The palace did not speak of the foundation incident.
Officially, nothing had happened.
Unofficially—
Everyone knew something had.
Arthur stood in the imperial training courtyard at dawn.
Not practicing.
Watching.
Prince Darius was sparring against three royal knights simultaneously.
He moved like fire.
Explosive footwork. Heavy aura reinforcement. Aggressive forward pressure.
Too aggressive.
A knight shifted formation and caught him across the ribs.
Darius staggered back.
Arthur stepped forward.
"Stop."
The courtyard froze instantly.
Darius turned, breathing hard.
"I was fine."
"No," Arthur replied calmly. "You were reckless."
Darius clenched his jaw.
"I had to break their formation."
"At what cost?"
Darius didn't answer.
Arthur walked closer.
"Power is not dominance."
Darius looked away slightly.
"It's control," Arthur continued.
"Three opponents. You tried to overpower. You should have isolated."
Darius's hands tightened around his sword.
"You never hesitate."
Arthur held his gaze.
"I do."
Silence fell between them.
Darius's expression shifted slightly.
"You didn't in the duel."
Arthur didn't smile.
"I calculated risk."
Darius stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You bled."
Arthur's eyes softened slightly.
"Yes."
Darius's voice dropped further.
"You're pushing yourself too hard."
There it was.
Not frustration.
Concern.
Arthur studied his younger brother carefully.
Darius idolized him.
But idolization creates pressure.
"You don't need to mirror me," Arthur said quietly.
Darius blinked.
"What?"
"You fight like you're chasing something."
Silence.
Darius looked away.
"You're the strongest in the empire."
"That is irrelevant."
"It's not!" Darius snapped, then caught himself.
The courtyard was empty now.
Only them.
"You don't know what it's like," Darius continued more quietly. "Everyone compares us. I'm 'the Crown Prince's brother.'"
Arthur was silent.
"You think I fight recklessly?" Darius said. "I fight loudly because otherwise I disappear."
The words hung in the air.
Arthur hadn't seen that before.
He had only seen ambition.
Not insecurity.
Arthur stepped closer.
"You don't disappear."
Darius scoffed lightly.
"Easy for you to say."
Arthur placed a hand on Darius's shoulder.
Firm.
Steady.
"I do not need another version of me."
Darius looked up.
"I need Darius."
For a moment—
The weight Darius carried shifted.
Just slightly.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Fine."
Arthur nodded.
"Again."
This time—
Darius fought differently.
Measured.
Focused.
Arthur watched.
And approved.
—
Later that day.
Princess Lysandra entered Arthur's chamber without announcement.
Unlike Emily's entrance, this one was sharp and deliberate.
"Brother."
Her posture was flawless.
Her tone controlled.
"You humiliated Duke Valmont in court."
Arthur looked up from his documents.
"I corrected him."
She crossed her arms.
"You destabilize noble cohesion."
Arthur studied her carefully.
Lysandra valued hierarchy.
Blood purity.
Order.
"You fear instability," Arthur said calmly.
"I fear decay," she replied.
Her eyes were colder than Seraphina's.
"Commoners do not understand governance. Encouraging them to question nobles weakens authority."
Arthur leaned back slightly.
"Authority that cannot withstand question is fragile."
She stepped closer.
"You are romanticizing lower classes."
"I am stabilizing long-term loyalty."
Lysandra's voice hardened.
"They will never be equal to us."
Arthur's golden gaze sharpened.
"I do not seek equality."
She paused.
"I seek alignment."
Silence.
She hadn't expected that answer.
Arthur continued.
"If they believe the Crown protects them, they defend it."
Lysandra's eyes flickered slightly.
"And if they grow ambitious?"
"Then we manage ambition."
She studied him carefully.
"You have changed."
"Yes."
Her voice softened slightly.
"Are you certain it is not weakness?"
Arthur stood.
Walked toward her.
The air shifted subtly — not threatening, but undeniable.
"If I were weak," he said quietly, "would you be speaking to me this way?"
She held his gaze.
Then looked down slightly.
"…No."
Arthur's expression softened just a fraction.
"Then trust me."
Lysandra hesitated.
Then bowed slightly.
"…I do."
And left.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
Each sibling carried something different.
He would need all of them.
—
That evening.
Emily sat cross-legged on the floor of Arthur's chamber.
Uninvited.
Eating fruit from a silver plate.
"You look tired," she said bluntly.
"I am not."
"You are."
She tossed a grape lightly at him.
He caught it instinctively.
She watched his reaction carefully.
"You win duels. You stop sabotage. You reform taxes."
She tilted her head.
"But you're not sleeping."
Arthur didn't respond.
She stood slowly.
Walked toward him.
"Your mana feels unstable."
His eyes flickered slightly.
"You can sense that?"
"I grew up in the north," she replied. "We feel storms."
She stepped closer.
"You're hiding pain."
Arthur met her gaze.
"Pain is irrelevant."
She rolled her eyes.
"That's the most dramatic thing you've ever said."
She reached out and placed her hand lightly over his chest.
Not romantic.
Not bold.
Just steady.
"You're not invincible," she said quietly.
He didn't move.
"I don't need you to be a god," she continued.
"I need you alive."
The words hit differently.
In his previous life—
No one had expected him to survive.
Now—
Someone expected him to.
Arthur's voice was softer when he replied.
"I am not planning to die."
She smiled faintly.
"Good."
Then her tone shifted.
"Because if you do, I will personally drag you back."
He almost laughed.
Almost.
—
Elsewhere.
Princess Elowen knelt beside a child in the southern district clinic.
The child had minor mana sickness — mild imbalance from stress.
Elowen adjusted the mana flow gently.
Calm.
Compassionate.
One of the nurses whispered,
"The Crown Prince opened the grain stores."
Elowen smiled softly.
"Yes."
She looked at the child.
"He listens."
Unlike Lysandra—
Elowen didn't see commoners as structure.
She saw them as people.
And Arthur's reforms aligned naturally with her heart.
She would support him quietly.
Steadily.
Without ambition.
—
Night fell.
Arthur stood alone once more.
But this time—
He wasn't thinking about enemies.
He was thinking about responsibility.
Not of empire.
Of family.
Darius chasing identity.
Lysandra fearing decay.
Elowen protecting quietly.
Seraphina calculating.
Emily anchoring him.
He touched his chest lightly.
The crack pulsed faintly.
Not just weakness.
A reminder.
He had been given a second life.
Not just to dominate.
But to build.
Outside, storm clouds gathered thicker.
The catalyst was coming.
But when it did—
He would not stand alone.
And that—
More than raw power—
Was what would decide the empire's future.