CHAPTER 120: CHAPTER 119. THE DAY OF THE UNITED

The capital of the Borgia Empire, Serathis, had never seen a dawn like this one, heavy with anticipation, trembling with change, and bright with the colors of three races that had rarely stood side by side without drawing blades.

Banners of deep crimson and silver, the imperial hues of Borgia, hung from the towers, their edges brushing against newly raised flags bearing the sigils of the two Grand Dukes: the soaring moon-sigil of the Fenclade Grand Duchy and the fire crest of the Erevalis Grand Duchy, the demon race.

By early morning, the roads leading into the capital surged with people. Beastmen from the Fenclade, massive alphas, swift betas, and the softer-stepping omegas, all types: birds, rabbits, tigers, lions, wolves, bison, and more. Their instincts prickling in the crowded space.

The demons from Erevalis arrived in flowing cloaks, their movements precise, their expressions unreadable, their trademark of crimson eyes flicking over every sight as though committing it all to memory. All of them are absolutely gorgeous and attractive beyond belief.

But, once they’re in one place. None of them mingle or talk with each other. Centuries of being enemies with each other—it isn’t easy to become familiarized within a few months. They walked side by side but with careful, strained breaths, as if one wrong glance might ignite old grudges.

Whispers fluttered through the masses like dust in sunlight. "Can we trust each other?"

"Will this empire hold?"

"Will Borgia survive its own unity?"

The palace gates opened slowly, announcing the gathering to begin. Along the grand marble staircase, nobles of both races took their positions. The atmosphere thickened with silence, to the point it could have been sliced by a blade, until the doors of the ceremonial hall swung open.

Roxanne walked out with Vivianne in her arms, eight months pregnant.

Clad in imperial black trimmed with red, her shoulders squared with the unmistakable posture of an alpha who had never bowed in her life, she descended the steps with a calm so sharp it bordered on dangerous. While Vivianne walks next to her with grace, her hand resting on the subtle swell of her eight-month-pregnant belly, the other holds Roxanne’s hand, her white gown flowing around her like soft moonlight.

The beastmen who believe in the protection of spirits quickly bow when she passes them. And in awe, seeing how one omega can be that beautiful.

When Roxanne and Vivianne reached the central platform, Vivianne quickly sat at her empress chair. In her past life, this chair has been her death, a symbol of hell. Now, it’s becoming the symbol of power and loyalty, as the emperor next to her is Roxanne de Borgia.

The two grand dukes approached from the hall behind them. Grand Duke Leonhart de Fenclade, the white lion beastman, walked closer to the front, his presence commanding immediate attention.

Muscles rippled beneath his dazzling white fur. As he approached, the golden armor adorning his form gleamed in the light, intricately designed with ornate patterns that spoke of nobility and valor. Draped in a flowing garment that whispered of luxury, he embodied the perfect balance of regal elegance and raw power.

For them who never truly saw beastmen, seeing Leonhart made their hearts beat fast. Moreover, knowing that the alpha lead is still unmated. The next is Grand Duke Ashkareth de Erevalis, walking side by side with Leonhart, possessed by a demonic figure that’s so attractive it’s almost haunting.

His long, flowing hair framed a face that’s chiseled, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline that hinted at both seduction and menace. Adorned in deep reds and blacks, his attire melded seamlessly with the shadows, enhancing his presence.

As he moved, an air of ominous authority surrounded him, captivating those who dared to meet his piercing crimson gaze. The intricate suit he wore boasted dark, ornate designs, signifying not just style but the battles he had fought, a reminder of his power.

Majestic horns curved from his head, affirming his demonic heritage, while the aura he exuded declared his mastery over chaos and fear. When the beastman brings over raw power, the demons bring over a seduction, beauty.

There’s still the uneasy wall between their peoples that refused to fall. Werewolves eyed the demons with a deep, instinctive distrust, shoulders stiff and ears angled forward in warning, while the beastmen kept a guarded, territorial distance of their own, tails flicking or claws tapping as they assessed the room without a word.

The air grew tight; the atmosphere trembled. Vivianne’s fingers curled gently around Roxanne’s wrist. Roxanne just smiles as she bends down to kiss Vivianne’s hand, "Don’t worry."

Roxanne stepped forward.

She doesn’t need to snarl, nor bare her fangs, nor lift even a single finger. Roxanne simply breathed, slow and deliberate, and released the full, unmasked breadth of her Alpha dominance.

Her power doesn’t spread. It erupted.

A silent shockwave rolled through the grand hall, slamming into the assembled races with the force of a tidal surge made of pure instinct and authority.

The werewolves fell first. Their bodies reacted before their minds could catch up, knees hitting the polished marble with heavy thuds, spines folding in a posture of primal submission. Even the highest-ranking Alphas among them bowed low, throats exposed, unable to resist the command that thundered through every wolf-born vein.

The demons staggered next. Their magic flared in reflex, sparks and embers licking the air as if ready to ignite, but the Dominion crushed that resistance effortlessly. Their breaths hitched; their wings and horns trembled. Though demons didn’t submit easily, they found themselves sinking to one knee, not from instinct but because something overwhelmingly ancient and sovereign demanded acknowledgment.

Even the beastmen, proud and physically unyielding, felt their muscles lock and their hearts stutter. Lion-born warriors, tiger-blooded clansmen, bearfolk veterans, every type—none could remain standing beneath the weight of her presence. They dropped into deep bows, their foreheads nearly touching the floor as the tiles beneath them quivered.

The hall itself responded to her power. Leonhart and Ashkareth bow while chuckling, knowing how their new emperor has just made their own people kneel in one absolute power.

Roxanne’s eyes glowed with a deep, burning crimson.

"We are now one, united under my rule. My empire, the Borgia Empire. I’m your emperor, and this is your luna, Vivianne de Borgia." Her voice rolled like thunder across the hall. "Answer when I, the emperor, address you. Kneel in unity, or kneel in shame. But kneel."

Her dominion pulsed again, shimmering like heat across snow.

Now every gaze locked onto a single figure, one alpha, the true alpha ruler. The tension that had crackled between races only moments earlier dissolved into a single, unified instinct. Their voices rose as one, raw and resonant, echoing across the vaulted hall: "We acknowledge you as our true alpha, Emperor of Borgia. We acknowledge the Luna."

Only then did the inaugural ceremony truly begin.

With the hall finally stilled, Grand Duke Leonhart stepped forward first. The Fenclade bowed with the dignity of his line, pledging to be loyal and the strength of the West continent to the Empire. He would fortify the western borders and shield the throne.

Next came Grand Duke Ashkareth, draped in the quiet, crackling aura of demon-borne power. As he spoke, the air itself shifted. He pledged the wisdom, sorcery, and shadow-born guardianship of Erevalis, binding his territory’s protection to the Empire in a pact older than parchment and deeper than flame.

For the first time in history, three races that had rarely met each other’s eyes without suspicion now bowed together toward the same throne. Werewolves, demons, and beastmen lowered their heads before one alpha and one Luna, their united submission reshaping the very future of the Borgia Empire and the Kaelindor continent.

By nightfall, the grand ballroom shimmered beneath the magnificent chandeliers, each light reflected in gilded mirrors and polished marble until the entire hall seemed to breathe with warm, golden light. Soft orchestral music threaded through the air, steady and elegant.

Werewolves and demons kept a wary distance at first, circling with low, instinctive caution, demons watching with cool, unreadable intensity from behind their dark, jewel-bright eyes. Beastmen shifted uneasily between them, their ears flicking, tails twitching, and bodies attuned to the slightest change in mood.

What had begun the day as bristling tension now softened into hesitant curiosity. No snarls. No flares of magic. No thrum of challenge. Just watching. Testing the edges of something unfamiliar.

A demon noble bowed stiffly to a werewolf matron before asking for a dance. A young beastman and an elderly werewolf compared their regions’ winter hunts. Small, broken attempts at conversation sparked across the floor, fragile but sincere. Others moved in mirrored silence, sharing the space without retreat or hostility.

It’s awkward, of course. It’s because what already happened in centuries can’t be simply erased in a day. Yet nothing tipped toward violence. Nothing shattered.

Something new is taking shape.

Vivianne sat upon her Empress’ chair, a comfortable plush chair, her hand curved lovingly over her swollen belly as she surveyed the room. Her eyes softened with a pride from witnessing the impossible: an empire learning to breathe in harmony. Her unborn child shifted beneath her palm, as if sensing the change in the air.

Roxanne sat beside her, one hand resting on her mate’s hand protectively, the other loosely holding a glass of wine she’d hardly touched. The new emperor’s gaze swept the ballroom, basking in what her power had forged.

Her people, once fractured by fear, now moved cautiously yet willingly beneath the same roof. For the first time since the Empire’s founding, the great hall didn’t feel like a battlefield disguised in finery.

It felt like a promise.

Tonight, the Empire held its breath together, as three races found themselves moving to the same rhythm. And as the music swelled and candles flickered like stars descending to witness the moment, unity no longer seemed a dream whispered by desperate leaders.

It felt inevitable.

Red comes closer, whispering to Roxanne, "Valdemar Rothschild and his mother are here."