The day finally came.
The Blackthorne estate, usually calm and disciplined, was wrapped in an atmosphere of tense anticipation. Servants moved swiftly through the halls, physicians whispered urgently, and even seasoned knights stood a little straighter than usual.
Inside the Duchess's chamber—
A cry pierced the air.
Not one of pain.
But of life.
A newborn's cry echoed softly, powerful in its fragility.
Aria von Blackthorne lay exhausted yet radiant upon the bed, her silver hair damp with sweat, her breathing slow but steady. In her arms, a small bundle writhed and cried, tiny fists clenching instinctively.
Alaric von Blackthorne stood beside the bed, his tall figure unmoving, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever.
But his eyes—
They trembled.
"A girl," the midwife said softly, smiling. "A healthy baby girl, my lord."
Aria looked down at the child, tears pooling in her blue eyes.
"She's beautiful," she whispered.
The crying continued, loud and relentless.
Aria carefully lifted the child and extended her toward her husband.
"Alaric," she said gently. "Hold her."
For a moment, the Sword Emperor hesitated.
He had faced demon kings without fear.
He had stood alone against armies.
Yet now—
He reached out slowly, almost awkwardly, and took the child into his arms.
The crying continued.
Alaric looked down.
The baby had black hair, soft and fine like silk—just like his own. Her eyes, though barely open, were a clear blue, reflecting Aria's gentle gaze.
He stared at her.
So small.
So fragile.
So… alive.
A faint, barely noticeable smile curved his lips.
But the crying did not stop.
"She's hungry," Aria said softly, amused despite her exhaustion.
"Or stubborn," Alaric replied quietly.
At that moment, the door opened gently.
Aurelian stood at the entrance.
He froze.
The sight before him made his breath hitch.
Father.
Mother.
And in his father's arms—
A new life.
"Aurelian," Aria called softly. "Come here."
He approached slowly, his steps unusually hesitant.
Alaric turned toward him.
"Hold her," the Duke said.
Aurelian's eyes widened.
"M-Me?"
For the first time in a long while, uncertainty filled his voice.
He had killed bandits.
He had stood in blood-soaked battlefields.
But this—
"I might—" he swallowed. "I might hurt her."
Aria smiled gently.
"You won't," she said. "I trust you."
Alaric stepped forward and carefully transferred the child into Aurelian's arms.
The moment her small body settled against his chest—
The crying stopped.
Instantly.
The room fell silent.
The baby blinked slowly… then smiled.
A small, pure smile.
Aurelian froze completely.
"…She stopped," he whispered.
Aria covered her mouth, eyes wide with surprise.
Alaric stared, stunned.
The baby yawned softly and curled closer to Aurelian, her tiny fingers gripping his sleeve.
"She's sleeping…" Aria murmured.
Aurelian looked down at her.
So small.
So warm.
So unbelievably soft.
'She's… my sister,' he thought. 'My little sister.'
Something deep inside him shifted.
Not power.
Not ambition.
But resolve.
'I will protect her,' he vowed silently. 'No matter what this world throws at us.'
To him, she was no less than an angel.
Alaric cleared his throat lightly.
"…She seems to like you."
Aria smiled warmly. "Very much."
Aurelian looked up. "Father… Mother… her name?"
Alaric turned toward him. "You decide."
Aurelian shook his head slightly. "You should name her."
Aria smiled and placed a hand over Alaric's.
"No," she said softly. "Her brother should."
Aurelian hesitated.
Then—
"Alya," he said.
Both parents looked at him.
"Alya von Blackthorne."
The name lingered in the air.
Aria's eyes softened. "A beautiful name."
Alaric nodded once. "It suits her."
Aurelian smiled as Alya slept peacefully in his arms.
---
That very day—
Celebration erupted across the Blackthorne Dukedom.
Bells rang.
Flags were raised.
Feasts were prepared.
The birth of a Blackthorne child was no small event.
In Solum, the capital, people gathered in the streets.
"To Lady Alya!"
"May she grow strong!"
The Blackthorne banners—two crossed swords beneath a crown—fluttered proudly from every tower and wall.
But beyond the dukedom—
Not everyone celebrated.
In shadowed halls and distant lands, whispers spread.
The Blackthorne heir is a monster.
What will his sister become?
Fear grew alongside awe.
---
Days passed.
Alya cried endlessly in the arms of maids and nurses.
But the moment Aurelian held her—
She calmed.
Every time.
She slept peacefully against his chest, fingers curled into his clothes.
Servants whispered in wonder.
"She only sleeps with the Young Master."
Aria watched with a gentle smile.
"She likes her brother," she said softly.
Aurelian took care of Alya whenever he could.
Holding her.
Watching her sleep.
Listening to her tiny breaths.
'This life…' he thought, watching her one afternoon. 'It's precious.'
Time flowed like water.
Then—
Another important day approached.
The Age Ceremony.
Aurelian's tenth birthday was nearing.
The Duke gave the order personally.
"Begin preparations."
Sebastian bowed deeply. "At once, my lord."
"Double security," Alaric added. "No mistakes."
"I will ensure it," Sebastian replied.
Invitations were sent.
Noble houses from across the Astra Empire began arriving in Solum.
High nobles.
Counts.
Viscounts.
Even distant dukes.
Merchants flooded the city, setting up stalls, decorations, and grand displays.
Solum transformed.
It felt like a festival.
Blacksteel-armored knights patrolled every street corner. Magical barriers were discreetly reinforced. Hidden guards watched from rooftops.
The Blackthorne family flags dominated the skyline.
A show of power.
A declaration.
This was not just an age ceremony.
This was Aurelian von Blackthorne's age ceremony.
And the entire empire was watching.
Some with anticipation.
Some with fear.
Some with hidden malice.
But one thing was certain—
All eyes were on him.
And the world of Noctyrr held its breath.