The world had not always been divided by borders and banners.
Long ago, before grudges hardened into tradition and crowns grew heavy with arrogance, the kingdoms had been bound together by shared bloodshed and shared triumph. That unity was now a story parent's told their children with a sigh, the way one spoke of a golden age that would never return.
Of all the realms that rose and fell in those stories none inspired as much bitter nostalgia as the Empire of Hallon.
Hallon had once been the jewel of the continent, an empire filled with cities enriched with wealth, fertile farmlands, and vaults so deep with gold that its rulers were said to measure wealth by the room rather than the coin.
Merchants crossed other kingdoms, deserts and the sea just to trade within its borders.
Scholars travelled for years to study beneath its libraries' vaulted ceilings. There was once a saying that 'To be Hallonian was to be envied'.
That was before Daemar Valcaryn.
When Emperor Daemar ascended the throne, the empire expected continuity. The Valcaryn line was ancient, respected and were descendants of the Emperor Rhythan who had brought wealth and prosperity to Hallon many years ago.
But it seemed Daemar possessed none of the traits and virtues of his ancestors. Where they had invested in infrastructure he had invested in indulgence. Where they had listened to advisors, he silenced them. Where they had hoarded gold for the welfare of the people and famine alike, he spent it on silks, beautiful women, and banquets that lasted weeks.
Within a decade, Hallon's wealth bled away like water through cracked stone. Taxes continued to climb even though nothing was being done to curb the famine. Grain stores emptied and soldiers went inpiad. Entire provinces sank into poverty while the imperial palace and some areas of the capital, Gathon glittered brighter than ever, a mocking beacon above a starving empire.
Neighbouring kingdoms watched closely. To the far north lay Hallon's greatest rival, Thalever. It was a harsh and disciplined land forged by cold mountains and colder ambitions.
To the west, Duskharrow, a kingdom known for its swordmanship and to the east was Hallon's closest ally, Escador, bound by trade routes and oldest blood pacts.
The south opened into the vast sea, unpredictable like Hallon's future.
Relations between Halon and Thalever had once been warm but history had sharpened their interactions into rivalry. It all started when Thalever, taking advantage of Hallon's hospitality sent their spies to steal miltary intelligence. It was a betrayal that had led to Hallon losing some of its land and sealed the deal for their rivalry. Thalever had been probing Hallon's defenses and testing its weaknesses like a patient predator ever since then.
Yet that betrayal paled in comparison to the memory tgat still haunted every kingdom.
The Year of the Beasts.
Decades ago, some time after this betrayal, Thalever's ruler had made a fatal decision. Drawn by ancient legends of power and conquest, he ordered an expedition into the mountains of Ades.
Those jaggeds in the dessert had long been forbidden, whispered about in taverns and temples alike. The stories spoke of ugly creatures, beasts, that fed on flesh and fear, monsters sealed away by forces no living king could command.
And stories of the Shiwan flower, an ancient flower of healing and unimagined power that the beastly creatures seemed to protect.
Thalever's ruler wanted the shiwan flower to himself and dismissed the tales of the deadly beasts as superstition.
He'd said in his thick voice, "There is no such creature that can stand against me and my sword, whether big or small."
His arrogance knew no bounds and what he unleashed instead nearly destroyed the world.
The expedition destroyed barriers that kept the monsters away and protected the rest the rest of the world. From the depths of Mount Ades poured creatures of nightmare, they were massive, greenish ugly beings with sharp claws an teeths that dripped with blood.
They spread into surrounding kindoms, slaughtered people, livestock and turned fields into graveyards. No kingdom was spared from their vicious attacks. Borders meant nothing to these monsters that drank blood and tore apart humans as though they were meat.
Faced with annihilation, the world did the unthinkable.
It united.
Kings and queens gathered despite their differences. From that assembly, the Council of Royals was born. Together, they pooled their armies, their magic, their knowledge. It took years of brutal warfare, countless lives, and sacrifives that history only half remembered, but at last the monsters were driven back to the mountains of Ades.
Barriers were made and soldiers were posted to stand guard.
To them the war was over but the council remained.
To prevent future disasters and perhaps to remind themsleves why untiy mattered, the Council instituited a tradition. Every ten years, one member kingdom would host a grand tournament. Princes and princesses would compete in martial combat, strategy, magic, and wit for the title of Supreme Royal, a symbolic honor meant to foster unity and rivalry without blood shed.
Thousands of years later and for Prince Aran Valcaryn, the only son among girls, he had been tasked to represent Hallon for the tournament but there was a problem.
Born premature, He lacked the strength to compete in the fighting department and there was a bigger problem.
Thalever was hosting this years tournament.
It was an honour, certainly to represent his kingdom but it was also a burden heavy enough to bend steel.
The Council would be watching closely. So would Thalever, whose representatives had never missed an opportunity to measure Hallon's weaknesses.
And then there were the expectations from his father, Emperor Daemar Valcaryn, a proud man who'd made matters worse by declaying boastfully in her room full of royals abouy his sons remarkable capabilities and how he would win the tournament.
It was a far cry from the truth.
The truth that would would shame Hallon, Shame its Emperor and make Prince Aran Valcaryn a laughing stock among his people.