His Father Declared My Daughter a Saintess for an Ancient Empire, But I Knew It Was a Sacrificial Death Sentence
Part 1
🪓 **My Father Declared My Daughter a Saintess for the Empire and Had Me Arrested — But I Knew It Was a Sacrificial Death Sentence.**
I just wanted to see my daughter, Lyra, before the Emperor’s court officially declared her a Saintess. Instead, I found myself branded a traitor by the Imperial Court. My own father, High Priest Cassian Thorne, decreed my immediate arrest before I could even understand why he’d given my precious eight-year-old away. Now, with a solar eclipse on the horizon, I know he intends to sacrifice her for some dark, ancient power he calls ‘immortality.’
Lucas Thorne strode into the great hall of the Imperial Court, the Valorian sun streaming through high arched windows. He had bypassed the outer patrols, driven by a singular purpose: to see Lyra one last time. Before they twisted her into a ‘Saintess.’
He saw her then, a small figure in white, near the altar. Before he could call out, shadows detached from the ornate columns. Imperial Guards, their plate armor glinting, moved to cut off his path.
“Lucas Thorne,” a voice boomed.
My father, High Priest Cassian Thorne, descended the dais, his ceremonial robes rustling. His face was a mask of cold displeasure, utterly devoid of the warmth I remembered.
“Have you truly fallen so far, my son?” Cassian asked, his voice carrying through the suddenly hushed hall. “To disrupt a sacred rite with your baseless accusations?”
“Baseless?” I pushed past a guard, forcing myself closer. “Father, she’s eight years old! What have you done to Lyra?”
Cassian paused, a faint smile touching his lips. It was chilling.
“You speak of ‘what I have done’ as if you were ever a part of her life,” he murmured, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Your grief, Lucas, it distorts your mind. You abandon your child, then return to claim a role you never earned.”
“I never abandoned her!” The lie was a physical blow. He’d orchestrated my estrangement.
“Quiet!” Cassian raised a hand, and a Scribe immediately unfurled a massive parchment.
The Imperial seal, in stark red, dominated the top. It was an official decree, lavishly penned.
“By Imperial decree, signed by the Emperor himself,” Cassian announced to the gathered officials and courtiers, his voice ringing with authority, “Lyra Thorne, daughter of Lucas, is hereby recognized and appointed as the Divine Saintess of Valoria. Her adoption into the Imperial Court is complete. She is now under the direct protection and tutelage of the High Priesthood.”
A gasp rippled through the onlookers. My own heart hammered against my ribs.
“You forged this,” I snarled.
Cassian turned his chilling gaze back to me. “You insult the Emperor, Lucas. You question divine will. You defy the very foundations of our Empire.”
His voice rose, clear and condemning. “I declare Lucas Thorne, my son, a traitor to Valoria! Seize him! He is to be arrested immediately!”
The guards surged forward. I saw Lyra, her small face pale and confused, looking at me with wide, frightened eyes. My blood ran cold.
I couldn’t reach her. The guards were too many, too fast. I fought, desperate, but I knew I had to get out. For her.
My vision blurred as I ducked a swing, rolling under a guard’s arm and sprinting for a side exit. They were behind me, shouting.
I glanced back one last time. My father, standing tall and righteous, watched me flee. He had given her away.
Lucas, branded a pariah and heartbroken, is forced to flee the court, leaving Lyra behind.
Part 2
I pushed through the throngs, ignoring the shouts of the guards. My boots pounded on the cobblestones as I fled the Imperial City, melting into the winding alleys and out into the shadowed forest lands. Cassian’s men wouldn’t follow me far into the wilds.
Days later, exhausted and desperate, I found my estranged grandmother, Elara Vance. She lived deep in the ancient woods, her small hut shrouded by old oaks. Her eyes, ancient and sharp, held a flicker of anger when she saw me.
“So, he finally pushed you away completely, did he?” she rasped, her voice dry as autumn leaves.
I pleaded with her, telling her everything about Lyra and the ‘Saintess’ decree. Elara listened, her face grim.
“That title,” she finally said, her voice dropping, “it is a perversion of a prophecy, Lucas.”
She explained it was tied to a dormant, malevolent bloodline within our own clan, thought eradicated centuries ago. Cassian, she warned, was being manipulated into resurrecting a dark, forgotten power that sought only to consume.
Elara then reached for a tarnished, iron signet ring she kept on a leather thong around her neck. It was an old Thorne family heirloom. She turned it over, revealing a tiny, almost invisible mark etched into its underside—a cryptic symbol of a secret communication system.
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