"The hardest war is the one waged within."
The once-golden throne room of the Eastern Empire no longer held its usual glow. The imperial banners were untouched, but the hall itself felt quieter. The vast ceiling, etched with ancient victories, seemed more distant now. The echo of boots on marble no longer struck with imperial certainty.
Rudra Nam Ul Nasca sat slouched on his throne—not in defeat, but in confusion.
His eyes were vacant, haunted.
He gripped the arms of the throne too tightly, knuckles pale. Beside him stood Velgrynd, silent as a flame held in suspense, her eyes flickering between worry and warmth.
"I… I still don't understand," Rudra muttered at last, voice low. "Why did I... make that decision? Why did I... force war with Varvatos? The man had given no provocation."
His hand trembled slightly. "Michael is gone. I know it. I can feel my mind again. I can feel myself. But I cannot forgive myself for what I've done while under its grasp."
Velgrynd knelt beside him, her hand resting gently over his.
"You weren't in control, Rudra," she said softly. "Michael twisted your sense of purpose. The path you walked—what you believed was justice—was being manipulated from the start."
"But the soldiers—" Rudra gritted his teeth. "So many of them followed me. So many believed in my vision. I led them into a slaughter."
"You led them," came a calm voice from the hall, "but it was Varvatos who chose not to crush them."
Kondou stepped into the throne room, wearing his black military coat, posture as straight and composed as ever. Beside him walked Damrada, more relaxed, but eyes no less sharp.
Kondou halted a few paces from the throne and bowed his head.
"Your Majesty," he said, "I understand the weight you carry. But let it be known—had Varvatos chosen annihilation, there would be no Eastern Empire left. The cities still stand. The soldiers... were spared. Because he gave the order for mercy."
Damrada added, "He could've done worse. Turned this entire continent into ash. But he didn't. He removed Michael from you—something not even Velgrynd nor I could do—and then walked away from vengeance."
"I didn't deserve that mercy," Rudra whispered, bitter. "Not after the things I did. The things I allowed to happen in Michael's name…"
Velgrynd squeezed his hand firmly. "It's not about deserving, Rudra. It's about what you do with the second chance you've been given."
He looked at her, pain still lingering behind his golden eyes.
"What empire do I rule now? Half our armies disbanded, our reputation shattered. Our people confused. They look to me for answers I don't have anymore."
Kondou remained quiet for a moment, then approached closer.
"The people are scared," he admitted. "But they aren't lost. Not yet. Your name still carries weight, Rudra. Some still believe in you—because they felt your return the moment Michael was purged.
They felt the difference in the air."
Damrada leaned against one of the ornate pillars. "We're down, yes. But not broken. Trade has slowed. A few of the outer provinces are restless. But the central territories are holding firm. Most of the civilians are thankful they weren't caught in the warfront."
Kondou added, "Some of our old allies abandoned us the moment they saw us lose to Nyvaris. But others… are waiting. Watching. They want to see what kind of emperor rises from these ashes."
Rudra leaned back, his gaze distant.
"What kind of emperor… am I now?"
Velgrynd rose and stood before him, her voice carrying just enough heat to ignite resolve.
"You are Rudra," she said. "Not Michael. Not a vessel. You. The one who fought to unite people. The one who wanted peace before it was twisted. The one who gave mercy when none was shown to him."
"You've been given a rare chance," Kondou said. "To lead without deception. To rebuild without blood."
Damrada smirked. "And if you really want to make it interesting… maybe open trade with Nyvaris. People trust you more when you show you can learn from your mistakes."
Rudra blinked at that.
"Varvatos would never trust me."
Kondou replied flatly, "He doesn't have to. Trust isn't given. It's built. One act at a time. Start with the people first. Let them see the change. Let him see the change."
Velgrynd added quietly, "We may never go back to what we were. But maybe... we can become something better."
For a long moment, Rudra said nothing. Then, finally, he stood. Not tall with grandeur—but steady.
"Begin reconstruction of the eastern farmlands," he said to Kondou. "I want public projects up within the week. Get the engineers back to work, reinstate city councils."
He looked at Damrada. "Send word to the governors of the southern archipelago. They've always wanted independence—tell them we'll give them more autonomy under one condition: loyalty to the people, not the crown."
Then he turned to Velgrynd.
"I want to meet with the families of the soldiers lost. Personally. Not as an emperor. Just as Rudra."
Velgrynd's eyes softened with pride.
"You're finally speaking like you again."
As the winds outside the Grand Solaris began to shift, the first light of true change touched the battered soul of the empire.
"Even the stars fear what crawls beneath the soil."
The crystalline throne room, once filled with divine serenity, now pulsed with agitation. The golden latticework on the ceiling, normally humming with celestial rhythm, flickered erratically—responding to the fury of its master.
Feldway paced restlessly across the radiant floor, his armored boots striking with unnatural echo.
His once calm features were twisted into a grimace. Long silver hair flowed behind him like trailing stardust, but his movements were sharp—frustrated. His wings of incandescent energy stretched and flared every few steps as if trying to shake off the irritation boiling within him.
"Michael… destroyed."
His voice rang with a thunderous calm, masking a deep, brooding fury.
"He was supposed to be the vessel… the medium to pave the way for Veldanava's return. Rudra was the perfect host. Everything was aligning—until that man… Varvatos..."
He clenched his fist. The light in the room dimmed momentarily as raw celestial energy cracked around his knuckles.
Behind him stood two angels—his closest aides.
Lucia, the Angel of Strategy, expressionless, eyes gleaming with calculating coldness.
Adiel, the Executioner-Seraph, arms crossed, leaning against a glowing pillar with his brow slightly furrowed.
Feldway's voice dropped to a whisper, almost to himself.
"He dismantled the entire structure we spent centuries building… with mercy, no less."
Lucia finally spoke. "Varvatos is more dangerous than we accounted for. Not just for his strength—but for his influence. He doesn't just destroy his enemies—he redeems them. That… is the greatest threat to your goal."
Feldway stopped mid-step.
"The people admire him. They're migrating to Nyvaris in droves. Even the elves, who've kept to their secluded groves for centuries, are settling under his protection."
Adiel scoffed. "He's no god. Not even close. He's just… human."
"Exactly," Feldway muttered, teeth grinding. "That's what makes it worse. He's a mortal man… and yet every step he takes bends fate."
He turned back to face his angels.
"My plan was perfect. Rudra would be elevated to divinity, and through him, the soul of Veldanava would be reborn. With Michael gone, the ritual is fractured. The Eastern Empire is left in disarray, and our influence has plummeted."
Lucia tilted her head slightly. "We still have tools. But not enough to oppose Varvatos directly. Not yet."
Adiel raised a brow. "Then maybe it's time to consider some… unconventional allies."
Feldway glanced at him, curious.
Lucia understood what Adiel meant and stepped forward.
"There is one being we have never involved in our plans… not because of weakness, but because of unpredictability."
Feldway's eyes narrowed. "…Zelanus."
Lucia nodded slowly.
"The Insectar King. He commands a subterranean empire of monsters, creatures that obey only him. He's untouched by politics, religion, morality. But his forces… are endless. And brutal."
Adiel added, "If we want numbers, shock tactics, siege potential—Zelanus is the answer. But he's a glutton. He doesn't follow orders. He makes deals."
Feldway's expression tightened.
"I've avoided him for a reason. He's not a tool… he's a force. A living hunger."
Lucia's tone sharpened. "But he's also a realist. If you present him with something worthwhile—land, resources, a promise of domain—he'll listen."
Adiel smirked. "Offer him part of the western front. Let his swarm devour what's left of the fractured nations. While he weakens Varvatos's allies, we rebuild Michael's framework and prepare the next phase."
Feldway turned back to the massive celestial mural on the far wall—the one depicting Veldanava's creation of the world. His gaze fixated on the center.
"This world belongs to Veldanava. Not Varvatos. Not the Demon Lords. Not the monsters or humans. I will see it returned to its original harmony. Even if I must crawl through the dirt to do it."
He raised his hand, drawing a slow, methodical circle in the air. Glyphs of old—forgotten to all but a few—spiraled and connected, forming a portal.
The portal shimmered, but it wasn't of radiant light. No—this one pulsed with a deep, earthy pressure. From within it came faint vibrations. A subtle chittering, like a thousand legs marching just beyond reach.
The Cavernous Realm of Xer'Zahl—home of Zelanus.
Lucia looked to him one last time.
"You understand the cost, my lord."
"I do," Feldway said calmly.
"And I will pay it, if it brings me closer to reviving Veldanava."
Adiel stepped back, arms still folded. "Hope the bug doesn't eat you first."
Feldway smirked faintly.
"If he tries… he'll find the stars a bitter meal."
And with that, he stepped through the darkened portal.
Lucia followed—silent, unwavering.
The portal closed behind them, leaving only the echo of faint insect whispers behind.