5 Years Later…
Five long years had passed since Empress Lola and the remnants of Emperor Josh Aratat's loyalists were transported into the strange world of Sanaria by the great Archmage. Five years since they arrived beaten, hunted, grieving—yet stubbornly alive.
Now they had roots here.
Not deep ones, not permanent ones, but roots nonetheless.
Their once plentiful resources—food, ointments, medicines, enchanted supplies—had run dry two years ago. At first, panic hovered like a storm cloud. But survival was second nature to the generals of Josh Aratat. They adapted. They blended. They learned the rhythm of this new land.
And luck, strange and uncanny, came to them through the most unlikely person.
Naze, the blind swordsman, was wandering with his wife Nymia when he first stepped onto a dune of strangely warm earth. Though sightless, his senses were sharper than any hawk's. He bent down, let the grains spill through his fingers, and felt an aura he could not explain.
A shimmer.
A pulse.
A material that wanted to be something more.
The red sand.
This sand had astonishing properties—it made gold and silver shine with unnatural brilliance, intensified the glow of gems, and when heated and applied to structures, it fused surfaces together with a near-unbreakable bond. It could build houses. Reinforce armor. Strengthen weapons. Even enhance jewelry.
The moment Naze brought samples home, the mages and craftsmen gasped.
They had found their lifeline.
Within months, the loyalists became the primary suppliers of refined red sand in the entire region. Wealth trickled in. Then flowed. Survival, once a daily struggle, became manageable.
And of course…
news reached King Sinnabad.
At first, he simply wanted to "meet" the newcomers. A friendly visit, he claimed.
But the loyalists were not fools. They evaded every invitation with excuses polished enough to reflect the king's own face. It became a silent game of cat and rabbit—except this rabbit was always three steps ahead.
And behind these evasions was a deeper secret, a prophecy whispered through every important household in Sanaria:
The mother of the Child of Calamity would one day come to the king herself.
So they waited.
And finally, that day had come.
---
Sanaria was thrown into chaos—not of fear, but of frantic activity.
Servants raced across courtyards with fabrics, incense, torches, and carpets.
The royal cooks prepared the finest sand-baked meals.
The palace guards polished armor until their reflections stared back.
Because today…
Empress Lola would step into the king's palace.
A woman who lived like a queen within the dome of shimmering protection.
A woman who commanded generals feared even by the desert warlords.
A woman whispered to be the mother of the prophesied calamity child.
And King Sinnabad…
He could not think beyond the curvature of her rumored beauty.
His mind—clouded with lust and childish fantasies—refused to focus on political strategy, diplomacy, or danger. His wives watched him with disgusted resignation. His sons exchanged knowing, exhausted glances.
But none dared say a word.
Not openly.
---
Meanwhile, within the shimmering dome left behind by the great Archmage, Prince Josh the Second was preparing too.
Five years old now—beautiful, bright-eyed, and frighteningly perceptive.
He had grown up surrounded by books of his father's victories, stories of generals, tactics, magic, honor, and blood. He ran through the halls like a tiny shadow of the late emperor, observing, absorbing, learning.
And then…
At the age of two, just as the god A'Nui foretold, his memories returned.
But not as blurred echoes.
They came back solid.
Sharp.
Full.
The child began correcting his teachers.
Reminding generals of old battle formations that only the late emperor should have known.
Calling soldiers by nicknames only Josh Aratat ever used.
Walking with that same calm, oppressive composure that once silenced entire armies.
His instructors exchanged terrified looks but said nothing.
They simply concluded:
"He is special. He is gifted. The child of the emperor."
But in truth…
He was the emperor.
Reborn.
Reduced to a small body, but retaining the soul, the instincts, and the authority of the man who once ruled kingdoms and shattered armies.
And today…
He would take his first step out of the dome.
Because his mother was going to meet a king.
And destiny—shaking, roaring, waking—was about to begin its second chapter.
Another thing that had become a quiet topic of concern—whispered only behind closed doors—was the way the young prince looked at his mother.
It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Not the adoring gaze of a child…
But something deeper. Older. A gaze that carried memory and longing far beyond his five tender years.
A lover's gaze.
A king's gaze.
He always kept a respectful distance, as if some invisible boundary held him back—A'Nui's warning echoing in the depths of his mind. But the intensity in his eyes never faded, and sometimes it made Empress Lola's heart thump with a confusion she could never voice.
Sometimes, when he spoke—those calm, steady, impossibly knowing words—Lola felt the world tilt.
It wasn't her son speaking.
No… it was as if she were staring straight into the eyes of her late husband.
At night, when everything was quiet and the dome sealed them away from the world, she would recall certain phrases he uttered… how he would gently correct her, how he would advise her like a ruling emperor, how he would look at her with an understanding no child should possess.
And she would blush—uncontrollably, shamefully—and hide her face in her palms, wondering what exactly had returned to her in the body of her baby boy.
He was bold. Wise. Too composed.
He walked with the confidence of a man who had commanded armies and conquered kingdoms.
He spoke like someone who had lived many lives.
And then there was the matter of suitors.
Every single man who attempted to court the Empress mysteriously vanished from her life—some fled out of fear, others suffered strange misfortunes, and one particular royal guard… never left alive.
That night was the turning point.
A strong, trained, armored warrior—who had somehow managed to sneak into Lola's chamber—was found the next morning dismembered. Limbs torn like paper. Armor shredded like cloth. No weapon marks. No sign of a struggle from Lola. Just blood, metal, and fear.
No one believed such a thing could be the work of a five-year-old.
But the loyalists who saw the prince standing silently beside the corpse would never forget the sight.
His expression had been calm.
Cold.
Almost… possessive.
Since then, no one dared approach the Empress romantically.
And this was why, on the morning of the royal summons, Prince Josh II refused to let his mother leave without him.
"This king of sand," the boy had said, voice quiet yet threaded with unmistakable authority,
"has thoughts he should not have. I will not let him stain what belongs to me."
Lola had frozen—half in shock, half in fear, half in something she could not name.
Now, as the desert winds stirred the golden dunes and the palace of Sanaria bustled in chaotic preparation, the young prince walked by his mother's side…
Small in stature.
Soft in appearance.
But carrying within him the wrath, wisdom, and possessiveness of the late Emperor Josh Aratat.
And the king of Sanaria—King Sinnabad—waited eagerly, unaware that the "child of calamity" he sought…
…had already set his eyes on him.