The void rippled slightly as the white Royal Battleship emerged from warp, its surface smooth and radiant like a blade unsheathed in silence. Behind it, trailing unseen like a shadow of gods, the cloaked Super Capital Citadel—its immense mass bending even local starlight, but hidden from sensors and prying eyes.

  They had reached Folkan’s border space.

  The void here was loud—hundreds of Folkan warships, some with scars fresh from recent battles, darted between checkpoints. Massive dreadnoughts patrolled like sharks, and squadrons of interceptors flitted through space lanes like steel insects.

  The Royal Battleship moved forward, slow but proud, its white hull gleaming under distant stars.

  Then—

  Ping.

  A dozen Folkan scanners locked onto them.

  “Unregistered Battleship. Identify your faction.”

  Inside the bridge, Kiana straightened, Vermond stood with his arms behind his back, and Jard’s voice clicked in through the AI's communication system.

  “Sending credentials now… under the name: Empire of White.”

  The Folkan comms went silent for a moment. A delay.

  Then Erie, sitting near the rear interface, couldn't hold it anymore and cackled over the private channel.

  “White?! That’s it?! What the hell, Jard?! You named our empire like someone naming their cat at gunpoint!”

  Jard’s voice came back dry.

  “It’s clean. Elegant. Minimalist.”

  Ruen added, chuckling, “Sounds like a soap brand.”

  Kiana whispered to Vermond with a smirk, “At least we’re not ‘Pink Sunshine Coalition’.”

  Vermond didn’t reply. His glowing eyes narrowed as he stared at the incoming Folkan patrols on the holographic map.

  Then the Folkan comms finally replied.

  “Empire of White... clearance accepted. Proceed, but remain within the designated route.”

  Their ship was escorted forward, engines purring smoothly, the white insignia reflecting in the blackness of space.

  But the Super Capital Citadel still followed in silence, invisible to all.

  Kiana murmured, “We’re in.”

  Vermond simply said, “Let’s make this entrance count.”

  The Royal Battleship White Phoenix glided deeper into Folkan space like a celestial king entering his dominion.

  Now officially registered as VIPs, a massive escort of Folkan warships surrounded them—two sleek cruisers flanked either side, while a squadron of black-and-red interceptors formed a shifting halo above and below. Larger vessels kept distance, watching with scanning systems active but silent.

  The sight quickly drew attention.

  Around them, the usual bustling traffic of civilian freighters, miner convoys, diplomatic shuttles, and even rogue-looking mercenary barges began to slow, many hovering off the standard lanes just to get a better view.

  “What kind of empire rides a ship that bright...?”

  “Is that thing even armed? It looks too clean to fight.”

  “White hull, gold lines... that has to be royal.”

  “Look at the emblem—what is that? A phoenix? A black hole?!”

  “That ain't Federation tech. No way.”

  Dozens of holo-feeds and space traffic drones began recording.

  The White Phoenix’s design was unlike anything they'd seen—pure white plating, seamless, with curves and edges that reflected the stars like mirrors. The blackhole insignia burned softly on its sides, outlined by golden energy veins that pulsed gently. The cockpit glass was tinted gold, and along the top fin, the shimmer of an invisible shield hummed in silent readiness.

  The AI inside the battleship softly reported, “Attention metrics rising. You are now the most viewed vessel in the Folkan Empire’s border sectors.”

  Inside the Super Capital Citadel, Erie watched with wide eyes and chuckled.

  “They’re treating us like celebrities.”

  Mon crossed her legs and smirked.

  “Good. Let them whisper. Let them wonder.”

  Ruen muttered, “Hope they don’t ask us for autographs.”

  Minutes ticked by..

  The moment Vermond made the announcement through the private comms, the air shifted.

  “Kiana will go as a single princess—it'll draw more attention. More leverage. Let’s bait the nobles.”

  There was a long pause.

  Erie stared at the screen, squinting.

  Mon arched an eyebrow, frowning slightly.

  Jard's fingers froze above his datapad.

  Ruen looked like he bit his tongue.

  Then… Kiana’s soft, silken voice broke the silence. “Okay, babe… whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

  The comms went silent again—but Vermond barely had time to react before she leaned close, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered.

  “But you’ll have to pay the price someday.”

  Vermond’s usually unreadable expression flickered. A faint red bloomed across his cheeks, and he slightly looked away—caught off guard for once.

  Erie, just put a hand over his mouth and whispered to himself.

  “Ohhh no… he’s so doomed…”

  Mon smirked but said nothing, eyes narrowed like a hawk sensing danger.

  Jard finally let out a slow whistle.

  “They’re either going to rule the universe… or burn it down together.”

  Then Renn’s voice crackled over the comms, flat and gruff.

  “I’m too old for this drama. I’m going to bed. Wake me up if we get attacked… or if anyone gets married.”

  Click.

  The old man disconnected.

  As the White Phoenix entered deeper into Folkan space, escorted like royalty, they passed a titanic ring-like structure orbiting a molten moon. It pulsed with brilliant teal energy, swarming with patrols, cannons, and defense systems so advanced that even Mon raised an eyebrow.

  Jard leaned forward from his seat on the bridge, eyes wide, fingers twitching.

  “Wait… wait… that’s… that’s not just a warp gate. That’s a Quantum Speed Anchor. That’s—insane. They’ve somehow created a stable FTL pulse highway across multiple sectors!”

  The crew watched as ships lined up in neat formations, entered the ring, and then—ZSHOOM—were launched at incomprehensible speeds, vanishing into streams of light as they shot toward far-flung systems.

  Even Erie had to blink.

  “Alright, credit where credit’s due. That’s hot.”

  Vermond, still standing beside Kiana with a slightly awkward tension in the air, glanced at the massive gate and asked,

  “Can our citadel fit in there?”

  Jard didn’t even turn around.

  “If you want to break it, sure.”

  Mon chuckled.

  “We’re too chonky for that gate. Your Super Capital Warship’s bigger than a goddamn continent, Vermond. We follow upper behind like a quiet beast.”

  The camera feed flicked to the cloaked Super Capital Citadel, drifting slowly behind them like an invisible leviathan. Occasionally, gravitational ripples betrayed its presence to those watching closely—but to most, it was nothing but background distortion.

  As the White Phoenix received its slot to use the anchor ring, Jard sighed dramatically.

  “Guess I’m building one of those.”

  Ruen grinned.

  “What are you gonna call it?”

  Jard squinted at the screen, then muttered with pride.

  "JardGate-01: Faster Than You.”

  The others groaned in unison.

  As the White Phoenix rocketed through the Quantum Speed Anchor, the stars blurred into streaks of blue and violet, and the ship was instantly hurled into a new sector—Folkan space was vast, aggressive, and humming with ancient energy.

  On the other end, as they emerged from the gate like royalty descending from heaven, the sector unfolded before them: towering industrial asteroids, crystal-harvesting fleets, and a Folkan orbital city shaped like a serpent coiled in midair. Countless ships dotted the sky like fireflies in a storm.

  But behind them…

  Nothing.

  Vermond tapped his fingers, leaning forward on the command console.

  Kiana checked the screens, frowning. “The Super Capital Citadel isn’t here yet.”

  Erie grumbled over the comms, slouching in his seat. “Of course it’s not. It’s a space turtle the size of a moon. You expected it to go zoom?”

  Jard, arms crossed, sighed proudly.

  “She’s slow but majestic. Like an elegant mountain… with a black hole for a heart.”

  Ruen added dryly,

  “A majestic mountain that takes six business hours to turn.”

  Kiana looked back at the holoscreen, watching the faint flicker at the edge of the sector’s data.

  “It’s still cloaked. No one can see it. It’s coming.”

  And indeed, miles behind, reality shimmered faintly. Like heat on metal, the faint ripple of the Super Capital Citadel—still cloaked—moved steadily forward, pulsing with slow, titanic energy. The void warped gently in its presence, as if space itself was bending in reverence to its mass.

  Some Folkan scans pinged the distortion but quickly dismissed it as space noise.

  Mon sipped her tea.

  “They’re not ready to see the goddamn sun sneaking up on them.”

  Vermond smirked, brushing a hand against Kiana’s arm.

  “Let them have their illusions a bit longer.”

  And behind them… the beast approached.

  Hours passed, and finally, they've arrived.

  The White Phoenix cut through the clouds like a blade of light, gliding over lush forests and glimmering oceans. Beneath them, the Folkan capital stretched like a jewel-encrusted continent—futuristic cities woven into nature, rivers glowing with bioluminescent life, and vertical gardens spiraling around golden towers.

  Folkan ships gave way, creating a ceremonial corridor in the sky. Below, millions of Folkan citizens looked up, holo-cameras flying, broadcasting the arrival live. Their bright white battleship, marked with the Black Hole Phoenix insignia, shimmered like a divine vessel in contrast to the green-and-blue world.

  Inside the ship, the Legion stood silently, lined in both walls of the central corridor—each clone in pristine white armor, faceless, motionless, divine. Like statues waiting to move.

  “Planet atmosphere stable,” Jard said through the comms. “AI confirms all systems go. Try not to cause a diplomatic apocalypse.”

  Vermond stood in front of the descending platform, his white royal coat gently billowing from the artificial breeze. Kiana stepped beside him in her long, radiant dress—her beauty amplified by the white and silver design, her emerald eyes steady, calm.

  Erie’s voice crackled in the background.

  “Don’t forget, you two are royalty now. Smile, wave, look pretty. Kiana, you're good at that. Vermond… just try not to glare death into everyone.”

  “No promises,” Vermond muttered, smirking.

  The landing platform descended slowly, touching down in front of the Folkan Palace—a massive obsidian structure surrounded by floating pillars, each inscribed with ancient glyphs. Soldiers in elegant crimson armor stood in ranks, and noblemen with high collars and bright emblems watched from a distance.

  A voice boomed through the speakers, amplified from the palace gates.

  “Welcome, Envoys of the Empire of White. The Folkan Kingdom receives you.”

  As they stepped forward, with the Legion behind—the eyes of an entire empire turned to the prince and princess of a rising force.

  As Vermond and Kiana stepped forward on the polished obsidian walkway, all eyes shifted—no, locked—onto Kiana.

  Her long white dress shimmered like flowing starlight, hugging her form gently yet regally. Her white hair fell like silk down her back, catching the light with every subtle move. But it was her eyes—those piercing emeralds—that made even the most disciplined Folkan guards falter.

  One tried to bow, but stumbled mid-motion.

  Another dropped his ceremonial spear with a clank, quickly snapping to attention, face flushed red behind his visor.

  Even the high-ranking Folkan dignitaries, adorned in their royal silks and armor laced with glowing runes, couldn’t help but whisper among themselves.

  “She’s… breathtaking.”

  “Is she really just a princess?”

  “Did the stars themselves make her?”

  Kiana, always composed, flashed them a soft, perfect smile.

  Several Folkan guards visibly struggled not to swoon.

  Even Vermond, walking beside her in a sharp white coat, could feel the shift in atmosphere. The crowd wasn't just awed—they were enchanted. And when Kiana gave Vermond a glance with a playful, knowing smirk, it was as if she was well aware of the power she held.

  “Babe,” she whispered from the side of her mouth, voice calm, "they’re all looking at me."

  “You’re used to that,” Vermond replied, trying not to show the amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Mhm,” she added with a wink. “But tonight, I’m yours.”

  Back on the Super Capital Citadel, Erie whispered in the comms.

  “Forget nukes, she could conquer planets with a smile…”

  Renn sighed, rubbing his temples.

  “I miss when royal meetings were boring…”

  As the grand obsidian doors of the Folkan palace opened, the tall figures of the royal guards stepped aside, ceremonial halberds gleaming under the golden-blue light of the crystal chandeliers above. The throne room was vast—walls etched with swirling constellations, floor reflecting the stars as if one were walking through space itself.

  The Folkan nobles—tall, elegant beings draped in dark silks and armor fused with crystal veins—turned in unison as Vermond and Kiana entered.

  Kiana clung lightly to Vermond’s arm, her eyes wide, shimmering with curiosity. She wore a modest white gown adorned with subtle silver embroidery of phoenix wings, her expression one of innocent awe.

  “Waaah…” she whispered just loudly enough for everyone to hear. “This place is huge! I could totally get lost here, big brother…”

  The Folkan court stirred. Whispers rippled through the crowd.

  “Did she just say big brother?”

  “She’s adorable…”

  One of the noblewomen clutched her chest.

  “That’s too much sweetness. I— I can’t…”

  Kiana gave a shy wave to the guards near the throne, bowing her head slightly and smiling with rosy cheeks.

  “Hi… um, you’re all so tall and cool…”

  Several guards nearly dropped their weapons. One actually did.

  Vermond stepped forward, composed and dignified, dressed in his sleek white uniform with the blackhole insignia gleaming on his chest. His voice was calm, but held a power that made the room fall silent.

  “I am Vermond of the White Empire,” he said, the word White echoing faintly as if the name itself carried weight.

  “This,” he continued, placing a gentle hand on the top of Kiana’s head as she looked up with the most innocent smile imaginable, “is my little sister, Princess Kiana.”

  Kiana giggled softly, cheeks pink.

  “I’m not really important,” she said, rocking on her heels, “I just… follow my big brother everywhere. He’s sooo cool.”

  Vermond’s smile flickered. Inside, he knew she was acting—but she was too good at this. Behind him, over private comms, Erie muttered.

  “She’s weaponizing cuteness now. We’re doomed.”

  Even the high Folkan Chancellor cleared his throat, clearly disarmed by the girl’s charm.

  “Ahem… W-we welcome the esteemed guests of the White Empire. Please… make yourselves at home.”

  The court bowed. And the whispers grew.

  “Brother and sister, huh…”

  “They’re… different from the other royals.”

  “She smiled at me. I swear she did!”

  As the formal greetings ended and the court slowly dispersed, one of the Folkan guards stepped forward. He was shorter than the others—still tall by human standards, but his armor was more practical than ceremonial. Sleek gray plating with etched unit marks, and a single silver star on his shoulder. He bowed respectfully before Vermond and Kiana.

  “Captain Gray of the 9th Battleguard, honored to serve,” he said, voice smooth but steady. “I’ve been assigned to escort you during your stay. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  Vermond gave a nod of approval.

  “Very well, Captain.”

  Kiana stepped forward with a light skip and an innocent sparkle in her eyes.

  “Wow, you’re a captain? That’s amazing!” she said, clapping her hands. “You must be super strong!”

  Gray blinked.

  “Uh… I—I mean… I do my best.”

  She tilted her head.

  “You look serious, but I think you’re a softie deep inside.”

  Gray almost choked on his own breath, cheeks flushing with a faint violet hue—not quite red, but the Folkan version of flustered.

  “N-not exactly, Princess… I… um…”

  Erie’s voice whispered over comms to Vermond. “She’s gonna break this poor guy by the time they reach the hallway.”

  Mon snorted through her nose. Jard muttered. “He’s already short-circuiting.”

  Gray tried to compose himself, straightening up.

  “Your rooms are this way… they’ve been prepared near the royal gardens. The view is… quite spectacular.”

  Kiana smiled sweetly, skipping beside him.

  “Yay! Lead the way, Captain Gray! I’ll walk right behind you… so I don’t get lost… or distracted…”

  Gray glanced back, his boots actually stuttered for half a step.

  “...Understood.”

  The grand doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing an elegant chamber—wide, high-ceilinged, with walls of flowing crystal light and living vines gently glowing in the corners. The Folkan definitely spared no luxury. At the center of the room was a round lounging table, with long cushions shaped like petals surrounding it, and two large balcony windows gave view to the floating city’s skyline and the blue oceans beyond.

  Gray stood tall, formal as ever, and said,

  “If you require anything—food, communication, or assistance—please press the central console. I’ll be stationed nearby.”

  But just as he turned to leave—

  Kiana gently took hold of his arm, fingers light but firm.

  “Wait! You’re our escort, right?” she said with wide, sparkling eyes. “You should come inside! You haven’t even seen the room you helped guard!”

  Gray blinked, his whole body stiffening like a soldier about to malfunction.

  “I-I don’t think I’m—uh, I mean—inside? Like, inside inside?”

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  Kiana tilted her head innocently.

  “Mhm. Come on~ Just for a moment?”

  Vermond, now resting on one of the cushions, narrowed his eyes and gave a quiet sigh.

  Over the comms, Mon muttered.

  “She's gonna cause a diplomatic heart attack…”

  Erie, grinning from wherever he was spying.

  “Bro’s fighting for his life and he didn’t even do anything wrong yet.”

  Gray cleared his throat, utterly unsure how to say no to the glowing beauty pulling him along.

  “O-Only for a moment, then. For… inspection.”

  He stepped inside.

  Kiana beamed and pulled him toward the central lounge like a happy child bringing home a stray animal.

  “Yay! Sit, sit! You look so tense. You need to learn how to relax, Captain Gray.”

  Gray sat like someone who was being threatened by a goddess.

  Meanwhile, Vermond just leaned back with a smirk, saying quietly,

  “Welcome to the danger zone, Captain.”

  And then...

  The door gently closed behind Vermond, who muttered something about an "urgent call from command," Kiana turned her full attention to Gray. She stepped lightly toward him, her hair shimmering with each movement, her voice sweet like a summer breeze.

  “So, Captain Gray…” she began, sitting delicately across from him, legs folded neatly beneath her, “what do you really do for a living? I mean... you don’t seem like someone who just gives tours.”

  Gray shifted uncomfortably, straightening his already stiff posture.

  “I—I serve in the outer patrol fleet. Recon and defense. I was assigned here due to… well, higher visibility operations.”

  “Ohhh,” Kiana purred, eyes sparkling like twin stars. “So you’re a hero, huh?”

  “I—No—That’s not—well—” he struggled, cheeks darkening a shade only embarrassment could create.

  Then Kiana stood.

  “Hmm… I’ve been wearing this outfit all day. Do you mind helping me undress?”

  Gray blinked. Once. Twice. His brain made a loud static noise.

  “P-Pardon?”

  “Please?” she said with a little twirl, hands behind her back, smiling up at him like she was asking for help opening a juice bottle.

  Gray’s entire system short-circuited.

  He stood, holding her hand gently, and with a trembling voice said,

  “Miss Kiana… please… never ask random strangers to do something like that to you. Especially not when you’re so—so beautiful. You don’t know what that could do to someone.”

  Kiana tilted her head, eyes wide and innocent, lips slightly parted.

  “I don’t get it. I thought you were nice. Are you saying no?”

  Then she leaned forward, making the cutest face known to the galaxy, cheeks puffed and eyes shimmering like she was about to cry.

  Gray gasped softly, hand tightening around hers in reflex.

  “N-No, it’s not that—I mean I—I just—”

  And then…

  Thud.

  Gray fell backwards, fainting on the spot, limbs splayed out on the crystal floor like a fallen soldier in battle.

  Kiana stared at him for a moment, blinked, then casually walked to the console and pressed a button.

  “Um… someone? I broke your Captain.”

  Minutes later..

  The door hissed open with a soft whoosh, and one of the palace guards stepped in—tall, armored, and seemingly composed… until his eyes met Kiana.

  She sat cross-legged in front of the unconscious Captain Gray, her delicate fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her green eyes sparkled with innocent confusion, lips slightly parted as she tilted her head at the guard.

  “Um… I think he fell asleep?” she said sweetly, pointing at Gray with the softness of a breeze.

  The guard’s composure shattered instantly. His face flushed deep red, his helmet practically steaming as he stared at the beautiful, ethereal girl before him.

  He didn’t even speak.

  He just ran—grabbed Gray like a sack of potatoes and bolted out of the room like his life depended on it.

  Moments later, the door hissed again.

  Vermond stepped in, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

  “You overdid it,” he said flatly, his eyes scanning the room, then lingering on her face.

  Kiana turned to him with a sheepish smile, swinging her legs a little.

  “What? I just asked for help. He was so serious… I thought he needed to lighten up.”

  “He fainted.”

  “Well, maybe he’s the one who overreacted,” she replied innocently, then leaned forward, whispering with a smirk, “Or maybe he couldn’t handle how cute I am.”

  Vermond sighed, placing a hand over his face—but a small, reluctant smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

  “You’re going to start a war with that face someday.”

  “Mmm. Only if you don’t stop me, babe.”

  As the lights dimmed in their luxurious Folkan-assigned room, the calming hum of ambient city noise outside filtered through the sealed windows. Kiana stretched her arms with a soft yawn, eyes gleaming as she looked at the bed… and at Vermond.

  “I wanna sleep beside you,” she murmured sweetly, slipping off her shoes and padding barefoot across the floor like a curious kitten. “Hug me?”

  Vermond, already sitting at the edge of the bed, paused. His eyes narrowed.

  Above, near the corner of the ceiling, a tiny glint.

  A camera.

  Just barely visible—but it was there.

  “Kiana—”

  click

  Jard’s voice came in through the ear link, annoyed but amused.

  “Be careful, you two. That camera’s active. Folkan doesn’t trust easy.”

  Kiana blinked, glancing up at the camera with a perfectly fake, innocent expression.

  “Oh no~ I was just going to hug my brother while sleeping. So sad…” she said with a dramatic little sigh, leaning against Vermond anyway.

  Vermond shot a glance at the camera and mumbled with a strained voice, “We’re siblings. Totally normal. Nothing suspicious here.”

  Jard snorted in the comms.

  “Yeah. Real convincing.”

  Kiana smiled smugly and whispered, “Next time we cloak the room. And then… no more pretending, Vermond.”

  He looked away quickly, cheeks burning faintly, while the camera kept recording...

  Time passed, and they had their plans.

  As the grand doors of their assigned chambers slid open, Kiana stepped out into the lavish corridor of polished crystal floors and flowing light fixtures, her hair almost glowing under the soft luminescence. Draped in an elegant white and blue dress that slightly shimmered like stardust, she held Vermond’s arm—though only lightly. They were just siblings, after all.

  The moment they appeared in the hallway, eyes locked.

  Guards stiffened, maids bowed, nobles froze.

  Her beauty, paired with that innocent, sweet demeanor… was devastating.

  As they entered the main court of the palace, a group of young Folkan nobles—dressed in lavish robes with royal insignias—immediately approached. Their smiles were polite, but their eyes sparkled with awe.

  “Princess Kiana, may I say... you bring a warmth to this hall that not even Folkan’s twin suns can match,” one young noble said, bowing dramatically.

  Kiana blinked at him with wide green eyes, tilted her head, and gave the cutest giggle imaginable.

  “Ooh… you’re so sweet! Are all Folkan people this nice? You all seem so kind!” she said, gently placing her hand on the noble’s arm.

  The noble visibly trembled. Another beside him gritted his teeth in envy.

  “Princess, if you’d allow, I’d love to show you the palace gardens—”

  “No, no! She must see the upper domes! The sunset view is unmatched!”

  “Wait! I brought a music band—”

  Vermond sighed, clearly ignored as a horde of desperate nobles formed around his “sister,” vying for her attention. He stepped back slowly, eyes half-lidded.

  “...she’s weaponizing cute.”

  Jard, watching through a link, let out a laugh.

  “She’s causing a political war before the ball even starts.”

  Even Mon chimed in with a smirk.

  “I think some of them are ready to betray their own bloodlines for her smile.”

  Meanwhile, Kiana just kept smiling, twirling slightly as she said.

  “Aww~ I’ll try to meet you all, okay? I wanna make a lot of friends!”

  Boom.

  Three nobles fainted on the spot.

  Meanwhile, Within the high chamber of the Folkan Council, a massive circular room with golden arcs and shimmering holographic panels, the Elders and military lords gathered. The center holotable displayed the recent scans and data from the arriving battleship—Empire: White—and its representatives.

  But the focus wasn’t on the ship.

  It was on her.

  A projection of Kiana, mid-spin, smiling at the nobles earlier, played on loop. Her glowing white hair, shimmering dress, and bright green eyes were enough to hold the room in silence.

  Councilor Vael, a veteran with cybernetic implants across his skull, was the first to speak.

  “That girl… Kiana. She is no ordinary diplomat.”

  Councilor Shira, the younger of the group with dark violet robes, leaned forward.

  “Her presence is disarming. Almost too effective. I’ve seen empires fall with less charm.”

  A general grunted, arms crossed.

  “She’s making our nobles squabble like children. Dangerous. She could shatter alliances just by entering a room.”

  Another Elder, a woman with a mechanical breathing mask, studied the readings.

  “But she’s not using tech. It’s… natural. I sense no manipulation. It’s pure charisma.”

  The screen shifted, now showing Vermond. Calm, cold, a stark contrast. The council murmured.

  “And her 'brother'... no records. That ship's AI resists deep scans. Their empire 'White' doesn’t exist in any archives.”

  Councilor Vael narrowed his eyes.

  “Keep an eye on both. Especially her. If they’re baiting us with innocence, we must see the hook beneath the smile.”

  Shira raised an eyebrow.

  “And if there isn’t a hook?”

  The council went silent.

  “Then gods help whoever truly falls for her.”

  Later that day, as golden light poured through the crystalline windows of the palace, Kiana sat alone in one of the grand gardens, feeding a shimmering bird perched on her finger. Her presence, as always, seemed to command the atmosphere—flowers blooming slightly brighter, guards standing straighter, even the wind brushing through her hair with gentleness.

  Councilor Vael approached, his cane tapping against the marble path. He observed her for a moment, watching the way her expression changed with each small joy she encountered.

  “You… truly are something, girl,” Vael said, voice low and analytical.

  Kiana turned, wide green eyes sparkling, “Oh, hello!” she giggled softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You must be one of the important people here.”

  “Councilor Vael,” he said, bowing slightly. “I study people. Especially ones who stir empires just by smiling.”

  She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “You think I stir empires? That sounds like something a naughty girl would do…”

  Vael raised a brow but said nothing. He sat beside her, resting with effort. For a long moment, he simply watched her interact with the birds again.

  Then, in the gentlest tone she’d used all day, she leaned against his arm and whispered,

  “You’re like a serious old man, but kinda warm. I’ll call you Grandpa from now on, okay?”

  Vael froze.

  The air stilled.

  The guards across the garden turned, confused by the look of absolute shock on the veteran Councilor's face.

  “G-Grandpa?” he croaked.

  Kiana just nodded sweetly. “Yes! Grandpa Vael. You’re too grumpy. I think you need a little love.”

  Vael tried to muster his sternness… but failed. His cybernetic eye fizzled slightly. A single smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

  “You are far more dangerous than I imagined,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But I’ll allow it… granddaughter.”

  And from that day forward, Vael kept a constant watch over her—not as a spy, not as a councilor—but as a self-declared guardian.

  From his shadowed perch beneath a twisted crystal tree, Vermond leaned against the cool bark, eyes half-lidded, arms crossed, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

  “Good…” he murmured, voice nearly silent over the wind. “Conquer his heart, Kiana… Every chest piece has its worth.”

  Across the courtyard, Kiana heard him—not with her ears, but through the quiet thread they always shared. She didn’t answer aloud. Instead, she turned to Vael, her green eyes wide with innocence and that ever-faint glint of knowing.

  She gently leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his arm, voice a delicate whisper.

  “Grandpa should stay here a while longer…” she said, as if inviting him to rest… or to trap himself willingly in her web.

  Vael froze again, for the second time that day.

  Her body was warm and impossibly soft, a comfort that pulled at old memories buried beneath layers of hardened logic and experience. The way she spoke… it didn’t match her apparent innocence. It was natural. Disarming. Disruptive.

  “This… this is not fair,” Vael muttered, trying to hold onto the rational threads of his mind. “You don’t even know how dangerous you are.”

  Kiana giggled lightly, resting her head against him, eyes still watching Vermond from across the garden.

  “But I do, Grandpa,” she whispered. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  And Vael… said nothing.

  Vael glanced down—then froze completely.

  Kiana, head tilted gently against his side, her lashes fluttered once before stilling. Her breath slowed, soft and warm against his robes. Her small hands rested in her lap, her legs tucked in politely. She looked… utterly serene. Like a porcelain doll wrapped in living silk.

  One of the palace servants passed nearby, caught a glimpse—and nearly dropped his tray.

  “By the stars…” he whispered, heart skipping, before fleeing in silent reverence.

  Vael, however, did not move.

  “She fell asleep…?” he muttered, but there was doubt in his voice. “Just like that?”

  No one could sleep so peacefully next to a man like him—unless they wanted him to believe they felt safe.

  He studied her face, the slight pout of her lips, the way her hair shimmered like threads of moonlight. It was painfully effective. Weaponized innocence.

  “This girl…” Vael whispered to himself, sighing. “She’s terrifying.”

  From across the courtyard, Vermond just smirked behind clasped fingers.

  He whispered in his mind.

  “That’s right, Kiana. Sleep gently... while pulling the strings."

  An hour passed like a suspended breath in time.

  The air around Vael remained unnaturally still, as if the wind itself dared not stir and wake the sleeping girl beside him. Guards shifted uncomfortably, watching from a respectful distance—half in awe, half in terror. None of them dared to interrupt.

  Vael hadn’t moved.

  Not once.

  His legendary composure—shattered. The once-feared councilor of the Folkan Empire now sat frozen, legs numb, thoughts chaotic, and heart unsure.

  “This isn’t diplomacy. This is warfare.”

  He glanced down at Kiana again. Her head remained gently tilted against him, lips slightly parted, the kind of vulnerable peace that struck deeper than any blade. Her breathing was rhythmic. Real. Natural. Trusting.

  And that’s what broke him more.

  She trusted him.

  Even if it was a ploy, it was too perfect.

  “What kind of creature are you…” Vael whispered, lips barely moving.

  And then—

  Her lashes twitched.

  Eyes fluttered open, green and gentle.

  She blinked up at him, voice soft like velvet.

  “Mmm… Grandpa, you’re still here. I’m so glad.”

  Vael nearly fainted. The guards, watching, couldn’t tell if he was falling in love or dying from a stroke.

  From a balcony above, Vermond watched, arms crossed, a dark smile creeping along his lips.

  “One more piece on the board… check.”

  Vermond stepped down from the balcony, his white cloak swaying like smoke behind him, eyes locked on the scene below. Each step echoed through the garden corridor like thunder hidden beneath silk.

  Vael finally stirred, breaking the spell of silence, glancing at Vermond with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

  "You," Vael said, his voice gravel and age, "You're her brother?"

  Vermond stopped a few feet away, his eyes light, his expression unreadable.

  "That's what she calls me."

  Vael raised a brow. "And what do you call her?"

  Vermond turned his gaze down to Kiana, who still rested against the old man with a dreamy smile, then answered quietly, but with a trace of weight.

  "Everything."

  There was silence—like time held its breath again.

  Kiana gave a soft giggle, eyes still half-closed. "You’re both mine now," she whispered.

  Vael actually chuckled, the sound dry and disbelieving. "She’s dangerous. Soft as a flower, but I can feel the thorns hiding under every petal."

  Vermond smiled faintly. "Then I’d suggest you never try to pluck her, Councilor."

  The air grew still again. And then, unexpectedly, Vael smiled back.

  "I like you, Vermond. You're not afraid. But be warned… you may find Folkan doesn’t bend so easily."

  Vermond’s eyes gleamed.

  "That’s fine. I don’t bend either."

  Kiana yawned, then tugged Vael's robe like a sleepy kitten.

  "Grandpa, you and Babe are so scary when you talk like that..."

  Both men blinked at the same time—before glancing at each other again.

  Vael: "...Babe?"

  Vermond: "...She just does that."

  Kiana smiled, eyes closed once more.

  "And I do what I want."

  Vermond let out a soft sigh, placing a hand on his forehead as if already tired of what was about to happen.

  "Kiana," he said calmly, "let’s head back to the room."

  But Kiana, still curled lazily on the bench beside Vael, blinked up at him with the sweetest, most innocent smile—and then turned her gaze to Vael, softly tugging on his sleeve.

  “Grandpa… can you carry me? My legs are tired…”

  Her voice was honey and mischief, her eyes wide like a child's, but there was a glint beneath it—just enough to make Vael freeze.

  Vael, for all his power and wisdom, looked as if a divine trial had been laid before him. He stared at her soft expression, then at Vermond, then back again.

  “You’re asking me… to lift you?” he asked slowly, as if confirming it wasn’t a trap.

  Kiana gave a small pout, reaching up with both arms. “Please, Grandpa~ I promise I’m very light…”

  Vermond turned away, biting his inner cheek to hide a smirk, whispering to himself, “This girl’s worse than a full-scale invasion.”

  Vael grumbled but finally stood with a dramatic groan, wrapping one arm gently under her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her slowly, carefully, like she was made of clouds.

  “You’ll be the death of someone, girl,” Vael muttered under his breath, but his lips twitched in a faint smile.

  Kiana rested her head on his shoulder, humming softly. “But you like me, right~?”

  Vael sighed through his nose, but didn’t answer.

  From behind them, Vermond chuckled.

  “Careful, Councilor. That’s exactly how she wins.”

  As they stepped into the lavish guest room, soft light filtering through the ornate windows, Kiana gently slipped from Vael’s arms—only to grab his hand before he could take a step back.

  She looked up at him with the most devastatingly sweet gaze, tilting her head and whispering softly.

  “Grandpa… can you stay for a little while longer? Just… cuddle with me, please?”

  Her voice trembled with innocent yearning, and her soft fingers held his hand with feather-like touch.

  Vael’s breath hitched. His ancient mind—trained for diplomacy, war, and politics—was crumbling fast under the weight of pure, overwhelming adorableness. His cheeks, which likely hadn’t flushed in decades, turned noticeably red.

  “I… I—Miss Kiana, I…” he stammered, backing away half a step.

  Kiana didn’t even need to move—she just tilted her head a little more and blinked.

  Vael immediately turned around, pressing a hand to his face.

  “Forgive me, I—I must attend to an urgent council matter!” he blurted out, and without another word, ran out of the room like a man fleeing certain doom.

  The doors shut behind him with a soft click.

  Vermond leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.

  “You broke him.”

  Kiana spun on her heel, giggling playfully as she skipped toward Vermond and looped her arms around his.

  “But I didn’t even try that hard~”

  From deep in the palace hallways, a guard could be heard muttering. “He was a good man… rest in peace, Vael…”

  Back at the grand council chamber, lit with the cool glow of suspended holograms and antique Folkan banners swaying gently in the recycled air, the elders sat around the massive crystalline table. Discussions of regional politics faded as the eyes of many turned toward one man—Councilor Vael.

  He was quiet… far too quiet.

  The other councilors exchanged looks. Vael, one of the oldest and sharpest among them, was slouched ever so slightly, his hand to his face, as though hiding something.

  Councilor Drel leaned in, whispering with a smirk, “Vael… you’ve been like that for twenty minutes. You alright, old friend?”

  Vael cleared his throat, eyes distant, cheeks still slightly red. “Ahem… I’m fine,” he said stiffly, voice cracking just a bit.

  Then, with a long exhale, he finally muttered:

  “That girl… Kiana… she’s too innocent.”

  Silence.

  Councilor Narix raised an eyebrow. “Too innocent?”

  Vael nodded solemnly, as though it were a grave matter of galactic importance.

  “Her smile… it’s dangerous. Her kindness—lethal. I sat with her for an hour and felt like I aged backward and died at the same time.”

  The room went silent. A few councilors looked away, pretending not to chuckle. Another murmured, “So he’s fallen…”

  Drel tried to suppress a grin. “So… should we be worried?”

  Vael’s gaze sharpened for a moment. “No. We should be very careful. She is... weaponized innocence.”

  And with that, the legendary Vael leaned back in his chair, as if preparing himself mentally to withstand the storm of sweetness once again.

  Minutes ticked by.

  The plan was simple—dangerously simple.

  Back in their chamber, Vermond sat on the window ledge, watching the skyships drift by in slow formation. Behind him, Kiana carefully packed the delicate, sweet-smelling cookies into a polished wooden box, each one shaped like stars and moons. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and warmth as she looked up.

  “Do you think Grandpa Vael will like them?”

  Vermond didn’t even turn around. “He might fall into a coma.”

  Kiana giggled, tying the final ribbon. “Perfect. Let’s win that heart.”

  Moments later...

  Knock. Knock.

  The large doors of the Folkan Council chamber creaked open. Conversations halted.

  Kiana stood at the entrance, her long hair flowing down, cheeks slightly flushed, and her voice as soft as silk.

  “Umm... Grandpa Vael?”

  All heads turned to the side.

  Vael, who had just regained a shred of composure from their last encounter, visibly flinched. His teacup clattered slightly against its saucer.

  Kiana stepped inside, cradling the box with both hands, and walked straight toward Vael.

  “I made these for you... I baked them myself. Please have some, Grandpa.”

  She opened the box. The cookies gleamed slightly from the light, giving off a warm, almost nostalgic scent.

  The rest of the council didn’t even pretend to keep their attention elsewhere.

  Vael’s lips parted, struggling between council dignity and the desire to just melt into the floor.

  He slowly accepted the box with trembling hands.

  “T-Thank you… Kiana…”

  Kiana leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide and innocent. “Grandpa should eat them while they’re warm… they’re better that way.”

  One councilor elbowed the other, whispering, “She’s going to bring this man to his knees.”

  The chamber was silent—too silent.

  One of the councilors, an older, rigid man with sharp silver eyes and a hardened face, stood up, his voice cold and direct. “This is a council chamber. Such behavior—”

  But then he looked at her.

  Kiana, now sitting gracefully on Vael’s lap, her posture demure, one hand holding a cookie, the other gently brushing her hair aside. Her emerald eyes sparkled like polished jewels, her face the picture of innocent joy as she fed Vael another cookie.

  She smiled sweetly.

  “Is it not okay to care for Grandpa Vael? He looked tired…”

  The councilor opened his mouth to say something... but nothing came. His stern expression softened just slightly. He slowly sat back down, adjusting his robe in awkward silence.

  Vael, meanwhile, had completely given up. His face was red, his hands politely trying not to touch Kiana more than necessary, and yet—he didn’t stop her.

  “These are… excellent… cookies,” he muttered, cheeks full like a flustered old squirrel.

  The other councilors watched with expressions ranging from horror to awe.

  Kiana leaned forward again, her cheek gently resting on Vael’s shoulder.

  “Grandpa should rest more… I can make more cookies later too…”

  One of the younger aides at the edge of the room actually dropped a data-pad.

  And through a secure channel, Vermond whispered to Erie.

  “That’s one chest piece ours.”

  Erie responded after a pause.

  “I don’t know if I should be impressed… or terrified.”

  The council tried to continue.

  Charts lit up, empires mentioned, alliances debated—but no one could truly focus. Because at the center of it all, Kiana sat like a radiant star in a room of drifting satellites.

  She was peacefully feeding Vael still, her small, delicate fingers offering each cookie with quiet delight, occasionally whispering softly into his ear things like:

  “This one’s my favorite, Grandpa… I used extra sugar.”

  Vael, who once stood as one of the coldest minds in the galaxy, now looked like he’d melt if she smiled a second longer. His responses were minimal—half-nods, muffled thanks, and an occasional strained breath.

  And far above them, hidden behind shimmering transparent walls in a separate viewing chamber, the King of Folkan stood.

  Cloaked in elegant royal robes and adorned with the emblems of authority, the King watched.

  He said nothing at first, arms behind his back, eyes narrowed in curiosity… and confusion.

  “Is this… manipulation?” he finally murmured to his aide.

  The aide blinked. “She appears to be… sweet, my king.”

  “Too sweet,” the king said. Then, after a beat, he added, “She’s dangerous.”

  But even as he said it, he couldn’t help but stare just a bit longer.

  Back in the council chamber, one of the younger members leaned over to another and whispered. “She could end wars with a tray of cookies.”

  And in the private comms, Erie chuckled dryly.

  “She’s not even using her real weaponry yet.”

  As the debate tried to roll forward—with holograms flickering, sectors blinking on maps, and alliance charts unfurling mid-air—no one spoke with conviction. Not because they disagreed… but because of what lay in the middle of the chamber.

  Kiana.

  Curled up peacefully on Vael’s lap like a sleeping cat bathed in starlight. Her long white hair cascaded across his robe like silver threads, her soft breath brushing against his arm, her expression angelic.

  Vael stared down at her.

  Not again…

  He could already feel the warmth of her slowly seeping through his composure. His pulse betrayed him. The last time she did this, he’d carried her to her chambers like the old fool he swore he’d never become.

  And now, again, the same scene.

  The rest of the council was silent. They weren’t watching the map—they were watching them.

  One old councilor leaned back, sighing.

  “I used to be feared by three galaxies… and now I feel like a schoolboy.”

  Another just murmured. “She’s... like a divine weapon.”

  Someone else whispered. “Should we… vote to keep her asleep?”

  Vael closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “We are a military council of the most powerful faction in this quadrant… and we are paralyzed by a sleeping girl.”

  Erie’s voice crackled through Vermond’s private channel, trying not to laugh. “You should see their faces. It’s like they’re witnessing a holy event.”

  And somewhere, hidden in shadows above, the King of Folkan clenched his jaw.

  “She’s not dangerous,” he said coldly. “She’s lethal.”

  As the flickering lights of the council hall hummed around them, Kiana stirred softly in Vael’s arms. Her fingers twitched slightly against his robe, her breath trembling—then she whispered, just loud enough for the entire chamber to hear.

  “Don’t go… don’t leave me too…”

  A fragile pause.

  “I lost Mama… and Papa… I don’t want to lose my precious Grandpa too…”

  The room went still.

  Every breath caught in the throats of hardened commanders, cunning politicians, and war-hardened tacticians who had seen empires rise and fall. Yet none of their battles could’ve prepared them for the quiet devastation in her voice.

  Vael’s hands tightened protectively around her as if shielding her from a world that had already taken too much.

  One councilor, the gruffest among them, turned his eyes away and coughed, pretending it was dust.

  Another simply lowered his head, whispering,

  “She’s just a child… all this time…”

  Vael looked at the girl cradled against him, his heart straining.

  “I’m here,” he said softly, barely a murmur. “I won’t leave.”

  And even though they knew—deep down—that she was clever, perhaps dangerously so, for that moment… none of them could see her as anything but a fragile, lonely girl in search of love and a place to belong.

  From the shadows above, the King of Folkan narrowed his eyes.

  “She’s weaving her threads,” he said coldly. “And we’re all caught in the web.”

  Vermond, watching through the private channel, only smiled faintly.

  “Nicely done, Kiana.”

  Kiana’s lashes fluttered gently.

  She stirred in Vael’s arms, the softest gasp escaping her lips—as if waking from a dream that had left her heart torn. And when her emerald eyes opened… they shimmered with tears.

  Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

  “G-Grandpa…?”

  The glistening trail down her cheek made even the coldest councilor lean forward, hearts uneasy.

  Vael froze.

  “I’m here, child,” he said, trembling slightly. “You’re safe. You were dreaming…”

  Kiana blinked slowly, the tears making her eyes glassy and impossibly pure.

  “I… I thought you left me too…”

  She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, her voice muffled but soul-baring.

  “Please don’t go.”

  The room fell into reverent silence. Even those who doubted her innocence felt their resolve shatter like thin glass. To them, she was no longer just a guest—she was a girl who had lost too much… and begged for the warmth of something real.

  Vael closed his eyes, his old heart thundering in his chest.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Not anymore.”

  From across the room, Vermond watched with folded arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

  Kiana had just claimed her first piece on the Folkan board.

  As the council meeting drew to a close, the tension in the chamber softened like dust settling after a storm. Papers shuffled, robes rustled, and the flicker of holographic lights dimmed.

  Kiana, still delicate in her movements, slowly rose from Vael’s lap, her hair cascading like silk behind her. She gave a small, graceful stretch, then looked down at the old man with a warm, innocent smile.

  She gently patted his shoulder twice—soft, comforting, affectionate.

  “Grandpa should rest now,” she said sweetly, her voice like a breeze on still water. “You’ve done a lot today.”

  Vael blinked up at her, still caught in the spell of her presence. All he could do was nod silently, watching her as if afraid the moment would vanish like smoke.

  Kiana turned with light steps, her white dress swaying as she moved toward the door. She didn’t rush. Every noble eye followed her—every heart somewhere between captivated and confused. She paused briefly at the threshold, giving one last glance over her shoulder.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  Then she slipped out, the door closing behind her with a soft hiss.

  Vermond was leaning against the corridor wall outside, arms crossed. When she walked past him, he chuckled lowly.

  “You didn’t just conquer the room,” he muttered. “You made them forget what they were even meeting about.”

  Kiana smiled, brushing a hand through her hair.

  “That’s the plan, babe.”

  She walked ahead.

  Minutes later.

  As they returned to their lavishly assigned room, the Folkan guards respectfully closed the doors behind them. Kiana gracefully spun once, still humming softly from the council performance. Vermond let out a long exhale, finally letting his expression drop now that they were alone.

  But then—

  Jard’s voice crackled into their private channel.

  “Yo. The Super Capital Citadel’s just a few thousand kilometers out. Cloak still solid. Oh—and Kiana?”

  Kiana blinked, “Hmm?”

  “Press the hidden button. Left side of your waist. Embedded in the fabric. I designed it for this exact moment.”

  She raised a brow. “Really, Jard?” But her fingers moved anyway, brushing against the seam of her dress until—click.

  Whoosh.

  In a seamless, elegant transformation of advanced fabric tech, her dress shimmered with soft light and split into new form: a white battle skirt with reinforced trims, tailored like a uniform. Her top shifted too—morphing into a sleek but regal form-fitting blouse adorned with silver linings and the insignia of the White Empire—the phoenix burning over a black hole.

  Her hair spilled down her back, glowing faintly under the lights, and she stood there—regal, armed with presence, but still carrying that gentle Kiana charm.

  Vermond stared.

  Hard.

  His lips parted slightly, brows raising as his words caught in his throat. Even after everything he had seen—the worlds destroyed, the armies crushed—this? This completely floored him.

  “You…” he muttered. “You look like a goddess they’d carve statues for.”

  Kiana twirled once with a soft giggle, the skirt flowing like stardust. She tilted her head and winked.

  “Like it, babe?”

  Jard’s voice chimed again.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. Romance level ten. But seriously, you two better be ready. We're about to make history. Your entrance is coming up.”

  Vermond finally blinked, nodding slowly as he stepped closer, eyes never leaving her.

  “Yeah. Let’s give them a story they’ll never forget.”

  Her new outfit—the White Empire's crest over her heart, the skirt flowing around her legs, the perfect balance of elegance and boldness—was too much. She stood near the window, gazing out at the alien skyline, her silhouette lit from behind like a portrait carved into time.

  Vermond exhaled slowly, his voice low.

  “You're trying to kill me, aren't you?”

  Kiana turned, smirking softly.

  “Hmm? I’m just wearing what Jard told me to.” She took a step closer, every motion of hers smooth, almost feline. “Do you not like it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Couldn’t.

  Her presence filled the room like starlight—intoxicating and warm. And for a moment, the empire, the politics, even the galaxy outside… it all disappeared.

  Kiana came close enough that her fingers brushed his collar, gently straightening it.

  “You’re distracted, babe.”

  Vermond clenched his jaw slightly, eyes burning with restrained emotion.

  “You're too dangerous when you dress like that.”

  She grinned, leaning up to whisper in his ear.

  “Then protect me better.”

  Jard’s voice suddenly snapped through the comms again, sharp as ever.

  “Okay, lovebirds. Planning time. The nobles are getting restless. They’ll want another audience with the Princess. Maybe even the King this time. You both ready?”

  Kiana gave a teasing wink and stepped back. Her tone shifted to her public persona—graceful, commanding, sweet.

  “Let’s conquer more hearts, then. One gaze at a time.”

  Vermond, still composed but now fully switched into leader mode, nodded.

  “The White Empire doesn’t take territory. We make them give it to us willingly.”

  Then, it began.

  The grand doors of the Folkan throne hall opened slowly, ancient mechanisms hissing as the white-lit corridor beyond bathed the arriving guests in brilliance.

  Kiana walked at the front, skirt swaying like the soft ripple of silk in wind, every step echoing like music on the polished floor. Her posture was perfect, yet innocent—chin slightly tucked, smile gentle, eyes wide with false modesty. The Royal Crest of White shone proudly over her chest.

  Behind her, Vermond walked calmly, exuding control and danger in equal measure. Erie, Mon, and Jard followed further behind, each playing their role. But none drew eyes like Kiana.

  The guards lining the halls stood stiff—too stiff. Their gazes fell upon her and could not be pulled away. Their hands clenched tighter around their weapons, eyes darting between her figure and the ground, struggling to remain composed. A few even blushed, breaking military discipline.

  From above, on the throne platform, sat the King of Folkan, regal and ancient, flanked by his son—the Folkan prince—and a handful of advisors. Both royals watched the scene unfold with mixed awe and disbelief.

  Then came Vael, stepping silently from a side corridor, robes sweeping behind him. He whispered something into the King’s ear. The King blinked… and nodded.

  Kiana stopped at the foot of the throne steps and performed a graceful bow, her voice soft and impossibly sweet.

  “Your Majesty, I am Kiana of the White Empire… It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for receiving us.”

  The Prince leaned forward slightly. He had seen many noblewomen in his life. None like her.

  Even the King, hardened by decades of war and rule, could only murmur,

  “Too good to be true…”

  Vael stood a few steps to the side, watching it unfold with that same strange, stunned expression. His heart felt heavy… confused.

  And as Kiana lifted her gaze and smiled again—so warm, so angelic—the temperature in the throne hall shifted.

  This wasn't diplomacy.

  This was enchantment.

  The hall fell into respectful silence as the King of Folkan finally leaned forward on his throne, hands clasped before him, eyes narrowing just slightly—not out of suspicion, but the practiced precision of a ruler gauging foreign guests.

  “Princess Kiana,” he said, his voice deep and weathered, “where is your territory located? I have never heard of an empire named ‘White’ in our known sectors.”

  All eyes turned to Kiana.

  She tilted her head slightly, blinking wide green eyes. Her voice came soft, airy, and filled with a childlike melody:

  “O-oh! We’re from suuuper duper far away!” she said, drawing out the words with a faint giggle. “Like, really really far! Beyond the scary foggy sectors, past the spinny blue lights! We came a looong way because big brother said we need new friends!”

  She clasped her hands in front of her chest, her innocent smile radiating light.

  “We even brought cookies… but I ate them all…” she added with a pout.

  A ripple moved through the council. Several advisors lowered their gazes to cough into their hands, hiding their reactions. A few noble lords leaned back with tight throats, trying to keep straight faces.

  Even the Prince—stoic and upright—felt his heart thump as he tried to meet her gaze… and failed.

  “…She’s… adorable…” he muttered under his breath, unable to hide a smile.

  The King’s lips twitched into a slow, bemused smile. “I see,” he said dryly. “That certainly explains the mystery.”

  And beside Kiana, Vermond—the dreaded necromancer in disguise, the Emperor in shadow—stood in stone silence. But his eyes twitched. A small pink hue crept up his cheeks. Even he couldn’t hold back a subtle smile.

  In the private comms, Erie whispered with a half-laugh. “We just invaded a star empire with pigtails and fairy giggles.”

  And Mon, in a stunned tone. “I think she just made the King fall for her. As a granddaughter, of course… maybe.”

  Jard grunted, clearly recording everything. “It’s effective. Terrifyingly effective.”

  The King leaned back now, eyes softening as he looked upon the innocent girl before him.

  “Then we are honored you traveled so far, Princess. May your empire find peace among us.”

  “Yaaay!” Kiana clapped softly, as if she had just won a game.

  “Big brother, they like us!” she whispered to Vermond with a bright beam.

  Vermond cleared his throat.

  “…Yeah… they do…”

  The Prince’s voice was calm, but there was a thin tremble beneath it, as though he were walking the edge of a blade.

  “Princess Kiana…” he began, eyes fixed on hers as though afraid she might vanish if he blinked. “May I ask… how old are you?”

  Kiana tilted her head slightly, a sweet, innocent smile touching her lips as she clasped her hands together.

  “Eighteen!” she said cheerfully.

  A pause.

  A very long pause.

  The Prince’s lips parted, his words caught in his throat. He stared at her—this impossibly graceful, radiant girl with eyes too gentle, a smile too soft, and a presence that turned hearts to butter.

  What none of them knew—except Vermond, perhaps—is that deep within Kiana’s soul was an age beyond understanding. She had walked through darkness, danced through the ruins of forgotten stations, and seen stars die. Eighteen? That was the mask she wore, a perfect, untouchable illusion.

  But the Prince didn’t see that. He only saw her now.

  He swallowed.

  “Then, Princess…” he said slowly, voice softening, “would you… honor me as my dance partner at the upcoming royal ball?”

  Kiana’s eyes lit up, and she nodded sweetly.

  “Of course! That sounds so fun!”

  The Prince looked like he might melt. His ears were red. His hands twitched at his sides.

  He turned swiftly to his father, leaning in to whisper, but his voice was not low enough to escape the nearby guards.

  “Father—she’s like… perfect.”

  The King didn’t respond immediately—just arched a brow with an amused smile.

  The Prince quickly bowed again and nearly stumbled on his exit, practically fleeing the throne room with both hands covering his face.

  The nobles murmured softly, and the court rippled with quiet excitement.

  Meanwhile, in the private comms…

  Erie: “Is he okay? Did he just short-circuit?”

  Mon: “…Kiana didn’t even try this time.”

  Jard: “We just gained another pawn. Possibly a knight.”

  And Vermond…

  He didn’t say a word.

  He just stood there, watching Kiana.

  He knew she’d just stolen another heart.

  And he wondered—how long before his would be next?

  The royal court fell into silence again as Kiana took a gentle step forward.

  “Umm… Your Majesty?” Her voice was soft, like the breeze brushing across a quiet forest.

  The King raised a brow. “Yes, Princess Kiana?”

  She stepped forward slowly, her white skirt fluttering lightly with each step. Her hands were cupped together, something small resting inside.

  “I… made something.” She lifted her hands. Nestled there was a small, delicate bracelet, woven from silken green threads and tiny, preserved leaves—simple, natural, beautiful. “For you, Grandpa King.”

  The murmurs in the room froze. Even the guards inhaled quietly.

  Kiana took one more step, and without hesitation, reached up on her toes, softly sliding the bracelet around the King's wrist. Her fingers were warm, and the sincerity in her expression could melt glaciers.

  “So you’ll smile more,” she added with a small tilt of her head. “It’s okay if you cry with it, too… I put a little happiness in there.”

  The King looked at the bracelet. His lips parted, but no words came. It was so small. So… humble. A trinket in the eyes of emperors.

  But no one had ever given him something like this. Not as a symbol. Not as a gesture. Not without an agenda.

  Not even his own son.

  The silence lingered, until finally, the King’s voice cracked through the stillness.

  “Thank you, child.”

  And then softly, like a forgotten warmth:

  “You are… truly special.”

  The nobles all exchanged glances. Whispers filled the air. A few hearts skipped beats.

  And in the private comms—

  Mon: “…What the hell is she doing. She’s winning.”

  Erie: “I… almost feel bad for the king.”

  Jard: “That’s the leaf gambit. We lost control three moves ago.”

  Meanwhile, Vermond’s hand lightly covered his mouth, hiding the faintest, cursed smile.

  The air shifted.

  As the king stared at the small bracelet on his wrist, lost in the gentle storm of memory and emotion, Kiana stepped forward one last time.

  Her movement was light, almost like floating.

  She reached up, placed her soft hands on either side of the king’s face, and then—

  A pure kiss.

  Soft.

  Innocent.

  Just a small peck on the cheek. Like a granddaughter gifting her love to the world.

  “We’re friends now, Grandpa King,” she said softly, her smile radiant, untainted, and impossibly sincere.

  And then she turned, eyes meeting Vael’s.

  She beamed at him, her smile lighting up like the dawn, her expression warm and trusting. And Vael, an old man who had weathered wars and councils and the worst of political venom, felt his heart stutter.

  He wasn’t alone. The entire room had stopped breathing.

  A noble whispered, trembling, “…She’s too adorable…”

  Another leaned to his companion, muttering, “She could start a war or end one… with just that smile.”

  Even the guards—stoic warriors meant to never be fazed—averted their gaze in flustered embarrassment, cheeks tinged with red. Some clenched their spears a little tighter, as if anchoring themselves.

  Back in the private comms:

  Erie: “Okay. Okay, what the hell. She just kissed a king and called him Grandpa. I can’t even get my drone to respond to me with respect.”

  Jard: “…She’s more dangerous than any battleship I’ve ever made.”

  Mon, breathlessly: “I’d betray empires for her smile.”

  And in the corner of the room, Vermond stood in silence, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her.

  The little innocent princess who could tear apart the hearts of kingdoms—one soft kiss at a time.

  The grand chamber still hummed with the warm echo of Kiana’s innocent gesture. The king sat silently, hand still cradling the leaf-woven bracelet, as if afraid it might vanish.

  And then—

  a shift.

  Just as the air settled, the double doors cracked open.

  A faint shimmer flickered.

  A cloaked figure slipped in—unnoticed by most, but Vermond’s eyes tracked him instantly. His clone, cloaked in thick, ragged robes, moved like a shadow. Not too fast to raise suspicion immediately. Just fast enough to create tension.

  The assassin.

  Kiana was still standing beside the king, playing with the hem of her new white skirt. She looked like she was daydreaming—lost in her own little world.

  Then, a blur.

  The assassin moved.

  Guards shouted—

  “Halt!”

  “Who goes—”

  But the clone had already crossed the room.

  He lunged forward—swift, brutal—and with a thud that echoed like a drumbeat in silence, his palm struck the side of Kiana’s head.

  Too hard for what anyone would call acceptable.

  Kiana gasped softly, her body twisting mid-step, and—

  She collapsed.

  The room exploded in chaos.

  Guards surged forward, some drawing weapons, others activating their shields. The king stood with a start, voice lost behind the roar of commands. Guns were trained—the cloaked figure now surrounded.

  Before a single trigger could be pulled—

  the cloaked figure vanished.

  Gone. Dispersed into mist, like a fading nightmare. Not a sound, not a trace—just emptiness where the assassin once stood.

  Every head snapped toward Kiana, lying motionless on the polished floor.

  Her white skirt fanned out like petals. One of her shoes had slipped off.

  “Kiana!” Vermond shouted, voice sharp and filled with panic. He rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as he held her gently, his eyes wide, haunted, playing his role to perfection.

  “She’s not… breathing?” one guard muttered, stepping closer.

  The king stepped forward, his voice thunderous now, laced with fury. “Find that assassin—NOW! Lock down the palace! No one gets in or out!”

  But all eyes kept drifting back to Kiana.

  To her pale cheek.

  To her closed eyes.

  To Vermond, who pressed his forehead to hers, whispering low—so low none could hear—

  “You’re perfect.”

  And somewhere behind the curtain of chaos, Vael stood frozen.

  Hand clenched.

  Heart pierced.

  Eyes on the girl who called him grandpa… now cradled like a fallen angel in her brother’s arms.

  Vermond whispered close to her ear, his lips barely brushing her skin, "Stay still."

  Kiana, eyes still closed, let a small smile ghost her lips.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  Didn’t need to.

  She had mastered something even Vermond hadn’t—

  Complete bodily stillness. Her heartbeat slowed, her breath suspended—not even machines could catch it.

  “MEDICS!” the King roared, standing up with a force that shook the chamber. His crown nearly slipped. “She’s not breathing! MOVE!”

  The guards responded instantly, forming a protective ring as the royal medics rushed in with floating stretchers and scanners. The lead medic’s hands were trembling as they checked for vitals—

  Nothing.

  No pulse.

  No breath.

  Just a divine, fallen figure in white.

  “Get her to the medical wing—NOW!”

  Vermond was pulled back, face twisted in grief, but inside… he was calm. Kiana was too good. Too terrifying.

  Inside the private comms, Jard's voice crackled through, low and deep. "These devils… can't be stopped."

  Even he sounded shaken.

  As the doors slid open and Kiana’s body was floated through sterile halls with silent panic surrounding her, whispers spread like wildfire through the palace.

  "A goddess struck down…"

  "No… no, she can’t be gone…"

  "Find the one who did this—FIND THEM!"

  "The king’s eyes—he’s crying…"

  But behind the masks of grief and fury, behind every forced expression—

  The game had only just begun.