EMPEROR LUCAS

CHAPTER FIVE FATE

Aria's pov

As he carried me, I could feel myself slowly relaxing into his warmth. There was something calming in the rhythm of his steps — steady, unhurried. My body still ached, but the comfort of his back reminded me of gentler days.

My father used to carry me like this. Whenever he found out I was being dragged to the stakes, beaten for being "cursed," he would come for me. Lift me up with trembling hands, whisper soft, brave words into my ear.

"You're not cursed, my little star," he would say. "You're a blessing — my greatest treasure."

Laila would echo his words, brushing my hair while telling me how beautiful my violet eyes were, how rare… how powerful. I clung to those memories, even now.

I was lost in that warmth until he gently lowered me to what felt like a soft bed or cushion.

“Thank you,” I murmured, unsure if he could hear the tremble in my voice. Maybe we’d reached his home… wherever that was.

I waited. Normally, by now, I would see something — a vision. A flash of the past or future. But… there was nothing. Just darkness. It was the first time I felt truly blind. I tried concentrating, searching within myself for any flicker — but silence met me.

Then a scent drifted in — warm, inviting… *vanilla*. It teased my nose and made my stomach turn in hunger. He was cooking. The sound of soft movements and the faint clink of utensils filled the space.

When he returned, the smell of vanilla clung to him like a second skin. How can someone smell so good? I wondered. He gently fed me, one spoon at a time. I ate slowly, savoring the warmth, grateful… but confused.

“Who are you?” I asked softly, curiosity spilling into my tone.

“You don’t need to know,” he replied.

Cold. Distant. His voice pierced the warmth like a blade. My heart sank.

“Let me see your wounds,” he said.

I hesitated as his fingers brushed the hem of my dress. Then he froze. His breath caught. I couldn’t see his face — but something shifted in the air.

He must’ve seen it.

The *Emperor’s slave mark* — the cursed brand on my skin.

Suddenly, the air felt heavy with anger. He didn’t speak. But I felt it — hatred. Strong. Deep. My skin crawled.

“Are you… okay?” I asked carefully.

No answer. He only resumed treating my wounds, this time without the same gentle rhythm. His touch was careful, but colder.

Then, without warning, he took my hand and began leading me again. The floor felt different under my bare feet — rougher, charged. Where was he taking me? This place… pulsed with power.

Finally, he stopped.

“You should go back,” he said quietly.

His words shattered me.

“No…” I choked. “Please… don’t send me back there. Please—” I was sobbing now, raw and desperate. “I’ll do anything. Just… don’t send me back.”

Silence. Then — I felt it.

Cool metal wrapped around my neck.

“What are you—?” I barely got the words out before he whispered something in a language I didn’t understand.

“*Volver a donde viniste.*”

The world twisted around me. Heat. Light. Cold.

And then — *darkness.*

I collapsed on the cold, stone floor of the Crescent Palace. The air here was different — thicker, crueler.

“No… not again,” I whispered. “Why… why did you help me, only to send me back?”

I touched my neck — the metal was gone. But something still burned where the mark had been. What had he seen? What had he felt?

The visions — they were gone. Not just dim… completely gone.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, a wave of sickness hit me.

Someone was watching me.

A chill crept down my spine. I could feel eyes — cold, sharp, ancient.

I doubled over and suddenly *vomited*. Thick, strange… unfamiliar.

Panic rose in my chest.

What… was happening to me?

*Angel Realm

The sky above the realm shimmered like liquid crystal, its light dimmed by unrest. Inside the Circle of Threads — the divine chamber where destinies were woven — tension hung thick.

Goddess Elara, her silver robes trailing like mist, stood frozen before the Loom of Fates. Her voice trembled as she turned to the others.

*“What is happening?”* she asked, alarmed. “This isn’t… it’s not part of her fate.”

Queen Mantis stood at the center of the circle, her presence as steady as the roots of the universe itself. Her many-colored wings shimmered with unease.

*“She wasn’t supposed to reach the Garden yet,”* Mantis said slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing threads. *“And certainly not him. That meeting… it’s too soon.”*

The emotional goddess, Eirene, gasped, clutching her chest.

*“Then she wasn’t meant to fall into the pit?”* Her voice cracked. “She wasn’t meant to be hurt like this…”

“No,” Mantis replied with a rare flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “And she was not meant to meet *that* man. Not yet.”

Across the chamber, Goddess muna — the impulsive one — crossed her arms tightly, her fiery aura flaring.

*“This is why we shouldn’t let fate unfold so rigidly!”* she snapped. “So what if she met him early? Maybe it’s time fate got rewritten!”

Elara shot her a sharp look.

*“Rewritten? Do you understand what’s at stake?”*

*“They’re *living*, Elara. Not threads.”* Muna argued. “Maybe they’re meant to break the script!”

A quiet voice cut through the rising voices.

*“Enough,”* Queen Mantis said, though her tone lacked its usual authority. She stared long and hard at the threads — golden, silver, and one… blackening. The thread that belonged to Aria.

*“Fate has been tampered with,”* she said at last. *“What was written has already changed.”*

Silence rippled through the chamber like thunder.

The rebel goddess, Nysa, scoffed quietly from the shadows.

*“And yet, none of us are surprised. We’ve all felt the shift… Haven’t we?”*

Elara’s eyes glistened.

*“If the change leads to her ruin… or his… can we stop it?”*

Mantis didn’t answer. Instead, she turned toward the Loom, watching Aria’s thread tremble violently beside the Emperor’s — once distant, now drawing closer.

She finally whispered:

*“All we can do now… is wait and see what unfolds.”*