Inside the imperial wing, the nursery was warm and quiet. Prince Tommy had fallen asleep sideways across his bed, a wooden sword still clutched loosely in his hand. Across the room, Princess Y/N slept curled neatly beneath her blankets, one arm stretched toward Tommy’s bed like she had reached for him in her sleep. The twins had never liked being apart.

Above the palace towers, Emperor Philza and Empress Kristin glided through the cold night air, their wings cutting silently through the sky as they finished their usual evening flight over the capital. Only the royal family carried wings. A gift of their ancient avian bloodline.

Everything had been peaceful. Until morning.

The nursery maid’s scream echoed through the palace. Two beds. Empty. The windows were open, winter wind moving the curtains softly.

The palace bells rang before sunrise. Servants ran through the halls while soldiers searched the palace grounds. Emperor Philza stormed through corridor after corridor, wings brushing the walls as he barked orders to every guard in sight.

Sixteen years later, the imperial palace glittered with music and candlelight once again. The winter ball filled the grand hall with nobles and diplomats, laughter echoing beneath crystal chandeliers.

At the center of it all stood the royal family. Emperor Philza and Empress Kristin greeted guests from the dais, their wings folded elegantly behind them. Beside them stood their sons. Technoblade watched the ballroom with sharp, quiet focus. Wilbur leaned casually against a pillar, scanning the crowd.

Neither noticed the two figures entering through the grand doors. A boy and a girl. Sixteen. They blended easily into the crowd, dressed well enough to belong but plain enough to be ignored. Assassins often looked like that.