After learning about Ari's injuries, Imperial takes her to his home to treat her wounds. When they arrive, Imperial's brother, Kai, is shocked to see him with a girl of his age. While Lyra treats Ari's injuries, Ari asks her about Imperial and his father.
Lyra hesitated for a moment, her eyes clouding with sorrow as she lowered her gaze. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she began. "Imperial's father… left us on the very day Imperial was born."
Ari's curiosity pushed her to ask gently, "What happened to him? If you don't mind telling me…"
Lyra took a deep, steadying breath and began to recount the story that had haunted her heart for the past fifteen years.
Fifteen Years Ago
Cyrus Alden, Imperial's father, was entrusted with an S-rank mission—an assignment so dangerous that the chances of survival were barely nine percent. The weight of the mission was heavy not only on the empire but especially on those closest to Cyrus.
Lyra remembered the day vividly. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard as she begged him to reconsider.
"Cyrus, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "It's too dangerous. You don't have to do this. You could withdraw."
Cyrus, ever resolute and coldly determined, shook his head. "I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "If I survive this mission, there's no doubt I will be the next ruler of this empire."
Lyra's heart broke at his words, but she knew arguing would be futile. She looked at him, tears threatening to spill. "Two months from now… we're going to have our baby. I need you to be there with me on that day."
His gaze hardened, voice laced with frustration. "Are you doubting my skills? Do you think I can't survive? If you think that, just say it. Otherwise, stop begging me."
Lyra's love for him battled with her fear. She had no doubts about his strength—Cyrus was one of the strongest men she had ever known. But even the strongest could fall. Still, she swallowed her fear and nodded. "I know you're strong. Just promise me… promise me you'll come back alive. And when you do, you'll name our child."
For a moment, silence hung between them like a fragile thread. Then Cyrus's voice softened. "I promise. I will come back, and I will name our child."
That week, Cyrus departed with his elite team—generals, soldiers, and fighters handpicked for this near-suicide mission. Days turned into agonizing weeks for Lyra, her heart a storm of hope and dread.
after a month
Word reached the empire: The mission is complete. Survivors: One.
Lyra hadn't slept that night. She rushed to the palace in her nightclothes, arriving just as the main gates opened. The guards recognized her and let her pass without a word.
Inside the grand courtyard, the world was silent—haunted.
And then she saw him.
Cyrus stood alone under a flickering lantern, his clothes in tatters, his hands bloodstained, and tears trailing down his face. His sword hung loosely from his belt.
"Cyrus!" she gasped, rushing to him.
He turned, and for the first time, she saw him truly broken.
"My father…" he whispered hoarsely. "He's dead. I couldn't protect him."
Lyra embraced him tightly. "You came back. That's what matters. We'll get through this."
She brought him home. . While he rested, she cleaned his wounds and tucked away the worn leather book she'd found tucked inside his coat. He didn't explain its contents—he didn't have the strength.
One Week Later
Summoned by urgent message, they entered the Royal Palace again. This time, Cyrus wore ceremonial robes, his wounds mostly healed. Lyra held his arm for strength, their footsteps echoing against the high stone walls of the throne chamber.
Twelve elders sat before them in a half-circle. The air was heavy, the room quiet as a tomb.
"Cyrus Alden," the eldest elder began, "by unanimous vote, the council has deemed you worthy to inherit the throne. You alone returned from the death mission. You proved the impossible. The people need a leader of your strength."
The silence after the statement was deafening.
Lyra's heart beat fast. This was his dream.
But Cyrus remained still. Then—he shook his head.
"I refuse."
Gasps rang across the chamber.
"Why?" the elder asked, stunned. "You've earned this."
Cyrus looked up, eyes sharp but tired. "Because strength alone doesn't make a ruler. Not anymore."
His voice echoed with quiet conviction.
"Call it weakness if you must… but I lost more than just comrades on that mission. I lost belief in the kind of world we're building. I've seen too much death. I don't want to rule over more of it."
Lyra, standing beside him, said nothing. But in her heart, she knew: something inside Cyrus had changed forever on that mission.
"Why are you refusing, Cyrus?"
All eyes turned to him.
Cyrus stood still for a long moment. Then he stepped forward and, without a word, removed his outer cloak.
A sharp breath passed through the chamber.
His right arm was gone.
As the elders waited for an explanation, Cyrus stepped forward, the long sleeve of his ceremonial robe pinned at the shoulder—empty.
"I lost it during the mission," he said, his voice low but steady. "But it wasn't just my arm I left behind. I lost something far more important."
He paused, eyes dark with memory.
"I lost the man who raised me… and I couldn't protect him."
Gasps rippled through the chamber, but Cyrus pressed on.
"I always believed that strength—raw power—was the only requirement to rule. That as long as I stood at the top, unshaken, no one could question my right to lead. But I was wrong."
He looked down at his missing limb, then slowly back up at the council.
"How can I lead an empire… when I couldn't even save my own father? How can I protect millions, when I failed to protect the one person who believed in me more than anyone?"
The silence in the hall was absolute.
"I no longer have the strength I once did. Not just because of this—" he gestured to his missing arm "—but because the fire that once burned in me… it's changed. Maybe it's gone. And without that fire, without clarity… I can't take the throne. I won't lead this empire into ruin, pretending to be the man I used to be."
His gaze swept the room, not in defiance, but in solemn honesty.
"Choose someone else. Someone whole. Someone who still believes they can save this world."
And with that, Cyrus Alden—the man who had returned from the impossible—turned his back on the throne.
then both of them leave the palace and move back to their home.
when they arrived at home, lyra asked immediately
"Why, Cyrus?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Becoming ruler… that was your dream. You risked everything for it. You survived when no one else did. Wasn't it all for this?"
"And why you showed them," she said quietly. "Your arm?."
Cyrus didn't answer right away. He simply nodded.
"It wasn't from the mission," Lyra continued, her voice low, steady. "You lost it when you were seventeen… that night near the mountain border."
He exhaled through his nose. "You remember."