[The Eshkaran Empire—Imperial City—Afternoon]
The Eshkaran Empire was a land where power was measured not by gold, armies, or noble blood alone...but by the Aether Core.
Within every human body rested an Aether Core, the vessel through which elemental power flowed. Those born with stronger cores could command greater quantities of Aether, and through Aether came the seven elemental forces that shaped the empire—
Air. Fire. Water. Earth. Lightning. Shadow. Light.
For centuries, noble bloodlines had guarded their elemental gifts like sacred inheritance, but above every noble house stood the Imperial Family.
The Malik and Malika.
And beneath them, there was only one man whose elemental power was spoken of with the same reverence as fear.
Azram Vaerum Veyrath (Grand Duke of House Veyrath)
The man who commanded the winds and is known throughout Eshkaran as The Silent Tempest.
At twenty-five, Vaerum possessed an Aether Core powerful enough to make seasoned elemental warriors lower their heads in his presence; his control over Air was said to be absolute, and he could summon winds sharp enough to cut through steel.
Silence an entire street with a single command, and when his temper truly broke...even the skies of Eshkaran were said to tremble, yet terrifying power was not the only reason people remembered him.
Vaerum Veyrath was, quite frankly, absurdly beautiful.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and possessed the kind of physique that made imperial sculptors question whether ordinary men were truly supposed to look like that.
Dark hair framed a face carved with almost unfair precision; his eyes were silver, cold, sharp, and unforgiving. Among the nobles of Eshkaran, those eyes were considered a symbol of his power.
Among unmarried women, however...they were considered a national emergency.
There were noble daughters who had memorized his daily schedule. Widows who suddenly became very interested in House Veyrath’s charity events and married women who absolutely, definitely, and under no circumstances stared at him whenever he passed.
The ordinary people, however, had a much simpler opinion.
Stay away from him.
Because beauty did not make Vaerum approachable, it made him more terrifying.
And on that particular afternoon, the streets of the imperial capital parted before him as Vaerum walked beneath the enormous sandstone arches of Eshkaran, his dark cloak moving gently behind him.
Imperial knights followed several steps behind him, their armor gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. His personal assistant walked at his side, quietly listing the matters awaiting his attention at the palace.
Vaerum listened without expression, and the market around them gradually fell silent. Merchants lowered their voices, and children were pulled closer by their mothers.
Even the wind seemed to soften around him.
Normal people feared until—
"HEY...!!!"
A tiny voice rang through the street. Vaerum stopped, the knights stopped, and his assistant stopped speaking.
Silence spread through the marketplace. When Vaerum turned his head, his silver eyes shifted over his shoulder, and the air changed.
A faint pressure descended upon the street, and the merchants immediately stiffened; Knight’s hand moved instinctively toward their sword.
Vaerum’s gaze sharpened as he saw a little girl.
Perhaps four years old, she stood several steps behind him, wearing clothes so torn and dirty that they could barely be called clothing.
Dust covered her face, her dark hair was tangled, her bare feet were scratched from walking across the stone streets, and she was painfully thin, clearly malnourished.
A child who should have been frightened by the terrifying nobleman standing before her, yet she wasn’t.
Instead...she planted both tiny hands firmly on her hips, lifted her chin, and stared directly into the eyes of the most feared man in Eshkaran.
Her violet eyes were strangely bright beneath the grime, determined and fearless as Vaerum stared at her.
For several heartbeats, neither moved, then Vaerum spoke; his voice was husky, calm, low, and dangerously quiet.
"What?"
The little girl smirked proudly, as though she had just accomplished something magnificent. She raised her chin even higher.
"I am willing to be your daughter."
. . .
. . .
Silence, an absolute silence. Somewhere above them—
CAW.
A black crow flew across the street. It glanced down at the scene, paused mid-flight, and then seemed to reconsider every decision that had led it to this particular part of the capital.
CAW! CAW!!! CAW!!!
It flew away.
Nobody moved.
The merchants stared, the pedestrians stared, the imperial knights stared, and Vaerum’s personal assistant stared. Even the wind seemed to have forgotten what it was supposed to do.
The little girl remained perfectly still, her tiny hands planted firmly on her hips. Vaerum stared down at her, his silver eyes narrowed, and perhaps the Azram of Eshkaran looked genuinely puzzled.
"...What?"
"I said I’m willing to be your daughter." Then, with the confidence of an emperor announcing a new law, she added, "I have decided to adopt you as my father."
Silence.
Vaerum’s personal assistant slowly stepped forward; his name was Ravian.
Ravian had served House Veyrath for nearly seven years. He had witnessed political conspiracies, assassination attempts, noble feuds, and even one particularly memorable incident involving an angry war elephant, yet somehow, this was the first time he had ever felt that his life was in genuine danger.
He glanced at the little girl; she was filthy, barefoot, and clearly a street child. Ravian cleared his throat.
"Azram, it appears this child is a beggar. I shall have the guards escort her to a proper orphanage—"
"I don’t want an orphanage!"
The girl’s voice rang through the street, and Ravian stopped.
She pointed at him; her tiny finger slowly moved towards Vaerum. "I am adopting him as my father."
The entire street collectively inhaled; a merchant dropped a basket of dates. Someone’s clay cup shattered against the pavement; one of the imperial knights looked toward the sky as if hoping divine intervention might arrive, but it did not.
Vaerum said nothing; his eyes remained fixed upon the girl. Ravian, meanwhile, felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck.
’She pointed at the Azram...she actually pointed at the Azram.’ His mind immediately calculated the consequences. ’I cannot believe I’m going to have to bury another body before lunch.’
Then an elderly beggar hurried forward; he bowed so deeply that his forehead nearly touched the stone and his voice trembled.
"Forgive the insolence, Azram! The child does not know who you are. I shall take her away immediately."
The old man straightened and hurried toward the girl as he grabbed her arm. "There, little one. Come with me. Let’s go before you lose your head."
The girl turned her head, looked at his hand, and her expression darkened. The old man suddenly looked nervous.
"Wait—"
CHOMP!
"AGHHHHHH!"
The old man jumped backward, clutching his hand; the girl stood there glaring at him. "Didn’t I tell you to speak from a distance?"
The old man stared at her in disbelief; she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "And don’t put your filthy hands on me."
Ravian’s mouth fell open; the little girl turned back toward Vaerum, and her expression became serious again as she straightened her little back, lifted her chin, and then asked the most important question of her life.
"So? Are you willing to be my father or not?"
The silence that followed was almost sacred. Nobody breathed, and Ravian slowly looked toward his master.
The knights shifted their hands toward their weapons, not because they expected an attack, but because they were already mentally preparing for the inevitable aftermath.
One of the merchants had already begun whispering a prayer, another woman had covered her child’s eyes, and an old man in the crowd looked at the little girl with genuine pity.
Ravian whispered to the knight, "Prepare for the cleanup."
The knight nodded and moved immediately. Meanwhile, Vaerum remained motionless; his silver gaze rested upon the little girl.
She should have been trembling, crying, and terrified. Instead, she simply stared back at him. Those strange violet eyes did not waver; for one brief moment, something shifted in Vaerum’s expression, almost imperceptible.
His gaze lingered on her eyes. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, a faint, dangerously small smile.
"Well... I suppose I have no choice but to be your father."
. . .
. . .
Silence, an absolute utter silence.
Ravian blinked; his brain stopped functioning. One of the knights slowly lowered his hand from his sword, a merchant’s mouth fell open, and the old beggar simply stood there, still clutching the hand that had been bitten.
Someone in the crowd whispered,
"...Did the Azram just agree?"
Another man rubbed both his ears; a woman slapped her own cheek.
"Ow!"
She stared at Vaerum. "He really did."
Ravian looked at his master as though he had just witnessed the sun rise in the west.
"Azram..."
Vaerum glanced at him. Ravian swallowed. "You... are accepting this child?"
Vaerum looked back at the little girl, and with a smirk he said, "Yes."
The answer was effortless and certain. As though the decision had never been difficult. And within a single afternoon, the most feared man in the empire had gained something he had never wanted.
A daughter, a strange little four-year-old girl who had appeared from nowhere, had bitten an old man and casually announced that she had chosen the Azram as her father.
And just like that, the empire gained its most terrifying new rumor.
The Silent Tempest had adopted a daughter.
Nobody knew where she had come from; nobody knew why he had accepted her, and nobody knew what kind of future awaited the strange little girl now walking beside the most powerful noble in Eshkaran.
But one thing was certain.
Something had just changed.