#quinque teag

You finally turned, tears balancing at the edges of your lashes. Aeliane stood in a gauzy robe of pale rose, her amber hair loose around her shoulders, eyes shining with the same quiet sorrow. She reached out a hand, steady and open.

You took it, letting her pull you into a gentle embrace.

You held each other — not as rivals, not as co-wives, but as people who loved the same vanishing man, and who bore the weight of his absence every single day.

When you stepped into the sun-drenched kitchen, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The space was alive with warm light pouring in from the wide glass windows, gilding the stone walls and casting golden halos across the wooden floor. The scent of fresh pancakes, berry compote, and cinnamon butter drifted through the air, wrapping around you like a hug.

You didn’t even get a chance to take another step before you were tackled.

Two small, giggling bodies crashed into you with a joyful cry, “Good morning, Baba!”

The twins knocked you off balance, and you stumbled back with a surprised laugh, landing on the cushioned rug with a gentle oof. Shams clung to your waist, her short hair bouncing with excitement, while Noor scrambled up your chest, snuggling into your neck with a content sigh.

“We made pancakes with Mama Ignis and Solaris!” Shams announced, eyes wide with pride.

“Yeah!” Noor chimed in, voice muffled against your shoulder. “We made them just for you.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within your chest, a kind of joy that had been buried beneath ten years of waiting. You wrapped them both in your arms, pressing tight kisses to their round cheeks as they squealed and tried to escape your grasp.

“Babaaa, noooo!” Noor giggled, legs kicking.

“You’ll never escape the kiss monster,” you teased, raining another flurry of smooches on Shams, who shrieked in delight.

When you finally released them, they sprang up and ran off, chasing Solaris through the kitchen like tiny bolts of lightning. Solaris let out an exaggerated yelp, raising their arms dramatically as they fled, the hem of their robe trailing behind like a cape.

“Scaredy-cats,” Ignis muttered from the stove, chuckling as she flipped another pancake onto the growing stack as flour dusted the edges of her sleeves. “They act like you’re a villain when you hug them too hard.”

“They’ll grow out of it,” Solaris said with a grin, catching Noor mid-run and spinning him gently in the air before setting him down with a kiss to his forehead. “They’re Unum’s children, after all. And we all know how he was addicted to our affection.”

Your smile faded just a fraction, touched with nostalgia.

“That he was,” you murmured, brushing flour from your robe as you rose to your feet.

You glanced around the room — the sunlight, the laughter, the messy plate of syrup-covered fruit on the table. It was all a beautiful, chaotic harmony. And even if one piece was missing, you still felt him in every echo of laughter and every pair of shining eyes.

For a moment, you let yourself simply exist in the joy. The soft thud of little feet on tile. The sweet warmth of breakfast is still cooking. The quiet knowledge that no matter how long he’d been gone, love had stayed behind — in these children, in your sister-wives, in this home.

—------------------------------------------------------

After everyone had eaten their fill of the sweet, golden pancakes, the house gradually settled into a quieter hum. The children were ushered off for their morning lessons, and the scent of syrup and butter slowly gave way to the clean aroma of rosewater and parchment.

Now, you sat in the imperial throne room — regal and composed, though your hands still remembered the warmth of little fingers and sticky syrup.

You were in your place: to the right of the central throne, which was carved from gold and inlaid with sunstone. Aeliane, poised and serene as ever, sat on the left. Between you, Unum’s throne remained untouched — a monument to absence. A silent testament. The banners behind it fluttered gently from the sea breeze that snuck through the high windows, whispering of tides and time.

Father Rafael, robed in ash gray, stood a respectful distance behind your chair. His pale, inked-stained fingers clutched a scroll, and his gaze flickered between you and the speaker with sharp interest. Beside him stood Bishop Septem, draped in his ceremonial violet and gold vestments, a man of fewer words but deeper, more calculated silences. His eyes missed nothing — especially the expressions you tried to hide.

The court was filled with the soft rustle of silk and the calculated tones of petitioners. Today, like most days, there was a suitor — dressed too boldly, speaking too confidently — trying to win your favor. Claiming loyalty. Promising glory. Some were clever. Some were beautiful. None of them were Unum.

As usual, the attempts ended in embarrassment or quiet dismissal.

By the time the court recessed for the midday break, your spine ached from sitting so straight, and your heart throbbed with a dull, tired rhythm. You excused yourself from the others, nodding at Aeliane before slipping away.

You found yourself again on the balcony overlooking the sea, the same one from that morning — though now the light had sharpened and the wind tasted more of salt than dew. The ocean below churned gently, the waves licking at the base of the cliffs, speaking to you in a tongue only you seemed to remember.

You leaned on the stone rail, eyes searching the horizon once more, even though you already knew — there was nothing.

Your voice rose softly — hesitant at first, like something fragile waking after a long sleep. It was barely more than a whisper, but it carried through the garden air like smoke, curling into the warm morning breeze. You stood at the edge of the balcony carved from pale stone, the sea stretching before you like an open wound that never healed.

It was a song older than you, older than the empire. A melody passed down through your bloodline, once sung under moonlit balconies and in candlelit nurseries. And it was his favorite.

Unum would hum it under his breath when he braided your hair. He used to sway to its rhythm as he held your babies close to his heart, feet bare on the mosaic floor while you sat smiling, watching the sun pour golden light across their skin.

Your voice cracked on the final line. The sound wavered in the air and was swept away by the sea wind before the last note could finish. You clutched the marble railing, the coldness grounding you, a contrast to the burn in your chest.

“The man I love is not afraid of anything,

But when he loves, he shakes everything.

A restless warrior after adventures,

With strong, soft hands.

The man I love, knows I love him —

He takes me in his arms, and I forget it all…”

Below the balcony, the waves rolled against the cliffs, a steady rhythm that mocked the absence above. No sails on the horizon. No ships. No banners. Only the salt-bitten silence of waiting.

Behind you, the garden bloomed in soft defiance of your grief — white-petaled lilies trembling under archways woven with twilight roses. Fruit trees, rare and sacred, bowed gently with heavy harvests. You had once walked here hand-in-hand with him, a crown of blossoms in your hair, giggling as he pressed you against the warm trunk of a fig tree and kissed the corners of your smile.

That was ten years ago.

“Still no ships,” Aeliane’s voice broke the silence like lace tearing. She stood a few steps behind you, her hands clasped before her, her expression gentle but etched with the same ache you carried.

You nodded, swallowing the lump that had lodged in your throat.

Aeliane moved closer and stood beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “I remember how he loved that song,” she murmured. “How he made you sing it to the children so they would never fear storms. He said if they could fall asleep to your voice, no monster could ever reach them.”

You smiled faintly, though it felt more like an old scar stretching. “He thought he’d come back,” you whispered, “before we ever had to sing it without him.”

You looked out over the sea again, the color of it deepening under the morning sun. Somewhere, far beyond what your eyes could reach, was the truth either swallowed by salt or waiting to return.

Aeliane slipped her hand into yours without a word. Her grip was firm, steady. Familiar. You let your fingers wrap around hers and leaned into her warmth.

Together, you stood side by side in the garden above the sea shaped by a shared love watching the horizon and waiting for a ghost who had promised to come home.

—-----------------------------------------

Your shared moment with Aeliane was shattered when the heavy doors to the balcony burst open with a thunderous crack.

Father Rafael stumbled through, breathless, his face pale and tight with fear — a kind of fear that didn’t belong in a man known for silence and composure.

“Consort (Y/N)... Consort Aeliane…” he gasped, voice trembling, “we have a major problem.”

You didn’t wait to ask.

You and Aeliane exchanged a sharp glance before your feet carried you down the corridor, silk and gold fluttering behind you like war banners. Your heart thundered in your chest not from running, but from a dread you hadn’t felt in years. The kind of dread that told you, before you even saw, that something sacred had been touched.

As you neared the throne room, the sound of raised voices echoed off the high marble walls.

“How dare you sit on the throne?!” Bishop Septem’s voice cracked with fury. “Do you have no respect?! That is the Emperor’s seat!”

You froze in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze snapped to the dais.

And your blood ran cold.

There, lounging upon Unum’s throne like it was nothing more than a merchant’s stool, sat a stranger draped in obsidian armor etched with glowing red sigils — the ancient kind. The pauldrons curved like the wings of a raven, and his gauntlets gleamed as though slicked with blood.

His black hair was slicked back, and his posture was relaxed, but nothing about him spoke of peace.

His black, dull eyes stared down at Bishop Septem with disinterest, as if the man were a buzzing fly, barely worth his attention. But the moment those eyes found you, they sparked to life. They were filled with love. No. It was with obsession. 

“Ah” His lips curled slowly across his tan skin, like a serpent tasting warmth. “The person I came to speak to has finally arrived.”

Aeliane stepped protectively in front of you, her hand twitching at her side as if reaching for a blade that wasn’t there. “You dare defile this hall with your presence, let alone sit on his throne?”

The man’s smile deepened. “His?” He looked around mockingly. “Strange. I don’t see your precious Emperor anywhere. Do you?”

Gasps rose from the courtiers still in the room. The throne was never sat upon. Not even by the children. Not even by you.

You stepped forward, steady despite the ice creeping up your spine.

“And who are you,” you asked, voice ringing with iron, “to cross our gates, wear war armor in sacred court, and insult the absent King?”

He stood slowly, each motion deliberate, as if unveiling a secret. His boots echoed loudly against the marble steps. When he reached the last step, he bowed deeply not out of respect, but mockery.

“I am General Nulla,” he said smoothly. “I came to claim what mine.. and the last to see your husband alive.”

“What…?” you breathed, the word barely leaving your lips.

It hit you like a blade beneath the ribs.

Unum. Your Unum. 

Dead?

The throne room blurred around you. The marble walls, the courtiers shouting in disbelief, even Aeliane’s sharp intake of breath — it all fell away.

Your mind betrayed you, pulling you into memories. The warmth of his arms on cold nights. The way he laughed, full and golden, like sunlight crashing through storm clouds. The hush in his voice when he told you nothing could take him from you. The way he held you when the fevers took you, whispering lullabies as if they were spells meant to keep death at bay.

He was gone?

You blinked. You stood frozen, your breath shallow. It was as if the very ground under your feet had shifted, and you were left hanging in the air, untethered.

The court erupted behind you — guards drawing weapons, advisors shouting, Bishop Septem demanding answers with fury in his voice. But you heard none of it. You only stared at the man before you.

General Nulla.

His eyes, voidlike, glinting with cruel amusement, bore into yours as he stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. His gloved hand rose, reaching toward your cheek with a gentleness that sickened you.

His fingers were just inches from your skin when—

“Don’t touch them!” Aeliane’s voice cracked like a whip as she yanked you back, shielding you with her body. Her eyes blazed with protective fury, her stance feral despite the silks she wore. “I don’t believe you,” she spat. “You come in here wearing armor like a conqueror and dare say our husband is dead?”

Nulla didn’t flinch. He lowered his hand slowly and smiled, a mockery of comfort. “Believe what you wish,” he said smoothly. “But denial won’t change the truth. I stood on the scorched field where he fell. I held his whip. I heard his last breath.” He turned slightly, addressing the whole court. “Your Emperor is gone. And I have returned in his place.”

You trembled.

Not from fear. From grief—sharpening into rage.

Unum’s whip. His throne. His name.

All in the hands of a stranger.

But something in Nulla’s eyes. The spark when he looked at you, the way he smiled not like a victor, but a man laying claim.

There was more. Far more.

And you intended to uncover every word of it — no matter what truth it shattered. You gathered your courage to ask a simple yet heavy question, “Why? Why did you come here?”

“You. I want you.” Nulla’s words weren’t a request. They were a claim.

The room recoiled in stunned silence — courtiers froze, soldiers faltered, even Aeliane stiffened beside you. But you could barely hear the ripples of shock behind the thunder of your heart.

Nulla’s gaze roamed over you, not with lust — no, something more unnerving.

Worship.

“If you knew…” he began, stepping down from the dais with slow, measured steps, “how long I’ve watched you — how long I’ve wanted you.”

He stopped only a few paces away, the red light from his armor casting faint shadows across your face. “It was the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice oddly gentle, as if recalling a dream. “You were standing on the cliffs, hair caught in the wind, singing to the sea. I thought you were a vision. A god’s answer to a soldier’s prayer.”

You stiffened, your breath caught in your throat.

That moment. That cliff. You remembered it — years ago, long before the war, when you stood alone while the palace still slept. You thought you had been unseen.

He continued, eyes darkening with remembered fury.

“But then he came. Unum.” His lip curled around the name like it burned him. “He kissed you, held you like you were already his. I nearly brought down the skies right then. I almost killed him for touching what should never have been his to hold.”

Aeliane stepped forward. “You speak like a madman.”

Nulla didn’t even look at her.

“I loved you before I knew your name,” he said, eyes only on you. “That's why I started the war. And when he died, I felt nothing but hope. That I could finally stand where he once stood. Not to rule. Not to reign.”

He took one more step closer, close enough that Aeliane’s hand twitched again.

“But to be yours.”

You stared at him — this man cloaked in black steel and sin. A presence too sharp to be called a suitor. He was not a visitor, nor a petitioner, nor a passing shadow.

He was a storm. And storms never ask.

“If I don’t…” you began, your voice trembling like a candle’s flame caught in the wind, “what will you do?”

Nulla’s gaze softened, not with kindness. With possession. His hand reached for yours with all the tenderness of a lover’s vow, yet it felt like a trap made of silk. He pressed your knuckles to his lips.

“Then I will destroy everything and everyone,” he whispered against your skin, “until you do.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you held them in place, refusing to fall apart — not in front of him. The room was frozen. The court was too frightened to breathe, the guards too stunned to act.

“But…” he continued, pulling away with a smile that should not have belonged on any man’s face, “I am a gentleman.”

He stepped back, arms open as if to offer a blessing, a mockery of peace.

“So I will give you the sunrise. Tomorrow. One dawn. One breath of mercy. Mi vita.”

And then, before you could blink, he was gone.

He said the words like a brand — not a confession, but a claim burned into your skin.

My life. Not a title. A possession. A vow drenched in madness.

His body broke into smoke — a violent unraveling. Black feathers exploded from where he’d stood, scorched at the edges as if they’d flown through fire. They rained down like dying embers. One landed with eerie precision on the arm of the throne.

Unum’s throne.

The throne room swirled into chaos around you, voices overlapping, footsteps scrambling, but all of it felt distant, like echoes underwater.

Your knees buckled under the weight of its memory and fear of locking your body in place.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Aeliane clutched you from behind, her sob muffled against your shoulder. Her nails dug into your waist. A tether. A plea. Then the court erupted.

“Messenger! Now!” Bishop Septem’s voice thundered through the chamber. He stood, eyes blazing, robes sweeping the floor like a war banner as he pointed toward the doors. “Get eyes on the coastline! I want citadel eyes and every rider dispatched now!”

Pages ran like scattered birds. Guards surged forward and faltered, some pressed to the windows, others clutching their halberds as if prayer could be sharpened.

Father Raphael stood at the center, hands raised, robes fluttering like wings. “This is not yet a declaration of war,” he cried out, voice cracking under pressure. “P-please! This panic... it only gives him more ground!”

You stood in the eye of the storm — and you were unraveling. The world trembled around you. So did you. Your ribs were iron cages. Your breath was dust.

But then— You remembered.

And now…You took a breath.

Unum.

The warmth of his hands. The sound of his laughter echoing through the halls. The way he kissed your fingers one by one when the world felt too heavy causing you to wipe your hand of Nulla’s kiss off.

Then another. Slow. Deep. Your heart screamed, but your spine straightened, forged from the pain he left behind.

“I won’t let it fall,” you whispered. The vow left your lips like a secret sent to the gods. “Not while I still stand.”

You pulled gently from Aeliane’s grasp, squeezing her hand in return giving her what little strength you had.

Then you walked — no, rose — each step up the dais like a ruler claiming their battlefield.

You stood before Unum’s throne. The throne where your love once ruled.  The throne where a monster had just sat. You brushed the black feather from its arm, the gesture simple but deliberate defiant.

Then you turned and spoke.

“Ground yourselves!”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command — forged in fire. The court froze.

“I, alongside my sister wives and Bishop Septem,” your voice rang out, “will come to a decision by sunrise.”

A breath rippled through the chamber — a single, collective inhale. Even Bishop Septem stood stunned, silent. Father Raphael lowered his hands. 

“But until then—” your voice held steady, sharpened like a blade, “no harm will come to this empire.”

You paused, letting the silence fall heavy as stone. “Not from beyond. Not from within. Not while I still breathe.”

Your voice was the sound of steel drawn in mourning — regal and relentless. 

Aeliane joined your side, shoulders squared, eyes dry now — fury replacing fear. Bishop Septem gave a slow nod. No arguments. Just understanding. Even the guards seemed to stand taller, as if drawn up by the strength of your resolve.

And on the marble floor, black feathers still lay scattered like omens — a trail of darkness across sacred ground. Each one whispered the same warning:

Sunrise is coming.

Your name dragged the room back to silence.

You didn’t turn to face them immediately. You kept your eyes on the ocean. On the horizon where no sails had risen in a decade. Your reflection in the window looked ghostlike thinner somehow under the candlelight.

You breathed in slowly. Then spoke, steady, quiet, but unshakable.

“No,” you said. “We can’t pray for miracles right now.”

You finally turned. The fire in your gaze silenced whatever retort Septem had poised behind his teeth.“I already made my decision.”

The words landed like stone. Solid. Final. The room stilled — not out of respect, but fear. You walked back to the table, gently brushing aside the map that bore Unum’s last campaign path. You placed your hand flat against the cold stone. “If Nulla speaks the truth, and Unum is gone... then we’re already at war. We cannot waste the night begging the gods for returns they’ve denied us for ten years. We must act. Together. Or we die.”

Aeliane reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they laced with yours across the war table. Her touch was soft, but it steadied you like the way a single flame keeps the darkness at bay. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Even Solaris, who had moments ago pounded the table with grief, now lifted her head. Her eyes filled with tears, her cheeks blotched and wet. She wiped them roughly with the heel of her palm, trying to reassemble her mask of strength.

She swallowed hard. Her voice, when it came, was barely audible. “Then… what are you going to do?”

You looked out the tall window of the war room. The waves outside glittered with pale moonlight, crashing softly against the rocks below. The shoreline lanterns flickered like dying stars — dozens of little fires struggling against the wind.

“I will be his to claim,” you whispered. The words tasted like poison.

Solaris let out a sharp breath. Ignis closed her eyes, her mouth parting in silent disbelief. Aeliane gripped your hand tighter, as if she could physically anchor your soul in place.

“Because we have no other chance,” you added, staring into the sea that had taken so much from you.

A silence followed — the kind that a blade leaves after a heart has stopped.

Then it broke.

You pressed both hands over your face. The breath you took shook violently in your chest. The sob came before you could stop it — strangled, unshapely, human. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to cry like a widow.

You dropped to your knees.

“I waited,” you choked. “I waited every damn day. From dawn to dusk. I—he said—he said he’d be back before their first birthday. He promised. And I believed him.”

Your sister wives collapsed around you — Aeliane to your left, Solaris to your right, Ignis kneeling before you, holding your face.

“No,” Ignis said, her voice cracking. “You are not sacrificing yourself. There must be something else.”

“There isn’t,” you rasped. “Nulla will burn the empire. Burn everything. He’s not bluffing.”

Solaris clenched her fists, trembling as tears fell silently from her eyes. “If Unum came, then he would never forgive you for this.”

You looked down at your hands, now resting limply in your lap. “But Unum is not here.”

You whispered the words like they were the last breath of a dying star.

A sound in the doorway.All of you turned.

Two small silhouettes stood there — your twins, Shams and Noor, wearing their sleeping robes and holding hands nervously. Shams clutched a toy in her arms. Noor rubbed at his eyes.

“Baba?” Noor asked, his voice as soft as a feather falling.Your heart shattered again, clean down the middle.They had snuck out. They must have heard everything.

Neither of them cried. They just stood there, looking at you like they already knew — like some instinct in their small hearts had told them something was breaking.

You forced yourself to stand. Every bone in your body screamed. You walked to them and knelt down, brushing Noor’s hair back and kissing Shams’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice barely holding. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there soon. I promise.”

Shams looked like she wanted to argue. But Noor tugged her hand, and they turned without another word, slipping back into the corridor’s dark embrace.

You watched them disappear, and every step they took away from you made the cost of your decision harder to bear. Then you turned back to the room — back to the table filled with the broken remains of your family.

“I’ve already decided,” you repeated softly. “And I won’t take it back.”

Aeliane clutched your hand again, her voice thick with tears. “Then… we’ll go with you to meet with him.”

You turned toward her. “No. Someone has to stay. If I fail—”

“You won’t.”

You looked at them all, then toward the horizon outside — where the stars had started to vanish as night began surrendering to the approach of dawn.

Sunrise was coming. So was he.

—--------------------------------------------

However, what Nulla — nor the Empire itself — could have known was this:

A mile beyond the glittering horizon, hidden by the curve of the sea and veils of early storm mist, two men clung to life.

Lord Quinque coughed salt from his lungs, his fingers white-knuckled against the jagged edges of a makeshift raft. The vessel was no more than a warped collection of broken planks, bent metal, and scavenged canvas stitched with desperation. Blood painted his sleeve. Saltwater stung a half-healed wound along his cheek. But he held on, eyes scanning the skies for any sign of calm — or worse, wings.

Aboard the wreckage beside him, Emperor Unum stood like a revenant carved from wrath. The ocean wind screamed around him, but he remained steady, hands wrapped in thick rope used to control what was left of the battered sail. His red hair, matted with seawater, whipped behind him like a banner of war.

He hadn't spoken much since Quinque dragged him, half-dead, from the shattered remains of the battlefield. Not about the battle. Not about Nulla. And certainly not about what the creature in black had whispered to him. But something had changed in Unum’s eyes.

A darkness — no, a clarity.

Quinque, shivering from cold and exhaustion, looked up with a grim smirk. “Unum,” he rasped, “remind me again why we’re trying to survive this suicide voyage?”

The sea raged like a wrathful god beneath them, waves clawing at the raft with greedy hands. But Unum didn’t waver. His gaze remained fixed ahead, locked on the coastline slowly taking shape in the distance.

“I know why,” he said at last, voice low and cutting through the wind like a blade. His arms flexed as he adjusted the ropes, using the currents to slingshot the sail. “Because they’re waiting.”

His voice cracked just slightly on the word — they. The one that meant you. His wives. His children. The empire he loved more than himself. 

The memory of your voice haunted him. Your songs, sung with trembling strength, echoing across empty halls. The feel of the twins asleep on his chest. The way you once reached for him in the night, thinking he was gone even while beside you.

His jaw tightened. 

He had been gone too long.

And now, with nothing left but sinew, blood, and the fury of a father and husband returning from the jaws of death — he would come home.

Unum’s eyes caught the light of a distant beacon flickering at the Empire’s edge — the harbor flames still burning.

He smiled, sharp and breathless.

“Hold fast, Quinque. We reach the coast before sunrise.”

Quinque coughed another laugh. “You better hope they still want you.”

Unum gripped the ropes tighter, sea spray washing over his armor like a baptism.

“They need me. And I’ll tear through heaven and hell to be what they deserve.”

As the storm rumbled behind them and the first hints of dawn painted the edges of the sky in gold and crimson, the raft surged forward — like a broken arrow fired straight from the mouth of vengeance itself.

Unum was coming home.

By the time they reached the shore, dawn had just begun to break — not with a gentle warmth, but with the pale steel glow of an uncertain morning.

Unum staggered forward, soaked to the bone, and threw a thick travel cloak over his shoulders. The heavy black fabric clung to him like a second skin, concealing the battered armor beneath. The hood shadowed his features, muting the familiar red of his hair and the sharp cut of his jaw. From a distance, he looked like any other refugee — a ghost limping from the sea.

He paused, boots sinking into the wet sand as he raised his eyes toward the cliffs.

There it was.

High above, half-shrouded in mist and ivy, was the garden balcony — your balcony. The place where he used to watch you tends to the flowers with the twins in his arms, where he’d surprise you with morning kisses and pull you into his arms when no one else dared interrupt. The memories hit harder than the ocean ever could.

Without a word, Unum stepped toward the cliff wall.

“What are you doing?” Quinque groaned, limping after him, one hand pressed to his ribs. “We just survived a shipwreck. You want to scale a damn mountain now?”

Unum glanced over his shoulder, a glint of stubborn purpose in his eyes. “We don’t have time. If Nulla’s already inside, I can’t walk through the gates like a parade. He’d see me coming.”

Quinque cursed under his breath but followed anyway, muttering about cracked bones and royal lunacy.

The cliffside was slick and treacherous, each foothold a gamble. Roots curled like fingers through stone. Moss and rainwater made every grip uncertain. But Unum climbed with grim determination, his breath sharp and controlled, muscles burning with the effort. His cloak billowed behind him like wings torn from a fallen god.

Quinque trailed behind, slower, gritting his teeth every time a rock gave way beneath him.

“You know,” he grunted between breaths, “most men send a letter or a raven when they come back from the dead.”

Unum didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the top of the garden. On your family.

When his hand finally caught the ledge, he didn’t waste a moment. With one last pull, he hoisted himself over, crouching low behind the carved stone railing. He pressed a hand to the earth, grounding himself in the soil of his home,  his empire, before helping Quinque up beside him.

The garden was quiet. Too quiet.

But the flowers still bloomed, the dew still kissed the grass, and somewhere inside, he knew…you were awake. And so was the storm waiting for him.

Soon, Nulla would arrive.

The halls beyond the throne room were too quiet — as if the walls themselves held their breath, waiting for your choice. You stood just outside the great golden doors, wrapped in the pale hush of morning. The sea wind licked at the hem of your robe, carrying salt and silence.

You glanced out over the horizon one last time.

No sail.

No miracle.

The ocean remained still — a flat, pitiless mirror. If there was hope out there, it had not yet dared to show its face. Your tears had long dried up in the cold night hours. Grief had hollowed you out, left your throat raw, your chest brittle like cracked glass.

You stared at your fingers, fidgeting with the ring Unum had given you — a simple band etched with the symbol of your union. The metal was warm from your skin, though your hands trembled. As if trying to keep the man alive in memory, you began to hum — then quietly sing, your voice catching like a thread on thorn.

The words cracked on your lips, breaking against the shore of your sorrow.

“The man that I love, knows I love him

He takes me in his arms and I forget it all

He is my motive, he is my own sun

He gave me joys that nobody gave me…”

You hiccupped, trying to suppress the sound, but it slipped free — a fragile, human ache.

Aeliane stood beside you, silent until now. She didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt the song that haunted the space between you. Instead, she reached for your hand and laced her fingers with yours — no grand gesture, just steady warmth.

She squeezed gently.

You looked at her, and though her eyes were red-rimmed from her own sleepless night, her jaw was set with quiet determination. She wasn’t asking if you were sure. She already knew.

The moment was almost here.

Behind you, the guards shifted at their post. A single trumpet rang out in the distance — not one of celebration, but of announcement.

Nulla had arrived.

The storm you were supposed to bow to… was waiting.

And still, you stood by the sea-facing window a little longer, letting the breeze tangle your hair. Letting your heart whisper the last of the song to the man who might never hear it.

But if he did — if he somehow lived — he’d know this: you sang it for him, even at the end.

—-------------------------------

Unbeknownst to anyone, Unum tore through the palace corridors like a man possessed — his boots pounding against ancient stone, breath burning in his lungs. The cool air of the marbled halls whipped against his sweat-slicked skin as he yanked the travel-stained cloak from his shoulders, casting it aside without thought. His chest heaved. Every step echoed like war drums. He could feel the pulse of the empire beneath his feet — and the one person anchoring it.

You.

He slammed open the doors to your shared chambers, the crash reverberating through the silence.

Inside, the atmosphere was hushed and heavy, like the stillness before a storm.

Two of your wives, Solaris and Ignis, sat on plush cushions near the hearth, their faces pale, the firelight casting shadows beneath their eyes. Between them were two small children, curled close to their mothers for comfort. Their soft murmuring halted as the doors flew open, startled eyes darting toward the intrusion.

Unum froze. The sight robbed him of breath.

Two children — twins — perhaps six, maybe seven years old. Familiar gray eyes, wide with confusion and curiosity. One clutched a worn cloth doll. The other had a stubborn tilt to his chin that Unum recognized like a blade to the heart.

His knees nearly buckled.

Solaris rose slowly, trembling as if she were waking from a dream she didn’t dare believe. Her voice cracked like old parchment.

“…Unum?”

His name. It had been so long since someone spoke it like that with wonder, with grief, with hope still clinging to the edges.

Ignis didn’t wait. She moved to him, her steps hesitant but fast. She reached up and cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs tracing the lines of exhaustion, the faint scar at his lip — proof that this wasn’t a ghost. Her tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

“Unum…” she whispered again, voice breaking. “You’re home. You're really here.”

He caught her wrists, pressing her palms tighter to his face, grounding himself in her warmth. Solaris joined them, her hand over her mouth, her body shaking as she reached for him too. They formed a circle of love and disbelief, silent save for the occasional sob.

“I’m back,” he said, his voice hoarse and raw. “I came back… as fast as I could.”

Then, a sound. Small footsteps.

Unum turned his gaze downward to see one of the twins standing a few feet away, watching him with wary curiosity. The boy’s eyes — Unum’s eyes — searched his face with an intelligence too sharp for his age.

The child whispered, “Are you… my papa?”

Unum’s heart cracked.

He slowly knelt, lowering himself to their level with tears clouding his vision. “Yes,” he said, barely able to speak. “Yes… I’m your papa.”

The Noor hesitated. Then, he launched forward, wrapping small arms around Unum’s neck, burying his face against him. The second twin followed timidly but was drawn to him, clinging to Unum’s side with silent need.

Unum pulled them close, arms shaking as he held what he had missed, what he had dreamed of in the dark.

“I’m here,” he murmured into their hair. “I’m here now. I’m so sorry I missed so much.”

Ignis and Solaris knelt beside him, their hands resting over his shoulders and the children’s backs, creating a cocoon of warmth and aching reunion. The fire crackled gently behind them, the only witness to a miracle finally fulfilled.

But Unum’s joy was edged with urgency. Even as he cradled his children, he felt the pull — the realization:

You didn’t know.

You thought he was gone. And Nulla… was waiting.

He looked at Solaris, his voice grave but firm. “Where is (Y/N)? And Aeliane?”

Solaris blinked, startled. “Outside the throne room… waiting for Nulla’s answer.”

Unum's blood ran cold. He gently unwrapped the twins' arms from his neck, kissed their brows, and rose like a storm reawakened. His red hair was wild, wind-tossed from the sea. His eyes burned with purpose.

“She’s about to sacrifice herself,” he said. “I won’t let it happen.”

And then, with the firelight still flickering behind him, Unum turned and ran.

—----------------------------------------------

The throne room doors groaned open like the gates of a tomb. Marble floors trembled beneath a rhythm of synchronized steps. Nulla entered not with the grace of a guest, but the command of a conqueror. Behind him marched a small contingent — cloaked, armored, and silent, their crimson tabards rippling with every step. Each bore the same sigil: a black feather encircled in flame.

But Nulla was not clad in a general’s rage.

He wore black ceremonial armor trimmed with blood-red gold, as though he were dressed for a wedding — or a funeral.

Your funeral.

You stood at the top of the dais, before the empty throne, the marble chill biting through your slippers. You’d chosen not to sit. Not to retreat. The weight of the empire pressed down on your spine, but you held yourself with unshakable poise.

Your face was calm. Your eyes were cold.

And when Nulla met them, his breath caught, just for a second.

Then he smiled.A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.A smile that had no place here. Like a lover returning to an embrace never promised.

Nulla’s bow was slow and theatrical, but the air in the throne room did not warm. It grew heavier.

You did not step forward. You did not nod in return. You stood still as stone, your expression carved from the same marble that lined the chamber walls. If he hoped to unnerve you with his calm, he would have to try harder.

When he rose from his bow, his eyes gleamed, twin coals lit with longing and menace.

“You wear sorrow well,” he murmured, his voice low, reverent, and terrifying. “But it suits you less than joy. I intend to return that to you. All of it. I will give you the world, if only you say yes.”

Behind him, his soldiers did not move. Neither did yours. Both sides were statues caught in a single breath — one wrong word from becoming war.

You stayed at the top of the dais, your hands clasped before you, fingers curling so tightly into your palms they left crescent moons in your skin. Your voice, when it came, was quiet but strong.

“You assume I am something that can be taken.”

Nulla smiled again — this time, too broadly. “No, no, no. You misunderstand me. I don’t take what belongs to me. I earned it. I wait. I adore it. And I burn what dares stand between us.”

He took one more step forward. Your guards flinched.

“Careful,” you said sharply, not to Nulla, but to them. “Let him speak. We must know the full measure of his madness before we bury it.”

A flicker of something,surprise, or amusement, danced across Nulla’s face.

“I was right to love you,” he said. “Even your fury is beautiful.”

Before another word could be spoken, the throne room doors behind Nulla rattled again. This time, it wasn’t the echo of steel boots or marching guards that stirred the silence.

It was a single voice.

“Step away from them.”

The words dropped like thunder, low and absolute. Echoes rippled through the marble chamber like an aftershock. Courtiers gasped, advisors froze, even the guards shifted as if the very bones of the palace had heard it.

At the far end of the hall stood a figure cloaked in ash and salt, battered by sea and storm, hair red as firewinds and eyes sharp as forged steel.

Unum. Alive.

The light of the high stained glass caught on the salt crusting his sleeves and the blood-matted edge of his cloak, but there was no weakness in his stance — only fury, sharpened by months of loss. His gaze didn’t flicker to you, not even once, because every shred of his restraint was locked on the man standing before you.

Nulla.

And in that instant, you understood: if Unum looked at you now, he would lose control. And that control was the only thing keeping Nulla alive.

Your heart stuttered, then surged.

You could hardly breathe. Your lungs strained against the sob building in your chest. Your legs trembled, your throat closed, but still — you didn’t fall. You couldn’t. Because there he was.

Your husband. Your Unum. Your emperor.

He had returned not just to survive — but to defend everything.

Behind you, Aeliane slowly pulled you back from the dais with trembling hands, eyes never leaving the battlefield forming before her. You didn’t resist. Not yet. Your children rushed into your arms, burying their faces against you. You wrapped them in your arms, shielding them with everything left in your soul.

The rest of your family moved around you like a constellation re-aligning — Solaris, her eyes wild with disbelief; Ignis, already whispering prayers; Quinque threw to Unum his whips before standing behind Unum like a shadow made flesh.

Below, on the throne room floor, the two men began to circle.

Unum and Nulla.

The lover returned, and the monster who tried to replace him.

They moved with lethal quiet, like predators too aware of each other’s claws. Every motion was measured. Every breath, a held blade.

One fight. One end.

And as their eyes locked, as power coiled around their fingers and the very air seemed to tense with dread, you realized:

There would be no diplomacy. No more mercy. Only the reckoning.

Unum moved first. His whips lashed through the air — fast, silent, brutal. Forged from woven firesteel and shadow-thread, they coiled through space like living serpents, trailing sparks in their wake. Nulla barely had time to parry.

In a single breath, Unum was on him. There was no taunt, no warning, no hesitation — just violence, pure and clean.

Their fists collided, magic and might meeting midair with a deafening crack. The sound split the room like a storm breaking the sky. Columns trembled. Marble tiles cracked. The stained-glass windows groaned under the pressure wave as two titans,one clad in ash, the other in darkness, fought like gods wearing mortal skin.

The guards scattered.

Aeliane pulled the children back further, shielding their eyes. Solaris stepped in front of them with blazing fists ready, should either man fall.

You couldn’t move. You could only watch — as the man who once kissed your hands with reverence became a storm, his face carved in fury, his red hair a halo of firelight, his eyes colder than steel.

Nulla grinned, even as blood bloomed from a gash on his cheek. “You do look better alive,” he spat, dodging another strike. “Pity it won’t last.”

“Neither will your lies,” Unum growled, voice low and blistering with hate.

They clashed again — harder this time. One of Unum’s whips wrapped around Nulla’s gauntlet, dragging him forward as Unum’s other hand drove a punch into his ribs. Bones crunched. Nulla countered with a pulse of shadow magic, slamming Unum backward against a shattered column.

Dust rained down from the vaulted ceiling.

But Unum rose again, spitting blood, smiling through it.

“You thought you could take what was mine?” he said, voice shaking the walls more than any spell. “My empire. My family. Them.”

Nulla’s smile flickered. And then Unum was charging again — a blur of crimson and vengeance. One whip wrapped around Nulla’s ankle, jerking him to the ground, while the second arced through the air and lashed across his chest, tearing through armor like paper. Sparks flew.

The whole throne room felt like it was breaking apart around them — and maybe it was.

You clutched your children tighter. Behind you, the other consorts stood in awe and terror alike.

Because this wasn’t just a duel. This was judgment. And it had only just begun.

You didn’t wait another moment. Grabbing your children tightly, you turned to Aeliane, urgency in your voice. “We need to get somewhere safe.”

Their little arms clung to you, eyes wide, breaths shallow with fear.

Before Aeliane could respond, Quinque rushed to your side, breathless and wild-eyed, a faint trail of blood on his sleeve. “Consort,” he said, scanning the chaos, “we need to get you to safety—now.”

You nodded quickly, heart pounding. “The garden. We’ll head to the garden. There’s cover there—old tunnels behind the fountains. Go!”

Aeliane scooped up one child, Solaris and Ignis following with the other. You barely had time to glance back before another explosion of magic lit up the throne room, sending cracks spidering up the marble walls.

Unum and Nulla were still locked in combat, two celestial forces bound in a mortal war. You could feel the heat from Unum’s fury even from here, the weight of every strike shaking the foundations of the palace itself.

But you didn’t stop.

You and your sister-wives fled through the side corridor, boots echoing down the stone passage, your children clutched to your chest. Behind you, the throne room groaned with power. You felt it in your bones — the end was coming

You ran through the garden, your footsteps muffled by the moss-laced stones and soft petals that had fallen from the flowering trees. The air was thick — not just with the scent of crushed roses and scorched soil, but with fear, heavy and clinging like damp silk. Behind you, the thunder of gods clashing shook the very bones of the palace.

Aeliane reached the old tree first, brushing back ivy to reveal the hidden channel carved beneath the roots — a narrow passage that led to the cliffside tunnels and the sea. Quinque stood guard, bloodied but unyielding, ushering the others inside.

“Hurry!” he barked. “We don’t have much time!”

You herded the children through, their tiny hands gripping yours desperately. Their cheeks were stained with tears, their breaths hiccupping in terror. Aeliane held your arm, tugging.

“You have to come with us—please!”

But your feet stopped.

You turned, slowly, and looked back toward the palace, to the direction where Unum fought for everything you built together. Your throat tightened. The ground trembled again — a pulse of dark magic, followed by a distant roar that was more beast than man.

“I can’t,” you said quietly. “If Nulla wins… if Unum falls… someone must still stand.”

Soleris reached for you, her face twisted in anguish. “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare!”

Instead of answering, you pulled her hands forward and placed your children in them. They screamed, tiny arms reaching back toward you, voices breaking.

“Mama! Baba! Please—!”

You kissed them each, quickly, memorizing the feel of their hair, the weight of their tiny bodies in your arms. “You are my joy. My stars. Be brave, my loves. Be brave.”

Tears blinded you for a heartbeat. But you couldn’t let them fall.

Aeliane grabbed Soleris, guiding her toward the passage. Ignis took the rear, glancing back one last time with fire in her eyes.

“Come back to us,” she whispered.

Then the channel closed. Darkness swallowed them.

And you were alone.

Wind rushed through the treetops, the cries of birds scattering into the dawn like prayers lost on the breeze. Smoke coiled from the palace roof in long, dark ribbons — an omen, or a warning. Somewhere beyond the marble walls, beyond shattered columns and sacred halls, Unum still fought. Steel clashed against shadow. Fury met obsession.

And if he fell… there would be nothing left between the empire and ruin but you.

Your breath caught — long and trembling, like the hush before a hymn. You stood on the edge of the garden’s highest rise, where roses once bloomed to lullabies and sunlight. Your hands, once meant to cradle children and tend peace, now clenched with the weight of war.

Then you turned your face toward the sea.

The sea — the silent witness to every song you sang, every night you waited — had finally answered.

You smiled through the sting of tears. Not broken — braced. You wiped your cheek with a steady hand and turned toward the palace once more, toward fire and fury.

Unum moved like a storm unchained. His twin whips, forged of shadowsteel and blessed by ancient rites, snapped through the air like lightning made flesh. Nulla countered with his jagged crimson blade, his expression twisted between obsession and wrath.

The first strike sent shockwaves down the throne room. The floor cracked, splintering under their feet. Pillars crumbled from the pressure of unleashed force. The stained-glass windows exploded inward, shards raining like starlight.

Unum struck again, the red-and-golden arc of his whip wrapping around Nulla's blade. He yanked, sending the weapon flying across the room. But Nulla didn’t falter. He lunged, claws of magic forming around his fists, aiming for Unum’s heart.

They crashed into each other again — magic clashing, light against dark, fury against madness. Sparks ignited the air. The banners of the Empire fluttered violently, as if trying to flee the throne room’s suffocating pressure.

In the place Unum roared, the sound more beast than man. He spun, one whip catching Nulla’s arm, the other curling around his ankle. In a blinding twist, he slammed Nulla into a column with such force the stone gave way in a deafening crack.

"This is MY empire," Unum growled, chest heaving, blood at the corner of his mouth. "You will not touch them. Not while I still breathe."

Nulla rose, blood trailing from his temple, smiling through broken teeth. “Then you’ll die for them. And I’ll take them from your corpse."

Unum didn’t answer with words. Only another strike — fast, final, merciless.

The two clashed once more in a blaze of power that lit the sky through the shattered ceiling, a flare seen across the entire capital.

And then... silence.

One figure stood.

Chest heaving. Shoulders smoking. Blood trailing from a wound near his ribs, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

The other lay crumpled at the foot of the dais, the black feathers that once signaled dread now lifeless and strewn across marble like ash. Nulla was defeated — finally.

Unum had won.

The silence afterward was absolute. No cheers, no horns of victory. Just the crackle of broken stone cooling and the flutter of a torn banner overhead.

Unum exhaled, slow and unsteady. His knuckles bled. His breathing was ragged. But his gaze lifted — not to the throne, not to the ruins of battle — but to the archway that led toward the palace gardens. Toward you.

He knew where you’d be.

And so he walked. Past shattered columns, past scorched rugs and collapsed guards. Past the place where he nearly died and the place where he nearly lost everything.

Through the war-ravaged halls, he found the garden again — not untouched, but alive. As if it too had been holding its breath.

And there you were.

Back turned to him, your gaze on the sea, unmoving, like a statue carved from moonlight and sorrow.

He stopped in the doorway, quiet.

You hadn’t heard his steps yet, but he smiled, soft and full of love, because he knew that stance — the way your hands clasped just below your ribs, the slight tilt of your head like you were listening for more than wind. His heart ached with how much he’d missed you. How much he never wanted to miss again.

Then you turned.

Slow. Disbelieving.

And your eyes found him.

Unum chuckled slowly, a sound cracked and breathless but real. “Told you I’d come back,” he said hoarsely.

You didn’t run to him — not at first. You only stared, drinking him in like he might vanish again if you blinked too hard. But he didn’t vanish. He stood there, scarred, shaking, alive — and looking at you like you were the only thing that had kept him going through the abyss.

His brave spouse. His home.

And then you spoke, voice cracking like a branch beneath too much weight. “I have no excuse for my actions… I promise, I was doing it to protect everyone.”

The words tumbled from your mouth like falling glass, sharp and fragile. Tears blurred your vision, your chest tightening with each hiccupped breath. You had rehearsed this moment in nightmares — him standing before you, alive, but with eyes filled with judgment. You couldn't bear it.

“I thought you were dead,” you choked out. “I thought the ocean swallowed you. I waited… gods, Unum, I waited until I couldn’t breathe without hurting. I watched the children fall asleep in front of that window every night hoping you’d walk through the door. And when Nulla came… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You backed away, shame pressing against your ribs like iron bands, until your spine met the cold marble railing of the balcony. There was nowhere left to retreat. Your fists clenched at your sides, trembling. “I thought you’d hate me. I thought I failed you.”

Unum stepped forward slowly. Not like a warrior. Like a man approaching the person he never stopped dreaming of. His steps were heavy with the weight of every mile he’d crossed to return to you — blood-soaked, storm-chased, bone-weary — and yet his hands were steady as they reached for you.

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion. “I know. I know what he tried to take from you.”

His palm cupped your cheek, the warmth of it grounding. You leaned into it instinctively, gasping on a sob.

“You protected them the only way you knew how. You were alone. And you still stood. I am so proud of you”

Your lip trembled. “I thought you’d never come back.”

“I would cross every storm, every god, and every grave to come back to you.” He took another breath, like he’d been drowning and only now surfaced. “And I did.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, hands sliding gently to your waist, anchoring you to the moment. His eyes stared into you, nuzzling your nose together. 

“You didn’t fail anyone,” he whispered. “You saved them.”

You closed your eyes as his scent enveloped you. It filled the hollow places where grief had taken root. You reached for him at last, fingers clinging to his tunic as if to convince yourself he was real.

And then you felt him tremble too.

“You know I was afraid you wouldn’t wait for me,” he confessed, so softly only the sea could’ve heard. “That you’d forget how to love me if I didn’t make it back in time.”

You opened your eyes. “I could never forget.”

The first rays of sunlight spilled across the garden balcony, bathing everything in soft gold. The ocean below exhaled in rhythmic waves, gentler now—almost as if it had finally surrendered to peace, mirroring the stillness settling in your bones.

Unum stood with you wrapped in his arms, his breathing slow, his heart steady against yours. Tired. Aching. But whole again.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, voice hoarse with raw sincerity. His lips met yours, slow at first—grateful and grounding—before the kiss deepened with hunger. His hands traced over your sides with reverence, memorizing the shape of your survival.

He nuzzled into your neck, breathing you in as if your scent was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. You moaned softly, feeling your body melt into his embrace. His teeth grazed your shoulder, and your hand slipped over the muscle of his chest, desperate to feel all of him, to remind yourself he was really here.

Unum pulled back just enough to watch your expression, his lips curving into a smile at the way your eyes fluttered, how your breath hitched in his arms.

Damn, I missed them… he thought, holding you tighter. Might as well lose myself right here—

A loud thud crashed into the scene.

“NO FAIR!” Solaris bellowed, tackling the two of you in an explosion of limbs and jealousy. “You’re taking everyone for a round tonight, Unum! You’re not hogging (Y/N)!”

Still half-draped over you, Unum groaned in defeat while you blinked in dazed surprise.

“Round?” murmured the twins in eerie unison, tilting their heads from the doorway with unsettling curiosity.

Ignis immediately broke into a coughing fit as Aeliane elbowed him in the ribs, both scrambling to spin a logical, less suggestive explanation.

“Ah—it’s a training round! Yes! Sparring!” Aeliane blurted.

“Yes, a combat circuit,” Ignis nodded rapidly, eyes wide. “Not that kind of round.”

Solaris snorted and flopped dramatically beside you, “Speak for yourselves. I meant what I said.”

You sighed into your palm as Unum chuckled beside you, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Guess our moment’s over.”