Sleeping Lion

Diana sat in her office, her fingers tapping lightly against the wooden desk. The air was heavy with the scent of parchment, ink, and the faint remnants of candle smoke from the night before.

The room was dimly lit, save for the glow of a lantern beside her and the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains.

Across from her stood Yulian, one of Lucius's most trusted subordinates. His sharp eyes held a quiet, calculating glint as he waited for her orders.

"The missing children in the slums," Diana murmured, eyes scanning the reports before her. "Any new leads?"

Yulian shook his head. "Not yet, Your Majesty. They disappear without a trace, and the guards stationed in the area either turn a blind eye or are too frightened to investigate further."

Diana exhaled slowly. She remembered this incident well.

Two years from now, the capital would be drenched in blood.

The Cult of Ruther, worshippers of the Demon God, had been gathering human hearts as an offering, preparing for a massive summoning ritual. That day had been nothing short of a nightmare.

Half the capital had been destroyed.

The entire southern district had been wiped from existence.

The streets ran red, bodies piled atop one another, the sky itself split apart by a monstrous presence that defied all logic.

Diana's grip on the documents tightened.

In her past life, she had been blind.

While the cult operated in the shadows, she had wasted her days clinging to the Emperor, obsessed with maintaining her position, completely ignorant of what was happening right under her nose.

And then—

She had made the worst decision of her life.

She had sent her own brother to investigate the cult.

She had sent Raizel Hinsdale, the Grand Duke, her proud and stubborn older brother, on a mission that had been nothing short of a suicide attempt.

And he had died.

Diana closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her temples.

She could still hear his voice, calm and firm, telling her not to worry.

She could still see his back as he rode off into the distance, his silver hair gleaming under the morning sun.

She had never seen him again.

When his remains were returned, what was left of him barely filled a small coffin.

Diana let out a breath, pushing the memory away.

Not this time.

She would not let history repeat itself.

"You need to find them," she said, her voice steady. "The children. As many as you can. If possible, find out where they are being taken."

Yulian nodded. "Understood. What should I do if I find members of the cult?"

Diana's golden eyes were cold. "Capture them if possible. Kill them if necessary."

There was no hesitation in her words.

She had learned the hard way that mercy had no place in dealing with these people.

Yulian accepted the order without question and disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone once more.

Diana leaned back in her chair, exhaling.

She had spent all night going through records, trying to remember where the summoning ritual had taken place.

Everything had been chaotic back then.

The information had been scattered, confused, buried under panic and despair.

But she would not allow herself to be helpless again.

Her gaze drifted to a small, delicate glass vial sitting on her desk.

A blue cure potion.

Diana reached for it, turning it in her fingers as she stared at the shimmering liquid inside.

It was time to meet someone.

Someone who could give her real authority.

Someone who could make her position as Empress more than just a title.

The former Emperor.

He had been a powerful swordmaster once, a man who had ruled Verdeca with strength and wisdom.

But now, he was a shadow of his former self.

Bedridden. Poisoned. Slowly wasting away.

Cassian's mother—Catherine, the former Empress—had made sure of that.

She had stripped him of everything. His strength. His will to live. His very reason for existing.

But Diana needed him.

Not for sentiment. Not for justice.

But because she knew—if she wanted to fight against the cult, against the inevitable disaster looming in the future—she needed power.

And the former Emperor, despite his pitiful state, still had influence.

She would just have to convince him to use it.

Diana stood, tucking the potion into the folds of her coat.

It was time to wake up a sleeping lion.

*****

Diana walked through the desolate halls of the former Emperor's manor, her fitted knight's attire rustling faintly with each step. A sword hung at her waist, its presence more than just decoration—it was a statement. Her steps were soft, calculated, yet carried a weight that could not be ignored.

The once-grand residence, meant to house a ruler, now stood hollow and lifeless. Curtains hung loosely, faded with time, and dust settled in the corners where no one bothered to clean. Servants moved like ghosts, hesitant and slow, their eyes lacking the warmth of a home.

It was pathetic.

Diana approached the entrance of the former Emperor's chamber, only to be stopped by a knight stationed at the door. He hesitated, unwilling to let her through. She ignored him and continued forward, her presence alone enough to make him falter. Maids and attendants whispered as she passed, but none dared to stop her.

Then, she saw him.

Demitry.

Once the closest aide to the former Emperor, Demitry was a man of unwavering loyalty. She recognized him from childhood, during the rare moments when Cassian would visit her under the guise of political obligations. Back then, Demitry had been a commanding figure, sharp-eyed and ever-watchful.

Now, he was wary.

"You're not welcome here, Empress." His voice was firm, but there was no outright hostility—only caution.

Diana met his gaze and simply placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light pat. "Relax, Demitry. I didn't come here on Catherine's orders."

She walked past him before he could respond, pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the former Emperor's chamber.

The moment she stepped inside, the scent of medicine and decay hit her. It was enough to make most people nauseous, but Diana had long grown used to such things.

And there, by the window, sat Allen Sirius Verdeca.

The once-mighty ruler, the man who had shaped an empire, was now just a ghost of his former self.

His black hair had lost its luster, strands of silver now woven through it. His crimson-red eyes, once sharp and commanding, were distant, unfocused, as if staring at something far beyond the horizon. His posture was slouched, his head leaning against the window frame, his body thin from years of neglect.

This was the fate of a forgotten emperor.

Diana took a breath before speaking. "Allen Sirius Verdeca."

There was no reaction.

She stepped further in, her boots clicking against the wooden floor, before she took a seat across from him on the old couch.

Then, she smiled. Not the cold, distant smile she had mastered over the years, but a softer one—one that carried understanding.

"Do you want revenge?"

For the first time in what must have been years, the former Emperor's eyes shifted.

Slowly, he turned to look at her.

At first, there was nothing—just quiet observation, as if trying to determine if she were real or just another illusion created by his fading mind. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he blinked.

And smiled.

A tired, almost nostalgic smile.

"…Diana." His voice was hoarse from disuse, but he still recognized her. "You've grown."

Diana exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "I should hope so."

Allen studied her for a long time before finally speaking again. "You've changed."

"You're not the only one," she replied.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Then, his gaze dropped to the small vial she had placed on the table between them. The blue liquid inside shimmered faintly in the dim light.

"I assume that's for me?"

Diana nodded. "A cure. I need you alive."

Allen didn't reach for it. Instead, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I have no interest in revenge, Diana. If I did, I would have acted long ago."

Diana expected that answer. "Then why are you still alive?"

The room fell into silence.

Allen exhaled, long and slow. "Perhaps it's guilt."

Diana narrowed her eyes.

He continued, his voice softer now. "I was given a choice… and I made the wrong one."

Catherine. Miraila.

Cassian's mother, his Empress. Miraila, his beloved.

He had chosen Catherine.

And Miraila had paid the price.

"…I cannot undo the past," he murmured.

Diana tilted her head slightly. "Then let me tell you a story."

Allen blinked, turning back to her.

Demitry and the servants in the room hesitated, unsure whether to stay or leave. Diana gave them a look. "Out."

They obeyed, closing the doors behind them.

And then, Diana spoke.

She told him everything.

Her past life—her foolishness, her jealousy, her tormenting her own son out of pride.

The first calamity, the cult, the fall of the southern district, her brother's death—how she had sent Raizel to die without even knowing it.

Her trial for treason, her exile, how she had died on the frontlines, only to be reborn.

And then, she spoke of Theodore Verdeca.

Allen's youngest brother. The runaway prince. Cassian's brilliant uncle, a man who had once stood above even the greatest minds of the empire—the man who had become her master.

She spoke of becoming a demi-god.

She spoke of the war with the Holy Empire.

She spoke of winning—only to lose Lucien before she could ever return home.

She spoke of receiving news of his death in the middle of a battlefield, unable to even attend his funeral.

She spoke of betrayal.

And lastly, she spoke of the contract to turn back time—the price she paid, the deal she made.

By the time she finished, there was silence.

Diana let out a breath and leaned back, closing her eyes briefly. "…No way you believe me."

She had failed.

Of course, she had.

Why would anyone believe something so absurd?

She sighed, rubbing her temple. "Forget it, I—"

A sudden warmth enveloped her.

She froze.

Skinny, trembling arms wrapped around her shoulders, and a hoarse whisper filled the air.

"…I'm sorry."

Diana didn't move.

She felt wetness against her shoulder.

Allen was crying.

"For Cassian," he whispered, voice shaking. "For everything."

She didn't know how to respond.

The forgotten emperor—a man beaten down by time and regret, was now holding her like a father clinging to the only child he had left.

For the first time since she had entered this room, Diana cracked.

Just a little.

She swallowed thickly. "Fa...Father…"

The man pulled back slightly, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Then, he reached for the vial.

And drank it.

Diana exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders.

Allen placed the empty glass on the table and met her eyes.

"…Tell me everything," he said, his voice steadier than before. "About the calamities. About what we need to do."

Diana's lips curled into the smallest smile.

"…Alright."

After all, he couldn't die just yet.

Not when his daughter-in-law was suffering.

And not when he still had a debt to repay to his best friend—the Late Grand Duke Hinsdale.