This is a tale, yes, it is the fable that haunts Sarrera and its people. Told to children to help them fall asleep at night, it has become an expression used across the globe, mocked for its stupidity while making even the most robust shudder with its impetuosity. Few reigns reflect such brutality, few were the survivors who did not tremble under Hitzak's yoke. Some die upon hearing his name, others stop breathing and gouge out their eyes when he passes before them. It depends above all on the king himself. If he does not favor you, you will die; if, on the other hand, there is a chance for you to live, seize it or flee.

It seemed as if his blade never dulled, yet I saw it one day pale beneath my gaze

This is a tale, yes, the tale of Hitzak Scavi the tyrant, but this time told from the perspective of one of the Beste sisters

The prophecy of Ederra.

I just finished the first part of the story titled Cold of the North, which described an arc of suffering for the heroine. 


In the second part to come, The Emperor's Sacred Fire, I intend to give Ederra the place she deserved. 


Thank you for following along this far for those who are reading this message. 


It's a short story; I apologize if it's not very well written, as I'm not in my native language :⁠')


Please follow the second part of the story, which I will share after a break. 


18.5-)Author's note