CHAPTER ONE
Kol 9102 - Third day in the first turn of Oathmarch
The horns didn't sound like victory.
They sounded like a leash snapping.
One long, bruised note rolled across the Black Valleys once a pasture so green it used to blind men at noon. Now it was a wound that never closed. Blood had soaked into the soil for seventeen years until the land itself turned dark, and the stink of iron and rot became normal, like sweat.
A battlefield that had been screaming a moment ago went dead quiet.
Arthur Iron stood in the silence with his fair skin painted red. Blood ran down his chiselled face, blending in with his crimson red hair and through his light crimson stubble, and off his jaw in slow drops. He held the severed head of a Highkin warrior by its hair as if it weighed nothing.
Then he dropped it.
The head hit the black mud with a wet thud. Blond hair once clean, once beautiful was instantly ruined. The cavities of its face, the open mouth, the staring eyes… already darkening, as if the valley was swallowing it.
Arthur exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for four years.
He let his sword fall from his fingers, Crownkindle he called it. The blade sank point-first into the black ground, almost like the land welcomed it.
Arthur sat down on the corpse of a fallen soldier as though he'd earned the right to rest on death.
"Four years," he thought. "Four damn years."
Sam Metaforger ran toward him across mud that clung to boots like hands.
"Lieutenant Commander!" Sam shouted.
Sam scanned the field until he found him.
Sam's silver Armor was ruined stained, dented, scratched, soaked with war. His shield was cracked, his blade chipped. He yanked off his sallet, revealing a square strong face, brown eyes, and a black beard.
"It's over, Arthur," Sam said, breathless. "It's finally over."
Arthur didn't look up.
"We are still on a battlefield, Sam. Or have you forgotten."
Sam swallowed. He tried to steady himself tried to put something like joy into his voice.
Sam swallowed. "They've agreed to terms."
Arthur finally looked at him.
Seventeen years of war had aged the Empire.
Four years had hollowed Arthur.
"They agreed," Arthur repeated quietly. "After we finally began pushing them back."
The Highkin had been retreating. Slowly. Costly. But retreating.
Then peace.
Sam knew why.
Food shortages.
Dwarven ore demands.
Farmers conscripted.
Treasury drained.
The Trident tightening its grip.
He did not say it aloud.
Arthur wiped blood from his jaw.
"My father could not afford another winter," he said. Not with bitterness. Just fact.
The wind carried the smell of rot and iron.
Arthur's eyes flicked toward him, empty and sharp all at once.
"Why would I be happy?" Arthur asked. "Do you think I yearn to see my father, who sent me to this battlefield to die?"
A deep voice came from behind Sam.
"He's right. Why would my cousin be happy about returning?"
Sam turned.
Albert Iron walked up with the same family face as Arthur fair skin, hard features but his hair was longer, and he wore a goatee like a man dressing up his cruelty. His Armor was cleaner than it should've been. His smile was uglier than it should've been.
"We got sent to this hell as children," Albert said. "Names stripped. Treated like tools. Now we go home as men."
He smirked, eyes cold. "Leaving our wives behind. Bet they're enjoying the company of some guard right now. The sluts."
Sam's face tightened with instant fury.
"Shut up, Albert," Sam snapped. "How dare you speak of the princess like that."
Arthur stared at Albert with the same dead calm he'd worn while holding a severed head.
Albert, suddenly remembering other people existed, lifted his hands a fraction. "My apologies," he said like it meant nothing and dropped his sword to the mud. He sat down like nothing happened.
Sam wanted to hit him. Wanted to drag him through the black soil until his mouth filled with it, he knew the atrocities he committed during the battle, now he knew he would not pay for them.
But the horns kept sounding.
Peace.
Like a joke.
"Anyway," Sam forced out, "we should head back to camp.
Arthur stood, yanking his sword from the ground.
"Yeah," Arthur said, voice flat. "Let's go."
Camp Greenheart
Camp Greenheart looked less like a camp and more like a grave that hadn't finished filling.
A large pit of spikes surrounded it, a ring of sharpened wood beneath which bodies lay members of the unity alliance and Highkin both stacked in decay. A wall of rock and iron made a second barrier inside the pit. It was defensive architecture built by men who no longer believed tomorrow was guaranteed.
Screams rose everywhere.
"AAARGH!"
The infirmary was over capacity. Men were treated on the ground mud as bedding, blood as blanket
Two-story buildings stood like tired sentries.
Three larger structures owned the camp's true heart, the infirmary, the prison and the war room
A massive figure guarded the war room door.
Henry Stonegate.
A 7.4 feet tall juggernaut with arms wrapped in scars, long hair covering most of his face, and an axe so heavy it looked like it belonged to a siege engine. His voice was deep enough to shake confidence into men and fear into cowards.
"Hey," Henry growled, "you three get your asses in here. Commander's calling you lot."
"Get your asses inside," Henry repeated, "he's waiting."
Albert rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
Samantha Metaforger stood nearby, hands stained with blood that wasn't hers. She was slim but strong, hair pulled tight in a ponytail, brown eyes like Sam's, fair skin splattered red from saving people who would never thank her.
"Don't you guys need to be looked at?" she asked.
Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about us. Help as many injured as you can."
Samantha's eyes flicked to Arthur for a split second like she could see something wrong inside him that Armor couldn't cover.
War Room
Commander Michael Greenheart waited inside.
Veteran. Missing his left arm. Scar across his left eye. Built like a man who'd survived wars by refusing to die. A broadsword across his back, a dagger at his waist, and one green eye that seemed permanently disappointed in the world.
"Come," Michael said. "Have a seat, Lieutenant."
A rectangular table sat in the corner.
Albert immediately dropped into the head seat.
Sam exhaled hard and stared at him. "Isn't that the commander's seat?"
Albert leaned back. "Last I checked, the war's over, right, Commander?"
Michael's mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh but couldn't remember how.
"You are correct, Albert," he said. "The war is over. We finally get to go home."
He turned his head toward the door. "Linda. Bring us something to drink."
Albert's eyes tracked Linda the moment she entered.
Linda had no last name anyone used out loud. Dark chocolate skin. Long black hair flowing down her back. A body that made men forget she was a person and not property.
Albert grinned. "That's some exotic maid you got there, Commander."
"I bought her a while back," Michael said, plain as stone. "She used to be a citizen of the Dichotoma Empire."
Linda placed a tray on the table four drinks.
Albert's hand struck her rear as she turned.
Linda flinched, a sharp noise escaping her.
"ALBERT!" Sam barked.
Albert raised both hands like he was the victim. "Fine, fine. You killjoy."
Arthur watched all of it without expression. That frightened Sam more than Albert's trash mouth ever could.
Sam leaned forward. "Commander. What were the terms? Wars don't just stop."
Michael chuckled, genuine this time. "Straight to it. Always, Metaforger."
He took a drink.
"The Unity came to an agreement with the Highkin. Yes, we were pushing them back finally. But after seventeen years, only now did we manage that. The emperor realized we couldn't afford to keep bleeding."
Michael's voice hardened.
"Farmers. Bakers. Miners. Carpenters. Drafted. The dwarves sent most of their forces already, including their own blacksmiths, house Rimus did the same before they began to feel the strain as well, even mercenary's groups when they began to lose their giants, prices began to increase tenfold and production across the central continent started falling. We began relying on overseas imports to feed and arm this war"
He leaned closer, lowering his tone like the room itself was an enemy.
"And since we're importing while funding most of the fighting, the emperor started using reserved treasury funds. I heard he borrowed from the Radiant Order and even started to show interest in wanted to borrow from Evangahope Bank"
Sam's eyebrows lifted. "That's insane. Touching that bank causes problems."
"That's why he made peace," Michael said.
Albert sipped his drink. "So, what was the deal? Don't tell me we gave them land."
Michael looked at Albert like a teacher staring at a slow student.
"What do you think ends a war overnight, makes both sides agree to meet?"
Albert smiled wider. "A political marriage."
"Correct."
Michael set his cup down.
"The Third Prince will marry the second-born princess of the Kauri Kingdom."
Prisoners will be released. Highkin representation in the Trident."
Arthur's eyes flickered at that.
Highkin in the Trident.
The echo of the War of Four felt close.
Emperor Caelum had once crushed the Order to prevent divided authority.
The Radiant Order, The Trident was the same animal but a different name
The body Caelum's son had strengthened after the War of Four to prevent another tyrant.
The same body that now shared authority with the emperor.
The same body that had just allowed Highkin representation.
History did not repeat.
It evolved.
Sam felt something tighten in his stomach.
Arthur who had not reacted to anything smiled.
It was small.
It was wrong.
Sam and Albert noticed at the same time and went quiet.
Michael unfolded another letter.
"I, Emperor Johnathan Corvus the First…"
A wall of titles and praise.
Then the blade slipped in, he restored the royal seals.
Arthur appointed as Warden-Marshal of the Legions, four years of blood Rewarded with responsibility.
Sam watched him carefully.
Arthur smiled.
It was not joy, it was calculation
Arthur Iron and Albert Iron were to reclaim their names.
Arthur Deialger.
Albert Deialger.
"…your mother is excited to see you."
Michael looked up. "Congratulations, my prince."
Sam forced a smile. "Congratulations."
Arthur stared at the letter like it offended him.
"That's it?" Arthur said, voice rising. "After four years… that's all the bastard has to say?"
He laughed hard, forced, hollow then turned and walked out.
Prison
The prison smelled like old sweat, piss, blood, and hopelessness.
Cold bars, three inches thick, held people who'd been enemies yesterday and would be bargaining pieces tomorrow. Some prisoners had been tortured. Some were simply left to rot. The floor was bare and wet. A hole in the ground served as dignity's grave.
Arthur walked in like he owned the place.
Steve Greenheart, the prison guard, straightened painfully. His arms were wrapped in bandages. His face was burned. His lips were cracked with sores. His eyes were red with sleeplessness.
"Lieutenant Arthur," Steve rasped. "What brings you here?"
"To gather information," Arthur said calmly.
Steve blinked, confused. "But… isn't the war over? The prisoners are being released."
"Yes," Arthur replied, staring into Steve like a knife. "I need to gather information."
Steve swallowed. "I... I need permission from the Commander. Can you wait...."
Arthur's expression didn't change.
"Open the fucking door, Steve," he said. "You goddam freak."
Steve froze.
Arthur stepped past him.
He opened a cell. Dragged out a newly captured prisoner by the hair and took him toward the interrogation room as if his screams were background noise.
Roughly Forty-five minutes passed, Sam didn't see what happened next, but he saw the look in Arthur's eyes, and it made his skin crawl.
In the camp, four other lieutenant commanders waited.
Simon Metaforger tall, big build, black hair to his chin, brown eyes, sword marked with the Metaforger crest: a black dog with a hammer.
Oz Greenheart muscular, piercing green eyes, long white hair, a large axe on his back and a longsword at his waist.
Malik Orchid thin, little Armor, too many daggers, a scimitar, light brown skin, brown eyes, full beard.
Kai Koa brown-skinned, wavy black hair, muscular, shield on his back, sword at his hip.
"Steve said you needed to gather information," Simon said.
"That's right," Arthur answered.
Arthur smiled politely.
He walked past them like a man walking past insects.
Malik watched him go. "Well, that was freaky"
Simon nodded once. "We leave in three days."
Sam didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Because he remembered what Arthur used to be, and now Arthur looked like war had eaten him and learned his face.
Sam's Barracks
Old bricks held the soldier housing together, barely. Everything smelled like damp iron.
Sam lay down and stared at the ceiling.
His body wanted sleep.
His mind refused.
Arthur's name restored.
Arthur's smile at the political marriage.
Arthur walking into the prison like it was his private room.
Sam closed his eyes.
For the first time in years, he dreamed.
He began to fall, a white space that had no end, he heard sound, but then it was dead silent, he saw colour, but it was only white changing too fast to follow, it felt cold and hot at once ecstasy and terror braided together.
A presence watched him.
He couldn't reach it.
"WHO ARE YOU?" Sam shouted. "WHERE AM I?"
A voice responded like it was amused.
Ahh… Sam. That is your name, yes? No need to shout. I've only been watching. Watching the little, delightful things that are about to happen. Or that I hope will happen."
"Are you a god?"
"Of course not, simply an observer"
Two eyes appeared orange like a sun dying behind smoke.
"What makes one evil?" the voice asked.
Sam's throat tightened.
He wanted to answer right. He wanted to be useful.
"I think one is evil when they hurt people," Sam said.
"What a boring answer."
The eyes brightened.
"You are a warrior. A soldier. You kill others. Does that make you evil?"
Sam panicked. "No... I meant..."
"Do you know what I think?" the voice continued, calm and cutting. "I think someone is evil when they are selfish. Selfishness unbinds people from rules. They do what they want whether others like it or not."
The white space shifted like it was breathing.
"And when selfish people reject the rules," the voice said, "those who live by rules create the concept of evil to control them."
Sam's heart pounded.
"Do you have any thoughts on this assessment?" it asked.
Sam opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything
"Tell me, "The voice continued softly, "if one burns a thousand to prevent ten thousand from kneeling, is he evil?"
Dimitri Rimus.
The Scream of a Thousand.
Sam had studied the War of Four as a boy.
The Radiant Order had called for peace.
More than a thousand soldiers laid down arms.
Dimitri burned a thousand believers in retaliation.
"He feared their power," Sam whispered.
The eyes flared brighter.
"Never mind," the voice said. "We're out of time. I can't wait to see the choices you make."
Sam woke sweating.
Morning had already arrived.
And for the first time, he felt like the war hadn't ended.
It had just changed shape.
The Main Hall
Michael sat with tea as the lieutenant commanders gathered.
"The emperor has decided to leave the outposts standing," Michael said. "All prisoners will be released in the coming days. High-ranking officers return home."
Kai shoved food into his mouth. "That's it? Anticlimactic as fuck."
"Goddammit," Malik snapped. "Swallow before you speak."
Michael continued. "The emperor sent a carriage for Arthur, Samantha, Sam, and Albert as soon as the agreement was met. It's been moving without rest. It should arrive in a day's time."
Arthur smirked. "Can't wait to be home again."
A soldier rushed in, saluting. "Commander! The emperor's carriage just arrived."
Michael stood. "Then it's time. Be seeing you, Lieutenant Commander."
His expression turned faintly respectful.
"Or should I say… my prince."
The Emperor's Carriage
It was made from Mattarite gold iron dwarven metal with iron's strength and a quarter of its weight. It shimmered like a threat in sunlight.
Nine Rinefins pulled it.
Creatures bred by the Lifim long ago. Thick skin like whales. Four eyes. Lives as long as Highkin. Quiet as nightmares.
An escort followed, 15 knights on horseback carried flags with a black field a sword crossed with a sword, behind a white flame shaped liked a crown, it was the Crest of the royal house, 30 spearmen, 100-foot soldiers, 15 caravans of food and supplies
Only men with wives or families two generations deep were allowed in this unit. Loyalty was bred into bloodlines the same way the Rinefins were bred into beasts.
Sir Jordan dropped to one knee.
He was an Obsidian Knight, an Order created by Marius I "The Colossus" during his reign, trained from birth the serve the Royal line
"My lord Arthur. My lord Albert. Sir Sam. I have come to take you home."
Samantha ran up late, hair messy, eyes tired.
"Sorry," she said. "Late night."
Sam looked at Jordan's men. "Sir Jordan, didn't you and your men need rest? I heard you came straight from the kingdom without stopping."
Jordan didn't blink. "forty-seven hours awake is hardly anything, my lord. The emperor gave explicit orders to get you home quickly."
He turned to Arthur.
"Your mother had this made for you and asked us to present it to you, my prince."
Two knights lifted a long red robe the royal crest embroidered with gems,
Jordan moved behind Arthur, placing it over his shoulders.
The entire camp bowed hands on the ground. Only certain ranks were allowed to kneel on one knee.
"I am proud to announce the return of Prince Arthur Deialger, Inheritor of the Ascendant Flame," Jordan declared, "descendant of the divine Alfonso the Emancipator. We bow in your name."
Sam bowed too.
But he watched Arthur.
Power settled on Arthur like it belonged there.
As they boarded, Albert looked at Linda, standing behind Michael.
Linda's face tightened. Her fists clenched.
Albert smiled as if he'd left something behind on purpose.
Sam noticed,
Sam said nothing.
He hated himself for that.
Capital of Deialgard
forty-seven hours later.
"My prince," a knock. "We are home."
Arthur pulled back the curtain and saw the empire he'd been born to inherit.
Sea wind, Markets, Farms, Smithies smoking white, Commonfolk homes rising two stories tall, Iron stone walls, Iron chimneys.
Yet something felt wrong.
Tents lined the borders of the main town, Food thin.
Sam noticed, so did Arthur but he began to focus in on something else
As the roads turned from gravel to stone, the city tried to look strong.
The square held the statue of Alfonso I, 600 feet tall, two swords raised, the Great Emancipator. The Emancipator had ruled for 198 years, His descendant Emperor Caelum had ruled for 147 years. Both had reshaped the continent; both had bathed the land in blood. Arthur stared at the statue.
His jaw tightened.
The myth that kept the empire standing.
The Deialger Palace-Fortress
The palace didn't sit on the city. It ruled it.
Three hundred and seventeen feet of wall rose like a cliff of worked stone, dark stone layered with pale veins of mattaxe that caught the light and threw it back like gold. From a distance it looked like a crown laid on the earth. The Outer Ring was the first warning, a wide dry trench cut into the ground, lined with sharpened iron stakes, beyond it stood the First Wall, sheer and smooth, built to deny ladders and deny hope. It was studded with watchtowers shaped like spearheads, each crowned with iron lanterns that burned with an unnatural pale flame, fuel that didn't smoke and didn't flicker. They said the fourth Emperor Aldric II "The Builder" demanded those lights after remnant forces from the south known as the Greentide Raiders made a surprised attack during the night, leading to the death of Aldric's youngest daughter Seraphine II. Then came the Gates of Morning, twin doors of gold-iron, thick enough to stop a siege ram, etched cravings of the Great Emancipator holding his two swords Dawn-Splitter and chainbreaker, "The Twin Verdicts" as many called them, above kneeling kings. In the grooves of the carvings, centuries of soot had settled like permanent shadow. The hinges never screamed. They opened with a slow, perfect silence that felt wrong, as if the palace didn't want the city hearing it breathe. Inside the walls the air changed.
The noise of the streets dulled, like the stone absorbed sound. Even the wind felt filtered, as if it had to ask permission to enter. The Courtyard Gardens were massive exotic trees imported from four kingdoms, their trunks wrapped in gold bands, their leaves wide enough to shade a dozen men. Water channels cut through the grounds in clean geometry, feeding koi-like fish that glittered with unnatural colours. Statues lined the paths of the fifteen emperors, Great generals and of past Obsidian knights of exceptional service
At the heart of the fortress rose the Ascendance Keep, a tower so tall it made clouds look lower. The stone was darker there, almost black, and the seams between blocks so perfect no blade could slip between them. The locals whispered it wasn't built. It was found, carved out of a single piece of ancient ore, as if the earth had grown it for the Deialgers.
And then there was the darkest truth, spoken only in whispers, The castle had a second city beneath it.
Old tunnels from the Kin-Succession War. Storage chambers the Trident used for "unrecorded" goods. Cells that didn't exist on any map. Routes that led out under the river, under the poor districts and under the old shrines
People bowed naturally as the carriage passed.
At the palace steps waited Robert Newgold.
Butler. Seventy-two years in service. Slim, strong, Greybeard groomed clean, clothes tightly fitted, wrinkled hands and medals on his chest from his active days.
He bowed.
"Welcome home, my prince."
Power. Authority. Wealth.
That was Deialger.
Arthur nodded. "Robert. Good to see you."
"Indeed," Robert said. "The emperor is waiting. Please, this way."
Sam and Samantha went off heading to the Metaforger estate.
Arthur and Albert continued toward the throne room.
The throne room itself was the last statement of power.
Two massive doors of mattaxe guarded it, the Obsidian throne sat in the middle and above it hung replica Swords of the Past, blades suspended by chains so thin they looked like spider silk, each one belonging to an Emperor. Beneath them sat the throne, a seat carved from an ore so black it swallowed light. It didn't shine. It didn't reflect. It looked like a hole cut into reality, they said the first Emperor had been given that stone by God, Others said it was the devil's gift,
Standing before it, Arthur understood something he hadn't understood as a child, this wasn't a palace meant to protect a family.
It was a weapon meant to protect an idea.
And ideas didn't die quietly.
To the left was the Trident chamber.
Arthur hated the Trident
The Trident or Royal Council as it was known in the past was laid out as a group of advisors by Aldric II as he was rapidly expanding the infrastructure and relations in the empire, lords and leaders of conquered lands were chosen meant to assist the emperor in his ever-growing empire. Their influence was stagnant but after Rodric I "The Stormhand" the sixth emperor nearly bankrupt the empire through his constant wars their power began growing and was made permanent after Darius I "The Broken Crown" the twelfth emperor and winner of the Kin-Succession War Strengthened their power to avoid further internal bloodshed.
Now if the emperor wanted full deployment of the army, the trident voted a majority required.
Arthur thought it was weakness, and the current Emperor was a living symbol of decay.
They entered the Trident.
Seven members stood around a rectangular table. The emperor sat at one end.
Grand Provost of Guilds & Markets Sebastian Metaforger, Warden-Marshal of the Legions Antony Deialger, High Factor of Coin & Tithe Gordon Oscar, High Chirurgeon of the Crown Fino Redwood, Lord Admiral of the Crowned Waves Nowell Von Frentall, Master of Forges & Bread Jack Corvus, Flame Warden of the Divine Brand Roves and Envoy-Justiciar of Treaties Frieden Lilac
Arthur and Albert bowed.
"We greet the emperor. We bow in your name."
"That's enough," the emperor said, voice shaking the room. "Stand. Welcome home, son."
He embraced Arthur.
Johnathan Corvus.
He was short, barely five and a half feet but his body spread wide in expensive softness, a ruler built from banquets and exemptions. His skin was pale and unnaturally smooth, not from youth, but from a life where sun and labour were things other people endured. Thick folds gathered beneath his chin and around his neck, The Deialger throne was meant to blaze in gold and white, the old imperial promise, the divine bloodline, the Emancipator's legacy stitched into cloth. Yet Johnathan sat there wearing a deliberate insult to tradition, a modified royal mantle, the gold dulled, the white muted, threaded through with the Order's cold luminous ivory and the pale radiance of sanctified cloth, marked with subtle bands and crests that didn't belong to emperors. This wasn't Deialger it was now Corvus
"I heard of your exploits," he said. "Excellent work."
Arthur answered automatically. "Thank you."
Then Arthur saw him.
Blond hair, long ears, Fair skin, A Highkin.
Arthur's stare locked with the Highkin's eyes.
Johnathan spoke first.
"Lord Frieden Lilac is the Highkin's envoy who will serve as an intermediary between our peoples."
Arthur's voice was steady.
"And we trust him?" The emperor's smile was tight "We trust peace." Arthur's jaw tightened, the enemy at the table, Peace written in humiliation.
Johnathan continued, smug.
"You've heard your brother will marry the Kauri princess. And you know when I joined this family, you and your brother's succession was… adjusted."
Arthur's fingers twitched. "
His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. For a moment the metal glowed faintly. White gold.
Gone in an instant.
"Don't worry," Johnathan said. "You've earned a reward. The Trident and I have decided to appoint you as the new Warden-Marshal of the Legions, as written in the letter sent"
He forced his voice steady. "Thank you."
Clapping started.
Antony Deialger stood, smile tight. "Congratulations, nephew."
Arthur could tell Antony didn't give the title. It was taken from him.
Johnathan raised a hand. Silence fell instantly.
"You command the security and safety of all Deialgard," the emperor said. "Your uncle will advise you. And once my son becomes Emperor, I hope you two will be… closer."
"Of course," Arthur said, sitting.
Gordon Oscar leaned in. "Don't forget your wife, my prince. My daughter misses you."
Arthur didn't answer.
He felt eyes on him.
Jack Corvus smiled like a man watching a trap close.
Metaforger Estate
The Metaforger estate was obscene.
A lake twenty feet deep packed with exotic fish. A bridge leading into twelve million acres of land. Trees two-hundred- and ninety-feet high lining the path. massive stone pylons, iron-laced arches, and a gatehouse perched above the centre like a judge. Lanterns hung from chains thick as a man's wrist. At night, the bridge glowed with controlled flame in tall lanterns, turning the water beneath into a shifting mirror of gold and black A private army of over seven thousand existed on paper and on the ground, you could feel it. Patrol routes overlapped. Sentries rotated with discipline. Watchtowers rose at key distances along the tree line. Hidden bells and signal horns sat in discreet posts. You could walk the estate for an hour and never see a soldier, yet you'd always feel eyes following you, measuring your pace, your intent, your hands. A five-million square-foot structure of pale stone and black iron, sitting elevated like a throne above the land. Four colossal pillars anchored its front, each carved with Metaforger history wars survived, contracts won, names that rose from common origin to noble blood. Broad steps led to doors tall enough for mounted men. The doors themselves were reinforced timber plated with iron and etched with the Metaforger crest: a black dog and hammer, the symbol of a family that could bite and build in the same breath. Private farms. Training facilities, it felt like a city pretending to be a home.
Sasha greeted them in a red silk dress, emerald necklace, sapphire rings, dark hair flowing down her hips, smile sharp.
"Welcome home," she said. "How was the battlefield?"
Samantha scoffed. "Real funny, you husk."
"Both of you stop," Sam said, exhausted. "We're back. That should be enough."
Spencer rode in on horseback, massive and smug. "Couldn't miss you two returning."
Inside, their mother Alana Metaforger barely looked up from knitting.
"Oh, Samantha," she said. "You look horrible. Arrange a bath. At least look decent."
Samantha snapped. "PLEASE STOP! You're not even looking at us!"
Alana's voice stayed cold. "What, you want a medal because you survived?"
Sam walked away, jaw clenched.
Later, Spencer told Sam casually, their parents were arranging Sam to be paired with a Gofindal princess, young, politically useful and a rising kingdom, it was to be announced at the wedding,
Then the bells rang.
Bing. Bong. Bing. Bong.
Royal death.
Sam felt his chest drop.
"Oh no," he whispered. "Arthur…"
Sam's blood ran cold.
With the Empress dead, tradition demanded mourning.
But Spencer smirked.
"Father said the wedding date won't change. Mourning will be three days at most."
Sam stared at him.
"How the fuck would father know that?"
Spencer's smile faded. "You're royalty," he said. "You should know what not to ask."
Sam dropped to the floor when Spencer left.
Because in that moment he understood:
This peace wasn't peace.
It was a rearrangement of knives.
The Trident Aftermath
Back in the palace, the trident spoke without Arthur present.
Gordon laughed. "Sebastian, your son returned. You won't go to greet him?"
Sebastian Metaforger didn't blink. "Securing trade matters more, Gofindal wants more ore. Loacria Kingdom wants medical supplies for grain should I remind you we're starving."
Jack Corvus reported food production had slowed drastically.
Gordon snapped: "Whose bright idea was it to draft half the farmers, oh great Grand Provost?"
Then Gordon spoke
"Rumours from the south, that a Tamer and water Saint has been born"
Johnathan said calmly
"Those southern bastards got defeated so many times even when they had two Saint's and three tamers, what will some newborn children do"
Flame Warden of the Divine Brand, Roves, who remained silent during, Arthur's return, open his eyes, and began shouting praises
'OFCOURE!!, he shouted "you are forgetting the glorious conquest of the first empress regnant, Seraphine I "The Flame-Bearer" her twin blades Night-Breaker and Mercy's Edge burned her enemies with the same ferocity of her grandfather the emancipator himself, she personally defeated the southern raiders at the height of their power" he said as tears filled his eyes
Silence followed.
The emperor raised his hand and ended it.
"Tomorrow, we start the preparations for the wedding," Johnathan said. "Everything moves forward."
Then the bells rang.
Bing. Bong. Bing. Bong.
Roves fell to his knees, crying "oh great, emancipator another of your divine children will be joining you today" as tears ran down his face
The Empress
"Ah, brother welcome home."
Arthur heard it before he fully saw him.
Down the corridor, framed by polished marble and hanging banners, stood his new brother with an Obsidian Knight at his shoulder as if he needed a shadow to look dangerous.
Harold Corvus
Harold was built like his father's mirror image short, swollen with indulgence, and sweating His face was soft and rounded, the kind of softness earned by years of heavy meals and light responsibilities, his hands were clean, nails trimmed, fingers heavy with rings hands that had never gripped a shovel, never held a blade long enough to blister.
And yet he smiled easily, as if the world owed him warmth.
"Hahaha, welcome back," Harold said, voice bright and careless. "How was the battlefield?"
Arthur's eyes flicked over him once, cold and quick.
"Very hot," Arthur replied. "It seems you changed quite a lot, Harold."
Harold chuckled like it was all friendly.
"Anyways," he continued, leaning into the conversation with a grin, "are you heading to see Christina? She got even more beautiful during the years you were gone. You are one lucky man."
Arthur's jaw tightened.
"Is that any way for an engaged man to talk?" Arthur said.
Harold's grin faltered for a moment only a moment then returned even wider, forced into place.
"Still not accustomed hearing that," he said with a shrug
Arthur didn't humour him.
"If you'll excuse us," Arthur said, voice flat, "we'll be heading to the master bedroom to see Mother."
Harold's smile shifted subtle, but Arthur caught it. Something quick behind the eyes. Something almost amused.
"Oh?" Harold said lightly. "If she feels okay… tell her I'll visit this afternoon."
Arthur kept walking, but the words hooked into him.
If she feels okay.
He didn't speak again until the corridor bent toward the royal wing and Harold's footsteps faded behind them.
A confusion sharpened on Arthur's face as he looked to his uncle.
"I find it strange my mother didn't come to greet me," Arthur said, voice tight. "And what did Harold mean "if she is feeling okay?"
Antony Deialger's expression shifted hesitation, then regret.
"What do you mean?" Antony asked carefully. "Did you not receive any of the letters your sister sent?"
Arthur stopped walking.
His eyes hardened.
"What letters?" Arthur asked, fury creeping into every syllable.
Antony's throat worked.
"The Empress has been sick for a while," he said. "Arthur… we assumed you were too busy to respond."
Something in Arthur snapped loose.
He turned and ran.
Armor clattered. Boots hammered stone. Knights guarding the doors shouted and moved to stop him.
"MOTHER!! MOTHER!"
Arthur slammed into the chamber like a storm.
The knights followed.
"STOP!" Antony shouted. "That's the prince!"
Arthur barely heard him.
He pushed past bodies and curtains and saw the healers first too many of them, too quiet, their faces too controlled.
Then he saw the bed.
Then he saw the woman in it.
"Mother?" Arthur whispered, and the word sounded wrong.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
And then his voice broke into something raw.
"Who is this?" he asked, almost too quietly to hear.
He blinked once.
"WHERE IS MY MOTHER?" he roared.
A healer flinched.
"Sir…" the healer said softly, "that is the Empress."
Arthur's breathing stopped for a beat.
"What?" he whispered.
He stared down.
His mother had once been the kind of woman who made rooms feel smaller Smooth Crimson hair like silk, a smile that could soften even a hard day, a body full of strength and royal presence.
Now she was a shell.
Her frame had collapsed into itself. The shape of her ribs sat harsh beneath thin skin like a cage too tight for the life inside it. Her hair was gone only a pale scalp and scattered white tufts remained. Her mouth opened with shallow effort, gums raw and red, teeth missing, breath drawn in with a wheeze that sounded like the body begging for mercy.
And still her eyes recognized him.
"Art…" she whispered. Her voice was soft, strained, barely there. "Is that you? It's you, isn't it… come closer. Let me touch you."
Arthur fell to his knees at the bedside like his legs had been cut out from under him.
A single tear slid down his right cheek.
"Don't be sad," she breathed. "I'm happy you returned safely."
Arthur swallowed hard.
"What happened?" he asked, voice shaking. "Why are you like this?"
She tried to smile. It looked painful.
"I'm not too sure myself," she coughed, the sound tearing through her. "It seems us Deialgers got too careless with our poison immunity… or I've been cursed."
"Stop speaking," Arthur begged, leaning closer. "Please rest."
"Wait," she whispered, forcing breath into words. "Before you go… look after your siblings. You are the oldest. You need to take responsibility for them. Especially Liam… you know how weak he is when it comes to hard decisions." Her fingers trembled, reaching for him. "Please… don't fight another war for the throne. Live peacefully somewhere."
Arthur's eyes widened, rage and denial mixing.
"Why are you talking like this?" he snapped, terrified. "You'll talk to him when you get better.... when you....
"My sweet Art…" her voice softened, almost tender. "I know you can already tell. I don't have much longer."
Arthur's breath hitched.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "NO!"
His voice rose.
"You will get better. I finally came home to you. Please don't leave us."
Her eyes glistened.
"I'm happy," she whispered, "to see all my children safe."
With trembling effort, she kissed his forehead.
"I can rest easy knowing that."
Her hands slipped from his face.
Her chest rose once.
Then didn't.
The room fell silent not the polite silence of court, but the stunned silence of people witnessing something irreversible.
Arthur stayed frozen for a heartbeat.
Then he stood.
And walked out.
Christina was approaching the corridor, dressed beautifully, moving like a woman who rehearsed every smile
"Welcome back, my love" she began.
Arthur didn't even look at her.
He passed her as if she were air.
Exactly sixty-four seconds after the Empress's last breath, the Bell of the Lost began to ring.
That bell was reserved for one thing: royal death.
And when the bell stopped, the whisper spread like rot
Cursed generation.
First the Emperor.
Now the Empress.
The Deialger reign already hollowed finally felt like it was ending in front of everyone's eyes.
And with the Empress gone, the line tightened around the next name.
Harold Corvus.
A new generation rising on the back of a dead one.
Arthur walked down the corridor with his face carved into stone, Albert falling in beside him.
Arthur's voice was low when he finally spoke.
Arthur reached his mother too late.
The entire city bowed until the ringing stopped bakers, farmers, workers, even people mid-sin in back alleys, kneeling because the crown demanded grief.
Arthur walked Albert fell into step beside him.
"Albert," Arthur said quietly, voice full of something that wasn't grief anymore. "You said you'd follow me no matter what during the war. Does that still apply here?"
Albert smiled like a man hearing music. "Say no more," he said. "When are we starting?"
Arthur's eyes burned with anger that looked almost holy. "Immediately."
Two hours after the bell rang, chaos moved quietly through the palace.
Liam Deialger sixteen years old, fair skin, short Bright Crimson hair, bright red eyes stood on a high window edge, crying like a child
"Prince Liam!" a maid screamed. "Please!"
"She's gone!" Liam sobbed. "Mom is gone!"
"Your brother is back!" she pleaded. "Come down...please!"
"Arthur will hate me!" Liam cried. "I failed her!"
He jumped.
The impact cracked the yard and left a crater.
They carried him back to bed like this was routine because it was.
Arthur entered the room in full armour, face unreadable.
"Liam."
The maid bowed quickly. "He's asleep, my prince. I'm sorry for your loss."
Arthur sat by Liam's head and rubbed his hair.
"It wasn't your fault," Arthur said quietly. "Sleep. Your big brother will take care of everything."
When Liam finally drifted deeper, Arthur stood.
He drew his sword.
He pressed it to the maid's neck.
"Do you heretics still believe he's the Emancipator reborn?"
The maid smiled calm, even with steel at her throat.
"Of course," she said. "He is the one who will lead us out of the dark."
Arthur's smile came slow and dangerous.
"What's your name?"
"I go by Nav," she said. "Pleasure to meet you."
"What are your intentions with my brother?"
"To raise him to his rightful position," Nav said, eyes shining with belief.
"Emperor?" Arthur asked mockingly. "Our line has been cut."
Nav laughed softly. "We do not wish him to be something as foolish as an emperor. He will be our Savior. He will lead his people to peace like the first did."
Arthur sheathed his sword and laughed.
"A Savior," he repeated. "That's funny."
Nav leaned forward slightly. "We can help you too, my prince."
Arthur's laughter froze.
"What do you mean?"
"We can help you get back on the throne."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "How?"
Nav smiled as if revealing a secret she'd been dying to speak.
Arthur stared at her.
At the Metaforger estate, Sam without knowing why felt like the world had tilted.
Heard it, the bells and understood something no one else did. War had ended, but something far more dangerous had just begun. The Empire had survived seventeen years against the Highkin, it might not survive what came next. And the flame did not only burn in swords. It burned in men.