Dawn came reluctantly to the Eternal Nocturne Empire.
The sun rose behind layers of lingering smoke, its light fractured by broken formations and half-repaired towers. The imperial capital was alive—but wounded. Servants hurried through courtyards, cultivators restored arrays, and messengers rode at full speed to spread a single truth across the empire.
The imperial family had survived.
Inside the inner palace, Azrael walked slowly through a corridor lined with dragon-carved pillars. His steps were unhurried. His aura—once again—was weak, thin, almost laughable.
Perfect.
As he turned a corner, he stopped.
Someone stood there.
A girl in pale silver robes, her long hair cascading like moonlight down her back. Her presence was quiet, yet sharp—like a blade hidden in silk. Large eyes, clear and observant, locked onto him the moment he appeared.
"Brother."
Her voice was soft.
Imperial Princess Seraphina Valebane.
Azrael's younger sister.
In the original novel, she would have been captured, humiliated, and broken—used as a stepping stone to fuel the protagonist's rise.
Azrael looked at her.
Really looked.
Her cultivation was already abnormal for her age, her bloodline humming faintly beneath the surface. A sleeping terror—one the world would regret awakening.
Seraphina walked toward him, stopping far too close for comfort.
"You were injured last night," she said.
Azrael blinked. "Was I?"
She frowned.
"I heard the palace was burning. I heard Heaven looked down." Her gaze searched his face, sharp and suspicious. "And yet you look… fine."
Azrael shrugged lazily. "I slept through most of it."
That was a lie.
She knew it.
Seraphina stepped closer, her eyes narrowing.
"You always do that," she murmured. "Hide."
Azrael met her gaze.
For a split second, something ancient flickered behind his eyes—something vast and cold and endlessly possessive.
Seraphina's breath caught.
Then it was gone.
She smiled faintly, as if reassured by something she didn't fully understand.
"…As long as you're safe," she said.
Azrael's expression softened—just barely.
Mine, the dragon thought.
Azrael turned away first.
"Go cultivate," he said. "Don't wander the palace alone for a while."
Seraphina tilted her head. "You're ordering me now?"
He paused.
Then, without looking back, he said quietly:
"Yes."
She froze.
A thrill ran down her spine.
"…Alright," she replied softly.
As she watched him leave, her fingers clenched her sleeves.
Brother, she thought, heart beating faster, what are you hiding?
—
High above the world, beyond clouds and stars, a ripple spread through the endless firmament.
Heaven recorded a deviation.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a mark.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Anomaly Detected
Designation: Azrael Noctyrr Valebane
Threat Level: Unknown
Status: Observe
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
For the first time in countless eras, Heaven did not understand something it had created.
And it hated that.
—
Azrael returned to his chamber.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head, every trace of tension gone.
Lazy.
Unbothered.
Harmless.
The perfect disguise.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Chapter 1 Completion Summary
• Fate deviation achieved
• Family destruction route broken
• Heaven's Chosen weakened
• Anomaly status assigned
• Dragon Core: Awakening (Locked)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Azrael yawned.
"Chapter one," he murmured. "Complete."
Outside, the world moved on—unaware that its story had already been stolen.
And Azrael Noctyrr Valebane closed his eyes, smiling faintly, as fate coiled ever tighter around his claws.
—
Morning fully claimed the Eternal Nocturne Empire.
Not peacefully.
The imperial capital was quiet in the way a battlefield became quiet after a massacre—alive, yet scarred. Smoke rose from scorched courtyards. Broken jade tiles littered palace walkways like fallen scales. Formation masters shouted orders as arrays were recalibrated, their faces pale as they realized how close annihilation had come.
News spread fast.
An assassination force backed by Heaven-linked sects had failed.
Faster still spread another rumor—whispered, uncertain, dangerous.
The Third Prince survived without a scratch.
Inside the Hall of Black Dragons, the imperial court convened.
Massive pillars carved with ancient dragon reliefs towered over ministers and generals alike. The air was heavy with suppressed auras, each official carefully restraining their cultivation under the Empress's gaze.
Lilith Noctyrr Valebane sat upon the obsidian throne.
Calm.
Unyielding.
Terrifying.
To her right stood the Crown Prince, Caelum, freshly healed but visibly shaken. His eyes were sharper now, more cautious—no longer carrying the careless arrogance of someone who believed Heaven would always protect him.
To her left stood Azrael.
Slouched.
Half-asleep.
Seemingly uninterested in anything occurring around him.
Perfect.
"Report," Lilith commanded.
A grey-haired minister stepped forward, voice steady but strained. "Your Majesty. We have confirmed the identities of the infiltrators. They originate from three sects… all loosely aligned with Heaven's Will."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Another official clenched his fists. "This was no mere raid. This was a test. Heaven probing our defenses."
"And failing," Lilith replied coolly.
Silence fell.
Her gaze swept the hall.
"Let it be known," she continued, "that any sect, clan, or force that dares to move against the imperial bloodline will be erased."
The words were not loud.
They didn't need to be.
Azrael yawned.
Several ministers noticed.
Their brows furrowed.
How can he be so relaxed…?
Unnoticed by all but one pair of eyes, thin black threads curled faintly around Azrael's fingers—fate residue slowly dissolving into his being.
So many opportunities, he mused lazily. And Heaven delivered them to my doorstep.
The System pulsed.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Passive Effect: Fate Residue Absorption
Minor political influence detected
Stability increased
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Azrael suppressed a smile.
Across the hall, Caelum watched him.
Closely.
Something about his third brother felt… wrong.
Not weak.
Not harmless.
Just—
Unplaceable.
After the court dismissed, Caelum approached Azrael as they exited the hall.
"…Brother," he said carefully.
Azrael blinked. "Hm?"
Caelum hesitated. "Last night. At the pavilion. I owe you my life."
Azrael scratched his cheek. "Do you? I don't remember doing anything."
Caelum studied his face.
There was no pride there.
No hunger for credit.
Only laziness.
And somehow, that unsettled him more than arrogance ever could.
"…Still," Caelum said quietly, "thank you."
Azrael waved a hand dismissively. "Stay alive. It's troublesome when family dies."
Family.
The word carried weight.
Caelum nodded slowly and left.
Azrael turned down another corridor—one that led deeper into the palace.
Toward the inner residence.
Toward his sister.
—
Elsewhere.
Far from the imperial capital.
In a shattered mountain sect cloaked in white stone and broken pride, the Heaven's Chosen Son knelt before his master.
Blood dripped from his lips.
His once-brilliant aura flickered like a dying candle.
"This is impossible," the old man muttered, hands trembling as he probed the young man's meridians. "Your luck… it's damaged. Not stolen entirely, but… redirected."
The youth's eyes burned with disbelief and fury.
"Someone interfered," he hissed. "Someone dared to touch what Heaven promised me."
His fists clenched.
In his mind, an image surfaced unbidden.
A palace.
A shadowed balcony.
A presence he could not see—but felt.
Cold.
Heavy.
Like a dragon watching prey.
"I'll find him," the youth swore. "I'll take everything back."
Unseen to him, a thin black thread tightened imperceptibly around his destiny.
Already claimed.
Already bleeding.
—
Back in the imperial palace, Azrael paused before a familiar door.
Seraphina's residence.
He knocked once.
Slow.
Measured.
Inside, the world was already rearranging itself—piece by piece—around the Useless Third Prince who had begun to steal fate itself.
—