Cael.
"You shouldn't have had to bleed just to be seen. But you did. And now, I see you."
Cael swallowed hard. His voice came a little unsteady.
"And we see you, too. Not just as a prince, but as a man carrying the weight of a kingdom no one seems to understand."
There was a beat of silence. And then Cael bowed — not as a subject, but as a soldier saluting his commander.
"We won't let you down. I won't."
Rythe's voice was quiet but steady.
"Then carry the crescent with pride. Make them remember why they should have never looked down on you to begin with."
And as Cael straightened and turned to leave, Rythe spoke once more — barely above a whisper, almost as if to himself.
"Let the crescent rise where the sun refused to shine."