Throughout the ride to the palace, Prince Josh sat silently behind Relia Amia.
Silent… but not still.
Every few breaths, she could feel the faint rise and fall of his chest against her back—a reminder that this was no ordinary child. Her heartbeat shifted unpredictably, fluttering like trapped wings. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to glance at him, refusing to acknowledge the strange heat crawling up her neck.
The other generals rode in deliberately stiff silence, each casting occasional sidelong glances at the prince and then quickly looking away. They all respected him—feared him, even—but none dared speak it aloud. Not here. Not while heading toward the palace of a king who wouldn't understand what rode among them.
As their caravan reached the outskirts of the capital, a shrill horn cut through the evening air.
FWOOMMMM!
A second horn followed. Then shouts. Then movement.
The alarm was raised—an honor reserved only for royalty and calamities.
Today, Sanaria feared it might be both.
Within the palace walls, King Sinnabad stood flanked by his chosen entourage:
Prince Chalibad—the eldest, the most disciplined, the sharpest mind among all over 2000 children, and the 14 distinguished crown princes.
Prince Novibad—the second eldest, unfettered, wild, and with a mouth that often needed washing.
Prince Delibad—the pragmatic strategist.
And beside them, the First Queen, Queen Fatilbad, regal and imposing.
"Father," Chalibad said, keeping his posture straight but his tone slightly tense, "the invited guests are nearing the main gate."
King Sinnabad's lips curled. Excitement? Ambition? Lust? No one could really tell where one ended and the other began.
"Ah," the king sighed dreamily, rubbing his large hands together, "it's time to expand the frontiers of the kingdom…"
He winked at Queen Fatilbad.
She visibly recoiled.
Her expression collapsed into disgust, and she turned away, pressing a hand to her forehead as if enduring an ancient curse.
Yet the king didn't notice. He never did.
Prince Novibad cleared his throat. "Uh, Father… small detail you may want to consider."
Everyone turned to him.
He continued, "I heard the child of this foreign queen doesn't play around with his mother. Rumor says every single man who approached her with romantic intentions either died, vanished, or is living a life so miserable they pray for death."
The hall murmured uneasily.
Queen Fatilbad whispered sharply, "And sins follow the lustful, Sinnabad. This is not another tavern girl to seduce."
Chalibad stepped forward, voice firm but respectful.
"Father, we must tread carefully. If the rumors are true, this woman's child is unlike anything our kingdom has ever seen."
Sinnabad frowned, waving a dismissive hand.
"A child? Five years old? How dangerous can he be? Bah."
But his oldest three children exchanged glances.
Because the rumors were not merely whispers.
They had heard the stories.
They had heard of the impossible strength, the unnatural clarity, the deaths…
And above all—
The constellation that appeared at his birth.
Prince Delibad finally spoke, adjusting his gloves.
"Father… this visiting queen is not like your wives. Her people are not like our people. And her son—if the stories are true—is either calamity or salvation."
Sinnabad opened his mouth to respond—
When another horn blasted through the air, closer this time, vibrating through the palace stones.
The queen and princes turned toward the massive gates.
The visitors had arrived.
And nothing in Sanaria would ever be the same again.
King Sinnabad's anxious frown melted away—slowly, unnervingly—until a wide, triumphant smile stretched across his face.
"Do you all remember," he began, voice trembling with giddy excitement, "the prophecy of the Sand Prophet?"
He reached for the hand of his First Queen, Fatilbad.
She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes, but she did not pull away. She had long accepted that resisting her husband only wasted precious energy.
"He said I must form an alliance… that I must handle the queen gently…" Sinnabad continued, gripping her hand as if the prophecy itself flowed through her skin. "He said when the time is right, she would come to me. And look—LOOK—are these not the exact events unfolding before our eyes?"
He laughed.
A braying, manic laugh that echoed across the marble hall.
Queen Fatilbad subtly wiped her hand on her robes the moment he let go, as if trying to erase his touch from existence.
But the king wasn't done.
"I will be the exception to those rumors," he declared proudly. "The prince of calamity—calamity, salvation, whatever he is—will accept ME."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into a disgusting whisper as his grin sharpened.
"And as for his foreign mother…"
He paused.
Then released a devilish, lecherous laugh.
"…she will be begging me for more in my private chambers."
All three princes looked away at once.
Prince Chalibad clenched his jaw.
Prince Delibad muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
Even the usually careless Movibad stared at the floor with disgust.
Their father was hopeless.
---
Moments later, they marched out to the grand courtyard—where the visitors awaited.
The blazing desert sun poured down upon Empress Lola, Prince Josh the Second, and the five generals who walked like weapons forged for war.
Naze the Blind Swordsman stood at the front, staff in hand, his very presence distorting the confidence of the palace guards.
Relia Amia walked beside Lola, gaze sharp despite her unsettled heart.
Conrad Stan's steps were heavy and unshakable, each one echoing power.
Shammah gripped his axe lightly, as if it weighed nothing at all.
Miko moved with quiet grace, eyes flicking to every shadow.
Together, they formed a wall—one no army in Sanaria could break.
But the strangest presence was the smallest one.
Prince Josh.
Five years old.
Silent.
Expressionless.
Yet somehow… heavier than all the generals combined.
As they approached, his demeanor shifted briefly—softening only when he drifted closer to Naze, the blind swordsman.
"Naze," he said quietly, slipping his hand into the man's. "Will you tell me more about Father?"
Naze stiffened.
He had grown used to these moments, these casual, almost familial conversations that never should have belonged to a five-year-old boy. At first, he thought it disrespectful. A child speaking so boldly, so knowingly.
But now…
Now he understood there was something deeper—something unexplainably familiar —behind the prince's gaze.
At times, Josh would tilt his head, smile a certain way, or ask a question whose weight belonged to a man of war, not a boy. And each time, Naze felt a strange chill.
A familiarity.
A memory.
A ghost.
If Naze knew the truth—that the soul of Emperor Josh Aratat himself lived inside that small body—his world would have shattered instantly.
Instead, he only tightened his grip on the prince's hand and whispered, "Of course… anything for you."
Together, they continued their approach toward the king who had already doomed himself.