The execution had been swift, its brutality lingering in the air like a foul stench. The crowd, once a cacophony of murmurs and gasps, had dispersed, leaving behind an eerie silence broken only by the rhythmic scraping of brooms against stone. Servants moved with mechanical precision, their faces blank, their hands steady as they scrubbed the bloodstains from the cobblestones. The execution platform, now a grim reminder of justice served, was dismantled and carried away, its wooden beams stained a deep crimson. The scent of iron hung heavy, a metallic reminder of the life that had been extinguished.
Vold leaned against a marble pillar, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His sharp eyes followed the servants as they worked, their movements almost hypnotic in their efficiency. "Well," he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "that was rough."
Hali, standing a few paces away, barely registered Vold's words. His attention was elsewhere, his mind still reeling from the spectacle he had just witnessed. The execution had been more than a display of justice; it had been a statement, a reminder of the Emperor's absolute power. Hali's stomach churned, and he clenched his fists, trying to steady his trembling hands. His gaze drifted to the Emperor, who stood at the far end of the courtyard, surrounded by his inner circle. The Emperor's golden eyes, sharp and piercing, were fixed on Hali, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. Hali felt a chill run down his spine. That smile was not one of warmth or reassurance; it was calculating, almost predatory.
"It's the price of betrayal," Julius said, his voice low and gravelly. The old warrior stood tall, his posture unbowed despite his age. His scarred face, weathered by decades of battle, was a map of his storied past. The legendary "Red Dragon of the Apocalypse," as he was known, had earned his title in the Great War, a conflict that had shaped the fate of empires. His presence commanded respect, even among the Emperor's most trusted advisors.
Martel, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. "Well said, Julius. But we mustn't keep the Emperor waiting." His tone was firm, brooking no argument. He glanced at Hali, his expression unreadable, before turning on his heel and striding toward the Emperor.
Hali hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground. The weight of the Emperor's gaze was unbearable, and he felt as though he were being dissected, every secret laid bare. He forced himself to look away, his eyes scanning the courtyard for an escape. That was when he noticed Pege. She stood a few feet away, her usually vibrant eyes clouded with fear. She was staring at the Emperor, her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands clenched at her sides.
"Hey, Pege," Vold called, his voice laced with concern. "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost." Pege tore her gaze away from the Emperor and turned to Vold. For a moment, she seemed to struggle for words, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Finally, she managed a weak smile. "It's nothing," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vold raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, come on. We've seen worse than this. Remember the siege of Karath? The Battle of the Black Sands? This is nothing compared to that." Pege remained silent, her eyes darting to Hali. She caught him staring at her, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. There was something in her eyes—something unspoken, something urgent. But before Hali could decipher it, Finn's voice broke the tension.
"Let's go to the Emperor," Finn said, his tone firm. Alistar, standing beside him, nodded in agreement. The two men exchanged a glance, their expressions grim, before turning and making their way toward the Emperor. Hali followed reluctantly, his mind racing. The Emperor was deep in conversation with Julius, Martel, and two other men: Vaelis Greystorm, Finn's father, and Thalor Han, Vold's father. Both men were imposing figures, their presence commanding respect. Vaelis, tall and broad-shouldered, had the bearing of a seasoned warrior, while Thalor, with his sharp features and piercing eyes, exuded an air of quiet authority.
As the group approached, the Emperor turned his attention to Alistar. "Alistar," he said, his voice smooth and measured, "your father didn't come today?" Alistar stiffened, his jaw tightening. "No, Emperor. He was… indisposed."
The Emperor's smile widened, though it did not reach his eyes. "It would have been a shame if no one from the Perm family had attended today. After all, loyalty is a virtue we must all cherish."
Hali felt a pang of unease. The Emperor's words were laced with subtle menace, a reminder that even the most powerful families were not immune to his scrutiny. He glanced at Alistar, who remained stoic, his expression unreadable.
The Emperor's gaze shifted to Hali, and once again, Hali felt the weight of those golden eyes. "Ilis," the Emperor said, his voice dripping with false warmth, "look how much you've grown. I hope you will continue your father's legacy. Don't let him down."
Hali's mind went blank. He forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Haha… yes, I won't let him down," he stammered, his voice trembling. Julius, ever perceptive, noticed Hali's unease. "I am still not dead, Emperor," he said, his tone laced with dry humor.
The Emperor chuckled, though his eyes remained cold. "You've a long life ahead of you, Julius. A man who fought in the Great War, the legendary 'Red Dragon of the Apocalypse.' It's an honor, you know." Thalor, unable to resist a jab, interjected, "Yes, Emperor. He was fighting in the Great War while you were in your palace, hiding like a mouse."
The Emperor's smile faltered, though only for a moment. "Best not to get too personal, Thalor. And I wasn't hiding; I was doing something truly important for the Empire." Thalor snorted. "Yeah, yeah. As always."
Martel and Vaelis remained silent, their expressions carefully neutral. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out between the Emperor and his advisors.
Just then, a tall man clad in dark shadow armor approached, his presence commanding immediate attention. His movements were fluid, almost predatory, and his piercing eyes seemed to see through everyone around him. In his hands, he carried an unopened letter, its seal unbroken. He knelt before the Emperor, presenting the letter with a bow.
"A letter for you, Emperor," he said, his voice deep and resonant. The Emperor took the letter, his expression unreadable. "Thank you, Attla."
Attla rose to his feet, his gaze locking with Julius's for a brief moment. The two men exchanged a silent, knowing look, their shared history evident in the intensity of their stare. Pege, standing beside Hali, whispered, "Who is that man?"
Hali, recalling Ilis's memories, replied softly, "My uncle… the Head of the Royal Knights." Pege's eyes widened in surprise. "That's the Head of the Royal Knights? And your uncle?"
Hali nodded, his attention fixed on Attla. The man exuded an aura of power and authority, his presence both intimidating and reassuring. The Emperor broke the seal and read the letter, his expression darkening with each passing second. By the time he finished, his face was a mask of fury. He crumpled the letter in his fist, his knuckles white with tension.
"What was written on it?" Martel asked, his voice cautious.
The Emperor's reply was terse, his tone laced with barely contained rage. "The Abyss Walkers." The name sent a ripple of unease through the group. Vaelis, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "After all these years? They've been hiding all along?"
The Abyss Walkers were a name whispered in fear, a remnant of a darker time. They were a group of malevolent power, allied with the Chaos Empire during the Great War. The war had been fought to unite the empires against the Chaos Empire and the Abyss Walkers, a conflict that had reshaped the world. Long ago, travelers from the Feldan Empire had discovered a land of unparalleled beauty, a paradise untouched by time. But the people of that land had opened a portal to the Chaos Empire, unleashing a wave of destruction that had plunged the world into war. The land had been lost, its name forgotten, and its people had become the Abyss Walkers, harbingers of chaos and destruction.
The Emperor's voice was cold as he spoke. "It seems they have returned. And if they have, then we must prepare. The Empire will not fall to their darkness again." The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a shroud. The Abyss Walkers were more than an enemy; they were a symbol of everything the Empire had fought to overcome. And now, they had returned.