He had given strict orders, no one was to enter the palace grounds. The command had not been vague, and there were no exceptions. And yet, standing alone in the courtyard, framed by still air and stone, was a girl who barely looked old enough to walk its halls. She was small, like a whisper made flesh, her platinum hair tumbling past thin shoulders, and her wide, amethyst eyes shifting anxiously from shadow to shadow as though afraid something might leap out and devour her whole.

“Mother’s coming too,” she said, her voice fragile, trembling at the edges. “Please… don’t let her…”

Her words were careful, pleading,not because she feared for herself, but because she feared what might happen if he didn’t listen. She looked delicate enough to shatter with a word, a doll placed in the wrong story. But what surrounded her wasn’t just softness. It was something heavier than presence,something drawn from lineage. Her name was Uriel, the Eleventh Prince’s younger sister. And now, whether she realized it or not, she was the sister of the man who had taken his place.

In the texts Aziel had studied, in the fragmented records of the tyrant’s life, Uriel had always existed behind a veil,never in the heart of bloodshed, never among the corpses. Her name was not spoken in war councils, her face not etched into the murals of conquest. She had been kept apart, preserved, untouched by her brother’s descent. It hadn’t been affection, perhaps, but guilt. Even monsters drew their lines somewhere.

He looked at her without speaking, then slowly knelt down so their eyes could meet. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Not cold, not soft,just steady.

“Uriel,” he asked, “have you ever seen me hurt anyone? Not heard. Not been told. Seen.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She lowered her gaze to the marble between them and shook her head. “No… but everyone says you do. That you kill people. Easily.”

The silence that followed was heavier than denial. It said everything words couldn’t. Slowly, Aziel rose to his feet and crossed to the silver tray a maid had brought earlier. He lifted the glass, drank it in a single breath, then placed it,empty,on the maid’s back as she knelt frozen on the ground, still afraid to breathe. She didn’t flinch, didn’t dare move, and he said nothing to her as he turned and began to walk away.

But another presence was already waiting.

She stood on the threshold, her posture elegant, her expression unreadable. There was no record ,no note, no account, not even a whisper in the histories of what the Eleventh Prince had truly felt for his mother. And yet, standing before her then, Aziel,  felt it all too clearly. The heat that gathered behind his ribs, the resentment that didn’t begin with him but lived inside him all the same. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t hatred. It was the cold bitterness of something unresolved.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and the words came not with anger, but weariness.

“If you’re going to come here,” he said, “then say something. Why just stand there and watch?”

“I didn’t come for you,” she replied, her voice light. “Uriel said she wanted to see you. I showed her the way.”

He nodded once, as if that answered something larger. “I see.”

“I’ll go now. Send for, me,when your meal is done. I’ll take her back.”

Her footsteps turned as smoothly as her tone, and he watched her begin to leave,silent, practiced, like it was something she had done many times before. Maybe she had. Maybe this was the part of the story no one ever wrote down; not the violence, not the chaos, but the simple, ordinary rejection of a son she had long since decided not to claim.

And yet, even as she walked away, something inside him stirred.

“Wait.”

The word left him before he could decide if it was a mistake. She paused, not turning, not speaking. Another word formed behind his teeth “mother” but it didn’t rise. It sat heavy in his throat, unspoken.

What emerged instead was softer, stranger, and entirely unexpected.

“Would you… eat with me?”

He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a plea. It sounded like it had been trapped behind stone, like something struggling to breathe. The second it was spoken, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take it back or say it again.

She turned to face him. Her eyes were wide,not with scorn, not with contempt,but with something very close to disbelief.

“…What?”

“I asked you to eat with me,” he repeated, this time with more certainty. “I meant it.”

There was a long pause. Then, carefully, she asked, “Are you sure that’s… all right?”

“Come in.”

The words weren’t warm. They weren’t welcoming. But they were enough.

Something in her face shifted, faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Surprise. Hope. Or perhaps something older, hidden behind years of silence.

Before either of them could speak again, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the tension like a sunbeam cutting fog.

“Mother’s eating with us too? Yay! Let’s eat together!”

Uriel clapped her hands, bouncing once with delight as she took her place between them. To her, this was the simplest thing in the world. A family meal. No ghosts, no wars, no bitterness to be swallowed down. Just food. Together.

And in that innocent joy, the world shifted.

[You have devoured part of the major fate: Filial Betrayal.]
[+30 Divergence Points acquired.]
[A new fate is awakening.]
[Nearby destinies are shifting.]
[Fate consumption speed has slightly increased.]

Exactly as he had hoped.

That evening, inside the stone-buried heart of the Eleventh Prince’s palace, a table was set. The three of them sat together,uncomfortably, silently,but the space between them held something real. It wasn’t joyous. It wasn’t peaceful. The air still trembled with unspoken things. But it was shared. And strangely, it was warm.

When the meal ended and the plates were cleared, Uriel looked up at him, her eyes shining with quiet excitement.

“Can I come again next time? With Mother?”

Her mother said nothing. She didn’t smile. She didn’t nod. But she didn’t object, either. And somehow, that was enough.

He gave Uriel a small nod, and her face lit up as she slipped her hand into her mother’s. Together, the two of them walked away, their steps light in a way he hadn’t expected.

It was strange. New. Unfamiliar. But not bad.

Later that night, as the moon traced silver along the marble floor, Aziel walked the long corridor that led to his private quarters. The halls were still, thick with quiet. The steward waited outside his door, bowing as he approached.

“Will you be heading to the training yard, sire?” Alfred asked.

“No,” he replied. “I’m tired. I’ll be in my room. Don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“Understood. I’ll inform the staff.”

Aziel, turned to leave but paused after only a few steps.

“You.”

Alfred straightened. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“What’s your name?”

The question landed oddly, as though it didn’t belong in a palace like this. The man blinked once, then answered with practiced calm.

“Alfred, sire.”

“I should at least know the name of the man who runs my household.”

“I’m honored, Your Highness.”

Another nod, and Aziel, turned again. Then paused.

“There are no knights posted here. Why?”

There was only a heartbeat of hesitation before Alfred answered. 

“Because you said… you’d kill any you saw.”

“…That’s enough.”

“Yes, sire.”

“If it’s permitted… bring in a few. Not many. Just enough.”

“Any particular order?”

“No. Choose from the Thirteenth Guard. Those near my age, if possible.”

“Understood.”

“And one more thing,” he added. “I intend to access the Royal Archive’s restricted vault. Get permission.”

“It will be done.”

[Total Divergence Points: 200]
[Threshold reached. Fate alteration required.]
[The Fate of Assassination is approaching.]

It was coming now. Drawing closer with every breath.

But unlike the others before him, he wasn’t afraid.

He was ready.

[Investing all 200 points.]
[A new fate is awakening.]