'The Devourers,' his mind screamed. 'Gluttony's followers. But... no. It's not supposed to be happening now. It's supposed to be happening after at least a year! Did the events change?'
He saw the beginning of the end, arriving a year ahead of schedule.
His heart sank. He realized with a terrifying, gut-wrenching certainty that he had no future knowledge anymore.
The Emperor, Valerius XII, stood up. His face was a mask of cold fury. "The dinner is over," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Alaric, Isolde, Gareth, with me. To the war room. Now."
Lyra, Kaelen, and Elara knew this was not a discussion. They stood and bowed, then quietly left the hall.
As Ivan was about to leave, his mother, Empress Seraphina, placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was light, but it felt heavy.
"You look pale, my son," she said, her emerald eyes full of a deep, knowing concern. "Are you alright?"
"I am fine, Mother," Ivan lied, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. "Just tired from my training." He knew he could not show how much this news has shaken him. He could not show the terror that was clawing at his throat.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Rest well, then."
He did not go to his room.
He watched his father and older siblings walk down the grand, torchlit hallway toward the west wing of the palace. He waited until they turned a corner, then he followed, sticking to the shadows of the large marble pillars.
The Imperial War Room was not a place for a fourteen-year-old prince. It was the heart of the Empire's military command. The guards at the door were veterans of the First Legion, their faces scarred and their eyes sharp. They would not let him pass.
He found a small servant's alcove across the hall, hidden behind a heavy tapestry depicting the founding of the Empire. He pressed his ear against the cold, thick wood of the door.
He could hear their voices, muffled but clear.
Alaric was reporting the details. "...entire villages wiped out. Not just killed, Father. Consumed. There are no bodies. Just bloodstains and gnawed bones. The scouts saw strange, mutated creatures alongside the main force. They described them as part wolf, part insect."
"This is not a normal bandit attack," Gareth said. His voice was full of academic excitement mixed with dread. "The methods are too brutal, too unnatural. It reminds me of passages from the Forbidden Texts. They speak of 'consuming plagues' and 'flesh-shapers'."
"Forget the plagues," Isolde cut in, her voice sharp and practical. "The Golden Plains provide thirty percent of the Empire's grain. If we lose control of that region before the harvest, we will face famine by winter. Our neighbors will see it as a weakness. The Northern Kingdoms will test our borders."
There was a long silence. Ivan held his breath.
Then, his father spoke. The Emperor's voice was calm, but it held the weight of absolute authority. "Alaric, you will lead the First Legion. Take three battalions. Secure the region. Find the source of these attacks and eliminate it. I want a report on my desk within the month."
"Yes, Father," Alaric replied, his voice full of confidence.
Ivan's heart sank. It was happening. Exactly as he remembered. In his timeline, the First Legion was ambushed in the Gilded Canyon. They were surrounded and overwhelmed. They underestimated the enemy's numbers and their savagery. Alaric survived, but he lost a third of his men. It was a scar the Empire carried for years.
He could not let that happen.
He burst into the war room.
The four of them turned to look at him, their faces a mixture of shock and anger. In the center of the room was a massive stone table, carved with a map of the entire continent. Small, carved figures representing legions were placed on it.
Two royal guards immediately moved to grab him.
"Stop," the Emperor commanded. The guards froze. He looked at Ivan, his blue eyes cold and disappointed. "Explain this intrusion."
"Father, you cannot send the First Legion alone," Ivan said, his voice desperate. "It's a trap. The Devourers are not simple monsters. They are organized."
Alaric scoffed, a look of pure disdain on his face. "And what would you know of this, little brother? You just returned from failing your academy exam."
"I read about it!" Ivan lied, his mind racing. "In an old book in the academy library. It spoke of an enemy that uses swarming tactics and lures armies into ambushes in narrow passes."
Gareth looked intrigued. "Which book? I have read every text in the academy's restricted section. I do not recall such a description."
Ivan could not answer. He was caught.
The Emperor dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Your concern is noted. It is also misplaced. You are a child playing at war. Leave us."
"But Father—"
"Now," the Emperor said, his voice final.
The guards took Ivan by the arms and escorted him out of the room. The heavy doors closed behind him with a solid thud.
He had failed. He could not convince them. He felt the same crushing helplessness he had felt in the forest, watching the bear charge at Lyraena.
'Fuck you guys,' he thought, a bitter, angry fire burning in his chest. 'I'll do it my own way.'
He did not go back to his room. He walked straight to the palace barracks. He found two guards from the palace's internal security force. They were not as elite as the royal guards, but they were loyal.
He stood before them, his posture changing. He was no longer a desperate boy. He was a prince of the Empire.
"You," he said, pointing to the senior guard. "Take me to the Solgard Royal Academy. Now. That is an order."
The guards were surprised, but they saw the authority in his eyes. They did not question him. They bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
They escorted him to a small, unmarked carriage. The journey across the capital was fast. The academy campus was dark and nearly empty, the students all sent home. The only lights came from the instructors' quarters and one other office.
He walked straight to Commander Valerius's office. He did not hesitate. He knocked on the door, a hard, sharp rap.
After a moment, the door opened.
Commander Valerius stood there, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He looked tired and annoyed. He saw who it was, and his expression did not change.
"Huh?" he said, his voice a low grumble. "What the fuck do you want, Prince Ivan."