I dreamed of chains.
Thirteen of them, coiling around the sun.
Each one bore a name.
Mine was last.
When I woke, Winter was already dressed.
Her coat crackled faintly with static.
"It's storming on the surface," she said. "Feels like the sky's warning us."
"Then we should listen."
Selka had killed again.
This time, a marine captain who had been invited into Mariejois for inspection.
"Not an accident," she said. "He tried to put something in my drink."
Winter confirmed it.
"Poison. Slow. Meant to make you compliant."
I read the report in silence.
Selka stood before me, barefoot, fists red.
"I didn't enjoy it," she said.
"Good," I replied. "Enjoyment is expensive."
Then I touched her hair.
"But you did well."
She smiled, just barely.
The corpse was handled.
Discreetly.
The report blamed heart failure.
The records showed he had drunk six cups of Celestial-grade wine.
No one asked questions.
Not yet.
I walked through the garden that day, counting steps.
Twelve.
I had twelve children.
All trained. All loyal.
I had obeyed the decree.
But what they hadn't said—what they never say—is that rules don't apply to what isn't born yet.
Winter approached me under the dying light.
"We've found another candidate," she said.
I raised an eyebrow.
"You know the limit."
"She's not for the army," Winter said. "She's for you."
A long pause.
"Another heir?"
"Eventually. But not now. Right now, she's just... alone."
Her name was Mero.
Ten years old. Too thin. Too quiet.
Eyes like polished dusk.
She had a brand on her back that marked her as World Noble property.
I hated that mark.
I sat across from her, offered her a cup of warm milk.
She didn't drink it.
Just stared at me.
"You're not going to hurt me?"
"No."
"You're lying."
"Yes. But not about that."
She blinked.
"I don't want to be a killer."
"Good. I don't want another killer."
"What do you want?"
"A daughter."
She flinched.
Then, slowly, she took the cup.
Winter was watching.
Later that night, she lay beside me.
"She's not like the others."
"She's not supposed to be."
"She's too soft."
"So were you."
Winter didn't deny it.
We held council that week.
Just the three of us.
Me, Winter, Selka.
No titles.
No robes.
Just truth.
"There will be war," I said.
Selka nodded.
Winter already knew.
"The world doesn't like quiet strength. It wants noise. Explosions. Banners."
"So we give them none of it," Winter said.
"We make our war in silence," Selka added.
I smiled.
I began the Archive.
A vault of secrets.
Everything I remembered.
Where the pirates would rise.
Which islands would fall.
What fruit would grow where.
I dictated, and Selka recorded.
This was not for me.
This was for the thirteenth.
The one I wasn't allowed to have.
The one who would come anyway.
I named Mero officially.
Not a weapon. Not a soldier.
But a ward.
My ward.
And suddenly, the rules bent just slightly.
No one questioned it.
Because to question it would be to imply fear.
And Celestial Dragons never admit fear.
Even when it walks past them with thunder in her veins.
I sat in my study as lightning split the sky.
Winter entered, soaked, barefoot.
She knelt at my feet.
"I am ready," she said.
"For what?"
"To bear your heir."
The room grew still.
I touched her cheek.
"You're sure?"
"I was sure the moment you chose me. Everything until now was just the path to this."
I nodded.
"I won't be kind to them. Not always."
"Then I will be."
We kissed.
The thunder roared.
But we were louder.
Somewhere far below, in the dungeons beneath the Holy Land, a single word was carved into the wall:
"Thirteen."