Daniel

Daniel sat cross-legged on the floor of the surprisingly equipped Li Family research hall, surrounded by an avalanche of scrolls, books, and flickering crystal projections. The room smelled of old ink and mana—dense, metallic, and dry—like breathing in powdered stone. Glyph arrays pulsed faintly along the walls, echoing the low hum of the lab’s magical infrastructure. Overhead, spirit-scribed projectors drifted slowly, casting fragments of Path Icon footage and translucent text into the air.

The footage was clearly older and clearly degrading. Still, it got the point across. Daniel brushed a brittle page aside with the back of his wrist, sighing. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous.”

The footage from the Imperial archives hadn’t helped. Dozens of public appearances, summit reels, military parades, ceremonial galas. And yet every single one showed the same thing: a woman veiled in imperial silk, her voice filtered through illusion arrays, her face perpetually obscured by light.

At blessing ceremonies, she stood beneath enchanted lanterns. In recorded debates, she was shrouded in golden mist. Even in archival portraits, her features were hidden by carefully arranged fans, veils, or tricks of shadow.

“She’s like a ghost with a wardrobe budget,” Daniel muttered. “How does a woman this famous leave so little behind?”

Ethan remained quiet, brooding in the back of his mind. Daniel could feel the tension—pressure collecting behind his temples like a storm on the horizon.

They’d torn through everything: academic journals, royal court rosters, gossip transcripts, merchant logs, even cross-referenced private healing records. Dozens of nobles had claimed to have spoken with the Imperial Princess, interacted with and even danced with her at royal balls, but not one could describe her consistently.

Some said she was warm. Others said she never smiled. Brilliant, mysterious, terrifying, kind.

Unbelievably gorgeous—on par with the Four Beauties of the Empire.

One wandering Path Icon called the Princess “light distilled into human form.”

Another dubbed her “a mirror made of questions.”

But none of it added up. There was no clarity—just myth wrapped in precision, sprinkled with misdirection.

The misinformation campaign was almost poetic.

The only universal truth was that no one outside her inner circle had seen her face. Not once. Not in over a decade.

Daniel leaned back against the edge of the central table, arms draped loosely over his knees. “You’d think with all the projection orbs the Empire tosses around, someone would’ve caught a glimpse. Even by accident.”

“She controls the coverage,” Ethan replied. “The light tricks, the filtered voice—every technique used to obscure her image is sanctioned. It’s not vanity. It’s protection. And I think there’s a reason for that.”

Daniel exhaled. “And what is that?”

Ethan considered the question. “I am pretty sure it has to do with her bloodline, which is supposed to be extremely powerful.”

Daniel couldn’t worry about that right now. “So what are we even looking for? A woman we can’t see, who never speaks directly, who might die alongside her brother in a royal tournament we’re not invited to?”

“Basically,”

Ethan said. “Sucks to be the good guy.”

Daniel snorted. “You’re telling me.”

They both went still. Not silent—still. A different kind of pause.

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“Actually…” Ethan’s voice returned, lower now. Sharper. “Now that I think about it… I might know our way in.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow without moving. “Oh, this I’ve gotta hear. If you say anything about trying to sneak me into the castle to act like an exotic dancer or something, I am seriously going to find a way—if it’s the last thing I do—to punch you right in the face.”

“First, I’m glad our friendship is based on threats. Second, that isn’t what I meant. The Imperial Princess,” Ethan said slowly, “is a scholar.”

Daniel blinked. “Yeah, not the piece of prophetic genius you thought it would be.”

“She’s a scholar,” Ethan repeated, ignoring Daniel’s outburst. “A real one. Not some ceremonial figurehead with ghostwriters. She debates. Publishes. Attends closed-door theory summits. She even writes under a pseudonym for the Imperial Guild of Inquiry.”

“You’re telling me the Empire’s favorite enigma is moonlighting as an academic?”

“Pretty much.”

Daniel stared up at the ceiling. “Sophie Virelyn. The Golden Mirror of the Imperial Court. The woman who people say can collapse an argument with a glance. That Sophie?”

“The very same,” Ethan said, and Daniel could hear the grin in his voice. “All the rumors about her looks and temperament are smoke—but what do I know? The princess is witty, sharp, and politically terrifying. She’s also obsessed with deep-structure cultivation theory—especially divine resonance and inheritance stability.”

Daniel scratched the back of his head. “Well… I guess I’m a scholarly guy. Kind of. Sort of. On paper.”

“You’re more than scholarly. You’re the perfect target. She’s surrounded by warriors. Fanboys. Sword jocks trying to flex their way into her inner circle. If rumors from my past life hold any weight, what she actually wants… is someone who sees past the performance.”

Daniel squinted. “Let me guess…”

Ethan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Smart men. You are a smart man. It totally works.”

Daniel groaned. “This is your actual plan?”

“She’s technically engaged,” Ethan said, ignoring him. “Political arrangement. The guy’s name is Dathan. Second son of House Leren. Good bloodline. Great form. Zero depth.”

“And she’s still loyal?”

“Painfully,” Ethan said. “She doesn’t cheat. She doesn’t entertain advances. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Ethan’s tone shifted—quieter, but suddenly more intense. “She has one person she’d burn kingdoms to protect.”

Daniel sat forward. “Who?”

“Elizabeth. Her handmaiden. She’s not just a servant—she’s family. They grew up together.”

“And?”

“And two months from now, Elizabeth gets hit with a mana backlash during a divine threading ritual,” Ethan said. “Sophie’s trying to isolate an unknown divine lineage—something celestial, maybe even corrupted. Elizabeth volunteers to act as the stabilizer. It goes wrong. I know because Claire ended up there as her family deals with exotic medical materials. So I have some firsthand knowledge of this one.”

Daniel frowned. “You say it goes wrong. How wrong exactly?”

“She survives,” Ethan said. “But she can’t walk for six months. Core fragmentation. Meridian collapse. They pull her off palace grounds for emergency treatment. No one outside Sophie’s circle even knows what happened.”

Daniel rubbed his temples. “And you want us to… fix this?”

Ethan was calm now. “Yes.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes. “You remember what caused it?”

“I remember the cause,” Ethan said. “It wasn’t natural. It was a failed spiritual compression cycle. It shredded her inner circulation. I saw the pattern last time—I even tried to help. But I didn’t have access to the resources I needed.”

Daniel shook his head. “Alright. Let’s say I believe you. How do we fix it?”

“You don’t,” Ethan said, voice almost reverent. “I do.”

Daniel snorted. “You’re not exactly in a body.”

“You’ve got my hands,” Ethan said. “My recall. My technique. This actually leads to a discussion I’ve been meaning to have with you. We’re too independent. We have to try to come more together. I’ve been working on trying to bring more of our resonance together—like when we share memories. We’ll synthesize a stabilizer—something that neutralizes the backlash and binds the torn circuits. You deliver it.”

Daniel leaned back again, slower this time. “And if it works…”

“Then the Princess doesn’t just owe us,” Ethan said. “She remembers us.”

A long silence followed.

Not strained. Just loaded.

Daniel saw the shape of the plan now. It wasn’t seduction. It wasn’t political infiltration. It was utility. If they healed the one person Sophie Virelyn couldn’t afford to lose—they didn’t win affection.

They earned trust.

They bought access.

“And if it doesn’t work?” Daniel asked.

“Then we tried,” Ethan replied. “That alone might open a door.”

Daniel stood and paced toward the far wall, where lab glyphs shimmered against the stone.

“Three months,” he said. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“Three months,” Ethan agreed. “To build the Framework, stabilize a medical prototype, and sneak into the life of the most protected woman in the Empire.”

Daniel looked up at the ceiling, took a breath, and exhaled hard.

“I’m going to need better robes.”