As the new year dawned, bathed in the ethereal glow of the day of usaltagar, the thirty-second day of Joremein marked the commencement of the seven hundred and twenty-eighth year in the Fourth Vires’ Millenias. Thirty-two days had passed since the harrowing nightmare of the previous year had come to its tumultuous close.

The Empire, still grappling with the damage inflicted by Menoich, found solace in the turning of the calendar. The scars were etched into history, but the city of Tamara stood in solemn unity, draped in mourning veils. The echoes of grief reverberated through its streets.

A somber procession unfolded, a poignant journey to convey the late King Madarick Lluch IV to the hallowed Trasidar Animos Shrine, north of the city. Tradition dictated that the body of royalty be preserved for thirty days, a symbolic ritual that Tamiron found himself grateful for Menoich still had the decency to follow tradition.

As he surveyed the grief-stricken crowd, bells tolled across the city, marking the progress of the procession. The haunting requiem sung by the choir permeated the air, a haunting melody that served as both a lament and a tribute.

Despite the sorrow that enveloped the city, the scene unfolding possessed a haunting beauty. The requiem persisted until the procession reached the shrine, where the atmosphere shifted with the commencement of the high priest’s sermon and the offering of sacred words.

In that solemn moment, his mind wandered, contemplating the divergent paths reality could have taken if he had chosen differently the year before. Beside him stood Everess, his dearest friend and the new Queen Empress, Tamara Lluch, his sister, and a retinue of steadfast companions who had helped bring about this day of mourning.

His heart remained burdened, weighed down by the profound sense of loss. The expansive halls of the shrine stretched before him; their grandeur highlighted by a domed ceiling adorned with an opening that allowed light to filter in.

At the end of the circular hall, the larger-than-life statue of the Freigurd Animos towered all over them, in all its holy glory. Flanked by vast pillars proudly bearing the Trasidar Empire’s banner. Statues adorned the walls, immortalizing the reign of past kings.

As tears blurred his vision, the world transformed into a distant, muted realm. Within this emotional tempest, memories, emotions, and the stark reality of his parent’s absence swirled in a tumultuous whirlwind.

In the midst of this grief-stricken scene, Everess emanated a quiet strength, her presence offering a comforting sanctuary. Her faint grip on his arm conveyed an unspoken solace. With a deep breath, he softly held her hand, and together, they stood in silent acknowledgment of the profound moment. In that shared silence, he found a small but significant measure of comfort.

Words eluded him in the face of such overwhelming sorrow, yet he harbored gratitude for Everess’ steadfast presence. Their shared gaze fixed upon the fiery spectacle of his father’s casket, consumed by the glorious flames of the temple.

Throughout the mourning process, Everess evolved into a constant, reliable anchor amidst the storm of his grief. Beyond mere sympathy, she became the embodiment of solace, providing a listening ear and sharing her own experiences with the loss of her parents. Her actions spoke louder than words, creating a profound connection that surpassed the limitations of language. In Everess, he discovered more than a friend — a compassionate presence that not only alleviated the weight of grief but transformed the mourning process into a shared journey rather than a solitary one.

The initial days of Queen Empress Tamara’s rule unfurled with a splendid coronation ceremony hosted at the majestic Cors’Viridetauros Palace. This regal spectacle served as a profound symbol of hope, heralding the restoration of peace and order across the sprawling expanse of the Empire.

The aspiration was to reclaim its former magnificence, reinstating it as the esteemed jewel of the East. However, Tamara, donned with the regal responsibilities, acknowledged the formidable task ahead. Menoich’s malevolent actions had left an indelible scar on the Empire, a wound that would prove challenging to mend.

In a strategic move, Queen Tamara reinstated him as the commanding figure of the Grand Imperial Army. Granting him full autonomy and bestowing upon him, powers equal to her own, she conferred upon him the honorary title of Crown Regent of the Trasidar Empire.

Effectively, the Empire found itself officially governed by the twins of Lluch; a decision not necessarily aligned with his personal desires. Cleverly, his sister orchestrated a decree before officially conferring him the title.

Proclaiming the restoration of Melgrace City to its former glory and the recovery of the Huertian territory, Queen Tamara undertook sweeping initiatives to rectify the wrongs that marred the empire’s recent history.

Following his sister’s official coronation, he, along with the warriors known as Eldementers, stayed for two weeks, a token of gratitude from the twins, the Imperial Council, who has been reshuffled and their powers trimmed, and the entire Trasidar Empire. The dedicated week revolved around their presence and the revival of the Imperial monarchy, prompting joyous celebrations among the populace.

In an act of justice, he dispatched Aragrad to the prison mines nestled in the far northern mountains of Malatur’Aren. Here, Aragrad would endure solitary confinement, adopting the role of a disabled miner. A merciful intervention by the Queen Empress spared him from the fate he sought—a warrior’s death—and offered respite from further suffering.

News of the monarchy’s restoration and Menoich’s downfall swiftly spread across the Arumar continent, sparking a wave of support from neighboring kingdoms. Delegations bearing official envoys hurriedly arrived, initiating contacts and exchanging tokens of goodwill.

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In his capacity as the general of the Imperial Grand Army, he engaged in crucial discussions with King Ravaen of the Mystic Falcons and Everess Ressei, the newly declared Grand Sage of the Maroon Orderian. The focal point of their deliberations was the establishment of a collaborative force—the United Unibeltrasian Army.

As their collective stay neared its end, he summoned everyone to a dedicated room. Everess, the last to enter, gripped his shoulder, revealing her Grand Sage Ring. Observing the subtle transformation in her eyes mirroring the symbol on her ring, he couldn’t help but comment.

“Your eyes, they are changing,” he remarked, noting the resemblance to the emblem on her ring.

“Yes, the other high wizards said that it was a documented trait of a Grand Sage, hence why the ring looked like this,” Everess answered.

He sighed and smiled. “I’m happy for you, still. You now have full control over your magic, and now you have ascended the ranks of your people. At least you are now acknowledged properly,” he said to her as he held her by the shoulder firmly. Both looked into each other’s eyes and saw grief on each other. Everess suddenly hugged him and, although surprised, returned the favor.

“The others are waiting,” Tamiron announced, a decisive tone cutting through the air. “I’ll go right ahead.” With that, he entered the room, leaving her outside. She observed him briefly before the doors closed, a moment of anticipation lingering in the air.

She turned her attention to the Grand Sage Ring adorning her finger. Its intricate design depicted a raven with a diamond-shaped crown atop its head, encapsulated in a maroon amber casing. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself before joining the ongoing conversation in the room.

Inside, Ravaen, arms crossed, greeted her with a sly smile. “Well, if it isn’t the Grand Sage,” he quipped, bowing. She shook her head and found her seat. “Now that she’s here, we might as well get started,” he declared before taking his place.

Seated in their assigned positions, Tamiron assumed the role of the meeting’s presider. Resting both hands on the table, he surveyed the expectant faces, preparing to divulge the purpose of their gathering.

“Let’s get on with it. We still have to return to Meskotav to end my covenant with Sevidon,” Glaivel said.

“My friends, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done—not just for me and my sister, but for the Empire as a whole. However, I’m afraid I have to ask more from you,” Tamiron stated, the gravity of his words reflected in his serious tone.

“What is it? Tell us now, as it might be a long time before we’re all together like this again,” Kaira urged, curiosity lacing her voice as she cleared her throat.

Tamiron’s expression remained somber as he delivered the news without a preamble. “I’m going to tell you this straight. Our fight for peace is still not over.”

Aderon voiced his frustration. “Wait, what do you mean? We’ve gone through that, and now you’re saying that we’re not done yet? This better be worth my time staying extra longer here.”

“Our enemy is not who we thought it was. I’ve witnessed its formidable power, and I can confidently say that the battle is far from over. With Xerxecia under its control, there’s no telling when he might strike once more,” Tamiron revealed, eliciting sighs of disappointment from some in the room.

Glaivel, placing a subtle blame on him, questioned, “Isn’t it your duty to investigate them in the first place? To keep them in check?”

Tamiron acknowledged the validity of the point. “Our duty is to ensure they don’t fully breach Arumar. Skirmishes may occur, yes, but what we witnessed last year, they are now organized. This certainly poses a problem we cannot ignore. Yes, we can still go against them, but it will now significantly be harder. On behalf of the empire, I express my apologies to the representatives of the Arumar Kingdoms,” he added, bowing low in a gesture of humility.

“No need for more apologies. You’ve said enough,” Ravaen interjected, pulling Tamiron back into his seat. “Our current concern is to contain this untamed power. The Mystic Falcons, alongside the Imperial Army, cannot sustain this alone,” Ravaen emphasized.

Aderon injected a touch of sarcasm. “They are mere monsters. Regardless of their coordination, they remain savages. The Imperial Army should still be capable of keeping its promise.”

Tamiron’s response was somber. “Given the current state of the Empire, I cannot guarantee that anymore.” Silence enveloped the room.

Aderon, leaning forward, broke the silence, and urgently questioned Tamiron, “So, what are you saying?”

Tamiron surveyed the faces in the room, encompassing everyone, including her, before declaring, “We need everyone’s help now.” Another round of silence descended, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn’t just what he said; it was the stark reality—the Empire as it was now, is weak. The reorganization of the Imperial Council and the Imperial Army had initiated a subtle power struggle, further complicating their predicament.

“Even with us, I cannot guarantee that we will be enough,” Ravaen pondered, contemplating the challenges ahead.

Sevidon chimed in, “I’ll have to talk to the Karinhawi King first. But I already know what he will say.”

Glaivel, expressing uncertainty, sighed, “I can’t say the same for the Sulinhawi King. Perhaps his mind will change if there was a summit.”

Tamiron acknowledged their concerns and promised to communicate with the Queen Empress about potential diplomatic efforts. Glaivel nodded in agreement, and Tamiron did the same.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t contribute much with my standing and all. All I can do is lend you my strength,” Graveloth confessed.

Ravaen dismissed the notion, asserting, “Nonsense. I’m sure you and the Kra’en King will find common ground,” prompting laughter between the two.

“There’s much to discuss in the coming days before you leave, but what I’ve just shared is the most critical topic,” Tamiron emphasized as they settled back into their seats.

Suddenly, Ravaen interjected, “Wait, we are forgetting something very important.” Ravaen then turned to Kaira, “Kaira, are you still going to take Tamiron home as a husband?”

In response, Kaira impulsively hurled her chair at Ravaen, sparking amusement among the onlookers. Tamiron, however, took it in stride, laughing off the playful gesture. She joined in the laughter, exchanging glances with Tamiron, who, for once, was genuinely enjoying himself. Witnessing his smile was a heartening sight.

Yet, beneath the surface, she couldn’t shake the awareness that this lighthearted moment had its limits. A looming storm was coming for them, and with her newfound power and purpose, she would be the one to navigate the calm before the storm.

“I look forward to working with you, Grand Sage,” Lyo, the immortal being, echoed in her head.

Far from the splendor and festivities of Tamara, to its east, lay a ruined city. The wind howled in the aftermath of the Battle of Melgrace, inside in the desolate courtyard where the Eldemensters and Prince Tamiron clashed. Amidst the tombstone that Tamiron had the Xerxecians built, a cloaked figure hovered, purposefully scouring the remnants of something elusive.

Behind the enigmatic figure, the shattered pieces of Tamiron’s armor stirred, autonomously reassembling themselves with a crimson glow. On its crystal mount, minuscule red crystals coalesced, forming the Arvales Stone once more, which emanated a newfound, intense radiance. The cloaked man’s eyes mirrored the brilliance in maroon, which bore a distinct mark — the same mark as the one on Everess’ ring.

End of Book I