Moscow, Grand Empire of Russia — Hours after the Inauguration
The throne room of the Ivanovich family had settled into a quieter kind of grandeur now that the ceremony was over — the roar of the crowds outside still audible through the stone walls, but distant, like thunder that had already passed.
Emperor Aleksander sat in the high throne with the ease of someone who had always been going to end up there. One fist rested against his left cheek, elbow propped on the armrest. His other hand held the Holy Grail — one of the three sacred Ethereal Instruments of the Ivanovich family, passed down since their founder — and he drank slowly from it, the blessed water within it resolving his hunger and thirst as it always did, quietly and completely.
Flanking the throne, unheld and unhurried, floated the other two Instruments: the Sword of Light, Zadkiel, and the Heavenly Lance, Seraphel — his personal favorite since he was old enough to have preferences. Both weapons drifted in a slow orbit beside him, radiating a low, steady divine energy that purified the air of the entire room without effort or ceremony.
"You look incredible up there, Big Brother," Xavier said, looking up at him with the open, unconcealed admiration that only younger siblings manage without embarrassment. "Grandpa's crown really suits you."
"Couldn't agree more," Violet said. "You look considerably more impressive than usual. More... kingly." A beat. "Which is saying something, since you always looked like you were about to declare something even when you were just standing in a hallway."
"Wouldn't you say so, Teslaine?"
Teslaine, who had been quietly absorbed in admiring the banquet spread across the long tables, startled and turned. "Y-yes," she said, flushing slightly. "Though I think what I mean to say is — the position suits you, Brother Aleksander. You've always carried this quality of... unspoken authority. Even when we first met. It only makes sense that people would look at you now, sitting where you're sitting, and feel it even more strongly."
Aleksander looked at the three of them — at Xavier's earnestness, at Violet's backhanded compliment delivered with complete sincerity, at Teslaine's flustered attempt at eloquence — and laughed. A genuine one, the kind that caught even him off guard a little.
"You three have a remarkable talent for making me lose my composure at exactly the wrong moments," he said. Then, more softly: "Thank you. All of you."
He let his gaze move across the room — to Graviil, to Anastasia, to Victoria. "I'm glad you're all proud of me. You especially, Grandfather. Though you've been quiet for a while now, which isn't like you. Is everything alright?"
Graviil — who was now, from this day forward, the retired Emperor of Russia, a fact he seemed to be sitting with in his own private way — said nothing for a moment. There was a smile on his face that he hadn't quite put there consciously, the kind that appears on its own when a feeling is too large for any particular expression. Pure pride. The kind that has no comparison point because nothing else has ever come close to producing it.
"Don't worry about me, Alek," he said at last. "I'm only admiring my heir." He shifted, with the unhurried manner of a man who had decided, finally, to stop carrying certain weights. "The only thing left for me now is to retire from this place — to find some quiet corner of the world and live out my remaining years alongside my dear Anastasia."
"But before that day comes — before my light finally ascends to the world above — there are things I wish to see." His eyes moved across the room, touching each of them in turn. "I wish to see Teslaine become the greatest inventor and scientist this world and universe will ever know. I wish to see Violet achieve her dream — to become a healer for those who cannot be healed by ordinary means, and the next leading saint of the Church of the Great Light. One who will bring great honor to the Highest Will's name."
He turned, then, to Xavier. Found those dark crimson eyes and held them.
"And I wish to see my grandson become not only a knight and the Commanding General of the Great Army of Russia — but the next hero. The one who will save not just this world, but the universe we all live in." A pause. "He is the Chosen Hero of Excalibur. The Legendary Blade of Salvation. One of the New Seven Great Heroes of our era."
The room had gone still. Not uncomfortably — the kind of stillness that arrives when something true and important has been said aloud and everyone present needs a moment to receive it. Each of them felt, without needing to articulate it, the weight of the love behind those words. Unconditional. Equal. Radiating from the old man like warmth from something that had been burning steadily for a very long time.
Aleksander was quiet for a moment. Then: "Then we will not merely meet your expectations, Grandfather. We will surpass them. You have my word."
Graviil chuckled — the low, satisfied sound of a man who believes what he's just been told. "I'm counting on you, Your Majesty," he said, and bowed his head.
— ✦ —
The banquet that followed was the kind that spills out of its container. Within the palace walls, guests drank and feasted and moved through the grand rooms in varying states of splendor. Outside, the city of Moscow carried on the celebration in its own fashion — noisier, freer, less formal but no less genuine. The entire kingdom of Russia had taken the crowning as an occasion, and they were not letting it pass quietly.
Back in the throne room, the gathering was a notable one. Maids and butlers moved swiftly between tables laden with food and drink, attending to a guest list that included not just the Russian nobility but envoys and high-ranking officials from nations across the world. Mountains of gifts had been arranged near the throne — rare objects, weapons of exceptional grade, relics from distant courts, all offered in honor of the newly crowned Emperor.
Among the most distinguished guests were the envoys of the Four Great Families of Humanity — the Flashstride family, the House of Lee, and the House of Yamato — alongside delegations from the Great Kingdom of China, the Imperial Empire of France, the Great Southern United Empire, the Imperial Northern Empire, the United Kingdom of America, and, notably, the Imperial Empire of Great Britain.
The British envoy was led by Princess Aurora Pendragon, first heir to the throne, accompanied by Grand Duke Caelen Durandal. Both figures moved with the composed authority of people long accustomed to representing something larger than themselves. They approached the throne together and lowered their heads in reverence.
"It is a privilege to witness your inauguration, Your Majesty," Princess Aurora said. "On behalf of my kingdom and the royal Pendragon family, we present to you today many treasures — chief among them, three Eternacite crystals from our royal reserves. The rarest of all Ethereal Crystals known to exist in this world." She dipped her head again, Caelen following in seamless unison. "We hope this gift is worthy of the occasion."
Aleksander inclined his head, signaling his knights to receive the gifts. "I am genuinely moved by your family's generosity," he said. "The Eternacite alone is a gift I will not soon forget. I give you my word that everything your family has shown mine today will be repaid — and then some."
"We look forward to it," Aurora replied, with a warm and genuine smile.
Next came the envoys of the Imperial Kingdom of Korea — Princess Jasmine Jin-ah Lee of the House of Lee, accompanied by Lee Yunseong, the Empress's right-hand secretary. The two bowed together.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," Jasmine began. "The Great House of Lee presents our family's richest relics and gifts in honor of your inauguration. On behalf of my kingdom, we wish you a graceful and successful reign — and we hope that the bond between our two families will only deepen in the era to come, under its new leaders."
She concluded with another bow, dignified and warm in equal measure.
As the gifts were received, Aleksander thanked her sincerely — and then, with a faint but genuine smile: "I look forward to seeing you ascend to the throne yourself, Princess Jasmine. It won't be long now, I imagine. You're the same age as Violet, yet you've grown considerably since the last time I saw you."
He paused. "Please continue to be the greatest friend my troublesome little sister has ever had. You mean the world to her."
Jasmine's composure flickered — just slightly, a warmth rising in her cheeks that she did not entirely manage to suppress. "I will, Your Majesty," she said quietly.
— ✦ —
Then came the last two.
Prince Ragnar Flashstride, heir to the throne of Norway and the House of Flashstride. Princess Erika Yamato, heir to the throne of Japan and the House of Yamato. Both members of the Four Great Families of Humanity. Both standing at the front of the throne without bowing, without saying a word—only gifts being presented.
The silence they created was immediate and total.
Ragnar stood with that particular ease of his — the charm that radiated off him without effort, dark navy hair falling across his brow, the Flashstride family's signature birthmark visible on his left hand: a bolt of lightning, clean and unmistakable. Erika stood beside him in precise contrast — short crimson-rose hair, posture like a drawn blade, authority that she wore as naturally as breathing. Together, they pulled the attention of every person in the room without appearing to try.
Murmurs began filtering through the crowd.
"The envoys aren't bowing—"
"To the newly crowned Emperor. With whom their families have deep political ties. This is completely unheard of—"
Emperor Aleksander watched them from the throne. His expression didn't shift, but something in the set of his shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly, in the way it only did around people he actually knew. He tilted his head slightly. "Come now. You could at least pretend to show some appreciation for your friend's inauguration."
Ragnar's usual boisterous energy was present but leashed — present in the brightness of his eyes and the set of his jaw, rather than the volume of his voice. "Don't misread us, Alek. We are genuinely glad you've taken the throne. That's not the issue."
"The issue," he continued, "is the promise we all made to each other. That we'd ascend to our thrones together. That we'd reach the Monarch stage together. That we'd build this era as equals." His eyes sharpened. "You've reached your black Monarch core stage and taken the throne before either of us could. If I bow to you now, I'm admitting defeat — and I don't plan on doing that."
Erika stepped in before Ragnar could add anything further. "Whatever this idiot said. I agree with the substance of it, if not with his particular way of putting it." Her eyes met Aleksander's with the focused steadiness of someone who has already decided something and is simply announcing it. "We are rivals. You've surpassed me in power — for now. Enjoy the view while it lasts."
For a moment, Aleksander simply looked at them both. His two best friends, standing in front of him at his coronation, refusing to bow — not out of disrespect, but out of the fiercest kind of regard. The kind that says: I refuse to treat you as less than my equal, even when protocol demands it.
He laughed. Openly, genuinely, the kind of laugh that doesn't happen often in public and certainly not on a day like this — which made everyone who heard it feel, strangely, like they were witnessing something private and rare.
"Then treat me exactly as you always have," he said, when the laughter had settled. "I never intended to stay ahead of you for long — I know both of you too well for that. If anything, this makes the next chapter considerably more interesting." He leaned back slightly in the throne, something like anticipation in his expression. "I'll be waiting for you both. Don't take too long."
The look that passed between Ragnar and Erika was brief. But the fire in both their eyes, when they looked back at him, was the same.
"As if we'd ever let you get comfortable," Ragnar said.
"Don't blink," Erika added simply, and turned back to her wine.