City of Vlallas
(Thane)
There came a pounding at the chamber doors.
Thane Rysling cracked open his eyes, darkness still clinging to the room. The suns had not yet risen—who dared wake him at this hour? He shifted, untangling himself from the tangle of limbs in his bed. Harem girls, forgotten in his exhaustion. He usually sent them away.
"This had better be good," he growled as he opened the door.
Jubal, his closest friend, stood grim-faced. "I am afraid, Thane, it is not good news. Your father has taken a turn for the worse. You are needed."
Thane's heart dropped, though his face stayed hard. Wordless, he pulled on a robe of dark velvet and gold, its sequins catching faint torchlight. His father—Emperor Hurok Rysling—had been more than a ruler. He was a legend, the fiercest warrior Vlallas had ever known. To see that strength devoured by a sickness no healer could name had been unbearable.
"Mother?" he asked as they strode down the hall.
"She is with him," Jubal said quietly.
Fear clawed at Thane's chest, though he would never admit it aloud. Twenty-six was old enough to rule, but he had not lived. Not truly. The throne meant sacrifice, and once he sat on it, there would be no escape. The city could not be left leaderless—not for a day, not for an hour. Enemies would circle.
When they reached the Emperor's chambers, his mother stepped into the hall. Empress Natira, silver streaking her once-dark hair, eyes lined with sorrow. Still graceful. Still strong.
"Oh, my son." Her voice trembled. "He has been asking for you."
Thane kissed her cheek and entered.
The chamber glimmered with riches: gold filigree, silken tapestries, marble floors. And in the center of it, a bed that dwarfed the frail figure lying upon it. Hurok Rysling—once broad and unyielding—looked like a shadow of himself.
Thane's throat closed. "Father."
For a moment, no answer. Then shallow breaths. A flutter of eyelids. Thane gripped his father's cold hand, leaning close.
"Thane," Hurok rasped, each word broken. "Promise me… you will rule with patience. Power corrupts. Do not let it take you."
"I promise," Thane said fiercely. "I will be just, as you were."
A faint smile curved his father's mouth. "You will be greater than I. Remember—your word will shape the fate of millions." A cough wracked him, crimson staining the white gown.
He reached for Natira. Together, their hands clasped around his. "I love you both. This world is cruel… but we will meet again in the afterlife."
His chest rose. Fell. Stilled.
Silence swallowed the chamber.
The Empress straightened, bowed low before her son. Her voice did not tremble. "Long live Emperor Thane Rysling."
And with those words, the crown of Vlallas settled—heavy and unrelenting—upon his shoulders.