“He broke the rebellion badly enough that its survivors learned to hide, returned the Primordial Aura to its rightful heir, and according to every version polite history preferred, fell in love with the Empress. At least, that was the story everyone was told. “And so the Primordial Aura returned to its rightful bloodline,” Maurice said, his voice calm and practiced. “Peace followed. The Empire endured.” Enya lounged sideways in his chair, one foot hooked over the armrest. His eyes were half-lidded as he flicked his fingers, as if swiping a holo aside. Maurice did not smile. “I know the ending,” Enya muttered. “Hero saves the galaxy. Crown survives. I’m born, cue applause.” “The story matters,” Maurice said. “Because one day, it will be part of yours.” Enya finally looked at him. Not angry. Not defiant. Just tired. “I didn’t ask to inherit a cliché bedtime legend,” he said quietly. “I asked what you actually expect from me.” The room went still.”