Tamiron ascended the towering butte that dominated the city skyline, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the Redicoc Mountains, where Cors’Viridetauros Palace stood. His presence sent ripples through the enemy ranks; those who glimpsed him hastily surrendered or scattered like leaves before a storm. Above, the winged regiment patrolled the skies, ensuring none could escape.
Aresa, Sevidon, Glaivel, Graveloth, and Kaira trailed closely behind, a formidable ensemble that echoed his unwavering determination. Together, they led a procession of soldiers up the spiraling path that wound its way to the imposing palace.
Amidst the ascent, he cast his gaze over the city. Smoke billowed, but this was no ordinary smoke from forges and factories. It was the triumphant exhalation of a city freed.
The city belonged to them once again. His calculations faltered slightly, the sun setting behind the Redicoc Mountains casting elongated shadows over Tamara. The city seemed to bask in the fading light, shedding the year-long affliction that gripped it.
The final moments of Domerein approached, a ticking clock counting down to resolution. With a mere six to seven hours left, he harbored the hope of concluding this conflict before the year’s end.
A familiar voice disrupted his contemplation. “Tamiron!”
Turning to his left, there he saw Everess descending from the sky. Tamara’s entourage had arrived in the city.
“Everess,” he acknowledged, and she touched down beside him. They walked in tandem, the weight of their shared mission palpable.
“Where’s the Crown Princess?” he inquired.
“On her way up. She’s ensuring the Outer Ring is secured and giving aid along the way,” Everess replied, her words carrying a sense of focused determination.
“Excellent,” he remarked as they came to a standstill before the grandeur of the palace gates. The army, a formidable force, paused in unison as he surveyed the imposing structure.
Atop the palace walls, confusion reigned among the stationed soldiers. He inhaled deeply; his gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before him.
“Tamiron, what’s your plan? Are you going to bring this one down, too?” Everess queried, her curiosity evident in her voice.
“To be honest, I’m tired of pleading. Let’s end this now,” he declared resolutely. Extending his hand toward the gates, he beckoned, “Care to do the honors?”
A sly smile played on Everess’ lips as she presented her palm, cradling a small orb pulsating with concentrated power.
With a swift motion, she hurled the orb toward the gates, unleashing a force that obliterated them, gate, battlements, and all. The walls that surrounded the Imperial Palace, crafted from the formidable combination of kra’enite and holenshartz, the two sturdiest substances known, crumbled before them.
But to Everess, it was nothing. The wall was just that, a wall that blocked their way, so she fixed it by making her own way—a mere gap in what was deemed one of the most impregnable palaces in the world.
“You know, it was my idea to reinforce those walls with both holenshartz and kra’enite. It stings that you can just breach it,” he confessed, shaking his head with a mix of admiration and regret.
“Well, that’s what you get for taking my idea without discussing it with me to improve it further,” Everess quipped with a smirk, striding ahead confidently. “Are you coming?” she beckoned with a sly smile.
He drew a deep breath, responding with a smile of his own. “Aresa, secure the palace,” he commanded as Aresa approached. “I’m confident that anyone on the outer walls will surrender at the sight of you. Ensure unnecessary deaths from our would-be prisoners, alright?” he added, and Aresa proceeded with a contingent of men in tow.
The courtyard remained well-tended, a testament to someone’s commitment. His father’s statue stood proudly, and the garden retained its enchanting beauty. Beyond lay the Cors’Viridetauros Palace, resplendent in marble, green jade, and gold. It sparkled like a gem in a sea of darkness—a diamond in the rough. However, a corruption festered within, requiring extraction.
Marching determinedly, he and Everess approached the palace doors while the others secured the other parts of the palace. The soldiers, meeting his fierce gaze, trembled and promptly surrendered, laying down their weapons as he entered the marbled halls.
“Brother!” a call echoed from outside. Turning, he saw his sister catching up with them in a carriage.
“What will you do?” his sister inquired, pacing towards him. He regarded her earnestly as he grappled with the weight of her plea.
But what justice?
The profound injustice inflicted upon his father, his people — upon himself demanded a punishment more severe. His inner fury sought release; an eruption of anger aimed at the man who not only shattered his life but also plunged the entire country into turmoil. He couldn’t just let him rot in prison.
No, imprisonment alone wouldn’t be enough.
“Let us serve justice properly, Brother, enough. Let the Council and the Imperial Court deal with him,” Tamara implored, gripping his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, dear Sister. But I must mete out justice for the thousands of Trasidian lives stained by my hands,” he said, his voice quivering. The weight of the countless lives lost since his transformation haunted him as his deepest shame.
Turning away, he walked through the marbled halls, Everess at his side, and Tamara’s royal guard following closely. The palace fell under their control as they meticulously scoured every nook and cranny of these hallowed halls.
Most chambers had already been inspected except for one — the Imperial Throne Room.
Approaching it, he paused before his father’s colossal portrait hanging in the great hall. The image exuded regality, capturing his father’s poise. It struck him that the only semblance of his father now existed in this painted representation. Emotion welled up, tears forming as the realization settled that he would never see his father alive again.
Everess’ touch from behind conveyed shared sorrow.
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“Let’s go,” he uttered, resolute, proceeding towards the throne room.
He stood before the grand entrance of the throne room and pushed open its colossal doors. At the base of the throne of four horns stood Menoich.
He looked around as he approached slowly, to see if there was anyone with him, but found none. Everess began to prepare as her hands glowed.
“Do you have any final words?” he uttered, advancing slowly towards Menoich, his stare chilling and unwavering. He held his ground, an embodiment of resolute determination, unyielding and unafraid.
“Tamiron, I’m glad you are well,” Menoich said, but he remained unyielding.
“Your words are poison, Menoich. How could you do this? We trusted you!” he shouted as he made his feelings known. “I will make you feel the weight of the countless lives my hands have taken—the lives of my people who did not deserve my uncontrolled wrath. You will experience their anguish,” he growled, slamming his large gauntlets in front of Menoich. The latter flinched as his back met the throne, the edge of escape now beyond reach. He could see the others arriving behind him.
“Tamiron, I offer my sympathies to you, but I regret nothing,” Menoich stated in a stoic voice, devoid of emotion except for the fear seeping through. Menoich then turned to face him. “It was all for the betterment of the world. And I failed,”
“Words that are filled with lies. You’ll change your tune once I begin my work with you,” he declared, gradually closing in on Menoich.
“I want you to confess, admit to orchestrating my father’s demise. Defenseless on his deathbed. Beg for your pitiful life. Grant me the satisfaction of hearing you say ‘no,” he demanded, standing almost toe to toe with Menoich. His cold words extracted nothing but a sigh from his adversary.
“I will confess that I had my friend killed—” Menoich admitted without hesitation. In response, he seized Menoich by the throat, lifting him from the ground.
“You dare call him your friend? Friends do not have their friends killed!” he thundered, his grip tightening. Anger surged through him, evident in the enlargement of his gauntlets and the tears that slowly dripped from his eyes.
“Spare my life, and I will tell you everything you want to know — who was behind this,” Menoich pleaded, struggling against his grip. Then he turned his gaze to Everess. “I can tell you who had her parents killed,”
“Give me a name now, and perhaps I’ll consider it!” he demanded, but Everess intervened.
“Wait, Tamiron, let’s discuss this. Perhaps he can tell us who had my parents killed — why my parents were killed,” she suggested. Before he could respond, something tumbled from Menoich’s pocket.
A glass orb harboring black smoke that swirled within lifted from the ground and hovered between him and Menoich. Abruptly, the dark smoke accelerated within the orb, hurling him and Everess across the room.
Struggling to regain his footing, he felt as if he had been struck. Upon opening his eyes to discern the source of the impact, Menoich was suspended in midair, an invisible force hoisting him by the neck, the glass orb positioned before his eyes.
He lunged towards Menoich when another surge of energy erupted, propelling him against the walls, as windows shattered into shards.
Menoich remained suspended, trapped in midair. Black smoke emanated from the orb, enveloping Menoich’s chest. Everess immediately hovered and launched an attack against the orb, but it was suddenly shielded by a barrier similar to hers.
His eyes rolled back as the dark smog bound him, witnessing the horror unfold. Menoich’s skin darkened progressively, bones breaking within him. He was being drained, his essence squeezed until he crumbled into dust and drapes.
The orb plummeted to the ground, shattering into a million pieces, releasing its captive smoke to disperse completely.
The unseen force that had held him vanished. Rushing to the spot where Menoich had once hung, he found only dust and remnants of clothing. Among the remnants, he discovered the Arch Chancellor’s medallion, clenching it in his iron hands. In frustration, he crushed it and let out a scream.
Collapsing to the floor, he realized he had been denied the opportunity to exact his justice, his supposed final act as the Red Prince. Trembling with anger, he grappled with the fact that his father’s killer had perished, but not by his hands. Sevidon, Ravaen, Glaivel, Graveloth, and Kaira arrived, with Aderon entering the palace through a shattered window.
Tamara finally reached the scene, accompanied by Aresa and Emerys, along with her guards. Observing his sister approaching, he hastened towards her. They embraced tightly; hearts heavy with sorrow. Though reunited, the undeniable truth loomed — their father was gone.
Turning to survey the aftermath, he and Tamara witnessed the councilmen kneeling before them. One by one, the guards and councilors followed suit. Tamara took a few steps back and then kneeled. His comrades, paying their respects, kneeled in unison, leaving Everess standing. After a poignant exchange of gazes, she too kneeled.
“All hail, Imperial King Tamiron Lluch.”
He looked at the councilor Gaurad as he smiled at him as he declared his ascension. Everyone followed suit and repeated the praise.
He was now the king of the Trasidar Empire.
He turned his gaze toward Councilor Gaurad, who smiled upon him, heralding his ascension. A ripple effect ensued as everyone followed suit, their voices repeating the praise. He had officially become the king of the Trasidar Empire. Overwhelmed, he found himself unable to react, studying the faces of those who kneeled before him, placing their trust in him despite his actions. Tamara stood before him, nodding with a gentle smile and tears glistening on her cheeks. His comrades beamed. Even Aderon chuckled and smirked.
Smiling at the assembled audience, he walked toward the throne, ready to claim his seat of power. However, the joy faded swiftly as he contemplated the profound cost of his actions.
I am not fit to be king anymore, he thought, standing beside the throne and placing his hand on its arm, feeling the weight of responsibility. His fingers traced over the throne’s ornate features.
A king, he recalled, loves and protects the lives of his subjects unconditionally, even when wronged. Tears streamed down his face as he faced the harsh reality—he had failed.
Failed to safeguard his people, and in doing so, he had become the instrument of their demise, wielding the very gauntlets entrusted to him by his father for their protection.
“I don’t deserve to be king,” he declared, gazing upon the throne crafted from solid gold, adorned with jade, diamonds, and rubies. The Throne of Four Horns, once occupied by glorious and respected rulers, now seemed beyond his worthiness.
The room fell into a stunned silence, shocked by the unexpected announcement. Councilmen discussed among themselves, and he glanced at his sister, who struggled to comprehend his decision.
“But, my Liege, we already know the truth. From the camp alone, Princess Tamara and Princess Everess have provided a detailed account of what had really happened to you,” pleaded Councilor Ralphys.
However, he responded with a serene smile, meeting their gazes with composure. “A king must be the unwavering protector of his people. Whether conscious of it or not, that should be the foremost duty never forgotten,” he imparted to the silent assembly. His words hung in the air, casting a contemplative hush over the room.
Gaurad and the other councilors turned their attention to Tamara and after a moment of reflection and discussion among themselves. He then gazed upon his sister. Tamara, still in shock, finally rose to speak, her words tinged with panic.
“What are you doing? You are the Crown Prince. It is only right that you ascend—”
“I don’t deserve this. Not anymore,” he reiterated, his eyes fixed on his iron hands. “These hands have spilled Trasidian blood.” He then shifted his gaze to her, gently guiding her up the last step toward the throne.
Backing away slowly, he offered a smile and declared, “You are more deserving than I will ever be.” With humility, he kneeled in front of her.
“All hail Queen Empress Tamara Lluch. May her reign usher in lasting peace and prosperity,” he proclaimed.
The throne room fell into stunned silence. Everess initiated the gesture, kneeling and repeating his words. One by one, his newfound comrades followed suit, kneeling to pay their respects to the new Queen Empress.
“All hail Queen Empress Tamara Lluch of the Trasidar Empire!” he echoed once more, and the room resounded with the collective voice of the assembly.
Tamara composed herself, wearing a gentle smile that concealed the mixed emotions beneath the surface. All eyes turned to her, and he, too, observed her countenance—a blend of profound sorrow and burgeoning happiness.
She earned this moment. Her reign would commence, marking the conclusion of his tumultuous journey. Her rule promised to usher in an era of peace, prosperity, and security for the Empire. As the city’s bells began to chime at the stroke of midnight, a new era unfolded with Tamara’s ascension.
A new reign has dawned.
End of Chapter XXXVI