The marbled floor groaned beneath the weight of dozens of high-ranking officials and generals, all kneeling with their heads bowed low. They stayed like that—silent, trembling—each one no more than a piece waiting for the hand of their merciless ruler to pluck them up or crush them outright. Names whispered through the suffocating air: Marquess Harlon, Duke Veradis, Chancellor Mearis. Names heavy with gold, land, armies. Names that, here, didn't mean a damn thing.
None of them dared lift their gaze.
At the far end of the hall, slouched upon a throne carved from the petrified bones of some long-dead leviathan, sat the emperor.
He wore robes of black and red that seemed stitched together from night itself, his face hidden behind a shifting mask—something that sometimes looked human, but never for long.
The silence stretched until it frayed at the edges. It was Marquess Harlon who finally cracked first, forcing the words past a throat gone dry.
"The great emperor... what shall we do?" His voice trembled, barely a whisper against the cavernous hush. "The number of nobles disappearing... it's immense. A lot of power could be lost. A lot of territories could—"
The room seemed to shudder. The torches guttered, flames retreating as if afraid.
The emperor didn't so much as shift. His reply came slow and cold, bleeding indifference into every corner of the hall.
"It isn't my business," he said. "I'm sure nobles from other countries are getting snatched too. Let them deal with it."
The words hit harder than any blow. Around the hall, the officials stiffened, fear crackling in the air like a coming storm. Some of them glanced at each other, pale-faced and sweating, but none dared speak.
None, except for the fool.
Chancellor Mearis—always the overeager idiot—stumbled forward a step, hands shaking so badly he looked like a puppet with cut strings.
"But sire..." he blurted out.
He never got to finish.
A flicker of silver split the air. A flash. A wet, meaty sound.
Mearis screamed as his right hand was lopped clean off, the severed flesh thudding against the marble like something obscene. Blood sprayed in messy arcs, and the chancellor dropped to his knees, clutching the stump and wailing like a wounded animal.
The emperor hadn't moved. His blade—thin, curved, barely more than a whisper of starlight—hovered faintly beside him, humming with hunger.
"Do not disobey me," the emperor said, voice soft, almost gentle. Like a father scolding a foolish child. He leaned forward slightly, as if sharing some secret. "Still... as benevolent as I am, I only cut off your limb. You'll be much more useful now."
Mearis howled, cradling the ragged wound, blood slicking the floor beneath him.
The emperor tilted his masked head, a lazy, almost amused note creeping into his voice.
"Oh, wait," he said, mockery dripping from every word. "You don't have a Clarion, do you?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream. Mearis could only sob, broken and pathetic, as his blood puddled around him.
With a casual wave of his hand, the emperor gave the next order.
"Take him outside. Clean the blood."
Two guards, faces hidden behind dusk-colored helms, stepped forward without hesitation. They grabbed the chancellor under his arms and dragged him away, his cries echoing down the endless stone corridors until they were nothing more than a memory.
The emperor lounged back against the throne, bored already. His gaze, hidden behind the shifting mask, swept lazily over the still-kneeling officials.
"Kidnapped nobles, huh?" he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder, "Well, that's slightly concerning. Send word to the guilds. Rewards to whoever finds them."
The moment the words left his mouth, a frenzy exploded. Messengers and scribes scrambled out of the hall so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet.
The emperor chuckled, low and humorless. It barely sounded human.
"This'll be good leverage for negotiations," he mused, speaking more to the darkness than to any living soul. "If we save the nobles, they'll owe us everything."
His gloved hand drifted lazily through the air, as if releasing something invisible from his fingers.
"Let's see who finds it first," he said, the words floating outward like a curse.