The early morning light had only just begun to spill across the horizon, brushing the high towers of Ebonspire Palace in strokes of gold and crimson. The skies above Velmora shimmered like painted glass, the kind of dawn that promised warmth after a long, cold night. The corridors of the palace, long and echoing, carried the faint whisper of servants preparing for the day - the soft rustle of fabrics, the muted clinking of silver trays, and the distant hum of voices.

Two figures walked side by side through the gilded hallway - Emperor Alaric Dravencourt and Empress Evelyne, their steps steady and measured. The polished marble floor mirrored their silhouettes as they made their way toward the royal dining hall, their conversation low but urgent.

"Another message from the eastern provinces," Alaric said, his voice deep, still rough from sleep. "They request additional soldiers to reinforce the borders near Haldrin. The council claims the northern tribes have been gathering again."

Evelyne's pale blue eyes shifted toward him, her expression calm yet sharp. "And what will you tell them this time? That our men are already stretched thin holding the west?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "If we send reinforcements east, the merchants in Velmora will panic. The nobles will whisper that the empire is weakening. If we refuse, the eastern lords will accuse me of neglect."

Before he could respond further, the faint sound of hurried footsteps echoed from beyond the doors. A moment later, the doors opened again, and a cheerful voice called out, "Father! Mother! You're already eating without us?" It was Cedric, tall and lively, his youthful confidence lighting up the room as he strode in. Behind him walked his younger sister, Aveline, graceful and composed as always.

The table fell into quiet laughter as the family gathered. For a few brief moments, the morning felt light - ordinary, even peaceful. The clinking of cutlery, the aroma of spiced honey and buttered bread, the distant song of birds outside the open balcony - it all felt like a scene untouched by the burdens of empire.

Then a nervous maid appeared at the door. "Your Majesties," she began quietly, her hands folded nervously before her apron, "the firstborn... it has begun again."

Evelyne rose immediately, the soft rustle of her gown breaking the tension. "Oh no..." she whispered. Alaric stood as well, his jaw tight. "Show us."

They reached the North Wing, where the morning light fell softer through the tall windows. The doors to the chambers stood slightly ajar. Evelyne hesitated only for a moment before pushing them open.

The room was bathed in pale sunlight. Sheer curtains fluttered gently in the breeze, and the golden rays of dawn fell across the marble floor like strands of silk. The bed, large and covered in white sheets, lay in the center of the room.

And there, in the middle of it, was the firstborn.

Not as they had left them the night before - not as the young royal the empire knew - but transformed once again.

Evelyne's breath caught in her throat. "Oh... my dear," she whispered at last, stepping closer. Her voice trembled with a mix of sorrow and tenderness. "Not again..."