Iliran’s expression softened, and guilt and worry replaced his previous anger. When Astia extended the box toward him, he hesitated for a moment but then gently took it. His voice was barely a whisper as he said, “Thank you… this means a lot to me.”

Those simple words were enough for him. A warm smile spread across Astia's face, and her previous disappointment melted away. 

Before the moment could linger, Ryan’s firm voice rang out: “Astia, it’s time. Get ready.”

Astia lowered her head respectfully and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As she left the hall, she could feel Ryan's watchful gaze following her until she was out of sight. Only Arin, Iliran, and Ryan remained, and the tension in the room was still thick.

Ryan approached Iliran purposefully, his expression serious and unyielding. When he stood in front of his son, his presence was both authoritative and heavy. Anticipating a reprimand, Iliran bowed his head in silence. A weight of shame settled over him, but it was too late to make amends for the harm he had caused.

“Father... I...” Iliran's words trembled, barely escaping his lips.

“Didn’t you promise to treat her like your sister?” Ryan's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife, precise and cold.

“Yes, I did,” Iliran admitted with a hollow tone.

“Then why did you unleash your anger on her?”

“I don’t know…” Iliran whispered, unable to meet his father’s piercing gaze.

Ryan’s eyes were locked on him in silence. “After the ceremony, you will apologize. You will make amends. I will not tolerate discord in this family. From now on, she is your sister. You will treat her as such.”

“I understand, Father… I’m sorry,” Iliran said, the weight of guilt cracking his voice.

“Don’t apologize to me,” Ryan commanded. “Apologize to that child.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now take her gift to your room personally and ensure its safety. The ceremony is about to start, and I will not be embarrassed any further.” 

“Yes, Father,” Iliran replied, his words firm but filled with regret. 

Ryan turned and walked away, leaving Iliran alone. He took a deep breath, the black box in his hands feeling unbearably heavy. In his mind, the image of Astia’s disappointed face lingered like a shadow, her eyes filled with the pain he had caused.

From the corner of the room, Arin approached gently and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’ll make it right.”

Iliran didn’t respond. His silence spoke louder than any words.

---

The grand hall reflected a splendor that could only be described as otherworldly. Above, golden chandeliers hung embellished with thousands of crystal droplets, casting vibrant rainbows across the painted ceiling. The gentle strains of classical music floated through the air, weaving a delicate thread into the fabric of the ceremony.

Rich red velvet curtains framed the golden walls, adorned with intricate bas-reliefs depicting tales of ancient glory. Below them, polished marble floors reflected light like rippling water, adding to the illusion of opulence.

Guests glided gracefully through the room, their appearance as beautiful as their demeanor. Women clad in silk and satin dresses, adorned with cascading pearls and decorative lace, seemed to float in the air. Men in formal evening attire, sporting white ties and polished medals, moved confidently among them. Every movement, every smile, radiated a timeless elegance and grandeur.

Above the crowd, Ryan CarniLimos, the Emperor, sat upon his elevated golden throne. His crown sparkled under the light of the chandelier, a symbol of unyielding power. The grand golden doors swung open once more, and a wave of excitement swept through the room, drawing all eyes toward the entrance.

In a blinding light, the Emperor's adopted daughter—the new princess of the sky—entered.

Astia moved with a graceful calm, a girl just six years old, yet she radiated an elegance beyond her age. Her soft, chocolate-brown hair cascaded in gentle waves over her shoulders, catching the light like molten gold. Her large, expressive eyes mirrored the same warm hue, reflecting an innocence and purity that stood in stark contrast to the glittering surroundings.

Her gown was a masterpiece. Made from beautiful snow-white silk, it shimmered with every movement. Golden and silver embroidery wove patterns of celestial beauty into the fabric, while small pearls and sewn petals in the expansive skirt transformed her steps into a mesmerizing dance.

All eyes were drawn to the little princess, and a reverent silence fell over the hall, as if time itself had come to a standstill.

Astia entered the grand hall with slow, deliberate steps. Her small, delicate figure illuminated by the golden glow of the overhead chandeliers. In that special moment, it seemed as though the very flow of time had halted. All eyes were fixed on her, and the once vibrant buzz of the hall faded into a profound silence. Her wavy, chocolate-brown hair shimmered like a sacred halo under the bright light, and every movement seemed to turn her flowing locks into ribbons of warm gold.

The hall was enchanted. A sense of innocence emanated from her—a purity that was highlighted by her gentle, childlike smile. Although this ceremony was designed to celebrate the birthday of the crowned prince, it was Astia’s presence that captured the hearts and attention of the gathered nobility. Even the centerpiece of the evening, young Iliran, seemed to fade into the background, as the young princess claimed her modest place amid the royal grandeur.

Yet not all gazes were admiring. Beyond the gentle, appreciative looks, there were others—colder and harsher. A few nobles, with faces eerily reminiscent of carved saints, regarded her with an unsettling, almost trembling apprehension. Something about this girl deeply unsettled them, something intangible that stirred up fear and doubt within their souls. Their whispers were quiet, barely audible, but the soft scratch of crossed fingers and murmured prayers suggested an unspoken anxiety lingering in the air.

---

Each step Astia took forward was an intentional battle; her fragile composure strained against the heavy burden of watchful gazes. Her chest tightened with every breath, as the weight of scrutiny pressed down on her. As she approached Ryan’s golden throne, she steeled her resolve.

When she reached the steps leading to Ryan’s throne, she paused for a moment to take a deep, calming breath. Then, gathering all the grace that her young body could muster, she bowed deeply; a move both beautiful and intentional. This bow, though small in gesture, carried the weight of her desire to stand not just as a child, but as his daughter.

The soft rustle of her dress sounded louder than it should have in the silence of the hall. When she stood back up, she lifted her gaze just in time to see Ryan rise from his throne. The hall, if it hadn’t been already, became utterly silent. Even the faintest whispers dissipated, as if the majesty of his presence demanded complete submission.

Ryan CarniLimos embodied undeniable authority. Every inch of his posture radiated power—his tall figure robed in royal golden attire, his keen gaze sweeping over the crowd with the cold precision of a hawk. As he took a step forward, his voice, deep and resonant, filled the corners of the hall, leaving no room for doubt or challenge.

“Listen closely, all of you!” Ryan’s words, though few, carried the weight of absolute command. Heads turned toward him in a united show of respect, their eyes filled with a blend of awe and fear. “From this day forth, this girl will be known as Astia CarniLimos. She is my daughter and the princess of the Angelic Empire. From this moment on, you will accept her as a member of the royal family.”

Ryan's tone left no room for dissent. Each syllable struck like a sword carving out her place in the empire with undeniable force, as if he were chiseling through stone. One by one, the nobles turned their gazes back to Astia, this time filled with curiosity, respect, and cautious admiration.

In that moment, Astia fully grasped the magnitude of Ryan's declaration. These words were not just a confirmation of her title—they were a shield. Now, a wall of authority surrounded her, an invulnerable barrier against anyone who dared question her standing. Any judgment or distrust that remained in their hearts could no longer be openly expressed; for Ryan had spoken, and his word was law.

---

The ceremony continued, lavish and grand as expected, but an unusual and heavy silence lingered. Astia moved through the crowd with the same grace her young body could manage, her exquisite gown sparkling like starlight with every step. Yet, despite this splendor, a suffocating tension weighed down upon her. The nobility’s gazes relentlessly followed her—some warm and welcoming, others cool and calculating.

Her heart pounded fiercely, and her mind frantically searched for an escape—a small corner, a brief moment to break free from the weight of those eyes. Then, across the room, she spotted them: Arin and Iliran.

The two were standing among a group of noble children, appearing relaxed and at ease. Their soft laughter floated gently above the remaining silence in the hall. The carefree antics of Arin and Iliran, along with Iliran’s rare, gentle smile, brought a spark of light to Astia’s heart. A small, genuine smile crept onto her lips, and she stepped forward eagerly, longing to join their circle of comfort.

But the world around her shifted abruptly.

The brilliant light of the chandeliers dimmed, and shadows began to twist and swirl at the edges of her vision. The air felt heavy and suffocating, and the grandeur of the hall morphed into something unreal, almost nightmarish. Astia froze in the midst of her strides; her body shivered as if an unexplainable force enveloped her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately wishing this sensation would pass. When she opened them again, the hall appeared unchanged, but something felt deeply, unavoidably wrong. Her legs moved forward without her consent, slow and unnatural, guiding her toward the noble children.