Far to the western outskirts of Eldoria's central capital, beyond the layered rings of noble districts and imperial wards, stood a territory that rivaled the main palace itself in sheer scale. From a distance, it appeared as a second capital, a domain vast enough to swallow cities whole. Though technically smaller than the Imperial Palace grounds, the Western Duchy sprawled outward like a restrained giant, its stone walls stretching so far that the horizon itself seemed bent around them.
Those walls were tall and old, reinforced with both stone and runic metal, their surfaces etched with defensive sigils dulled by centuries of weather and war. Beyond them lay sweeping fields of cultivated land, rows upon rows of grain and root crops swaying under the pale sky. Irrigation channels glimmered faintly, though their flow was weaker than it had been weeks ago. Inside the walls, the duchy thrived in structure if not in spirit. Streets were broad and orderly. Buildings rose in disciplined lines. And above all of it, banners snapped restlessly in the wind.
Each banner bore the sigil of House Wytherayne. A black raven with wings half spread, clutching a silver key in its talons. The emblem of guardianship, vigilance, and unyielding loyalty to the throne.
This was the Western Duchy, governed by House Wytherayne for generations beyond counting.
With a population nearing fifteen million, the duchy should have been alive with noise. Merchants shouting prices. Children running through stone alleys. Smiths hammering steel from dawn until dusk. Yet now, an uneasy quiet hung over the streets. Not silence, but restraint. Conversations were hushed. Laughter ended too quickly. People glanced upward at the sky more often than they should have, as if expecting it to fracture.
Rumors had a way of slipping through even the strongest walls.
Near one of the inner marketplaces, two elderly women stood beside a produce stall, their baskets half filled and forgotten. One clutched a bundle of root vegetables so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
"I heard my nephew say that beyond the great walls the forests to the north have changed," the first woman murmured, her voice thin with worry. "He swore the landmarks are gone. Paths he's walked since childhood, vanished."
Her neighbor leaned closer, eyes darting toward the surrounding crowd. "Some also say that the river bends on the wrong way now. That it flows where it shouldn't. If the land itself is shifting, what does that mean for us?"
"It means trouble," the first whispered. "We were the strongest empire in Radeal. And now look at us."
Before the words could settle, a sharp clearing of the throat cut through their conversation.
"Watch your tongues."
An old man stood a few paces away, leaning heavily on a wooden cane polished smooth by age. His back was bent, but his eyes were sharp, burning with something fierce and unyielding.
"Such doubts are poison," he said, voice steady despite the years pressing on it. "You speak as though you have forgotten where you stand."
The women stiffened, color draining from their faces.
"We didn't mean to disrespect our home" one said quickly. "We... felt fear on these uncertain times."
The old man snorted. "Uncertain times have followed this empire since its birth. I have read the records of our Empire. Wars that lasted decades. Enemies that outnumbered us ten to one. Plagues and famines followed. Monsters that tried to erase us."
He struck the ground lightly with his cane. "And who stood at the center of it all?"
The women said nothing.
"Emperor Kaito," the old man continued, pride swelling in his tone. "Six hundred years on the throne. Six hundred years of victories written in blood and ink. You think a mere change of land will frighten him? You think this is the first time the world has tested his rule?"
Slowly, the tension in the women's shoulders eased.
"You truly believe he will resolve this?" one asked softly.
The old man smiled, a rare and gentle expression. "I know he will. The Emperor does not fail his people. Never has and never will be."
As they watched him walk away, the women felt something unfamiliar settle in their chests. Not certainty, but reassurance. Sometimes, belief was enough to keep fear at bay.
Far beyond the residential quarters and marketplaces, at the westernmost end of the duchy, rose a palace that dwarfed all others beneath its shadow. Its white stone walls gleamed even under the muted daylight, veins of silver inlaid along its arches and spires. Covering a stretch of land as wide as ten football fields laid end to end, the palace of House Wytherayne was a declaration of authority in stone.
This was the seat of the Western Duke.
Within its walls, deep inside a wing reserved for governance and war planning, lay a vast office illuminated by tall windows of enchanted glass. Sunlight filtered through them in pale hues, casting long patterns across the floor. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, heavy with ledgers, histories, and tactical manuals. Maps were pinned to cork boards and magical displays alike, many of them marked with red ink and glowing sigils.
At the center stood a massive wooden desk, its surface nearly hidden beneath stacks of parchment.
Seated behind it was a man who looked carved from resolve itself.
Edric Wytherayne, Grand Duke of the West.
At forty five years of age, he was tall and broad shouldered, his presence filling the room without effort. His light blue hair was kept short and practical, flecked faintly with silver at the temples. A neatly trimmed beard framed a stern mouth, while his sharp blue eyes scanned the documents before him with unwavering focus.
Those eyes had seen battlefields soaked in blood and skies torn apart by magic.
Edric was a Tier Eleven battle mage, one of the strongest of his generation. Though even he acknowledged that his achievements fell short of one legendary ancestor who had reached Tier Fifteen during the Great Wars. Still, few in the empire could stand against him and fewer still would dare.
He picked up another parchment, his brow tightening as he read.
Another request.
Mercenary guilds petitioning to venture beyond the empire's borders in search of monster materials. Merchant associations pleading for permission to explore new trade routes. Alchemist circles begging access to herbs that no longer grew where they once had. Each letter was respectful.
Edric set the paper down slowly.
They were thanking him for selling low priced resources he could barely spare. Apologizing for accepting help without offering anything in return. Some even asked, in careful words, whether His Majesty's breakthrough was proceeding smoothly.
Edric closed his eyes briefly from the lie that was told.
The Emperor was asleep. Had been for over two weeks. And during that time, the world had changed.
Edric exhaled quietly, fingers tightening against the edge of the desk. He had lived through countless crises, but this was different. The empire felt exposed. Vulnerable in a way it had not been for centuries.
Perhaps the Emperors age was finally catching up to him, he thought grimly.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft knock at the double doors ahead.
Edric straightened immediately.
His senses flared instinctively, mana stirring beneath his skin as he reached outward with trained awareness. The presence beyond the doors brushed against him lightly, familiar enough that the tension in his shoulders eased.
"…Come in," he said.
The double doors opened, and a young girl stepped inside.
She was no older than thirteen, her figure still carrying the softness of youth, though her posture was straight and practiced. Short curls of red hair framed her face, the color inherited directly from her mother, the Grand Duchess Alwen Marrowind Wytherayne. Her light blue eyes were sharp and observant, carrying a calm focus that did not match her age.
She was not dressed in a gown.
Instead, she wore fitted brown trousers, sturdy boots, and a light blue buttoned shirt reinforced at the seams. It was clothes meant to move in, to fall in, to rise again without complaint.
Edric's expression softened instantly.
"Ellyn," he said, already standing.
He crossed the room in long strides, arms opening without hesitation.
Before she could react, he wrapped her in a powerful embrace and lifted her off the ground.
"There you are," he said warmly. "I was wondering when you would come and bother me."
"Father," Ellyn said, her voice muffled against his chest. "You're... crushing me."
Edric laughed, the sound deep and unrestrained. "You're fine."
"No, I am not," she said, pushing weakly at his side. "I can't breathe."
"Oh." He paused. "Right."
He loosened his grip slightly.
She inhaled sharply. "You're still not letting go."
Edric sighed, feigning disappointment, before finally setting her back on her feet.
"There," he said. "Better?"
She smoothed her shirt and shot him a flat look. "Barely."
Edric crouched slightly, hands resting on his knees as he examined her face, eyes flicking to the faint sheen of sweat at her temple, the controlled rise and fall of her breathing.
"You look tired," he said. "Training too intense? I told them not to overdo it."
"I am fine," Ellyn replied quickly. "And I didn't come here for that."
He tilted his head. "Then why are you here?"
She hesitated.
Her gaze drifted briefly to the towering stacks of documents on his desk, to the sealed reports marked with sigils of urgency. Then she looked back at him, her expression shifting into something quieter. More serious.
"Father," she said. "What is happening outside the walls?"
Edric felt his chest tighten.
"What do you mean?" he asked, a fraction too fast.
"I heard the knights talking," she said. "During a patrol rotation."
His jaw clenched.
"They said the borders feel wrong," she continued. "That some roads no longer lead where they used to. That merchant caravans from our neighboring kingdoms are missing."
She swallowed lightly. "They said the kingdoms we conquered… especially the trade partners to the west and south… they are gone."
The room fell into silence.
Edric straightened slowly. A thin layer of sweat formed at his temple.
He had given strict orders. No one was supposed to talk about this around her. This year marked the beginning of the Wytherayne tradition. Six years of strict underground training. He didn't wan't her daughter to fear the uncertain thing happening outside so this training was perfect for avoiding the rumors getting in to her. And yet, here she is, talking about it.
Inside his mind, anger flared sharply.
Those knights would regret opening their mouths.
Ellyn took a small step closer.
"So?" she asked. "Is it true?"
Edric exhaled slowly and forced his expression to relax.
"No," he said firmly. "It isn't."
Her brows furrowed. "Then why would they say that?"
"Because people panic," he replied. "And when people panic, they talk. They exaggerate things and they start imagining things."
He reached out and rested his hand on her head, fingers gently ruffling her curls. It was a deliberate distraction.
"You don't need to worry about that," he said. "Not while I am here."
Ellyn immediately frowned and slapped his hand away.
"Stop that," she said. "I'm not a child."
"You are absolutely a child," Edric said calmly.
She crossed her arms. "I'm training to become a Wytherayne."
"And you will," he said. "Which is why you should focus on that. Leave the rest to me."
She studied his face carefully.
Her father had never lied to her before.
"…Okay," she said at last. "I believe you."
For now.
Edric did not let the moment linger.
"In that case," he said brightly, clapping his hands once, "how about a reward?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of reward?"
"Sweets."
She looked away, pretending to think. "…Honey pastry?"
He smiled. "Of course."
Edric closed his eyes briefly and issued a clear telepathic command, his voice carrying authority through the palace wards.
Head maid. Come to my office immediately. Take my daughter to the garden and prepare some sweets.
At the very same time, another telepathic wave surged outward, far sharper, laced with menace.
All knights within palace grounds. If anyone speaks of the outside situation near my daughter again, you will be stripped of your position in the House of Knights. Consider this your final warning.
Throughout the palace, armored men straightened instinctively, cold dread crawling down their spines.
Which idiot blabbered their mouth?
Moments later, the head maid arrived and bowed deeply. Ellyn allowed herself to be led away, glancing back once.
"Don't work too hard," she said.
Edric smiled faintly. "I can't promise that."
She huffed and disappeared down the corridor.
The doors closed.
The warmth drained from Edric's face.
He exhaled slowly. "That was too close."
Then his instincts screamed.
A crushing presence rolled across the palace like a tidal wave.
Edric's head snapped up.
Mana surged through his body as he turned and strode from the office, boots echoing sharply as he climbed toward the highest level of the palace.
The upper balcony.
The place where the Emperor's gaze once fell upon the world.
He stepped onto the vast platform and sealed the doors behind him, conjuring multiple layers of reinforcement magic. The morning sky was bright blue.
Then the air twisted.
A deafening roar split the heavens as a Tier Eleven tornado descended, stone cracking beneath its pressure. Within the storm, a massive shadow emerged, ten times Edric's height.
The impact shook the palace but dispersed quickly as it came.
Edric stood firm, cloak whipping violently around him as the colossal figure landed before him.
He did not flinch.
"…I haven't seen you in a long time," Edric said quietly, staring up at the beast.