Twilight bathed the palace gardens in its soft glow. Candles flickered along the stone pathways, their light dancing across the small meditation pools Azrael favored. The air hung still, yet charged—not with cultivation energy, but with palpable anticipation.
Seraphina had returned, drawn by an inexplicable pull she couldn't resist. Azrael lounged on the low marble railing as though he had always belonged to the shadows themselves, his eyes half-lidded in lazy amusement.
"You follow me everywhere," he murmured softly, his gaze fixed on the distance rather than directly at her.
Seraphina froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I... I just..." she faltered, her voice barely audible in the evening stillness.
Tilting his head slowly, Azrael observed her with calculating interest. A subtle glow emanated from the dragon core within her that had not yet fully awakened. Faint black threads curled around her aura—invisible yet palpable—binding her attention, her instincts, her desires with tiny, insidious tugs of possession.
"You can stop pretending," he said softly. "I know what you feel. And I don't mind."
Her breath caught in her throat. The words lingered between them, teasing and dangerous. She stepped closer, uncertain whether curiosity, fear, or instinctive loyalty drew her forward.
Azrael reached out with deliberate slowness, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. The movement was intimate, calculated, possessive.
Her cheeks flamed crimson, pulse racing wildly, yet she remained rooted in place.
"Brother..." she whispered, her tone almost pleading.
"Shh," he leaned closer until his breath caressed her ear. "No one else matters here."
An electric thrill coursed through Seraphina as the invisible threads tightened ever so slightly around her. The dragon beneath Azrael's human form stirred, coiling in subtle possessiveness.
Mine, he thought with satisfaction.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace, a different thread began to move toward him.
The mother of another heroine—an influential figure, politically savvy and dangerously beautiful—had begun sensing Azrael's pull. She noticed the casual way his shadow passed through halls, the invisible weight he carried even in repose. Her traitorous pulse quickened whenever he appeared.
Azrael had not approached her directly. Not yet. But through subtle manipulation of fate threads, slight interventions in her daily life, and faint untraceable influences, he had begun bending her attention, curiosity, and instinctive attraction toward him.
Another thread claimed, he mused, stretching lazily across the railing. And she doesn't even know it yet.
Far to the north, Jin Yao's temper erupted into fury.
He had observed the subtle shifts in fate threads—Lyrielle, Seraphina, and now another of his targets slipping from his grasp. Every attempt to force their destiny back under Heaven's control ended in humiliating failure.
"This... is impossible!" he screamed, pounding the jade floor until cracks appeared beneath his fists. "How can a Third Prince—lazy, weak, unremarkable—interfere with Heaven itself?"
His master trembled before him. "He is not weak. He exists beyond our comprehension... You made your first mistake in confronting him directly."
Jin Yao's eyes blazed with uncontrollable rage. "I will not allow it! If Heaven cannot act... then I will!"
And in the celestial realms, observers stirred, whispering urgent warnings to one another. The anomaly had grown beyond their predictions.
As night deepened its hold, Azrael finally rose from his perch and glided toward a secluded pavilion.
Seraphina followed silently, her curiosity overpowering her caution. The air between them seemed to thrum with something more primal than cultivation—possession, desire, and an unspoken bond that strengthened with every heartbeat.
Azrael turned to her with deliberate slowness. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes..." she whispered, the word escaping before she could consider its implications.
"Good," he said, stepping closer until barely a breath separated them. He brushed a fingertip across her lips—soft, teasing, intimate. Warmth bloomed in her chest, stealing her ability to breathe properly.
This is only the beginning, Azrael thought with satisfaction. One kiss, one touch, and the threads begin their harvest.
Her lips parted slightly. The pull he exuded proved invisible yet undeniable, impossible to resist.
Azrael smirked lazily. "Relax. There is no one here but us. I will take care of everything... for now."
Meanwhile, political repercussions continued rippling outward beyond the palace walls.
Neighboring kingdoms dispatched envoys, curious about the unusual survival of the imperial family and the mysterious Third Prince's apparent weakness. All reports returned with subtle but damning conclusions: the Third Prince appeared lazy and unthreatening—yet strangely influential.
Small nobles and soldiers began feeling inexplicable loyalty toward him, decisions shifted subtly in his favor, and whispers of his power spread without a single public display of strength.
Perfect, Azrael thought with satisfaction. They all believe me weak. And that is how I harvest.
As midnight approached, Azrael returned to his bedchamber.
The System pulsed faintly with new information.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
New Fate Threads Detected:
Seraphina – Possessive Influence Strengthened (Romantic/Bonding)
Mother of Future Heroine – Passive Awareness/Thread Tugged
Lyrielle – Hidden Influence Maintained
Other Minor Threads – Observed
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Azrael yawned, stretching languidly across the bed.
The first night of my harvest is complete. Politics, power, and desire... all bending toward me. And they remain unaware of my true existence.
The dragon stirred beneath his chest, coiling with anticipation of what was to come.
This is only the beginning of my empire... and my harem.
Night had fully claimed the palace, but the Eternal Nocturne Empire remained far from quiet. In the outer halls, emissaries exchanged whispered rumors of the Third Prince's uncanny survival, while the inner courts adjusted carefully to subtle shifts in power that no one yet comprehended.
Azrael strolled casually through the inner gardens, hands tucked into his sleeves, eyes half-lidded with apparent disinterest. Moonlight outlined the soft curves of fountains and marble statues, but his attention focused elsewhere—on the invisible threads of fate gradually bending toward him silently, invisibly, irreversibly.
Seraphina followed at a respectful distance, her conflicting emotions of curiosity, fear, and growing affection pulling her along like an invisible leash.
"You're... so calm," she remarked softly, her voice tinged with awe. "Even after everything that's happened..."
Azrael cast a lazy glance in her direction. "Calm? I'm not calm. I'm careful. Calm is merely a mask I wear."
He paused beneath a willow tree where moonlight glinted off the black scales faintly visible beneath his skin—the dormant dragon aura, coiled and ready to strike.
"You don't understand yet," he murmured, his voice like silk. "Everything you believe you see... is precisely what I allow you to perceive."
Her pulse quickened involuntarily. She found herself unable to look away as subtle threads of possession wound around her aura—gentle, almost imperceptible, yet undeniable in their hold.
Azrael leaned just enough to brush a finger against her shoulder. The gesture wasn't threatening or aggressive—merely intimate and teasing in its casualness.
Seraphina shivered despite herself. Her heart raced wildly. "Brother... what are you doing to me?"
"Claiming what's rightfully mine," he replied with lazy confidence. "Nothing else matters in this world. You'll understand everything in time."
The dragon beneath his human form stirred, coiling with possessive protectiveness.
Mine, he thought once more with absolute certainty.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the palace, the mother of one of Azrael's future heroines began sensing a faint tug on her fate threads. Despite her focus on cultivation and political matters, her instincts had been subtly tested over recent days.
Azrael hadn't approached her directly—he had no need. Threads of influence, subtle and invisible, had already begun reshaping her attention, curiosity, and even desire toward him without her knowledge.
Another thread ripening for harvest, he mused with satisfaction.
That evening, he appeared casually in the corridor where she reviewed important documents.
"You work too diligently," he commented softly, leaning against a pillar with his characteristic indolent posture. "Your energy scatters in too many directions... and I prefer it focused."
Her cheeks flushed inexplicably. He hadn't touched her or even approached closely. Yet the invisible tendrils of his influence had already begun reshaping her thoughts to his advantage.
Another thread claimed without her awareness, he thought with lazy pleasure.
Far beyond the palace walls, Jin Yao finally decided to act with reckless desperation.
"I cannot allow this aberration to continue!" he shouted, veins bulging at his temples. "A Third Prince, weak and lazy... stealing threads from Heaven itself? This is utterly impossible!"
His master, trembling visibly, attempted to intervene. "Your actions border on recklessness! You cannot force fate in this manner. Direct interference will cause a backlash that—"
"Silence!" Jin Yao bellowed, his face contorted with rage. "I will reclaim what belongs to Heaven. I will not fail again!"
A forbidden formation ignited beneath his cultivation chamber, sending a surge of golden energy aimed at all fate threads connected to the Third Prince.
Lyrielle, practicing quietly in her domain, suddenly felt the invisible pressure. She staggered backward, clutching her chest as the thread binding her to Jin Yao's control faltered and weakened.
A different warmth replaced it—subtle, protective, commanding. Azrael's influence had already begun shielding her, bending the threads to his will instead.
She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The presence felt invisible, yet utterly irresistible.
Who... are you? she whispered into the void.
Azrael, observing silently from a distant ruin, merely yawned with satisfaction.
My harvest begins earlier than expected tonight, he murmured lazily. And not one of them possesses the power to resist my pull.
Back in the imperial palace, Azrael returned to his private chambers, stretching across his bed with catlike grace. The System pulsed faintly with updated information.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Fate Threads Detected:
Seraphina – Influence Strengthened (Romantic/Protective)
Mother of Future Heroine – Awareness Increased (Passive Influence)
Lyrielle – Hidden Influence Reinforced
Minor Nobles and Officials – Subtle Thread Shifts
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Azrael smiled with lazy satisfaction. The threads belong to me now. Slowly, one by one, they fall into my grasp. The world remains oblivious to my true existence... and by the time they realize what has happened, it will be far too late to change their fate.
The dragon beneath his chest coiled with patient anticipation, ready to claim what it desired.
And this is merely the beginning of my harem's formation.