Location: Imperial Study
The great windows of the Imperial Study glowed faintly with the blue hue of mana-lit lanterns, casting long shadows upon the floor's polished obsidian tiles.
The night was quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace and the soft turning of parchment pages.
Raphael Valoria, Emperor of the Healian Empire, sat amidst ancient tomes and fresh dispatches, his crimson eyes sharp beneath the dark fringe of his lashes.
A faint shimmer twisted the air before him—mana unraveling at a precise frequency—and a communication tablet sparked to life on his desk.
The holographic image of a young man emerged: cloaked, sharp-eyed, and faintly smirking as though amused to be summoned at this hour.
"You're late," Raphael said without lifting his gaze from the report in his hand.
"Time magic doesn't punch clocks," the man replied, rolling his shoulders. "Besides, I was doing what you asked—keeping your daughter alive."
Raphael finally looked up, his crimson gaze narrowing. "You say that as if it were a chore."
The student—Misha—snorted, folding his arms. "Hardly. But let's not pretend I'm the only one who cares about her. You still dream of locking her away in a tower, don't you?"
"Don't tempt me," Raphael muttered, leaning back.
Misha's grin was quick and crooked. "Speaking of towers, what will you do if I accidentally vaporize your uncle's son? Rüdiger has a mouth. If he insults Magdalene, I might forget diplomacy."
He tilted his head and added, too casually, "So... can I kill him? Just a little? Maybe erase his memories instead? Or just a limb?"
Raphael raised a brow, utterly unimpressed. "You can't kill nobles because they insult your favorite woman."
Misha rested his chin in his palm, giving the emperor a wide-eyed, pitiful look. "But he's so awful. What if I make it painless? Quick. A poof."
"No."
"You let me obliterate that treasonous baron in the east."
"He was actively trying to assassinate the imperial princess."
Misha pouted. "Details."
"You are not vaporizing Rüdiger."
"What if he tries to touch her?"
"Then you restrain him."
Misha grumbled. "So boring."
"You want to be cute. Try not plotting murders."
Misha gave a slow blink, then deliberately widened his eyes. "Please, teacher? I'll even smile when I do it."
Raphael exhaled through his nose, muttering, "Goddess preserve me."
Misha pouted harder, then crossed his arms in defeat. "Fine. But if he breathes wrong around her, I'm scaring him. At least."
"That," Raphael said dryly, "I'll allow."
Misha's grin returned with impish delight.
"I knew you were ill-tempered, but impulsive too?" Raphael replied coolly. "You're more beast than man."
"I work with beastmen, Your Majesty," Misha drawled. "Occupational hazard."
"Is your battalion on standby?" Raphael asked, tone shifting.
Misha's expression straightened. "The beastmen are already camped with the Southern Imperial Guard. I can open a dimensional tunnel and summon them within ten minutes."
"Showoff."
"Efficient," Misha corrected with a tilt of his head.
Raphael rested his cheek against his hand. "You know that kind of portal manipulation is supposed to be restricted to Archmages."
"And yet here I am. Not one. Still doing it better than most."
The emperor's lips curled faintly. "Arrogance suits you."
"Only because I wear it better than most."
There was a pause. The hologram flickered slightly, and for a moment neither spoke.
Then Raphael asked, softly, "Are you taking care of yourself?"
Misha raised a brow. "You're not worried about me. You're worried about who'll protect your daughter if I drop dead."
Raphael gave no reply, but his silence was telling.
Misha smirked, but there was no heat in it. Only a trace of weariness. "So much for your chosen son-in-law. He was supposed to protect her. Instead, she's defending him."
"Magda defends what is hers," Raphael murmured. "But if the time comes, she will choose who walks beside her."
Misha hesitated, then frowned. "She's pretending to be fine, but I know she's not. The marriage laws—she's under pressure. Why can't you stop it? Just revoke that part. She'll sleep better."
Raphael folded his hands, tone flat. "Think about it not as someone who loves her, but as someone who serves the Empire. Look at it from my seat."
Misha bristled, but forced himself to think.
He exhaled sharply. "It will protect noble girls. Keep them from being bought, bartered, abused."
He stared off-screen, jaw tight. "Fine. As an emperor, I get it. It's smart."
But then his voice dropped. "But what good is it, if it's hurting my favorite woman?"
His eyes crackled violently, an azure blaze twisting around the rims of his blue irises. "Lady Halvora is lucky she still has a manor."
Raphael leaned back slightly, lips pressing into a line.
For one second, he thought he had instilled a shred of sense in the boy.
But no.
Who was he kidding?
They were back to square one.
Misha's devotion to Magda burned like a star—steady, dangerous, and unyielding.
It frightened Raphael. And reassured him.
With Misha around, Magda was more than safe.
But safe wasn't the same as free.
For now, Misha played the role of her guardian, her shadow, her silent shield.
He wore the name of some she trusted, cloaked himself in mischief and mana.
But Raphael wondered—how long before the mask cracked, before Misha became the storm he himself is?
The signal began to dim. Mana lines blinked in a quiet farewell.
Raphael spoke one last time before the image faded. "Don't let your temper lead you, Misha. If something happens to you..."
Misha interrupted, voice unusually gentle. "You'll lose your last blade. I know."
And then the line cut, leaving Raphael alone once more in the vast study.
He stared at the empty space above the tablet, the firelight flickering over his unreadable face.
Almost four years ago, before the world knew Magda as his daughter, Dion had delivered a surveillance report.
A list of noble interactions, harmless in appearance.
And then Raphael saw him—a boy, watching Magda with the eyes of a drowning man sighting shore.
The boy never approached her directly.
But whenever nobles sneered or turned away from her for her lack of title, the boy stepped between, subtle and quiet, like a shadow sworn to shield.
Later, during her debut, the same boy had stiffened when the words 'Imperial Princess' were announced.
He'd drawn away after that, distance thick with bitterness. From that day forward, he never once looked at her the same.
And yet, for two years, without reason or reward, he had protected her.
Destroyed threats in silence. Cleared her path. Fought her unseen battles.
Raphael never named what he saw in those sharp blue eyes.
Devotion? Obsession?
Whatever it was, it had survived time, rejection, and even identity.
Misha. A name he returned. A role played.
But Raphael remembered those eyes. And he knew whose they truly were.
Somewhere, far to the north, his daughter was standing between storms.
And so was the man who refused to call her by name.