The palace was filled with screams, echoing off the golden walls. Outside, the night sky glowed red from the torches, while the cries of women rang out across the marble floors. The Emperor's fury had spiraled into madness. His orders were clear—every son born to his concubines was to be killed.
Inside the palace, fear and pain were everywhere. The concubines pleaded for mercy as their children were taken away. The sound of swords clashing, anguished cries, and the Emperor's icy voice created a scene that would haunt everyone forever.
Emperor Estevan stood proudly in his black and gold robe, his crown glinting in the low light. His eyes screamed with a mix of pride and hatred. "I don't need any sons!" he shouted. "They're just curses! Weaklings! Worthless! Only my daughters carry the true blood of Rupertz!"
No one dared to respond. Blood dripped on the white marble tiles, shining like a dark stain under the crystal chandeliers.
Meanwhile, far away behind a locked door, Empress Phenicia covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. She looked out the window as the soldiers pulled away the sobbing mothers. "Estevan..." she murmured, tears streaming down her face. "What have you turned into?"
Her maid, trembling with fear, said quietly, "Your Majesty, please… you really need to rest. This night is just too harsh."
Phenicia faced her. "Rest? How can a mom find any peace when her kids are suffering because of her husband's orders?"
The maid dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. But what can you really do?"
The Empress glanced down at her belly, feeling the weight of impending motherhood. She was nervous, but there was a flicker of hope inside her—hope that she could keep this child safe.
Days went by since the tragedy, and the palace felt eerily quiet, like it was holding its breath. The Emperor never mentioned his sons again; he was too focused on his kingdom and dreaming of a daughter with golden hair and hazel eyes, just like their ancestor Rupertz—the first Emperor and the greatest magician and swordsman ever.
The Emperor was convinced that only a daughter could inherit the royal traits of Rupertz, the kind of power that could either save or ruin an empire.
But life had other plans.
That same week, the Empress secretly gave birth. It was in the dead of night when her cries pierced the stillness. The doctors rushed in to assist her as thunder crashed outside. After what felt like an eternity of labor, the sound of a newborn's cry finally broke the quiet.
Phenicia was crying a river. "It's a boy," the old doctor murmured. "A healthy boy, Your Majesty."
The Empress went totally still. Panic gripped her heart. "No… not a boy," she breathed. "From now on, he's a girl. Do you get that?"
The doctors shot nervous glances at each other. "Your Majesty, to deceive the Emperor—"
Phenicia's tone turned icy. "If you want to stay alive, listen up. This baby is a girl. Her name is Stephanie. Make sure the Emperor knows that."
The old doctor nodded quickly, bowing deeply. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Phenicia cradled her little one. His tiny hands felt soft and warm, and his golden hair seemed to glow even in the dim candlelight. Then she noticed his eyes—hazel, bright, a blend of green, blue, and gray. The true Rupertz eyes.
A faint smile crept onto her face. "Stephanie… yes, Stephanie," she whispered. "You're going to live. You have to live."
Her maid came over, tears in her eyes. "He looks like an angel, Your Majesty."
Phenicia smiled with a hint of sadness. "Yeah. Just like an angel, he's got to stay hidden behind some light and soft fabrics. From now on, he'll be wearing dresses, speaking gently, and learning to be both a prince and a princess. He has to find strength in keeping quiet."
The maid nodded. "I've got your back, my lady. No one will ever find out."
Phenicia gazed out the window, where the moonlight spread across the floor. "I'm sorry, my little one," she whispered. "To survive, you'll have to be something you're not."
A few hours later, the door swung open. Emperor Estevan strode in with his heavy steps, his golden cloak trailing behind him. "Where is she?" he shouted. "Where's my daughter?"
Phenicia lowered her head. "Right here, my Emperor," she said softly, holding out the child wrapped in white silk.
The Emperor's anger vanished in an instant when he caught sight of the baby's hair sparkling in the light. "Golden…" he breathed. Leaning in closer, he gasped as the baby's eyes opened. "Hazel… just like Rupertz."
When the door shut behind him, the Empress fell back, quaking in her chair. Besides the faint inhalation of the infant, the room was completely still.
"Stephen, my son… and Stephanie, my daughter," she said softly to herself. "You are the both of them—the light and the shadow of the empire."
She caressed the baby's golden hair. "You will understand in the future why you were kept in the dark. You will not only be above this curse of blood and power but also, in the end, the victor."
The day began to break outside. The first rays of the sun were upon the castle walls, giving them a golden color. The gentle song of morning birds had come to replace the cries and blood of the past night, which were now no more.
Yet a hidden truth was the birth of a secret in the quiet corridors, which would then shake the empire to its very roots.
The Empress, meanwhile, kept the baby close and the world still ignored that the sleeping empire had just got its hidden heir, which was born in fear but was, nevertheless, fortuned for greatness.
The years passed unremarkably in the huge Golden Palace. The blood that had once soaked the floors was now only a memory, but the dreadful night still haunted the halls like a ghost whispering. The fear and shame of the Emperor's madness transformed into disaster power and, finally, the cold hunger as he became addicted to it.
Once, there was Emperor Estevan, who was a prince in the midst of many. He was one of his father's many sons—the powerful monarch whose blood was the gift of Rupertz, their first ancestor, and the Empire's founder. But unlike the stories told in the temples, Estevan and his brothers had been failure all along. They were all different and unlike the legendary kings of the past—no gold hair nor hazel eye color was passed down to them. All the same, they were weak and their mana was not enough to protect the empire.
Thus, people referred to them as "the Broken Line."
His father's voice would still torment him in his sleep.
"You are not a real son of Rupertz! The blood has ceased to flow with you!"
Estevan was deeply wounded by those words. He vowed that one day he would be the one who restored the bloodline to its former glory—even at the cost of his soul.
Those words implanted in Estevan's heart a very strong feeling. He was convicted that one day he would restore the bloodline to the glory — even if it meant sacrificing his soul.
Now, as the Emperor, he was a bird watching the very slowly dying world he ruled. The once mighty towers that radiated with mana-light started to lose their brightness. The rivers that used to carry crystal blue energy turned into black and thin ones. The frightened people were murmuring about the gods and saying they had deserted them.
Magic was the foundation of the Empire of Rupertz - magic that was derived from the blood of the royal family. The mana of the Rupertz descendants was used for making every wall, every weapon, and every source of light. But without those qualities, the empire would be no more. The issue of daughters, who were rare and powerful at the same time, was the only thing that could keep the empire alive through their mana.
However, the births of daughters had stopped.
This was the reason Estevan became a maniac — a maniac capable of murder, destruction, and self-deception.
He thought of his "daughter" Princess Stephanie as a divine gift, the one who would save the empire which was already on the brink of extinction.
Five years have gone by since that eve.
The palace's tranquility had returned, albeit its quo was very delicate. The Emperor was happy, his serenity restored whenever he spotted his golden-haired "daughter" in the royal garden.
Princess Stephanie's presence was a blessing to the whole palace. The baby had the finest golden hair and the prettiest and the most luminous blue, green and gray eyes. Even her laughter — so joyful and so delightful — had been likened to the spring singing in the palace.
But apart from the Empress, no one else ever knew. Behind the richness of the silk and the beauty of the ribbons was Stephen, her son — the secret heir of Rupertz blood.
Every day, the Empress would teach her school-aged child in her private chamber. "Sit properly, dear," she said with a motherly smile. "A princess should bring only grace in her shoulders, not fear."
Stephen, dressed in a white silk gown and gold lace, bowed his head. "Of course, Mother," he replied in a whisper, his voice light and cautious.
The Empress kept talking, showing him how to hold the teacup properly. "Grace is in the smallest things, sweetheart."
Little Stephen apprehensively tried to do the same, his tiny fingers shaking ever so slightly. "Is it done right, Mother?"
Phenicia beam. "Spot on, Stephanie."
Then she had a quick look around to check if there was anyone around. After the doors were shut, the tone of her voice changed to serious one. "Now, my son," she said in a whisper. "Take off your gloves."
Stephen complied, putting the cup down and ungloving his hands from the lace gloves. His skin had a light glimmer — the golden mana was flowing through his veins.
Phenicia nodded confirming. "Nice. Just breathe the air, Stephen. Breathe the living world. Mana is not merely a force — it is a spirit. It is the heartbeat of the earth."
The boy, meanwhile, had shut his eyes. The windless windows shifted slightly. The light of the candles was nowhere near steady. A faint golden aura was surrounding the boy's hands.
Phenicia felt a mix of emotions—really hard to place—though it was her moment of victory. "So wonderful, my boy. You ought to master it. Never unveil it to your father. Until you're the one who can safeguard yourself—he won't be the one."
"Sure, Mother," Stephen murmured. "But then... is it okay if I ask why Father should not be informed?"
Phenicia's look was tender but melancholic as she replied, "Because, my boy, your father is under the impression that you are something to be loved for the wrong reason. He cherishes Stephanie—the heiress whom he considers the source of his throne's survival. But, on the other hand, he would not comprehend Stephen—the one who inherits the bloodline stronger than any Rupertz before you."
Stephen directed his eyes downwards. "Am I… wrong, Mother?"
Phenicia squatted and carefully held his face in her hands. "No, my dear. You are not wrong. You are a treasure. But the world won't see it if it cannot perceive it. Henceforth, until you gain enough strength, you shall be both... princess and prince. Got it?"
His head moved up and down with the slowness of a clock's pendulum. "I understand, Mother."
She beamed at him saying: "Then, get up, my child. Today, you will acquire not just beauty but also power."
That night after garden teaching, Phenicia led Stephen to a concealed room under her apartment. The place was redolent with light from the ancient signs. This was the concealed training ground of the Rupertz dynasty, accessible only to rightful heirs.
"Mother... this is where..." Stephen uttered in a whisper. "It is such an intense feeling of… life."
"So," Phenicia agreed. "This is precisely the spot where your ancestor, the very first Rupertz, created the mystical powers that eventually gave birth to our empire."
Then she took out her sword, which was emitting very weak but still visible light. "Now, align your sight very well. Magic and sword must move in unison."
She swung her sword once, and the air was filled with golden sparks.
Stephen could not believe his eyes. "It is stunning."
Phenicia gave him a small sword made of wood. "You are next, my boy. Discover your mana and make your move according to it."
He inhaled deeply, raised the sword, and slashed. For a short time, there was no reaction. Then the golden light turned back — weak but actual — revolving around the blade like a light ribbon.
Phenicia smiled with tears of joy. "Bravo. You are a real son of Rupertz."
Above the room, the Empire was still losing strength but still was not aware of the fact that its only hope was a five-year-old girl who was playing the part of a princess.
The little maids spoiled "Princess Stephanie," and the Emperor told his visitors about her beauty and power. Yet, only the Empress and her son were aware of the fact — that the empire was still standing thanks to the boy who had the blood of Rupertz flowing in him.
And while the Emperor was sleeping comfortably in his arrogance, the Empress was praying every night to the stars.
"Please," she prayed, "let him survive until the coming of peace... even if I do not."
To be continued...