Chapter 2
The great halls of the imperial palace hummed with activity, filled with nobles, servants, and soldiers attending to their duties. In the vast chamber of the royal court, the scent of burning incense mingled with the rich aroma of wine, creating a heady atmosphere. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their flickering flames casting long, restless shadows against the towering marble columns. The banners of the empire—deep crimson embroidered with the silver crest of the wolf—draped over the walls like silent sentinels, bearing witness to the empire's might.
Among the murmurs of courtiers and the clinking of goblets, a man weaved through the crowd with urgency. Caquin, an official of the court, his face pale with anxiety, barely noticed the opulence around him. He moved swiftly, his polished boots tapping against the marble floors as he approached a waiting figure—Nertarch, an informant of the court.
Caquin grabbed his sleeve, pulling him aside. "Are you sure?" he hissed under his breath, his voice tight with tension.
"Yes, absolutely," Nertarch whispered, his eyes darting around.
A cold sweat trickled down Caquin’s spine. He didn't need further confirmation. If what Nertarch said was true, then the empire stood on the precipice of chaos. Without another word, Caquin turned on his heels and strode toward the emperor’s private chambers. His heart pounded against his ribs as he passed through the great hall, each step echoing his growing dread.
As he approached the heavy double doors of the emperor’s quarters, the muffled sounds of indulgence filtered through. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the sultry hum of music. Caquin hesitated for only a moment before steeling himself and pushing the doors open.
Inside, Emperor Tarvo lounged on a vast silk-draped couch, surrounded by courtesans and nobles deep in revelry. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and spiced wine. The emperor himself, clad in a deep crimson robe, held a goblet in one hand while his other rested lazily on the hilt of a ceremonial dagger. His eyes, sharp despite his apparent leisure, flicked toward Caquin with mild interest.
Caquin bowed deeply. "Your Majesty, I must speak with you immediately. It is of the utmost importance—private matters."
Tarvo took a slow sip from his goblet before setting it down with deliberate grace. "Spit it out," he said lazily, waving his hand.
"Your Majesty, please… this is urgent and for your ears alone," Caquin insisted, his voice trembling.
The emperor's smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt. "You test my patience, Caquin," he said, his voice cold. "Do you believe yourself too important to obey your emperor?"
A bead of sweat rolled down Caquin’s forehead. "Your Majesty, it’s about the mantle of leadership," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The room fell into dead silence. The laughter, the music—gone in an instant.
The emperor’s expression hardened, and he suddenly sat up straighter. With a flick of his wrist, he sent his goblet crashing to the floor, wine splattering across the polished tiles like blood. "Leave us," he commanded.
The courtesans, the nobles, even the guards hesitated for only a second before scurrying out, their faces drained of mirth. The doors shut behind them with a heavy thud, sealing the two men inside.
Tarvo leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Speak."
Caquin swallowed hard. "Your Majesty… the northern lights are back, the monks confirmed it. They believe it means…" He hesitated, his voice failing him.
The emperor’s patience was razor-thin. "Means what?"
Caquin clenched his fists. "That the mantle has found a new host."
For a moment, Tarvo simply stared. Then, without warning, he exploded in fury.
With a snarl, he overturned the low table before him, sending goblets and plates crashing to the floor. He struck Caquin hard across the face, sending him sprawling onto the cold marble. "So you are telling me," he seethed, his voice like a growl, "that some rat out there dares to challenge my rule?!"
Caquin scrambled to his knees, his lip bleeding. "Perhaps… perhaps the monks are mistaken!" he pleaded.
"Are they?" Tarvo’s voice was deathly calm now, more terrifying than his rage. He stepped toward the window, looking out at the sprawling city below. The streets were alive with the bustle of citizens, unaware of the storm brewing above them.
"Look at them, Caquin," Tarvo murmured, his eyes scanning the crowds. "Any one of them could be my enemy. The omen does not lie. Someone out there wields the mantle." His fingers curled into fists. "And I will not let them take my throne."
Caquin, sensing a chance to save himself, hurriedly said, "Your Majesty is the one true king. There is no need to—"
Tarvo turned on him sharply. "I am not a king. I am an Emperor," he snarled.
And with that, he seized Caquin by the collar and hurled him out the open window.
A single scream pierced the night before being swallowed by silence.
Tarvo turned away from the window as if nothing had happened.
"Guards!" he called.
The doors swung open, and a group of armored guards marched in, eyes fixed straight ahead, carefully avoiding looking at the empty space where Caquin had stood.
"Fetch me Attinute," Tarvo commanded.
The guards bowed and left at once.
When Attinute finally arrived, Tarvo was pacing, his fists clenched behind his back. He barely waited for his advisor to bow before dismissing the guards.
"Someone is trying to take my throne from me," Tarvo said without preamble, his voice simmering with restrained fury. "The old man has found a new heir."
Attinute’s brows shot up. "Your Majesty, I… I am lost for words. Are you certain?"
"The monks confirmed this," Tarvo snapped. "The mantle has chosen a new host."
Attinute inhaled sharply. "Your Majesty, the last time the mantle was seen, it was leaving our realm. Since then, there has been no record of anyone crossing the barrier."
Tarvo’s eyes narrowed. "And?"
"This pretender… they are on the other side of the barrier, Your Majesty. As long as they remain there, they are no threat to your rule."
The emperor's fury lessened, but his paranoia remained. "Are you sure?"
"As far as we know," Attinute assured him. "But I would recommend doubling patrols along the Great Barrier. That is the only way the pretender could enter our world."
Tarvo considered this, then nodded slowly. "Good. Do it immediately."
Attinute bowed. "As you command, Your Majesty."
As the advisor left, Tarvo turned back to the window.
The city stretched before him, oblivious.
Somewhere out there, beyond the barrier, his enemy was growing stronger.
But he would find them.
And when he did…
He would crush them.