Bai Sha and Cecil Roning stepped into the photography studio.
The studio's walls, crafted from an unknown material, gleamed a pure, faintly translucent white.
Beyond a transparent glass partition lay the photographer's console.
The photographer, a young man with peach-blossom eyes and a refined air, was already stationed there. His demeanor was gentle, his slightly curled black hair tied back with a metal clasp, neat yet stylish.
Spotting Bai Sha and Cecil Roning, he emerged from behind the glass, bowing in greeting.
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty, Your Highness."
Cecil's gaze lingered on the young man's bowed face, a brow arching. "You?"
Bai Sha glanced curiously. "You know each other?"
"Your Majesty has a sharp memory," the youth replied, smiling. "Over a decade ago, my mentor photographed Your Majesty's coming-of-age ceremony. I was his assistant then, and we met briefly."
Every royal required a formal portrait for the family tree. Cecil, not yet Crown Prince at his coming-of-age, had posed as a prince.
But after becoming Crown Prince and Emperor, he never took another such "royal keepsake." One was enough, he'd declared—so the family tree still bore his coming-of-age portrait.
During that shoot, the photographer had urged Cecil to embody royal majesty. Barely adult and impatient with pomp, Cecil shot a glare laced with menace, only to earn effusive praise.
He'd been surprised. Most would've quailed under his intimidating aura, stammering apologies. But that photographer seemed unfazed.
Cecil later learned the man was a former frontline war correspondent, injured in service, who turned to portrait photography out of passion—and excelled at it.
Photographers wielded magic. Before shooting, they envisioned a "feeling," intuiting their subject's essence, amplifying their unique traits to shape the final image.
Even the exacting Cecil admitted his coming-of-age portrait was well done—valiant, majestic, without a hint of tyranny.
"Coming-of-age portrait?" Bai Sha's interest piqued. "Can I see it?"
"Of course," the youth said, smiling. "It was so striking, I've kept it on my light-brain as a benchmark to inspire me. I'll send it now."
Cecil Roning: "Cough!"
Bai Sha and the youth glanced at the frowning Emperor, swiftly exchanged the photo, then stepped apart, feigning innocence.
Bai Sha opened the image—
A younger, rawer Cecil Roning stood in ornate silver-purple regalia, his cold, fathomless blue eyes piercing the lens, thoughts inscrutable. His palette was icy, save for the warm glint of gold tassels on his shoulder.
He gripped a sword.
Not a decorative trinket, but a honed, gleaming blade. Its hilt bore raw, blood-red rubies, like congealed droplets.
The photographed Cecil was a sheathed sword, radiating unmatched sharpness and pressure.
The image was crisp, every detail vivid—including his sword-hand, calloused from training.
His blade was invincible, his will unbreakable.
Though somewhat "unapproachable"… such a formidable royal inspired trust and loyalty, reassuring the populace.
"Great shot," Bai Sha praised.
"Indeed," the youth nodded, showing her past emperors' portraits. "While the Ronings are famed for producing mighty heirs, each has a distinct aura. These photos vary in focus and royal temperament. Some exude ambition and leadership; others, maturity and steadiness. Some seem ethereal from brilliance, while others, approachable, are beloved as wise rulers…"
He displayed numerous images, speaking deliberately yet insightfully. To excel as a royal photographer, he'd studied Roning history and photographic styles thoroughly.
Cecil tugged his cravat. "After all that, what's your approach? Following your mentor's style?"
"No. Times have changed. People's tastes shift like the wind. Now, they favor approachability," the youth said.
Even "approachable" royals retained an aloof air. Pride and warmth were relative; he meant Bai Sha shouldn't scowl like Cecil but adopt subtle, friendly details—a relaxed pose, a pleasant expression, a smile.
The photographer outlined his vision. Bai Sha nodded.
He returned to his console. The white walls shimmered with a soft glow. Three tiny camera drones hummed to life, orbiting Bai Sha along varied paths.
Deep breath, don't blink, relax the face, smile—just like an ID photo, right?
Three minutes later, the photographer called a halt.
"Your Highness, please relax more," his voice carried through the glass.
Bai Sha: "I'm not relaxed?"
He sent two photos.
Bai Sha studied herself—she seemed to glow. "This isn't good enough?"
"Your smile feels forced," he critiqued. "With your potential, we can do better. Hmm… perhaps try summoning your spirit?"
Bai Sha called Little White Chirp to her palm, striking a dashing pose. Sensing the shoot, Little White Chirp mimicked her, puffing up, its silver-blue crest standing proud.
"Like this?"
Photographer: "…Your Highness, perhaps I meant your Blackbird."
He'd seen the military exercise broadcast and knew Bai Sha's Blackbird was unique—silver-blue, less vivid than the typical deep blue or purple, but distinctly hers.
Bai Sha hesitated.
Seconds later, Little White Chirp flapped, blue flames igniting. Its tiny form vanished, replaced by an elegant, long-necked silver-blue Blackbird. Its tail feathers, especially long and radiant, wove pale blue patterns through fluffy white plumes, beautiful beyond mortal bounds.
The Blackbird perched on Bai Sha's shoulder.
She extended her hand; it turned, nuzzling her palm with its neck.
The photographer instinctively snapped the shot as their eyes met, then stared, briefly entranced.
What lay in the eyes of this soon-to-be Crown Prince?
Her military training lent her a crisp demeanor, her palm, like Cecil's, lightly calloused; her face, blessed by genetics, was divine.
But beyond that, what was in her eyes?
A romantic breeze, a floral purity—a soul-deep, candid freedom.
Royals raised under strict tutelage bore heavy pressures and constraints, woven into their souls, shaping them for better or worse, passed down generations.
Having studied countless royal portraits, the photographer marveled that this Crown Prince broke the Roning mold. Yet, this seemed no flaw.
"I think I've captured a masterpiece," he mused, smiling as he sent the photo to them. "But it's not quite 'royal'… Keep it as a backup, or take another? Your call."
Cecil's gaze lingered on the image. "Use this one."
Bai Sha nodded—task done early!
"Very well," the photographer said, satisfied, adjusting his setup. Peering from behind the screen, he addressed the Emperor. "Your Majesty's clearly prepared. What kind of joint portrait?"
Bai Sha: "How about a victory sign? Simple, cute."
Cecil: "Victory sign?"
"Index and middle finger, spread like this—"
Bai Sha flashed a "V." Cecil, puzzled, copied her.
Seeing his cluelessness, she blinked, coughing lightly. "Now, do the same with the other hand."
Cecil: "Then?"
Bai Sha raised both hands to her head. "Like this."
Cecil, unwittingly mimicking: "What's this—"
Bai Sha: "A bunny."
Cecil: "…"
Bai Sha dropped her hands, turning sharply. "I heard a shutter. Where's the photo? I want to see!"
As she moved toward the photographer, Cecil grabbed her, pinching her cheeks.
"Try looking, and you're done," he sneered, squeezing her face into puffs. "Bunny, huh? You look more like one now. You there, shoot!"
Bai Sha mumbled, nearly breaking free, but Cecil pressed a hand on her head.
"Don't mess my hair!"
"Think your hair's pretty? I'll flatten it."
"Ow! Uncle, ow—"
Bai Sha's cry made Cecil pause, but she slipped past like a fish, clutching her cap, ready to bolt.
She fled, he blocked, their tug-of-war escalating into a playful spar.
The photographer: "???"
What was happening?
Unable to intervene, he kept snapping, hoping for usable shots.
Finally, Bai Sha and Cecil, breathless, collapsed into chairs.
"Done fighting?" the photographer asked cautiously. "Shall we try… something traditional?"
Their "battle" had dislodged gems and baubles, leaving them lighter, more at ease.
Cecil: "Traditional how?"
The photographer directed: "Your Highness, stay seated, face forward. Your Majesty, remove your cape, stand behind… yes, there."
"Closer together."
"Your Majesty, place a hand on Her Highness's shoulder."
A classic pose.
The junior sat low, the senior stood high, sheltering. The shoulder touch conveyed closeness and care.
Feeling Cecil's warm, steadfast presence, Bai Sha, like a guarded fledgling, felt secure and stilled.
The room fell quiet, save for the soft whir of camera lenses and drones.
Click—
"Done," the photographer said, delighted. "Thank you both. This one's perfect too."
Bai Sha: "…"
She caught his meaning. Only this "family portrait" met his approval.
He had them select photos for framing.
Bai Sha and Cecil vied to save each other's embarrassing shots.
Photographer: "…"
Photos processed quickly—digital, physical, all formats. The Empire's framing craft ensured centuries without fading, though sizes required pre-ordering.
As Bai Sha pondered album samples, Cecil said calmly:
"I want every size."
Small ones were fine, but the largest could cover a wall.
"Uncle, you're not hanging our photo in your study, are you?" Bai Sha asked.
"Dream on," Cecil snorted, laughing. "I'm printing your ugly shots."
Bai Sha: "…"
"Then I'm printing too!"
They resumed their rivalry.
Days later, Wei Li, reporting at Youdu Star, told Bai Sha privately: when Cecil retrieved a seal from his safe, it held several of their joint photos.
…
Three days before the coronation.
The Ares Empire's royal website posted Bai Sha's portrait.
The one with her gazing at her Blackbird.
Within seconds, views soared past a billion—from eager Imperial citizens and curious Federation netizens.
The site didn't allow comments.
But news outlets reposted, and netizens flooded their platforms.
"I've been looping: What's this beauty? Faints—Look again—Faints again!"
"Gorgeous, so gorgeous, unbelievably gorgeous!"
"First time seeing a Blackbird spirit dominate in looks… Side-eyes my eagle. Same feathered kind, why the gap?"
"You're a god, right? (Dazed) Anyone denying gods exists, I'll fight them…!"
"From the Federation. I wondered why your commander was Crown Prince, with odd hair and eyes. Now I get it. Your Highness, did you hide your true face to spare us swooning on the battlefield?"
"Tianquan cadet here. Clarification: Her Highness is stunning but hits hard. Those calling her 'husband' or 'wife,' dreaming of meet-cutes—don't act creepy, or face the consequences (flashes blade). Tianquan doesn't mess around."
The coronation was a grand affair. Before Bai Sha could process, celebrations began. Royal enterprises issued hefty coupons, and many institutions declared a half-day paid holiday on ceremony day, ensuring all could watch.
The Federation delegation landed on Tianshu Star amid this fervor.
Tianshu, one of the Empire's most vibrant planets, briefly dazed even Zhou Jue's group. Amid bustling Imperials and roaming spirits, they felt out of place.
"The Empire's… something else," Ya Ning murmured, staring out the window, at a loss for words.
Their shuttle glided along its track, passing a massive holographic billboard.
It displayed Bai Sha's now-iconic portrait.
"That's Sha Sha!" Ya Ning whispered.
"Her fan club funded that ad," Zhou Ying said, already browsing the Imperial starnet. "Like this billboard—they bought it themselves."
Tianshu's transport hub, prime time, a colossal billboard—advertising costs were astronomical.
While the coronation warranted celebration, such fervor—fans buying ads—was extraordinary.
It stemmed from never celebrating Bai Sha's birth. These acts were amends, consolations.
Amends for her past obscurity.
Consolations: all awaited her return.