The d'Argêntea mansion garden was a living painting.
It was there that the young heirs rested after the diplomatic breakfast: some in meditative silence, others pretending to contemplate the sky, others simply… watching.
Ligia, however, had priorities.
Seated in an enchanted rocking chair, which swayed gently on its own, she rocked slowly while murmuring to the air.
"Hey, system... where's my webnovel? I need to know if the Reincarnated Girl in Sweatpants is actually going to seal the contract with the dragon or just faint again"
The system, lazily floating above an amber-colored camellia, spun once midair, yawning.
"You ask, I obey, Carmine Heir"
With a soft snap, the holographic screen appeared in front of Ligia, floating with grace.
She adjusted her sweatshirt, crossed her legs on the rocking chair, and dove into the text with the focus of someone studying the sacred art of escapism.
The morning passed slowly.
The heirs were distant from one another, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
The prince watched the leaves of a magical tree that changed color according to the observer's mood.
Elira walked in circles across the grass as if counting invisible steps.
Neran shaped small cubes in his hands, distracted.
Eliron… simply observed them all.
And Ligia read.
With a smile appearing and disappearing on her lips with every page.
Until the sound of the garden's side gates opening broke the calm with an enchanted whisper.
Michael entered first — wearing a modern, precisely tailored suit with small rune circuits woven into the dark fabric. His flawless posture made it seem like he had been sculpted to dominate any environment.
Selène appeared just behind, wearing a casual set in shades of white and gray with sapphire accents. The fabric shimmered slightly, as if woven from moonlight. Her platinum eyes reflected the morning like liquid mirrors, and her neatly braided hair fell like living silk over her shoulder.
Their presence made the heirs subtly raise their guard.
Elira was the first to react, gently but directly.
"Lady Selène, may I ask… where are your garments from? They aren't traditional imperial styles"
Selène smiled.
"We have a new designer in the family. Quite creative. Works with materials that challenge common taste… and delight the right eye"
Elira nodded with a reserved smile. But her eyes took in every detail.
Prince Caelion, with courtesy, asked the next question.
"And Dorian? I thought he would be here this morning"
Michael replied with the calm of someone who says just enough without saying too much.
"Dorian is with the Northern regiments. Some movements require his strategic attention"
Nothing more. But enough.
Meanwhile, Selène scanned the garden… and spotted her daughter.
Ligia's chair continued to sway gently. She was still immersed in her reading, eyes fixed on the webnovel's holography, utterly unaware of the real-world movement around her.
Selène smiled. A mother's smile — pure, warm.
She walked toward her daughter without rushing.
And then…
The webnovel screen vanished from the air, evaporating with a breath of invisible mana.
Ligia blinked. Looked at where the story had been. Looked at her hands. Then forward.
"Hey—" She turned her head slowly to the system floating nearby.
The holographic cat yawned, crossed its paws in the air, and lazily waved one toward something behind Ligia.
She turned.
And saw her mother walking toward her.
The surprise turned into an immediate smile.
Even though her heart still wanted to know if the protagonist kissed the dragon or not, Ligia smiled happily at the sight of Selène.
'Okay, I'll grab the system by the neck and demand answers later… but for now… mom'
She sat upright in the chair, her gaze softening, her shoulders relaxing.
Selène approached lightly, her platinum eyes glowing even more under the sunlight, and her smile was so pure that for a moment, it was easy to forget she was one of the sharpest minds in the imperial aristocracy.
Without a word, she knelt before Ligia's chair and wrapped her in a firm, warm embrace — like someone embracing a miracle.
"My little northern moon" she whispered gently "How are you? Did you sleep well? Or did your tiny brain decide to run a marathon overnight?"
Ligia stifled a laugh, hunching her shoulders in the hug, but didn't resist and buried her face in her mother's shoulder like a content child.
"I slept... maybe... almost... three hours" she replied with feigned innocence "But I survived, so that's already a win"
Selène pulled back just enough to look into her face, still holding her shoulders as if making sure her daughter was truly whole.
"And that dinner yesterday? I almost cast a social paralysis spell on the entire hall. You were splendid. But I know how heavy it was"
Ligia sighed theatrically, resting her head on her mother's hand.
"It was a five-act play that smelled like expensive wine and tension disguised as etiquette. But... I think I won round three"
Selène smiled with visible pride.
"You didn't win, my dear. You ruled. And... speaking of ruling..."
She stepped back a little and smoothed the cuffs of her outfit, twirling slightly to show it off.
"These clothes you designed for me... are perfect. Elira's eyes practically sparkled when she asked. Do you realize you just set a new imperial trend and didn't even notice?"
Ligia raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised.
"Oh... so now I'm an heir and a revolutionary fashion designer?"
Selène touched her daughter's nose with sweet affection.
"You're whatever you want to be, Ligia. Even if that's just... my stubborn girl who knows more than she lets on"
Ligia didn't answer.
She just smiled.
A real smile. No defenses.
Selène tucked a loose strand of her daughter's hair behind her ear and continued caressing her as if nothing else existed in the world.
And for a few moments… nothing else did.
But for Michael, the reality was different.
He observed the scene from a distance — his wife and daughter submerged in an ocean of affection and gentle touches, as if they were the only people in that garden.
He, on the other hand...
Was surrounded by heirs.
Four, to be exact.
All young. All observant.
Michael adjusted the lapel of his suit slightly, keeping his expression unshaken — but inside his chest, a quiet stiffness rose.
'I'm a war strategist, not a parlor tutor for aristocratic teenagers. But here we go'
With a subtle sigh, he turned toward the small circle of heirs seated under the shadows of magical apple trees.
Upon approaching, he stopped in front of Prince Caelion and offered a slight formal nod.
"Your Highness" he said in a deep, controlled voice "I assume the Emperor remains active in the Court?"
Caelion nodded respectfully, though his eyes reflected sharpened attention.
"Yes, Lord d'Argêntea. My father remains attentive to the reports about Eldrath. There are recent movements near the borders, and the War Council is debating discreet reinforcements"
Michael stayed silent for a moment.
Then, he spoke.
"If necessary... I will personally intervene in the diplomacy between Empires"
Caelion nearly let the surprise show.
Nearly.
But the pause in his breath and the slight tightening of his hand were enough signs.
Everyone knew: leaders of House d'Argêntea, after assuming the Carmine Lineage, did not get involved in external affairs. It was tradition. It was law.
It was… protection.
The prince responded with the calculated politeness of someone who had just witnessed an unexpected piece move across the board.
"I deeply appreciate that, Lord d'Argêntea. But, with respect... it would be wise to avoid such a step. The other Ducal Houses will not take it kindly"
Michael gave a subtle side-smile. Almost invisible.
Almost.
"They can try... if they don't mind vanishing from the history of the Empire"
The phrase landed with the weight of millennia behind it.
Caelion didn't respond verbally. He simply gave a single firm nod.
He didn't know the hidden archives.
He didn't know of the silent carmine wars won before they ever began.
Michael then shifted his gaze to Neran, who remained seated, arms crossed, his usual impassive stare.
"Is the Ferrosin lineage facing difficulties?" Michael asked, his voice less sharp now — but still precise.
Neran took a moment, then nodded with restrained honesty.
"Yes, sir. Some forges are... Resources are being diverted through strategic taxes... but we endure"
Michael raised an eyebrow as if he already knew — and he did.
"Coincidentally, I need new weapons for House d'Argêntea's army. Direct orders. Nothing with ballroom shine"
The words had barely left him when Neran's posture changed.
Almost imperceptible... but real.
His shoulders aligned. His spine straightened. And the voice that answered… sounded hopeful.
"It will be an honor to forge for the North again, Lord d'Argêntea. The forges will be ready. With fire enough to remind the Empire where the true sound of war comes from"
Michael gave a single nod.
"That's what I hoped to hear"
And then he turned, watching Selène still laughing quietly with Ligia, lost in their own world — and the system floated nearby, humming to itself.