The war had begun, and amidst the chaos, the mage moved with calculated precision. He was the unseen hand guiding the tides of conflict, the architect behind the unraveling of an empire.
It was he who had orchestrated Alice's escape from the clutches of her tyrannical father, Nero Alexiue. Disguised as a humble servant, he had navigated the treacherous corridors of the palace, evading the ever-watchful eyes of the guards. With a combination of cunning and magic, he had led Alice through secret passages and hidden tunnels, away from the horrors she had endured.
Once Alice was safe, the mage turned his attention to her uncle, the brother of Queen Bryanne. Recognizing the futility of a hasty assault on the empire, he counseled patience and strategy. "Gather allies from beyond the empire's borders," he advised. "Expose Nero's atrocities to the world. Let the truth be your weapon."
Heeding the mage's counsel, Alice's uncle halted the initial plans for war. For a year, they worked in the shadows, forging alliances with neighboring kingdoms and disseminating the harrowing tale of Alice's suffering. The mage's words ignited a fire in the hearts of many, uniting them against a common enemy.
During this time, the mage infiltrated the empire's military ranks, sowing seeds of dissent among the commanders. Through whispered promises and subtle manipulations, he turned their loyalties, preparing them for the moment of betrayal.
As the allied forces marched towards the empire, the mage's plan unfolded seamlessly. Two of the empire's commanders vanished without a trace, their absence sowing confusion and fear among the troops. When battle commenced, the remaining commanders, now loyal to the mage, turned their swords against their own, fracturing the empire's defenses from within.
With the empire's forces in disarray, the path to the palace lay open. The mage led the charge.
----
The winds howled through the stone corridors of the imperial palace as though they, too, mourned—or perhaps celebrated—what was about to transpire. War raged in the distance. Outside the grand walls of the Sylvan Harmony Empire, swords clashed and fire rained from the heavens. But inside the palace, a colder, quieter storm was brewing.
The mage moved like a shadow.
He had no name now—none that he answered to. He was simply the architect of vengeance, the one who had set this chain of events into motion. He had freed Alice from the empire's prison, both physical and emotional. He had whispered into her uncle's ear, staying his hand from an early, reckless war. He had traveled through hidden roads and across kingdoms to forge secret alliances, spreading the truth of Nero Alexiue's unspeakable crimes until no king or lord could deny the horror.
He had broken the empire's spine from the inside.
The betrayal of three of the empire's five commanders had been no accident. For a year, he had worked in the shadows—testing loyalties, sowing doubts, and offering quiet promises. Two commanders had vanished days before the battle, removed by his agents before they could stand in his way. The other three, loyal only to their ambition, turned on their own forces when the moment came, ensuring chaos reigned.
The war was a distraction. The real battle lay within the palace walls.
He stepped through the silent, golden corridors, his long cloak trailing behind him like spilled ink. The palace was nearly deserted now. The ministers had fled. The guards had been subdued or had turned. Only one man remained untouched, unbothered, uncaring—Emperor Nero Alexiue.
He sat in his chambers as he always did. Silent. Still. Obsessed.
The child lay asleep in a cradle carved from ebony and lined with the finest silk. Nero sat beside him, eyes sunken, his once-proud frame reduced to a husk of madness. His hands trembled not from age but from a kind of desperation that had festered unchecked for months.
He didn't notice the mage enter. Or if he did, he didn't care.
"You've come," Nero said softly, eyes never leaving the child.
The mage remained silent.
"I knew it would end like this," Nero continued. "But he's perfect, isn't he? My son. My heir. My legacy."
"You have no legacy," the mage said coldly. "Only a trail of blood."
Nero finally turned his head. His eyes were hollow, but there was still something dangerous behind them—a flicker of the tyrant he once was.
"You think you can take him from me?" Nero asked.
----
After some time Nero was on his knees and The mage and other members of family were standing there. He was bleeding.
Nero's expression didn't change. He stood slowly, his hands raised—not in surrender, but in madness.
"You don't understand," he whispered. "He's all I have. He's all I am."
The uncle's voice trembled with rage. "And what was Alice to you? A vessel? A thing to break and use?"
Nero didn't say anything, not even a word or he tried to but couldn't say it.
That was the final straw.
With a cry that tore from the depths of his soul, Alice's uncle lunged. The blade drove into Nero's stomach, but the emperor did not fall.
The mage raised his hand, and black fire surged through the room. It clung to Nero like tar, burning without flame, tearing into his soul.
Nero screamed.
His body contorted, consumed by the mage's spell. His skin cracked like porcelain, revealing veins of black fire beneath. His eyes burst. His mouth opened in a final, silent scream before the flames erupted from within him, splitting him apart.
When it was done, nothing remained but ash and silence.
The child still slept, untouched, unaware.
The uncle stood over the ashes, his sword still trembling in his hand.
The mage turned away, his voice a whisper. "It's done."
The empire would never be the same.
But at last, Nero Alexiue was dead.