The empire.
The mighty empire, the only empire of this known world.
Even thinking the word made the air feel heavier, as if the very syllables carried the weight of history—wars that scorched continents, treaties signed with trembling hands, Noble houses built upon mountains of bones and triumphs.
The empire stood as an epitome of power, a tapestry of ancient bloodlines woven with arrogance, brilliance, and unrestrained ambition. Each of the main houses—monstrous pillars of wealth—was powerful, ingloriously powerful.
Powerful in military, powerful in magic, powerful in politics; powerful in the way a storm was powerful, or a volcano, or a sleeping dragon curled above a hoard that could drown nations in gold.
A single main house could conquer three neighboring kingdoms.
Not tame, not politely negotiate, not merely defeat—conquer.
Overrun. Absorb. Dominate.
