Ancestral Lineage

Emma had woken early—far earlier than usual—to prepare for her first official meeting with Ethan.

Yesterday, she had met Ethan the man. Today, she would meet Ethan the Emperor.

This meeting would determine not only the next course of action for her newly established kingdom but also her own future as its ruler. In the hierarchy of Anbord, her position was that of a King—on the third tier, beneath the Empresses and the Emperor. A prestigious rank, certainly, but one that paled in comparison to the presence she was about to face.

For the first time in years, a knot of nervous tension twisted in her stomach.

"Just how powerful is he?"That single question branched into a thousand more.

In terms of raw strength, there was no doubt—Ethan was formidable. Too formidable. She couldn't sense the depth of his power, and that fact alone was terrifying. Either he far surpassed her… or he had such mastery over himself that he could conceal his strength completely.

And power wasn't just about magic or might. It radiated from the structure surrounding him.The Empresses—especially five among them—were beings she couldn't properly read, a rarity for her. Then there were his children. The crown prince had an overwhelming presence. She hadn't seen the princess, which in itself was unnerving. If someone with royal blood could remain so hidden, what else was being veiled?

Her senses had scouted the capital last night. She'd felt entities tucked into corners of the city, masked in shadows or silence, each capable of leveling her kingdom in under a week.She was powerful. Exceptionally so.

But here in Anbord, her power barely registered as a ripple in a deep ocean.

The weight of that realization made her inhale slowly. This wasn't a battlefield she could charge into. This was politics, legacy, authority—and sheer, unfiltered dominion.

"It's been so long since I felt challenged," she thought, tightening the silk sash around her waist."This… is even more difficult than fighting."

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying her breath, then whispered:

"Ancestor Fenrir… lend me your strength."

With that, she rose. It was time to meet the Emperor.

A knock echoed on her chamber doors—firm and steady. She already knew who it was.

"Enter," she said, standing before the full-length mirror, adjusting the subtle gold accents on her royal robes. The fabric shimmered faintly under the morning light that streamed in through the crystalline windows.

The doors opened, and her chief retainer, a tall woman with silver hair braided down her back and an emerald eye-patch over her right eye, stepped in. "Your Majesty, it is time. The Emperor awaits."

Behind her, the rest of Emma's entourage filed in with disciplined grace. There was Kael, her personal guard and swordmaster, dressed in black scaled armor that pulsed with runes; Lyssandra, the High Seer of her court, her third eye open and glowing faintly on her forehead; and two silent scouts from the Moonveil Division, cloaked in shadow even under direct sunlight and her Right Fang, her Father, Lupine Duskhaven, smiling assuringly at her.

Emma took a breath and turned to face them. "Let's not keep him waiting."

She stepped forward, her heeled boots clicking against the polished stone floor. Her entourage fell in line behind her, silent and composed. The long corridor outside her chambers was lined with banners of the imperial sigil and flanked by Anbordian Sentinels—each one radiating quiet menace and awe-inspiring power. Their armor bore no emblem, only the mark of the Empire.

As they moved through the palace, nobles and emissaries watched her procession pass. Some bowed, others whispered—recognizing her not just as the new ruler of a developing kingdom, but as someone deemed worthy of a direct audience with the Emperor himself.

With every step closer to the throne room, Emma felt the pressure mount. It wasn't fear—no, it was anticipation. The weight of history was thick in the air.

Today, she would not only stand before the Emperor—she would forge her kingdom's path in the shadow of his power.

The massive doors of the throne room loomed ahead. Two Anbordian guards stepped forward, crossing their halberds in ritual salute.

Emma came to a stop. Her retainer looked to her for the signal.

She gave a single nod.

The doors began to open.

The great obsidian doors groaned open, casting slanted shadows across the polished marble floor of the throne room. Light from the sunstone chandeliers overhead bathed the chamber in a warm, golden hue, catching on the gilded veins that ran like rivers through the dark stone walls.

A hush fell over the gathered assembly—nobles, generals, foreign dignitaries, and members of the Imperial Council—all standing on either side of the central carpet, a deep crimson path that led directly to the base of the Emperor's throne.

Then came the voice.

It rang out like a clear bell, deep and resonant, trained through years of ceremonial practice.

"Her Grace, Sovereign Emissary of the Northern Reach, Queen of Fenrir, Heir of the First Wolf, Fenrir—Queen Emma Fenrir Duskhaven of Fenrir!"

The name echoed through the throne room, weighty and deliberate.

Emma stepped into the chamber, posture regal, head held high. Her robes flowed around her like liquid dusk, trimmed with sun-gold threading that caught the chandelier's light. Behind her, her entourage followed in perfect formation, a silent wall of loyalty and power.

All eyes were on her.

Yet Emma's own gaze never wavered from the throne ahead—colossal, carved from living crystal and ancient blackroot, where the Emperor of Anbord sat in silence.

He was still.

Watching.

Waiting.

Each step Emma took sounded like a heartbeat against the vastness of the chamber. The moment felt suspended in time, history congealing around her as the weight of destiny and diplomacy settled across her shoulders like a second cloak.

At last, she came to a halt just before the first step of the dais.

And bowed—deeply, but not submissively.

She was a Queen, not a subject.

"My Emperor," she said, her voice calm, clear, and strong."I come bearing the will of my people, and the honor of my Kingdom."

A pause. The throne room held its breath.

The Emperor finally stirred. His voice, when it came, was deep as a storm and calm as the void.

"Then rise, Queen Emma of Fenrir," he said.

"Let us see what winds you bring to my Empire."