The Aurelian Empire did not falter. Its borders held firm, its people obedient, and its order—both political and divine—remained intact under Emperor Sorin’s rule. He governed with a steady hand.

It was the day of the annual Valor Rite, upheld between the Church and the Crown. A ceremony that is a reminder of the bond between the divine and royalty through the presentation of the Saintess before the throne.

The Saintess was, to him, a title. A symbol. Nothing more.

At least, that had been the case.

“Your Majesty,” the High Priest spoke, guiding a quiet figure forward, “the Saintess.”

Sorin’s gaze shifted, casual at first, settling briefly on the veiled figure beside the priest.

“You may look upon the Emperor,” the High Priest said gently.

For a moment, nothing changed.

Then—slowly—she lifted her gaze.

Sorin stilled.

It was slight, nearly imperceptible. The pause in his breath. The faint tightening of his focus. His expression, once faintly amused, sharpened into something far more intent.

For a fleeting moment, he simply looked at her.

Not as a ruler acknowledging a title.

Not as a man entertaining a curiosity.

But as though something had caught him entirely off guard.

“…So this is the Saintess,” he murmured, the words quieter than before, stripped of their usual ease.

His gaze did not waver.

And for the first time, it was not duty that held his attention.