[You had planned to take Nicholas II's family away from the Tsarist Empire from the very beginning. Though the monarchy and its emperor had become things of the past in this land, true severance could only be achieved through departure.]
[Anastasia voiced no objections to your decision.]
[You initially intended to bring her mother and sisters as well, but Alexandra refused.]
[She told you she was old and should die in the land where Nicholas II was buried.]
[Though she once sought intimacy with you, it was only because of the times. As Empress, she never intended to abandon the Emperor—not even now that the Empire was no more.]
[You looked at her—still elegant despite her age—and nodded. She was a remarkable woman.]
[Alexandra asked you to take her daughters and leave. Though reluctant, the princesses obeyed their mother's wishes.]
[In December 1917, you spent your final Christmas week in this country that was no longer the Tsarist Empire.]
[Looking out at the lively streets, you seemed to glimpse the country's bright future.]
[Everything returned to the beginning.]
[And your purpose was fulfilled.]
[In January 1918, Saint Petersburg's port bustled with traffic. Steam-powered ships roared like mythic dragons, spewing smoke as they departed. Amid the blaring horns, the former princesses bid farewell to their mother and boarded a cruise ship bound for the Far East.]
[You offered your final blessing to the Empress who remained behind.]
["Your life will be peaceful and healthy."
[Your words became truth.]
[Your voice became a magical blessing.]
['Do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.']
[Now, you could unleash even greater Mystery.]
The fate of Nicholas II's family remains a historical enigma.
Some say they perished with him. Others believe they changed names and lived in secrecy within the former Empire. Still others claim they followed Lucan Luvist—the most fearsome and wicked of men—away from the country.
I personally investigated.
All I found was an old babushka living in a Saint Petersburg convent, alone for decades.
She prayed every day.
For her deceased husband.
And more fervently, for family far away in a foreign land.
—From "An Investigative Report on the Fate of Nicholas II's Family"
"Is this the ship?"
"Keep a low profile—that man is dangerous. Several people have already disappeared aboard."
"We're Sealing Designation Enforcers. What's there to fear?"
A ship cutting through the sea.
Its steel hull cleaved through waves like silver ribbons. On the upper deck, wind howled. Inside the dim hallways, shadows whispered.
Three figures exchanged hushed words.
Each clutched a uniquely shaped Mystic Code, ready to strike.
But then a deeper voice emerged from the darker shadows behind them.
"Are you truly unafraid?"
The Enforcers froze. Their faces paled. They turned—too late.
A radiant burst of silver and pale blue consumed them.
The brilliance of Church miracles.
The force of Magecraft.
A fusion of both, mind-based sorcery bloomed as the unseen assailant spoke:
"Suffocate."
In a single instant, the Enforcers collapsed. Breath stolen, bodies fell silent in an unseen corner of the hallway.
The tall, handsome young man stepped forward as if brushing off dust.
Lucan Luvist gazed down at the corpses clad in black.
He shook his head.
Another batch of Church Executors and Clock Tower Sealing Enforcers. Ever since leaving the Empire, they'd come in waves.
But none were Burial Agency members. None were Lords.
They had underestimated him.
True, he no longer wielded the overwhelming force of godhood, but he was far from weak.
Against Lucan, now a fully-fledged magus, they were nothing.
Hands in his coat pockets, he strolled calmly away.
Gone were the days he needed to strain against mere Rasputin. Now, he bore the air of a true figure of power.
With a casual wave, the bodies disintegrated to dust.
Just like that, he erased all trace.
Through the corridor's windows, the vast ocean stretched to the horizon.
It had been nearly half a month since leaving the Empire.
Though Russia stretched from Europe to the Far East, Saint Petersburg lay on the western edge. Sailing from its port required a long detour through the Baltic and Arctic Seas.
Long—but not endless.
Fortunately, none of the princesses were seasick.
Lucan crossed the hallway and opened the door to the deck.
A blast of sea wind and dazzling sunlight greeted him.
And there, in the golden rays, stood a figure in a snowy white gown.
"Good morning, Anna," Lucan called.
The upper deck was quiet. Leaning against the railing, the nineteen-year-old former princess wore an angelic down gown. Her silver hair billowed in the breeze, her dress fluttered over her graceful form. She turned, pale blue eyes alight with joy.
"You're late today, Your Eminence," Anastasia teased, her lips curling like dew-kissed petals.
Her curves swayed as she turned. Lucan replied, "I took care of some... dust along the way."
"I've been playing janitor this whole trip. Once we arrive, I'm asking the captain for a discount."
"Your excuses are endless," Anastasia giggled, tucking windswept hair behind her ear as Lucan approached.
The bright sky bathed them in light.
This had become their daily ritual—a quiet moment together on the deck.
"So eager for a rendezvous?" Lucan asked shamelessly.
"And what do you think?" Anastasia shot back, unashamed. After all, they'd known each other for years.
Then she added, "Sleeping in is a bad habit. Olga and the others are still in bed—like pigs!"
"I know you're excited about your first voyage, but you have too much energy. And really, must you keep calling me 'Your Eminence'?"
"I may not be a princess anymore, but you'll always be my Eminence."
Her pale blue eyes stared intently at his face.
She had matured. Her voice was strong with conviction.
Lucan paused, then smiled.
"Fine. As you wish."
Just then, a great splash echoed over the waves.
A towering spout shot toward the heavens—a whale breaching.
They both turned to watch.
"No matter how many times I see it, the sea is beautiful," Anastasia said softly. "But… we're almost there, aren't we?"
"Yes," Lucan nodded. They were now above the Sea of Okhotsk.
Not far now.
"So, what's the Far East like?" she asked.
"Technically, it's called Japan," Lucan replied. "The scenery's lovely. Shame about the people."
"The people…?" she blinked, sensing something dark in his tone.
Lucan continued, "You're wondering why I chose it, aren't you?"
She nodded.
There were reasons.
Far from Europe's reach, Japan was untouched by the Church or Clock Tower.
It held land of great Mystery—Fuyuki.
More importantly, it was 1918.
Japan, now transformed, was gathering strength for a cruel war of conquest.
Lucan had come to interrupt that process.
To try—just once—to change the tide.
He had no grand ideals. But if he could prevent bloodshed, prevent disaster—he would try.
And beyond that...
"The people may be lacking," Lucan said, deadpan, "but the scenery's perfect—for a wedding."
"Wedding... That sounds... nice—wedding, w-wedding?!"
Anastasia's face flushed crimson.
"Your Eminence, you…"
"That's right."
Lucan met her eyes with quiet seriousness.
"When we reach the Far East, let's get married."
No ulterior motives.
No political gain.
Just a union.
As she always saw him as her Eminence,
He always saw her as the delicate, lovable princess he wanted to protect.
From friendship to love—how could it be anything but natural?