Herein I stand before you uttering such words in blatant cadence. My voice an assurance of what I bring about. The crowd was riled up. Encouraged by my words, times have changed I have changed to. My voice creaked as I felt my heart break. They are all going to die in this. Such a trial no mercy to man. To throng gazed at my pristine face gleaming as I assure them of the demanding fate.
Fate a harrowing factor in man’s life. At times I hope it wasn’t true at times I thought those believing in the fact foolish till the laurates themselves saw ‘IT’ an amalgamation of all the things that were was and will be. Time seems unmoving as a varied pitch escapes my tongue, my heart it pains me to watch. They open up their mouth in unison as union soldiers lead them in the anthem an assurance of their faith in the man in front of their eyes, in their midst yet beyond them.
Their voices rang ever melodiously as their song of sorts heightened all their lacking emotions. Lacklustre this was the world in his eyes an yet colour seemed vibrant as the rows of conglomerate pawns raised their voices.
“…In his name mountains shall bend, in his name all shall end, may we do as the lord decrees.”
Nobles, soldiers, royal knights the meek and yet eager were gathered in the central district, their lord ruler watching them from above. A servant to the nation as he said in all his speeches. A servant to the Emperor, a war has been issued by the nation and with it was going to participate. Though agonising we had to do it.
Lord ruler, a man displaying unmatched beauty maybe heavenly if one were to describe it. His hair displayed a golden sheen, his eyes hazel and his physicality unmatched his broad shoulders a display of humanity’s peak, he was 6’3 a giant of sorts, and the only blemish within his body was a scar that ran down his face. At times it glowed crimson but most of the times it seemed inky.
A throne situated above the citizens of Etheria, it seemed to defy gravity as lord ruler in his golden armour and clad in his crimson cowl, his eyes peered onto the citizens
“…mercy they shall have none.”
Cheers echoed as they all seemed resolute. His figure stood tall and unyielding against the backdrop of grand marble columns and towering standards bearing the crest of the empire. The sovereign’s voice echoed across the throng—rich and resonant, carrying words that evoked both pride and dread, igniting hearts while planting in each soul the iron weight of impending war.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The sea of humanity stirred restlessly. Here were men in sombre coats and hats, clutching at canes and each other's arms as if the declaration would shake them from their very ground. Women, wrapped in heavy shawls, stood with solemn eyes, clutching children close or craning to catch each syllable, though many wished they had not. Youthful faces, drawn with fervour and readiness, glowed with a fierce, untested zeal; while veterans in the crowd—weathered men with hard-set jaws and aged wounds—looked on with stoic, knowing gazes.
The Emperor raised his gloved hand, a single powerful gesture that silenced the square to an intense stillness. His words, brimming with the gravity of destiny, charged the very air with an almost tangible tension. He spoke of honour, of duty, of the defence of their beloved realm. I, the self-proclaimed emperor of this land, spoke of a land's pride, its history, and a future to be seized only by those willing to offer their all upon the altar of sacrifice, a bloody wish built upon the lives of the many we shall reap. The crowd seemed to sway as one, caught between the thrill of promised glory and the shadow of inevitable loss. The Emperor had called, and the empire would answer, each heart bearing the weight of the moment, standing at the precipice of fate’s cruel demand. He was at a loss for word.
Hearts a figment of the crowds unyielding resolve, a malignant thought, do they truly have free will if all they do is in the confines of perilous their fate no man would accept such a sacrifice if they knew what in store. His breastplate, crafted from solid gold, bore the embossed image of a lion mid-roar, its eyes set with tiny, gleaming rubies that seemed to burn with an inner fire. The plates of his armour—each shaped and fitted with masterful precision—clung closely, sculpting his form as if the armour itself were a second skin. Every edge and joint was outlined with a faint tracery of blackened steel, a stark contrast that emphasized the magnificence of the metal.
Gauntlets, heavy yet finely wrought, encased his hands, each finger capped in sharp golden points, lending them an air of both majesty and menace. His shoulders were guarded by ornate pauldrons, curving high like the wings of a hawk poised to strike, their surfaces engraved with swirling designs that caught the light in dancing patterns as he moved. The man’s stance was unwavering, his presence that of one accustomed to both reverence and fear. He stood and finally he finished his speech.
Silence evoked from the deep bounds of their hearts as he stood up the space around him warped he stood atop the crowd. Standing on, upon the crowd, he was flying or what seemed like it. He smiled a warm smile that deceived his nature.
“Fate a gruelling factor in mans life, at times we over look its significance, maybe there shall come a time they shall forgive me for my acts but for now they shall serve me in utter obeisance.”