In the beginning, there was the Empire — nay, not merely an empire, but the Empire.
A force so vast, it stretched across the breadth of the world, encompassing distant lands and diverse peoples — kingdoms, countries, and cities — all bound beneath the unyielding rule of a single man: the Emperor.
His title was known in every realm, from the frost-bound reaches of the North to the sun-scorched deserts of the South. He was the axis upon which the world itself did turn — the centre of all power, the keeper of order, the judge of kings.
This realm was named the Aurelia Empire.
More than a mere designation, it was a symbol — of might, of unity, of unbending control. One unshakable dominion that reigned above all others. Beneath its standard lay seven kingdoms, each as distinct as the lands they governed: some flourishing in splendour and wealth, others veiled in quiet struggle — yet all bound beneath the same iron will.
Each kingdom bore its own sovereign, its own court — kings and queens who ruled with their own decrees, their own laws, their own ambitions. Yet, however grand they appeared, they were but subjects before the Emperor. Their thrones were his to bestow — or to strip away. The crowns upon their brows, whether wrought of gold, crusted with jewels, or forged of iron, were but reflections of the Emperor's favour.
For it was the Emperor who stood at the very pinnacle of power. His command was absolute — his word, the law by which the world abided. No city, no province, no far-flung isle lay beyond his reach. From the snow-laden mountains of the East to the emerald plains of the Western lands, all bowed beneath his dominion. His influence stretched like unseen chains, binding nations, hearts, and destinies alike.
He shaped the course of history as one might shape molten gold — with patience, and fire, and merciless precision. His voice resounded in palace halls and council chambers; it lingered in the hearts of generals and kings. His name was the last thought upon a monarch's mind ere they surrendered to slumber, and the first upon a soldier's lips ere they marched into war.
Yet, for all his might, the Emperor was no god.
He was a man — flawed, ruthless, and driven by an unquenchable hunger for dominion. Under his hand, the Empire had known both the light of peace and the darkness of endless conquest. And in the farthest halls of outlying kingdoms, whispers stirred — murmurs of rebellion, dreams of a day when the Emperor's unblinking gaze might at last be turned away.
But such whispers were fleeting. He did not suffer dissent to breathe. Those who defied him vanished into silence — their names erased, their legacies forgotten, as though they had never drawn breath.
The Aurelia Empire stood as both triumph and warning — a monument to the will of one man, and a silent caution to any who dared defy him. It was a world brimming with life, with ambition, with desire — yet holding its breath, ever awaiting the next decree from the throne that towered above all.
The Emperor's realm was vast, aye. It was mighty, aye.
But above all, it was unyielding.
And beneath his watchful eye, no kingdom, no province, no sovereign, no matter how resplendent — would ever stand alone.
It was known to all that the Emperor — whose name none dared speak — was a man of formidable temper, one whom no mortal would dream of offending. All feared him. At his side stood the Empress, his first and lawful wife, radiant yet severe. Beyond her were his consorts — once twenty, now fifteen — ranked by the standing of their birthlands: Noble Consorts from the lesser realms, Royal Consorts from the middling kingdoms, and Imperial Consorts from the most exalted courts. Beneath them lingered countless concubines, each desperate for the Emperor's fleeting favour.
The Empress reigned over them all, keeping each firmly in her place. The Inner Palace, for all its splendour, was but a gilded cage — a place where elegance veiled cruelty, and where survival was a ruthless art. There, ambition simmered behind painted smiles, and the perfume of grace could not mask the stench of envy.
For within those marble walls, every woman fought not merely for love, but for existence.
And in the end, only the strong endured.