8 – The Emperor

The capital drew its name from ancient Dhagrani texts. ‘Ener Aishi’, ‘City of the Divine.’ Emperor Novos had never been one for subtlety, but there was something to be said for how immaculate and radiant his chosen seat of power was.

Behind looming alabaster walls, marked with turrets and watchtowers, loomed a city of gleaming silver spires and reinforced crenelations. It was a city far from the war, at present, and as such the people went about their business without a care for it. Or, at least, none spoke of the war out loud for fear of who would overhear them.

For as much as the Holy Kingdom spurned Novos’ empire, painting his subjects either as craven fools, or little more than demons in human skin, the simple fact was that the average Novosian peasant led a simple, peaceful life. So long as those living within the walls of Ener Aishi did not speak ill of their emperor, their lot in life was no worse than that of the average Rhondian peasant, and neither side of that divide knew that.

Those who broke Novos’ sacred trust, however, were dealt with swiftly. Doubters, heretics, spies, traitors, all found themselves either on a gibbet or with their tar-dunked heads mouldering on spikes.

From on high the city, built with a precise geometric architecture that had each district perfectly measured and marked, appeared almost like a gilded cage of sorts. The world beyond was dangerous, after all, and every day it seemed like a particularly irritating spearhead was pushing progressively deeper into Novos’ territory, always that little bit closer to Ener Aishi. While spies and guerilla groups struck from the wilderness, disrupting Novos’ supply lines and hamstringing any attempts to halt them.

On that day, with more grim news from his messengers, Novos sat on his throne and stewed.

For a man despised utterly by the Rhondians, believed to be the physical incarnation of evil itself, who had directly and indirectly killed thousands of people… he did not, at a glance, look particularly foul.

Some would even go so far as to call him beautiful.

Slim, almost androgynous in build, and adorned in a finely tailored robe of white and garnet, his hair flowed like a raven river that stood in stark contrast to his pale flesh. And his eyes gleamed like a pair of emeralds in sunlight.

And yet for as beautiful as he was at a glance, there was something… off about the emperor on a fundamental level. A coldness, an inhumanity in his eyes that hinted at something monstrous.

He sat slouched in his throne, frowning as his armoured generals finished giving their reports. His thin lips were pulled into a long and thin frown. “… and that is the current extent of our knowledge, your Eminence. The defenders of Fort Actius fought to the last man, but ultimately the fortress has fallen. Our scouts reported seeing a gleam of silver light in the distance…” General Kerus said, speaking each word as if deathly afraid they would be his last.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“That damn Celestial Blade,” said General Telendi, stroking his fingers through his grey goatee. “Who would have thought one brat could cause so much trouble. ‘Chosen hero’ my right foot!”

Novos remained silent. Sunlight streamed in through the stainglass windows that framed the sides of his throne room, casting rainbow hues upon the polished marble floors. The mere mention of that boy, for a fraction of a second, made a cord flex on the side of his neck.

“Send the Eighth Cavalry to reinforce the Gilded Road, and route the Black Wings toward the passage beyond Fort Actius. I don’t doubt the Rhondians will be erecting new encampments there, and it is in our best interest to monitor them closely.” The emperor raised a jewel covered hand, motioning over to a serving girl.

The tanned waif quickly made her way over, offering up a goblet of plum-hued wine. Novos gripped it and motioned the girl away, sipping upon the strong alcohol.