The capital had made it through—barely. That was the most generous way Prince David could put it. From the northern wall, parts of the city looked like they'd been torn apart by war. Smoke drifted between broken rooftops, and some streets were completely deserted while soldiers, healers, and civilians joined forces to clear rubble and shore up what buildings were still standing. But despite it all, the city still stood.
More importantly, the enemy was in retreat.
David leaned over a rough military map spread across the stone battlement, small markers shifting to show the new defensive lines.
Marcus stood at his side, helmet tucked under one arm.
"We've taken back the northern districts," Marcus said. "First and second companies have pushed past the outer wall, and reinforcements from the western barracks are filling the gaps."
David's eyes stayed on the map.
"And the casualties?"
Marcus paused.
The pause said enough.
"High," he admitted. "But less than expected. Once the troops realized the attackers weren't ordinary civilians, they stopped holding back."
David's jaw tightened.
That had been the worst problem during the first wave.
The enemy had worn human faces.
Men and women from nearby towns had made their way toward the capital, seeming almost ordinary from afar. Some even donned the garb of merchants, guards, and travelers.
Then they struck.
No fear.
No pause.
No sign of self-preservation.
Whatever had twisted them had erased most of who they once were.
David glanced north.
Beyond the city walls, bursts of mana lit the distant battlefield in brief flashes.
"We're pushing forward," Marcus said. "Slowly, but we're pushing forward."
"For now."
David's grip tightened on the edge of the map. Something about this attack gnawed at him. Only corrupted people streamed south, as if something farther north was endlessly creating them.
Marcus suddenly shifted.
"Your Highness—"
David turned to see a figure clamber over the shattered battlement. A man—at least, what was left of one. His clothes hung in tatters, his movements jerky and violent. He lunged at David before either could draw a weapon.
Then, the air flared gold.
An arrow struck the man's shoulder, then another hit his chest, followed by two more in quick succession. A burst of light rained down almost at once, tearing through the corrupted husk and hurling it across the stone. Silence fell. David looked up to see a familiar figure drop from the neighboring watchtower, landing lightly on the battlement with a bow slung across his back. John straightened. "You're welcome."
David frowned at his brother. "You couldn't have warned me?" "I did," John said, nodding toward the glowing arrows lodged in the ground. "Very loudly." Marcus stifled a laugh behind his hand. David shot him a glare. "Something amusing?" "Nothing at all, Your Highness." Another voice cut in, "You three haven't changed a bit." They turned to see George approaching from the stairway to the battlement.
The eldest of Darius's sons carried himself differently from his younger brothers. Where John possessed an almost irritating casualness and David tended toward impatience, George had inherited much of their father's composure.
A sword hung at his waist as John shot him a glance.
"Look who finally decided to show up."
"I was commanding the eastern defense."
"A convenient excuse."
"It usually is during an invasion."
David let out a sigh.
"I almost preferred the corrupted man."
John pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.
"Brother."
George ignored them, surveying the battlefield.
"The defensive line has pushed forward nearly three miles."
David's smile faded.
"So Marcus's reports were true."
"They are."
George kept his eyes fixed to the north.
"But something's wrong."
Marcus frowned.
"We're winning."
George shook his head.
"They're letting us advance."
The words silenced the group.
David's gaze drifted back to the far-off battlefield. He'd been thinking the same thing. The assaults had been fierce but oddly unfocused. The corrupted fought with unyielding ferocity, yet their movements lacked any real plan—almost as if the capital had never been their true target.
Footsteps approached from behind, and every man straightened at once.
Emperor Darius stepped onto the battlement. There were shadows of exhaustion under his eyes, though his stance revealed nothing of it.
"Father," George said in greeting.
Darius stopped beside his sons, gazing north in silence for several moments.
Then—
"Prepare your men."
David frowned.
"For what?"
"We advance."
John's face grew serious.
"How far?"
Darius narrowed his eyes.
"Until we reach the source."
Marcus glanced at the map.
"The northern companies are already pushing toward the border."
Darius turned to face them.
"Beyond it."
George caught on first, his hand drifting toward the sword at his side.
"The Elven Domain."
Darius gave a single nod.
"We head north."
A heavy silence settled over the group.
"The four of you will come with me."
Marcus frowned. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, wouldn't it be safer for you to stay—"
"No."
The single word shut down the protest.
Darius's gaze shifted past the walls once more.
"The capital is only where the symptoms showed."
His expression hardened.
"The sickness started somewhere else."
And he knew exactly where.
Several hours earlier, the imperial chamber had been unnervingly still. Darius stood by the window while a golden-eyed woman lounged in one of his chairs as if the Imperial Palace were hers. Kala—a demon whose smile had grated on him from the moment she arrived. More importantly, Nero's mother. She had appeared without warning or escort, seemingly unfazed by standing in the heart of the Holy Empire. Darius endured her presence for one reason: information. Spinning a small object between her fingers, Kala flicked it onto the table. "The key is useless now."
Darius stared at it.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Her golden eyes sparkled.
"You don't need it anymore."
He turned to her slowly. For years, scattered clues had hinted at a sealed passage leading to the northern lands—a door that needed a key. A door Kala had once said could bring him the answers he'd been chasing.
Now she was telling him the key didn't matter.
"Explain."
Kala's smile curved.
"The door's already open."
His expression shifted.
"Who opened it?"
Her smile widened.
"I did."
For a few moments, the silence was complete.
Then she laughed—softly.
Somehow, that only made it more unsettling.
There was something chilling about how easily she confessed.
Darius took a step toward her.
Beyond the palace walls, alarm bells rang out across the capital.
Chaos was spreading through the northern districts, yet the woman before him simply smiled. Darius finally understood.
"So all of this…" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"…was your doing."
Kala tilted her head.
"Of course."
Mana swirled around Darius as the furniture began to tremble. Still, Kala sat there—unafraid, unconcerned. She only seemed puzzled by his anger.
"Isn't this what you wanted?"
Darius froze.
Kala rose, her golden eyes locking with his.
"Revenge."
The word hit harder than any accusation.
The nightmare from the night before flashed in Darius's mind—his wife, her final days, the questions that had haunted him for years, and the one responsible.
Kala stepped toward him.
"The seal wasn't just locked, Darius. It was keeping two sides apart that had every reason to stay that way."
She brushed past him.
"So I removed the obstacle."
"You unleashed this on my people."
"Yes."
Darius turned sharply.
"You talk as if their lives don't matter."
Kala hesitated, her smile slipping for the first time.
"I never said they didn't matter." She looked back over her shoulder.
"I said it's the price for opening the way."
Darius fixed his gaze on her.
"You had no right to set that price."
"Maybe."
Her smile returned.
"But it's already been decided."
She kept walking toward the door, but his voice stopped her.
"Why?"
Kala froze.
"Why push it this far?"
She stayed silent for a few moments, then her golden eyes met his.
"Because the longer that door stays open…"
Her smile turned sharp.
"…the better the chance the person you're looking for will come through."
Darius felt a chill run through him as Kala pushed open the chamber door.
"Go north," she said, stepping into the corridor.
"Reach the Elven Domain."
He watched her vanish, her voice floating back one last time.
"And wait."
A soft laugh echoed after her.
Left alone, Darius listened to the alarm bells blaring outside. His eyes fell on the object she had left on the table—the key he'd spent years chasing. Now useless.
Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the northern horizon. For years, he'd sought answers. For years, he'd longed to face the one responsible for his wife's death. Now the path was clear.
But as the screams and alarms rolled through his capital, Emperor Darius realized something unsettling—Kala had given him exactly what he wanted. And that terrified him far more than if she'd denied him.