image [https://i.imgur.com/SmjE5UM.png]
Eden stood motionless in the center of the bloodied throne room, surrounded by the bodies of those who had dared to oppose him. The air was thick with the stench of blood and the lingering echoes of violence. His gaze was fixed on the grand crown that sat upon the throne, untouched and gleaming amidst the carnage.
The crown was more than just a symbol of power; it was a relic of unimaginable importance, once worn by Reyvrys, the Chaos Dragon, the Empire’s deity. Its intricate design, adorned with exotic gems, each pulsating with a faint, arcane energy, was mesmerizing. It was said that the crown held a fragment of the dragon’s power, a tangible connection to the divine.
Eden couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe as he stared at it. The crown represented everything the Empire had stood for, a legacy of strength and dominion. But as much as it fascinated him, Eden had no desire to place it upon his head. He knew his place in the grand scheme of things—he was no royal, nor was he descended from the dragons. He was a soldier, a tactician, a minister, a servant of the people.
Quite fascinating, isn’t it? The thought crossed his mind as he considered the path that had led him here, to this blood-soaked chamber, where history itself seemed to hang in the air.
His thoughts were interrupted by the hurried footsteps of a Gendarmerie officer who entered through the large doors, his face pale and drawn. “Minister, there’s no sign of the Empress anywhere,” the officer reported, his voice tense.
Eden’s gaze shifted from the crown to the officer, his expression unreadable. “No sign at all?” he asked, his tone measured, betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath.
The officer shook his head. “We’ve searched every room, every corridor. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.”
Eden didn’t respond. The Gendarmerie was supposed to have the palace on lockdown—there was no way she could have escaped without being detected. Even then, he had surrounded the city with patrols everywhere…
Unless…
‘Unless Veron that pedophile lied to me?!’
The thought sent a surge of anger through Eden.
Eden’s eyes narrowed. If Veron had indeed betrayed him, there would be a reckoning. But for now, he had to focus on finding the Empress. He couldn't let emotions cloud his judgment, not when everything was hanging by a thread.
"Continue the search," Eden finally said, his voice cold and steely. "Double the patrols, question everyone. I want every inch of this palace and the surrounding grounds scoured.”
The officer nodded and quickly left the room to carry out Eden's orders.
Eden turned back to the throne, his gaze once again settling on the crown. The Empress’s absence was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He still had the Gendarmerie and a Ranger company, while other high-ranking ministers are either dead or fled.
Eden’s mind shifted to the next steps. He would need to tighten his control over the remaining ministers, rally the military commanders to his side, and perhaps most importantly, manage the narrative. If the Empress had indeed fled, he could use that to his advantage—paint her as a coward who abandoned her people, a figure unworthy of the crown. If she was captured, he could use her as a puppet to legitimize his rule. But first, he needed to find her, or at least ensure that she couldn’t be used against him.
The radio at his side crackled to life, cutting through his thoughts. “Sir, the National Assembly is in lockdown. We can’t break through.”
Ah, of course. There was supposed to be an assembly session tonight, what a shame he couldn’t make it. “Shell it,” he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.
There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to confirm the officer’s hesitation. “Understood, sir. Shelling the Assembly.”
The true statesman is the one who is willing to take risks.
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Ries and Viviana had been on the run for what felt like hours, though the chaos of the night made time difficult to measure. The streets of Valyra, usually alive with the hum of activity, were now eerily silent. The shops were shuttered, and homes darkened, as if the city itself had retreated into fear.
By now, Ries had known it was a full-scale coup attempt. Evident by the Imperial Marechaussee, which was the Gendarmerie, had become a force of occupation, their presence a reminder of the power struggle playing out at the heart of the Empire. Government offices, once teeming with bureaucrats and officials, were now under military control, their occupants either detained or fled. Police stations had been seized and their officers replaced by soldiers who answered directly to Eden.
“This is bad,” Viviana muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as they ducked into a narrow alleyway. Despite the tension, she remained composed, her expression betraying little of the fear she must have felt. “I didn’t think Eden would go this far.”
Ries nodded, her gaze scanning the darkened streets. “It’s worse than I imagined. The city’s turned into a warzone.”
Or at least, part of it had. The real fighting seemed confined to the main boulevard, the imperial palace, and the government complex. The rest of the city, for now, remained untouched, but that could change at any moment.
They moved cautiously through the backstreets, sticking to the shadows to avoid the thickest Gendarmerie patrols. Ries’ ears twitched at every sound—the distant march of boots, the low rumble of engines, the occasional burst of gunfire.
“Where should we go?” Ries asked, her voice tense as they peered through a narrow alleyway, scanning for any sign of danger.
Viviana hesitated, her mind racing. “We need to find somewhere safe, or somewhere the Imperial Army still holds. They’re bound to act sooner or later.”
“In the middle of the night?” Ries glanced back in the direction of the government complex. It was likely occupied by now, a stronghold for Eden’s forces. “Eden’s already taken the palace. He’ll secure the rest of the government next. If we’re going to do something, we have to act quickly.”
Viviana’s eyes hardened. “Agreed. But first, we need to survive the night.”
Suddenly, the night was shattered by the deep, thunderous roar of artillery. The ground beneath them trembled, and the distant horizon was briefly illuminated by the orange glow of explosions. The sound was deafening, a relentless barrage that seemed to come from all directions.
Viviana’s scowl deepened, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They’re shelling the National Assembly.”
Soon, they reached the outskirts of the city, where the streets grew quieter and the buildings more dilapidated. The once-bustling industrial district now lay in ruin, its factories long abandoned and forgotten. This part of Valyra had been left to decay in contrast to the grandeur of the imperial center. But tonight, its desolation provided the perfect cover.
Ries and Viviana slipped into one of the larger, more intact structures—a factory that had once hummed with the sounds of industry but was now a hollow shell. The air inside was thick with dust, the floor littered with debris and broken machinery.
“This should be far enough,” Viviana said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. She glanced around, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. “We can catch our breath here, at least for a moment.”
Ries nodded, though her ears remained alert, twitching at every distant sound. “Even here, you can still hear it,” she murmured, referring to the faint but unmistakable rumble of gunfire and the occasional boom of artillery in the distance.
“He’s not holding back, is he?” Viviana said, leaning against a rusted piece of machinery. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. With a flick of her wrist, she tapped one out and held it between her fingers before offering the pack to Ries. “You smoke?”
Ries shrugged. “Might as well,” she replied, taking the offered cigarette. The two women leaned in closer, the glow from Viviana’s already lit cigarette casting a faint light between them as Ries ignited hers.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the distant echoes of battle filtering in through the broken windows. The sharp, acrid scent of tobacco filled the air, mingling with the lingering smell of rust and decay.
Ries took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs before exhaling a thin stream into the darkness. “Not much for vices,” she said quietly. Oh how she now enjoyed the company of tobacco, “but I guess tonight’s an exception.”
Viviana’s expression was distant as she stared into the shadows. “We all need something to keep us going, especially on nights like this.” She took another drag, the tip of her cigarette glowing bright for a moment before fading. “It’s hard to believe how quickly everything’s fallen apart. I never imagined Eden would go to such lengths, though.”
Ries took a drag of her cigarette while mulling over her answer. Indeed, it took just minutes for everything to fall apart. Every protocols, every tradition, and every chain of command have been broken or violated in an instant.
“Eden’s been planning this for a long time. Apparently,” Ries replied as she blew the smoke from her mouth, her voice tinged with bitterness. She thought back to the interactions she’d had with him, the polite smiles, the charming words. “Can’t believe he had a friendly face the first time we met—or every time we met, rather.”
Viviana snorted, a humorless sound. “That’s his gift, isn’t it? Making you believe he’s on your side, right up until the moment he puts a knife in your back. A silver-tongued liar.”
Ries exhaled a plume of smoke. “We should’ve seen it coming in hindsight.”
“Hindsight’s a cruel thing, isn’t it? We were too busy dealing with the day-to-day, too caught up in the politics and the power plays to notice the storm brewing right under our noses. Besides, not everyone is daring enough to stage a coup,” Viviana chuckled. “It takes a special kind of madness, or ambition, to tear down an empire from within. And Eden… he’s got both in spades.”
Before Ries could respond, the faint sound of footsteps echoed through the factory, cutting through the stillness. Both women tensed, their senses heightened. Out of the darkness emerged an old man, his semi-formal attire worn but dignified, his beard streaked with gray. He was flanked by several others, their clothing simple and worn, suggesting they were from the lower classes.
Ries' sharp eyes immediately noticed a common symbol on their arms: an armband with a red base color and a white circle. Inside the circle, was three black arrows pointing to the lower right side.
The old man stepped forward with a steady gaze as he regarded the two women. "You're a long way from where you should be," he chuckled, a dry humor underlying his words. "I suppose there's a connection to the noise coming from the city center?"
“We could say the same for you. Who are you?”
The man glanced at the armband on his sleeve before answering. “We are the Coalition of Democratic Liberal and Worker’s Party. A united front of free men against the reactionary imperials. Interesting times, wouldn’t you say?”
Viviana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The CDLWP, eh? I’ve heard of you. A coalition of workers and liberals, standing against the Empire… an outlawed political gathering.”
The man chuckled, a dry sound that carried a hint of defiance. “Outlawed, yes. But not silenced. We’ve operated in the shadows for too long, watching as the Empire twisted itself into a knot of corruption and tyranny. Ironic that if the empire kept the status-quo, everything might just be fine. For a while longer, that is.”
Viviana crossed her arms. “Stepping into the light in the middle of a coup isn’t exactly a safe bet. Especially when the Empire’s forces are at each other’s throats.”
The old man nodded, acknowledging the risk. “True enough. But revolutions aren’t built on safety. They’re built on the will to change, no matter the cost. The Empire’s on its last legs, and if we don’t act now, the opportunity will pass us by.”
Viviana scoffed, glancing out the window where faint sounds of gunfire echoed from the distant streets. “You’re betting on a very uncertain outcome, old man. And you expect us to gamble along with you? I’m not interested in a fool’s errand that ends with us hanging from a rope.”
“I expect you to see the bigger picture,” the old man replied, growing more earnest as he spoke. “If that Home Affairs Minister seizes control, the Empire will become his personal fiefdom— a dictatorship under a bureaucrat’s iron fist. And if the Empress crushes this coup, what then? The same rot that’s festered for decades, the corruption, the exploitation—it all resumes as if nothing happened. No reforms, no justice, just the same miserable cycle.” He leaned in closer. “Neither outcome serves the people.”
Viviana’s gaze narrowed. “And what do you think you can do about it? What can a bunch of illiterate, uneducated workers and a few disillusioned upperclassmen with theories do against the might of the Empire?”
Ries, standing off to the side, found herself silently agreeing with Viviana. As much as she despised the current state of the Empire, she knew that uprooting a system that had entrenched itself over centuries wasn’t as simple as lighting a few fires or shouting slogans. These revolutionaries might have noble intentions, but their naivety was glaringly obvious. Change was not a force that could be summoned overnight with fervor alone. It was a slow, grueling grind against institutions that had been set in stone long before any of them were born.
Ries herself had witnessed the Empire’s bureaucracy at work—labyrinthine, unyielding, and steeped in tradition. Every day, she was handed piles of paperwork and proposals, rubber-stamping programs that she barely skimmed, let alone understood in full. The bureaucrats were good at drowning people in endless pages of jargon and obscure clauses, making it nearly impossible to discern what was truly happening under the surface.
And that was how the Empire sustained itself—not through grand displays of power but through the slow and subtle stranglehold of red tape and tradition.
But… if it were up to her, she would have chosen gradual and stable change over outright revolution. She’d seen the consequences of rash decisions, of battles fought without strategy or foresight. A reform, even if it moved at a snail’s pace, would at least maintain some semblance of order while dismantling the old guard piece by piece. Change didn’t have to be a firestorm that left nothing but ashes in its wake.
Yet as much as she wanted to believe in that slower path, Ries knew the revolutionaries’ words held a harsh truth. The Empire was was infested with reactionaries—those who would do anything to keep things exactly as they were. The aristocrats, the military elites, the deeply entrenched officials—they would never let go of their power willingly. They would sabotage every reform, twist every law, and use every tool at their disposal to ensure that the status quo remained unbroken.
Even so…
Ries glanced at the cracked window, where the distant sounds of gunfire echoed through the night. Explosions lit up the sky, turning the city into a battlefield painted in shades of orange and red. Plumes of smoke billowed from burning buildings.
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Would there be and old guard after this fiasco?
She returned her gaze to Viviana and the revolutionaries. Viviana was a full-blooded aristocrat, no doubt about that. She may have a soft-spot for half-hearted liberalization and welfare for the commoners, but she also embodied the type that clung stubbornly to power.
She was arguing with the old man who looks to be increasingly irritated by her flurry of questions and accusations. The old man across from her, weathered by years of struggle, clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin with every word Viviana spat.
“You speak of freedom,” Viviana sneered. “But what you’re offering is chaos. A power vacuum that will drag us all into the abyss. Who do you think will fill the void when you tear down the Empire? Another Eden? Another dictator? Or worse, a dozen warlords tearing at each other’s throats?”
The old man’s face flushed with frustration, his voice rising in response. “And what would you have us do, reactionary? Sit back and let the Empress reclaim her throne, let that Minister rule by decree, or watch as the aristocracy continues to bleed the people dry? You cling to your privilege because you’re afraid of losing it. But we’ve already lost everything!”
The crowd of revolutionaries behind the old man grew restless, a volatile mix of anger and desperation simmering just beneath the surface. They brandished makeshift weapons—pipes, wrenches, and crude blades hammered together from whatever scraps they could find. Their eyes, wild and hungry for change, darted between Viviana and the old man, each accusation fueling their fervor. It wouldn’t take much more to ignite the tension into something far worse.
Ries could feel the heat rising in the room, and instinct kicked in. Before either Viviana or the old man could escalate further, Ries moved swiftly, stepping between them with a force that demanded attention.
She was just a Beastman, an outsider who had stumbled into this mess of politics and power plays—but maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what was needed right now.
“That’s enough,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. The room fell into an uneasy silence as all eyes turned to her. Viviana’s gaze was skeptical, while the old man was filled with defiance. But Ries stood her ground, undeterred by either.
“I get it,” Ries continued with a rare confidence she never knew she had. “We’ve all got our reasons for being here, and we’re not going to solve every problem in one night. But right now, we’re fighting the same enemy—the chaos outside, the coup that’s ripping this city apart. We can’t afford to be at each other’s throats when there’s a bigger threat knocking at the door.”
Viviana looked like she was about to retort, but Ries held up a hand to stop her. “Viviana, I know you’re worried about what comes next. About who takes power and what kind of Empire we’re left with. But we can talk about that when we don’t have literal death squads out there out to kill us.”
The old man’s expression softened, though his frustration still simmered beneath the surface. Ries turned to him, her feline ears twitching slightly as she gauged his mood.
“And you,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. “You talk about tearing down the Empire, but what’s your plan for when the dust settles? You can’t just hope that tearing down the old will automatically make things better. You’ve got to be ready to build something real, something that won’t collapse the moment you take your first step forward.”
The old man nodded slowly, albeit reluctantly. There was a glimmer of understanding, a moment where both sides seemed to see each other not just as enemies but as people trapped in the same impossible struggle.
Ries stepped back, giving them space to breathe. “Tonight, let’s put aside our differences. We’ve got a coup to crush, and if we don’t, none of this will matter. We’ll deal with what comes after when we get there, but right now, we survive. Together.”
The revolutionaries, spurred on by Ries’ words, began to lower their makeshift weapons, though their resolve remained unbroken. Viviana, too, seemed to relent, her expression softening as she recognized the truth in Ries’ plea.
“Fine,” Viviana said with a begrudging nod. “But don’t think for a second this is over. The Empire’s not going to crumble just because we all play nice for one night.”
Ries smirked, her tail flicking with amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The sounds of gunfire and distant explosions punctuated the night, a violent symphony that underscored the gravity of their situation. Smoke hung in the air, casting an orange hue over the city—a city that, tonight, had become a battleground for the soul of the Empire.
Ries turned back to the old man, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You’ve got a lot of people here. Doesn’t the CDLWP have more members? What’s the extent of your organization?”
The old man straightened, pride gleaming in his weary eyes. “Oh, we’re not just some rabble stumbling around in the dark. The Coalition of Democratic Liberals and Worker’s Party is far more than a handful of rebels waving pitchforks. We’ve got connections in every corner of the Empire. Workers’ cells, intellectual circles, even a few sympathetic ears in the bureaucracy and military. We’ve been building for years, waiting for the right moment.” He paused, clenching his fists. “When the order comes, the reactionaries will pay for what they’ve done.”
Ries raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. She’d never imagined that beneath the surface of the Empire’s well-ordered façade lay such an intricate web of dissent. It was as if she’d been handed a glimpse of an entirely different world, one that simmered beneath the polished veneer of imperial control.
She chuckled, for the first time feeling a surge of something she hadn’t felt since she’d been thrust into the political arena—hope. “Well then, I think it’s about time we met your big boss. We’ve got a coup to stop, and I’d rather have a chat with someone who knows how to handle a revolution.”
The old man hesitated, as if weighing his options, but there was no denying the fierce determination in Ries’ eyes. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. But keep in mind, the boss isn’t exactly fond of outsiders.”
Ries smirked, shrugging as her tail flicking behind her. “I’m used to it. Lead the way.”
Whether it was the coup threatening the Empire’s future or the constant battle to prove her worth—if not to others, then to herself—she found an odd solace in moments like this. It was the closest thing to freedom she had ever known.
She inwardly chuckled. “Let’s go make history, then.”
We prefer independence with poverty to servitude with plenty.
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The air inside the National Assembly was thick with the lingering stench of smoke and gunpowder. The once majestic corridors, lined with ornate columns now bore the marks of recent battle. Bullet holes, scorched walls, and the occasional flicker of dying flames. Yet, despite the assault, the building’s imposing gothic architecture stood defiant, a symbol of the old order struggling to maintain its dignity even in the face of chaos.
Eden walked with deliberate, unhurried pace, his polished shoes echoing against the marble floors. The Rangers at his side, an elite force within the army, one where he was coincidentally the commander of in his long career.
He passed by the bodies of Assembly guards—some slumped against the walls, others sprawled in undignified heaps. Eden barely spared them a glance. These men were the remnants of a regime that had failed to adapt, and now they served as nothing more than a backdrop to his ascension.
Despite their fate, he could respect their loyalty. They were, after all, following orders. But in this new order, loyalty to the old was nothing more than a death sentence.
Pushing through the heavy doors, Eden entered the Assembly chamber, once a grand arena where aristocrats debated the laws of the land, even if the Assembly only convenes once every year, if ever. Now, it was a shadow of its former self. The rows of seats, usually packed with the Empire’s most influential, were sparsely occupied. The nobles present were those foolish or brave enough to attend and not flee when the building was besieged by his men, guarded at every exit by his Marechaussee.
The atmosphere was electric, crackling with a mix of fear, rage, and defiance. As Eden made his way to the podium, the tension in the chamber erupted into a cacophony of jeers and furious accusations.
“Eden, you bastard!” one noble shouted, his face red with rage. “This is treason!”
Another voice rose above the rest. “You think you can just walk in here and seize power? The Empress will have your head!”
Eden paused, taking in the crowd of angry faces. Many of these men had been his allies—or pretended to be—when it served them. Now, stripped of their illusions of control, they were nothing more than terrified aristocrats facing the reality of a man they had greatly underestimated.
He ascended the steps to the podium slowly, each step a beat in the death march of their old world. The shouting dulled, fading into a low murmur of resentment and unease. Eden took his place at the center, framed by the towering shadows of his guards and the defeated figure of the old Speaker beside him.
“I see some of you still have your voices,” Eden began with a calm voice, though each word edged with the authority of a seasoned commander. “Consider yourselves fortunate to still have them.”
The crowd quieted, but Eden could still feel the seething undercurrent of anger. It didn’t bother him. In fact, it energized him. These men were powerless, and they knew it.
“You cry treason,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the assembly. “But what you see here is not treason—it is survival, a necessity. It is the necessary purging of rot that has infested this Empire. I called for the restoration of the Premiership, a chance to restore balance, and you rejected it. You rejected progress.” His voice sharpened, and he pointed accusingly, his finger slicing through their fragile pretensions.
“You rejected progress because it threatened your comfortable fiefdoms and the Empress’ tyranny. You clung to power, to your titles, and to your outdated traditions, while the Empire withered. You have failed as leaders, and you dare to call me a usurper?”
He let the accusation hang, his eyes scanning the crowd. Some nobles met his gaze with stubborn defiance, others averted their eyes, unwilling to confront the raw truth in his words.
He gestured towards the empty seats and the few nobles who still dared to attend. “Look at you—clinging to your titles, your estates, your dwindling power as if it means something. You’ve failed to lead, failed to adapt, and now you call me a usurper because I dared to do what you could not. I dared to act.”
Eden paused for a moment. Sweeping his gaze through the assembled nobles, who have now either frozen in intently listening to him. Or outright rejection.
“I am a patriot,” Eden declared, his voice rising with a fervor that sent a shiver through the chamber. “I have fought for this Empire, bled for it on battlefields where most of you would not dare to set foot. I am a loyal servant of the Chaos Dragon Reyvrys, our God, and of his descendants who have ruled this Empire. I am a loyal servant of Her Majesty, the Empress. But even deities need guidance, and even rulers need to be reminded of their duty.”
Eden’s voice grew colder with each word laced with contempt as he continued. “Her tyranny, her disregard for traditions, her obsession with centralizing power at the expense of the provinces—these are the marks of a ruler who has forgotten her duty. She has stripped autonomy from the lands that once stood as the backbone of this Empire, weakening us all in the process. And what of you?” He gestured to the assembly, his eyes sweeping over the faces of those who once wielded influence but were now little more than figureheads. “You, the sycophantic nobility, the ruling class that props her up, that whispers sweet lies into her ears to maintain your cushy positions.”
He shook his head, a mockery of pity playing on his lips. “You have all played your part in this grand theater of decline. You cower behind your titles and riches while the provinces bleed, while the common folk toil under the weight of taxes and laws you pass to secure your own interests. You are the architects of this decay, feeding off the carcass of an Empire you’ve helped to hollow out.”
Eden’s words were met with murmurs of discontent, but none dared to interrupt. The nobles could not deny the truth that cut through their complacency like a knife. Eden had laid bare the ugliness they all chose to ignore—the Empress’ increasing autocracy, the nobles’ complicity, the provinces’ simmering unrest. He was tearing down the grand illusions they’d built around themselves, and there was no defense against the brutal honesty of his speech.
“She has betrayed the spirit of the Empire, the very spirit that Reyvrys himself bestowed upon us—the strength of unity, the honor of tradition, the balance between the throne and the provinces. And you,” he pointed once more, his hand shaking with fury, “have enabled her every misstep, every overreach. Your silence and compliance have made you just as guilty.”
Eden stepped back, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows behind him as if his very presence was blotting out the past. “But this does not have to be our end. I am here to correct the course. I offer a path forward—one that respects our traditions, that empowers our provinces, that reinstates the honor of our governance. But it will not happen with Her Majesty’s current advisors—nor with those of you who would rather see this Empire burn than relinquish your hold on it.”
He paused, taking in his breath. His throat had become sore for a moment.
He continued in a more calm voice. “When the Empress’ reign was challenged by external threats, I was there. When the Empire was threatened from within, I was there. And now, when it teeters on the brink of collapse, I am here, not as a conqueror, but as a liberator. I am the last line between chaos and order, between ruin and rebirth.”
He paused, letting his words sink in. The nobles shifted uneasily in their seats, some unable to meet his gaze. Others looked on, defiant but uncertain, torn between their hatred for Eden and the unspoken acknowledgment of his brutal truths. How dare a mere Earl can order them around? Speak as if he is an Emperor?
“The Empress’ name is still holy, and I will defend it. But her rule cannot continue on this path of decay. I will not allow it. I will not allow this Empire to die in the hands of those too weak to change. I will not bow to traditions that serve no one but the corrupt. I will not sit idle while our people suffer under a regime that has forgotten its purpose.”
His words hung heavily in the air, each one a hammer blow against the old order. Eden turned sharply to face the Speaker of the Assembly, an elderly noble whose once proud demeanor now wilted under the heat of the moment.
“I put forth a resolution to restore the Premiership,” Eden announced, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “And an enabling act to grant me the power necessary to rebuild this Empire, free from the chains of stagnation and incompetence.”
The Speaker, struggling to maintain some semblance of control, pointed a trembling finger at Eden. “We do not have a quorum!” he spat, his voice quaking with a mixture of defiance and desperation. “This assembly is not legitimate! You cannot just—”
Eden stepped closer, towering over the quaking Speaker. “Legitimacy? Legitimacy is this.” He gestured to a nearby gendarmerie, who pointed his rifle directly at the Speaker’s face. “Legitimacy is power. Now, vote.”
The nobles hesitated, paralyzed by fear. But slowly, one hand after another rose, each a reluctant concession to the new reality Eden imposed. The Speaker, surrounded by raised hands, could do nothing but watch, tears of shame in his eyes.
Eden watched with satisfaction as the last reluctant hands rose, each a silent admission of defeat. It was a pitiful sight—these so-called leaders, reduced to pawns in his game, scrambling to save their own skins. The Speaker’s quivering frame and the haunted eyes of the assembled nobles were all the confirmation he needed. They were broken, and he was the one holding the pieces.
“Motion carried,” Eden declared as he slammed the gavel, his tone laced with contempt as if pronouncing a death sentence. He turned his back on them, knowing full well that none would dare rise against him now. In their faces, he saw the inevitable—men trapped between his merciless gendarmerie and the Empress’ retribution, each path leading only to ruin.
These nobles had placed themselves on the losing side of history, and he had simply accelerated their downfall. Whether his coup triumphed or failed was of little consequence to their fates. If he succeeded, they would serve his regime as hollow remnants of a bygone order. If he failed, they would be the Empress’ sacrificial lambs, condemned as traitors for allowing Eden’s rise.
Still, there’s some troublesome elements sitting on that chair. He should get some to be shot.
Whether the rage of heaven or the cries of earth, the roar of the epoch is thundering now.
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A young girl stood watch as another wave of trucks erupted into a fiery explosion. The once orderly convoy of the Imperial Marechaussee was now a chaotic mess of twisted metal and scattered debris. Bodies flew through the air, limbs torn apart, painting the road with blood and body parts.
She observed the carnage with a cold detachment, her expression unreadable. Disgust simmered beneath the surface, but it wasn’t the death that bothered her—it was the mess. Blood, dirt, and the stench of burning flesh. She shuddered at the thought of even a single drop touching her pristine uniform.
“Your Majesty!” A royal guard officer rushed to her side, dropping to one knee in reverence. “We’ve received a radio call from Lord-Marshal Fountainne. His army is to arrive in two hours to secure the capital.”
The girl’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the last of the smoke curled into the sky like the final gasps of a dying beast. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her delicate fingers brushing against her golden hair.
“Two hours,” she repeated softly, her voice a blend of grace and unspoken command that sent an involuntary shiver down the officer’s spine. “Very well. Inform Marshal Fountainne that I expect nothing less than complete order upon his arrival. He is to do whatever is necessary to restore order.”
The officer hesitated, swallowing hard as he gathered the courage to speak. “Your Majesty, if I may… the Marechaussee still profess loyalty. Perhaps we could—”
Her eyes flashed with cold impatience as she turned to him, her presence suddenly as commanding as a thunderclap, there was no need for raised voices. “The Marechaussee,” she said slowly, “have pledged themselves to Eden, not to the crown. As of this moment, I decree their dissolution. They are an illegal armed faction, rebels in uniform. Disarm them. Detain them. And let it be known that defiance will be met with swift retribution. Let no one doubt that loyalty to the throne is not an option—it is the law.”
The officer’s face drained of color, and he swallowed hard, the gravity of her words sinking in. The Marechaussee was a cornerstone of internal security, a force long considered untouchable. Yet he dared not challenge her decree. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he stammered, bowing his head low. “I will relay your command to Lord-Marshal Fountainne immediately.”
She nodded curtly, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. As the officer hurried away, she took a deep breath, her mind whirring with thoughts of what came next.
Eden’s coup had been an affront, a vile attempt to seize power that did not belong to him. The audacity of it, the sheer nerve of a mere minister to think he could wrest the empire from its rightful ruler. Her empire. It was an unholy act, a betrayal of the very foundation upon which their world was built.
She brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, her expression hardening. The only legitimate rulers of the empire were the descendants of Reyvrys, the King of Dragons—the bloodline that had caused a great catastrophe, shaped the imperial identity, and carried the empire through centuries of glory. Her bloodline. Eden and his ilk were nothing more than opportunists, usurpers clawing at power they could never truly understand or wield.
For now, she gracefully retreated into her Elysium Palace, a sanctuary of splendor and power nestled twenty kilometers away from the city. The palace and its estates covered a thousand acres of land, complete with subsidiary buildings around it, its parks, and the lush gardens.
The palace’s inner sanctum was her favorite place—her personal retreat from the world where only a select few were permitted to enter. She made her way through the grand entrance, the heavy doors swinging open to reveal a vast, opulent chamber illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Golden light danced off the polished marble floors, and the air was cool and fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers from the gardens outside.
Here, in this sacred space, the noise of the outside world faded away. The distant echoes of gunfire, the screams of the dying, and the clamor of battle all seemed like a distant memory. The palace stood as an impenetrable bastion, a citadel of power where the empire's heart would henceforth beat. It was her fortress, the de facto capital from which she would command her realm and reassert her rightful rule.
She moved toward a massive window that overlooked the sprawling estate, the city visible as a faint silhouette in the distance. From this vantage point, she could see the faint glow of fires still burning.
Yet here, surrounded by the splendor of her forebears, she felt untouchable, as if nothing in the world could challenge her claim to the throne.
The Empress turned away from the window.
The Dragon shall roar once more.