The letter, sealed with the official sigil of the Grand Elders of Smokeland and delivered by Veridhal Noctis, had finally arrived. Its message was clear: Rogg was declared the Champion of the Arena, Thaldrim was stripped of his title, and the legendary axe Vermithor was now in Rogg's possession. Moreover, the Doliex people refused to surrender him—especially now that he lay on the brink of death.
The grand chamber, lined with towering marble columns, fell instantly silent. Not a single voice dared break the hush, save for the faint chime of wind sneaking through the tall windows. Then, after a moment—
"What were the Doliex Elders thinking?!" Empress Xienna burst out, her voice sharp with fury.
The ministers within her coalition mirrored her outrage. Some began tapping their fingers restlessly on the Empire's silver council table—a gesture of growing impatience.
"This isn't just defiance," Zephyron growled, "this is a provocation. They think they rule the Empire? How utterly naive."
"Exactly!" snapped Barak Velmure, Minister of the Midia tribe. "A handful of elders meddling in the Empire's affairs? Refusing an imperial decree? This is an insult!"
Thaldrim remained silent. His face was taut, eyes lowered. From the moment the letter arrived, he knew—his authority was over.
"What say you, Thaldrim?" Eryndor Frostwind asked, a crooked smile on his lips. "Or... do you no longer bear any responsibility? After all, you've been deposed, haven't you?"
"Or maybe your elders are just that foolish," Aelthar added, his voice icy.
Xienna tried to quell the rising tension. "Regardless, Thaldrim did what he could. He was betrayed by his own people. Let us not corner him now."
"They're merely voicing their stance," said Ivara Sorein, "But still... for Rogg? They dare defy the Empire?"
"So what do we do next?" Eryndor asked, rising confidently to his feet. "Just give the order, and Smokeland will burn before the night is over. Two hundred thousand of my troops await beyond Thalvion's gates!"
"Eryndor, you're far too quick to think Smokeland can be conquered so easily..." Aelthar muttered. "It won't fall that easily."
"For Rogg, you would annihilate my people?!" Thaldrim shouted, his eyes red with rage. "Weren't we agreed the troops were just for intimidation?! Are you truly calling for war?!"
Eryndor snorted. "Not just war… I intend to erase your people from the Empire's map."
"They are imperial forces, Eryndor. Not your personal army," Empress Xienna said coldly.
"Then what is our decision?" Aelthar asked. "Our true objective isn't Rogg. It's still Damerius."
"Indeed," Ivara nodded. "Rogg is just the opening move. Meanwhile, Damerius has already allied himself with Prince Magnoli. That threat is far greater."
Xienna gripped the armrests of her throne tightly. "That insolent boy! The son I exiled… now dares challenge the Empire?"
"We need a firm stance," Thaldrim spoke at last. "We issued an ultimatum. If we don't act, the Empire's authority will be questioned."
"But Smokeland is much stronger than Patisia," Barak said uncertainly.
"True," Aelthar added, "Better we direct our strength toward Patisia. Prince Dorges still holds sway there. Smokeland is too united, too closed off."
"I don't care who we face," Empress Xienna said finally. "What's clear is this—in two days, the Imperial Decree will be amended. Power shall remain in the hands of the High Council. And any who defy it—be it Rogg or Damerius—will be punished."
"Once the ceremony ends, we strike at all who refuse to kneel," Aelthar followed.
"Everything is going according to plan… except for Rogg," Ivara murmured.
Xienna's eyes locked onto Thaldrim and Eryndor. "Listen closely, both of you. Two days. Rogg must be in this palace. By diplomacy… or by war."
"Relying on Thaldrim, sister?" Eryndor laughed mockingly. "He's Smokeland's puppet!"
"Watch your mouth!" Thaldrim snapped. "I betrayed my own people for this plan!"
"And yet you couldn't even kill him! The so-called deadly Doliex assassins couldn't even touch Rogg? Or is your famed prowess just a myth?" Eryndor sneered.
"Enough!" Xienna raised her hand. "This meeting is adjourned. Two days from now… Rogg will serve as the Empire's example. That is an order."
.
With hurried steps, Damerius burst into Magnoli's chamber.
"Brother! What is the meaning of this?! Why are imperial forces attacking Smokeland?!" he cried, still catching his breath.
Magnoli, standing by the window, slowly turned. His gaze was sharp yet composed.
"They're attacking Smokeland… to send us a message, brother. A real threat. Ever since you declared yourself a candidate for the throne, the people of Patisia have rallied behind you. And that has them frightened. Rogg is just a pretext. The true target… is us."
"Then why not attack us directly?! Wouldn't that be easier than going after Smokeland? Why waste their own strength?" Damerius pressed, frustrated.
Magnoli sighed.
"Precisely because we're the easier target, they've redirected their main force to Smokeland. Prince Todius and his troops guard Whitesand. Dorges still commands the border between Patisia and Larfex… That alone is enough to stall us. You know the calculations."
Damerius was beginning to see the bigger game.
"So they want to make sure Smokeland doesn't interfere… because it's close to the Empire's heart?"
"Exactly," Magnoli replied without hesitation.
"And more than that. Patisia's population is three times Smokeland's. And Patisia is still undecided—split between loyalty to the Empire and support for you. But Smokeland… they've had their own authority since the Empire was founded. They never truly submitted. Yet they've always acknowledged the Empire, and played a key role within it. They are a great nation, respected. And now… the Empire points a sword at them. That—if you ask me—is a grave mistake."
Damerius clenched his fists.
"So… Rogg is just the excuse for the Empire's show of power?"
"Exactly," Magnoli said again.
"I've told you before. Rogg… he's worthy of the throne. More than you, even. I want him to be Emperor more than anyone. You must understand—there is a truth that will open your eyes someday, brother."
Damerius narrowed his eyes at him, searching his face. But Magnoli continued:
"You know, Brovos—our uncle—was the true heir to the throne. But when he and our grandfather vanished, our father, Emperor Brovon, took the crown. We grew up never knowing their whereabouts. But now, our cousins have appeared: Rogg and Robb. And Brisena… she is our sister. The daughter of Brovos."
Magnoli's voice trembled ever so slightly.
"We all know this," he said, "but we hide it from each other, creating conflict among ourselves. When the real conflict… lies with the Empress and those greedy Ministers."
He stared deeply into his younger brother's eyes.
"All the princes are caught in a difficult place. To oppose the Empire means to stand against our own mother. To oppose you means defying Father's decree—that you are to be Emperor. Fighting Rogg and Robb… that would be easier. But behind them stands Smokeland—and the truth itself."
Magnoli bowed his head, tears falling down his cheeks.
"Brother…" Damerius stepped closer. "Didn't you already choose to support me? Are you hesitating now? I'm only claiming what is rightfully mine. You know I've suffered too—because of the Empress and those damned Ministers."
"Watch your words, Damerius! They're my mother… and our uncle," Magnoli's voice sharpened.
"That's exactly why, brother! If not you, then who else will stand with me? If Rogg claims the throne, will you just sit back and do nothing? We've helped him through everything—even saved his people! And now he's supposed to repay us by seizing a throne that no longer belongs to him?!"
Damerius's voice rose, filled with fury.
Magnoli turned his face away.
"Damerius… you are my brother. But remember, Rogg saved my life on the battlefield. And the debt you speak of... should never be traded for a crown."
Magnoli turned and walked away, his steps growing distant.
Damerius remained frozen where he stood.
Blood alone could no longer bind them, not when ambition had begun to kindle flames within each of their hearts.
Meanwhile, at Prince Xaverius's residence:
"My lord, the Empire has dispatched Minister Thaldrim and Eryndor to wage war in Smokeland," reported a fully armed guard, bowing in respect.
Prince Xaverius stood on a stone balcony, his eyes locked on the grey sky looming over the vast Whiteheaven palace. His gaze was sharp, yet composed.
"Understood. Thank you for the report," he said curtly, handing the guard a sealed scroll marked with the sigil of the white dragon.
"Empty every garrison immediately, and deliver this letter to Magnoli. Waste no time."
"At once, my lord!" The guard dashed off, his footsteps echoing through the halls of a palace already shadowed by the onset of war.
It didn't take long. Imperial troops were mobilized. Castles and military outposts across the southern and eastern sectors of the palace were evacuated. Commands boomed like thunder from every corner of the imperial complex. Horses were readied. Weapons, arranged. A silent preparation for the war that drew ever closer.
"All Imperial guard units are to be repositioned to the northern flank of Whiteheaven Palace," bellowed Zendriot, chief of the palace guards.
"Be on alert for any Doliex assassins attempting to infiltrate the heart of the Empire! Transfer all forces from the south and east to the west and north! We must be ready to reinforce the front heading to Smokeland!"
But not everyone agreed.
"There's no formal order from Eryndor… or the Empress," muttered Karstus Frostbane, the Supreme Commander, narrowing his eyes.
Zendriot met his gaze without blinking.
"Karstus... you know full well that coordinating an army this size isn't something done in mere hours. This is a proactive move from Prince Xaverius—to secure the palace and ensure Smokeland receives reinforcements if needed."
"I am the Supreme Commander, Zendriot!" Karstus snapped.
"I cannot act without a clear directive. And you… you fall under my command! Who do you think you are, issuing orders to me?!"
Zendriot remained unshaken.
"Very well. If that's how you want it… I'll take this directly to Grand Vizier Xaverius," he said coldly, his voice like tempered steel. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Karstus to his growing doubt.
Karstus stood still. The clash of reason and instinct battled in his mind.
The situation was too fragile. Too dangerous to let pride get in the way.
"Form up! Shift the eastern divisions to the west and north! Leave no gaps in the line!" he finally ordered.
The Imperial army began to move. The capital's streets trembled with the march of boots and the clatter of steel. Special units loyal to Prince Xaverius had already begun moving swiftly, carrying the sealed message to Magnoli.
But that wasn't all.
From within the shadows of the palace, a figure stepped forth—silent, lethal. A Doliex assassin named Nerina Draeven, bearer of vital truths and sacred messages, slipped into an ancient, hidden passage known only to those of Doliex blood: the mythical tunnel of Orbis Caelestis, a secret path leading deep into the heart of Smokeland.