May 30th, 1810 — The Shōryūden Palace, Tokyo, Grand Empire of Japan
A few days had passed since Xavier awakened from his long slumber.
This time, the scene opened within the grand throne room of Shōryūden Palace. The chamber was vast and immaculate, lined with towering pillars carved from dark lacquered wood and veined marble. Elite samurai stood guard along the walls—warriors trained from birth, silent and unmoving, their presence alone enough to make the air feel heavier. They were the finest of the finest, blades resting at their waists, discipline etched into their very posture.
The room's splendor was overwhelming. Gold-threaded banners draped from the ceiling, crystalline lanterns bathed the hall in a warm, celestial glow, and the polished floors reflected everything like still water. It was the kind of beauty no commoner could ever fully imagine—an elegance bordering on the divine.
Upon the elevated dais sat two figures.
Emperor Masamune Yamato. Empress Yorihime Yamato.
The sovereign King and Queen of the Grand Imperial Empire of Japan—revered across the human realm.
Before them knelt their youngest daughter.
Misaki Yamato.
Her head remained lowered in perfect reverence, long crimson-pink strands framing her face as they brushed against the polished floor. She did not dare lift her gaze toward the two most powerful figures in her life.
"Misaki," Emperor Masamune's voice echoed through the chamber—deep, composed, and commanding. "You must be wondering why I have called you here so suddenly."
"Yes, Father," Misaki replied calmly, though her voice carried the faintest trace of tension. Her head remained lowered.
"Well," the Emperor continued, "to make things clear—I have not summoned you to scold or punish you for sneaking out without our knowledge."
Misaki's shoulders subtly eased.
For weeks, she had carried that anxiety like a blade pressed against her back. She knew how strict her family was—how order and honor meant everything within the Yamato household. She had expected reprimand… perhaps even worse.
But hearing those words, the invisible weight that had been suffocating her chest slowly began to lift.
"In fact," Emperor Masamune said, a gentler tone entering his voice, "your mother and I are proud of you for doing so. We all are. Though I cannot deny—we were worried."
Empress Yorihime covered her mouth lightly, smiling as she added in a teasing tone, "Especially Erika. She could not stop watching the orb sphere linked to the katana she gifted you. Every single day. Without fail."
Misaki's eyes widened in shock, though her head remained lowered.
Elder Sister… worried for me?
The thought felt almost absurd.
Erika was strength incarnate. Unshaken. Unreadable. A being who seemed sculpted from steel rather than flesh. Emotion was not something she displayed.
There's no way… Misaki thought. That isn't like her at all.
"She kept checking it," her mother continued warmly. "Waiting to see if it would glow—if you were ever in true danger. Which, thankfully, it did not."
A faint silence settled.
"It was both thrilling and nerve-racking to witness," Yorihime added with a soft laugh. "Seeing Erika show even the slightest trace of emotion is a rare event."
Her smile dimmed slightly.
"She can seem so… distant at times. As if her skin were clay and her heart buried beneath it. I worry about her, you know."
Emperor Masamune chuckled quietly, his gaze softening.
"Our children truly are special."
For a brief moment, the atmosphere lightened. The throne room, once imposing and heavy, felt almost warm.
Then the Emperor's expression shifted.
The warmth faded.
"Now, Misaki."
"Yes, Father?"
"What I am about to tell you may sound unbelievable. It will defy logic. It will defy reason." His voice grew firmer. "But you must remain composed. And above all—what is said here must not leave this room. Not to your friends. Not to anyone."
The seriousness in his eyes sent a chill down her spine.
Misaki swallowed.
"Yes, Father."
Emperor Masamune drew a slow breath.
"Several weeks ago, I, your mother, your grandmother, and your sisters attended a summit within the Russian Empire. A gathering of the most powerful monarchs and rulers across the globe."
He paused.
"At that final meeting, a prophecy was delivered to us all… by the Revered Divine Blind Oracle of Chronos."
The name alone carried weight.
"In that prophecy," he continued, "the Oracle was granted a glimpse into the future of our universe. A future where seven heroes will rise to oppose the coming forces of wickedness."
Misaki's heartbeat quickened.
"Of those seven, four are human."
Her fingers tightened against the floor.
"The first—Jupiter Cavendish."
Her breath grew shallow.
"The second—Caelan Durandal."
The air in the room felt thinner.
"The third—the young hero and newly chosen master of the Legendary Divine Blade of Hope… Excalibur."
A beat.
"Xavier Ivanovich."
Misaki's entire body stiffened.
It felt as if ice had been poured down her spine.
Xavier…? Jupiter?
But the Emperor was not finished.
"And lastly…"
His voice softened—not with doubt, but with something deeper.
"The final hero of humanity."
Silence swallowed the throne room.
"The beloved daughter of the Yamato clan."
Misaki's breath stopped.
"Princess of one of the world's greatest nations."
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.
"You, Misaki."
The words struck like a blade.
"The final hero is you. Misaki Yamato."
The chamber felt distant. The guards, the pillars, the golden banners—all of it blurred at the edges of her vision.
"This is not a coincidence," Emperor Masamune said steadily. "These heroes were chosen by Origin Himself… and set into motion by Fate."
And for the first time since entering the throne room, Misaki felt something she had never known before.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
But the crushing weight of destiny.
Her jaw fell open at the revelation.
For a moment, it felt as though all strength had drained from her body—like her soul had stepped out and left only a hollow shell behind. A cold sweat gathered at her temples and along her back, yet she forced herself to remain kneeling, spine straight, hands pressed to the polished floor.
She turned pale. Almost ghostlike.
Heroes?
Chosen by Origin?
What do you mean, Father…? Why? For what reason? What are these forces of evil you speak of?
Her thoughts spiraled, crashing into one another without forming a single clear answer.
Emperor Masamune could see it—the confusion, the dread flickering behind his daughter's eyes. He had hoped she would react with pride. To be named a hero was an honor bestowed upon almost no one.
But he understood.
To be told, without warning, that Fate itself had chosen you… was not a blessing. It was a burden.
"B‑but… w‑why?" Misaki's voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. Her composure cracked just enough for the fear beneath it to surface. "Why would humanity need a hero? Heroes… to be exact? What is happening, Father?"
The Emperor's expression darkened.
He knew the next words would shatter whatever fragile sense of normalcy she still clung to.
But there was no avoiding it.
It was her fate to bear this weight.
"The reason Fate calls for heroes," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "is because the great evil of old has awakened."
The air in the throne room seemed to grow colder.
"The apocalypse that once nearly brought the world—no, the universe itself—to inevitable ruin."
His voice lowered.
"The Walking Cataclysm."
"The Titan War General."
"Lord of Apocalypse."
"The Devil of Hades."
"Grand Herrscher of the End."
"Devourer of Fables."
"Grand Emperor… Julius von Audrius."
"The Absolute Evil. Incarnate of Hell itself."
Each title struck like a distant war drum.
After allowing the weight of those names to settle into the silence, the Emperor delivered the final blow.
"He has risen. The End of All… has returned."
The words pierced Misaki like a dagger through the chest.
Her mind rejected it instantly.
No.
Impossible.
The King in Black had been slain ten thousand years ago by the Seven Great Heroes—with the aid of the Legendary Blade, Excalibur, and the united might of every major army across every race in existence.
He was killed.
Destroyed.
Erased.
There was no conceivable way he could return.
And yet…
If her father spoke it.
If the Blind Oracle of Chronos confirmed it.
Then this was no rumor. No political exaggeration.
It was truth.
A dreadful, inevitable truth.
We're doomed.
The thought echoed through her mind with suffocating clarity.
Emperor Masamune continued, his tone steady despite the gravity of his words.
"This conclusion was not formed lightly. Emperor Graviil of the Russian Empire presented evidence before the gathered monarchs. But more than that—the Blind Oracle corroborated it with her vision of the future."
He folded his hands before him.
"Her Majesty does not jest when it comes to matters of time and Fate. Nor does she entertain falsehoods. If she has seen it, then it will come to pass."
A heavy pause.
"The War Titan appears to have been resurrected from the depths of Hell by an unknown hand. We do not yet know who is responsible. But time will reveal what shadows conceal."
Misaki's breathing grew uneven.
Her world felt as though it were tilting.
Her parents exchanged a brief glance, concern flickering across their faces. They were ready to rise, to steady her if she collapsed.
But before they could speak—
A voice cut cleanly through the tension.
Calm.
Sharp.
Authoritative.
"Quivering like a worm in the rain, Misaki?"
Misaki's eyes snapped to her left.
There, seated comfortably upon a lavish side chair, was the crimson-pink-haired Lady Yamato Mei—the Revered Raiden.
Her grandmother.
She sipped green tea with perfect composure, spectacles resting low upon her nose as she scanned the morning paper held delicately between her fingers. Maids stood nearby at her disposal, bodyguards positioned behind her like silent statues.
As though they were discussing the weather rather than the end of the universe.
Lady Mei adjusted her glasses slightly and accepted a small sweet cake from a silver tray, breaking it with refined precision.
"Wipe that look from your face," she said flatly. "It is humiliating."
Misaki stiffened.
"You bear the blood and name of Yamato for a reason."
Her grandmother took another sip of tea.
"So what if the Lord of Darkness has risen?"
The words were spoken with such casual indifference it was almost unsettling.
"You are a descendant of the Great Deity, Lord Yamato—the Herrscher of Storms and Thunder."
Her sharp eyes finally lifted from the paper and locked onto Misaki's.
"Fear does not diminish our spirit."
A beat.
"It reveals whether we are worthy of it."
"Stand firm. Act like it."
The rebuke struck harder than the prophecy itself.
Shame surged through Misaki's veins.
She straightened instantly, fingers pressing harder against the floor. Her spine aligned, her shoulders squared.
The fear did not disappear.
But it no longer controlled her posture.
She was Yamato.
And she would not bow to dread.
Emperor Masamune cleared his throat and forced an awkward laugh. "Mother, you need not be so harsh. She is still a child."
"Yes," Lady Mei replied without looking up from her paper. Her voice was cold, but not raised. "But she is also a hero now. Not chosen by the people. Chosen by the Almighty Himself."
The page of the newspaper turned with a quiet flick.
"She must understand the honor of that. The weight of it. No one in our nation's history has ever borne the title of 'hero,' outside of Lord Yamato and me. Not once."
Her gaze lifted slightly.
"This is a blessing to our family. To our empire. She must not display weakness—not now. Not ever. That is not how a legend is born."
"But—" the Emperor began.
Empress Yorihime gently placed a hand over his sleeve, stopping him before he could continue. Her eyes told him what her lips did not: Let her learn this.
Misaki felt every word settle upon her shoulders.
She could not afford to show weakness.
Not after trembling the way she had.
Her grandmother was right. To be chosen by the All‑Father Himself… it meant He had seen something within her.
Something she had never been able to see.
Maybe she was not the disappointment she sometimes believed herself to be.
Maybe she was not merely the youngest daughter struggling beneath the shadows of her sisters.
This was her chance.
A chance to prove herself—not only to her family, not only to her nation… but to herself.
A chance to grow stronger than she had ever been.
A chance to become someone worthy.
Worthy of her name.
Worthy of her bloodline.
Worthy of the one she admired most.
Her grandmother.
The Great and Thunderous Raiden.
"That being said," Lady Mei continued calmly, as if they were discussing simple household matters, "from this day forward, your instruction will no longer fall to your sisters."
Misaki blinked.
"I will take that responsibility myself."
The room fell quiet.
"No one else is fit to mentor a hero. No one but me."
For a split second, Misaki forgot how to breathe.
Me?
Personally trained by the Revered Raiden?
Heat rushed to her cheeks, her earlier dread momentarily replaced by something bright—something almost childlike.
Excitement.
Honor.
Pride.
But Lady Mei lifted a finger slightly.
"However," she added, mildly annoyed by the interruption of her own statement, "that will have to wait until after your return from the Elven Realm."
The spark in Misaki's eyes flickered.
"Return…?" she repeated.
Empress Yorihime stepped in gently. "All leading nations present at the summit have reached a unanimous decision. The human heroes—including you—will be sent to the Elven Realm."
"For protection," she added softly. "Given the ominous events unfolding across our world, it is the safest course of action."
"It is for your safety."
Misaki swallowed.
"How long?"
Her mother hesitated only briefly. "Long enough for your potential to begin fully blossoming. Long enough to prepare you properly before you are introduced to the world as heroes."
A pause.
"Four years. Perhaps five, if necessary."
Four… five years.
Misaki's lips parted slightly.
"That's…" She faltered. "That's a bit extreme. I would miss middle school. My early youth. My friends…"
Normal things.
Ordinary things.
The life she had always known.
"I know," Yorihime replied, pressing her hands together as if pleading. "But this is not a matter of preference, my love. If something were to happen to you before your powers fully awaken…"
Her voice trembled faintly.
"It would be a tragedy not only for humanity—but for us. We are your parents before we are rulers."
Silence followed.
Misaki lowered her head.
Yes, she would lose years of normalcy.
Years of laughter in classrooms.
Of festivals.
Of simple afternoons with friends.
But she would gain something else.
Strength.
Mastery.
The opportunity to rise beyond her limits.
Perhaps even beyond the prodigies of the human realm.
Her thoughts raced—until the heavy doors of the throne room burst open with a loud slam.
Gasps echoed among the guards.
Into the chamber strode Princess Sayuri Yamato, the second eldest daughter, radiating energy that clashed entirely with the solemn atmosphere.
"Good evening, Mother! Father! Grandma!" she announced brightly. "Apologies for the intrusion—but I believe you've kept Misaki captive long enough."
The samurai looked scandalized.
Lady Mei did not so much as blink. She calmly took another bite of dessert and turned a page of her newspaper.
Sayuri rushed forward, hands landing on Misaki's shoulders with enthusiastic force.
"Meeting adjourned!" she declared. "I'm stealing her."
"H‑Huh?" Misaki barely managed.
"We're going shopping in the capital. Immediately."
Before anyone could object, Sayuri pulled her younger sister to her feet and began dragging her toward the exit.
"See you later!" she called over her shoulder.
The doors closed behind them with a resounding thud.
A stunned silence lingered in the throne room.
Then Empress Yorihime burst into laughter—bright, unrestrained, and almost tearful.
Even in the face of destiny…
Some things in the Yamato household never changed.