A few hours earlier, Empress Lola and the survivors had materialized in a strange, quiet land—far removed from the location of their former empire. Their arrival had been abrupt, disorienting; the transition from battlefield chaos to eerie stillness was almost surreal.
Thanks to the great Archmage Amber Nois, their new refuge defied the natural laws of the world.
She lifted her staff and drew elaborate sigils through the air, each glowing stroke bending reality with ancient power. The ground trembled softly as a dome of shimmering distortion anchored itself to the earth, then slowly dissolved from sight.
From the outside, their sanctuary now appeared as nothing but a desolate, barren plain—empty, forgotten, untouched. But the moment one stepped through Amber's illusion, the entire world changed.
Inside lay a vast, fortified space fit for an emperor and an entire army: elegant halls forged from magic, a courtyard large enough for drills, enchanted wells, beds woven from cloud-fibre, and walls strong enough to withstand a cosmic storm. It was a hidden kingdom in miniature.
After completing the final anchoring rune, Amber gathered the exhausted group into the central chamber. That was when she sensed it—something impossibly strange.
Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Lola.
Moments ago, she had felt nothing but the unmistakable stillness of death inside the Empress's womb. She had already steeled herself to break the devastating news…
But now—
Now there was life. A heartbeat. A spark so bright it made her magical senses tingle.
Amber frowned, confused. Had she misread the earlier energy? Impossible. Her senses had never failed her. Yet the child's life flux had returned as if resurrected by an unseen hand.
She almost questioned Lola—but something instinctive stopped her.
Not now. Not in this fragile moment.
She swallowed her questions and continued her briefing.
"I must return to the Nazare Blade Empire," Amber began, her voice steady but faintly weary. "There is a pocket dimension I created there—the Oradonian Base. It is hidden deep within the imperial boundary. I must go into hibernation within that space. My lifespan is nearing its end, and I need to attempt a reconstruction."
The generals stiffened. Lola's eyes glistened.
Amber gave a small, tired smile.
"I spent far too much life force transporting all of you here. I'm… sorry. I could not save the emperor. I arrived a heartbeat too late. I never imagined that Aloysius would fall to such depths of malice."
She paused, her gaze drifting around the gathered faces—worn, bruised, shell-shocked.
"But the living can still make a stand," she declared firmly. "This sanctuary is fortified. As long as you remain inside and keep this secret closely, no one can see you. You can go out under this guise and return as if you simply vanished. To the world, it will appear as though you vanished into thin air."
Her expression hardened.
"However—you MUST ensure that no outsider enters. The spell hides this place only when the people inside are the original ones marked by the casting. The moment an outsider steps through, they will be able to see everything… and they can bring others with them."
General Shammah stepped forward.
"Great Archmage… you mean if someone grabs us—holds even a piece of our clothing as we enter—the spell will recognize them too?"
Amber nodded gravely.
"Yes. Contact is enough. So guard this secret with your lives."
Silence blanketed the group for a heartbeat.
Finally Amber's shoulders loosened. "I will be taking my leave now. Time grows thin for me."
She turned to open a shimmering portal—but a shout stopped her.
"Wait!"
Conrad Stan, his armour dented and his voice trembling with desperation, stepped forward.
"Great Archmage… can you see the future?" His eyes pleaded. "Please… tell us what we must do. Our emperor is dead… what is our next move?"
His words hung heavy in the air, thick with fear and uncertainty.
The heart of a broken empire waited for an answer.
Amber Nois inhaled slowly, the air around her shimmering as she amplified her senses. Her eyelids fluttered shut. A soft pulse of arcane light rippled outward from her like a silent heartbeat.
The room held its breath.
For a moment, nothing happened—then Amber stiffened, as if struck by an invisible revelation. Her eyes snapped open, reflecting galaxies worth of visions in a single blink.
"I… saw something," she murmured, her voice tremoring with disbelief. "My dreams have long ceased, my foresight sealed as the end of my life draws near. Yet—just now—I managed to glimpse a fragment of the future."
The generals straightened. The students stepped closer. Even the winds outside seemed to pause.
Amber's gaze—sharp, ancient, and troubled—shifted slowly toward Lola.
"It appears," she said carefully, "that the key to the future… lies with Empress Lola."
A heavy silence swallowed the room.
But it was a lie.
Amber knew it.
Her trembling fingertips knew it.
Her pounding heart knew it.
The true key was the unborn child—the miraculous life that had been dead, then suddenly alive. A soul touched by something greater than even her deepest magic could fathom.
But she could not speak such truth.
She could not ask these people—broken, grieving, bleeding—to wait eighteen or twenty years for salvation. She could not risk Lola's fragile state spiraling further into despair. The Empress was already wavering on the edge of hopelessness…
Amber felt it.
Everyone felt it.
So Amber altered the truth, shaping it into something they could cling to.
Across the hall, all eyes turned to Lola.
Lola flinched under the sudden attention, her hand instinctively resting over her womb. Confusion darkened her features. Her lips parted slightly as if holding back a sob.
Me…?
She almost said it aloud.
Just minutes ago, she had whispered to herself in the privacy of a shadowed corner that perhaps it was better to end everything. Better to disappear than endure the torment of losing her husband, her child, her empire.
Now the greatest Archmage of the age was declaring her the "key."
Her stomach twisted. Was it hope? Or punishment?
Amber sensed Lola's turmoil and softened her voice.
"Lola… the threads of fate have not abandoned you," she said, though she spoke with deliberate vagueness. "Your path is not yet closed. In time—if destiny permits—we may fight side by side again."
Conrad Stan stepped forward. "Fight? Does that mean the empire can still be reclaimed?"
Amber did not answer. She could not. Her vision was incomplete—blurred around the edges, obstructed by divine interference she could not pierce.
Instead she offered them the only thing mortals needed more than food or air: a sliver of hope.
Her form began to fade, dissolving into particles of golden mist.
"Hold your hearts firm. Guard this place well."
Her last words drifted through the quiet night, soft yet resounding like the whisper of an ancient prophecy:
"If fate permits… we will fight together."
And then she vanished—leaving behind only the hush of the wind and a group of survivors staring at the emptiness where she had stood, clutching desperately to the hope she had planted.