That same day, as anxiety swelled within the imperial palace, the inner council gathered around Emperor Leopold, who showed no sign of anger... only something closer to amusement.
"Just one girl..." he said, twisting the ring on his finger, "shook the capital with a single statement, making the people doubt us."
A commander bowed. "Your Majesty, we believe she was aided by one of the priests or a defector from the Spirit Council. She couldn't have obtained this information alone."
But the emperor raised his hand, cutting off the discussion.
"She did not act alone... but with a spirit."
Silence fell until someone whispered, "They say Silvern is with her."
Leopold smiled—that smile devoid of warmth, like ice slowly melting.
"Damian..." he said the name as if it were personal.
Then he rose slowly and declared:
"Issue the order. Anyone speaking for Ophelia Carter... is a traitor. Any mention of spirits will be deemed rebellion."
As he left the chamber, he added:
"But do not touch her yet... let her think she is winning."
No one spoke after the emperor's departure. Yet one thing was clear in their eyes:
The girl who broke their rules... would not be left alone.
At the top of the palace's western tower, where no one ever visits, a shadowy figure stood watching the city. His eyes did not see the streets, but beyond them.
He murmured barely audibly,
"Finally..."
Then vanished.
Ophelia sat in her room beside Damian, both quietly planning their next move. Suddenly, a knock echoed on the door, and behind it, the maid called out.
Damian smiled softly,
"Go ahead, I'll wait here."
She nodded and stepped out.
Ophelia entered the room where her father's eyes met hers—filled with disappointment. Beside him stood her mother, glaring angrily, and to their left, Adelia's face was etched with worry.
Her father's voice thundered,
"Do you know what you've dragged us into? What danger you've brought upon us?!"
Ophelia answered, her voice steady though her eyes spoke of pain and anger,
"And what have you done? You know the Emperor's corruption, how this empire was built on innocent blood, yet you remain his loyal dog."
Her father's face twisted in rage as he slammed the table, shouting,
"Ophelia! Do you realize how hard I fought to get where I am? This palace, this food, these clothes… all from my own sweat! And now, you try to tear it all down! Your rebellion means not just your execution, but stripping our family of its titles. Do you understand the gravity of your actions?"
Bitterly, Ophelia laughed,
"Do you think your support is a gift? Do you want me indebted to you my whole life? Have you ever tried to give me love? Asked what I want? What I need? Even the horses in the stables are treated better than I have been."
Her lips trembled slightly as she continued, her voice burning with anger:
"I am not an animal condemned to live by your rules. I want a chance to breathe, to be free. In this palace, I'm treated like a soulless creature; outside, I'm a burden to society. What fault is mine? I didn't choose my birth, my face, or the life I was forced to live."
She added with firm resolve:
"If my rebellion means my execution and the stripping of your title, then I'm proud to see it happen."
She left, her words echoing through the room like the final severing of all ties to that place.
At that moment, while Ophelia still burned with anger, Damian stood alone in her room, watching the moonlight reflected on the windowpane. Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps outside. Without hesitation, he leapt lightly through the window, landing in the garden. Standing before him was a figure cloaked and hooded.
Damian stepped forward steadily, his eyes glowing with a faint danger. "Who are you?" he asked, but the stranger said nothing.
In a swift move, Damian grabbed the stranger by the neck, lifting him slightly off the ground, his voice low and cold:
"You'd better speak… if you want to keep your neck attached to your body."
It was the first time Damian showed this dark side—the face Ophelia had never seen. He was no child as some thought… but sharp, lethal when necessary.
After a tense silence, the stranger slowly raised his hand and removed the mask from his face.
Damian's voice was calm but sharp:
"Brave of you to show your face... but that doesn't answer my question. I'll ask one last time—who are you?"
"My name is Oliver Gaston," he replied steadily. "I'm not an enemy. I'm on your side."
Damian narrowed his eyes, a hint of disdain creeping into his tone:
"And since when do allies sneak in under the cover of night?"
"I'm part of the revolutionary guard," Oliver said. "I came this way to avoid drawing attention. I need to speak with Ophelia... I have evidence that could topple the emperor."
Damian's grip tightened on Oliver's neck, his eyes glowing with lethal intent:
"Ophelia, huh? Sounds like you know her well to say her name like that..."
Before Damian could decide, a familiar voice called out from a distance:
"Damian? Where are you?"
He lowered his head slightly, whispering to himself, "Damn... I can't act selfishly now, this could hurt her..."
Then, loudly, he answered:
"I'm here!"
Ophelia leaned out of her window, eyes scanning the scene below, spotting Damian holding a stranger. The man wasn't less handsome than Damian, but while Damian's beauty was almost angelic, this stranger had a wild magnetism—strong, striking features, ruby-red eyes gleaming under the moonlight, and a tightly toned body like a seasoned soldier.
She asked with concern, "Who is this?"
Damian, still gripping him, replied,
"He claims to be from the revolutionary guard… Oliver Gaston. Says he has evidence that can bring down the emperor. But…"
He paused, then gave Ophelia a sharp look,
"This might be a trap."
Ophelia quickly descended to the garden, feeling a quiet anxiety beneath her calm exterior.
"So, how will you prove you're not in league with the emperor?"
Oliver spoke confidently, "I've been watching you since the Victory Ball. I waited to reveal myself because the time is right."
He slowly extended his hand, pulling out a set of sealed documents:
"These contain secret orders to eliminate anyone opposing the imperial family's pact with the spirits of darkness. Names of priests, commanders, even royal family members."
Ophelia stepped forward and took the papers. Her hands trembled for a moment as her eyes quickly scanned the lines before lifting to look at Oliver, a thousand questions—and a thousand shades of anger—in her gaze.
Before she could speak, Damian suddenly moved.
He grabbed Oliver by the collar with a strong grip and pulled him close. His eyes were cold as a blade as he spoke in a low, threatening voice,
"So… all this? You're trying to put her in danger… just to save yourself?"
Oliver didn't flinch. Calmly, he brushed off Damian's grip:
"I don't hide behind anyone. If you truly want to protect her, fight with me, not against me. What's between me and the emperor goes beyond mere revenge…"
Ophelia stepped between them, her eyes fixed on both:
"Enough. No one uses anyone here."
Oliver looked at Ophelia, his tone a blend of seriousness and honesty:
"You won't be alone in this fight. No one topples an emperor alone… Let's fight together."
Ophelia paused, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. She had always wanted to be enough—her own sword, fighting alone, owing nothing to anyone.
But reality was different… she relied on Damian, and now Oliver was offering his support. It wasn't weakness… it was a warmth she had never known before. To have someone stand by you, believe in the justice of your cause, and choose to fight with you—not for you.