Region 67...
Hill City...
Zemira's Residence...
Who is Zemira?
The First Princess of the Empire. Eldest daughter of the indomitable Second Empress, Jemimah the Untouchable—an empress whose very name causes even Emperor Aratat to tread with caution. Zemira is also the elder sister of the Third Prince, Gerard Aratat. Her bloodline is one of fire and steel, but in her, the flame flickers with quiet grace, not destruction.
When Zemira first arrived in Region 67, she did so with calm purpose, unlike her siblings who descended like storms.
The regional lord, well aware of the violent pattern sweeping through the empire, welcomed her with visible anxiety. In region after region, heirs had clashed with the ruling lords—and without fail, those lords had perished. Death had become an expected greeting.
The man had nearly dropped to his knees, desperate to preserve peace and protect his family. He was ready to surrender his post entirely, to offer his seat and his pride if it would prevent another war.
But Zemira merely smiled.
Not the smile of manipulation, nor of conquest. It was soft and strangely gentle, as though she'd stepped out of a dream and not a royal procession.
"Regional leader," she had said, her voice calm and warm, "I am not here to take part in that barbaric struggle for power. I came out of obedience to my father's command. I will support you in governing the region—I seek no throne. If ever there is a matter needing attention, we can discuss it together. There's no need for bloodshed."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Her soldiers and attendants exchanged startled glances. Even they hadn't expected such disarming words. The regional lord, nearly brought to tears, could hardly contain his disbelief. For a heartbeat, he wanted to cast off every formality and embrace her like a long-lost daughter—but reason restrained him.
"You are... different from what I expected," he said, bowing low. "You have my loyalty, Princess. My respect... and more."
He had prepared for loss. Instead, he found hope.
Since that moment, Region 67 had become an anomaly in the empire—a land of peace. While civil wars brewed and siblings tore through cities in bloodlust, Zemira's region blossomed in harmony. No one challenged her. No one feared her. The people whispered her name with affection, not dread.
But even peace has its breaking point.
A few days ago, a boy arrived at her gates—dust-streaked, breathless, and clutching an imperial letter.
She received it quietly. The seal of the Emperor glinted on the parchment like a threat disguised as duty. It was an invitation—a call to arms—for all heirs to participate in the deadly succession trials.
But it wasn't the letter that unsettled her. It was the boy's words, recounting occurrences across different regions, as regards to her siblings and their activities.
After handing her the scroll, he spoke hurriedly, glancing around nervously.
"They say Region 2 has fallen... Prince Balek subdued it without losing a single soldier. He walked through it like a god, Princess..."
Zemira didn't speak. Her fingers tightened around the letter.
The boy swallowed and leaned in slightly. "And Princess... there is a new person leading region 32, they're calling him the Black Dragon now... not even Prince Balek's right hand man, Amiel Racta could conquer him. No one knows his true identity... Or where he comes from, but the late Prince Josh Aratat's maid—Miss Lola is standing with him ..."
He continued speaking up until a point when suddenly, he hesitated.
"What happened?" Zemira asked, though her voice was flat and unhurried.
The boy looked down. "They say the Emperor... he forced himself on the chief priestess. Sarzi Uno. She took her life after that. But before she died, she cursed him. Said his children would turn on him one by one until the empire swallowed itself."
Zemira blinked slowly. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling with restrained emotion. For a moment, she simply stood there, allowing the silence to speak for her.
Then, quietly, she muttered, "What is this shameless man doing now... is it not enough that he destroyed Josh's mother? Will he only rest when we're all dead?"
Her voice carried no rage, only sorrow—and a deep, bitter disappointment. The Emperor had long lost her respect, but now... he had lost even the hollow shell of it.
"You may go," she told the boy, turning towards her villa. Her guards followed, though there was nothing for them to do—there never was. Zemira never sought conflict. She never provoked, and none dared provoke her. She lived gently, and the region thrived because of it.
Some whispered she was too soft. Others claimed she could not be the Emperor's daughter—how could a creature of such calm spring from a man like Emperor Groa Aratat? Or even be a sister to Gerard, who delighted in combat, and whose thirst for challenge mirrored that of the first prince— Prince Balek himself?
Zemira was the light to their fire.
Where Gerard, Jaden and Balek were fierce storms, she was the still lake after thunder. Where Balek ruled by fear and pressure, Zemira ruled by presence alone.
That evening, rain threatened the sky. Dark clouds pressed low over the hills, casting her garden in silver gloom. Zemira sat by her window, her robes pooled around her, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
Thunder rumbled, soft and foreboding.
She exhaled a weary breath. "The storm is coming," she said to no one. "But I won't be the one to draw the sword."
Region 32…
Brimhold City…
Black Dragon Base…
A heavy wind rolled through the open courtyard as Josh Aratat, the Black Dragon, stood before a long war table surrounded by his core generals. Maps were spread open, weighted at the corners by obsidian stones, each inked with crimson markings—paths, targets, and enemy zones. Tension hummed in the air like a storm about to break.
They were preparing for their next mission: a perilous journey to El'dan City, where a man-eating manticore terrorized the land and had captured dozens—mages, enchanters, elves, and other innocent folk—kept in chains or worse. Time was of the essence.
Josh had weighed their options carefully. Facing the golden toad god could provide magic-enhancing toadstool, a resource they desperately needed. But lives were at stake in El'dan. Real lives. And Josh had never been one to place power above people.
"We go to El'dan," he decided at last, his voice calm but resolute. "The toad god can wait."
Just before departure, the iron gates of the base creaked open. Dust swirled at the entrance as Relia Amia stepped through, her cloak tattered from travel, her face streaked with exhaustion but lit with determination. In her arms, she cradled her younger brother and sister, while her father limped in behind her, wearied by the road.
Lola, one of Josh's generals, and closest aides, rushed to meet her.
"Relia… you're back," she said warmly, embracing her. "We're heading out soon." She then went to talk about the meeting they had and then their proposition to go to El'dan city… the manticore, the hostages—everything' else in chaos.
Relia nodded, her eyes scanning the base quickly. "Just give me a moment to settle my family. I'll come with you."
Lola blinked. "You just arrived. Rest, be with your father and siblings. We'll handle it."
But Relia shook her head firmly, a flicker of fire in her eyes. "No. I need to be there. I swore to protect Lord Black Dragon with my life. I'll rest when he's safe."
Lola hesitated. "Then… I'll ask the master."
Before she could move, a familiar figure approached, casting a long shadow across the stone floor.
Josh Aratat emerged from the eastern corridor, his obsidian-black mask covering his face, his long coat fluttering slightly in the breeze. He didn't walk like a ruler—there was no arrogance, no haughtiness—just quiet strength and purpose. And that humility, that accessibility, was what made his people love him fiercely. He never punished the weak. He never ignored a voice.
"Relia," he said, pausing as he took her in. "You're back. Make yourself at home. We'll return in about two weeks. Maybe more, if the terrain gets nasty."
Relia stepped forward. "No, my lord. I will go with you."
Josh studied her for a second. Then he simply nodded.
"Alright then. We leave in thirty minutes. Be ready."
Lola's mouth fell open. She hadn't expected that. "But Master—" she started, only to catch herself. She bowed low and turned away without protest. She'd learned long ago: trust Josh Aratat's judgement—even when it made no sense.
Josh nodded approvingly as she left. She's learning, he mused silently.
And just like that, the base was a hive of motion once again—soldiers arming up, scouts reporting, supplies being loaded. All eyes turning toward El'dan, toward the manticore, and toward the Black Dragon who would lead them into fire—and come back with the lost.