# Chapter 3: The Golden Prince
Ten years later…
"Again!"
Emperor Marcus Aurelius's commanding voice echoed across the palace training courtyard, stern yet filled with encouragement. His son, sweat dripping down his young face, scrambled to his feet and tightened his grip on the wooden practice sword.
"Yes, Father!"
Prince Riven Aurelius raised the blade once more. At just ten, he already carried himself with a poise beyond his years. His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, and in his golden eyes burned a fire that no amount of exhaustion could dim.
The Aurelius Empire was small compared to the great dynasties of the eastern Constellation Continent, but it was stable, fertile, and respected. To its people, Prince Riven was more than the heir—he was the empire's shining jewel.
"Your stance is steadier," Marcus observed, circling him with the practiced grace of a man who had lived by the sword. Though age had softened his features, the Emperor's sharp eyes missed nothing. "But you still rush. An enemy will see your attack coming before you even swing."
Riven straightened, breath heavy but eyes sharp. "Like this?" He stepped forward, flowing through a sequence that felt oddly natural—movements neither taught nor practiced, yet executed flawlessly.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "And where did you learn that?"
"I… don't know. It just felt right."
The Emperor studied him for a moment, then chuckled. "Instinct, then. You'll make a better swordsman than I ever was. Perhaps it's time you trained with someone who can test your limits properly."
Riven grinned. "Father, you're the strongest man in the empire. Who else could teach me better?"
"Strength is not only measured by the sword, my son." Marcus placed a hand on his shoulder, firm yet fatherly. "And an emperor cannot be just a warrior. To lead is to be wise, patient, and just. A king who only knows how to fight is nothing but a glorified bandit."
Riven nodded seriously, the words resonating with a weight he couldn't explain.
"Now," Marcus added, a rare softness in his tone, "go see your mother before she comes here herself. And believe me, son, the wrath of your mother is fiercer than any sword stroke you'll face."
Riven laughed, bowing before hurrying off.
---
In the palace gardens, Empress Elena Aurelius oversaw the care of her moonlit roses, their pale petals glowing faintly even beneath the afternoon sun. She turned at the sound of light footsteps, her expression melting into warmth.
"There you are, my little prince," she said, drawing him into her arms. Riven leaned into her embrace, though he puffed out his chest in protest.
"I'm taller than you now, Mother."
"You'll always be my little prince," Elena replied with finality, brushing dirt from his training clothes. "Now listen carefully. The harvest festival is near, and you must show our people what kind of ruler you will become."
"Why is it so important this year?" Riven asked.
"Because prosperity brings envy as much as joy," Elena said as they strolled among the flowerbeds. "Our empire has flourished, and that will draw the eyes of both friends and rivals. You must show them strength, yes—but also grace. Every bow, every word, must reassure them that their future is safe in your hands."
Riven's brows furrowed. "So… they need more than a warrior. They need a prince they can believe in."
Elena's eyes softened. "Exactly. A ruler's duty is not only to protect the body of his people, but also their hearts." She paused by a rose bush heavy with pale silver blooms. "These flowers bloom only under the full moon, and for just one night. Beauty fades quickly, Riven. But the memory it leaves behind—that is what endures. Give that to your people."
He took her words to heart, nodding solemnly. "I won't disappoint you."
"You never could," Elena whispered, cupping his cheek. "You have your father's strength and my heart. And something more. Something I cannot name, but I know… it will change the world."
---
That evening, Riven sat with Master Chen in the vast palace library. The old scholar adjusted his spectacles as he pointed to a map of the eastern empires.
"Tell me, Prince Riven, why does the Quilin Empire—rich in resources—still pursue trade so aggressively?"
"Because trade isn't only about goods," Riven answered confidently. "It creates bonds. The more tied together the empires are, the harder it is for them to risk war."
Master Chen's eyes gleamed. "And for a smaller empire like ours?"
"We can't outmatch the great powers militarily," Riven said, thinking aloud, "but if we become too valuable to destroy, no one will dare risk it."
"Precisely." The tutor rolled up the scroll, satisfied. "Remember this wisdom, young prince. The greatest victory is sometimes the war never fought."
---
That night, Riven lay in bed, the moonlight spilling across his chamber. His body was weary, but his heart felt light. His father's lessons, his mother's guidance, and Master Chen's wisdom all wove together into a future that seemed clear, bright, and unstoppable.
In just a week, the harvest festival would arrive, followed by his tenth birthday—the day he would be declared the empire's heir. His life was filled with love, expectation, and the promise of greatness.
It felt unshakable. Eternal.
Yet in the quiet of the palace, beyond laughter and candlelight, shadows stirred. Not in storerooms or gardens, but far beyond mortal sight.
Somewhere in the void between realms, eyes older than empires snapped open.
The Void Emperor's lips curled into a smile.
"This is going to be fun."