The assassins' world changed in an instant.
Where once there had been spring's budding courtyard, now only a desolate white remained. Grass and stone vanished; even the sky itself disappeared, replaced by an endless snowfield. Snowflakes fell without end, blurring the horizon until there was no world beyond the storm.
They had lost their target.
One by one, they stopped—forced to halt, lost in the white.
But to Lucan and Anastasia, the world had not changed. Only Anna's eyes now saw something more—something wondrous. A tiny doll-like spirit floated in the air, radiant and straw-colored, its squeaky chatter cheerful.
"Chii, chiii!"
Anna's eyes widened. She looked between Lucan and the spirit. She remembered.
"You... you knew?" she asked, astonished. "You knew about the spirit I met when I was little?"
"I knew," Lucan said solemnly, "and yet... I didn't."
It was true. He knew the princess would form a bond with one of Russia's mythic spirits, becoming a rare wielder of their ancient power—a Spirit User. But in his timeline, that bond hadn't solidified until she was dying. By then, even the spirit couldn't save her.
But now, it seemed... she'd met it long ago—and forgotten.
Anna pouted. "That's such a vague answer..."
But she was smiling.
Her youthful face, framed by wind-blown silver hair, lit up completely. Her pale blue eyes met Lucan's with newfound boldness. The little spirit floated beside her, joyous and energetic.
Anna could feel it—the bond between them. It had always existed, dormant, buried beneath time. And now, its power reached out into the world.
The assassins frozen around the garden were caught in an illusion, trapped in the spirit's conjured blizzard.
She had always been special.
And now she knew it.
"Your Holiness," Anna whispered, "now that I've awakened... can I stand by your side?"
Lucan nodded.
A Spirit User—in this age, a miracle.
Spirits were remnants of the Age of Gods, nature incarnate. Their power had faded, their presence nearly gone. Yet they still symbolized the oldest Mysteries of the planet—gods in all but name. And those who wielded their power... were forces unto themselves.
This wasn't a matter of Anna catching up to Lucan.
He wondered if he could even keep up with her.
For now, she was just beginning. But the strength was real. And her happiness? Unmistakable.
She smiled.
Brightly, beautifully.
She looked at Lucan—the handsome, sharp, slightly shameless man she had known for years.
Her heart pounded.
Confidence from her newfound power surged within her.
She remembered so much. Their first encounter. Their moments at banquets. Their hours in the library. Her feelings had long since become clear.
Lucan was...
Handsome. Brilliant. Wise.
Kind yet mysterious. Down-to-earth, yet destined.
Her lips quivered.
Lucan tilted his head. "What's that look—"
She silenced him.
With a kiss.
Silver hair fluttered. White dress billowed.
Just like before, when she teased him, she now pulled him close. Arms wrapped around his neck. Lips warm. Chest pressed close.
This time, there was no retreat.
"This time," she whispered, breathless, "you must take responsibility."
Lucan blinked.
"Shouldn't you be responsible for me?" he smirked, hands circling her waist.
His touch sent warmth up her spine. Fingers dipped beneath her gown's hem, caressing soft curves. But Anna didn't flinch.
She met his eyes.
"I will take responsibility," she said.
"My power... from today on... is yours too."
The spirit twirled in the air.
Lucan felt it immediately—a connection forming between him and the spirit, funneled through Anna's awakened bond. Her contract extended to him.
She had become a Spirit User.
And he, through her, now shared that sacred power.
"This was your goal all along, wasn't it?" she asked sweetly. "You never do anything without benefit, Your Holiness."
Lucan didn't deny it.
He had waited for this.
Waited for her to awaken. For the spirit's return. For the key to unlock what came next.
Anna had realized it all on her own. She didn't understand politics, but she understood him.
And she didn't mind.
Because she wanted to help him.
She wanted to stand beside him.
And in that moment, as Lucan looked at her radiant, determined face—he felt something new.
Something tender.
Something dangerous.
She was beautiful.
"Then be my eyes, Anna," he said.
She nodded. "I will be your eyes—my Holiness."
Sunlight poured over them.
But far from their gaze, the spirit's illusion spread—wind and snow cascading across all of Moscow.
The assassins collapsed, limbs stiff and breath frozen.
In broad daylight, their corpses lay dusted in hoarfrost.
This was the spirit's power—the power of wind and snow.
The power of the unseen eye.
And Lucan would use it.
He would find the final enemies in his path—the old nobles and corrupt ministers.
He would root them out.
And he would kill them all.
In the final years of the Tsardom, during Nicholas II's reign, an event shook the empire: The Crimson Night.
Over one night, every noble who had opposed Lucan Luvist perished. Though it was spring, the bodies were cold—frozen, as if touched by winter's wrath.
Rumors swirled: plague? Dark sorcery? All theories fell short.
After that night, no force could stand against Lucan.
He became a true dictator.
Feared above even the Tsar himself.
—The Fall of the Russian Empire: 1855–1917