**"And one last thing about Stella. You know she can't refuse you. We can convince her effortlessly.
She may hesitate and question, but in the end, resistance is meaningless. She will yield—because she has no choice.
After all, refusal has never been an option. It never will be.
It has always been this way. But ultimately, the path forward depends on the choice you make.
You already know what I would do."**
Ren opened his eyes, the weight of the conversation still pressing against his thoughts. He was back—with his three wives, their presence grounding him and anchoring him in the here and now.
He exhaled slowly, his smile small but steady, pulling them close in silent reassurance.
"I'm sorry. Some habits aren't easy to break. But I need to be better."
His wives nodded, understanding.
They knew he only wanted to comfort them, and he, in return, offered them his own.
They loved Ren.
And he loved them.
It usually took time for him to regain control, for his presence to fully return. But this time… he had gotten better.
The Song of Mueang Noi
As Ren rose from bed, he turned, eyes lingering on his three wives. He was a lucky man, fortunate to have three women who tolerated him and stood by him.
They were sisters—half-sisters, perhaps, but sisters nonetheless. Maybe the idea of sharing one didn't seem strange to them because their mother had married three husbands.
Either way, they were his. And he was theirs.
Ren studied his reflection as he donned his robes, the fabric settling over his shoulders like a mantle of sovereignty. His long, thick white hair cascaded in silken waves, untouched by time, each strand carrying the quiet authority of eternity. His crimson-black eyes burned with an undeniable weight—a gaze that had witnessed centuries slip by like fleeting whispers.
Since the moment he transcended beyond mortality, his form had shifted subtly, yet profoundly. He was no longer bound by age, nor could decay touch him. His presence carried a gravity that commanded the air, as if existence had long since acknowledged him for what he had become.
He was eternal—and it showed.
He heard music drifting through the air, carried from a little town called Mueang Noi—a place he and Sakura had named long ago, in the wake of their conquest of Asia.
Back then, they loved playing music for the people, filling the streets with timeless melodies. Ren had made Sakura a promise—a simple vow yet etched deep into memory.
"When you return from isolation training, we'll play together again."
Now, the notes reached him like a distant call, a silent reminder from Sakura herself.
He smiled as if he could ever forget.
When he was younger, he was terrible at remembering things—unless they mattered to him. But now, memory was no longer fragile and easily lost. He could recall anything with perfect clarity, his mind a vast library of time, where every moment lay waiting to be summoned.
And yet, this promise—this memory—needed no effort to surface. It had never left him.
As Ren looked, he saw his wives sleeping soundly, their expressions softened by peaceful dreams. They lay intertwined, holding each other in quiet affection, warmth radiating between them.
He chuckled. To him, they were adorable—irresistibly endearing, a sight that stirred something fond and familiar in his heart.
But to others? They were omens—terrifying, untouchable, powerful beyond measure.
Yet he knew the truth. They were more than symbols of dominance or whispers of fear. They were his best friends, the ones who had walked beside him since childhood, their bonds forged in time, loyalty, and something more profound than words.
Ren teleported out of the palace, arriving instantly in the faraway town of Mueang Noi. As he stepped into its streets, his gaze found Sakura.
She wore simple, futuristic garments designed for practicality rather than display, yet nothing could mask her beauty.
The townspeople watched in silent awe, their eyes filled with reverence, as if they stood before the embodiment of a goddess.
What they did not know—what they could never truly comprehend—was the truth.
She was a goddess.
An eternal goddess.
Sakura's voice wove through the air, effortless and divine, carrying a melody so pure that the fabric of existence seemed to shift in response.
Leaves rustled in harmony, branches swayed as if bowing to her presence, and the wind bent to her song, carrying it across the town like a whispered blessing.
It was more than music—a gift, a quiet declaration of protection, belonging, and something greater.
She did not merely sing—she commanded the world to listen. And it did.
Her pitch-black hair, delicately streaked with pink and white, mirrored the essence of her name—Sakura—as if she had been born from the blossoms themselves. Her cute pink eyes, warm and radiant, held a quiet power, a presence that could captivate nations.
If she wished, she could be an idol, famous without effort, adored simply by existing. But she was more than that—she could dance as effortlessly as she breathed, moving in perfect rhythm with nature, entwined in its pulse as if it had always belonged to her.
Ren stood at a distance, watching.
Then, he lifted his flute.
The moment he played, his melody intertwined with hers, weaving their sounds together like two souls speaking in perfect harmony.
The townspeople noticed him—an unknown figure standing in the shadows, his hood drawn, his face concealed by a mask.
They could not see him. They could not know who he was.
But Sakura did.
She smiled. He had come. He had kept his promise.
A man watching from the crowd whispered, his voice filled with awe.
"She's a goddess, I tell you—a real goddess."
His wife stood beside him but did not protest. She agreed.
She looked at Sakura with reverence, as if she were the Goddess of Blossoms herself.
And the children, filled with laughter, boundless in their joy, rushed forward. They danced around Sakura, their bright voices ringing through the air like chimes in the wind.
Sakura smiled at them, her movements fluid and graceful.
She danced with them as if she were their mother, embracing them in the warmth of her song.
As Sakura finished her dance and song, the town fell into stunned silence—awed, enchanted, yet saddened that the moment had passed.
Then, Ren began to clap.
The sound broke the spell, and in an instant, the townspeople followed, clapping, cheering, and celebrating her presence. They gathered around her, their admiration pouring forth, but Sakura did not feel overwhelmed. She was at ease.
She answered their many questions with patience and grace. Was she an idol? No, she said. She only sang and danced when she had the time, because she loved it.
They urged her to sign on, to perform for the world, but she shook her head with a smile. She had other duties to fulfil.
Then, in a quiet yet unwavering voice, she admitted the truth.
She was a princess.
A princess of the Eternal Empire.
Her duty was not to fame, but to her people—to ensure they lived in safety, dignity, and peace.
And somehow, as she spoke, they believed her completely.
Not because she persuaded them.
Not because she demanded their faith.
But because every word rang true.
She meant everything she said.
A Promise in Mueang Noi
As Ren and Sakura walked through the town they had built together—a place shaped by their dreams before she left for isolation training—the townspeople greeted them with warm smiles.
Their voices carried through the streets, filled with admiration.
"He must be lucky to have such a goddess as a wife."
Sakura heard their words. She remained composed, her expression calm, unwavering. Yet beneath the surface, her heart pounded against her chest, faster than she wanted to admit.
She glanced at Ren.
He remained unaffected—his heartbeat steady, his presence unshaken.
She took a slow breath, focusing on her heartbeat, willing it to settle—not because she feared being seen, but because she did not want him to hear.
"I saw what happened, and it made me think about our promise to return to Mueang Noi.
I'm glad you remembered, dear cousin. It fills me with joy to know you care, though I'm not surprised. You've always ensured I never felt lonely—you and everyone else, but most of all, you.
Thank you, Ren. Thank you for not forgetting.
So tonight, I wanted to sing and dance for you—to bring you happiness, as you've always done for me.
We always loved playing music, dancing, and singing when we were young.
And after all this time, it still feels just as right."
Sakura thought about what Mariko had told her—that she should finally confess her feelings to Ren.
But deep down, Sakura knew he was already aware. How could he not be? He wasn't clueless, not in the slightest. She had tried to hide it because Ren never spoke about it. Instead, he had always sought to find her a partner who would love her completely.
Typical Ren.
He had three wives, and those other two after all. He was greedy—so why couldn't she be? Just because she was a woman? Ridiculous.
She deserved to be greedy, too.
Yet, as those thoughts swirled, she thought of Ren's feelings. Because deep down, she knew. He felt it, too, in his way.
She exhaled. And then, finally—
"I love you, Ren."
Ren turned to her.
He held her gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable—until he said it back effortlessly.
"I know."
A Love Unspoken
"We're family, after all. We've been together for so long and endured so much, yet we remain—always."
Sakura knew Ren understood her meaning, yet he avoided it.
Why? Because they were blood-related? They were distant cousins—distant enough to marry, weren't they? She might understand hesitation if they were closer by blood, but this was Ren.
When had he ever cared what people thought?
After all, they conquered Asia with the others a long time ago. She could still see it in her mind—the battles, the victories, the silent understanding between them.
But among all their wars, one moment haunted her most.
The final battle—the last stand in the Eternal War against Asia.
That day, his aura had been heavier, darker, more suffocating than ever.
Fire roared in every direction, surrounding him, but he was the fire itself.
Clad in black dragon armour, his cape untouched by flame, Ren had stood at the heart of devastation. His dragon sword burned with unnatural fury—not just flame, but annihilation.
His enemies did not turn to ash.
They ceased to exist.
It was as if an entire city had been erased, swallowed into the void, leaving only Ren.
Then, the skies turned.
Black clouds rolled in, swallowing the heavens. A storm raged above, heavy raindrops pouring torrents, but the fire did not extinguish. It remained, wild and unrelenting, burning across the land as if it had become part of reality.
She and the others stood there, watching.
Watching him, standing beneath the storm, gazing at the sky without a word.
He had remained that way for a long time, his presence overwhelming, otherworldly.
And then—slowly—his aura returned to what it had been before.
Even though she had been afraid, she still loved him.
Ren was the only blood family she had left—no matter what he became or what he had done.
Even though that wasn't entirely true—he had offered immortality to his entire family—some had accepted, others had not.
But none of that changed the simple fact:
He was the one she had been closest to since childhood.
And that would never change.
Sakura was upset—not in tears, but deep within.
Still, she understood.
She ran into Ren's embrace, holding onto him without letting go.
And she repeated it.
"I love you, Ren. I can wait—no matter how long. I will wait until you finally admit how you feel."
Her voice was steady now—no hesitation, no doubt.
"It took me so long. I hesitated—but not anymore."
"I will wait for eternity if I must. I have plenty of time."
She lifted her gaze—unwavering, resolute.
"After all, I am the embodiment of the Eternal Goddess."
"And this goddess has made her choice."
"Nothing will ever change that."
"I know you love me."
"No matter how many people you send my way, no matter who they are—I will reject them in a heartbeat."
"What the hell do you see in me?"
Ren sighed, shaking his head slightly.
Then, with a slight smirk, he poked Sakura lightly on the forehead, his eyes filled with quiet amusement.
"Thank you, Sakura, for loving someone like me."
"You big dummy—I love you for everything you've done for me."
"I don't take you for granted, and I know you don't either. I can see it—no matter what people say or think."
"Thank you,"
He said.
"Let's go home. We have a lot to do, don't we? After all, we rule and control an empire—together, all of us."
The Emperor's Completion
As Ren slept, he returned to the realm where his other side waited.
The throne room stretched endlessly, bathed in eternal flames, illuminating the shadowed figure before him.
Not a separate entity. Not something apart.
Himself. The part he contains.
The fire pulsed, feeding on his thoughts.
And then, the voice came.
Deep. Commanding. Absolute.
"We, the Black Dragon Emperor, wield power beyond comprehension."
The words echoed through the void, unwavering.
"None can challenge us. None can deny our will."
The embers burned brighter, swirling in the dark abyss.
"She loves us. We know this. And yet, you hesitate."
The fire crackled, shifting in the darkness.
"We already have three wives—why not more? Why concern yourself with what others think? We do not answer to them."
The flames grew stronger, encircling the throne like a living entity.
"We conquered Asia alongside the others. We have shaped the world. What ruler fears his desires?"
His gaze flickered, unreadable yet piercing.
"Even when I act the horse, I am still Emperor. I am you, just as you are me. We are whole—but you refuse to embrace it."
The fire surged, wrapping around his throne, consuming the silence.
Ren was already beyond the limit, already above all.
But when he fully embraced this side, it was not power he gained—it was completion.
Nothing missing.
Nothing chained.
Nothing denied.
Only himself. Fully accepted. Fully whole.
And the flames whispered their final decree—
"You cannot deny me forever."
The Weight of Bloodlines and Destiny
As Ren opened his eyes, the council chamber came into focus—rows of gathered figures staring at him, their expressions unreadable.
Across the room, Ena sat with arms crossed, her gaze sharp.
"So, you're finally awake, Ren," she said, tone measured. "It's good to see you're still here."
She studied him carefully.
"I do hope you were listening to what we were discussing."
There was something behind her displeased look—more than just frustration.
Something unspoken.
Ren leaned back slightly, his tone steady, composed.
"Yes, of course I was listening. I always do."
"You were discussing what to do with Guinevere and Anastasia—since you think they aren't worth keeping."
His gaze swept across the room, firm yet calculated.
"Last I checked, they are the handmaidens to Princess Talia and Princess Mariko—not just that, they're both capable fighters, fully applicable to our cause."
"They may be mortal but were both part of the royal family."
"Guinevere may have married into the royal family, but her bloodline is even more royal than the previous rulers themselves."
"Her surname is Lionheart—a direct descendant of Viktor Lionheart, the original Emperor who ruled her home."
"Who, of course, had no children."
"Which, of course, was a lie."
Ren's tone remained steady, composed.
"There were those who wanted his bloodline erased—who wanted his children dead."
"Stella Moreno's dead ex-husband—his father—rebelled against Viktor in the year 2700 and took the empire for himself."
"That was a long time ago."
"But in the distant future, in the year 102,320, when they discovered his bloodline had not been extinguished, they became afraid."
"So they devised a plan: kill Guinevere, the closest living heir, or control her."
"She does not know her true birthright."
Ren let the thought settle before continuing.
"But her dead ex-husband did."
"He was the one who saved her, because he had known Guinevere since childhood. They used to play together, in secret."
"He protected her from those who sought to erase Viktor's lineage, shielding her from forces that sought to dictate her fate."
His words settled into the chamber, not as a revelation, but as a fact.
"Anastasia and Guinevere were trained to the peak of what the Ashen Empire could offer."
"But our empire can offer them more."
"We can push them beyond their limits—make them reach the true peak of human capability."
Ren's tone did not waver.
"Or, if it comes to it, one of us can turn them into an immortal being."
Then, he fixed his gaze on Ena—steady, unwavering.
"Are you happy now, Ena?"
"Is that enough reason not to doubt me?"
"Since you seemed so displeased with my decision to keep them alive."
"Guinevere will be seen as far more valuable now."
"Anastasia—perhaps not as much."
"But since they are friends, we can discuss that later."
Reflections Amidst the Council
"I'm sorry for doubting you, Prince Ren," Ena finally said, her voice measured yet firm. "My mistake—I thought those two weren't worth the hassle. But you made things clear. I understand now."
Across the chamber, Raiden watched the interaction, his gaze flickering between the two.
As he observed them, his thoughts drifted back to a conversation he had once shared with Ena.
"A silly misunderstanding," he mused.
A reckless mistake that had cost him far more than he had ever anticipated.
"I made such a bad choice."
His misjudgment had ruined their marriage, not simply because of what followed, but because of the moment he had let doubt creep in.
Because he had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment.
Because he had lost faith in her.
And that—more than anything else—had broken her heart.
Just as much as what came afterwards.
He could see it in Ena's expression—a flicker of something others wouldn't notice.
But he would.
After all, he and Ena had once been husband and wife.
He could tell she felt bad for doubting Ren.
He could guess why.
Before, she never would have doubted Ren. She would have had pure faith.
But after losing faith in Raiden, she had begun to doubt everyone around her.
Not purposely.
It had simply become a bad habit.
A defence.
Now, perhaps—eventually—she could let go of that doubt.
It might take time.
Or maybe... less than expected.
Eternal Bonds and Lingering Doubts
Ren left the council first.
Ena watched him go, the weight of her doubt pressing against her chest.
It didn't show on her face, but maybe Raiden could tell.
She glanced at him for a moment.
Then, she saw it.
He was talking to her brother.
That hurt.
Seeing them—both of them—standing there.
The two people who had hurt her on the same day.
She let the feeling settle, lingering for just a breath longer than she should have.
But there wasn't a time to dwell on it.
She followed second, quickening her pace to catch up to Ren.
She needed to apologise.
For her doubt.
For her actions.
After all, she—and the others—respected Ren.
And all nine of them had been friends since childhood.
They had created the Eternal Empire together.
They had ruled for 100,482 millennia.
Bound by history.
By loyalty.
By the choices that had shaped them.
And by the ones they had yet to make.