I knelt on the cold, polished stone of the throne room floor—a place I'd never imagined standing in, much less kneeling. Last time, I hadn't even dared look up, too busy dragging Lilith away from a sacred tapestry she'd tried to chew on like a goat at festival.
This time was… different. The atmosphere here felt heavier now.
The silence here didn't just linger—it stood at attention. Even the air felt like it had been drilled and disciplined. It wasn't just grandeur for show. This was the heart of the Dalthun Empire. A place where a whispered word could shift armies, and a nod could doom a city. You didn't belong here unless you were important… or in trouble.
I knelt alongside Sora, Arden, and Lysandra—each of them composed and quiet in their own way. Sora sat up straight and dignified, clearly used to formalities like this. Lysandra was practically regal, which made sense considering she was an actual devil princess.
Arden had apparently returned at some point— He was already kneeling when I entered—so I did what I always did when unsure: I followed quietly and hoped no one noticed my hesitation. And, surprisingly, even Lilith knelt beside me without a single whine or sarcastic quip. I'd given her an order earlier—be good—and she'd taken it seriously, or at least pretended to. I still wasn't used to the whole 'giving commands' thing, especially to someone who could probably fly off with me like a squirrel in her claws if she wanted.
At the head of the room stood Emperor Radames Antoun, no longer in his lounging robes or charming grin. His expression was measured, his eyes sharp, and his posture straight-backed. This was not the smooth-talking engineer I'd seen sipping wine on his balcony—this was an emperor. He stood flanked by two knights, both radiating quiet strength.
The first had the appearance of a wandering priest, with dark brown hair that curled around his ears in an unruly mess and a scruffy goatee that made him look halfway between blessed and hungover. A flask hung at his hip, and I swear he was drinking from it even now, during this incredibly formal moment. His face was slightly flushed, but even with that, something about him exuded a strange mix of reverence and command. Maybe the bottle wasn't juice, but that presence? That was the real thing.
The second knight beside Radames was younger, but no less striking. Sharp blue eyes that missed nothing, one of them framed by a jagged scar that cut down from his brow to his cheek, a mark that looked like it had been earned in something far too brutal to call a battle. His sword was long—longer than any standard issue I'd seen on the guards—and the sheath was covered in precise, symmetrical carvings. I couldn't see the blade, but I had the distinct feeling it had a name.
At one point, his gaze flicked toward Arden—sharp and intense, the kind of look that tried to stay stoic but didn't quite succeed. A faint flush bloomed across his cheeks, there and gone in seconds. I wasn't sure what that was about. Intimidation? Admiration? Something else? I mentally filed it under 'weird knight stuff' and moved on.
Radames broke the silence.
"I thank you all for coming." His voice was lower, colder than I'd ever heard it. No teasing, no smug smile. Just command.
That's when I realized it. This was an emperor. And he had summoned us for something important.
"You have my gratitude for your actions during the recent cultist assault," he continued. "You did more than defend the city. You prevented further loss of life, repelled summoned creatures, and apprehended one of their inner circle."
Then, to my utter confusion, Radames bowed. A full, respectful tilt of the head and upper body.
"I must apologize. The reinforcements you expected were delayed not by misfortune, but by design. I had to know if those connected to Arden were truly capable. I gambled with that decision. And I was wrong to doubt you."
I blinked. He was serious.
"Still, you've proven yourselves. And though it may come late, you are owed your reward—not only for your courage in the battle, but also for the defeat of Harm and the capture of Love."
He paused then, expression darkening slightly as he glanced toward Arden.
"We confirmed that Harm was dealt a fatal blow—your strike, Arden, was clean and lethal. But… his body was gone by the time the clean-up teams arrived. No blood, no trail. Nothing. Only a cracked crater and signs of some sort of spatial interference. We're still investigating."
A cold knot twisted in my stomach. So that monster might still be out there. Somewhere.
Before I could sink any deeper into that shame spiral, Radames's eyes landed on me. Just for a moment. His expression didn't soften—but there was something knowing in it.
"Even those who do not stand at the front may shape the outcome," he said. "Dedication is its own strength, and yours has not gone unnoticed."
From the side, I felt Sora glance over at me. She gave a soft smile—one of those small, encouraging ones that said more than words could. 'I told him,' it said.
"Indeed," Radames added. "Sora spoke well of you. And I agree—every hand matters, even the ones still learning how to hold a blade."
I wasn't sure if I should feel praised or politely insulted, but I nodded all the same.
"Your deeds during the aftermath did not go unnoticed either," Radames continued. "While the guards reestablished order, it was your group that handled the rootwork. Coordinating repairs. Calming the displaced. Healing the injured. And in some cases…"—he nodded to Arden—"warding entire streets."
There was a shift in the room's air. Not dramatic. Not showy. Just… solid. A weight of recognition.
"So," Radames said, "in addition to your personal rewards, you will be granted clearance to the lower sanctum archives—under supervision. It's not a public library. But the knowledge housed there has aided war councils and rebuilt cities. I believe you've earned the right to know more."
That caught me off guard. Real records? Not old tales passed around a fire or crumbling scrolls where rats had chewed through half the words?
Sora gave a tiny gasp. Even Lysandra blinked—slow and unreadable, but definitely surprised.
Arden, of course, didn't react at all. Because of course he didn't.
"And now," Radames continued, straightening as he clapped his hands once, "you will each choose your reward."
With a soft shuffle of steps, several attendants entered from the side doors, each carrying a cushion lined in velvet. On them rested four distinct items.
"The staff is an ancient relic recovered from the southern crypts—lightweight but remarkably reactive to mana. It once belonged to a Saint, or so we believe. The box contains gold and gems, a small fortune. The magi-gun is a prototype—smaller than its battlefield cousin, designed for more precise bursts. And the potion—well, it's a rare one. It nullifies most known curses, and even some magical bindings."
He looked down at us again. "If none of these please you, you may request something else. If it lies within my means, it shall be granted."
For a moment, none of us said anything. Even Lilith stayed quiet, though I could feel her inching closer to the treasure box.
Then Arden stepped forward without hesitation. "The staff," he said. "I'll take it."
Radames blinked, then grinned. "You're not even going to pretend to think it over?"
"It's a relic," Arden replied flatly. "Of course I'll take it."
That earned a laugh from Radames and a murmured comment from one of the guards.
Sora shifted beside me, clearly trying to avoid taking anything—but Radames pressed on.
"You don't want to refuse me, Sora."
Sora flinched. "O-oh, then… I'll take the potion, please."
"A good choice," he said with a nod.
Lysandra, with all the calm pride of someone who'd been receiving tribute since birth, gestured elegantly to the box of gold. "This will suffice."
That left me. Everyone else had already chosen—the staff was Arden's by now, and Lysandra had claimed the gold with pride. The potion was already with Sora.
So what was left for me?
Radames had said I could request something else if none of these pleased me. But honestly, I wasn't sure what I wanted—or what I was even allowed to ask for. This whole formal reward thing was new to me, and pressing my luck felt... unwise.
Better to pick something straightforward.
"So… I'll take the magi-gun," I said, voice steadier than I expected. "If that's alright."
Radames's mouth curved just slightly. "It's yours."
As the attendants carefully moved to present our rewards, I heard Lilith whisper beside me.
"Next time, ask for a blood moon crystal throne."
I elbowed her lightly. She giggled.
Radames let the silence settle again as our chosen rewards were presented, but just as I assumed we'd be dismissed—or possibly sent off for a bath and a banquet—his voice cut in once more.
"That wasn't the important part."
I looked up instinctively. His tone hadn't shifted much, but there was a weight behind those words now. The kind that signaled things were about to get worse.
He then raised a hand.
The attendants nodded and immediately began collecting the rewards—carefully lifting the potion, the relic staff, the gold box, and the prototype gun. Radames gave a brief explanation as they moved.
"They'll be delivered to your quarters later today. Marked and catalogued. No fuss."
I felt Lilith pout beside me. She'd clearly expected to try playing with the magi-gun right away.
Then Radames clasped his hands behind his back and said bluntly, "Now, I'll be frank with you."
Oh boy.
"A nearby nation has declared war on the Empire."
That did it. Every pair of eyes in the room either narrowed or widened, including mine.
"The Slaechulan Kingdom," he clarified. "As of three days ago, their forces crossed our northeastern border and engaged with a frontier garrison."
I blinked. The who now?
I'd heard the name in passing—once during a dinner where Seraphina ranted about sour wine and spineless diplomats. At the time, I'd thought she was being dramatic. Now I wasn't so sure. I'd never imagined they'd be the ones to pick a fight with this Empire. The Dalthun Empire, known for building giant walking weapons and magi-cannons that could level cities.
From what little I knew about politics (which wasn't much—Arden once said treaties were just lies dressed in ink), the Slaechulan Kingdom was supposed to be one of those quiet, respectable neighbors. Small but proud, mostly rural, with an army that barely measured up to Dalthun's outer defenses.
Lysandra's brow furrowed. Sora blinked rapidly in surprise. Even Arden tilted his head ever so slightly, which, for him, was basically gasping.
"Sounds stupid," I said before I could stop myself. "A tiny kingdom picking a fight with this place? I mean—"
Radames chuckled. "No, no. You're absolutely right. It is stupid. Or it would be, if they didn't have something up their sleeve."
He moved toward the dais and leaned against the side of it, relaxing again, but the weight behind his words remained.
"A month ago, the King of Slaechula passed away—natural causes, old age. His eldest son, heir to the throne, died not long after. Mysteriously. Some incident involving a collapsed tower and an 'unfortunate structural failure.'"
His eyes met ours again, steely and unreadable.
"The second son took the throne after that. Young. Unproven. Known to be… ambitious. And something of a braggart. The kind of man who reads about ancient conquerors and thinks he's found his calling. Prince Kaerel Surnacht—now King Kaerel."
My mouth pressed into a thin line. Hearing that took me right back to those village brats, tossing insults like they were nobles and I was dirt.
"We don't need to spell out what probably happened to the elder brother," Radames went on. "But now, the new king sees us—me—as vulnerable, thanks to the cult activity. He thinks we're distracted. Maybe he's even right."
There was a long pause.
"But I don't buy that this is just opportunism. I think someone nudged him. Or promised him something."
He turned to face us fully.
"I don't expect you to fight in this war," he said clearly. "None of you are soldiers in my army, nor do I wish to waste your talents on the front lines."
There was something oddly respectful in how he said that—like he knew exactly what kind of weight each of us carried.
"But I am asking for your help," Radames continued. "If there's a scheme behind this—some hidden hand pushing them to act—I want it found. Whether it's cultists, foreign agents, magi-corruption, or gods-be-damned curses, I want to know."
He spread his hands slightly, as if laying all his cards on the table.
"You'll have my full support—access to resources, transportation, records. Whatever you need. But I need results. I can't afford to be blind while I'm being flanked."
Radames didn't need to convince me with grand speeches. The Slaechulan Kingdom declaring war didn't feel real yet—but the way his voice dropped at the end, the subtle tightening in his jaw, said more than anything.
He was worried.
And that meant I probably should be too.
Radames didn't let the silence linger too long after delivering the news about the Slaechulan Kingdom's declaration of war.
"I'll be frank," he said again, brushing a hand along the edge of the dais. "They claim to be 'reclaiming ancestral land.'"
Arden raised a hand slightly, asking, "With respect, your Majesty… is that really their reason for declaring war?"
Radames gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yes. Publicly and formally. They cited the borderlands we gained during the Falmund War—territories that once belonged to Slaechula two generations ago. Technically, they're not wrong. But war doesn't care about who owned what centuries ago. We won that land. Fairly. Bloodily. Decisively."
He exhaled, as if tired of repeating this to himself. Or to others who ought to know better.
Lilith tilted her head, then said with a breezy little shrug, "Tch. Talk about sore losers. Decades later and they're still crying over their little playground."
I smacked her lightly on the head. "Shush. Don't speak out of turn."
"Ow! Traitor," she whispered, rubbing her scalp.
I swallowed the awkwardness clawing up my throat and stepped in. "Apologies, Your Majesty. She's… new."
Radames didn't seem offended. If anything, he chuckled under his breath and waved it off. "It's fine. I've met worse diplomats."
Somehow, that didn't comfort me.
He straightened again, hands behind his back, and continued.
"Of course, there's likely more to it than just old land claims. The Slaechulan Kingdom has long upheld a doctrine of demi-human supremacy. That's no secret. Their courts, military, and nobility are almost exclusively composed of beastkin, draconians, harpies, and the like. To them, Dalthun is an empire of inequality and soft rot."
His words hung heavy in the throne room.
"And, well… they're not entirely wrong, either," he added.
I blinked. What did he mean by that?
Radames went on. "The Empire is not… perfect. Humans, elves, and beastkin enjoy basic rights. The rest? Less so. Even among the races that do have rights, the scars of old conflicts still linger. There are entire provinces where elves are still viewed with suspicion. Beastkin are denied property in parts of the capital. These are things we're working to change—but slowly. Carefully. And some people, like the new Slaechulan king, are sick of waiting."
That earned a frown from Sora. Lysandra didn't show much reaction, but her fingers tapped against her leg in a subtle rhythm I'd learned to interpret as mild irritation.
"So yes," Radames said at last, "they've declared war. And while I don't expect you to fight it for me, I do believe there's more going on here. They're not fools. King Kaerel wouldn't invade knowing they're weaker unless someone had promised them something to make up the difference."
"A secret weapon," Lysandra said, voice like frost.
Radames nodded.
She stepped forward slightly. "Permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
"You want us to fight cultists, track down this 'hidden hand,' and now sniff out enemy military secrets?" Her crimson eyes burned with a flicker of disbelief. "Are we spies now? Or mercenaries?"
Radames didn't flinch. "I understand your concern. The offer wasn't meant for all of you. Originally, I was going to approach Arden. I trust his judgment. He would've chosen a few of my knights—people trained for this kind of work."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Arden, then toward the rest of us.
"But you've all proven yourselves capable. And more importantly, connected. You're already tangled in this web, and in my experience… those who are already inside the storm tend to see more than the ones watching from a distance."
Lysandra huffed but said nothing more. She had a point, but so did Radames, and both of them probably knew it.
There was a pause, the room thick with implications.
Then Radames's voice turned sharp again. "That said, I'm not throwing you to the wolves. If you accept this, you'll have whatever you need—disguises, funding, forged documents, magi-tech. And you'll have authority, too. Quietly."
Lilith made a pleased little hum beside me. "Ohoho… covert operations, is it? I already have codenames planned. I'll be Noire Phantom."
"No, you won't," I muttered.
But I didn't say no.
Because I could see it—Radames, poised but tired, a man who had built the most powerful empire in the world, now watching it slowly start to fracture from within and without. He wasn't asking us to fight his war.
He was asking us to find the reason why it had begun.
And that felt far more dangerous.