Baisha gazed at the young man before her, his elegance and cool reserve etched into every gesture, and found his sudden pledge of loyalty surprising.
Meeting his steely, dark blue eyes, she recalled what she'd learned of Han Xiao through the Emperor. In Congress, Han Xiao was known for his caution and restraint. Once he took a stance, no debate or conflict could sway him. His maturity and resolve had earned him the role of congressional secretary at a young age.
Even without the Han family's prestige, Han Xiao was a rare talent.
"You don't strike me as someone who'd offer unwavering loyalty without reason," Baisha said, her tone tinged with doubt. "May I know why House Han is doing this? …Is it because of my mother?"
"To be frank, yes. The Grand Princess showed great kindness to our family," Han Xiao nodded. "It involves old matters, details even I don't fully grasp. You'd need to ask my uncle for the whole truth. But this doesn't hinder me from serving as your chief minister, temporarily."
"I can guide you, filling gaps in your Imperial education, acting as your eyes and ears in Congress, tracking factional shifts, and advising your future—if you wish."
Baisha paused, then offered a faint smile. "What's the difference, then, between that and a true chief minister?"
"Honestly, I have no memory of my mother. You tell me she aided House Han, but I can't verify it, nor do I care to dig deeper right now." She crossed her arms, leaning back in her leather chair, her voice calm. "I prefer mutually beneficial partnerships. I'm not one to dangle empty promises or carrots. Serve as my chief minister, and I don't mind you leveraging my royal status to climb higher. Since my uncle recommended you, I trust you won't betray me. That's enough."
She favored reciprocity.
Han Xiao considered this, then relented, dropping his insistence.
"Don't celebrate yet," Baisha warned. "I'm not guaranteed to become the heir."
She gestured to Little White Chirp on her shoulder. "You saw—my avatar isn't a Blackbird. My uncle hasn't said it outright, but I know this will stir suspicion and unrest."
Han Xiao replied, "You are the Grand Princess's daughter, born with royal blood."
Baisha shrugged. "See? Even you're cautious. Blood is my only edge. Without a Blackbird avatar, I start on equal footing with other royals."
With Cecil childless, the Blackbird lineage ended this generation. Other royals would vie for power based on strength, not just blood ties.
Han Xiao's smile softened his features. "Are you truly lacking confidence, or have you not decided if you want the heir's mantle?"
What did a non-Blackbird avatar matter?
With Cecil's backing, Baisha could ascend securely, if not dominate like past Ronins. Dissenters would face the Grand Princess's and Cecil's networks, ready to clear her path.
The road to glory lay open before her.
Han Xiao doubted she was blind to it.
"Frankly, I don't grasp what being heir entails," Baisha said, raising a brow. "I'm content with my life now. I don't crave ruling the Empire."
Emperorship was exhausting. Did her uncle, cloistered on Youdu Star, truly shirk all duties? Hardly—his workload was immense.
Worst of all, emperors had no holidays and fretted over successors, their reign's end tied to producing an heir. The thought made Baisha's scalp tingle, as if a cage loomed ahead.
Her avatar, a silver-throated long-tailed tit, like most birds, thrived on freedom. Cages bred despair.
"I'm not sure I'm cut out for it," she said earnestly. "Han Xiao, can someone untrained in royal ways be a worthy heir?"
Han Xiao sighed. "I understand your stance, but I suggest planning your studies and life as if you were the heir."
"Once you inherit your mother's princedom, you'll be first in line until His Majesty has children. Whether others vie for the throne is beside the point—your birthright is inescapable. To anyone eyeing the crown, you're a stumbling block." His words cut to the core. "You fear ascension will draw ire, but haven't you considered? Your existence alone forces you to compete."
"Conquer them or fall. There's no third path. Would you let the Ronin legacy falter in your hands?"
Baisha: "…"
She took a deep breath. "But my uncle's still young."
"If His Majesty has no desire for heirs, no one can force him," Han Xiao said, meeting her gaze. "Will you bet on that chance?"
Baisha: "…"
"You could be optimistic," he offered gently. "The Empire doesn't demand a perfect emperor. Strength and conduct worthy of the title suffice."
Though emperors wielded vast power, centuries of peace had shifted most governance to Congress and the Privy Council. The Empire was a finely tuned machine—barring catastrophic missteps, maintaining stability was manageable.
"As for heirship, you can learn now. Imperial lifespans are long; with dedication, you'll master anything in time."
Baisha: Damn, forgot about that.
Through their exchange, Han Xiao dismantled her excuses. Somehow, he convinced her to accept a grand plan: "secure heirship, aim for the throne within thirty years." She barely knew how she'd agreed, but it was done. Han Xiao, ever diligent, drafted a curriculum—history, literature, mathematics, politics, economics, law, science, military strategy, even dance, music, and art!
Baisha made a last stand. "Didn't you say perfection wasn't required?"
Han Xiao, drafting the schedule, replied, "But breadth is. Most courses are royal staples. Less critical ones can be rushed now, deepened later."
Baisha glimpsed the plan and nearly fainted. Seven or eight daily courses awaited her.
"From experience, focus on basics for three months," Han Xiao said. "After, we'll ease up, aiming to cover high school material in six months."
"I'm going to military academy…" Baisha protested.
"I know. That's why it's six months," he said matter-of-factly. "A top university like my alma mater would take another year."
Baisha collapsed inwardly. Little White Chirp, mirroring her, slumped, nearly toppling off her shoulder. Baisha, reflexively, steadied it.
"You're not just bridging Federation-Imperial education gaps," Han Xiao said earnestly. "You're cultivating heirship. Six months is the bare minimum."
Baisha: "…I believe you."
What kind of person had her uncle saddled her with?
Han Xiao left the schedule, promising to refine economics and politics syllabi. "If you don't mind, I can teach those," he said, bowing slightly. "His Majesty will select tutors for the rest."
Baisha managed a weak smile, bidding farewell to her driven chief minister.
That evening, Cecil joined her for dinner, spotting the grueling schedule.
He blinked, then laughed.
Baisha tapped her goblet with a spoon in protest. "Uncle, no objections?"
"I knew the Han boy would do this," Cecil chuckled. "Don't resent his high standards—he grew up the same way, begging his parents for extra lessons since he could read, never quitting."
A natural overachiever!
Baisha: "Why'd you pick him?"
Cecil, ignoring her, mused, "Literature and arts can wait. If they don't interest you, skip them."
Arts fostered refinement, but Baisha, raised on a frontier star, bore no crude habits. Her demeanor, though not regal, was poised and natural, sparing her etiquette training.
Other courses, however, were non-negotiable.
Cecil revised the plan, axing most arts but keeping ballroom dance. "Dancing's a royal must. Ronins excel at it—you'll pick it up in days."
He added combat and mental strength training. Baisha didn't object; they were practical.
"I want to learn about Imperial mechs," she said, inspired. "Can you arrange a mech design tutor?"
"Don't bite off too much," Cecil said, sipping from a glass, his sapphire ring glinting. "You'll learn design at the academy. I'll gather materials for you to study Imperial mech tech early."
Baisha: "…" Fair enough—his resources would outstrip her own inquiries.
"Speaking of," Cecil added, "you'll need a mech for the academy. Ancestral ones are overkill for school—they'd be bullying. You'll get your own—"
A screech interrupted as Baisha's chair scraped back. She stood, face solemn, and enveloped Cecil in a fierce hug from behind.
"Uncle," she said, voice quivering with suppressed joy, "is that true?"
Cecil set down his utensils. "Of course. A mech's essential for the academy."
Baisha exhaled shakily. "You're incredible—"
Cecil grabbed her tightening arms. "Calm down, are you trying to strangle me? Let go."
She loosened her grip.
"I'll take you to Tianxuan Star's Mech Institute to design one," Cecil said. "As a student, its specs will be tempered. If it's not to your liking, we'll make more to test. Once you're heir, you'll wield emperor-grade mechs—"
Baisha's grip tightened again.
Cecil: "…Again? Let go!"
She withdrew hastily.
The grueling schedule now seemed trivial. For her own mech, she'd endure anything. Studying? She'd thrived under pressure before.
With this prize dangling, Baisha brimmed with resolve.
Cecil coughed, adjusting his rumpled collar and discarding his tie. "Everything's set, except your guard. Finish eating—we're going somewhere."
Baisha wolfed down her meal, barely savoring the royal chefs' delights, and set down her utensils.
After dinner, they left the palace. Golden stardust swirled in the night sky like clouds. Cecil dismissed their escorts, leading Baisha to a silver hovercar on the terrace.
The car ascended, then plunged toward the palace's base, a black cliff. It descended along the rockface to a narrow, shadowy tunnel, its entrance veiled by a golden barrier. The car's surface glowed similarly, merging seamlessly with the barrier as it passed through.
The car navigated the dim tunnel, light fading like a descent into the abyss.
A faint purple glow emerged ahead.
After an indeterminate journey, the glow intensified. Peering out, Baisha saw it emanated from a massive double crystal door.
The door, dozens of meters tall, hugged the black rock, its purple crystal like frosted ice. Intricate, symmetrical feather patterns adorned its surface, their interwoven lines blending depth and ethereal grace.
The car halted.
Baisha followed Cecil out, their footsteps echoing in the silent space.
Curious, she asked, "What is this place?"
Cecil, with rare solemnity, raised his right fist to his heart, bowing reverently to the door.
It was the first time Baisha saw her uncle show such deference.
"This is the gate to the Crystal Sky," Cecil said, his deep blue eyes reflecting the door's radiance. His tone was even, yet heavy with emotion. "The Crystal Sky is our Empire's Valhalla. It once housed many 'Angels,' but time has claimed most…"
Baisha mimicked his salute, then whispered, "What are these 'Angels'?"
Cecil raised a brow. "Didn't A Brief History of the Empire mention them?"
"I read history, not myths," Baisha quipped, then recalled his mention of "Valhalla." "Are these… spirits of Imperial warriors?"
The tale was veering into the supernatural.
Cecil's lips twitched. "What are you thinking? There are no ghosts."
"Inside are knights who fought alongside the First Emperor, each a legend. From the Silver Age, they were biochemically enhanced Aresians," he said, his gaze distant. "They shed their flesh, reborn through Silver Age tech, wielding unmatched power to secure victories and clear the Empire's path. Thus, we call them 'Angels.'"
"Angels outlived mortal spans. After the Empire's founding, they endured centuries, choosing long slumber, awakening only when the royal family—their sworn lieges—calls."
"The royal family roused them several times, mainly against star-beast swarms. Of the four original Angels, one's energy expired, entering eternal rest. Three remain."
His gaze shifted to Baisha.
"Your task is to enter and request an Angel as your guard," Cecil said. "Not all may respond. Choose the one willing to follow."
Baisha stared at the purple crystal door, momentarily speechless.
Biomechanical beings?
Surviving from the Silver Age?
How many years had passed?
Even if machines were immortal, the "Silver Age" evoked awe.
Baisha hesitated. "Disturbing them for this feels… wrong."
Cecil sighed. "You think endless sleep is pleasant? Their senses linger faintly. Waking them occasionally is beneficial. Guarding you in the Empire uses minimal energy."
The "Angel" title alone would deter assassins, sparing Baisha trouble.
Understanding, Baisha nodded. "How do I open the door?"
"Just go," Cecil said, remaining still, gesturing toward it. "The crystal door won't bar an Imperial royal."
That intelligent?
Half-skeptical, Baisha approached.
At five meters, the door blazed, its feather patterns igniting one by one. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the carvings seemed to stir, dancing like real feathers within the translucent purple crystal.
As if awaiting her.
Baisha inhaled deeply, touching the icy door. To her surprise, with little effort, she pushed it open, revealing a vast gap—
With a clunk, the door swung wide.