Breaking the Multiverse for You

The imperial throne room was a vision of majesty, with its towering columns, glittering chandeliers, and rich tapestries depicting the Empire's storied history. On this particular court day, Nobles, scholars, and military leaders had gathered at the court eager to witness the headmaster's mysterious presentation. The mood was light-hearted much like any other court day.

Magda entered the room, her academy robes plain but her presence commanding. Her crimson eyes swept across the assembly, calm and determined despite the weight of countless stares.

The headmaster presented her with a deep bow. "Your Majesty, this is Magda Featherfield—a prodigy the likes of which the Empire has never seen."

Gasps rippled through the room as Magda stepped forward. Her jet-black hair and crimson eyes mirrored the Emperor's so perfectly that the resemblance was undeniable.

"Impossible," a noble whispered, his voice carrying in the stunned silence.

The Emperor, seated on his ornate throne, descended the steps with deliberate precision. Each movement carried the weight of his authority, but his expression was unreadable. His gaze locked onto Magda, searching her face as though it might answer the questions swirling in his mind.

When he stopped before her, the silence became oppressive. He raised a hand as though to touch her shoulder but let it fall. His crimson eyes glistened, the emotion behind them unmistakable.

The court watched in stunned disbelief as the Emperor turned without a word and ascended back to his throne. He gave the headmaster a single nod, a silent command to investigate her origins. The nobles exchanged whispers, their shock palpable. Not only was Magda a magical prodigy, but she appeared to be a female version of the Emperor himself.

The investigation confirmed what the Emperor had already known in his heart: Magda was his daughter.

In his private chambers, the Emperor read the results in silence. Each report detailed Magda's life in painful clarity—the impoverished Featherfield estate, the neglect she endured, and the strength she had shown in rising above it all.

Steffan's grief and descent into despair had left Magda to shoulder burdens no child should bear. Yet she had thrived, her brilliance and resilience shining through in the harshest of circumstances.

The Emperor's guilt was overwhelming. He had spent sixteen years mourning the Empress, his heart hardened against the world, while his daughter had suffered in silence. The knowledge that his own bitterness had also turned Flora's childhood into a hollow existence deepened his anguish.

But Magda was more than a survivor. Her prodigious talent in magic, her unparalleled mana reserves, and her sharp intellect awed the Emperor. Beyond her abilities, it was the small, unconscious gestures—how she twirled a quill while thinking, the slight tilt of her head when considering a problem—that brought the Empress back to him in vivid clarity.

"She even thinks like you," he thought, watching Magda pour over a magical text in his study.

For the first time in years, the Emperor felt something other than guilt or duty: joy. He marveled at how her mind worked, her innovative approach to problems, and her unrelenting determination. Each moment with her was a reminder of the woman he had loved and the daughter he now cherished.

He officially adopted Flora as his daughter to correct the injustice of her life thus far, ensuring she would remain part of the imperial family. But it was Magda who captivated his heart. Every time she cast a spell or spoke with quiet confidence, he saw in her the brilliance of both her parents.

In Magda, the Emperor found redemption. She had awakened emotions he thought long buried, bringing warmth back to a life that had grown cold. And though he could never undo the years they had lost, he vowed to give her the future she deserved.

In an attempt to help Magda acclimate to the imperial court, the Emperor decided that he would have her debut ball organized on the Summer solstice. Having one's debut ball during the summer solstice was a rare privilege—one typically reserved for heirs or individuals of monumental significance within the Empire. The Emperor, determined to solidify Magda's place in high society and make amends for her past hardships, chose this auspicious day for her grand introduction.

The summer solstice was more than just a seasonal celebration in the Empire; it symbolized unity, prosperity, and the Emperor's unwavering rule. The day was marked by vibrant festivals, military parades, and tributes from vassal states. Hosting Magda's debut on this day was a statement to the court and the empire: she was not merely an addition to the royal family—she was its pride.

Magda's gown reflected this sentiment. It was a masterpiece of crimson silk from the Western Desert vassals, adorned with pearls and intricate embroidery from the Eastern Isles, lined with fur from the 100-year-old fox beast of the Northern Wastelands, and crowned with a tiara crafted by 12 master artisans from the fertile Southern lands. Every element of her attire symbolized the empire's unity and prosperity.

The anticipation in the ballroom was palpable. Nobles and dignitaries from across the empire gathered, their conversations buzzing with curiosity about the Emperor's newly discovered daughter.

As the orchestra began to play, the herald's voice rang through the grand hall. "Her Imperial Highness, Princess Magda, Light of the Empire."

Magda entered the ballroom, her jet-black hair and crimson eyes strikingly reminiscent of the Emperor's. The crowd fell silent, their whispers momentarily hushed.

The Emperor stepped forward, his imposing figure framed by the grandeur of the room. Extending his hand, he gestured for Magda to join him on the dance floor.

Traditionally, the debut dance partner was a favored nobleman—a gesture that symbolized trust and alliance. Dancing with the Emperor, however, was an honor reserved only for two people: the Empress or the heir apparent. By dancing with Magda, he not only elevated her status but declared her importance to the court.

Their first dance began, a waltz that was both elegant and deliberate. The Emperor's presence elevated Magda, and their movements commanded the room's attention.

"She's the spitting image of His Majesty," someone whispered.

"And her mana reserves—unparalleled," a mage in the crowd added.

Magda's steps were careful, her expression composed, but her grip on the Emperor's hand betrayed her nervousness. "Am I performing well, Your Majesty?" she asked softly.

"You are," the Emperor replied firmly. "Hold your head high."

When the dance ended, the applause was polite but muted. The Emperor escorted Magda to her seat, his subtle smile revealing his pride.

The grand doors opened once more, and Flora entered, her golden gown shimmering like sunlight. Her entrance caused hushed whispers as she paused before the Emperor.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice steady but soft, "I must beg your pardon for my delay. On my way here, I found a young child who had lost his parents. I couldn't leave him until they were reunited."

The court buzzed with approval, the nobles enchanted by her kindness.

"Such grace," a noblewoman whispered.

"She truly has the Empress's spirit," another remarked.

The Emperor's expression remained neutral, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Your actions are commendable. Take your place."

As Flora stepped back, Ethan von Shelb approached with practiced ease. His military uniform gleamed with medals, and his presence was commanding. Earlier that day, Ethan had been awarded the Empire's highest military honor for his heroic contributions to a recent campaign.

Bowing to the Emperor, he addressed him with confidence. "Your Majesty, may I have the honor of dedicating my military accolades to Princess Flora?"

The Emperor's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He hesitated for a moment before nodding curtly. "Permission granted."

Ethan then turned to Flora, lowering himself onto one knee. "Princess Flora, may I have this dance?"

A soft gasp rippled through the audience as Flora composed herself and extended her hand. "You may," she said with grace.

Their dance was flawless, the room captivated by their movements. Applause thundered as they spun across the floor, the court's admiration firmly fixed on them.

Seated quietly at her table, Magda watched the court's enthusiasm for Flora. The warmth of the Emperor's earlier dance seemed to fade under the bright spotlight cast on Flora.

As the applause for Flora's performance continued, a pair of young noblewomen approached Magda, their expressions tinged with curiosity.

"Your Highness, that gown is simply exquisite," one said. "May I ask who designed it?"

Magda blinked, her tone polite but curt. "I am not sure. My father arranged it."

The noblewoman exchanged a glance with her companion before trying again. "The fur lining is quite remarkable. Did you choose it yourself?"

Magda shook her head. "No, it was chosen for me."

Her short answers left little room for further conversation. The women lingered for a moment before drifting away, their interest waning. They soon joined the larger crowd surrounding Flora, whose effortless charm and warmth drew them in.

Magda remained seated, her hands resting stiffly in her lap. Despite her etiquette training under the Academy's headmaster, her bluntness and lack of familiarity with courtly politics made her stand out—and not in a favorable way.

Across the room, the Emperor's gaze remained fixed on Magda. His jaw tightened as he observed her isolation, his guilt simmering beneath his stoic exterior.

As the evening progressed, the Emperor's frustration grew. His daughter—his Magda—had been overshadowed on her special day. His hands clenched into fists as his piercing gaze landed on Flora, whose radiant charm and Ethan's gallant display had stolen the attention meant for Magda.

Sensing the Emperor's turmoil, Duke von Shelb approached him with a calm demeanor. "Your Majesty, I understand your feelings," the Duke began, his voice low and steady. "But punishing Flora for a single dance would send the wrong message. You cannot alienate one daughter to favor another."

The Emperor's jaw tightened, but he nodded begrudgingly. "For now," he muttered, his gaze shifting back to Magda.

As the evening wore on, Magda excused herself, retreating to a quieter corner of the palace. The laughter and music from the ballroom echoed faintly behind her.

Back in the ballroom, Flora and Ethan continued their dance, their figures framed by the glow of the chandeliers. The court's attention remained firmly fixed on them, but the Emperor's thoughts were elsewhere.

Deep within, he resolved to ensure that Magda's future would shine so brightly that no shadow could ever dim her light again.

Over the years, Magda grew increasingly withdrawn. Though she wasn't expected to be a social butterfly as the sole daughter of the reigning monarch, the court could not help but compare her to Princess Flora. Flora, under the guidance of Duke von Shelb and Ethan von Shelb, had mastered court etiquette and thrived in noble circles. Her grace and effortless charm made her a darling of high society.

Magda, on the other hand, struggled. Her straightforwardness, born from years of handling her family's affairs with unflinching practicality, came across as blunt and unrefined in the glittering halls of the palace. The fact that her etiquette teacher had been a blunt, high-ranking mage—known for valuing magical prowess over courtly manners—did not help her navigate the labyrinth of fake pleasantries and subtle politics.

"She's nothing like her sister," courtiers whispered. "Flora is a true princess, while Magda is… well, rough around the edges."

The emperor, desperate to ease her transition, showered Magda with lavish gifts: exquisite gowns, rare jewels, enchanted artifacts, and even a personal unit of guard mages. While Magda accepted the gifts with quiet grace, she returned the guard unit, keeping only one female mage she trusted.

This selective rejection didn't win her any favor. Instead, it fueled malicious rumors. "She's greedy," the nobles gossiped. "A wasteful, uncultured country girl posing as a princess."

Magda's graduation from the Academy for Special Talents at the age of eighteen was a moment of pride for the emperor. She had earned accolades as a prodigious mage, her potential unmatched in the empire for over a millennium. However, her reluctance to embrace court life left the emperor torn.

"She deserves peace," he confided in Duke von Shelb one evening. "Someone who won't thrust her into politics or the chaos of court."

The emperor approached the task of finding a groom for Magda with meticulous care. He wanted someone who could provide stability, someone without ambition who wouldn't push Magda into the Race for the Throne or court battles.

Duke von Shelb suggested his youngest son, Micheal. "He's idle, uninterested in power, and has no expectations placed on him by the family," the duke said.

The emperor frowned. "Will he agree to this?"

The duke hesitated before replying, "He'll need some convincing, but I'll make him see reason. Your daughter deserves peace, and Micheal is the ideal candidate."

What the duke left unsaid was his additional motive. By ensuring Magda married Micheal, he could eliminate her as a contender in the Race for the Throne, solidifying Flora's position and aligning his family closer to the imperial line.

"Micheal," the duke said firmly one evening, "you will marry Princess Magda."

Micheal looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. "You can't be serious."

"This isn't negotiable," the duke snapped. "The emperor needs this. And frankly, so do we."

Micheal snorted, leaning back in his chair. "So I'm the sacrificial lamb for imperial peace?"

"You're the best match for her," the duke retorted. "You'll give her stability—and keep her out of the Race."

The emperor spared no expense in throwing the wedding of the century for his beloved daughter. The entire capital was decorated with banners and flowers, and nobles from across the empire attended.

Magda wore a gown of off-white lace, intricately embroidered with silk and sewn-in gems. Her wedding tiara, crafted from the most beautiful pink diamonds, sparkled brilliantly, and her wide necklace—a matching piece—had once belonged to the late empress.

Micheal, in a finely tailored white suit, exuded elegance. Sapphires, matching the striking blue of his eyes, adorned his cuffs and buttons, a testament to the wealth of the Dukedom of Southwest.

As they stood together during the ceremony, their contrasting demeanors were evident. Magda remained silent and composed; her expression unreadable. Micheal, though outwardly poised, radiated a subtle air of resistance.

After the grand reception, when the guests had left, Magda found Micheal in the quiet of his chambers. She hesitated at the doorway before stepping in, holding a small box in her hands.

"Micheal," she began softly.

He glanced up from unbuttoning his cuffs, his expression unreadable. "Yes?"

"This…" She held out the box. "This was my mother's. It meant a great deal to her. I thought… I thought you should have it."

Micheal opened the box, revealing a beautifully crafted pendant. Its intricate design shimmered faintly, a testament to its craftsmanship.

"A pendant?" Micheal remarked with a wry smile. "Well, it's less cumbersome than a wedding ring."

Magda flinched ever so slightly, but she maintained her composure. "I hope it will… bring you some protection."

He slipped the pendant around his neck without much thought, the weight of it settling against his chest. "Thanks, I guess," he muttered, already turning away.

For Magda, it was the first and last proper conversation they would have as husband and wife.

Moments after waking from his afternoon nap, Micheal found himself fingering the pendant absently. The vivid dream lingered in his mind, and the pendant's weight felt suddenly significant.

"What are you?" he murmured, narrowing his eyes at the intricate piece.

Unbeknownst to him at the time, the pendant was a mana regulator and a protective charm, capable of transmitting a distress signal directly to the emperor. To Micheal, it had been nothing more than a convenient way to display his royal connection—a symbol of what he mockingly called his family pawning him to the imperial court.

Now, as the dream's details resurfaced, Micheal felt a pang of guilt. "She tried," he thought. "And I couldn't even bother to care."

He sat upright. His gaze shifted toward the estate, his thoughts racing.

"Was it just a nightmare?" he wondered aloud, his voice tinged with unease. "Or… something more?"

An instinct gnawed at him, something beyond logic or reason. This dream wasn't ordinary.

He stood abruptly, the pendant still clutched in his hand. "There's one way to find out," he muttered, determination flickering in his eyes for the first time in years.

For better or worse, Micheal von Shelb decided to uncover the truth of his dream—and of his wife.