At the Feltogora Empire, the air was heavy with incense smoke and the stench of frustration.
The Emperor slammed his hand against the carved mahogany table, the echo booming across the gilded chamber.
"You imbecile!" he roared, his voice reverberating like thunder. "How come you still cannot eradicate these peasants!?"
In front of him, Crown Prince Matthew bowed low, his shoulders taut beneath the weight of failure. He dared not look up, not while the Emperor's fury blazed.
The Emperor pinched the bridge of his nose, his temples throbbing from both age and stress. "And Aquila? Have you found her?"
Matthew straightened just slightly, voice clipped. "The Nexus Kingdom sent a letter, saying they've found Aquila near their territory."
The Emperor groaned, a long, weary sigh escaping him. "That girl…" His tone softened only for a breath, then hardened once again. "Bring her back immediately. She needs to get married as soon as possible."
Matthew hesitated. "As much as I want to, Your Imperial Majesty… but the rebels—"
The Emperor's fist struck the table again, rattling goblets and scrolls. "Do I need to repeat myself, Matthew!?"
Matthew flinched at the sharpness of his father's tone. "No, Father. I'll do it."
He bowed deeply, retreating. Yet as he walked through the corridor, his jaw clenched, his fists curled tight at his sides. His voice was low, nearly a growl.
"Just when did it all go wrong…" he muttered under his breath. "We had everything under control."
"I'll do it."
The sudden voice halted him. Matthew turned sharply, finding his younger brother, Zejidiah, leaning casually against the marble column, his face as unreadable as ever.
"I'll handle bringing back Aquila," Zejidiah said flatly. "You deal with the rebels."
For a long moment, Matthew simply stared, suspicion flickering in his eyes. But the fatigue of endless battles and the Emperor's impossible demands pressed down on him. He relented with a bitter exhale.
"…Fine."
"Where is Althurd?" Matthew finally asked.
Zejidiah gave only a slight shrug, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of irony, before turning away. Without another word, he disappeared down the hall, his footsteps swallowed by silence.
Matthew remained rooted in place, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. His chest rose and fell heavily as he whispered through clenched teeth:
"Just who is behind these rebels… and why does it feel as though someone inside wants us to fail?"
...…
A few days before—
Somewhere in the northern land stood another empire, Peris, an empire known for its long years of peace under the graceful yet calculating rule of Empress Anastasia Claudine Auger Peoria.
The throne hall gleamed with ivory stone and violet banners, and upon the high dais sat the Empress herself, blonde hair gleaming beneath the sunlight pouring from the high windows, violet eyes calm but sharp as blades.
Before her stood two men: one cloaked in shadow, the other unmistakable in his white cloak, a black blindfold across his eyes. Upon his back, embroidered in stark thread, was the symbol of a justice scale marred by a great cross.
The Empress let out a low, amused hum, her lips curving faintly.
"Still… what a sight to see. To think that you would come here—to me—asking for help."
The blindfolded man chuckled, a rough, almost playful sound. Hans—leader of the rebellion against Feltogora—bowed with mock courtesy.
"Haha, pardon me for disturbing Your Imperial Majesty. But we simply cannot sit idly by while the Revazkerio bloodline clings to power." His tone danced on the edge of jest and threat.
Then, as if savoring the tension, he added more quietly, "And also… for the sake of—"
He stopped himself, leaving the sentence hanging like a blade in the air.
The Empress did not press. She tilted her chin, smile unwavering. "I understand. Should war escalate, I will lend you some of my troops."
At her side, her son—Amadin Cale Auger Peoria, twenty-two, with long white hair cascading around his slender neck and violet eyes mirroring hers—shifted uneasily. His androgynous beauty made his concern seem even softer, almost fragile.
"Mother… are you sure of this?" he asked, worry tugging at his tone.
"It's alright, Amadin," Anastasia soothed, her voice warm for him alone. "This is but the path politics demands."
But Amadin's gaze lingered on the cloaked men, his jaw tightening.
The Empress then turned back to them, curiosity glinting in her eyes.
"But tell me—how did you learn of such… sensitive information?"
The second cloaked man finally spoke, his voice low and steady.
"Hans here… is the child of ****."
For the first time in years, the Empress's composure cracked. Her violet eyes widened, her lips parting ever so slightly. She drew in a sharp breath before reigning herself back under control, her posture stiffening.
"…I see. So that is why."
Her gaze sharpened. "But let me ask—are you certain of this path you've chosen?"
The cloaked man lifted his chin, and though his hood veiled much of his face, his lips curved into a slow, deadened smile.
"I planned this from the moment the Empress died. How could I possibly back out now?"
"And Princess Aquila?" Anastasia asked, her voice deliberately neutral. "Do you not intend to tell her?"
The man paused. Then, with a dismissive calm, he murmured,
"…I'll think about that."
With that, he inclined his head respectfully and turned, Hans following him. Their cloaks billowed like shadows as they left the throne hall.
The doors closed with a heavy thud, silence falling over the room.
At last, Anastasia exhaled, her regal mask softening into something weary, almost sorrowful. She whispered into the echo of the chamber—words meant for no one but a ghost of the past.
"Looks like… you've raised one hell of a child, Athena."
The two cloaked men walked side by side at the hall of the Peris Imperial Palace.
Hans hummed playfully, "Still, it's already been six years, huh?"
The black-cloaked man did not answer.
"Geez, at least answer me. I didn't get the chance to see you for at least a year because I had to get our commoners," he added.
Then the man halted. For him—for Hans—he smiled sweetly. "Yes… without you I'd probably be dead years ago."
Hans didn't see his face, or whatever expression this other man wore, but his ears were sharp. He knew. He could hear the weight hidden in that quiet voice—the rare moment of vulnerability.
Hans's grin softened into something genuine. "And after this 'great plan,' what are you going to do?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then the cloaked man walked closer, slowly and quietly, until they were only a few breaths apart.
"Will you die for me, Hans?" he asked. The question fell like a blade. But Hans did not flinch, nor act surprised. He only smiled, leaning in closer.
"You sure know how to surprise someone with your crazy tongue, huh?" he answered teasingly.
"After everything, I'll end myself…" the cloaked man quietly said, lowering his head to Hans's shoulder. His words trembled like ash carried by the wind.
"Pft, you're very stubborn." Hans leaned his own head against the man's and, with one hand, gently rested it atop his hood.
"I'd die with you," he said softly, a vow wrapped in warmth.
The other man stilled, then smiled faintly—a rare, fleeting thing.
They stood like that a heart-beat longer—two conspirators in a corridor whose stone had heard oaths and betrayals older than either of them. In that private pocket of palace shadow they did not grandstand or promise the moon; they promised the smaller, truer thing: presence. If the plan burned down around them, they would not be absent from one another's fall.
The cloaked man's mouth curved, slight and real. He lowered his head into Hans's hand and, for the first time in the conversation, let himself be unguarded. "Then die with me," he said simply.
Hans laughed—soft, incredulous, like a man hearing his own name called home—and kissed the top of the hood as if it were a forehead.
"I will, but you owe me one funeral song." He stepped back, shoulders rolling as if shrugging off portentousness, and went to walk again down the corridor.
They resumed their stride side by side. Lanterns flickered; distant voices crested and fell. They paced toward the palace heart with the kind of easy synchronicity that only lives and conspiracies and long-shared danger can build. Between them, the promise hung quiet and unadorned: whatever the world demanded, they would answer it together.