[Lavinia's POV — Imperial Palace, Moonlit Corridor]
We walked away from the throne room and the doors slammed shut behind us with a thunder that swallowed the last of the nobles' whispers. The corridor yawned, long and empty, broken only by Papa's measured boots and the soft scrape of Marshi's claws on marble.
The Divine Benediction.
Teacher Evelyn's lessons replayed in my head like a hymn half-remembered: older than the first emperor's crown, older than any family name stitched into the tapestry of our empire.
Before kingdoms rose and bloodlines were sewn, the temple stood taller—an older thing that had witnessed everything. The first emperor did not sit on the throne until the god beneath that altar had seen his hands and judged them.
From then on, the Benediction fell like a shadow over every heir: a test, a claim, a story the world could not ignore.
