On this day—this long-awaited, heavily whispered day—five of the strongest surviving generals prepared to escort Empress Lola to the palace of King Sinnabad.
The decision was made not out of honor… but necessity.
No one outside the dome could be allowed to trace their steps back.
Not even the king.
So only the elites were chosen.
They gathered quietly outside the glowing borders of the invisible barrier, each one appearing deceptively ordinary to the untrained eye—simple wanderers, odd travelers, nothing more. But beneath their modest cloaks and sand-beaten garments were legends in living flesh.
Naze, the blind swordsman—his pale eyes fixed on a world only he could "see."
A man so feared that entire battalions once surrendered at the mere rumor of his presence. He walked with slow, deliberate steps, the sand parting gently beneath his feet. Despite his blindness, he was arguably the most powerful warrior alive.
Relia Amia, the Empath Assassin—slender, quiet, and capable of ending a life by showing them their own memories. The shimmering memory orb hung at her side like an ever-watchful eye. Rumor had it she once forced a tyrant to relive every atrocity he committed until his mind shattered.
Conrad Stan, the oldest among them—broad-shouldered, calm, and steady as a mountain. His ancient glaive rested against his back, humming faintly with an old magic. Conrad had lived through two emperors, countless battles, and still walked like a man carved out of time itself.
Shammah, the iron-blooded berserker—towering, dark-skinned, with a massive broad axe strapped across his spine. His reputation was simple: he did not fall. Spears broke on his skin, blades bent against his bones, and fire only angered him.
And finally…
Miko, the phantom striker—lean, sharp-eyed, hands always hovering near the dozens of throwing knives hidden on his person. He moved with such speed that people often saw only the aftermath of his strike, never the strike itself.
These five formed a wall of silent, moving death.
A simple caravan to the outside world…
A nightmare to anyone foolish enough to test them.
And walking between them was a small child—five years old, soft-faced, adorable in his loose desert robe.
Prince Josh the second.
To outsiders, he looked fragile. Expendable. Almost laughably vulnerable compared to his terrifying escorts.
But that wasn't the case in reality and the generals couldn't explain it but they could almost sense the strange oddities of this young prince.
They had seen that small hand rip through steel.
They had watched him silence a full-grown warrior with a stare too ancient for his face.
They had felt the pressure of his aura—the weight of a ruler who had lived once before and returned with memories intact.
He didn't walk beside them because he needed protection.
He walked beside them because the world needed protection from him.
As the dome shimmered behind them and the golden dunes stretched endlessly ahead, the six figures marched toward the palace of Sanaria…
A peaceful procession on the surface.
A disaster waiting to happen beneath.
And at the center of it all—the child the kingdom feared…
and the king lusted after his mother…
Prince Josh the second carried himself with a quiet confidence, eyes half-lidded, thoughts already calculating every possible threat.
Today, Sanaria would meet its "calamity."
And calamity… was smiling.
The procession moved in heavy silence, the kind that only powerful people could maintain for long stretches without effort.
The caravan carrying Empress Lola and the young Prince Josh rolled slowly across the sand, flanked by the five generals on horseback. Sand hissed beneath hooves, cloaks fluttered in the dry wind, and not a single guard dared to approach them.
Inside the caravan, the Empress glanced sideways at her son and immediately noticed the deep frown etched across his small face.
"Josh… is something wrong, dear?" Lola asked softly.
He turned his head.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And the way he looked at her—gods, that look—Lola's heart skipped. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she had to tear her gaze away. She pressed her palm to her chest, scolding herself.
Lola, what is wrong with you? That's your son… not some handsome stranger staring into your soul…
"Josh, stop staring at me like that," she muttered, flustered. "It… makes me uncomfortable."
At last, the boy looked away, but not before she caught a flicker—an ancient familiarity—deep in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mother…" he murmured. "I simply wish you didn't have to accept the invitation of that king."
Lola exhaled. She knew this conversation was coming.
"I already explained this," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We need allies. A marriage alliance with King Sinnabad ensures shared sovereignty over this kingdom. It guarantees safety and influence. I cannot rule without an actual kingdom to govern and with this, we can have a foothold to take back our kingdom, the Nazare Blade Empire, when you're old enough and we are strong enough to conquer it."
She spoke like a queen… yet inside, she felt like an embarrassed woman discussing romance with someone far too perceptive.
Josh's reply came with a tone that should not belong to a five-year-old.
"You already have a man."
Her breath caught.
That voice.
That calm certainty.
That unshakable presence.
For a terrifying heartbeat, Lola felt like she was speaking not to her son… but to her husband.
Josh's late father.
The man she still loved, mourned, and carried in her bones.
"Josh, you need to stop this," Lola said, attempting sternness but only achieving a trembling plea. "I'm making this decision… and it is final."
A long silence.
Then the boy nodded.
"I'm sorry."
He stood up, slid the caravan curtains aside, and leapt out before she could stop him.
"Josh—!"
He landed lightly on the sand—far too lightly for a child his age—and walked toward the horses with the confidence of a trained warrior. Without asking, without hesitating, the five-year-old prince sprang upward and settled behind Relia Amia on her horse.
The Empath Assassin jerked in shock, nearly losing her balance.
"Wha— Prince—!"
Her voice cracked, uncharacteristically shaky.
Then she froze.
Josh's small arms wrapped around her waist—not tightly, but gently, familiarly, almost… possessively. The way a grown man might steady someone he cared for. It sent a ripple of confusion straight through her.
Relia Amia's mind scattered.
This… isn't how children hold people…
She had a younger brother—fifteen years old now—three times the prince's age, and even he had never carried such unsettling confidence. Never had she felt flustered by someone smaller than her forearm.
Yet this boy… this child…
He always did things—subtle, fleeting gestures—that made her heart tighten in ways she couldn't explain. Ways she refused to admit out loud. Ways that would earn her endless ridicule if ever spoken.
And the strangest part?
It wasn't flirtation.
It wasn't childish attachment.
It was something older… deeper… and far more dangerous.
Relia swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing, her grip on the reins trembling just slightly.
What are you, child? Why do you feel like someone who lived a life far before you were born?
She dared not ask.
She dared not even think too loudly.
Because every time the prince touched her—even innocently—she felt something ancient stir beneath his tiny heartbeat.
And that terrified her far more than she would ever admit.
The other generals turned in shock. Miko nearly dropped a knife. Shammah blinked like he'd just been punched. Even Naze paused mid-horse-gallop, head tilting as if his senses had misread something impossible.
Josh simply rested one small hand on Relia's back, eyes forward, expression unreadable.
Inside the caravan, Lola's heart ached—and not from anger but something she was beginning to fear acknowledging.
This isn't just an overprotective child, she realized, her fingers trembling.
There is something greater at work here… far greater than I dared imagine.
And outside, the desert wind howled gently around the group, as if warning the world that its long-buried prophecy had begun to stir.