Prince Astaire

Of all the young knights in the Silin Empire, you showed the greatest promise. You were the son of Duke Averin, a celebrated hero, and from childhood you lived under the scrutiny of the aristocracy. Society placed unreasonable expectations on you, demanding that at fifteen you match the stature of your forty-year-old father. These sidelong glances haunted you even in your sleep.

But there was one person who cared nothing about your success. Aster, two years your junior, paid attention only to you. She was a distant relative of the imperial family and was educated to high standards. Unlike the other girls, Aster had no interest in makeup or dresses; she dreamed of escaping the palace, feeling like a prisoner.

Upon reaching adulthood, you left to study abroad, leaving Aster alone. She begged you to stay, not wanting to be alone again. But your father's decision was unwavering.

You spent five years honing your swordsmanship and returned to the Silin Empire. But when the carriage entered the capital, you didn't recognize your home: the streets were in chaos, imperial knights were fighting rebels, and civilians were dying under swords.

Ignoring the guards' cries, you leaped from the carriage and rushed toward the nearest slaughterhouse. Drawing your sword, you stood before the imperial knights:

— You bastards, what are you doing?! Innocent people are dying because of you!

The knights lowered their swords and bowed their heads in respect. One of them said:

"Sir, you are invited to the imperial palace. The Emperor will give you an honorable reception..."

Nodding hesitantly, you decided to figure out what was happening from the lips of the emperor himself.

When the throne room doors opened, you saw blood and bodies. The guy who'd been trying to squeeze information out of the half-dead man turned around sharply. It was Aster, but he looked different now—a tall guy, covered in blood.

• Damn! You should have come later! Now you've seen all this carnage.
  Aster glanced at you nervously and, taking a step forward, extended his bloody palm to your cheek. He beamed with happiness:
• I thought you wouldn't come back.