...A world in which the sword and the magia ruled above all.
A world in which I was born.
A world in which I became the Sword Magia, the Arcane Blade of Eidryn.
A world in, despite all it had given me, that I failed....
The throne room was silent, leaving but one occupying the large majestic room. The surroundings emulated the save of the slow, dragging breath of the now dying empire.
The Imperial Emperor, Valen Arthas Eidryn, stuck to his seat, which he forged through his pure sweat and tears, laid there as he slipped between his subconscious and consciousness.
I sat upon my seat, the Throne of Velkaris, its longstanding runes dimmed and slowly diminished.
Its golden and silver inlay is stained with the vast soot and blood of fallen soldiers and banners.
Around me, the grand white marble pillars, either stood shattered or laid destroyed from the remains of the battlefield within my own realm.
Stained glass that once depicted the Seven Sovereigns of old, my friends that created this vast Empire with me, laid scattered across in ruin.
The once hailed banners of Eidryn, once brilliant gold, with the vast symbols and colors of the Seven Sigils representing each value that the Empire stood for, now hung limp and darkened, torn by the massive siege upon my Imperial Palace.
My hands, my entire being, calloused and scarred from a thousand battles, now laid rest upon the pommel of my sword, the Dark Aetherion.
Its edge dulled and its magical essence weeped through the air like blood from a mortal wound.
I closed my eyes, remembering my fallen comrades.
Valor, falling upon the battlefield, his standard torn from his hardened grasp.
Virtue, kneeling in the destruction of her court, her entire body red from defending the innocent.
Vengeance, screaming defiance until the very end.
Vision, his tower returned to dust and his eyes gouged out.
Valorance, fighting side-by-side with me, until ash blackened the skies.
Volition, refusing to surrender, even as her people burned around her.
Viscera, wild and fierce, making her enemies pay thrice before her own demise was met.
All of them… all of them… all of them had believed in the empire that we built.
"…Believe in Valen Arthas Eidryn!..."
They believed in me.
And now…
Nothing remained of the sacrifices we paid… nothing but forgotten songs, broken oaths and crumbling dreams, all replaced with the cries of agony and the dark return of human chaos.
I had failed them.
I had failed Eidryn.
A circle of magic at his feet then pulsed weakly, as if it was a spell of continuance and not of escape. A circle filled with written magical runes unbeknownst to his vast knowledge.
I do not know if I am hallucinating this circle before me… but I do know this.
If I had another chance… to carry my last ember of my undying will into another world… another time… where the seeds of Eidryn may grow ever stronger…
I could not save my empire.
But perhaps, I could forge a new one.
Not just for the mere satisfaction of glory or conquest, but of unchained atonement.
Valen tried rising to his feet, to little avail, as if the weight of reclamation pressed down upon his entire body.
His blade whispered almost, as if it held the breath of a dying god.
"...I am Valen Arthas Eidryn…" He spoke, his whisper reaching the dead that watched unseen.
"...The Sword Magia…The Arcane Blade…"
"...I will not end it here…"
The magic then swallowed his entire being whole, including his very soul.
As the magic swallowed me, a light and void brighter and darker than a thousand suns and the holes of the abyss, tearing worlds asunder, consumed me… But I did not look back.
Ashes may fall.
Empires may crumble.
But will, true will, endures beyond death.
And I would endure with it.
***
"Hm?"
Valen's eyes sprouted open, staring at his surroundings. His eyes wandered, as he looked upon the vast chamber that he recognized, large enough to hold all of the thousand former imperial courtiers that filled the throne room at one point in time.
The ceilings soared impossibly high, vanishing into intricate vaults adorned with frescoes of the Empire's founding — the idea of war itself crowning his carved incarnation, the forging of the seven sovereign thrones, and the divine blessing of Eidryn itself.
The pillars of white marble are veined with gold, lining the hall in two grand rows leading from the immense twin doors to the dais. Each pillar is carved in relief with scenes of valor, virtue, vengeance, vision, valorance, volition, and viscera — the ideals the Empire holds sacred. Between the pillars hang colossal banners of the seven sigils, embroidered with the phoenix of House Eidryn, its wings spread wide in eternal vigilance.
The floor is polished obsidian, so perfectly smooth it mirrors the entire room. A narrow river of golden inlay runs down the center, like a pathway of light leading directly to the throne itself.
At the far end, on a raised dais of seven broad steps, stands the Imperial Throne, Eidryn's Crown — a breathtaking masterpiece of craftsmanship. It is carved from a single massive block of celestial stone, a pale, almost translucent material that seems to glow from within. The throne's back rises in a fan of stylized phoenix feathers, gilded and jeweled with sapphires, rubies, and sunstone, representing the Seven Sovereigns' powers united.
Behind the throne, an enormous stained glass window dominates the wall. It depicts a phoenix reborn in flames, rising above a crowned city — Velkaris itself. During daylight, golden sunlight pours through the glass, casting shifting, kaleidoscopic patterns across the throne and the steps before it. At night, great enchanted braziers light the room with a warm, living glow, keeping the window's image alive even in darkness.
The air is heavy with reverence and awe.
Valen was not just shocked, he was baffled. He then looked toward his flanks. He saw the Imperial Throne's ceremonial protectors, the Lionsguard, elite warriors from the First Dukedom of House Eidryn, Valor's Crest. They stood there, almost motionless in ornate armor chased with silver and gold, embroidered with the blue symbol of a golden lion, the visual sigil of Valor. Not a single word or subtle movement left them.
He remembered the bodies of the Lionsguard, laying and wasted on the very floors he saw that were clean and well-kept. The shine and sparkle replaced the soot and blood.
"What's going on?!"
Valen stood abruptly, shocked at what he was witnessing.
"What's wrong, Your Majesty?"
He then turned toward the feminine voice, realizing it was the disciple of his former comrade.
"Avelina Edriyn, the next Sovereign of Valorance."
Avelina Edriyn was in her mid-to-late 20s and she stood at a height of 5 feet and 8 inches. Voluptuous and statuesque, she had powerful curves that were balanced by toned muscle. Broad-shouldered and elegant, she had a figure that was both alluring and commanding.
She had long, flowing blond hair that gleamed like polished gold. Loose, cascading down her back like thick waves. Rather than a full crown, she wears a delicate circlet of polished electrum shaped like interlocking wings and rays. She looked upon him with her piercing, crystalline blue eyes, sharp with her intelligence and intensity.
She wore a high-collared capelet; a short cape draped across one shoulder, lined with rose-patterned embroidery inside. Fastened with a brooch shaped like a stylized flame with a circle of roses, the symbol of Valorance's Hope, the Fifth Dukedom of House Eidryn. A fitted tunic; military-styled and double-breasted with intricate gold filigree tracing the seams. The tunic flares slightly at the hips into split coat-tails, allowing movement.
Winglike metal pauldrons sat on her shoulders, styled after phoenix feathers — burnished red and gold, symbolizing radiance and undying valor. A wide leather belt dyed crimson, fastened with a heraldic buckle engraved with the Eidryn imperial sigil.
Elbow-length, white leather gloves. Slim and tailored trousers, white with gold piping down the outer seam. Knee-high, armored boots, white lacquered leather with golden trims; heels sturdy enough to evoke the image of a warrior, not just a monarch.
He then noticed she was abnormally pale, as if she was resurrected from the dead.
"...Your Majesty?" She inquired again, noticing Valen's silence.
Valen sat there, silent.
"...Is there a problem?" She spoke in a subservient tone.
The Lionsguard stood, carefully watching the exchange between their master and the Sovereign.
"...You died. I watched you die…" He murmured.
"Your Majesty?"
"...Her expressions, her body, this room… everything is exactly how it was before the war erupted. How is this possible?"
"Is this a dream? It can't be, I can still feel and move my body as if it were my own."
"...The only difference I can tell for right now is her oddly pale skin… as if she was dead."
He then pointed to one of the Lionsguard that flanked his throne.
"You. Take off your helmet." Valen then spoke in his typical manner, unshaken and commanding, as he pointed toward one of his Lionsguard.
The Lionsguard swiftly responded, taking off his helmet with due haste and then bowed. He did not speak, nor briefly look toward Valen.
"...Pale skin. The same as hers."
"...Good. Stand back at your post."
The Lionsguard nodded, as he then put his helmet back on his head and returned to his post, standing in his almost motionless stance around the throne. The Lionguard seemed bewildered, but nevertheless did not question the order of his monarch.
He then saw seven figures enter the massive chamber, bowing immediately upon reaching the proximity of Edriyn's Crown, the throne Valen was sitting upon.
"The next Sovereign of Virtue, Sirkael Edriyn. And his Six Tenets of the Valiant Hand of Virtue, an elite and highly-disciplined unit that I chose to become ceremonial honor guards of the Imperial Palace. Every Valiant Hand member is trained in both warfare and royal service."
"...I see that the apprentices have replaced their masters in this case…"
"...I hope that does not eliminate the hope that I do not see my comrades again."
"Sirkael."
"Your Majesty."
A grey haired man, Sirkael Edriyn was in his late 40s. He stood at the height of 5 feet and 11 inches. Though his grey hair began to thin, it was still kept neatly styled. He also had a well-groomed beard that added to his seasoned appearance.
He had broad shoulders and a posture that spoke of his discipline and nobility. He wore a traditional butler's uniform, but his attire is enhanced with subtle armor pieces beneath, showcasing his dual role as a protector and servant.
"...Take your Tenets and confirm the surroundings around Velkaris."
"...The rest of the Valiant Hand are probably already guarding the Imperial Palace as I speak."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
The other six figures rose with Sirkael, each a Tenet of Virtue and elite captains within the Valiant Hand's organization.
"...Now's not the time to be confused. I'll definitely learn about what's happened along the way. I hope…"
"Avelina."
"Your Majesty?"
"Except for the Sovereign of Virtue, gather all of the six Sovereigns to my chamber, an hour from now."
"Understood."
She then bowed and walked out of the chamber. The two massive doors that led, opened automatically as she walked gracefully outward, toward a portal he did not recognize.
"A transmigrational portal… that is not what I imagined my capital has turned into… does that also mean that the Imperial Capital that this window peers into, is not real?... Or is it that my entire Empire has become different realms within the Capital itself… I should probably investigate."
Valen rose from his seat, as he then looked onto his right hand and realized there was a golden and silver wrought ring, with a crystal that symbolized the Eidryn imperial phoenix sigil, on his right ring finger. Little shaped runes were shaped around the crystal itself, signifying its transmigrational properties.
"This confirms my suspicions."
He imagined using the ring, as the runes glowed blue, a signifying light of magia, teleporting to any random realm within his now vast Capital.
He then stood upon a large mountain top, as he then looked below.
"...The Sixth Dukedom of House Eidryn: Volition's Passage…"
Volition's Passage stretched across a rugged, mountainous region cut with deep river canyons and iron-rich highlands. The terrain is stark but striking — massive granite cliffs, black rock plateaus, and sheer escarpments dominate the skyline. Terraced roads and magnetic switchbacks pass wind through the peaks, many hewn directly into the mountainsides.
The lower valleys are carved with labor and discipline into dense urban centers, industrial forges, and bureaucratic strongholds — a land shaped more by human will than nature. The sheer inhospitable nature of the terrain stands as a testament to the people's resilience and their sovereign's iron will.
"...My people still live…" He spoke to himself in a softer manner, as if he was thanking the gods with his tongue of language.
"...All of the citizens appear to have abnormal pale skin… so that must be the consequence and trait of resurrection and surviving the veil of death." Valen used runes embedded within his eyes that allowed him extended vision beyond normal measure, his eyes briefly glowing blue.
He then teleported into the Citadel of Chains, the palace of the Sovereign of Volition, located within the Capital City, Fort Irontide.
He appeared within the Crown Nexus, a hexagonal chamber of polished stone and steel.
Sitting upon the throne, the Throne of Will, was the Sovereign of Volition.
"Auren Eidryn, the new Sovereign of Volition. I believe he was known as the Binder of Eidryn."
He was speaking to a few of the bureaucrats that formed her administrative court, when he immediately noticed the presence of her monarch, the Emperor himself.
He then leapt upward and quickly passed through the bureaucrats, as if he quite literally jumped past them. The bureaucrats were bewildered when they also realized who was in their proximity, quickly kneeling and begging forgiveness for not realizing sooner.
"Auren."
Auren Eidryn was in his mid 20s, standing at the height of 5 feet and 9 inches. Gleaming golden blonde hair, falling in loosely tied strands past his shoulders, often slightly windswept as if he's always returning from the wilds. His eyes were deep blue, focused and unwavering — eyes that seem to weigh the future itself. He was lean, strong, and athletic; the build of a seasoned traveler and hunter.
He wore a sleeveless, fitted tunic of tough blue leather reinforced with subtle chain mesh underlayers — light, breathable, but resilient against blades and claws. The tunic is decorated with golden embroidery along the hems, depicting intertwining beasts and arrows — symbolizing unity between tamer and tamed. Over the tunic, he wears a short battle cloak fastened over one shoulder (his left), made of sun-gold fabric lined with silver. The cloak is lightweight and fluttering, designed not to impede his bow arm. One fingerless glove on his bow hand (right), and a full, flexible glove on his left for handling monster chains, reins, or raw magic without injury.
A single, beautifully crafted pauldron on his bow arm — a gleaming gold-etched plate shaped like a rising sun over a beast's roaring head. Forearm bracers engraved with monster claw and wing motifs, protecting him when firing or handling wild creatures. Lightweight backplate — a hardened leather-and-scale composite, styled like interwoven beast scales, providing protection without sacrificing flexibility.
A utility belt adorned with various pouches, charms, and a coiled whip crafted from phoenix sinew (used more for signaling monsters than fighting). Small soulstone charms dangle from the belt and bow — these glow faintly when nearby monsters are calm or aggressive. Sturdy, dark brown hunting trousers with silver-gold reinforcement along the thighs and knees, suited for rough terrains. High, laced leather boots, weathered but well-maintained, allowing swift, silent movement. Small hidden pockets in his boots and belt for tools, monster-taming sigils, and special arrowheads.
A golden ring on his right middle finger, symbolizing his binding agreements with monsters and golems. A featured golem were the Iron Sentinels, autonomous humanoid golems powered by volitional glyphs that were seen on the ring, patrolling the Throne Room and the main defenders of the Citadel of Chains.
He stood in front of Valen, as he gave a bow with his hand across his heart and his hand behind his back.
"Welcome, Your Majesty!" He spoke with an exciting, but subservient tone. The bureaucrats, behind their maintained kneel, were shocked at their ruler breaking his exterior iron willed character.
"...I was unaware that you were coming to my palace, I would've prepared. And please excuse my courtiers behind me."
"It is of little concern. I am just intruding for a short while."
"You are our Emperor, you are not intruding at all!"
"...You may continue with your discussion. I am sure it is related to the normal governance of your territory, Auren. I am sure you are aware of the meeting within the hour."
"...Does that also include Seliora?" He murmured.
"Seliora Eidryn, the new Sovereign of Vengeance. The Thorn of Eidryn."
"...I knew her reputation was bad, but not this bad."
"Hm?"
"Nothing! Nothing at all, Your Majesty. I'll continue with my work." He proceeded to bow lower, as he then walked back to his cohorts, returning to his stone and iron willed manner.
"...Everything appears to be the same as we once left it. I remember helping build this Citadel of Chains… every part of imperial infrastructure designed and overseen by us… I thank whoever gave me this state of mind to witness my Empire's glorious days again."
He then teleported back to the Imperial Palace of Eidryn, appearing within his royal quarters, the uppermost sanctum.. Hidden within the central spire of the palace — known as the Celestial Tower — the Emperor's Quarters occupy the highest and most sacred space in the capital. This is not merely a royal suite, but a sanctum where power, solitude, and symbolism intertwine.
Every surface in the quarters blends regal minimalism with layered symbolism. Walls are clad in smooth white stone veined with gold, inlaid with faint glyphs that shimmer subtly in torchlight.
The windows are arching, shielded by rune-locked shutters that open only when the Emperor desires light — whether sun, moon, or stars. Curtains and banners of deep imperial violet hang silently, embroidered with the insignia of the imperial line.
The Emperor's Quarters are protected by sentient wards. Unauthorized entry triggers a silent binding curse. The air itself is still, manipulated by windless magic — only broken by the Emperor's voice or the toll of the Heartspire Bell.
Valen was currently within his Nightward Hall, looking around.
The Nightward Hall was built for Valen's personal bedchambers and spiritual reflection. Tucked behind a high, crescent-shaped archway of blackstone and silver, the hall is where the Emperor retreats from the weight of empire. It is a place untouched by advisors, Sovereigns, or servants — a sanctuary of sleep, memory, and the unspoken self.
The hall is wide and circular, like a still pool hidden beneath a mountain. It is intentionally minimalist, meant to quiet the mind, not clutter it. At its center lies a low imperial bed, carved from moonstone and obsidian, resting atop a smooth, dark violet rug woven with the Seven Sigils of the Dukedoms in golden thread. Above, a domed ceiling of enchanted crystal mimics the night sky — not as it is outside, but as it was the moment the Empire was founded, with constellations aligned in its pattern. The walls are veiled, covered with translucent silk drapes that stir even when there is no wind, glowing faintly with soft starlight enchantments.
Silence dominates the space. No flame burns here. Light comes only from subtle ambient glyphs — cool, dim, and eternal.
The bed, more monastic than luxurious, rests on a raised dais surrounded by seven columns — each one representing a Sovereign — whose base glows faintly when all Seven are gathered in the Palace.
One side of the chamber features the Mirror of Regret — a tall pane of shadowglass that does not reflect Valen's form, but moments in their past, summoned by unconscious thought while he sleeps. A folded mantle of mourning, black and gold, is kept near the Mirror of Regret — to be worn during nights of reflection after a Sovereign's death, or on the Emperor's private remembrance days.
On the opposite wall sits the Alcove of Quiet Names — a shelf carved into the stone that holds seven smooth stones, each engraved with the name of a fallen Sovereign. New ones are only added when a Sovereign dies in service to the Empire.
Valen walked over to the Alcove, touching the stone as the names of his fallen comrades and fellow Sovereigns appeared. He then closed his eyes and bowed his head, honoring and giving them a moment of silence.
He then sat on his bed.
Beside the bed is a simple writing stand with a midnight-blue journal, bound in soft leather, containing only entries written in the Emperor's own hand. No scribe is permitted to read it.
Valen looked upon his bed, then looked toward the mirror, looking at himself. He was currently in his ceremonial uniform, a long, flowing cloak of deep violet, bordered with golden thread that catches the light.
Underneath, he wore a regal tunic of dark blue velvet, embroidered with arcane runes along the sleeves and collar. The tunic would be adorned with a subtle pattern of the Seven House Sigils of the Eidryn Empire. His belt held the Dark Aetherion, a weapon infused with both swordsmanship and magia, which represents his unique position as a sword mage. His boots would be polished leather with golden buckles, and the uniform is completed with a ceremonial crown, featuring glowing gems that signified his rule.
"...I'm pale… just like the rest. As if we're a raceof our own…"
A single chained bell-pull hangs near the exit — rarely used — that calls the Silent Guard. The quarters are watched over by the Silent Guard, a pair of enchanted humanoid statues forged by the first Sovereign of Vision, said to animate only when Valen is threatened.
He then activated his crown, runes shined bright with blue.
"Sirkael." He spoke internally, as he was currently communicating with the Sovereign through specific magia waves.
"Report."
"...Well, Your Majesty. There seems to be a slight problem."
"That was to be expected."
"I see. I have called the rest of the Sovereigns to my throne room. Report immediately and share what you've seen."
"Understood."
He then teleported back to his throne, the Eidryn's Crown, where the other Sovereigns awaited him.
"His Majesty has arrived." Avelina spoke proudly.
"...Show your fidelity."