It had been exactly five years since that bloody night. Five long years since the great betrayal, when the proud, gold-inlaid white marble floors of Valeroth were stained crimson with the blood of the queen and the prince...
The successive downfall of the heirs to the throne had shattered the kingdom's centuries-old balance of power overnight. In the midst of this bloody chaos, the shadow of a single person grew: Carmilla. Her plans were no longer whispered behind closed doors; they echoed freely through the palace corridors. When she seized power like an unstoppable storm, the true darkness for Valeroth was just beginning.
First, the people were suffocated to fill her golden vaults. Taxes were raised so ruthlessly that market stalls sat empty, and hunger and fear gripped the streets. Where this massive amassed wealth flowed remained a deadly secret. To cement her power, Carmilla began placing her own bloodline into the most critical positions, completely disregarding merit. Her children were no longer merely nobles; they ruled the lands as ruthless feudal lords.
However, the true face of her cruelty would reveal itself in Ironpeak, long considered the beating heart of the kingdom.
Before the people could even understand what was happening, or when the noose around their necks had grown so tight, Carmilla's gaze turned to Ironpeak, home to the kingdom's master blacksmiths and wealthiest miners. Like a stressed snake beginning to devour its own tail, Valeroth had started to gnaw at its own insides, its very core.
An unimaginable, impossible-to-pay tax was demanded from Ironpeak. The edict was absolute: If even a single household refused to pay, the entire region would be put to the sword. But the people of Ironpeak, forged in the harshness of the mountains, did not bow. The sound of hammers was replaced by the clash of swords. They resisted.
This glorious yet hopeless resistance ended with the erasure of an entire region from the map. The sky burned for days with the crimson of flames. While the blood of innocents washed the cold stones of the mountains, the strongest surviving miners and warriors were dragged to the ports, heavy iron chains shackled around their necks. In utter despair, they were loaded into the dark holds of galleons, destined to be sold as slaves in distant lands.
That day, it wasn't just ships full of captives that left the port; the last shred of the Valeroth people's faith in the kingdom vanished over the horizon alongside them. Now, in the surrounding towns and impoverished villages, fear was being replaced by anger, and silence by whispers of rebellion.
The new order, built on blood, had ignited its own spark.