“Ah, it looks like they’ve finally left, huh?”
Aeliana turned her head toward Joaquin, who had suddenly appeared beside her in the garden of the Crimson Estate.
He sat down on the grass next to Aeliana, who lay sprawled, staring at the sky.
It had been three days since the first-years were expected back at the academy, but Azriel, Jasmine, and Nol had only departed an hour ago, accompanied by Amaya and Iryndra. Yelena and Lumine had already left earlier, not too eager to skip classes, though their departure carried no other pressing reason. Still, their brief visit had left a significant mark.
The two had each been awarded 100,000 velts—a reward for their courage in venturing into the void realm to save the Crimson King and for defending the castle at such a young age. However, anyone who looked closer would quickly realize it was Joaquin’s subtle way of drawing them toward the Crimson Army. By handing them a sum large enough to support two years of reckless spending, he’d ensured they’d feel an unspoken loyalty to the Crimson Clan.
Plus, they were already close with Joaquin and Aeliana’s children.
Unfortunately, Yelena and Lumine hadn’t met the Great King or Great Queen themselves—time had been against them. They’d barely had a day to recover before they were forced to return to the academy. After all, they had slept nearly 24 hours straight. That was how thoroughly exhausted they were.
“They’ve left…” Aeliana murmured, eyes fixed once more on the cloudless sky.
Joaquin, however, noticed the telltale flush of red spreading across her cheeks and ears. She was embarrassed—clearly.
The reason?
She kept remembering the day she had broken down, sobbing into her own son’s arms.
‘Gods, how humiliating!’
Her face burned further as the memory returned with clarity. She groaned inwardly, rolling onto her side to hide her expression.
‘Why did I lose control like that? I really am a pathetic mother…’
Since that day, Aeliana couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Azriel’s eyes without shame gnawing at her. Yet, despite it all, her son had only smiled kindly at her, reassuring her that he didn’t mind.
Thank the gods he hadn’t told anyone else!
Her husband, though, was another matter.
And what could possibly be worse?
The morning after her “incident,” she’d woken up to find both her son and husband sprawled in the study room, surrounded by countless empty bottles. They had drunk themselves to sleep.
A grumble escaped her lips as she recalled the sight.
‘Taking advantage of me being asleep to drink… What a terrible son and husband I have.’
At least Azriel had brought home a daughter—a cute one, at that—from the void realm. Daughters were, without a doubt, the best.
Aeliana nodded at the thought, the faint smile creeping onto her face.
Of course, she referred to Iryndra, whom Azriel had brought back and Jasmine, Aeliana’s precious, kind, talented, and obedient daughter.
Still, there was one aspect where Jasmine found herself lacking against Iryndra.
‘Not entirely lacking,’ Aeliana corrected herself. ‘When Jasmine was her age, she was probably also unmatched.’
But now, in the competition of sheer adorableness, Iryndra was a clear victor.
The next day, when Aeliana awoke from what had been the best sleep of her life, she’d found Iryndra. From the moment Aeliana laid eyes on her, she’d been utterly enchanted.
The little girl’s every movement, gesture, and expression radiated sweetness—so much so that Aeliana couldn’t resist pulling her into an embrace. Iryndra had spent the entire time at Aeliana’s side, seemingly overwhelmed by the unexpected attention.
To Aeliana, she was like a small, delicate cloud—impossibly soft and something she wanted to cling to forever.
Of course, Aeliana had wasted no time learning about Iryndra’s past. Azriel hadn’t known much either, though he had understood the little girl better than anyone else. The way he’d spoken of Iryndra’s loneliness, fear, and mistrust had left Aeliana awed.
Her son had a remarkable ability to see through people—to truly understand them.
And so, Aeliana had made it her mission to warm Iryndra’s heart, to show her the love she so clearly needed. Without hesitation, Aeliana adopted her into the Crimson Clan.
Princess Iryndra Crimson.
It hadn’t been made public yet, but the title was hers all the same.
Unfortunately, time had been against her once more. Aeliana hadn’t succeeded in fully opening Iryndra’s heart before the girl left for the academy. She envied the bond Azriel had formed with her already and, of course, the time Jasmine would have to grow closer to Iryndra in the days to come.
At least Aeliana would see them again during the Academy Festival before the Tournament of the Greats.
For now, Aeliana would simply have to be patient.
‘Iryndra Crimson…’
Her heart swelled at the thought. Aeliana wasn’t one to fall in love easily, but when it came to that little girl, she couldn’t help herself.
Nol, however… Nol was another story entirely.
Azriel had brought him back as well—a strange boy with silver hair and crimson eyes who had spent his entire life trapped in White Haven. Aeliana’s heart ached for him, just as it had for Iryndra.
And yet, Nol was different.
Where Iryndra sought connection, Nol seemed entirely uninterested in being treated like a child—much less like someone’s son. Instead, he was dedicated, almost obsessively so, to being Azriel’s servant. His right hand.
Aeliana was grateful for his loyalty but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of worry at the boy’s relentless devotion. Fortunately, Azriel seemed to treat Nol as more of a friend—or even a brother—than a servant. The relationship they shared was unlike any other in the Crimson Clan, and it fascinated Aeliana to no end.
A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, carried away by the breeze.
The day Azriel returned to them…
It had been the day her world regained its colors once again.
*****
Joaquin’s lips curved into a faint smile as he observed his wife’s back. His sharp eyes caught the telltale signs—the redness at the tips of her ears and the small, involuntary changes in her expression. To him, those subtle shifts were endearing.
“….”
It had hurt her deeply. Joaquin knew this better than anyone.
She had failed to protect her own child from suffering a fate worse than hers—a fate inflicted not by void creatures, but by humans.
The very thought ignited something dark within Joaquin. It simmered like an untamed inferno, begging for release.
It took everything—every ounce of restraint—for Joaquin not to turn the entire underground world upside down.
To slaughter every last member of Neo Genesis.
To tear the heads off the Heptarchs.
To finally smile when the Supreme Archon shed tears under the crushing weight of his vengeance.
But such desires were beyond his reach. He was bound, restrained by countless limitations, both political and personal. Even his trip to the Void Realm had only been possible after pulling far too many strings.
And the Supreme Archon…
The more Joaquin uncovered, the more enigmatic the figure became. Questions swirled endlessly around the man who founded Neo Genesis.
To make matters worse, it wasn’t just Neo Genesis. Skinwalkers, abominations even among void creatures, seemed to have ties to the organization.
This revelation unsettled Joaquin. The Supreme Archon wasn’t someone he could afford to underestimate.
One question loomed above all others:
Was the Supreme Archon a Saint—or a Sovereign?
The difference was everything. If the Supreme Archon was a Saint, Joaquin was confident he could handle him. But if he was a Sovereign…
The outcome would be uncertain, even for someone like Joaquin.
And then there was the most pressing mystery of all:
Why Azriel?
Joaquin knew his son was keeping secrets—not out of stubbornness, but perhaps because Azriel himself didn’t fully understand the truth.
Since Azriel awoke from his coma, Joaquin had noticed the greatest change in him. It wasn’t in his aura or demeanor but in his eyes.
Those crimson eyes.
They were clearer now—more mature. But beneath that clarity lay something unfathomably dark.
‘Azriel has been blessed by the God of Death… it’s not just pity. The God of Death has acknowledged my son as its own, meaning… he is now the son of Death. The Apostle of Death.’
And with that realization came another suspicion:
‘The Supreme Archon might be the same as Azriel.’
An Apostle. Though which god had claimed him remained unknown, it hardly mattered. Joaquin’s resolve was absolute—one way or another, he would kill the man.
But if the Supreme Archon truly was a Sovereign, Joaquin knew there was only one person he could consult.
‘Mother…’
The mere thought sent a shiver through his entire body. Meeting her was a prospect Joaquin hoped to avoid at all costs.
Shaking off the unsettling thought, he redirected his focus. Find more to read on empire
‘That damned church,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Its influence is spreading rapidly across Asia.’
He would have to act quickly to prevent them from discovering any connection between Azriel and the God of Death.
The God of Death wasn’t seen as inherently evil, but humanity feared it instinctively. Worship of such a god was rare, often branded as madness. The last thing Azriel needed was another target on his back.
Joaquin sighed inwardly.
‘I’m getting too old for this.’
Perhaps it was time to start preparing Jasmine for the responsibilities of becoming the next head. Someone had to take the mantle eventually.
He glanced at the sky, then back at his wife, who was now giggling softly to herself. The sight was oddly comforting. Ignoring her adorable behavior for the moment, he turned his gaze upward again.
The sky had been cracked for 150 years, ever since mana first poured into the world. But now, the crack had grown longer, though mana levels remained unchanged.
‘Why did it crack further? What does it mean?’
The questions were endless, even for a Great King. Joaquin often felt like a child fumbling for answers in the dark.
But there was one question—above all others—that haunted him day and night.
It was the reason he sought answers to everything else. The reason for his journey to the Sunken Islands.
His gaze lingered on the fractured sky, and his expression softened into something melancholic.
‘I wonder… what was it you discovered that got you killed… Father.’