The Imperial Court had barely begun to digest the previous night's chaos when rumors began spreading.
"Did you hear? The Third Prince… he survived the assault completely untouched."
"Impossible. Heaven's favor should have been enough to kill him—or at least injure him."
"Yet the assassins failed. And I swear… I saw him walking lazily past the Azure Pavilion afterward."
Whispers of disbelief and awe intertwined.
Empress Lilith Noctyrr Valebane, seated in her private chambers, observed the court's reaction silently. Her sharp eyes narrowed. She was aware that something far larger than the empire was shifting—an anomaly in the natural order.
Behind her, Azrael lounged on a low divan, feigning exhaustion.
"Lazy, weak, helpless…" he murmured softly. "Perfect disguise."
Lilith did not turn. "Do not underestimate what you have begun, Azrael. Heaven will send observers. They will watch every move, every decision. One misstep…"
"I know," Azrael interrupted lazily, scratching his head. "That's why I'll be extra careful. And extra lazy."
Lilith's lips twitched in amusement.
"Your weakness is your shield," she said quietly. "But make sure it is convincing. Weakness hides danger best."
Azrael smiled faintly. "Understood, mother."
Far away, in the Eastern Continent, Heaven dispatched a group of observers—celestial cultivators bound by divine law. Their task: to track the anomaly, the Third Prince who had disrupted fate itself.
Among them, one had noticed a slight deviation in fate threads across multiple territories—a drifting thread belonging to a young woman of immense potential, a hidden power tied to the imperial family, yet seemingly untouchable by Jin Yao's intervention.
Her name was Lyrielle, a talented cultivator who had previously been a minor noble, destined to remain in the shadows.
The observers noted her thread with interest: now moving subtly toward the Third Prince.
"It seems he has begun gathering resources," one whispered. "Not men, nor armies—but fate itself."
Another shook their head. "Dangerous. Extremely dangerous. This is no ordinary prince—he is a predator hiding in plain sight."
Back in the imperial palace, Azrael strolled through the gardens at dawn. Mist coiled along the marble walkways, yet he walked as though the palace were empty, completely unremarkable.
Lyrielle, practicing at the outer gardens, froze mid-step as a subtle energy brushed her senses—unseen yet commanding, faint yet unavoidable. Her heartbeat accelerated.
Who is… watching me?
Azrael approached lazily, hands in sleeves. "Good morning," he said softly, his voice a calm ripple in the quiet garden. "You cultivate too hard for someone your age."
Lyrielle startled, spinning around. There was no one near—at least none visible. Yet her instincts screamed that someone, something, had touched her fate.
"Who's there?!" she demanded, defensive, though curiosity pricked at her.
Azrael chuckled softly. "Just… someone noticing your potential. Take it easy."
He did not step closer. He did not need to. Fate threads already curled subtly around him, testing, probing, claiming.
Lyrielle's mind shivered. For the first time, she felt both unease and an inexplicable attraction to something she couldn't perceive.
He… exists. And I cannot resist noticing him.
The dragon within Azrael stirred faintly.
Another thread, another harvest begins.
Meanwhile, in his ruined sect, Jin Yao paced furiously.
"Why can't I see him?!" he shouted, slamming his palm against a jade pillar. Blood splashed as the pillar's protective wards flared briefly. "He hides! He hides! And yet he's taking everything from me!"
His master trembled. "Do not underestimate him. This is no ordinary prince. He moves beyond fate itself. Every attempt to strike will fail unless…"
"Unless what?" Jin Yao barked.
"Unless you understand who he truly is," the master replied quietly. "And by then… it may be too late."
Back at the imperial palace, Azrael returned to his chamber.
He flopped onto the bed with a faint yawn, arms behind his head. The sun had fully risen, illuminating the scattered mess of the palace repairs.
He glanced toward the ceiling.
"Two threads now," he murmured softly. "A heroine and a potential ally. This is going to be fun."
The System pulsed faintly.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
New Fate Threads Detected
Lyrielle (Minor Potential Heroine)
Elyndra (Elf Saintess – Under Hidden Influence)
Fate Acquisition Strategy: Stealth First, Harvest Later
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Azrael smiled faintly, lazily closing his eyes.
The aftermath phase is ending.
The political phase begins.
And I am the only player who truly understands the board.
—
By midday, the imperial capital was alive with rumor and gossip. Courtiers whispered behind fans, soldiers murmured in guard halls, and distant emissaries from neighboring kingdoms arrived hastily, uncertain whether to congratulate or fear the Eternal Nocturne Empire.
Azrael appeared on the public stage for the first time since the attack.
He walked slowly through the court garden, a faintly lazy sway in his posture, eyes half-lidded as though the sun itself were an inconvenience. His silk robes trailed behind him, immaculate but unassuming. To any observer, he was the same weak, inconsequential Third Prince everyone had always mocked.
Yet beneath that mask, threads of fate subtly curled toward him. One by one, minor ministers, palace guards, and visiting nobles felt the inexplicable tug of destiny—and adjusted their decisions ever so slightly.
The Empress stood nearby, arms crossed, silently observing. She knew exactly what her son was doing.
"This is your display?" she asked softly.
Azrael yawned. "Yes. Let them think me useless. Let the world underestimate me. Weakness is more useful than strength when one wants to harvest fate quietly."
Lilith smiled faintly. "Indeed."
Elsewhere, Jin Yao, the Heaven's Chosen Son, had begun to recover from his previous shock.
He had spent the morning attempting to trace the fate threads of both Elyndra and Lyrielle. He had failed. Every movement he made was countered by an invisible force. Every minor calculation was foiled before completion.
And then, desperation took hold.
"I must act directly," he muttered, veins pulsing with anger. "If I cannot force fate to obey, I will override it with my own power."
He released a forbidden formation, one meant to control a living being's destiny remotely.
A pulse shot through the lands—direct, aggressive, and intrusive.
Lyrielle felt it first.
A wave of pressure, alien yet intimate, pressed against her very soul. She stumbled backward, clutching her chest, heart hammering.
Someone—or something—was attempting to seize her fate.
Instinctively, she cried out, "Help—!"
But no one heard her.
Because the one she should have feared the most was already guarding her thread.
From a hidden garden ruin, Azrael watched, calm, hands folded behind his head.
"Their first mistake," he murmured. "And it's sloppy."
A single, lazy motion of his finger redirected the invasive fate thread. Jin Yao's talisman snapped harmlessly against an invisible wall.
Lyrielle collapsed to her knees, gasping, as a strange warmth flowed through her. She didn't know why—but she felt… safe.
Azrael smirked faintly. "Not yours," he whispered. "Never was."
Back in the White Meridian Sect, Jin Yao screamed in frustration, unable to understand why the thread had failed.
"This is impossible!" he yelled. "He is not visible! He hides behind the imperial family! Every action I take—he blocks it!"
His master trembled. "You have interfered with something far beyond comprehension. Be cautious… or you will destroy yourself first."
"I don't care!" Jin Yao roared. "If he is the cause, then I will break him!"
The old man's eyes widened. He knew then: the Heaven's Chosen had just committed his first fatal misstep.
Back in the palace, Azrael returned to the Empress's side.
"You see?" he said lazily. "The world moves in predictable patterns… if you know where to step."
Lilith's eyes flickered with amusement and approval. "Your timing is impeccable. You interfere only where necessary. One day, you may surpass even me."
Azrael yawned, stretching. "Perhaps. But today… I nap first."
Seraphina appeared quietly behind them, having observed from the shadows. She tilted her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"You're… different," she said softly. "Something about you… it's not the Third Prince I knew."
Azrael glanced at her lazily. "Of course not. I'm just getting started."
The dragon stirred beneath his chest, coiling like a predator ready to strike, but he kept it restrained. Today was not for killing. Today was for positioning, observing, and collecting threads.
And somewhere far above, Heaven scowled.
The board had changed.
And the Useless Third Prince—smiling faintly, lazy, untouchable—had already claimed the first moves.