The door slid open with a quiet chime—one that felt far too gentle for the storm of emotions about to enter.

  The Folkan prince stepped into the medical chamber, eyes wide with dread and confusion, his royal garments slightly wrinkled from rushing. His gaze locked instantly onto Kiana's still form—so perfect, so soft—laid like fallen snow upon the med-bed.

  “No...” he breathed out, stumbling forward. “She... she said yes... to the dance...”

  He reached for her hand, trembling fingers brushing hers like she might vanish if he held too tight.

  Vermond stood on the other side, arms crossed, unreadable.

  The prince didn’t even notice him—his eyes were full of Kiana.

  “Who would do this?” the prince whispered, voice cracking. “Why her? She was so kind... so beautiful... innocent...”

  On the private channel, Jard’s voice broke through, heavy with guilt but tinged with amusement.

  “Damn… I feel bad for the prince. He’s already fallen too deep.”

  Vermond didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Watching the prince fall apart over Kiana's act stirred something strange inside him—something possessive.

  Still pretending, Kiana’s body didn’t move. But Vermond could feel it, deep in the bond they shared.

  She was enjoying this.

  And he hated how good she was at it.

  The prince knelt beside her now, holding her hand to his cheek like it was sacred.

  “I’ll find who did this,” he swore through clenched teeth. “I’ll bring them to justice. For you, Kiana.”

  And still, she remained perfectly still—lips parted softly, chest unmoving, the very image of tragic beauty.

  A perfect piece on the board.

  Minutes ticked by.

  The silence that lingered after the prince left was almost reverent, like the room itself held its breath.

  Then Jard’s voice sliced through the quiet on their private channel, low and steady.

  “The Super Capital Citadel is now within good warping range. Everything’s set, Vermond.”

  Vermond exhaled, finally allowing his posture to relax. He turned to Kiana—still playing the lifeless role with terrifying perfection. Her skin looked like porcelain under the sterile lights.

  He stepped closer, leaned down slightly, and whispered, “You’re too good for this, Kiana...”

  And then, without thinking, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

  It was supposed to be gentle. Brotherly. A silent compliment for her performance.

  But the moment he pulled back—

  Kiana’s eyes snapped open.

  Before he could react, her hands shot up, cupping his face, and without hesitation—

  She kissed him.

  Hard.

  Fierce.

  Like every ounce of control she held onto earlier had shattered.

  Vermond’s eyes widened, stunned, his mind short-circuiting in those few heated seconds. Her lips moved with passion, with need, as if she’d waited forever for this exact moment.

  Then—his instincts kicked in.

  He broke the kiss suddenly, pulling back fast, stumbling to his feet like he’d touched fire.

  “Wh–what are you doing?” he managed, voice slightly hoarse.

  Kiana, still laying there, slowly licked her bottom lip and smiled like a goddess pretending to be innocent.

  “You kissed me first, babe,” she whispered.

  On the private channel, Jard’s voice returned—

  “…I’m not saying anything. But damn."

  Vermond stood near the viewing panel of the medical facility, eyes half-closed, deep in thought as he tapped into the secure private channel.

  “Erie, Renn, Ruen, Mon, Jard—” he began, tone calm, focused. “You’re all in position at the Citadel, right?”

  Erie’s voice came in first, dry as ever:

  “We’ve been waiting. Give the word.”

  Renn gave a quiet chuckle.

  “Old bones still move, don’t worry.”

  Ruen added with that cold stillness.

  “Ready for anything.”

  Mon’s voice was sweet, but that underlying intensity was there. “Just say it. We’ll paint the stars with it.”

  And then Jard. “Systems are running. Cloak holding. We're invisible, orbiting at the outer shadow of their moon. What’s the play?”

  Vermond glanced at Kiana, who looked like she was still pretending to rest, but her lips curled as his voice echoed in her ear through the link.

  He replied softly, “We stay still. For now, let them act.” He turned his back to the window, folding his arms. “No movement. No interference. Let the Folkan Council think they’re ahead. We observe. The Citadel stays cloaked in orbit—silent, watching.”

  There was a long pause. Then Kiana’s voice came in—gentle, teasing, and deadly calm. “Babe... you’re sounding more and more like a king.”

  Vermond smiled just faintly. “Only because you’re already the queen.”

  Mon muttered in the background. “Okay, I’m stabbing something later.”

  Jard laughed.

  “Plan accepted. No movement until further orders. Super Capital Citadel is in ghost mode.”

  Vermond’s voice came through the private comm again, calm but curious.

  “Jard. Update me. How many ships have we constructed today?”

  A pause, then Jard replied with a tired but proud sigh.

  “No battleships today,” he said, “but while we’ve been orbiting, I finished production on a batch of small white interceptors. Agile, fast, silent. I designed them myself—Mon provided the exotic alloys and stealth fiber mesh. Beautiful things. They glide more than fly.”

  Erie’s voice cut in after a moment, deep and amused from the Citadel’s bridge:

  “They’re almost too elegant to kill with... almost. I’ve already deployed them around the Citadel for perimeter defense. No one’s slipping through.”

  Ruen added with his usual cold simplicity, “Their formation mimics star clusters. Even scanners would miss them.”

  Vermond let out a quiet hum of approval, his fingers tracing the inside of his coat thoughtfully.

  “Good. Keep refining them. I want us to remain ghosts...”

  A faint chuckle from Jard.

  “You’re starting to sound like her.”

  Mon’s soft voice came in with a smile.

  “He’s learning.”

  Meanwhile..

  While the Folkan King rode silently in his private hunting vessel, thoughts of Kiana still lingered like a fragrance—light, disarming, and impossible to resist. His fingers gripped the polished rifle, but his aim wavered. The girl had clouded his mind.

  Elsewhere, Councilor Vael sat at his desk, eyes scanning ancient records, fingers trembling as if they still felt her warmth. Too innocent… too dangerous, he thought.

  Back inside the guest room…

  Vermond leaned against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching Kiana with soft suspicion and a trace of heat in his eyes. She stood by the door, and with a deliberate click, locked it. Her steps toward him were slow, quiet, her white skirt brushing her legs.

  Without a word, she placed her hands on his chest and gently pushed him back until he was seated. Her voice came as a whisper.

  “Don’t move, babe.”

  Vermond blinked, startled, even nervous for the first time in weeks. “Kiana...?” he began, but she was already on him, lowering him to the bed.

  Then—

  “You two really want to do this while I’m literally watching sensors?” Jard’s voice echoed through the private channel. Deadpan. Embarrassed.

  “I don’t care,” Kiana said aloud, her tone bold, eyes glinting with fire. She leaned in closer.

  But Vermond suddenly rolled, and now he was on top of her. Kiana blinked up in surprise as his arms pinned hers down gently, his breathing uneven. Their faces close.

  From the Citadel, Erie coughed audibly through the comm.

  “…Are we watching a romance holofilm?” Mon asked in a hushed, flustered voice.

  Vermond’s grip tightened, his voice low and intense.“You didn’t see anything.”

  And with that, he disabled the visual feeds from their room—cutting them off completely.

  Silence filled the channel, then Erie muttered,

  “...I hate him and respect him at the same time.”

  And Mon quietly agreed, her cheeks still red.

  Meanwhile.

  Vael sat alone in his chamber—once a stoic monument of wisdom and silence, now haunted by a smile. That smile... her smile. Kiana’s sleepy expression, the softness of her voice, the warmth when she called him grandpa... it had all seeped into him like a poison he didn’t want cured.

  He tried to focus. Holoscreens flickered in front of him, displaying data about trade routes, pirate threats, and internal politics. His mind should’ve been on the volatile negotiation with the outer sectors. It wasn’t.

  Instead, his eyes drifted to the small bracelet around his wrist.

  The leaf bracelet Kiana had made for him.

  He stared at it.

  Then, like a man possessed, Vael suddenly stood. His long coat swayed with force as he crossed the room and opened a hidden drawer. Inside—dusty, untouched—was a small carved box. He opened it. Inside were keepsakes from his youth, medals, a faded photo of his late daughter, and a half-finished music box.

  He set the box aside.

  “She reminds me too much of her...”

  His trembling hand went to activate his comms—then stopped.

  “No... if this is her game, I must understand the player.”

  He turned on a secure tracking feed. A dozen silent drones had already been dispatched by his authority. He would watch her. Learn her patterns. Study her like a scholar studies ancient riddles.

  And yet… even as he watched, he felt it.

  He didn’t want to protect the kingdom from her.

  He wanted to protect her.

  Vael sat back down heavily, exhaling like a man defeated by something far stronger than war.

  A girl’s smile.

  Minutes then ticked by..

  The door slid open softly, barely a whisper in the quiet hum of the medical facility.

  Vael entered with slow, deliberate steps, his cane tapping lightly against the smooth floor. The guards saluted but said nothing—his presence carried weight that silenced even protocol.

  There she was.

  Kiana.

  So still… too still. A gentle breathing mechanism hissed beside her. Monitors blinked with simulated concern. Her eyes closed, her skin pale beneath the soft white medical lights. The bandage on her head—a carefully placed prop—still stained with a small smear of red.

  Vael moved closer, one trembling hand reaching to hover above her forehead, but he didn’t touch. His fingers curled back.

  Vermond stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed, posture straight... but his eyes lowered. He had planned this. He had crafted this play. But he hadn’t counted on this part.

  Not on him.

  Vael’s lips parted as he sat down beside the bed. His voice was rough, older than his years.

  “I’ve lost many in my life… too many.” His eyes never left Kiana’s face. “But I never expected… to care for someone again.”

  Vermond’s throat tightened.

  “She reminds me of my daughter,” Vael continued, voice thin, cracking. “Same defiant light. Same laugh. She would sneak into my study and say the world was boring unless someone beautiful made it brighter.”

  He gave a trembling smile, watery and full of ache. “And now here you are. Calling me grandpa. Giving me bracelets. Falling asleep in my lap like it’s the safest place in the world...”

  He wiped his eyes.

  “I don’t care who she is, Vermond. If she’s a noble, a commoner, a ghost, or a goddess. I don’t care. She has a place in this world now. In mine.”

  Vermond turned away slightly, his hand tightening into a fist. The plan had been about diplomacy. About charming the Folkan Council. Winning the prince. Captivating the king.

  But this?

  This wasn’t part of the script.

  This was real.

  Kiana lay unmoving, still deep in her performance. But the room, the very air, trembled with something deeper.

  And then—quietly, barely audible—

  Vael reached out and touched her hair.

  “I will protect you,” he whispered. “Even if the stars fall. Even if this heart gives out. I will protect you, my granddaughter.”

  Vermond could no longer speak. He turned his eyes to the floor, and for a brief second, guilt pierced through his heart like a blade made of regret.

  Jard’s voice buzzed softly in his earpiece, uncertain. “Vermond… I… should we continue?”

  But Vermond didn’t respond.

  Because in that moment, for the first time since the plan began…

  He didn’t know anymore if they were the puppeteers…

  …or the villains.

  The silence broke not from words—but from feeling.

  Vermond took a breath, deep, as if swallowing the weight pressing on his chest. He moved toward them, unable to stay back any longer. His footsteps echoed softly in the sterile room. Kiana… she sensed it.

  She always did.

  And before he could speak, Kiana stirred—slowly, gracefully—and wrapped her arms around Vael. She pressed her face against the old man’s chest, her voice muffled but tender.

  “I’m sorry… Grandpa…”

  Vael froze, stunned.

  “I’m sorry we tricked you. But… we had to. For our people… for the ones we lost. We’re at the edge, Grandpa… we don’t have enough hands, enough hearts. Our empire… it’s breaking…”

  Her voice cracked, and even if she was acting, the pain—real or not—burned through every word like flame across parchment.

  “We needed allies. We needed kindness… someone like you.”

  Vael’s lips trembled. And slowly, slowly… he put his arms around her. No more hesitation. Just warmth. Just tears.

  “My poor girl…” he whispered, voice shaking. “You should’ve just asked…”

  In the private channel, Jard’s voice crackled in.

  “Vermond… she’s really a devil and a goddess at the same time. How do you even deal with that kind of weapon?”

  Erie snorted, audible crunching in the background.

  Ruen chimed in with a soft chuckle.

  “We’re seriously eating popcorn. This drama’s better than other broadcast…”

  Vermond let out a tired laugh, brushing his hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall.

  “She did it again…”

  He looked at Vael still clutching Kiana like a lifeline.

  “She got us a new crew member.”

  His grin curled, a little wicked.

  “Old man Renn’s finally getting a partner in his age range.”

  “I heard that,” Renn barked from the citadel. “And if that fossil joins us, I’m not bunking with him!”

  Jard burst out laughing.

  “Relax, Renn. You might finally have someone to talk about hip replacements with.”

  “Shut it, brat!”

  Kiana, still pressed against Vael, smiled softly through her tears. She looked at Vermond—eyes glinting.

  And then, the ball has begun.

  The grand hall shimmered with crystal lights and violet banners. High columns of glass curved above, and nobles from all across the known empires were gathered—draped in their finest robes, scents of rare spices and distant flora trailing behind them.

  The Folkan King stood at the top of the stairs, regal in posture, but a shadow hung beneath his eyes. Kiana’s “accident” had left him unusually quiet all day. He hadn’t been told anything more. No updates. No signs of hope.

  Until now.

  The soft chime of bells echoed at the doorway.

  Heads turned.

  And there—descending slowly in a glowing white gown that seemed to drink the light and reflect it in soft ripples—was Kiana.

  Alive.

  Glowing.

  A living miracle.

  Her delicate steps, the way her hair caught the golden chandeliers above, the faint smile she wore as she locked eyes with the King—every second felt surreal. Whispers spread like wildfire.

  “The girl…”

  “She’s alive…?”

  “She looks like…”

  “A goddess…”

  The King blinked. Once. Twice. His eyes shimmered with something fragile and human.

  Vermond stood nearby, cloaked in a crisp black military ensemble, emotion hidden under steel—but his pride… it was there. Burning under the surface.

  Behind him, diplomats from eight different factions stared, stunned. Some were already whispering about who would dance with her. Who would speak first. Who would dare.

  Kiana walked toward the King, stopping just below the stairs. She bowed gently, then smiled sweetly.

  “Sorry I made you worry, Grandpa King...”

  The King... nearly stumbled. Then, he laughed—a genuine, soul-shaking laugh, rare enough to make even his own guards blink.

  A few councilors wiped tears. Others smiled in disbelief.

  Vael, from the side of the room, grumbled quietly with red cheeks.

  “She’s too dangerous...”

  And so, the night began.

  Music rising.

  Eyes watching.

  Hearts falling.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  The orchestra began its swell—slow, regal, almost timid compared to what was about to unfold.

  Kiana stepped into the ballroom like a drop of moonlight hitting still water, and the ripples began instantly.

  The envoy of the Gago Empire—hardened soldiers in crimson cloaks—turned stiff at the sight of her. Their leader, known for showing no emotion, visibly blinked and whispered to his second, “That’s… not normal.”

  The Tras Empire’s delegation, a prideful group in golden tech-weaves, dropped their usual smugness. Their prince, polished and known for being untouchable, dropped his wine goblet.

  Coffa Empire’s ambassadors, robed in dark silks, tried to keep a neutral face. But one of them, a cold-eyed woman with a cybernetic arm, gripped the edge of her seat as Kiana smiled sweetly in their direction and gave a small wave. The entire Coffa side… melted.

  The Prollo Empire, strict and disciplined, had come wearing matching silver uniforms. They were known for their deep distrust of beauty—“Emotion is a weapon,” their motto said.

  They lasted five seconds.

  When Kiana turned to them and said in her soft, sugary voice, “Isn’t your uniform sooo shiny? It’s like starlight!”—

  —they were done.

  Two guards bumped into each other and fell. The ambassador looked dizzy.

  And then came the Yan Empire.

  Elegant, calm, tactful. Their princess, famous for her serene mask, approached Kiana.

  “You must be Lady Kiana,” the Yan princess said politely.

  Kiana, tilting her head innocently. “Wahh, you’re so pretty! Can I call you big sister?”

  The Yan princess visibly flinched.

  She nodded slowly. “Y-Yes. Of course…”

  From the shadows, Erie whispered in the channel, “Confirmed. We’ve broken five hearts and three diplomatic shields.”

  Ruen added. “I think one of the Tras guys is crying.”

  “This is war.” Jard said.

  Mon?

  Just watching with glowing red eyes, whispering to herself, “How dare she be this good…”

  Kiana hadn’t even made it to the center of the room when the chaos began.

  One noble from the Tras Empire, flushed and breathless, approached with a hand on his chest.

  “Lady Kiana, may I have the honor of this dance?”

  Before she could answer, a Gago knight stepped in.

  “Apologies, but I asked first—”

  “You didn’t ask, you collapsed,” a Prollo officer cut in.

  Suddenly, there were seven men in a circle around her, all from different factions, each trying to maintain their dignity while clearly struggling not to throw punches. One of them even pulled out a rose from nowhere. Kiana blinked, tilted her head, and gave a slow smile that could’ve melted an asteroid.

  “I’m… not very good at dancing,” she said innocently, fingers touching her lips.

  They froze.

  “No, no—it’s fine, we’ll guide you.”

  “We’ll be gentle!”

  “I-I’m a trained instructor if you want!”

  Meanwhile…

  Vermond sat at the far corner of the room, shadows curling faintly at his boots. He sipped something that wasn’t quite wine, eyes half-lidded, watching the chaos build like thunderclouds in velvet.

  A girl—one of the Yan Empire’s attendants—approached him hesitantly. “Would you... like to dance?”

  Vermond offered a faint smile, voice cool. “I’m afraid my foot’s not doing too well tonight.”

  She blinked. “Oh—should I get a medic?”

  He paused, feeling it—Kiana’s energy, not directly watching, but aware. The moment their eyes didn’t meet, he knew she was testing him.

  He shook his head softly. “No need. I’ll be alright.”

  The girl, a little disappointed but still charmed, sat beside him.

  “She’s… something, isn’t she?” she murmured, nodding toward Kiana.

  Vermond exhaled slowly, one brow lifted. “You have no idea.”

  The masked girl beside Vermond shifted in her seat, her voice low but curious. “You’re different from the others here. You don’t seem... desperate to please.”

  Vermond leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “Maybe because I’m not here to impress anyone.”

  She chuckled. “Then what are you here for?”

  Vermond gave a small smile, thoughtful. “To see which stars still burn in a dying sky.”

  That made her pause, then smile beneath her mask. “Poetic.”

  Their conversation lingered—nothing romantic, just calm, intelligent exchange. She asked about lost worlds, and Vermond replied with caution, but just enough mystery to feed her interest. Her posture softened. She was clearly enjoying it.

  And that’s when he felt it.

  That familiar sting on his back. Like being watched by a predator who smiled before it pounced.

  He turned his head slightly—only enough to catch a glimpse across the ballroom.

  There she was.

  Kiana, her face as innocent as ever, dressed like a dream...

  But her eyes?

  They locked onto Vermond like blades behind silk.

  Death glare.

  Perfect posture, smiling at her suitors, but her gaze said "You better run."

  Vermond straightened up slowly. "Excuse me... I need to take care of something."

  The masked girl blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No,” Vermond replied coolly. “It’s just... my life expectancy might decrease if I don’t get moving.”

  Meanwhile, his cloaked clone—who had been still in a corner watching—abruptly turned, cloak fluttering, and quietly exited the ballroom, vanishing through a corridor that led to the nearest shuttle. He didn’t speak a word.

  Inside the private comms, Jard’s voice came in smug and dry. “Yeah, I saw that glare. You should’ve known better.”

  Erie: “He dead.”

  Mon: “F in the stars.”

  Then, the entire ballroom paused.

  Kiana’s delicate footsteps echoed like soft bells across the polished floor, her white skirt flowing with each graceful movement. Her eyes sparkled as she spotted Vael—sitting alone near the edge of the hall, hands clasped, old eyes lost in thought.

  And then—

  “Kyaa~ Grandpa!”

  A beam of light, a smile too radiant to be faked. She dashed through the crowd, weaving between nobles and guests, her face full of childlike joy. The act was perfect. Too perfect.

  She threw her arms around Vael’s neck and hugged him tight, burying her head against his shoulder.

  The old man froze.

  Not a word. Not a breath.

  Then his hands slowly came up, trembling just slightly, and wrapped gently around her. His eyes welled up—again. Every time he saw her, it was like a wound healed, only to bleed again when she smiled like that.

  Around them, murmurs stirred.

  “Who..”

  “She called him Grandpa...”

  “So innocent… adorable..”

  “Her aura… it’s like a star…”

  Vael coughed to hide his emotion, patting her back like a nervous soldier facing a divine being. “M-my child… you— You should not surprise old bones like this…”

  “But Grandpa looked lonely,” Kiana said with a pout, eyes wide and shimmering like glass. “I don’t want Grandpa to be lonely. Kiana promised she’ll be with you~”

  Someone nearby fainted.

  Another noble dropped their drink.

  Even the prince, watching from the higher platform, clutched his chest.

  The King narrowed his eyes, but not in anger… he was studying her.

  From the corner, Vermond facepalmed.

  Erie’s voice echoed in their comms. “We’ve reached maximum weaponized cuteness. I repeat: It’s over for them.”

  Jard muttered, “This is worse than a black hole. At least a black hole shows mercy.”

  One by one, the representatives of the gathered empires began murmuring, watching Kiana nestled beside Vael like a symbol of serenity wrapped in white silk.

  And then, the storm began—diplomatically.

  The Tras Empire's diplomat stood first, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes behind a golden monocle. “Your Highness,” he addressed the King, then turned to Vermond across the room, “if I may… I believe our people would benefit greatly from a peaceful collaboration with the White Empire. Especially with such… gifted and pure-hearted leadership.”

  Vermond didn’t speak.

  The Coffa Empire’s ambassador—a woman dressed in blood-red robes—smirked and leaned in. “We wish to send a delegation directly to your lands, White Lord. For trade. For knowledge exchange. For protection.” Her eyes lingered on Kiana for a moment, then flicked to Vermond. “You’ve won our interest.”

  Prollo, Yan, and even the stern-faced envoy of the Gago Empire echoed similar sentiments.

  Sweet words, careful bows, thinly-veiled desire to align with what clearly was no ordinary faction.

  And then the Folkan King stepped forward from his throne.

  His voice carried over the ballroom like iron wrapped in silk. “It appears the stars have aligned this day,” he said, his eyes never leaving Vermond’s. “Perhaps... it is time the Folkan throne itself formed a lasting alliance with the White Empire.”

  The crowd held its breath.

  Vermond slowly stood, brushed down his sleeves, and gave a warm, faintly amused smile. He looked at the king, then at each ambassador.

  “My Empire may be far, but we are always watching,” he said. “I find it... touching, that so many hearts would reach for peace.”

  He turned just slightly, letting his gaze land softly on Kiana, still curled beside Vael.

  “And perhaps,” Vermond added, “you all have already met the soul of our Empire.”

  The silence was thunderous.

  Whispers broke loose like wildfire.

  “She’s the soul...?” “They’re dangerous. But beautiful. That man... what is he really?”

  In the private channel, Erie whistled.

  “Jard, start warming up the engines. I think we just conquered half their territory with a hug.”

  The prince stood among the crowd, frozen.

  His fingers clenched into his formal sleeves as his gaze locked on Kiana—resting sweetly against Vael like some dream sculpted into life. Every now and then, her soft white hair would shimmer under the ballroom lights, her innocent eyes scanning the room with curiosity. But she never looked at him.

  He stepped forward—nervously, then with more intent.

  “Lady Kiana,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the growing tremble beneath it, “would you allow me the honor to speak… alone, just for a moment?”

  The murmurs in the ballroom turned into hushes.

  Vermond, leaning near a table with a drink in hand, arched a brow slightly. His lips almost curled into a grin—but he pressed them tight and took a casual sip instead.

  In the private channel, Renn’s voice rumbled with a dry chuckle.

  “So this is the mighty Young God now? Trying not to laugh while some poor prince throws himself at your sister’s feet? Your face, boy—it's showing your true colors.”

  Jard replied instantly with a mocking tone, “Behold... our mighty overlord. Conqueror of galaxies. Slayer of empires. Flustered brother of the galaxy’s cutest weapon.”

  Even Erie added in, “He’s jealous. I can feel it. He’s gonna break that prince in two if he touches her hair.”

  Back in the ballroom, Kiana blinked softly at the prince, tilting her head. She stood slowly, adjusted the white skirt, and gave a perfect little nod. “Okay! But only if Grandpa Vael says it’s okay,” she said sweetly, looking at Vael with sparkly eyes.

  The prince nearly fainted at the way she said it.

  Vael gave a slow, quiet sigh, clearly aware of the tides around him—and nodded with a reluctant, knowing look at Vermond.

  And Vermond?

  He finally turned to the side, away from view, lips twitching upward as he muttered quietly to the channel.

  “May the gods help that poor prince. He doesn’t know she already claimed his entire soul five minutes ago.”

  The prince led Kiana gently toward a quiet balcony, away from the pulsing lights and whispers of the ballroom. The moment they were alone, he turned to face her—eyes wide with nervous wonder, like he still couldn’t believe she was real.

  “I…” he stammered, placing a hand over his chest. “I don’t know how to explain it—but ever since I saw you, Lady Kiana… no, Kiana... something inside me—” he gulped, “—changed. I’ve never met anyone like you. Not in this world.”

  Kiana tilted her head, smiling softly, her lashes fluttering as she replied with practiced innocence, “You’re sweet… but I’m just a simple girl, from a far far empire…”

  The prince shook his head. “You’re not just anything. You’re… you’re everything.”

  Back in the private channel, Vermond leaned forward slightly, watching them from a distance.

  Erie whispered, “He’s cracking. That’s full-on devotion in less than five minutes.”

  Ruen added, “Ten credits say he offers his fleet next.”

  Jard replied, “I say he offers his throne.”

  Mon, voice soft but intrigued, whispered, “It’s working... Kiana’s practically reshaping Folkan policy with a smile and a hair flip.”

  Then the prince dropped to one knee, surprising even Kiana.

  “If your empire is in need... I’ll give you anything. Fleets. Land. Money. I’ll speak to my father. Just say the word, Kiana. I’ll make your dreams real.”

  Kiana blinked, looking gently stunned—but inside, she could feel the victory.

  In the private channel, Vermond calmly said, "He’s already ours.”

  Kiana gently covered her mouth with her hands, eyes widening as if overwhelmed by emotion. Her lips trembled slightly, and then—perfectly timed—tears welled up in her eyes, glistening like morning dew.

  “You’d... really do that?” she whispered, voice soft and trembling, “F-For me...? Even though I’m just... just Kiana...?”

  She stepped forward, placing her delicate hand over the prince’s.

  “No one’s ever... said such kind things to me before...”

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. “T-Thank you, my prince... I’ll never forget this moment...”

  The prince’s face turned crimson. His breath hitched. He tried to speak but no words came—only a strangled noise as his heart nearly gave out from sheer overload.

  He clutched her hand tighter, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

  “I-I... I would burn the stars if it would make you smile again...”

  In the private channel, Erie coughed.

  “Is this still a political infiltration or did we just seduce a galaxy?”

  Jard mumbled, “He’s not gonna make it through the night without passing out.”

  Ruen deadpanned, “If this were a war, she already nuked his will to fight.”

  Vermond, watching from the shadows, couldn’t help but smirk.

  “Now... we just take the crown."

  The prince’s breath quickened. His hand trembled as he held onto Kiana’s, her soft skin like a dream he never wanted to wake from. Her eyes—those shimmering emeralds—locked with his, and she tilted her head with the slightest pout.

  “I made this for you,” Kiana said gently, pulling a small handcrafted charm from her pocket—simple, made of thread and beads, glowing faintly with a soft light. “It’s not much... but I put my heart in it.”

  She reached up and tied it around his wrist with delicate fingers, her face close to his. Her scent—sweet like lilies—flooded his senses. Then she looked up with those tearful, grateful eyes again and smiled.

  The prince gasped.

  His knees buckled.

  He staggered back a step, hand over his chest. “W-What is this feeling...?” he whispered.

  The nobles and emissaries watched in stunned silence as the prince—heir to the Folkan throne—fell to his knees before her.

  “I... I pledge myself to you, Kiana,” he said, voice trembling. “Not just my empire—me. Anything. Everything. Just... let me stay by your side.”

  In the private channel, Erie dropped his drink.

  “He’s gone. The boy’s gone. This is no longer diplomacy—it’s divine submission.”

  Jard whispered, “She broke a royal bloodline in ten minutes. How’s that even legal?”

  Mon, dead silent for once, simply wrote in her notes: 'Kiana Protocol: Unleash only when necessary.'

  Vermond, still leaning at the corner, his smirk deepening, thought.

  “Nicely done, babe.”

  Kiana leaned in gently, her breath warm against the prince’s ear. Her voice was barely a whisper—soft, slow, and sweet like honey.

  “...You’re warm... like home.”

  The words sank into the prince’s chest like a spear of light. Her tone wasn’t flirty, or playful—it was intimate, safe, and utterly disarming. No girl, no royal, no one had ever said something so simple yet so devastating.

  The prince’s eyes widened, cheeks burning red as if the sun itself kissed them. His breath hitched.

  Then—

  Thump.

  He collapsed backwards in a full faint, arms spread, eyes spiraling, face bright crimson.

  Gasps erupted across the ballroom.

  A few nobles stood up in shock. The Coffa Empire envoy dropped his wine glass. The Prollo ambassador took out a handkerchief and began wiping sweat from his neck. And the king... the Folkan King slowly covered his face with one hand, muttering, “He’s done for.”

  In the private channel.

  Ruen: “SHE JUST SAID FOUR WORDS. FOUR.”

  Jard: “We’re witnessing a historical massacre. Emotional death by affection.”

  Erie: “Is he breathing?”

  Vermond, still calm, just said, “Well done.”

  The guards scrambled in a panic, gently lifting the blushing, limp prince off the ballroom floor. His eyes fluttered open as they helped him to his feet—

  And then Kiana turned to him again.

  That smile.

  That innocent, radiant smile.

  Thump.

  The prince fainted again, slumping back into the arms of the stunned guards, one of them catching him just before his head hit the polished floor.

  A silence fell over the ballroom.

  All eyes turned to the throne.

  The King of Folkan, hands tightly gripping the armrests of his ornate chair, was leaning forward—veins faintly visible on his temple. His golden eyes didn’t blink. He stared at Kiana like a war strategist seeing a beautiful, unstoppable force lay siege to his bloodline.

  Then—

  He sighed. Long. Deep. Almost… defeated.

  “…He’s hopeless.”

  He stood up slowly, his royal cloak swaying with regal grace as he descended the steps of the dais. The room parted around him like a sea before a storm. He approached Kiana, his boots echoing sharply on the ballroom tiles.

  He stopped in front of her.

  Kiana tilted her head, smiling sweetly.

  The King looked her up and down once more… and then knelt.

  A hushed gasp rippled through the nobles.

  “I’ve ruled for decades,” he said, voice steady but heavy. “I’ve seen false queens and fierce warriors... But you, Lady Kiana...”

  He reached into his robe, drawing forth a royal seal encased in a sun-shaped pendant.

  “...you've bested my son... and perhaps, my heart.”

  He placed the pendant gently into her hand.

  “Consider this... a token of my kingdom’s trust.”

  In the private channel:

  Jard: “WHAT. THE. ACTUAL—”

  Ruen: “She just got adopted by a whole throne.”

  Erie: “We need popcorn refills.”

  Vermond, smiling,“The board is ours.”

  One by one, the other faction leaders stood from their elevated tables, unable to remain still in the face of what just happened.

  The King of Folkan, a man feared across borders, had knelt—not for war, not for surrender—but for her.

  Kiana.

  That smile.

  That purity.

  That calculated, weaponized innocence.

  It was like watching gravity reverse itself.

  Gago Empire’s Empress, wrapped in a deep crimson cloak, stepped forward next. She held her pendant high—a polished obsidian fang set in a ring of gold. Her voice was smooth and deep.

  “We of Gago bend to none but strength and sincerity. You have both.”

  She offered the pendant to Kiana with a graceful bow. “Consider us... yours.”

  Tras Empire’s Commander, a tall and silent man with a cybernetic eye, followed next. He pulled off his cloak, revealing the gleaming sigil of Tras on a chain. Wordless, he placed it into Kiana’s hand and saluted.

  Coffa Empire’s Grand Matron, holding her wine glass with trembling fingers, pushed forward. Her old voice cracked under emotion.

  “In all my years… not once has someone made me believe again.” She set her jade pendant into Kiana’s palm. “You are hope itself, child.”

  Prollo Empire’s Chancellor was next, usually smug and sharp-tongued. But now, his face was pale, hands shaking. He tossed his steel pendant into her hand and nodded like a schoolboy.

  Then, from the shadowed edge of the ballroom, the Yan Empire’s Silent Queen emerged, hood drawn. Without a word, she knelt and placed a shimmering white crescent into Kiana’s hand. Their eyes met—and in that moment, not even a sound could survive the silence.

  Kiana, now holding seven pendants, stood in the center of the ballroom, her white skirt gleaming under the light. She turned slowly, smiling gently at each faction, pure and divine like a crowned goddess.

  Then she bowed.

  Only once.

  But that was enough.

  History shattered.

  The Alliance of Seven Empires was born—bound not by treaties or bloodlines, but by the heart of one impossibly charming girl.

  In the private channel:

  Jard: “…I think she just became Empress of the known galaxy.”

  Erie: “She’s not even trying anymore.”

  Ruen: “This is insane…”

  The ballroom exploded into roaring cheers—a tidal wave of applause, music, and voices rising in excitement, disbelief, and admiration. Streamers fired, glasses clinked, and the banners of seven great empires shimmered in harmony for the first time in history.

  Kiana stood at the center, still as a pillar of light.

  Then—just as the Folkan Prince began to stir on the floor, blinking blearily—Kiana winked.

  Just one soft, graceful wink.

  The prince gasped audibly, hand to his heart.

  "Too... beautiful..."

  Thud

  He collapsed again, utterly overwhelmed.

  The cheering paused only briefly, some guests chuckling softly, while others whispered.

  "She's divine..."

  "A living myth..."

  "How could anyone resist her?"

  But far away, deep in the shadows above the ballroom’s balcony—

  A silent, hooded figure turned from the spectacle, vanishing into the service corridor.

  Through a crackling private channel, their voice echoed into a cold chamber bathed in blue light.

  Hooded Operative:

  “…It’s done. The girl has united the seven empires under her charm.”

  A pause.

  “She’s dangerous.”

  A distorted voice responded—metallic, ancient, filled with authority and ice.

  Unknown Entity:

  “Keep watching her. She is not what she seems.

  And when these empire rises… we will be ready.”

  Back on the Super Capital Citadel, orbiting quietly above the planet, Mon and Erie sat in the observation deck, a spread of holo-feeds floating in front of them. The ballroom scenes danced across the projections—Kiana’s wink, the prince fainting again, the banners waving.

  Erie chewed on a snack stick with a smirk.

  “She’s going full goddess mode again.”

  Mon leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. Her red eyes glowed faintly, fixed on the screen.

  “She’s… too perfect.”

  Her voice was soft. Almost admiring. Almost envious.

  Then she blinked. “But I still hate how she calls Vael ‘grandpa’. That’s supposed to be endearing, not devastating.”

  Erie snorted. “Devastating is endearing when it comes to her.”

  He leaned back, arms behind his head.

  “Still… the empire alliances… she pulled it off. I don’t think even Vermond thought it’d go this smooth.”

  Mon tapped one finger on the console, zooming in on Kiana’s face.

  “She’s not even trying hard anymore. She’s just breathing cuteness.”

  Ruen walked in with popcorn and slumped beside them. “What’d I miss?”

  Erie, then answered. “The prince fainted. Thrice.”

  Ruen, mouth full. “Damn. She’s lethal.”

  They all stared at the feed again in silence.

  Then Jard’s voice came through the room's intercom. “Oi, everyone stop drooling and prep the weapon systems. We still don’t know what’s coming next.”

  Mon stood up, brushing her hair back.

  “She’s winning hearts. Let’s make sure no one breaks hers.”

  Back at the ball.

  The ballroom shimmered with gold and music, banners of the newly-formed alliance fluttering in the air-conditioned breeze. But to Kiana… there was only him.

  Vermond stood near the tall pillars draped in royal blue, sipping from a crystal glass—calm, quiet, watching the room with those hauntingly light eyes.

  She floated across the marble like a dream.

  He saw her.

  She didn't say a word at first. She just smiled.

  Then leaned close, her voice a soft breeze against his ear, “Give me my gift later…”

  Vermond’s breath caught.

  Before he could reply, Kiana leaned up, heart beating with calm precision, as if she’d planned this all along—

  —and kissed him.

  Gently. Sweetly. But it meant something. The kind of kiss that stitched souls tighter.

  He blinked once, stunned. Then leaned in and whispered low, deep against her cheek,

  “You did a great job… Babe.”

  Then he kissed her.

  And that was when the air shifted.

  Like the universe paused. Like creation took a breath. Like power—unseen, raw, ancient—recognized something it couldn’t explain.

  A swirl of silver and dark folded around them. His aura—half holy light, half demonic shadow—curled protectively around Kiana, shielding them from sight.

  In that moment, they vanished from the ballroom floor.

  Not teleported.

  Not cloaked.

  Vanished.

  From the observatory, Jard blinked at the sudden loss of signal.

  “Erie? Mon?”

  He rewound the feed.

  “They were just—what the hell kind of aura was that?”

  Erie stared. “Did… did they just—”

  Mon’s heart raced. “That wasn’t magic. That was connection.”

  Kiana’s hand was still in Vermond’s. Somewhere in the fold between dimensions, between breath and silence, they stood close. Their foreheads touched.

  Neither said a word.

  But both felt it.

  And somewhere, quietly, the stars seemed to shine a little warmer.

  Thirty minutes later..

  Jard’s fingers danced across the console, furiously tracking readings and distortions.

  “Thirty minutes…” he muttered, scanning residual signatures. “Nothing makes sense. Where the hell did they go?”

  Erie leaned over his shoulder, crunching popcorn, still wide-eyed. “You’re not gonna find it, Jard. They were in some kind of love bubble dimension or something.”

  Ruen snorted. “That’s not in any of our tech logs.”

  Mon, arms crossed, tapped her lip. “It didn’t need to be. That wasn’t tech. That was… something else.”

  Just as Jard prepared another sweep, a ripple tore silently—

  —and there they were.

  Vermond sat calmly in one of the lounge seats, arms folded, expression blank… like he hadn’t just been missing from the fabric of known space.

  Kiana stood beside him.

  Blushing.

  Eyes half-lidded.

  Possessive.

  She sat beside him, arms immediately linking with his. Her fingers laced into his without hesitation, like they belonged there. Like they’d always belonged.

  The room fell silent.

  Renn, who had been napping in the corner with a flask, cracked an eye and gave a chuckle.

  “Well well,” he muttered, “looks like something romantic happened to those two fools.”

  Mon turned away, cheeks a little red. “Understatement of the year...”

  Jard didn’t say a word.

  But he hit save on the sensor data—

  —and labeled the file: Vermond-Kiana Anomaly: 01

  Minutes ticked by.

  Vael, still wearing his ceremonial robes from the ball, wandered into the nearby hallway—

  —and paused, eyes catching the scene before him.

  Vermond and Kiana stood there, a perfect, quiet stillness between them.

  Kiana turned, her green eyes shimmering under the soft light, and without a word, she reached out and gently took Vael’s hand.

  Her fingers were warm. Soft. Trusting.

  “Grandpa…” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper against the thrum of the Citadel around them. “I want to show you something special.”

  Vael’s old heart skipped a beat.

  He felt it—the emotion, the gravity behind those innocent words.

  He didn’t even resist.

  He simply smiled, his weathered hand tightening protectively around Kiana’s tiny one.

  He trusted her. More than anything.

  Vermond gave a silent nod, almost regal, almost proud, before he turned.

  The three of them moved quickly, cloaked from sight, heading toward the landing bay.

  There, waiting like a silent beast among the shimmering distortions, was their battleship—

  the hull glinting under stealth fields, an ethereal ghost among metal giants.

  As they boarded, the ship recognized its masters immediately, silently welcoming them.

  The ramp closed with a soft hiss.

  Deep inside the Super Capital Citadel, Erie, Mon, and the others straightened up from the monitors.

  Jard leaned back on his seat, whispering through the private channel. "And just like that... the White Empire finally feels complete."

  Kiana smiled as she guided Vael to the observation deck, still holding his hand tightly, as if afraid he'd disappear.

  The ship hummed as it cut through the atmosphere, silent as a ghost.

  Inside, on the observation deck, the world felt like it was holding its breath.

  Vael sat rigidly in his chair—until Kiana, with a soft smile, gently climbed into his lap.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her green eyes staring right into his soul.

  "Grandpa…" she began, her voice so tender it almost broke something inside him.

  "It's time for you to learn the truth."

  Vael blinked, confused, his heart pounding.

  Before he could speak, the view outside the window shifted.

  The clouds parted—

  And there, looming just beyond the planet's orbit, was something so massive, so impossible, that Vael couldn’t breathe for a second.

  A colossal, cloaked structure—larger than anything the Folkan Empire could ever dream to build—floated silently above them.

  Invisible to the world below.

  Alive with the silent heartbeat of an empire reborn.

  Vael's lips trembled.

  He felt so small.

  Kiana leaned closer, whispering. "That's ours, Grandpa... the heart of the White Empire."

  From the command deck of the Super Capital Citadel, Jard, Erie, Mon, Ruen, and Renn listened through the private channel—

  silent, not daring to break this moment.

  The battleship, still cloaked, began its descent—

  flying straight towards the Super Capital Citadel like a shadow returning to its master.

  Inside the battleship, the rows of hooded clones stood in eerie silence, saluting the moment Kiana passed by—

  their white uniforms glowing faintly under the soft lights.

  Vael watched everything, stunned, his mouth slightly open.

  The air grew thicker, the weight of the truth bearing down on him.

  This…

  This wasn’t just some alliance trick.

  This wasn’t some small salvager fleet.

  This was a rising empire, hidden behind the smile of the girl he had just cradled in his arms like his own granddaughter.

  Kiana cupped his face in her hands, smiling gently.

  "You’re part of it now, Grandpa."

  Vael’s throat closed up.

  Tears blurred his vision as the battleship docked seamlessly onto the Super Capital Citadel—

  massive hangar doors parting open like welcoming arms.

  The moment Vael stepped off the battleship and into the Super Capital Citadel,

  his knees nearly buckled.

  The scale.

  The majesty.

  It wasn’t just a fortress… it was a floating world.

  Massive hallways lined with pure white alloys pulsed faintly with energy,

  towers spiraled into the artificial sky within the citadel’s inner shell,

  ships of impossible designs hovered silently in enormous vertical docks—

  and below it all, a quiet symphony of life: clones, crew, allies, and machinery moving like a single perfect organism.

  Vael stood frozen.

  Then took a slow step forward.

  “...It’s... beautiful...” he whispered.

  Kiana, still holding his arm gently, smiled with something deeper than mischief.

  Something that whispered: you belong here.

  But then—

  a shadow passed behind Vael’s eyes.

  He paused. Looked away.

  And thought.

  His thoughts drifted far…

  to the quiet grave of his last daughter.

  To her eyes—eyes so much like Kiana’s.

  To the promises he couldn’t keep.

  To the empire that grew old while he grew tired.

  And now…

  this girl. This moment.

  This empire.

  He turned to Kiana slowly, hands trembling.

  "You remind me of her..." he whispered, voice cracking. And if she were here… I think she'd say… this is where I belong."

  Then, without another word,

  Vael opened his arms.

  Kiana didn't hesitate.

  She fell into him with a soft gasp, holding him tightly,

  as if she had been waiting for this—

  for him—

  the entire time.

  In that embrace,

  something sealed.

  Jard spoke gently through the private channel, his voice softer than anyone had heard from him:

  "The old man found his family again..."

  Erie wiped his eye with the back of his glove, pretending it was just dust.

  Then, Vael slowly pulled back and looked at Vermond.

  “My private fleet. My men.

  They will follow me wherever I go…

  but I must give the Folkan King my farewell.

  He deserves at least that much.”

  Vermond

  nodded slowly.

  “Then we’ll go with you.

  Not as strangers…

  But as kin.”

  Vael walked with slow, almost reverent steps, Kiana beside him with her hands wrapped gently around his arm.

  Vermond followed behind them, hands tucked in his coat, a small smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

  As they moved deeper into the Super Capital Citadel,

  the scale of what was built became even clearer.

  The corridors widened into massive halls.

  Vertical gardens grew up the walls, shimmering with soft, natural light.

  Elegant bridges hung above seas of machinery, shipyards, and training grounds.

  But what caught Vael's eyes—

  were the people.

  Former pirates, mercenaries, scavengers…

  men and women who once carried the filth of lawless space on their backs…

  now standing tall.

  Wearing polished uniforms, with insignias of a silver star over white.

  Some had scars.

  Some had missing limbs.

  But all had something new in their eyes.

  Hope. (Probably saving their pens from Jard)

  A burly man with tattoos creeping up his neck, who might have once commanded terror across a dozen worlds,

  was now laughing gently with a group of small children, handing out sweets.

  An old woman, who still bore the marks of a raider captain,

  patiently taught a group of recruits how to maintain their rifles—without anger, without cruelty.

  Vael slowed, stunned.

  “These men…” he whispered.

  “They used to be… monsters.”

  Kiana smiled, her voice warm, proud.

  "Now they're ours, Grandpa.

  They chose to change.

  Vermond gave them a home…

  and I made sure they learned kindness again."

  Vermond gave a small chuckle.

  Then Kiana pulled Vael's hand excitedly, pointing to a distant glimmer of motion.

  "Look! Look there, Vermond!" she beamed. Jard upgraded everything while we were gone...!"

  From the horizon, cutting through the inner cityscape of the Super Capital Citadel,

  came a floating bullet train—

  sleek, white, trimmed in shimmering silver and blue.

  It hummed silently above invisible rails, shooting past with almost supernatural speed,

  bridging sectors from the residential zones, military docks, to the grand central market.

  It wasn't just efficient.

  It was beautiful.

  Vermond smiled quietly, arms crossed.

  “The heart of the Empire needs fast veins,” he murmured.

  Kiana tugged Vael again, giggling:

  "We'll ride it later, okay?"

  Vael blinked, almost overwhelmed.

  But before he could answer—

  they approached a grand marble arch, guarded by two elite Undead in ceremonial white armor.

  Beyond it, standing relaxed but proud,

  were Jard, Erie, Ruen, Mon, and Old Man Renn.

  Each wore the formal cloak of the White Empire’s founding council.

  Jard grinned first, folding his arms. "Welcome aboard, old man," he said, his voice gruff but somehow full of respect.

  "Took you long enough."

  Erie gave a short wave, pretending to be cool but clearly excited.

  Ruen gave a polite nod.

  Mon, beautiful as a carved statue, smiled slightly.

  And Renn, crossing his arms stubbornly, muttered.

  "Tch. Someone my age. I'm sick of dealing with these kids."

  Everyone chuckled.

  Vael felt his heart soften so much he almost staggered.

  Vermond crossed his arms, giving the group a lazy, half-amused stare.

  "Why aren't you all at the Center Command Control?" he asked, voice casual but carrying a slight edge.

  Jard just grinned, unbothered, tossing a small metallic chip from one hand to another.

  "We had a plan," Jard said smugly. "Knew you'd drag the old man here eventually. Figured we'd make it a welcome party."

  Erie shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Besides, watching your grand entrance was too good to miss."

  Ruen gave a small chuckle under his breath.

  Even Mon, who normally kept herself composed, smiled behind her gloved hand.

  Old Man Renn snorted. "We deserve some fun too, you know."

  Vermond sighed lightly, shaking his head, a small smirk betraying his amusement.

  Before he could reply though—

  a soft hum filled the massive hall, a clean and powerful resonance that made the air vibrate slightly.

  The elegant white walls, lined with silver tracings, suddenly shimmered to life.

  A soft, dignified female voice echoed through the Super Capital Citadel, crystal-clear.

  "Initiating full system checks.

  All sectors, active.

  Life support, operational.

  Defense grid, operational.

  Manufacturing sectors, operational.

  Central energy core, stable.

  Dockyards, fully operational.

  Center Command Control… secure.

  Super Capital Citadel integrity: 100%.

  System status: Optimal.

  Awaiting further orders."

  The moment the voice ended, soft blue lights glided along the pillars, the floors, the ceilings—

  like the citadel itself was breathing.

  Vael looked around, awestruck.

  The others—

  Jard, Erie, Ruen, Mon, Renn—

  stood a little straighter, shoulders squared.

  This wasn't just a fortress.

  It was alive.

  It was ready.

  Vermond, hands behind his back, smiled faintly.

  "Good," he murmured.

  Hours ticked by.

  The soft hum of the Super Capital Citadel still echoed like a heartbeat when Vermond finally raised his hand—

  his voice was steady, low, but carried with it a command that shook the bones.

  "Raise our flag."

  Jard, standing tall with a rare gleam of pride in his eyes, nodded sharply.

  The center dome above them shimmered—

  panels sliding open like flower petals revealing the dark void of space overhead.

  From deep within the walls, a great mechanism stirred.

  A massive flag, unfurling with slow, grand ceremony, emerged from the floor of the Hall of Command.

  It rose higher...

  higher...

  higher still.

  Black as the void itself, the flag bore the sigil that would one day strike awe across the stars.

  A swirling black hole with a radiant white phoenix bursting from its heart—

  rebirth through annihilation, power reborn from destruction.

  As it reached its peak—

  a solemn bell tolled once.

  Then another.

  And with that, as if drawn by destiny itself,

  thousands flooded the enormous hallways and balconies overlooking the Hall of Command—

  Men and women, dressed crisply in white military uniforms, lined with silver trim and the insignia of the White Empire on their chest.

  Their faces were filled with hope, pride, and devotion.

  They had answered the call while Vermond and Kiana were away.

  Jard stepped forward, arms crossed but smiling like a wolf.

  "While you two were off charming empires and breaking hearts… We started recruiting the best of the best. Some from fallen empires... some from outlaw sectors… and some who just wanted a place to belong."

  He turned, his voice now echoing proudly.

  "As of today, we have recruited 27,047 souls. Fully loyal to the White Empire. Ready to fight. Ready to build. Ready to dream."

  Kiana, eyes glimmering, clutched Vermond’s hand tightly.

  Vael watched, his heart thudding, feeling a sense of awe he hadn't felt in decades.

  And above them all, the Black Hole and White Phoenix rippled against the backdrop of the stars,

  declaring to the universe.

  A new power had risen.

  And then..

  The bright, golden light of the ball still shimmered like a dream as Vermond, Kiana, and Vael quietly returned to the Folkan palace.

  The celebration hadn’t ended—music still played softly, nobles chatted and laughed—but when they entered, it was as if the very air shifted.

  The Folkan King, sitting proudly at his throne, immediately caught sight of them.

  But especially—

  especially Kiana.

  Kiana, ever the mischievous goddess, instantly tilted her head sweetly,

  her wide green eyes glistening under the soft chandeliers.

  She clutched her hands together near her chest, pouting slightly—

  an expression so devastatingly adorable that the king visibly stiffened.

  It was clear.

  It was a signal.

  She wanted something.

  And like a father who could never say no to his daughter,

  the Folkan King smiled, his stern features melting in seconds.

  He rose from his throne, slow and graceful, as if bearing the weight of a great decision.

  Everyone quieted as he descended the marble steps and approached them.

  The King glanced once at Vael—an old comrade, a trusted guardian.

  Then back at Kiana, who blinked once, innocently, cutely—

  and the king’s heart cracked open like soft glass.

  He let out a deep, but warm sigh, then spoke. "As a gift... to our most precious member of the Alliance, Kiana of the White Empire... I hereby allow Sir Vael to leave our court, and join your side."

  A stir of whispers rippled through the nobles and generals.

  Some gasped.

  Some smiled in understanding.

  Vael, standing proud but emotional, stepped forward—

  he knelt before the King with a slow, respectful bow.

  "My King," he said quietly.

  "It has been the greatest honor to serve you, to fight for you, to protect the Folkan people.

  But now… my heart and my blade belong to the future… to her future.

  To the White Empire."

  The King nodded, a deep sadness in his eyes—

  but also a father’s bittersweet joy.

  He placed his hand atop Vael’s shoulder.

  "Go, old friend. Protect her well. Build a future we all can be proud of."

  And just like that, the final piece fell into place.

  Vael of the Folkan had joined the White Empire.

  Kiana smiled—no, beamed—and impulsively ran into the King’s arms, giving him a tight hug.

  The King chuckled, hugging her back with a warmth he hadn’t shown in years, murmuring.

  "Stay safe, little star. Shine so brightly that even the gods will look your way."

  Vermond, standing just behind, couldn’t help but smile too—

  because this was how empires were born.

  With love, loyalty… and a girl too adorable to ever refuse.

  They got back at the Super Capital Citadel.

  Kiana clung tightly to Vael's hand, practically bouncing with every step, her smile so radiant it could have outshined the twin suns overhead.

  She didn't walk.

  She skipped.

  And the entire way, she was talking.

  "This way, Grandpa Vael! You're gonna love it! There's a garden! And a market! And a huge library! Oh—and the view from the observation deck!"

  Vael, for his part, simply chuckled along, his weathered face breaking into a smile he hadn’t worn for decades.

  He let her drag him along—as if he were a child—and he didn't mind at all.

  Behind them, Vermond walked with his usual deadpan face, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his silver eyes glancing once—

  twice—

  many times

  at Kiana as she dramatically twirled around to show Vael the shipyard, then the rail systems, pointing with grandiose flair like a tour guide who had too much sugar.

  "She's overacting again..." Vermond muttered dryly on their private channel.

  Jard, from the Command Center, immediately replied. "You sure? That doesn’t look like acting anymore."

  Even Erie, who was quietly monitoring from his seat beside Jard, coughed awkwardly, whispering. "She’s too real now... Bro, I think you’re losing her... to Grandpa Vael."

  Vermond just exhaled through his nose—sharp, resigned, but somehow... amused.

  Was it still acting?

  Or had it become real?

  He wasn't sure anymore.

  Kiana then let go of his hand for a moment, turning to face him.

  She grabbed the hem of her skirt and curtsied like a princess from a fairytale, her green eyes shining.

  "Welcome home, Grandpa Vael. This is where you belong now. With us."

  Vael’s throat closed up.

  He clenched his jaw, trying to stop the tears that wanted to fall.

  He opened his arms, and Kiana—giggling—rushed in for another tight, warm hug.

  From behind, Vermond just watched quietly.

  Silent.

  But inside him, something melted a little more. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was acting or real anymore.

  As they walked, Mon stepped closer. "Kiana, Vermond," she said gently, "I’ll look after Vael for now. You two should get some rest.”

  As Mon gently ushered Vael toward one of the gleaming transport pods, smiling warmly and chatting about the Grand Market Sector and the Observation Ring, the two of them slowly disappeared into the bustling corridors of the Citadel.

  The moment they were out of sight—

  Kiana turned.

  And before Vermond could even blink, she grabbed his coat, pulling him close, her fingers trembling.

  He felt it immediately.

  Her body shaking.

  Her soft, shallow breathing.

  The tear that rolled down her cheek, shining under the Citadel's soft lights.

  Without a word, she lifted her face—her lips brushed his in a kiss so gentle, so vulnerable, it almost broke Vermond's controlled, frozen soul apart.

  And then, with her forehead pressed against his chest, she whispered, voice cracking.

  "Vermond... I... When I looked at Vael... I saw it—his daughter... falling. I saw him lose her. It hurt him so much he couldn’t even scream."

  Her fingers clutched his coat tighter, as if afraid he would disappear too.

  Vermond just stood there for a second, stunned—

  because Kiana almost never cried like this.

  Not when she drifted alone in space before Vermond could find her.

  Not even when Vermond's grandfather's life was torn apart.

  But now, for a man she barely knew—

  for a broken old warrior who had given up everything—

  she cried.

  Slowly, Vermond wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

  His chin rested on her snowy hair.

  He closed his eyes.

  "You did good, Kiana... You gave him a home again."

  Kiana's hands trembled against his back. "I just... don't want him to feel that pain anymore..."

  Vermond squeezed her tighter.

  The world outside buzzed with life.

  The Super Capital Citadel hummed with power.

  But in that moment—

  right there in that vast hall—

  it was just the two of them.

  Two broken souls, trying desperately to build something no one could ever take away again.

  As Vermond held Kiana tightly, feeling every tremble in her small hands, he whispered again, voice low, raw.

  "We'll protect him, Kiana. We'll protect them all."

  And for a few precious seconds, it was like nothing else existed—

  no wars, no burdens, no enemies.

  Only them.

  But then—

  a soft cough broke the moment.

  Vermond slowly turned his head.

  Standing there, just a few steps away, was Vael.

  His old eyes wide.

  His hands trembling slightly at his sides.

  He had heard everything.

  He had felt everything.

  The battle-hardened old warrior—who had once faced endless wars without flinching—was now standing there, utterly broken, utterly touched.

  His throat worked to form words.

  But he said nothing.

  Instead, his gaze slowly softened...

  A deep, raw gratitude shining from within.

  And just as Vermond opened his mouth to say something—

  Kiana moved.

  She turned in Vermond’s arms, wiped her “tears” with one finger, and—

  smiled.

  Innocent. Playful. Wickedly beautiful.

  A sparkle in her green eyes as she placed a finger to her lips.

  "Got you."

  Vermond blinked, stunned.

  Vael froze, processing.

  Kiana then spun lightly on her heels, approaching Vael like a little cat caught sneaking milk, her hands clasped behind her back. She smiled up at him so sweetly it could melt glaciers.

  "But... it wasn't a total act, Grandpa Vael. We do want you to be happy."

  Vael’s mouth opened—then closed—then opened again.

  The old man suddenly laughed, wiping a tear from his weathered cheek. "You little devil..." he murmured.

  Vermond could only shake his head, half-embarrassed, half-impressed.

  In the private channel, Ruen was laughing so hard he couldn't even type properly.

  Ruen: "TOLD YOU, She's a Devil and an Angel at the same time!"

  Jard: "That's our Empress in training, right there."

  Erie: "Remind me to never believe her tears again."

  Kiana then skipped back to Vermond, grabbed his hand, and said softly.

  "Come on, let's show him the real heart of our Empire, And the gift you gave me Wasn't enough."

  And so—

  laughing, crying, finally feeling like a family—

  they walked forward.