report on the principality.

Thalia, the maid, blinked slightly at the question. Her blue eyes, with that strange depth that did not seem entirely human, showed a flash of genuine surprise.

For centuries, the Great Imperial Ancestor had remained in a lethargy of indifference, delegating everything, withdrawn into her own melancholy. That she now showed active interest in the state of her domain was... unusual.

Was the fog of her grief finally lifting?

However, the surprise lasted only a moment. She was a professional. And more importantly, a dragon. If Anthea had decided to awaken from her apathy, her loyal servant would be ready to carry out any order.

She straightened even more, if that were possible, and her expression became one of absolute seriousness.

"As you command, Your Excellency. I will report back immediately."

She paused briefly, gathering her thoughts.

"The Principality of Rosengard remains prosperous, my lady. In fact, I, Thalia, am pleased to confirm that we continue to be one of the richest and most stable territories in the entire Great Zerathrax Empire. The harvests are abundant, trade is flowing, and our coffers are full."

Anthea kept her expression impassive, nodding with a calculated slowness that she hoped would appear majestic and not simply slow.

But inside, she was quite surprised—not by the information about her lands, but by the name of her servant. She finally knew. In fact, it would be awkward to go and ask someone who had possibly been serving her for a long time for their name.

On the other hand, Anthea couldn't help but feel genuinely surprised—and relieved—that her territory was so prosperous.

Although she had some theories about it, knowing it was another thing. Some records she had found in the library mentioned that the Principality of Rosengard had been built on exceptionally solid foundations: fertile lands, strategic trade routes, and an infrastructure that the dragons had established in the golden ages of the empire.

However, those records did not go into great detail about the present. They had been written decades, even centuries ago. That was why Anthea had had her doubts about whether that historical splendor had survived the passage of time.

"At least I won't be suffering for months trying to fix devastated lands,"

she thought with silent gratitude.

"Thanks to Zerathrax, the lands of ancient Anthea—which are now mine—are not a total disaster. It could have been much, much worse."

Anthea noticed that Thalia seemed about to continue her report, her mouth half-open to add more details about the situation in the principality.

She decided to stop the torrent of chaotic thoughts and focus completely on what her maid was saying. After all, this information was crucial to supplement what she had acquired in the library.

She sat up slightly in her seat, a subtle sign that she was paying attention, and kept her gaze fixed on Thalia.

"However..."

Suddenly, Anthea felt a vague premonition that she had claimed victory too soon.

The maid made an almost imperceptible grimace, a shadow of displeasure crossing her perfect features as she changed the subject. Her tone became colder, imbued with a subtle arrogance that only a superior species could project when speaking of beings it considered inferior.

"However... although the Council has ruled on your behalf since your retirement at the end of the Second Era, I must report a recent failure. Over the past fifty years, a troublesome plague has arisen among the mortal population. Corruption."

He uttered the word as if it were something filthy on his tongue.

"Crime has risen, fueled by the greed of minor officials and dishonorable merchants. Those... insects... believe they can steal crumbs from His Excellency's garden without consequence, now that direct oversight has diminished."

Thalia softened her expression as she looked back at Anthea, returning to that tone of unwavering devotion.

"But it is not something His Excellency need concern himself with, nor should it interrupt his rest. As decreed to ease his burdens, the Grand Council of Regents is responsible for administration and purging these faults."

Anthea nodded slightly, maintaining her mask of indifference.

"The Grand Council of Regents,"

she thought.

It was formed precisely because the original Anthea retired from active governance at the end of the Second Era, leaving a power vacuum that mortals had to fill so that the principality would not fall apart. Basically, Anthea's depression was what created this local bureaucracy.

The maid continued, and this time, a dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes, something reminiscent of a predator watching stupid prey.

"Although... I must be honest. They will probably take a while to act. Even the Grand Council is not immune to rot. Corruption has reached its halls, and those mortals often get lost in their own power games."

The maid let out an elegant but contemptuous snort.

"But don't worry, my lady. Even though they are corrupt, they are not suicidal. They would not be so brazen as to act openly under the territory of the Great Imperial Ancestor."

She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated with a latent threat, directed not at Anthea, but at the outside world.

"To do so here... under your gaze... would only lead to their utter annihilation. We would ensure to crush them before they could even beg for mercy."

Thalia sighed, a sound that strangely resembled the hiss of steam escaping from a pressure cooker.

"It is difficult to contain the urge to burn the weeds, my lady. Sometimes, my scales itch with the need to remind them of their fragility, but I restrain myself. It would not be like me to fill your palace with ashes."

Anthea blinked, processing the words.

"Scales? Burn? Ashes?"

She looked at him closely. The inhuman perfection, the predatory arrogance, the absolute loyalty to Anthea... and those blue eyes that glowed with an inner light, his horns.

"Ah. It's a dragon."

Curiously, she felt neither fear nor great surprise. Her mind quickly traveled to the texts on demographics she had browsed in the library.

She remembered that the Principality of Rosengard was not a homogeneous nation. Its population was a complex mosaic: Humans, Elves, Dwarves, various tribes of Semi-humans, Semi-dragons... and at the top of the hierarchy, though few in number, the Earth Dragons.

"It makes perfect sense," Anthea thought with a pragmatism that surprised even herself. "I am the Great Ancestor. The central figure in their history and politics. Obviously, they weren't going to put a human with a lifespan of eighty years in charge of me. They needed someone who could keep up with me for centuries. An equal, or almost."

"Okay. My maid is a dragon with pyromaniac tendencies toward corruption. Noted on the list of 'Normal Things in My New Life.'"

The maid returned to her original posture, her hands folded perfectly in front of her tunic, as if she hadn't just promised genocide against the corrupt with the same naturalness with which she served breakfast.

Anthea felt a bead of cold sweat run down her back, but she forced herself not to swallow visibly.

Mental note: Never, ever anger Thalia. This woman just talked about massacring public officials in the tone of someone offering cookies.

Outwardly, however, Anthea simply closed her eyes briefly and opened them again, a gesture she had practiced in front of the mirror to denote "serene acceptance."

"Fine,"

she said, her voice coming out firmer than she had expected.

"I trust your judgment... Thalia."

She used the name deliberately, tasting it on her tongue, and saw the maid's eyes shine with renewed devotion at the recognition.

"So please, do not cloud your mind with worries about those insects, Your Excellency. I will see to it that your rest is not disturbed by the filth of the outside world."

Anthea decided it was time to end the interaction before her luck ran out. Summoning every ounce of nighttime practice in front of the mirror, she composed her face into a mask of distant, regal satisfaction.

She raised a hand in a fluid, elegant motion, halting any possible continuation of the maid's speech.

"That is enough,"

she declared in a tone of voice that brooked no reply, soft but absolute.

"Your report has been... enlightening. You may withdraw for now."

The transformation into Thalia was instantaneous. The predator who spoke of annihilation disappeared, replaced by the devoted maid. She lowered her gaze with a humility that seemed sincere and profound.

"As you command, Your Excellency. It is an honor to serve you."

She bowed deeply, perfectly and silently, and backed away toward the exit without ever turning her back, disappearing behind the door with the same discretion with which she had entered.

Anthea was left alone in the opulent silence of her room, her gaze lost on the door through which the servant had disappeared.

Although she trusted Thalia—or at least, a dragon's absolute loyalty to its ancestor—something inside her refused to accept a simple verbal report and return to bed.

She could do it. It would be the easy thing to do. She could let herself be swept away by the seductive comfort of this new life. She could become the eccentric, reclusive noblewoman who never leaves her ivory tower, living among unimaginable luxuries, gourmet food, and silk sheets, ignoring the outside world for centuries to come. No one would blame her. In fact, it seemed to be exactly what everyone expected of her.

But a familiar, sour, old feeling burned in her stomach, preventing her from relaxing.

Anthea got up and walked to the Antechamber where there was a huge window overlooking the palace gardens and beyond, enormous walls. From that height, everything looked perfect, orderly, bright.

But she knew that distance was deceiving.

She knew what hunger was. Not the passing appetite of someone who is late for dinner, but real hunger, the kind that makes your bones ache, empties you inside, and clouds your vision.

She knew what it was like to have no roof over her head, to feel the cold of the night seeping into her bones while "respectable" people passed by without looking at her, as if she were part of the dirty pavement, a visual nuisance on their way home.

And above all, he remembered the fury.

He knew what it was like to swallow his bile in front of men in expensive suits and rehearsed smiles. Corrupt politicians who signed death warrants with gold pens from their air-conditioned offices, while ordinary people bled to death because of their decisions.

It was because of them that his mother died. Not from an incurable disease, but from a healthcare system dismantled to line the pockets of a few, from misappropriated funds, from the bureaucratic indifference of those who saw numbers where there were lives.

He remembered the helplessness of those days. The burning rage of a frightened little boy who swore in front of a cheap grave, with tears of frustration in his eyes, that if one day, by some impossible miracle, he came to power... everything would change. That he would not be like them.

"Naive words from a hurt child,"

he whispered to the window, his breath slightly fogging the perfect glass.

But that child no longer existed. And neither did the helplessness.

Now she was Anthea Rosengard. She had power. She had absolute authority. She had an army and an entire principality under her name.

The responsibility of that childish oath fell on her shoulders with physical weight.

If fate, or chance, or some bored god had given her this absurd second chance, she wasn't going to waste it by being a palace ornament. If she had to live this life, if she had to be Anthea, she would do it the right way. No regrets. No looking away.

She had to see the truth. Not the sugarcoated, filtered version that reached the ears of royalty in morning reports, but the raw, dirty, uncensored reality of the streets.

Her eyes drifted to the wardrobe, shining with a determination she hadn't felt in two lifetimes.

"I need some inconspicuous clothes,"

he thought, turning away from the window.

He was going down to the city. To the slums.

And he would do it right now.