Ceres placed the set of keycards gently on the table in front of Legion.
"Take it. It's yours," she said, her voice calm but firm.
Legion frowned, clearly confused.
"Cosmo has assigned someone to teach you how to use things here in Velrathis," she continued. "You're no longer my knight..."
"Your Highness..." Legion's eyes widened, his voice trembling, but Ceres raised a hand to silence him.
"There are no knights in this empire, Legion. What we have are security personnel. And starting today, you'll work as one of them."
She leaned back slightly, her tone more pragmatic now.
"You'll be my bodyguard. It's similar to being a knight, but there's no oath you can't break. You'll be compensated accordingly. Your schedule is from nine in the morning to five in the evening. After that, your duty ends. You can go home, rest, or do whatever you want."
Legion shook his head slowly, anguish in his eyes. "Your Highness... I wish to stay by your side. I ask for nothing else."
Ceres smiled, softly, but sadly.
"And you will, Legion. But not in the same way as before." Her voice gentled, filled with unspoken gratitude. "You and Delphine were my anchor when I came into this world alone. I will always be thankful for that."
She stepped closer to him, her expression unreadable, both proud and wistful.
"This is the world I dreamed of building for Aquilonis, a world where even commoners get to choose their own future. Where their lives aren't dictated by bloodlines or station. Here, Legion, you are free."
She paused, letting her words settle.
"I want you and Delphine to live that freedom. Your life no longer revolves around me. I don't want your life to revolve around me."
Legion opened his mouth, but her next words silenced whatever protest he had.
"I may never be able to return the love you desire from me. But Legion, I do care for you, as deeply as I care for Delphine."
Ceres reached for his hands, holding them between hers. Her warmth, her sincerity, bled through her touch.
"I want you both to be happy. To fall in love with someone who can love you the way you deserve. Because I know you have so much to give. Don't waste it on me. I can't give it back."
A heavy silence hung between them.
Legion stared at her, the weight of reality sinking in. Ceres didn't flinch. She didn't look away. And in that moment, Legion knew, no matter how much he wanted otherwise, he would never be able to hold her the way he once did.
She no longer needed him.
Even though she had already released him from his Celestial Knight's oath, he had made another vow long ago, that when she no longer needed him, he would carry the burden of his love quietly, without ever letting it destroy her peace.
"I understand, Your Highness," Legion said softly.
He stepped back, just an arm's length, but it might as well have been a chasm. It was his silent acknowledgment of the boundary she had drawn between them.
"Thank you, Legion," Ceres said with a faint, appreciative smile.
"I'll be staying in the Black Tower for now. So learn all you can from Cosmo's people. When the time comes, I expect nothing less than the best from you."
"Yes, Your Highness," Legion replied, bowing his head slightly before turning and walking out of the room.
Ceres stared in silence at Legion's retreating figure, her expression unreadable, but her heart heavy.
Moments later, she felt Tuf's presence materialize in the room.
"Are you sure about the future you saw?" she asked without turning to look at him.
Just days earlier, Tuf had told her he'd seen a vision, of Legion finding happiness in Velrathis. But for that future to happen, Legion had to leave her side. And because he would never willingly do so, not without believing she still needed him, Ceres had chosen the harder path, to set him free by drawing the line herself.
"Yes, Mother. You don't need to worry about him," Tuf replied with a calm smile. "The one in danger is that stupid Duke. He'll die by my hand if he continues his madness."
"Tofu, be a little patient with him," Ceres said, finally glancing up at her son.
"Mother," Tuf raised a brow, "you have no patience. What makes you think I'd inherit something you never had?"
Ceres could only shake her head, letting out a soft exhale of reluctant amusement as Tuf dropped lazily onto the sofa beside her chair in her office.
"Anyway," he continued, stretching an arm across the backrest, "I just came to let you know that Phase One of our plan is already underway."
Ceres sat back and folded her arms. "These volunteers... they came of their own free will, right? You didn't scare them into agreeing, did you?"
"Relax," Tuf said, waving a hand. "I didn't. Alpha talked to them himself. You know how it goes, everyone immediately lowers their guard around him."
He chuckled.
"He's three times my size, literally looks like a walking beast, but when people compare the two of us, they somehow think I'm the threat. If only they knew…"
A quiet smile tugged at Ceres's lips.
A few days ago, during a confidential session with the Velrathis High Council, Caelum had announced a new breakthrough, a procedure that would allow demi-humans to procreate without intimate unions with humans. The urgency was real, every demi-human house was already on its final bloodline. Natural reproduction between demi-humans was no longer viable.
That was when Tuf had stepped forward and revealed his secret organization, Hydra.
Their most recent covert project had involved sending elves and faes into human territories to procreate, in hopes that new demi-humans would be born. At first, the council had erupted in outrage. They'd accused him of cruelty, of using others as tools. But Tuf had stood firm, unapologetic.
He explained that the elves and faes had volunteered, fully aware of the risks. They weren't forced or coerced. They had chosen to make the ultimate sacrifice, to give their bodies and their bloodlines a chance at survival.
The Council had gone silent at that, because they could hear it now. The unspoken agony. The weight of desperation. The quiet heroism of Hydra.
But in the end, the results were few. Out of three births, only one child had been born with demi-human traits. The project was deemed unsustainable, and thus, discontinued.
Now, under the watchful eye of the new Empress, a different method was being launched, IVF powered by magitechnology. With it, they would create embryos using demi-human and human genetic materials. But this time, to guarantee demi-human lineage, it would be humans who carried the seed.
Tuf had already initiated discussions with the six human kingdoms, proposing the IVF program in a favorable light. Human volunteers would be supported fully by the Velrathis Empire, an opportunity, a symbol of trust, a shared vision for the future.
But of course, this was the version of the story they told to the people of Solmara. Only a select few knew the real reason the Demon Lord's family was prioritizing demi-human procreation.
The truth was far more personal, selfish, even.
It was all for Caelum. For him to finally be with Ceres without restraint. Without fear. Without the looming consequences of their union.
At present, even though both of them resided in the Black Tower, they barely saw each other. Consequence still lay thick between them like chains.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks became months.
The first IVF procedures were done, ten carefully selected human and demi-human pairs. Caelum had insisted Milo's power to bend time would not be used for this project. The sanctity of this procedure, the one that would matter, had to be untouched by magic. It had to be real.
Just as Alpha had warned long ago, although the odds of producing demi-human offspring were higher, the growing fetus fed on its mother's life force. And so, the ten pregnant human women were all monitored closely inside a specially-constructed Velrathis facility. Orso reinforced their energy with his healing abilities, while Delphine lent support when needed.
Nine months passed.
Nine of the ten babies were born demi-human, healthy and strong. The one human child, a boy, was born to a baron's daughter from Noctharis. She was provided with wealth that elevated her above many dukal households. The child received Velrathis citizenship and a promise of education at the prestigious Academy of Advanced Magic when he came of age.
As word of the benefits spread, more human women came forward as volunteers. But the program remained strict, only ten applicants per cycle.
And with each success, the ancient crystal cylinder, Caelum's debt to Lucifer, slowly filled again. After 150 years of remaining dry and inert, the magic it required was finally being replenished.
Encouraged by their success, the Demon Lord's family undertook the most sensitive, most sacred experiment, IVF using Caelum's sperm and Ceres' egg. The embryo was implanted into Luna's womb.
"I promise you, everything is going to be fine," Tuf whispered to Luna, holding her hand.
He had not left her side since the procedure began. Every time she winced, every moment she groaned, he was there. Seiryu and Comet took shifts watching over her twenty-four-seven, their vigilance unwavering.
They were careful. Beyond careful.
Until one day, the worst happened.
A distress call came from both Seiryu and Comet at the same time.
"Something is happening to the Mistress," Comet's voice was tight, frantic.
Caelum stormed into the special chamber designated for Luna's pregnancy. Ceres followed right behind.
"Tofu," she called, rushing toward her son.
Luna lay on the bed, writhing, her skin damp with sweat. Pain twisted her features as she clutched at the sheets. Tuf was already beside her, biting down on his own anguish as he absorbed what pain he could through their bond. But it was too much, even for him.
"Call Bear!" Caelum snapped to Cosmo, his voice ringing with power as he moved to Luna's side.
"No," Ceres said suddenly.
Caelum froze, his brows drawing together. "Love…"
"Bear can't help," Ceres cut him off, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. Her gaze was heavy with knowledge and heartbreak.
Then she turned to Peanut.
"Remove the fetus."
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
"Mother!" Alpha's voice was thunderous with disbelief.
"No, Mother, please!" Luna cried, her voice strained, her hands shaking as she tried to sit up. "I can do this. I can handle it. I want to do this."
Her eyes were glassy but defiant.
Ceres stepped closer to the bed and gently took Luna's trembling hand in hers.
"It's okay, kitten," Ceres whispered, her voice steady despite the weight in it. A bitter smile curved her lips, fragile, shattering. "This is not Lilith."
There was no prophecy here. No divine destiny.
Her eyes flicked toward Peanut.
"Abort the baby," she said quietly, but the words landed like thunder in the chamber.
"But Mother!" Nugget burst out, almost unable to stop herself. Her voice cracked with restrained anguish. "Even if Luna isn't carrying Lilith… the baby is still yours. Yours and Father's."
That truth struck hard.
The tears Ceres had been holding back finally slipped down her face. Nugget's words pierced the dam she tried so hard to hold. Because yes, yes, this child wasn't a tool. It wasn't a prophecy. But it was theirs. Hers and Caelum's. A creation of love, not magic. Something they'd once dreamed of in their past life, a child, their own flesh and blood.
Heartbroken, Ceres turned to Caelum.
Even under the black and gold mask, she could see it, the storm behind his eyes. That mix of agony and silent understanding.
"Do as your mother says," Caelum spoke, voice low and resolute. It was a command, but it was also surrender. The kind that ripped through a man.
"Father…" Luna's voice was frail, almost broken. She reached for him weakly, wanting to resist, but unable.
Tuf sat beside her, holding her, forehead pressed to hers. His face was soaked in sweat and grief. And though his heart shattered, he was silently grateful. Grateful that she would live. That she would still be with him. That they wouldn't lose her for the sake of a dream.
"Peanut!" Caelum called sharply when he noticed the hesitation in his daughter, her own eyes wide, brimming.
Peanut swallowed hard. She looked at Luna, at Ceres, then nodded.
"Yes, Father," she said softly and turned to leave, preparing everything for the emergency surgery.
And so it was done.
That night, the entire Black Tower heard it.
Not in words. But in silence.
The sound of the Empress crying.
It wasn't loud or frantic. It wasn't theatrical.
It was the kind of sob that filled the soul and drained the bones. The kind of grief that didn't need to be heard to be felt. And though the palace was vast and ancient, every wall seemed to weep with her.
No one approached her.
Because though they loved her, though they would have offered every comfort, none of them could touch the magnitude of that grief.
And Caelum… he didn't go to her.
He couldn't.
Because how could he look her in the eye and promise things would be fine?
How could he tell her they would try again, when he felt the same soul-deep emptiness she did? When the ache in his chest was the echo of a grief he had once endured before, when he had lost her to time, to death, to destiny?
He left the Black Tower that night without a word.
Teleporting in silence to the one place no one followed.
The Ebon Spire.
An island veiled in shadow and solitude, surrounded by violent seas. A place that had become his sanctuary for the past five hundred years. A prison of memories he chose to build.
There, stood one thousand sculptures, every one of them a different image of Ceres.
From every dream. Every memory. Every fantasy carved into stone.
He wandered like a ghost among them until he reached the one that pulled him in with invisible gravity.
It was a sculpture of her, eyes soft, mouth smiling, cradling a bundle in her arms. A child. Their child.
He had sculpted it in a fevered haze centuries ago, long before they reunited. Long before Velrathis. From a dream that refused to fade.
Caelum stood in front of it now, the ocean wind cutting across his skin, and let go.
Let go of the walls he'd built. Let go of the role of Demon Lord. Let go of strength.
He collapsed to his knees before the stone figure, palms pressed against the ground like it might steady him.
And there, alone in the island of his grief, surrounded by a thousand ghosts of what could have been…
Zeus wept.