Emperor Turcan had had enough.
The constant reports from people claiming to have seen white beings were wearing him down. There were more and more of them each day.
He considered calling Marc to update him on the situation, but held back, knowing it would probably only make things worse. Since when did an Emperor have to call a mere boy to give him a rundown of a troublesome situation?
"Your Majesty, it has been twenty hours since they last appeared."
Exorian was there as well. The loyal butler followed his Emperor everywhere, always without intruding on his personal space.
Turcan let out a deep sigh."I hope they've stopped. I truly believed they wouldn't leave their own world."
"I thought so too, Your Majesty."
He lowered his gaze, sitting on his throne.
The people called it the Throne of the Chosen, but Turcan despised that name. He was no chosen one. In his eyes, he had simply succeeded an emperor who had succeeded another. Even if he had never wanted it, he would have ended up sitting on that throne eventually.
The throne hall was vast—undoubtedly the largest in the world. Despite the emerald green hue and aura radiating from the Emperor, everything else was red. A deep, dark red—not bloody, but solemn. A grand carpet stretched all the way to his throne, a beautiful red with no patterns or golden edges. The same material hung from the walls with the emblem of the Zvenne Empire in the form of heavy drapes.
It was a hall over fifty meters high, capable of swallowing a hundred small houses whole.
Guards weren't really necessary—the Emperor was more than enough to protect himself. However, he still had them present whenever another ruler visited.
And on that day, the guards were there. Each wore gleaming red armor, a spear in their right hand, a sword and dagger at their waist, and a shield strapped to their back. The Turcan family crest was engraved into every piece of their equipment. This was not battle armor—it was ceremonial. For an imperial meeting, appearances mattered.
The world was divided into five major regions. The Zvenne Empire stretched from East to West, covering nearly all of the North. Its history was more impressive than any nation before or since. However, a small part of the North remained unconquered—the eastern lands, which extended into much of the Southeast. That was the nation where Marc and his family lived: the Empire of Garid, or Garida.
Garida had once resisted Zvenne's attempts to conquer the entire North in a distant age. And while there were still unexplored places, all of the North was commonly referred to as the Zvenne Empire. That was why the sovereign of Garida and Emperor Turcan were meeting that day—Zvenne wanted no northern land to exist beyond its grasp.
It was not Turcan's decision. He didn't care. But his people felt it was shameful that the East had never been taken. They insisted, and the Emperor answered their call. That was why King Garid IV now walked down the red carpet toward the throne.
A king with long golden hair and blue eyes, dressed like a mage-king. He wore many precious jewels—one of them special, something Zvenne did not possess. It rested in the center of his tunic where all could see: the Garid. The same name as his own.
He walked gracefully, flanked by guards dressed like mages as well. They carried swords and wore helmets—but no armor, no shields. The king's trust in his men was immense, even in the face of the hundreds within the Emperor's hall.
Turcan watched Garid with his calm, emerald gaze. Resting his head on his left hand, he was the first to speak.
"Welcome, Sovereign Garid. Was your journey pleasant?"
Garid opened his mouth slowly, calmly. Then, with a confident and provocative look at the great Emperor, he replied:
"The capital is far from the border. It took me some time, but I am here."
"I am glad to have you today."
"But you're not going to make me stand here, below your throne on that high dais, while we speak, are you?"
Turcan's expression did not change in the face of the Garid king's subtle jab.
"Of course not. Who do you take me for? See to it that the soldiers are welcomed in the reception hall. Sovereign Garid, choose one of your men and follow my butler."
"Very well."
The Emperor rose with regal bearing and moved toward a door in the hall, Exorian by his side. Garid followed closely, accompanied by one of his men. They climbed for a full minute.
The staircase ran along an outer wall, offering a view of the city. Its beauty was undeniable, and King Garid observed it for the entire ascent. The Emperor noticed it quickly and asked:
"Do you enjoy the view, Sovereign Garid?"
"Of course. Only a fool would fail to see the beauty of a city built upon generations of Turcan sovereignty."
The Emperor's cold gaze never left him, even from behind, as they climbed.
At the top, a dome shaped like a blooming flower awaited them. Several beautifully decorated tables were arranged on the tower's rooftop. The view over the city was like that from a mountain peak, and the wind swept over them as King Garid took it all in with a faint smile.
"You have a talent for hosting those of high rank, Emperor Turcan."
"All of this was prepared for people like you, Sovereign Garid. Enjoy it."
They sat at the central table. Their men remained standing beside them. The Emperor calmly took a hot cup of tea from the table. Then, after a few seconds, he fixed the King of Garid with a cold stare. The atmosphere shifted instantly, becoming far more serious.
"Very well. Let's get to the heart of the matter."
Garid slowly raised his eyes while calmly finishing his cup of tea. He set it down beside him, then looked at the Emperor with a calm, yet still provocative, expression.
"A shame. I would have liked to enjoy the view a little longer before speaking of war."
Turcan's gaze intensified with a hint of anger. Garid followed with a more serious, less relaxed look.
"Do you truly want to…"
"If your people can no longer accept the fact that we fought to protect our lands in the east against your insatiable hunger to conquer all of the North, then we will have no choice—we will fight."
"If you truly refuse to yield your lands in the east, then I will not take one step further onto them. I have no desire to start another war like the one three hundred years ago."
"However, my people demand a response. If you seek our lands, we will take back ours."
The Emperor did not move. His face still carried a trace of anger, yet his expression remained deadly serious.
"Emperor Turcan, you know well how hard it is to rule over such a vast people. If even one small part of the empire rebels, others will follow, and you will collapse. I'm not saying you'll be forced to fight right away, but eventually… you will have to act. You will have no choice—attack your own people, or attack us. If the unrest begins now, you'll struggle to contain it later."
This time, the Emperor relaxed slightly, then slowly raised his hand to speak.
"And who says attacking you is the right solution? The fact that you outnumber us in the east could weaken my reputation—and a weak emperor leads a crumbling empire."
Garid calmly resumed sipping his hot tea, as if the heavy atmosphere did not touch him.
"That's true."
"Moreover, it's possible some would oppose this invasion of your lands. In any case, the empire would be divided."
"You are right."
Silence fell over the dome as Garid drank from his cup.
"Do you like it?"
"It's delicious."
The Emperor made no comment. A war was the worst possible scenario for him, especially when he was already dealing with the white beings and the matters of the other world.
His thoughts wandered to the boy who had done so many astonishing things during their visits to the churches. Where was he now?
"You seem lost, Emperor Turcan."
"It's just that I already have many affairs to handle."
"More important than an imminent war?"
"Perhaps… yes."
The sovereign of Garid was taken aback.
"I see."
"I propose we avoid launching a war. Does that suit you?""You seem eager to end this, Emperor. However… you know this is only just beginning."
"I would prefer not to continue."
"We want our former lands."
"They're of no use to you anymore."
"You started this."
Turcan's brows furrowed slightly.
"So you act out of vengeance? As a sovereign, you should know how foolish that is."
"I act out of the will of my people. You disrespected us by seeking to attack simply because we did not make a good neighbor to your empire in the North. So now… we will show you that we are here."
Garid's gaze grew harsher.
The Emperor, however, was angry now. Since discovering the use of aura during his time with Marc and his group, he no longer bothered to restrain himself. He swept the dome with his aura so that everyone present could feel it. Garid's man shifted into a guard stance, and Garid himself gave a tense smile in the face of the Emperor's unknown power. Turcan's emerald eyes began to glow, then the gusts of wind they felt gradually calmed.
"You know… Sovereign Garid… if you want war… then you shall have it."
The sovereign of Garid sat back down calmly. Cold sweat ran down his back, but he remained composed—because he knew one thing: he had the Four Nations behind him.
The world being divided, three nations lay in the South, each with their own kings and emperors. In the face of Zvenne's devastating might, they had formed an alliance, in case any one of them faced this monster alone.
The fifth part of the world belonged to the Free Lands—divided nations in the southeast that could not unite and remained outside the alliance. The alliance itself bore the name Trivide.
"The Trivide will not stand idly by, and you know it, Emperor Turcan."
Then, Turcan calmly took his cup of tea, thinking of something that momentarily eased his mind.
"Nor will Marc Zeymond."
"…Huh?"
The sovereign of Garid had caught a name. He looked at the Emperor, questioning, but quickly realized he would get no answer. Still, he stayed calm. He had always thought the greatest strength of the Zvenne Empire was, of course, the Emperor himself. But upon hearing that name, doubt flickered in his mind.
"Marc Zeymond?"
They finished their still-hot tea in complete silence. Perhaps… the Emperor had just let slip something he shouldn't have.
"Breaking news. It appears that a war is brewing between the Zvenne Empire and Garida, both vying for control over the eastern part of the North. The real problem is that this could easily ignite a global conflict, since the alliance with the Trivide is still in effect. The world may be standing at the threshold of an unprecedented war.
And between that… and the relentless string of disasters, there's nowhere left to feel safe. Just last night, a devastating flood ravaged Quong in Arva, leaving more than thirty missing and two confirmed dead."
Marc sat watching the news on the television. Bad news kept pouring in, but the fact that the Zvenne Empire was heading into war unsettled him even more.
"You've got to be kidding me… The Emperor's getting involved, too? If we have to deal with this and the other world at the same time, we're going to lose a lot of people."
At that moment, his phone rang. He picked it up, glanced at the caller ID—and blinked in surprise.
"Exorian? What's going on—"
"For you, it's Mr. Exorian. And the Emperor is expecting you in Orio."
Marc froze at the abrupt invitation.
"What?"
"I'll send you the address. Do you need us to come pick you up?"
"No need. I'll be there in less than an hour."
"What?"
"I'll wait for you if I have to."
"…If you say so."
Exorian hung up. Marc went to get ready. The rain outside had been relentless these past days. Floods had already broken out in some places, though nothing too serious—yet. Judging from the disasters reported on TV, Marc suspected this fragile calm wouldn't last long.
After changing, he grabbed a jacket and opened the front door—only to find Elie standing there.
"Oh, Marc. You saw the news?"
"Yeah. And it's a mess. The Emperor wants me to see him in Orio. I think we need to talk."
The young woman looked confident, holding a black umbrella that kept most of the rain off her—though it was clear it wouldn't last long. The weather was getting worse by the second.
"Well, well. Invited by the Emperor. Times really are changing."
Marc let out a long sigh and narrowed his eyes.
"I wish they'd change in a different way."
"Want me to come with you?"
"If you want."
They headed to Elie's place so she could change. Marc waited outside her door—it wasn't every day they were going to see the Emperor, so appearances mattered.
Catherine was there. She stood in the doorway, staring at Marc with cold eyes. He met her gaze, refusing to look away. He knew well enough that Elie's mother didn't like him.
She looked him straight in the eyes and noticed that his gaze was even darker than usual.
Her expression hardened.
"You've got problems, kid. And you're dragging my daughter into them."
Marc stayed silent. She wasn't entirely wrong… though this time, his problems might end up affecting the entire world.
Catherine's brows furrowed.
"If something happens to her…"
Marc held her gaze. She didn't back down.
"I know my daughter cares about you. I don't know why. She worries when you vanish, she always wants to know how you're doing, she trains like she has to protect you…"
Marc didn't react.
"…But I think you're not worth it. I think you're going to bring her trouble. She doesn't listen to me—she believes you're worth more than anything else in this world… even her own life."
Marc lowered his gaze.
"You know… my daughter's a dreamer. She dreams of you often, and tells me about it. In some dreams, you're a good person. In others, you sink to the deepest abyss. But in all of them… you're alone. She tries to keep you company, but no matter how or why… you always drift away, disappearing into a world of solitude and dread."
His head dipped further.
"Her eyes have changed because of you. The way she thinks. The way she acts… She's not the same girl she used to be. And it breaks my heart not knowing why. But I do know… it's your fault."
Marc stared at the ground, guilt twisting in his chest.
"She used to want to be a fashion designer. She had real talent for it. I loved her dresses and tops. But since she met you, she doesn't even talk about it anymore.You're changing too, kid. And those changes… they're pulling her with you. Maybe in the end, you'll both be swallowed by despair. And I won't let that happen."
Marc took her words to heart. They shook him deeply. It was hard to admit… but most of what she said was true. Still—
"I know you worry about her. And I'm not the best man in the world. But I can promise you this: just as your daughter has taken care of me… I'll do everything I can to protect her. No— to make sure she's happy."
Catherine studied the teenager who wasn't even half her age, spilling out words he probably couldn't live up to. Still, it drew the faintest smile to her lips.
"At least it sounds like you care about her."
"I'm ready."
Elie descended the stairs—and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The dress she wore seemed to float around her like sculpted mist. Long, white, tailored to embrace her form without constraining it, it fell to the floor with an almost unreal fluidity. The fabric, light as a whisper, caught the dim light and scattered it in soft glimmers, as if each thread held a fragment of the moon.
But what made it unique wasn't the cut, nor Elie's natural grace—it was the symbols. Crystal flowers, scattered across the surface as though the dress had been dipped in a frozen garden. Each flower was different: some in full bloom, others barely opened, all carved from translucent glass with iridescent sheen.
The petals seemed to tremble at her every movement, casting tiny halos around her. Some flowers stretched in swirling patterns over panels of sheer lace, as if trying to escape the fabric. Others formed subtle designs, hidden near the waist or along the V-shaped neckline—secrets only the light could reveal.
Elie blinked, surprised by the strange stares. Marc's jaw had dropped in awe. Catherine said nothing, but her body was practically vibrating with restrained fury.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Aren't we supposed to go see the Emperor?"
Catherine pretended she hadn't heard. Slowly, she turned her head—her face dark, her expression heavy with barely controlled anger. Marc could swear he felt an oppressive aura seeping from her.
"Marc Zeymond… do you have a death wish?"
Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. One wrong word could get him killed right here.
"No, ma'am."
Catherine's clenched fist swelled with thick, menacing veins.
"Why did she just mention the Emperor?"
Marc tried to whistle and look away, but his eyes darted around aimlessly.
"For… a certain reason."
"You're going to see Emperor Garid?"
"No. Yes. Maybe."
"You're in contact with the Emperor?"
"Yes. No. Maybe."
Elie realized her mistake.
"…Oops."
Marc finally locked his trembling gaze on her.
"Elie… maybe you should wear something else. I was planning to walk there."
Catherine jumped in.
"Walk?"
This time, it was Elie who looked surprised.
"Walk? But—"
Her mother cut her off.
"Marc Zeymond… you were planning to walk to Zvenne to meet the Emperor?"
"Yes. No…"
"…Maybe?"
His phone rang faintly, as if it didn't want the situation to escalate either. Marc shakily reached for it and answered.
"Hello? Exorian."
"We'll arrive tomorrow."
"Thanks…"
Suddenly, Catherine snatched the phone from his hands.
"Hello. Are you Emperor Garid?"
"No, madam. I am the buttler of His Majesty Turcan. Please keep this meeting confidential."
Catherine froze like a statue.
"My apologies. Goodbye."
Elie finally spoke.
"Why are you always in such a hurry, Marc?"
"I thought you'd appreciate it—we don't want to waste time."
"From that perspective, I guess it makes sense. Well… see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
The two parted ways and returned to their homes. Catherine remained under the porch, frozen in place—completely stunned by what had just happened.