522 4M, Dragovin, Imperial Capital

Ayore [Imperial province]

Emperor Valegius Taren sat on the Serpent Throne - its coiled serpentine arms of ancient, black metal gleaming dully in the light of flame-crystals. The grand throne room stretched before him in shadowed splendor; massive stone columns lined the hall, their surfaces etched with the deeds and victories of past emperors. Outside, a steady drizzle pattered against the stained glass windows of the castle.

The hour was late—the second of the fourth quarter. The air was thick with the mingled scents of wax, rain-soaked stone, and faint incense, remnants of the day’s proceedings. The usual throng of petitioners, courtiers, and scribes had long since departed, leaving the throne room eerily silent. Only two figures stood before him, their presence as grave as the news they bore. Primean Ratisto, the Imperial Battlemage and Valegius’ right-hand man, exuded an aura of restrained power. His emerald-green robes shimmered faintly with arcane embroidery, and his sharp, hawk-like features betrayed no emotion. Beside him stood General Rulius, commander of the Eastern legions, his battle-worn armor and scarred visage a testament to decades of hard-fought campaigns.

In the Emperor’s clenched hand was a letter, its edges crumpled and damp from his grip. The parchment’s seal—bearing the insignia of the eastern province of Erypia—was now broken, the contents scrawled in a hurried, panicked hand. He had read it thrice, each time hoping to find some misinterpretation, some shred of exaggeration. There was none. The letter was a harbinger of calamity.

Garvano Thrax, the military governor of Erypia, had vanished from his heavily guarded mansion without a trace, a week ago. The circumstances of his disappearance were baffling—no signs of forced entry or struggle, no blood, no ransom demands – just an empty bed and a cold breakfast tray, as if the man had simply ceased to exist.

That alone would have been cause enough for concern, but the timing made it infinitely worse. Within days of Thrax's disappearance, coordinated attacks had struck five major obsidian mines operating under imperial charter. The precious black stone, crucial for both military and magical applications, represented the empire's strongest hold over the restive province. Now, trade caravans lay burning along the eastern roads, and the death toll – both civilian and military – continued to mount. Erypia, already a cauldron of resentment and unrest, teetered on the brink of outright rebellion.

“Damn that godforsaken land!” Valegius finally erupted, his voice echoing off the chamber's vaulted ceiling. The emperor's face, usually maintained in a careful mask of diplomatic neutrality, had turned an angry shade of purple. “First Garvano goes missing, gods know how, then these mines are attacked simultaneously? This is no coincidence.” He rose from the throne, his imperial robes swirling around him as he began to pace.

"Two decades since we brought imperial law to their lands," he continued, his contempt evident, "and still the Rypans cling to their old ways." He stopped before a massive map of the empire mounted on the wall, its eastern territories marked in red ink. The Imperatum Ayorum was a majestic beast, its shadow spanning across the continent of Miruva.

Valegius turned to his advisors, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Someone is pulling strings here. Someone who wants to provoke us, to make us bleed. And I want to know who."

Ratisto stepped forward, his movements deliberate and precise. His pale blue eyes locked onto the Emperor, though he kept a respectful distance. “Your Majesty, Erypia has always been a crucible of resistance. But this…” He gestured to the scattered maps and reports. “This reeks of a level of coordination and resourcefulness beyond the capacity of mere rebels. We’re dealing with a disciplined, well-funded force. Perhaps a foreign hand stirs this pot.”

Valegius’ eyes narrowed. The idea of outside interference was both plausible and infuriating. The Ravengard Compact loomed large in his thoughts. The elvish lords had been probing their borders for years, waiting for any sign of weakness. Could they be behind this?

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Ratisto inclined his head slightly and his voice, calm and deliberate, carried a hint of intrigue. “I would suggest,” he began, “we first put the Ultores to work, see what they know, and what more they can dig up.”

At the mention of the Ultores, the Emperor paused. The Revenger Legion—his most secretive and efficient tool—was an elite intelligence and covert operations force directly under his command. Officially, they did not exist; unofficially, their reach extended into every shadowed corner of the empire. Spies, assassins, saboteurs—whatever the empire needed, they delivered.

Ratisto continued, his tone measured. “They’ve already established a foothold in Erypia, embedded among the merchant guilds, tribal leaders, and even within the so-called Free Council. If there is a foreign hand or a hidden cabal coordinating this rebellion, the Ultores will find it.”

The Emperor nodded slowly. “Yes… yes. Send word to their High Arbiter. I want a full investigation, no stone left unturned. These incidents happened right under our noses. If there is treachery, I want it rooted out and burned to ash.”

General Rulius, silent until now, cleared his throat—a sound as heavy as the man himself. He stepped forward, his armor glinting faintly in the light of the flame-crystals. His voice was deep, authoritative, and unwavering. “Your Majesty, intelligence will only carry us so far. The situation in Erypia is already volatile. If we delay decisive action, the rebellion will harden, and the province could fall into complete chaos. I recommend immediate military deployment.”

Valegius raised an eyebrow. “What are you proposing, General?”

"The Sixth and Seventh Legions," Rulius said decisively, stepping closer to the map. His scarred hand traced the trade routes cutting through Erypia's heart. "Both are stationed outside Aegium's walls, two days' march from the western border. They can secure the mines and major settlements before the rebels fully mobilize."

He gestured to the southern expanse of the map, where rugged terrain gave way to dense forests. “The Tenth will mobilize from their garrison near Vosynfall, moving up while providing a rear guard to prevent the rebellion’s supply lines from reaching the interior.”

Ratisto’s sharp voice cut through. “And what of our western flank?” His gaze was as pointed as his tone. “The Compact would seize the opportunity to exploit such a weakness. They’ve been eyeing our western borders for years.”

Rulius did not waver. “The Second and Twelfth legions can be repositioned from the northern frontier. The northern passes are impassable this time of year anyway, sealed off by winter. The tribes there pose no immediate threat, and we can afford to redirect those forces south-westward to cover any gaps.”

Valegius leaned forward on his throne, considering the enormous size of the upcoming campaign. His fingers absently traced the serpentine carvings on the armrest as he studied the map intently. “The logistical costs of such movements...”

“Are considerable,” Rulius conceded, “but manageable. We’ve sustained supply lines under far worse conditions. What concerns me more is time. Every day we delay gives the rebels more opportunity to organize, fortify, and spread their poison to other provinces.”

Ratisto’s eyes narrowed, his calculating mind evident in his expression. “And what of the magical implications? The Rypan shamans may seem primitive to some, but their earth magic in their ancestral lands is not to be underestimated. Those obsidian mines are more than economic assets—they’re potent arcane nodes. If they’ve learned to tap into that energy…”

Rulius interrupted with calm authority. “Then we strike before they can harness it fully. My legionaries are equipped with ward-stones and nullification artifacts. They’re well-trained to handle rogue mages or hedge-magic.”

The Emperor raised his hand, silencing both advisors. Outside, the rain intensified, drumming insistently against the tall windows. Rising from the Throne, Valegius strode to the map, his shadow falling across the eastern province in rebellion. His voice carried the weight of centuries of imperial authority as he spoke.

“We will do both.” His declaration brooked no argument. “Rulius, prepare the legions for deployment, but do so with subtlety. I want them ready to strike at a moment’s notice, without tipping our hand. Ratisto, you have three days to gather intelligence through the Ultores. I want answers—who orchestrated this rebellion, what resources they command, and most importantly, the fate of Garvano Thrax.”

He turned to meet their gazes directly, his expression as sharp as tempered steel. “Make no mistake, gentlemen. This is no mere provincial uprising. Someone is testing us, probing for weakness. They will learn, as all others have, that the Empire does not suffer such challenges lightly.”

The distant roll of thunder underscored his words, the flickering light from the flame-crystals casting eerie shadows across the chamber. In the wavering glow, the serpents carved into the throne seemed almost alive, writhing in anticipation of the bloodshed to come.