Days passed, and the girl saw nothing but the walls of her chamber. Her previous encounter with the Emperor had left her with more questions than answers. A doubt hung over her like a shadow, tying her stomach in knots. What had truly happened that night? She chose to push the thought aside, telling herself it was better not to know.

  The handmaiden she had met continued to visit her day after day. Though she refused to speak to her most of the time, she remained the only person the girl ever saw.

  Boredom, coupled with the absence of anyone to talk to, made each day longer and more difficult to endure than the last. After a few weeks, however, she began to grow accustomed to it.

  Then came the changes. Physical signs that could be explained in only one way—yet they appeared with a speed as unnatural as it was terrifying. The shape of her body shifted from one day to the next, and a constant exhaustion weighed upon her without mercy.

  This transformation was anything but ordinary. Despite the blank left by that night she could not remember, she had understood. The truth she feared most now stood before her: that missing fragment of memory marked the moment her life had been irreversibly altered.

  The realization struck her like a blow. She had refused to face the truth, but now it was being forced upon her. Terror seized her. Never had she imagined enduring such a decisive moment entirely alone, with no one to cling to. She wept—out of despair and helplessness—unable to comprehend how she would survive such an ordeal.

  Yet in the months that followed, she received regular visits from handmaidens and doctors. They monitored her pregnancy closely, ensuring that everything progressed without complication. Though she was still very young, her life was never in danger: she had access to the Empire’s finest healers and the best nourishment available.

  Naturally, the Emperor visited her several times a week as well. He wished to ensure that the future mother of his heir was eating properly and lacked for nothing.

  She did not meet his gaze a single time, nor did she utter a single word.

  She bore her punishment in silence. She endured the hardship with clenched teeth. She held on, refusing to cry before anyone or to reveal the fear gnawing at her.

  After only three months, the decisive moment arrived. Surrounded by the Empire’s finest healers, she struggled to keep control of her emotions. Even amid all those gathered to assist her, she had never felt so alone.

  None of the doctors who attended her ever addressed her directly; her handmaiden spoke on her behalf. The Emperor’s personal guard ensured that no one broke protocol.

  Fortunately, her labor proceeded without incident. By some miracle, she gave birth to a perfectly formed child—vigorous and healthy. His silver hair and pointed ears bore witness to his father’s heritage, while his pale gray eyes, ringed with a darker shade, were uniquely his own.

  When she finally held him in her arms, she knew at once that she would do anything to protect him. She named him Owen.

  In the first days, the healers returned to ensure that everything was as it should be. They also seemed to examine him from every angle, as though he were a singular being. Was it merely his noble birth—or was something else at work?

  The young mother felt the child changing from one day to the next—almost unnaturally fast. He never cried. His eyes, wide open from the very first moments, observed everything around him as though he already understood the world.

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  Her silent questions went unanswered. Even her handmaiden, the only one who had spoken to her until then, fell silent once more. From that day on, everyone who had visited over the past months seemed able to see nothing but the imperial heir. The young mother felt herself fading, as though a veil had fallen over her, rendering her invisible to all.

  Time passed swiftly, and her suspicions were confirmed. In barely three months, her baby had already reached the physical development of a one-year-old. He could sit upright on his own and was already crawling. When he grasped an object, he did so with a precision and confidence far beyond that of any child his age.

  One day, the Emperor visited her while his son played in a corner of the room. The look he gave her had changed entirely. He offered no smile, no reassurance; in his eyes shone only the satisfaction of having achieved his aim.

  “Thou hast fulfilled thy duty. The son thou hast given me doth grow swiftly and shall live as an Endless… yet I cannot set thee free. Thy blood is too precious. Thou shalt remain here, at my side,” he told her.

  Seated upon the couch, she gave no reply. She did not even look at him, for she already knew: he had never intended to let her go. He did not touch her, but it mattered little—she was his prisoner.

  “Fret not. I shall not burden thee with the rearing of a child. A nurse shall attend him, and when he cometh of age, a tutor shall impart unto him an education worthy of his station.”

  The girl lifted her gaze to him. Despite all the hatred and suffering she had endured and kept buried these past months, she had never allowed her emotions to show.

  Yet this time, her eyes filled with tears.

  She finally broke her silence.

  “No… you can’t take him from me. He’s all I have. I refuse.”

  “It is for his welfare—and thine own. Thou hast fulfilled thy role; let now others fulfill theirs.”

  “I would rather die than see him become like you. If you take him from me, I will kill myself.”

  At those words, she stood, seized a knife from the table, pressed it against her stomach, and continued,

  “If my blood is truly as precious as you claim, then you will reconsider.”

  He stared at her, expressionless. He did not doubt for a moment that she would follow through. She was desperate enough.

  He closed his eyes—and smiled. When he opened them again, the look he gave her froze her blood.

  “If such be thy desire, then so be it.”

  In the blink of an eye, he vanished. Her eyes widened.

  Before she could even register that he had moved behind her in a fraction of a second, he seized both her hands—still gripping the blade—and guided the motion toward her stomach.

  His gaze betrayed nothing. No anger, no sorrow, no satisfaction. Nothing.

  Stunned by what had just occurred and unable to think, she felt a sharp, violent pain tear through her insides. She collapsed into the arms of the very man who had just stabbed her.

  She felt warm liquid spreading beneath her. Eyes wide, breath uneven, she stared into emptiness, as though seeking an answer to an unspoken question.

  “I-I’m cold…” she whispered, shivering.

  The Emperor continued to look at her with the same self-assured expression, a faint smile at the corner of his lips. He remained silent until the light faded from her eyes, until her breathing thinned to an imperceptible whisper… and until she lost consciousness.