When Alice escaped and arrived at her mother's homeland, she brought with her the truth—the horrors that had plagued her since her fifteenth birthday. She stood before the royal court of the Einarsson Kingdom, her body trembling, her voice low and broken, yet resolute. She told them everything.
At first, they didn't believe her. Not because they doubted Alice—but because the reality was too revolting to grasp. The emperor of a mighty empire, Nero Alexiue—the man who had once been hailed as a noble ruler—had turned into a beast worse than any monster written in ancient tales. When they finally saw the scars, the trauma in her eyes, and the living nightmare she carried in her silence, fury took root.
Her uncle—Bryanne's younger brother—was the first to rise from his seat, sword drawn and eyes ablaze with rage. He vowed, in that very moment, that Nero would be torn limb from limb for what he had done. The court erupted with war cries, banners were unfurled, and within a day, soldiers were summoned from every corner of the kingdom.
For a full month, preparations for war consumed the land. Blacksmiths worked day and night, armor was polished, siege weapons repaired, and messengers rode to neighboring kingdoms to rally their forces. The banners of war fluttered in every corner of the kingdom. Mothers wept, fathers sharpened blades, and the air became heavy with the scent of coming bloodshed.
But then, without warning, the uncle—the very man who had raised the sword for justice—called it all off.
He dismissed the army.
The forges went silent.
And the people, once burning with righteous fire, stood in stunned confusion.
No explanation was ever given publicly. Rumors swirled—that he had been threatened, that spies had infiltrated their court, that perhaps even fear had made a home in his heart. But nothing was confirmed. The armies stood down, and the call for vengeance was silenced. Alice remained in the shadows of her homeland, watching as justice slipped from her grasp once again.
But time, as always, marched on.
One year after Alice's escape, the truth about Nero's monstrous acts leaked beyond the Einarsson Kingdom. Word spread across the continent like wildfire. Other kingdoms—ones that had once traded with the Sylvan Harmony Empire, once attended Nero's court with respect—heard the truth. And they were horrified.
Not out of mere sympathy for Alice, but because the idea of a ruler becoming so corrupted, so depraved, was a threat to all. If such a man was left unpunished, then the very fabric of nobility, of civilization, would rot.
So, four kingdoms came together—each driven by their own reasons, whether it be justice, honor, or fear of what such a ruler could inspire in others. They formed a treaty in secret, a pact of war forged in shadows.
This time, there would be no delay.
For another full month, the kingdoms prepared in silence. They gathered troops, amassed supplies, and trained relentlessly. The moment their preparations were complete, they moved.
And they moved fast.
Their combined armies, though smaller than Sylvan Harmony's, carried determination stronger than steel. They marched forward not with the arrogance of conquerors, but with the fire of retribution.
Meanwhile, within the Sylvan Empire, Nero had not changed. He remained in the palace, locked inside his private chambers with his child. He had become a ghost of an emperor—his presence vanished from the court, his voice no longer heard in matters of governance. He had handed the reins of the empire to his ministers and, most notably, to the mysterious and powerful mage who now acted as the emperor in his stead.
This mage—his name spoken in hushed tones across the land—was known for his icy demeanor and terrifying power. He commanded the empire's forces alongside five commanders-in-chief, each a seasoned general, each loyal only to the crown. It was under their leadership that the empire prepared for the incoming war.
They had every advantage. Twice the number of troops. Stronger fortifications. Deeper resources. It was a foregone conclusion to many: Sylvan Harmony would win.
And yet… the invaders didn't back down.
The allied kingdoms marched forward with courage etched into every footstep. Their soldiers knew they were marching toward probable death, but they marched nonetheless.
Then, something strange happened.
Just days before the battle was set to begin, two of Sylvan Harmony's commanders-in-chief went missing. No messages. No reports. Gone.
Panic stirred beneath the surface, though the mage kept a cold composure. He replaced their roles quickly, reassigned troops, and made no public comment. The empire still had the upper hand, he insisted.
But when the day of battle came, chaos erupted.
As the armies clashed on the war-torn plains outside the empire's southern border, something unthinkable happened.
The troops under the command of the remaining three generals suddenly turned on their own allies.
In a single moment, thousands of imperial soldiers were slain—not by the enemy, but by their own brothers-in-arms. The battlefield descended into madness.
The alliance had planned this.
The missing commanders hadn't vanished—they had defected. Secret negotiations had been held behind closed doors. Promises were made. Old grudges surfaced. And now, those who were once part of the empire's strength had become its poison.
Within hours, what should have been a decisive victory for Sylvan Harmony turned into a bloodbath of confusion, betrayal, and panic.
Nero never emerged.
Even as the palace shook with the tremors of battle, even as messengers screamed of betrayal, even as the mage himself was forced to retreat into the depths of the capital to defend its heart—Nero remained in his chamber, cradling his child, whispering songs into the boy's ear.
He didn't care for victory.
He didn't fear defeat.
To him, the empire had become meaningless. Only the boy mattered.
But time, once again, was not on his side.