Tyrant of the Ruined Sun

War.

A single year after the beginning of the Banquet of Concordia, and the end of the allotted time for peace and harmony of the world as dictated by the ancient accords of the centennial banquet, that sole word was all the many peoples of the vast world of Meathria heard of these days. War in every direction. In every possible stretch of land. People killing each other with wanton barbarity.

The world seemed to go mad with blood.

To the west, the mighty Luminous Empire, after nearly four years of heavy militarization under their new national policies, the grand hegemon of the west had abandoned all pretence of diplomacy and civility and began an all out invasion of the reportedly rebellious western realms.

The Kingdoms of Dionysia and Dunamis were the first to bend the knee, throwing their full weight and support behind the five hundred thousand strong army of the Luminous Empire, and it’s commanding general, the emperor himself, Octavian. Which were then quickly followed by all the northern states, totalling a near third of the realms.

Yet the west was not to be so easily subdued.

An alliance, forged from the rallying cry of the twin states of Kleossa and Herimissa, which encompassed the other two thirds of the western nations, stood in stalwart opposition of the golden invaders. With death rather than dishonour ringing off their tongues.

Yet if the war in the west was a shock but not a complete surprise to those who paid attention, then the clash in the east was a blow that blindsided even Alexander and Eve when they heard of it.

For to the east, the Medicinal Monarchs of Kusuri and the Shephard Lords of Ulgan, both vassal states of the great Yue Dynasty for over a thousand years now, declared a truly startling war against their ancient overlord; demanding independence and restitution for the millennia of oppression and insubordination of their people.

Forcing an utterly irate Tianlan to command his own personal army, the Moon Touched Legion, to upend the rebellion from it’s very roots, proclaiming that even the unborn children of Kusuri and Ulgan will pay the price for their father’s betrayal.

A decision that flabbergasted the whole world, since the march of an emperor’s personal army had not happened since my own empire’s civil war three years ago, and that was when the War Dragon himself stood opposite me, not these weakling dissenters who wouldn’t be able to challenge even the most incompetent of the Dynasty’s endless armies.

Meanwhile in the north, the vast Boreas Empire, like a sleeping beast roused by the smell of blood, once again bared it’s enormous fangs against the south, yet contrary to what everyone expected once again, the empire did not try for the hundredth time to stubbornly conqueror the Devil’s Eye, but instead marched it’s winter hordes east, towards the Jeong Dynasty. Home of the sons of the God of Law and Justice. Another vassal state of the Yue Dynasty.

Yet in face of this apocalyptic northern tide, and the countless letters of plea from the Jeong King, the master of the east, Tianlan, did not offer them armies or navies, but merely told them to content themselves with a few shiploads of supplies for now.

Against the full weight of the Boreas Empire, he told them, a minor nation on the north eastern coast of the Emerald Sea to manage with their armies alone and a bit of supplies that would not even last them two days siege against the giant of the north.

No one, not even Alexander himself could decipher the eastern emperor’s odd decisions, who for some reason had also began to ignore his letters to him.

And by now the scorching south, home of that monstrous draconic despot, was unbelievably the sole beacon of peace in this rapidly reddening world, a prospect that amused a great many people who knew of the emperor’s true madness.

But that didn’t mean the desert lands of the south had remained silent in the last six months, since the miraculous return of Eve’s memories, for that silent event, now known to a very select few, was akin to pouring fuel upon an already roaring fire.

A change that did not go unnoticed by neither those of the highest ministerial offices in their gilded halls and marble offices, and nor to the lowest slaving povers in their tattered clothes toiling beneath the empire’s scorching sun.

For how could they?

In a mere half a year, the southern empire had completely transformed.

First of all, the Mercenary King and his family, after a lengthy stay to ensure Morgana’s health, returned back to their own domain, leaving behind a dept of gratitude that Alexander did not hesitate to make use of at once, urging him to send him a few distinct pieces of information, and help him keep an eye on the situations happening now in both the western and eastern conflicts.

Secondly, the many wars of the world created the most depressing by-product of every war. Refugees. Tens of thousands of them, clamouring to escape the battlegrounds now churning across the whole continent, and into whatever safe havens their tired legs could reach.

And with it came both the good and ugly sides of it all. Cheap, skilled labour flooded the streets of the empire, and with it came also their vast pockets of Darr, who needed exchanging for food, shelter and all else. The empire was overcome with a sudden economic boom.

Yet so too did it become overrun with the troubles of it all. Disorder. Disease. Prejudice. Crime of more extreme and desperate forms. Even famine became a threat in some areas with the advent of so many mouths to feed.

Lucky for the people of the southern empire though, they were currently under the rule of Alexander the third and the most excellent board of ministers the empire had seen in centuries. Surging food prices were enforced with religious zealotry, with conniving merchants loosing in blood what they hoarded in gold. While any form of public disorder, was met with a swift and ruthless reprisal. Often in the form of public executions.

And the refugees raged against this injustice, yet that only worked to further feed the executioner’s block.

They learned quickly then that a step out of the drawn line, is always a step too far, and to never not be afraid of the men in black.

Thirdly, and though most ordinary citizen would never know of it, the empire’s underworld, which for the past few years had been under a constant state of oppression by the emperor’s ravenous dogs, suddenly found itself utterly free of their plight that haunted them for so very long now, and for several weeks on end, they felt safe for the first time in years, making a few of them start to believe that the emperor has finally grown board of hunting them down, or simply too busy to deal with them any longer. Allowing them to once again return to their everyday operations without the need to constantly check over their shoulder. Especially with the added, and yet untapped, new market the thousands of desperate refugees offered them now. They could see their drying treasure troves already multiplying into mountains in their eyes.

It was utter, ignorant bliss. Until a sudden upheaval swept through the upper ranks of their organizations in a single bloody night.

Dozens of the most feared and well respected of their kind were suddenly discovered dead in their sleep, most of whom were found to have passed without any evidence of foul play. But no one was stupid enough to believe that.

Whatever the case maybe, their death opened up a massive power vacuum, that they all wished to fill.

The minority witnessed mostly peaceful transitions of power. A few others fought desperately amongst themselves for control, causing their factions to grow exponentially weaker, and allowing other gangs to devour them piecemeal, while the remaining majority ripped each other to nonexistence.

Yet little did any of them realize then, or ever will, that all of this was orchestrated by a single person’s will. And that all the emerging leaders of the new underworld, were all but willing pawns of her grand design.

But if one were to ask Alexander of what he thought of these past six months, then he would simply utter a single word, exhausting.

As evidenced by his unending schedule that knew no rest even now in his overflowing office..

"New reports from our spies in the west, my liege." Said Isaac, bringing him three neatly tied papers.

"What is it now?" An exasperated Alexander said.

"The armies continue to dance around one another, neither fully committing to battle yet." He replied.

"Why do they keeping doing this?" Alexander asked, sweeping past the ink on the parchment.

"We can’t be sure, but our spies claim that both sides seem to be waiting for something."

"Like what exactly?"

"We currently don’t know." Isaac shook his head.

"Then what about the preparations for this years southern campaign going?" He asked. "Is the enemy still weakened?"

"Absolutely sire." The old assassin replied with a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Your highness, another missive has arrived for you." It was then that another attendant arrived with a letter in hand for his brother.

"Just put it there with the others." Nizam, who sat to the desk next to Alexander offhandedly replied, not removing his eyes from the report in front of him.

The attendant coughed once, and said "My prince, this letter comes from the east."

Instantly his head snapped up, before he snatched up the paper, and then excused himself from the room with a silly smile on his face.

Alexander and Isaac both smiled at this, but said nothing more, as they returned to their previous discussion.

But little did he, or anyone else know at the time that that fateful letter would change the world twice over again.

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