Mali stood at the viewport, and he was not just drowning; he was un-making.
The welcome of the fleet, the impossible, magnificent sight of the Thronecycle, the weight of twenty years of expectation—it was a pressure his mind was not built to withstand.
His System, ever the cruel accountant, showed him the bill.
[NEW BUFF GAINED: THE HEIR'S WELCOME]
> (BUFF): All 'Aethel Imperium' loyalty-based actions are at +100.
> (DEBUFF): The weight of expectation is crushing.
[Imposter Syndrome] penalty temporarily doubled. [-80 CTL]
He was paralyzed. His CTL, his hard-won Control, was now a negative number. He couldn't even think, let alone move. He was a stray. He was a fraud. He was a speck of dust who had just been told he was a sun, and the gravity of that new reality was crushing him into a singularity of pure, abject terror.
He was going to be sick. He was going to faint. He was going to be exposed in front of the entire, waiting fleet.
"Mali."
Anya's voice. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the screaming siren of his Imposter Syndrome debuff. He couldn't turn his head. He was locked in place, staring at his impossible new home.
"Mali," she said again, her voice a quiet, steel anchor in the storm. "They are waiting for you. We have to move."
Move? He couldn't even breathe.
General Kaelen's voice boomed from the deck below. "Your Highness! We are proceeding to the Central Spire. The Imperial Court is assembled."
They were waiting. The court. The fleet. The universe.
He was a 'scary cat.' He was a boy in a costume. He was... faking it.
Fake it till you make it.
The thought, his own forgotten motto, surfaced from the depths of his panic.
It's armor. It's not a lie. It's a promise. Anya's words from the council meeting.
He couldn't be the prince. He couldn't be the 'Unmaker's Heir.' He was terrified, broken, and small. He couldn't change that.
But he could put on the costume.
He closed his eyes for a single, agonizing second. He didn't try to believe he was the prince. He didn't try to be the prince.
He just... faked it.
He didn't fight the Imposter Syndrome. He built a wall around it. He imagined himself, Mali the porter, cowering in a small, safe room deep inside his own mind. And at the door, he built a new man. He put on the mask. He put on the "armor." He put on the face of the stranger he had seen in the mirror, the one in the black regalia.
He wasn't Mali Alkahest. He was [TITLE: The Heir of House Alkahest]. It was a role. A part to play.
He focused all his CTL, not on his power, but on his face. On his posture. On building the perfect, cold, regal mask of a leader.
And the System, which translated all of reality, recognized this new, willed mental state.
A chime, sharp and clear, rang in his head.
[NEW ACTIVE SKILL GAINED: SOVEREIGN'S MANTLE (LVL 1)]
> Description: Actively manifest a persona of royal authority. This skill forcibly suppresses the [DEBUFF: Imposter Syndrome] and its penalties.
> Effect: Temporarily negates all mental debuffs related to 'Fear' or 'Doubt'. Applies [BUFF: Royal Dignitas (+30)] to all social-based (CTL) rolls.
> Cost: 10 EP (Energy) per minute.
The screaming in his head... went silent.
The crushing -80 CTL penalty simply vanished, replaced by a cool, artificial calm.
He was still terrified. He could still feel the real Mali, the 'scary cat,' banging on the walls of the box he'd just built. But the terror was in the cage. He was in control of the mask.
He opened his eyes.
He turned from the viewport. His movements were no longer the stiff, awkward motions of a boy in a costume. They were deliberate. Economical. Royal.
He looked at Anya, his face a perfect, calm, princely mask. She saw the change. She saw the "fakeness" of it, the 'armor' he had just donned, and her eyes widened in profound, impressed understanding.
He then looked down at General Kaelen, who was staring up at him, his face a mixture of awe and impatience.
Mali just nodded. Once.
It was enough.
"At last," Kaelen boomed, his voice full of pride. He slammed his fist to his chest. "To the Central Spire!"
The Sovereign glided through the golden pathway of lights, docking with a spire so vast it made the flagship look like a child's toy. The transport tube that took them down was not a sterile, metal box; it was a capsule of pure, transparent crystal, descending through a kilometer of golden architecture.
Mali, Anya, and Kaelen stood alone in the capsule, descending toward the main reception hall.
"They are... enthusiastic," Anya murmured, looking down at the crowd waiting for them.
Mali just kept his Sovereign's Mantle active. The 10 EP per minute cost was a steady drain, but the cold, focused calm it gave him was worth a universe.
The capsule slowed, the doors hissing open.
This was not the hangar. This was not the council chamber.
This was a cathedral.
The hall was a mile-long expanse of polished white marble, the ceiling a vaulted dome of crystal that showed the Thronecycle's artificial sun above. And it was full.
Thousands of people. Not soldiers. Nobles. The Royal Court. The heads of every Great House in the Imperium, dressed in silks, velvets, and elegant armor of a thousand different colors.
The moment the doors opened, a single, massive horn blew.
And in a rustle of fine fabrics and the clink of ceremonial armor, thousands of the most powerful people in the universe knelt.
Kaelen marched forward, his boot-falls echoing in the sudden, profound silence. He took his place at the head of a long, red-carpeted aisle.
Anya stepped up to Mali's side. "Don't look at their faces," she whispered, her 'Tapestry' System no doubt analyzing the room. "Just look at the end of the hall. One step at a time. You are the flag."
He didn't need to be told. His Sovereign's Mantle was active. He was the mask. He was the Heir.
He and Anya, side-by-side, began the long walk.
It was the most terrifying thing he had ever done. It was worse than Jararu. It was worse than the pirates. Every single one of these kneeling figures was a LEVEL 80 politician, a LEVEL 70 duelist, a master of intrigue. And he, the LEVEL 1 fraud, was walking past them all.
The cost of his Sovereign's Mantle felt like it was draining his very soul.
[EP: -10... -10... -10...]
They finally reached the dais at the far end of the hall. Kaelen turned, his fist over his heart, and faced the crowd.
"People of the Imperium! Houses of Sanctum!" Kaelen's voice, amplified by the hall's acoustics, boomed like the voice of a god. "For twenty years, we have held the line! For twenty years, we have kept the faith! We have waited! We have endured!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the kneeling crowd.
"Today, our faith is rewarded! Today, the Stasis ends! Today, the Unmaker's line is restored!"
He turned, his arm sweeping out toward Mali.
"I present to you... Mali Alkahest! The Lost Prince! The Heir of the Imperium!"
A single, unified, deafening roar erupted from the crowd. They rose to their feet, a wave of cheering, of weapons being raised in salute, of tears of joy. The sound was a physical force, slamming into Mali.
His mask almost cracked. His Imposter Syndrome was screaming from inside its cage.
Kaelen held up a hand, silencing the crowd. His face was a mask of pure, triumphant duty.
"The Heir's return is the first sign. But the restoration must be sealed! The long night is over, and the dawn begins with an act of ultimate unity!"
He turned his gaze, not to Mali, but to Anya, who stood beside him, her face a perfect, calm, supportive mask.
"The old pact is honored! The new bond is forged! The Cygnus Ascendancy and the Aethel Imperium are, as of this day, ONE!"
Kaelen raised his voice, his final proclamation a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the hall.
"By Imperial Decree, and with the blessing of both Houses, the formal wedding of Prince Mali Alkahest and Princess Anya Cygnus... will commence in three days!"
The hall exploded. The cheer was a supernova of sound.
Mali's Sovereign's Mantle flickered. His EP was dangerously low. He looked at Anya, his mask of calm firmly in place, but his eyes... his eyes were screaming.
She met his gaze. The Princess of the Cygnus Ascendancy, his ally, his wife.
She gave him a single, infinitesimal, breathtakingly brave wink.
The performance had just begun.