Unrivaled in another world
Chapter 47: Former Empress

Chapter 47: Former Empress

[: Caelira POV :]

As our embrace faded into quiet, and the grief dulled into something softer—but no less heavy, I found my voice again.

"...And what of the Elf Continent?" I asked gently, watching the way Aeriwen’s expression shifted the moment the words left my mouth.

Her eyes, which had just held sorrow and resolve, now clouded with hesitation... and something darker.

A shadow of uncertainty.

She lowered her gaze, and I could feel her weighing her words.

"There’s too much, Mother," she said softly at first. "Too much has happened since the day you vanished."

I remained silent, letting her speak.

I could sense the pressure buried deep beneath her tone, the burden of a crown she was never meant to carry so soon.

"The Zero Organisation..." she began, her voice hardening, "...they’ve sunk their roots deeper than we ever thought possible’’

’’They didn’t just act from the shadows, Mother. They made allies... from within."

My breath caught. I knew what she meant.

"Elves?" I asked slowly.

She nodded. Bitterly.

"Some of our kin. Highbloods. Even some of our armies’’

’’Whether they were bribed or enchanted—I don’t know’’

’’But they’ve turned. And worse... some of them sit in positions of power."

She glanced toward the marble windows, where the light of the World Tree barely reached anymore.

"I don’t even know who to trust."

My heart ached for her. For the child forced to become a Queen amidst betrayal and rot.

"And the Elders?" I asked carefully.

Her eyes narrowed.

"They watch me," she said, her voice sharp and laced with venom.

"Every step. Every word. They smile at court, bow when others watch... but in truth, they wait for me to falter."

Aeriwen clenched her fists.

"They want a puppet. Not a ruler. I’m too young, too untested in their eyes. They think that without you, I can be shaped. Controlled."

"Why haven’t you removed them?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

She answered with a bitter laugh.

"Because I can’t."

Her gaze darkened, fury restrained behind diplomacy.

"They have the Sacred Elves under their command—the elite among elites’’

’’One hundred of our strongest warriors, bound by ancient oaths not to the throne... but to the Eldertree’s bloodline."

"Only a few of them still heed my command. The rest... would stand still if I were assassinated in my court."

My lips thinned into a tight line.

How deeply had this corruption seeped while I was gone?

But Aeriwen wasn’t finished.

"The continent is fracturing," she went on. "The gates are opening across the outer forests and the inner cities. Too many... too fast."

I could feel the anxiety beneath her words now. The sheer weight she carried every day.

"We’ve lost contact with three border provinces already’’

’’Invaders are pouring through the rifts, devouring lands that once flourished under your reign’’

’’The mana fields are thinning. Our sacred groves are dying. The World Tree is weeping sapblood, and no druid has been able to heal it."

She took a breath and then added quietly:

"Some even whisper that your disappearance... was an omen."

That made me pause.

"What?" I asked, stunned.

"They think your disappearance had brought ruin," Aeriwen said bitterly. "That your soul has been corrupted. They don’t say it aloud—not yet—but I’ve heard the murmurs. Even among nobles."

"Sigh," I hissed, fury blooming in my chest.

’’I never thought that my disappearance could have affected this much"

Aeriwen looked at me, her face stricken not with fear, but with exhaustion.

"And still, I must pretend. Smile. Bow. Rule with half a court trying to unseat me and half a world on fire."

I stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You’ve done more than I could ever have asked," I said softly. "And you have endured what no one should."

She looked up at me, weariness in her eyes.

"But I don’t know how long I can keep this kingdom from being torn apart."

"Then we’ll do it together," I said, voice firm.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

I saw a glimmer of something new flicker in her eyes—hope.

And yet, as we stood together in the fading gold of the Palace, I knew that reclaiming this kingdom... would require war.

Not only against the Zero Organisation and the slavers, but against traitors wearing the faces of friends.

The Elf Continent was broken.

And blood would be spilt before it healed.

No, that isn’t a war.

This will be a reclaimation, something that I should have done earlier on.

I looked at my daughter—this young Queen who had borne far too much upon shoulders still soft from youth.

She had weathered storms meant for warriors.

Worn the crown in my absence like armour, even as knives gathered at her back.

And yet... I could see it in her eyes.

She was tired.

Weary of the endless balancing act.

The hidden enemies.

The poisoned court.

She was strong—stronger than I could have imagined—but she shouldn’t have had to be.

She was too young to be an Empress, she had still much too learn, and only the n one day could she wear the crown proudly.

But for now, leave it to me, my daughter.

I reached out, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear.

"You’ve done more than enough, Aeriwen."

Her lips parted slightly, eyes widening.

"It’s time," I continued, my voice deepening, resolute.

"Time for the Elf Continent to remember who sits on the throne—the Empress of the Golden Era"

I stepped forward, each word like the drawing of a blade.

"I will remind them. The Elders, the nobles, the traitors—they’ve grown too bold in my absence’’

’’Too comfortable and they have mistaken my silence for death... and forgotten who I am."

My eyes flashed with fury long buried, now awake again.

"I will spill blood if I must. I will burn down the roots of their schemes’’

’’Let them taste fear again—let them remember the one who once made even dragons bow with respect."

Aeriwen stared at me in awe, her lips trembling with emotion, but I raised a hand before she could speak.

"But..."

The fire dimmed slightly.

"...before I can do any of that," I murmured, my gaze falling to my hand—the one still etched with black sigils, cursed with the seal that once turned me into property.

I clenched it tight, feeling the burning throb still lingering beneath skin and bone.

"...I need your help, my daughter."

She blinked.

"To remove this curse seal."

Her breath caught, and I saw her magic stir with fierce protectiveness.

"I’ve tried to suppress it with all I have," I admitted.

"But the relic used against me came from the Forgotten Lands. It twisted the slave mark into something far deeper... something that has carved itself into the roots of my spirit."

Aeriwen’s hands reached for mine, holding them tightly.

"Don’t worry, mother, I’ll help you break it, and I have the perfect tool for it", she whispered fiercely.

"No curse will keep you from the throne that is rightfully yours."

Aeriwen’s expression hardened with purpose as she stepped back.

Her fingers reached beneath the folds of her regal cloak, and from the hidden pocket at her waist, she drew forth a small object—no, not just an object.

A relic that was in the form of a key.

Its surface shimmered with ancient enchantments—etched runes dancing in patterns too old for modern tongues.

The handle was shaped like a twisted vine wrapping around a feathered wing, and at its centre pulsed a gem that flickered between golden light and emerald fire.

She held it up, and the air itself seemed to pause in reverence.

"I found this after I killed one of the Twelve Talons," she said, her voice low.

"He was part of the Zero Organisation, a squad, the ones taking our people and selling them to slave merchants.

My eyes widened. The Twelve Talons—elite enforcers of the Zero Organisation.

Ghosts in flesh.

She nodded grimly. "He tried to flee after the battle, but I ended him. And on his body... I found this. The Key of Binding."

The name alone stirred something deep within me—an ancient resonance.

The relic hummed in her hand as if it recognised my presence, or the curse lingering upon my soul.

Without another word, Aeriwen stepped forward and pressed the key gently against the sigil that marred my hand.

A sharp crack echoed.

Then...

Click.

A pulse exploded from the point of contact.

A brilliant golden-green aura surged outward, engulfing us both—and then shooting skyward like a pillar of divine judgment.

It pierced the heavens and rippled across the skies of the Elf Continent, racing faster than any wind.

And then...

Every elf—every creature bound to the mana of this land—felt it.

[: Across the Elf Continent :]

In the floating citadel of Silvergrove, the Archmage Thaloren dropped his staff, eyes wide. "What... what is this aura?"

In the Grand Chamber of the Elder Circle, the ancient elves stirred, murmurs spreading like wildfire.

"Impossible... that pressure... it can’t be..."

"Is she alive...?"

Far in the outer provinces where scouts battled against invading horrors from the rifts, the elves paused mid-combat, staring at the sky in wonder.

"That’s not just royal mana... that’s something greater—something ancient."

In secret caverns where traitorous nobles whispered their plots, fear slithered in their chests.

"That power... who awakened such a presence? No, no... it can’t be her. She’s dead."

Even the World Tree, towering at the heart of the continent, trembled slightly—its weeping sap halted for the first time in moons.

Birds sang.

Leaves shimmered with renewed life.

And the World Tree itself seemed to exhale.

It was as though the World Tree was in happiness as its Ruler had finally returned.

[: Caelira POV :]

The light slowly faded, and the intense hum of power began to settle.

I stumbled forward as the last remnants of the aura withdrew into me—like a tide returning to the ocean.

And then... I breathed.

For the first time in years, I breathed.

The seal had shattered.

The curse that once bound me—twisted me, branded me as nothing more than a slave to foreign masters—was gone.

Gone.

My body pulsed with warmth, like sunlight seeping into long-frozen soil.

I lifted my hand—and felt strength.

And when I turned to the mirror pane across the chamber wall, I gasped.

The burn marks that had once marred my face were healed completely, replaced by smooth skin that shimmered with faint divine lustre.

My hair had changed—no longer dulled by the chains of torment.

It now flowed down my shoulders in waves of silver moonlight streaked with vibrant emerald, like the light of spring blooming beneath starlight.

And my eyes...

I blinked slowly.

Golden. Pure, liquid gold.

Like truth itself had been etched into my soul.

Above Aeriwen’s head, the Crown of Gaia—the ancient artefact given to the first Empress of the Elf Continent—began to glow.

Its many leaves of gold and starlight shimmered as if answering a call older than memory.

Aeriwen looked up in shock, but said nothing.

The crown lifted on its own.

Slowly, with grace befitting royalty, it rose from her brow and hovered in the space between us, radiating warmth and reverence.

Then it moved.

Gently, unshakably, it floated toward me—drawn not by command, but by recognition.

By right.

By blood.

And when it reached me... it descended.

The moment the crown touched my head, a surge of divine light erupted—this time not as a wave, but a focused pulse that spiralled down my body.

Cloth unravelled from light, weaving itself around me like threads of legend returning to their origin.

Robes of emerald velvet and gold embroidery materialised across my frame, stitched with the symbol and the mark of the Empress.

Across my shoulders, a mantle bloomed from vines and silk, adorned with crescent leaves that shimmered with moonlight and ancient runes.

Then came the armour.

Light merged into plates of silverwood and sunsteel, sculpted with elegance and strength.

Spaulders resembling outstretched wings took shape at my shoulders.

At my waist, a belt forged from roots of the Eternal Grove wrapped snugly, humming with raw mana.

A cloak burst into form, cascading down my back like a living waterfall of forest dusk—half regal cloth, half spectral leaves that shimmered with every step.

My boots moulded from midnight leather and barksteel rooted themselves firmly against the marble, as if the continent itself recognised its Empress once again.

By the end of it, I no longer stood as a scarred survivor.

I stood as Caelira, the Sovereign of Nature—restored.

Behind me, Aeriwen stood in silence, staring at me in reverent awe.

"...Mother..." she whispered.

I turned to face her fully, the air around me still humming.

"I have returned," I said.

The words came with the weight of destiny.

"No more hiding. No more pretending to be dead. I will take back the throne—not as a shadow, not as a symbol..."

"...But as the Empress of the Elf Continent."

Aeriwen knelt—not as a daughter, but as a soldier who had waited too long to see the sun rise again.

And I...

I was ready to make the heavens remember my name.

[: Caelira Status :]

Name: Caelira Etheria

Age: ???

Rank: Mythic

Level: 181,000

Class: Verdant Ruler

Trait: Gaia’s Embrace

Bloodline: Celestial Gaia

Physique: Eternal Grove

Innate: Windward Rebirth

Soul Weapon: Sylvan Heartblade

Talent: Eternal Connection

Sigil: Seed of World

Soulmark: Spiritwind

Origin: The Everroot

Spiritual Root: Essence of Heaven

Ethereal Bone: Celestial Oak

Vein: Veins of the Windlord

Core: Heart of the Green Abyss

Lineage: Descendant of Terra

Magic: Nature’s Weave

Domain: Ruler of Earth