The Empire was in an uproar.

It had been days since the announcement, and the chaos showed no sign of fading. Emperor Aldric Valerion, the ruler of the Human Domain, was throwing a grand gala for his daughter’s eighteenth birthday.

Every noble house had received an invitation. Every important family was making preparations to attend. The capital, Astra Prime, was drowning in a flood of arriving guests, their luxury cars clogging the streets and their servants scrambling for lodging.

But the gala was not the only thing fueling the chaos.

There was a rumor. A whisper that had started in the shadows of the noble courts and spread like wildfire across every communication platform in the Empire.

The Astra-net was ablaze.

The Astra-net was the world’s information web, a vast network woven from ambient mana that connected every corner of the Human Domain. It allowed instant communication across thousands of miles, hosted public forums where anyone could share their thoughts, and served as the primary source of news, gossip, and political discourse.

Every mana-link device, those sleek obsidian slabs that looked like glass but hummed with magical energy, was a gateway to the Astra-net. Press your thumb to scan your unique Mana Signature, and the world opened before you.

And right now, everyone on the Astra-net was talking about one thing.

The Emperor is not just celebrating his daughter’s birthday.

He wants to show off the new hero.

He wants to marry his daughter to Arthur Vale.

The rumors spread faster than truth ever could. They were discussed in noble salons and common cafes, debated on mana-link forums and shouted across market squares. The Astra-net, that vast web of mana that connected every corner of the Human Domain, was choked with messages.

[Astra-Net — Public Forum — Trending Topics]

@NobleWatcher_99: "Heard the Emperor is marrying off the princess to secure the hero’s loyalty. Classic political move."

@SwordsAndSarcasm: "The princess is literally turning 18. Let her breathe. She’s not a bargaining chip."

@RoyalTeaSpiller: "My cousin works in the palace. Says the princess hasn’t left her room in days. She’s furious."

@HeroStan_Arthur: "If the hero marries the princess, that’s literally the best thing for the Empire. Shut up, all of you!"

@SlumdogMage: "Rich people problems. Meanwhile, I can’t afford bread."

@ConspiracyCores: "What if the princess is already in love with someone else? What if it’s a commoner? What if—"

@RealityCheck: "What if you touch grass?"

The rumors spread and the people talked. The Astra-net burned.

...And in the heart of the Imperial Palace, the princess who was the subject of all this chaos was not handling it well.

_

The Valerion Palace was a masterpiece of architecture—towering spires of white stone, windows of stained glass that caught the sunlight and scattered it into rainbows, gardens that stretched for acres, filled with flowers from every corner of the world.

But inside the princess’s personal quarters, there was no sunlight.

The room was dark. The heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out the afternoon light. The only illumination came from the soft blue glow of a mana-link device held by a figure sprawled across a massive four-poster bed.

The room was a strange contrast.

It was clearly a princess’s chamber—ornate furniture, silk sheets, a vanity table covered in expensive perfumes and jewelry. But there were also books stacked on the floor, technical manuals on mana theory, old scrolls about sword techniques, and a half-assembled mana engine sitting on the desk in the corner.

The scent of lavender and old parchment hung in the air.

And on the bed, lying face-down with her legs kicking absently in the air, was Princess Cordelia Valerion.

Her strawberry-blonde hair was a mess, spilling across the pillow in tangled waves. She wore an oversized grey hoodie and comfortable pants—no silk gown, no crown, no pretense. She was scrolling through her mana-link, her emerald eyes scanning the Astra-net with growing irritation.

Another rumor. Another thread. Another thousand strangers discussing her future as if she were a piece on a chessboard.

@RoyalRomance: "The hero and the princess would make such a cute couple. Imagine their children. Golden eyes and strawberry hair. Wouldn’t they be adorable?"

Cordelia’s eye twitched.

@PoliticalPundit: "This is clearly a power play. The Emperor is securing the hero’s loyalty before the Astra Union can claim him."

She gritted her teeth.

@TrashTalker: "The princess is lucky. I’d marry a hero any day. Too bad I’m not royalty."

@HonestOpinion: "She’s not lucky. She’s being sold off like cattle. There’s a difference."

@FlowerCrownPrincess: "Has anyone actually seen the hero? Is he hot? Asking for a friend."

@AnsweringForAFriend: "The friend is you."

@FlowerCrownPrincess: "...Maybe."

Cordelia’s face turned red. Not from embarrassment—from pure, unbridled rage. "WHO IS WRITING THESE ABSURD THINGS?!"

She sat up so fast her head spun. Her hands gripped the mana-link like she wanted to strangle it. Her emerald eyes blazed with fury.

"’Adorable couple’? ’Sold off like cattle’? ’Is he hot’?! I’LL KILL THEM ALL! I’LL FIND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE AND I WILL—"

She stopped herself and took a breath and threw her mana-link across the room. The device bounced off a stack of books and landed softly on the rug. Cordelia fell back onto the bed, grabbed her pillow, and hugged it to her chest like a lifeline.

She buried her face in the soft fabric and screamed. Muffled, frustrated and tired. The room fell silent except for her ragged breathing. She stared at the dark ceiling, her emerald eyes wet with unshed tears.

Is Father really going to marry me off to some stranger...?

She hugged the pillow tighter.

I don’t care if he’s a hero. I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met. I want to be a knight. I want to protect people. I want to fight for something that matters.

She thought about her elder brother, the Crown Prince. He had always supported her dreams. When she said she wanted to train with a sword instead of learning embroidery, he had found her the best instructor in the capital. When she said she wanted to study mana theory instead of attending tea parties, he had filled her room with books.

But even Lucius can’t stop the Emperor.

The light flicked on.

Cordelia flinched and squinted against the sudden brightness. The shadows retreated to the corners of the room, revealing the figure standing in the doorway.

He was tall, with the same strawberry-blonde hair as his sister, though his was cut short and styled neatly. His eyes were emerald green, sharp and intelligent, and his jaw was strong, built for commanding armies and making difficult decisions.

He wore a simple tunic and pants—no crown, no royal regalia, just a man visiting his little sister.

Crown Prince Lucius Valerion.

He stepped into the room and immediately frowned. His gaze swept over the chaos—the books on the floor, the half-assembled mana engine on the desk, the mana-link lying abandoned on the rug.

"...Cordelia," he said softly, "no one would believe that the Empire’s most beautiful jewel is actually a nerd who lives in a nest of books and old scrolls."

Cordelia pulled the blanket over her head, leaving only her face visible. Her emerald eyes glared at him from the shadows of the fabric. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Turn off the light, brother," she said.

"No."

"Brother!"

"No." He walked further into the room, stepping over a stack of books, and sat down on the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Cordelia shifted slightly, still clutching her pillow.

He looked at her. There were dark circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and her fingers gripped the pillow like she was afraid it would be taken from her.

His expression softened.

"...They’re talking about you," he said quietly. "The whole Empire. The whole Astra-net."

"I know." Her voice was small.

"Are you alright?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I don’t want to marry him, brother. I don’t care if he’s a hero. I don’t care if he’s the Goddess’s Chosen One. I don’t want to be sold off like some prize to secure an alliance."

Lucius was silent. Cordelia pulled the blanket down slightly, just enough to show her eyes. They were sad.

"Is it true?" she asked. "Is Father going to marry me off to Arthur Vale?"

Lucius looked at her for a long moment. Then he sighed.

"...Father wants to. He sees Arthur as an asset, a weapon that needs to be bound to the Empire. And marriage is the strongest bond he can offer."

Cordelia’s grip tightened on the pillow.

"But," Lucius continued, "nothing has been decided yet. The gala is in a few days. Father wants to introduce you to Arthur, to see if there’s... compatibility."

"Compatibility." Cordelia’s voice was flat. "You mean he wants to see if I can tolerate being married to a stranger for the sake of the Empire."

Lucius didn’t deny it.

"I will talk to Father," he said. "I will make him understand that you are not a bargaining chip. You are his daughter. His only daughter. And your happiness should matter more than politics."

Cordelia looked at him. Her eyes were wet.

"You promise?" she whispered.

Lucius reached out and ruffled her messy hair. His hand was warm, and his smile was gentle. "I promise, little sister."

Cordelia sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she sat up, threw the blanket aside, and wrapped her arms around her brother’s waist. "Thank you," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

Lucius hugged her back. "Now," he said, "will you please clean this room? It looks like a goblin lives here."

Cordelia pulled back and glared at him while sticking out her tongue. "I’ll have you know this is a highly organized chaos."

Lucius laughed.

The tension in the room eased, replaced by the warmth of siblings who had always been each other’s closest allies.

_

Meanwhile, in the Holy Kingdom of Sanctyra, the afternoon sun painted the Grand Cathedral in shades of gold and amber while the towering spires cast long shadows across the marble courtyards.

The stained glass windows blazed like jewels set into stone—beautiful in the way that belonged on postcards and in history books, the kind of beauty that Arthur Vale had learned to appreciate but never quite love.

He was sitting on a stone bench in the private garden behind the cathedral, his back pressed against the cool wall and his legs stretched out in front of him while his golden eyes stared up at the sky with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical fatigue.

The garden was small but well-tended, with flowering bushes that filled the air with a sweet fragrance and a small fountain that murmured softly in the background, peaceful and quiet in a way that was supposed to help him think.

But his mind was anything but quiet.

The past few months had been chaos for him.

A lot of ceremonies and speeches, meetings with bishops and cardinals who all wanted something from him, and training sessions that left his muscles screaming and his mana reserves empty.

The Church wanted a symbol to rally the faithful, the nobles wanted an ally they could control, and the common people wanted a savior who would fix all their problems with a wave of his hand. Everyone wanted something, and Arthur was tired of being wanted.

I didn’t ask for this, he thought as he ran a hand through his jet-black hair, pushing it back from his face. I never asked for any of this.

But that didn’t matter to the world.

The Goddess had chosen him as her Apostle, and the world had decided that made him a hero whether he liked it or not.

He still remembered the moment when he met the Goddess in his trial. She had appeared before him in the trial, the golden light that had burned away the darkness, the warmth that had chased away the cold, the eyes that held galaxies and sorrow and something that looked almost like guilt.

She had called him her chosen, her apostle, her sword.

She had promised he would never be alone. But standing in the garden, surrounded by rumors and expectations and the crushing weight of being the world’s hero, Arthur had never felt more alone in his entire life.

Suddenly, a cold can pressed against his cheek, and Arthur flinched before turning his head to find Amelia Nightshade standing beside him.

Her midnight-blue hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that swayed in the afternoon breeze, and her silver-violet eyes were sparkling with that familiar mix of amusement and concern that she always wore when she looked at him.

She was holding a cold drink in her hand, condensation beading on the metal surface, and her lips were curved in a small, teasing smile that made his chest feel lighter just by seeing it.

"You looked like you were about to die of boredom," she said as she pressed the can harder against his cheek. "Figured I’d save you before you turned into a statue and the Church had to explain why their precious hero fossilized in the garden."

Arthur took the can from her and pressed it against his forehead, the cold spreading through his skin and easing the headache that had been building behind his eyes all afternoon. "Thanks," he said, and meant it.

Amelia sat down beside him on the bench, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and opened her own drink with a soft crack of metal. She took a long sip before leaning back and looking up at the sky, her silver-violet eyes tracing the clouds as they drifted past. "So...," she said, her voice light and teasing, "the whole Empire is talking about you."

Arthur groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. "Please don’t."

"The princess," Amelia continued, counting on her fingers with exaggerated seriousness,"the gala, the marriage rumors, the fact that you’re apparently going to sweep her off her feet and marry her in a grand ceremony before living happily ever after in the Imperial Palace. Oh, and the people on the Astra-net have already named your children, by the way. Three boys and two girls. They’ve even written romantic stories about you two. With illustrations."

Arthur turned to stare at her, his face caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. "They what?"

Amelia nodded solemnly, though her eyes were dancing with barely suppressed laughter. "There are fan pages, Arthur. Dedicated to you and a princess you’ve never even met. People are discussing your future children’s hair colors like it’s a matter of national security."

"I’m going to be sick," he said, pressing the cold can against his face again.

"Don’t be dramatic." Amelia took another sip of her drink, her silver-violet eyes never leaving his face. "It’s just the Astra-net. No one actually believes that stuff."

"The Astra-net is literally a web of mana that connects the entire Empire and serves as the primary source of news and gossip for millions of people."

"...Okay, so maybe some people believe it." She shrugged, unbothered. "But who cares what strangers think? They don’t know you."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling into his chest. She was right, of course. But that didn’t make the stares and the whispers and the endless expectations any easier to bear.

"...I don’t want to go to this gala," he said finally, his voice tired.

"Too bad for you then." Amelia’s voice was firm. "The Holy Kingdom is sending you as their representative. The Emperor invited you personally. If you don’t go, it’s a diplomatic insult that could strain relations between the Empire and the Church."

He clicked his tongue. "I know."

"Then stop complaining."

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at her. The afternoon light caught the silver-violet of her eyes and made them shimmer like gemstones. "I’m not complaining," he said. "...I’m just tired."

Amelia was quiet for a moment, her expression softening as she studied his face.

Then she shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against his, her warmth seeping through his clothes and grounding him in a way that nothing else could. "I know you’re tired," she said quietly. "But you can’t stop now. Too many people are counting on you."

Arthur didn’t answer, not with words.

He just leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her presence chase away the cold that had settled into his bones. The fountain murmured in the background, the wind rustled the leaves of the flowering bushes, and for a moment, the world felt almost bearable.

They sat like that for a while, the afternoon sun warming their skin and the silence stretching between them like a comfortable blanket. It wasn’t the kind of silence that needed to be filled with words. It was the kind of silence that existed between people who knew each other well enough that words weren’t always necessary.

Then Amelia spoke, her voice light and teasing in a way that made Arthur’s heart skip. "...So," she said, "are you going to marry the princess?"

Arthur’s head snapped up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "What?!"

"Just asking." Amelia shrugged, but there was something in her eyes now, something sharp and dangerous that made Arthur’s mouth go dry. "She’s beautiful, I hear. Strawberry-blonde hair, emerald green eyes, the Empire’s most precious jewel. The whole package, really."

"I don’t care what she looks like."

"No?"

"I’ve never met her. I don’t know her. I’m not going to marry someone just because the Emperor wants me to." He paused, his golden eyes holding hers. "That’s not how any of this works."

Amelia studied him for a long moment. Then she smiled, a small and genuine smile that made Arthur’s chest feel tight. "Good answer," she nodded.

Arthur frowned. "Were you testing me?"

"Who knows." She shrugged. "There are going to be a lot of girls at that gala, Arthur. Noble daughters and foreign princesses and women who see you as a prize to be won rather than a person to be known. They’re going to throw themselves at you, and you’re going to have to be polite about it because that’s what the Church expects from their precious hero."

"I’m not a prize," Arthur said, his voice flat.

"No, you’re not." Her voice was softer now, the teasing edge fading into something more sincere. "But that won’t stop them from trying."

"What about you?" he asked.

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Would you try?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications neither of them was ready to fully acknowledge. The fountain murmured, the wind rustled the leaves, and Amelia’s smile faded into something more serious, more vulnerable than anything Arthur had seen on her face before.

"I don’t have to try," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "...I’m already here."

Arthur’s heart pounded in his chest, loud enough that he was sure she could hear it. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but she cut him off by pressing her cold drink against his cheek.

"Drink your beverage," she said, her voice light again, though her cheeks were faintly pink. "You’re getting all sappy, and it’s embarrassing to watch."

Arthur laughed, a real laugh that came from somewhere deep in his chest and surprised even him. "You started it. You asked me if I was going to marry the princess."

"It was just casual curiosity."

Amelia stuck out her tongue, and Arthur shook his head, still laughing.

The tension between them eased, replaced by the familiar comfort of their friendship, but beneath that comfort, something else lingered—something unspoken, something that both of them felt but neither of them was ready to name.

They finished their drinks in comfortable silence as the sun sank lower in the sky, painting the garden in shades of orange and pink that reflected off the marble walls of the cathedral. The shadows grew longer, and the air grew cooler, and Arthur found himself not wanting the moment to end.

But eventually, Amelia stood up and stretched, her arms reaching toward the sky and her shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of pale skin that Arthur definitely did not stare at. "I have to go train,"

she said, her voice carrying that familiar note of determination that he had come to admire. "My father hired a new instructor. Apparently, I’m not progressing fast enough for his liking. Besides, the academy is also starting soon."

Arthur stood up as well, his muscles protesting after sitting still for so long. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No." She shook her head, her ponytail swaying with the motion. "You have your own training to do, and besides, you need to rest." She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of flowers in her hair. "You look terrible, Arthur. Dark circles under your eyes, pale skin, the whole tragic hero aesthetic. It’s not a good look."

"Thanks for the honesty."

"You’re welcome."

She reached up and fixed his collar, her fingers brushing against his neck in a touch that was light and almost accidental but sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine anyway. "There are going to be a lot of beautiful women at that gala," she said, her voice soft and teasing. "Try not to fall for any of them."

Arthur caught her hand before she could pull it away, his fingers wrapping around hers. "What if I already have?"

Amelia’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink, and her silver-violet eyes went wide. "Arthur..."

He didn’t think. He just acted. He leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft and slow, nothing like the rushed kisses they had shared before. It was just the press of his lips against hers, gentle and uncertain, a question more than a statement. When he pulled back, his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, and Amelia’s face was flushed, her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted.

"...Arthur," she whispered again, and this time his name sounded different on her tongue. Softer and warmer.

"I... I’m sorry," he said quickly, his face burning. "I shouldn’t have—"

Amelia grabbed his collar and pulled him back down before he could finish his sentence.

This kiss was longer, slower and deeper. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and his hands found her waist, and the world around them faded into nothing.

The fountain, the garden, the cathedral, the weight of expectations and duties and responsibilities—all of it disappeared, leaving only the two of them and the warmth of each other’s presence.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard, and Amelia’s cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright, and Arthur thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

"Don’t apologize for that," Amelia said, her voice slightly hoarse. "Ever."

Arthur nodded slowly.

Amelia stepped back, smoothing down her shirt and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were still pink, but her eyes were clear and steady, and there was a small smile on her lips that made Arthur’s chest ache.

"Now," she said, "I’m going to go train. You’re going to rest. And tonight, we’re going to talk about what just happened." She pointed a finger at his chest, her expression stern despite the lingering flush on her cheeks. "And if you try to avoid me, I will find you. You know I will."

Arthur smiled slightly. "I wouldn’t even dream of it."

Amelia’s smile widened, that made Arthur’s heart skip. "Good."

She turned to leave, her hair swaying with each step, but before she reached the garden path, she paused and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Oh, and Arthur?" she said, her eyes glinting. "If any of those noble girls try to dance with you at the gala, remember that I have a staff and I know how to use it."

Then she was gone, disappearing around the corner of the cathedral with a laugh that echoed through the garden like music.

Arthur sat back down on the bench and stared at the sky. The sun was setting, painting the clouds in shades of orange and red and gold, and the first stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky.

He touched his lips with his fingers and smiled.

For the first time since the Goddess had chosen him, Arthur Vale felt something other than exhaustion and duty.

He felt happiness.