Althea stepped out from her carriage. A servant offered her a hand, which she accepted.

Alongside her were the people she barely calls family.

House of Seawyn was united in an elaborate and lavish outfit of baby blue. The women wear pale blue gowns with lowered necklines that bare the shoulders and collarbones in quiet confidence. Silver trims define the bodice and waist, while pale, flowing sleeves spill from the arms like drifting sea mist.

As for the men, they were clad in immaculate asymmetrical coats that emphasized their frames. Chains and metal accents rest against the chest, deliberate rather than decorative. A long blue mantle falls from one shoulder, trailing behind like a living banner of shallow sea.

Today is a joyous day for the empire.

It was the day of the usurper’s execution.

Althea doesn’t want to attend, but she was forced to come. Something about putting a united front.

Now she mingled with her ungrateful family.

Marquess Darius’ calm arrogance—as he talked about his exploit in helping the empress was fire to her ears. Her husband’s mocking smile, as he saw the discomfort on her face, soured her mood further. She refused to slip her arm in his when he offered.

Instead, she slipped her arm around a servant’s arm, bringing the poor man along with the House of Seawyn.

“I suppose Althea deserves some consolation,” Lanna, the first sister, said with a cute chuckle. “Lighten up, dear sister. You’re going to sour the gala with your face.”

“How about I console you with my blade?” Althea smiled innocently. “Your face is no longer feminine with that new… trend of yours,” She cut her index finger across her lips, mimicking the nasty scar on Lanna’s face that made her lips crooked. “You should stop trying to be cute and aspire to be manly instead. Suits you better.”

“Be respectful, sister,” Borque, the first son and also heir, said sternly. “We’re in public.”

Althea sneered, unbothered by Lanna’s glare.

Marquess Darius looked at them with a silent, warning gaze. Eyes glowing blue with power.

“Let’s cool our tongues,” The husband stepped in and placed a hand on Althea’s shoulder. He also gave a glare to the servant, signaling for him to go away—and he did. “We’re in a formal occasion. Let’s not embarrass Father.”

“Ah, darling, your tongue is as always the sweetest,” Althea chuckled cynically. It was a mockery of how many boot-licking he had done, and everyone knows it. “I apologize for my behavior. Perhaps now that I tasted a real man, I suppose my tongue learned a thing or two. It’s only natural it burns a bit hotter now.”

Almost instantly, the husband’s face darkened.

He clenched his fists hard, trying to suppress the anger that Althea laughed off like it was nothing.

“Come on, darling,” She slipped her hand into his. “The royal family is in need of something sweet.”

Althea mind herself after and followed Marquess Darius through a long path flanked by knights in royal, ceremonial armor that snakes its way through the maze-like marble halls from the entrance to the second floor.

Nobles were gathered there for social events as they waited to be called to the Milky Garden.

It was on the rooftop where the emperor was now.

Marquess Darius’ appearance was noted with saluting knights and trumpets.

The great glass doors parted, and the House of Seawyn flowed into the expanse of light. Walls of flawless crystal held back the sky itself, bathing the chamber in a radiant, diffused glow. Long tables draped in silver linen bordered the room, laden with delicate pastries and pale wine.

At the chamber’s heart, a small ensemble wove a lilting melody.

And to its rhythm danced a quarter of Demon Spirits with feline features.

Servants wove through the gathering like silent currents, offering crystal flutes that caught the light.

The air hummed with the banter of nobles. A murmur layered with calculations of status and favor.

And on the far wall, beside the arch that led to the rooftop gardens, a monumental painting dominated the space. It depicted a woman with vast, luminous Angel wings in frantic flight, pursued through the endless darkness by a shadow monster.

It was the monumentalization of Empress Morgana’s success in luring the White Mask away.

There are ethereal hands touching her back, and wings like the entire hope of the empire is on her back.

Althea wanted to spit at it.

She was there, and she knew there would be no success without the person they were executing today.

Empress Morgana’s glory stemmed from one person, yet the recognition fell to her shoulders.

But what was more sickening was the ungratefulness.

Someone who was truly strong and capable would give recognition when it’s due.

And someone worth following wouldn’t punish those who helped them the most.

Althea scanned the crowd, ignoring her husband’s words about respect and boundaries. She was searching for something, or someone. Near the entrance to the rooftop, she spotted a big group of unified emeralds that was more eye-catching than most.

House of Castillon.

She searched for Princess Davina, but was dejected when she couldn’t find her.

A hand yanked her to the side. It was her mother, Drola.

Her grip tightened on Althea’s arm—a vise of silk and bone. “Once we are up there, you will follow my lead. You’ll praise the empress’s great feat, and offer condolences for the usurper’s deceit.” Her voice was a low, stern whisper meant for Althea alone. “Do not deviate. This is your chance to mend your… regrettable mistake.”

“Regrettable mistake?” Althea scoffed incredulously. “What mistake?”

Drola pulled her harder, eyes blazing with anger. “Your mistake was blocking your husband’s army from aiding the royal family. That can be considered treason as long as the empress willed it, do you understand, daughter?”

“Oh, now I’m suddenly your daughter?” Althea freed her arm. “Empress Morgana is a fraud. Whatever she said to convince the emperor was a lie. You’re not there, mother. He saved Father and me. And now you want me to praise the snake that bit our savior?”

She didn’t wait for her mother to answer.

Instead, she turned to get away from all the noise.

No use arguing with Drola since there was never a time when she admitted that she was wrong.

Heck, Althea never ever seen her show a glimpse of kindness.

Even when she was forced to marry, Drola offered no condolences as a mother and a woman.

“You know, when you were one, you picked a rotten apple.” Drola’s voice stopped Althea in her tracks. She didn’t turn around, but her ears were focused on her mother’s voice. “Out of your siblings, you are the only one who picked a rotten apple. That’s bad luck.

“Sadly, you looked like me the most, so I pardoned it. But I was wrong. I should’ve discarded you had I known you’d be this ungrateful.”

Althea clenched her hands and walked away.

She wanted to think that Drola only wanted to hurt her, but she knew better.

It was all the truth.

On the rooftop, the pride of the empire and Spirits await them.

All nobles stepped into the sunny landscape of evergreen after wearing a bracelet that suppresses their powers. A terrible ocean of hyper-reactive people to show marvel and adoration to the effort put in by the emperor. Milky white streams through the garden along the edge.

Althea blocked the sunlight with her hand.

Since this was the royal bubble, the sky looked perfectly normal, as if the Black Rift was gone.

It was the powerful dome of the Citadel-class Obelisk of Life.

Even the Black Rift was pushed aside, revealing the real sky without the abyssal darkness.

One could even see the distant temple of the Sky People mingling with the clouds.

The marble paths curve beautifully. Statues watch in silence from trimmed alcoves, their intricate forms smoothed by time, while shallow pools mirror columns and sky alike. Every surface is white—starting from floors, arches, and balustrades, yet the garden doesn’t feel cold.

Sunlight bathes the leaves and blossoms, while the fresh air flaunts the hush of water and stone.

On the far side ahead, a miniature tower rising about twenty meters high stood.

It was slender, pale, and had a flat top.

At its sides stand two massive flowering crabapple trees, reaching the top of the tower. Their rosy-red flowers spilled stark color against the pale backdrop. The emperor and all his majesty stood at the very top of the tower.

He was standing like a silent, ancient sentinel with his hands on his back.

His long hair fluttered and glistened under the sky, and his eyes radiated with grandiose power.

For someone who had lived for thousands upon thousands of years, he looked young. Innocent—even. His face was devoid of any scars or hard lines. Frankly, he was more beautiful than handsome. The land kept his youthful, and it shows.

Royal knights stood in perfect lines on both sides of the tower.

And the captains stood not too far behind the emperor, watching the nobles enter with a sharp gaze.

Althea saw a small marble dome on the right edge of the tower. Two royal knights were placed on guard beside the door. From their deliberate positioning, no doubt the prisoners were in there, waiting for their turn to be executed.

On the other side, there was a construct, a machine that was covered by a silken cloth.

Even though it was covered, all nobles already knew what it was.

Soul Crusher. A machine that was created specifically to execute criminals as painfully as possible.

Today is a public execution disguised as a gala.

The nobles have taken their assigned spots with a glass of wine in hand, a mark that formality has now started for good. House of Seawyn was a group of almost thirty people near the center, a few paces from the two Duke Houses.

Althea was standing on the very edge. Her family’s backs were facing her.

All were listening to the emperor’s speech. He preaches the gallant valor of the attending. History and order must be preserved and checked. And then he seamlessly shifted the focus to the powerful feat of the empress.

It was all rubbish wrapped in formal and pompous words.

She scanned the faces of the people here.

No sign of the empress, even though she was the center of the topic.

Nobles raised their glasses, cheering and clapping, but Althea remained still in her spot.

It was suffocating to be among these people. Those who only follow the stream of power. She said that, but she was no different than them. She also wanted to follow the stream of power. But unlike them, she felt the tide was shifting in the opposite direction from the mass.

But she prided herself on never wearing a full mask.

Althea has never once used a mask when she was in public. If she were happy, angry, or sad, anyone could see it on her face. Perhaps that’s the reason why people are glancing at her. They can feel her disgust, which she didn’t mind.

She looked up at the emperor.

Normally, whenever she saw him, there was this adoration welling up inside her.

Something behind his eyes was stimulating the noble-side of her that thirsts for power and prestige.

But right now, that adoration was no longer.

’It’s gone…’ She thought inside, eyes narrowing. She then swept her gaze across the nobles. Her family, her rival house, the heirs, and the heiress. ’His power is gone—but none of these fools can see it. Blind. For once, I pity them.

’They had never seen a real, powerful person. Never seen Rex. His gift is that he attracts power. Attracts the stepping stones to reach a higher power. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Even Davina, my rival, could see it. These people are standing on the wrong side.’

Althea’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

Thinking that these fools are on the wrong side made it less suffocating.

It was relieving.

She raised her gaze again, and it was then she realized the emperor was looking at her.