Baisha was dumbfounded.
Her dream of coasting into early retirement sprouted wings and soared out of sight.
"You're still young," she said, leaning forward, a mix of confusion and astonishment in her voice. "Are you really not planning to have children?"
"I have no plans to sire offspring for now," Cecil Ronin replied, his brow arching slightly. He seemed to catch the flicker of reluctance in her eyes, which only sharpened the amusement in his tone. "Besides, even if I were to find a partner someday, I'd prioritize your claim to the throne over any child of mine."
Baisha: "…"
Cecil Ronin continued, "Blame your mother. She abandoned the heir's mantle and vanished, leaving me to take up the crown in her stead. Now that you're here, I can pass it back to her child."
"You make it sound like the throne's a cursed relic," Baisha muttered, her lips twitching.
"It is a cursed relic," Cecil snorted, his voice laced with mirth. "Why else would you look so glum? Each Ronin generation has its quirks. My father's era shunned grand conquests, obsessed only with raising a worthy successor before retiring. Your mother, though—she was wild, utterly unrestrained…"
"I understand their moods now," he said, a sly grin spreading. "I've got an heir before me, too. My goal is to mold you into a splendid successor, to inherit the Empire. That's far more entertaining than ruling myself."
Baisha: "…"
So this was the Ronin family's legacy?
Her heart sank.
"Truly, every gift fate bestows comes with a hidden price," she said weakly.
"A fine maxim," Cecil remarked, intrigued. "Some Federation philosopher?"
Baisha shook her head silently.
"Excellent," he declared. "From now on, it's an Imperial proverb."
With that, the Emperor delivered his edict and left her palace, satisfied.
Baisha sat in silence for a long moment before pressing the electronic bell to summon her steward.
The steward, clad in crisp black-and-white, glided to her side and bowed. "Your Highness, how may I serve you?"
"Is that cat catalog still around?" Baisha asked, her face impassive. "Bring it to me."
The steward hesitated. "…Your intention, Highness?"
"Too much pressure," she said flatly. "I need eight more cats."
She'd forced herself to stop at eight earlier, though the catalog brimmed with spirited felines she'd reluctantly passed over. Now, she saw clearly: if power and duty were inseparable, why not embrace a life of indulgence? Sixteen cats were well within her means.
This would be the last addition, though. Surely.
The steward's shoulders sagged slightly. Taking a deep breath, he summoned a floating tray and presented the tablet with a gravity befitting an imperial decree. "Your Highness, please."
The next day, Cecil Ronin learned Baisha had acquired sixteen cats and was struck speechless.
To Wei Li and Jilun, he remarked, "Does she think draping her palace in cats will keep me out?"
"At her age, I doubt she's resorting to such childish tactics," Wei Li sighed. He'd come to Youdu Star for state matters, yet the Emperor's every third sentence revolved around Baisha, leaving Wei Li both amused and exasperated. "Might I ask, Majesty—how long has she been back, and have you already quarreled? Enough to bar you from her palace?"
Cecil scoffed, denying any rift, claiming only minor spats with his niece.
"As a minister, I'd rather not see discord between you and Her Highness," Wei Li said, his golden glasses chain swaying as he lowered his gaze, exuding scholarly poise. "But as a father, I must warn you: raising children requires patience. Rush, and you'll miss their true thoughts."
Wei Li, though young, had a docile daughter.
"It's not about upbringing," Cecil said, glancing sideways. "It's about the heir's mantle."
Wei Li, as if anticipating this, asked, "Does Her Highness lack ambition for the throne?"
The Emperor of the Aresian Empire wielded supreme power, yet not every royal craved the crown. Its weighty responsibilities could haunt a timid noble's sleep. Royals, too, were human, with dreams that might clash with emperorship. In short: to rule required ambition.
Without it, the crown's burden was unbearable.
Baisha's impoverished roots and sudden wealth had dulled any drive to climb higher. There were countless paths to prominence—why choose the throne?
"She lacks ambition now," Cecil said, a faint smirk curling his lips. "…But she'll find it."
It was in the Ronin blood.
The previous Emperor retired early to tend to his ailing partner's final days. Sipes Ronin fled her heirship not from unwillingness but because she couldn't rule. Only Cecil Ronin, enthroned, tasted ultimate power—and profound solitude, bereft of kin.
Now, with Baisha, he'd guide her growth, watching her rise to challenge and surpass him, claiming the crown. The old king fades; the new king shines. This was the Ronin way, the singular bond between Emperor and heir.
For duty and kinship, Cecil would never forsake it.
"…You haven't told her that becoming Emperor requires challenging you, have you?" Wei Li adjusted his glasses. "Her reaction would be fiercer if you had."
Cecil waved it off. "That's for later."
They walked on. Wei Li boarded his family's shuttle, bidding farewell, while Cecil and Jilun reached Baisha's palace.
Baisha, waiting, spotted Jilun and blinked. "General Jilun, you're coming too?"
Jilun stood firm, his golden eyes meeting hers, a quiet ferocity in their depths. With a subtle glance, he restrained his mental avatar—a coiled-tailed feline poised to pounce at Baisha's feet. "By His Majesty's command," he said, voice low and resonant, "I'm to escort you both to the Royal Sanatorium."
Without further ado, they boarded a small starship, the Starbreaker guard trailing, bound for the sanatorium on Tianxuan Star.
The sanatorium was a blend of opulence and understated elegance, its decor radiating rational beauty. Cen Haiyun, formerly of the Royal Institute, had prepared an array of instruments, awaiting the Emperor's arrival.
As they entered the examination room, Cen Haiyun, in a pale blue medical coat, fine-tuned her equipment. Her ebony hair was pinned with a jade clip, and her clear eyes sparkled as she smiled, radiant as sunlight. "Majesty, Your Highness. I'm honored to serve. With the royal family's trust, I'll do my utmost to tend to Her Highness's mental avatar."
Cecil nodded curtly.
Cen Haiyun's gaze lingered not on him but darted to Baisha. "I've heard of your journey, Your Highness," she said, flashing pristine teeth. "In our Empire, it's rare for someone your age to lack an awakened avatar. I've reviewed your genetic report—your nutrition hindered avatar growth, but theoretically, the delay shouldn't be this severe."
Cecil's brow rose. "Meaning?"
"Other factors are at play," Cen Haiyun replied. "Please, Your Highness, cooperate with the tests."
Baisha complied.
The tests were effortless. She lay still as machines scanned her, their hums yielding reams of data in ten minutes. Cen Haiyun studied the outputs while Baisha moved to a mental strength tester, a hydraulic-like device. She unleashed her mental force uninhibitedly, the gauge—starting at S-rank—settling between double-S and triple-S.
Consistent with Federation results.
Cen Haiyun scribbled on her tablet, then stared at the data. "This isn't flattery… I believe Her Highness's avatar is extraordinarily potent, beyond normal limits. No one reaches this mental strength pre-awakening. Her avatar's failure to manifest ties to nutrition but also a lack of mental guidance."
She tucked the tablet under her arm, addressing Cecil. "As you know, Imperial children undergo mental meditation training from youth, even in kindergartens, with courses on avatar awakening—distilled from ancestral wisdom. Her Highness has had none of this."
"Moreover, proximity to kin with avatars subtly spurs a child's awakening. Her Highness lacked such conditions entirely."
"In sum," Cen Haiyun concluded, "now is an optimal time for her avatar to awaken, with guided mental support."
The "guide" was clearly Cecil—no other candidate sufficed.
"I propose an assisted awakening protocol," Cen Haiyun said.
Assisted awakening, developed for children with nascent mental strength but unformed avatars, linked a child's and parent's consciousness in a shared mental space. The parent's avatar, resonating at the same frequency, coaxed the child's into form—a sort of immersive tutorial.
During this, both lost consciousness, their senses immersed in a virtual realm. For commoners, this posed little risk, but for royals—targets of past assassinations—it was precarious.
Cecil nodded. "I approve the protocol. That's why Jilun's here."
While he and Baisha were unconscious, Jilun and the royal guard would ensure their safety.
Jilun bowed. "I'll remain vigilant, sir."
Cen Haiyun smiled. "Shall we begin?"
Cecil and Baisha exchanged a glance, nodding.
Cen Haiyun led them to another room, housing two massive, sapphire-blue spherical devices filled with a translucent, flowing substance—gas or liquid, unclear. Soft, glowing ripples pulsed across their surfaces like tides.
"Please enter the devices," Cen Haiyun said. "They're thoroughly tested, safe, with life-support systems. No oxygen, but you'll feel weightless, as if in space—entirely comfortable."
Her earnest explanation betrayed a fear that the royals might scorn "commoner-used" equipment. Thankfully, neither Cecil nor Baisha objected.
Baisha stepped into her device, floating instantly, weightless as a cloud.
"Relax," Cen Haiyun's voice reached her. "You'll hear white noise—waves or streams. Release your mental force slowly; the sounds will draw you into a virtual world."
"One note: per user feedback, the virtual space varies, shaped by the users' minds. The world you enter depends entirely on you…"
Her voice faded.
A surge of wind and tide roared into Baisha's ears, engulfing her consciousness.
A pure white void bloomed before her.
Beaded chains of water droplets materialized around her. She released her mental force, merging with the delicate net of beads enveloping her.
Her consciousness wove into them, as if cocooned.
Suddenly, the cocoon spun wildly, tumbling her like a centrifuge, whirling endlessly—
Until it cracked.
Baisha—or her consciousness—was hurled into an alien world.
Baisha: "…"
A wisp of mist, she flailed through somersaults before stabilizing.
Surveying her surroundings, she found herself in a vibrant forest. Trees, lush and verdant, pulsed with spring's essence, their canopies swaying like breathing entities. The damp soil exuded grassy scents, and clear streams wove through roots, murmuring softly.
Enchanted, Baisha lingered, nearly lost in the beauty. But something felt off.
The forest thrummed with life, yet beyond plants, soil, and water, no creatures stirred.
Was that normal?
Drifting lazily, she cast her gaze skyward, scanning the forest from above.
It wasn't boundless. An instinct told her an invisible barrier, like an air wall, confined her range.
Baisha: "…"
She wasn't here for sightseeing, was she?
Then she remembered—her uncle was likely in this space, too.
Steering her ethereal form, she scoured the forest.
Time blurred until a radiant moon rose. Exhausted, perched on a branch, she nearly dozed when a vivid hue pierced the deep green foliage.
A dazzling, scale-like shimmer of azure blue, mesmerizing at a glance.
Instantly captivated, Baisha, though weary, summoned her strength, propelling her hollow form toward the glow.
She wove through trees to a stream she hadn't seen before.
The stream, kissed by moonlight, glimmered faintly, its currents plucking unseen strings, weaving a serene melody.
A colossal bird graced the water's surface.
Deep blue, it danced with elegant grace, its long tail feathers scattering lingering, star-like flecks of cyan light.
It called.
Baisha instinctively understood its summons, urging her to its side.
A profound familiarity washed over her, as if she'd met this bird countless times. Its feathers blazed with fiery warmth, stirring the softest depths of her heart.
She felt strangely split—one part observed with curiosity, the other drove her body, like a fledgling to its nest, stumbling into the bird's embrace.
"Chirp, chirp, chirp…"
Her misty form solidified.
A soft, crisp, endearing chirp echoed—familiar, as if she'd heard it before, repeatedly.
Wind and water swirled around her. Belatedly, she realized: she had wings. She was flying!
"Chirp…"
Help!
Awareness of her wings disrupted her balance.
Plummeting, she glimpsed the stream, a mirror reflecting her form: a fluffy, black-beaked, black-footed white bird, round with beady eyes. Ripples blurred details, but she was far less majestic than the blue giant.
Resigned, she mused: maybe she was a waterbird, buoyant enough to float. If not, it was down to luck.
She closed her eyes—
And landed on something warm and soft.
Opening her eyes, she hadn't hit water but the blue bird's wing.
It soared, skimming the stream, carrying her to a dry treetop, and gently placed her in a nest woven of soft branches and vines, exquisitely crafted.
Baisha tumbled in, barely settled, when the bird, with a melodious cry, alighted beside her in a dance-like glide, pecking to groom her feathers.
The gesture, though loving, was clumsy, heavy-handed. Within minutes, Baisha lost several feathers.
Baisha: "…"
Chirp, chirp, chirp! Uncle, stop, I'll go bald!
Her protests went unheeded.
The blue bird finished, leaving Baisha a patchy, balding puffball.
Undeterred, it flew off, returning with vibrant red berries, nudging them toward her to eat.
Baisha: "…"
Are these even safe? Uncle, are you addicted to this?