Romain stood over a kneeling man in the frozen stone courtyard of Moonspalace, the winter winds biting through the silence.
"You didn't just steal iron, Lemor. You stole hope. You stirred the people."
Blood trickled down Lemor's lips. "I did it for the people... I was no different from you."
Romain lowered his gaze for a moment. In his hand, he clutched the sword he had forged himself steel born of calloused hands and silent fury. And now, with that same blade, he had to take the head of an old friend.
"I'm still of the people," he said quietly. "But the people now walk behind me. I cannot stand above the law."
And the sword came down.
A soundless roar echoed from the castle walls. The people remained silent, but the stone cried out.
Then came the messengers bearing the Senate's seal. Romain didn't turn his head as he spoke.
"Tell me... who has the Senate chosen as Remistra?"
"You, General Romain. The Senate has appointed you as the permanent Remistra of Denrod."
Romain raised his head. Snowflakes fell like the murmurs of fate.
"A land where a silver-armored lion rises... now rests on my shoulders."
"Remistra Romain," one of the messengers said, bowing respectfully.
He still wasn't used to the title. Titles carried more weight than names especially when behind the name stood no noble blood.
"The Senate's decision is final," another messenger added. "All military units in Denrod now answer to your command. You are also authorized to manage regional law and order."
Romain remained silent.
"For how long?" he asked at last.
The messengers exchanged glances.
"Temporary," one replied. "But indefinitely temporary... subject to Senate evaluation."
That was the scent of the trap. Temporary, but without end. A chain made of gold, meant to lift him up while reminding him how easily they could pull him down.
Romain turned and looked one last time at Lemor's lifeless body.
Men like you taught the people how to resist.
Men like me will make sure they never learn to bow.
That evening, in the inner hall of Moonspalace, a small gathering was held in honor of the new Remistra. Among the attendees were not only commanders, but also an arcane observer from the Mage Council and High Priest Darn of the Iliria Sect.
The first to speak was Commander Yardas a hard-eyed veteran, sworn to the sword.
"General Romain... pardon me, Remistra," he said with a smirk. "Not the first time you've stood in this hall—but it's the first time you've stood this high."
A pointed silence followed. Romain didn't reply. Silence, after all, could be sharper than any sword.
Then came the priest's voice smooth as silk.
"The will of the gods favors the people," said Darn. "But who leads them is for the gods to decide. And sometimes, they use the Senate as their vessel."
Another warning, veiled in reverence.
Romain stood alone in the hall. His uniform still bore the marks of a field commander; the ceremonial robes of a Remistra had not even been sewn yet. But his eyes held the weight of mountains.
"Of course, I honor the Senate, priest. It has held this Empire aloft for millennia," he said at last. "But the people of Denrod... they are also a voice of the divine. If their voice ever clashes with the Senate's... I will listen to them."
A low murmur followed. Not admiration but challenge.
The arcane observer turned his head in silence. Commander Yardas's face darkened.
High Priest Darn, however, smiled.
"I hope your ears remain open to that voice, Remistra," he said. "For the gods are not known for their patience."