From the shattered remnants of a once-great fortress, a man emerged—clad in dark, blood-spattered armor. In his iron grip, he dragged a flailing, shrieking figure by the hair. His face remained cold and unreadable, yet his electric-red eyes pulsed with a fury that had razed cities.
As he stepped out into the blizzard, the burning ruins of Avnon, the kingdom's capital, sprawled beneath him. Though snow fell thick and fast, it did nothing to quell the hellish glow that lit the sky. It was as if the heavens themselves had caught fire.
At the base of the blackened stairs knelt ten men and women, shackled and bloodied. Anyone who had seen them in their finery might struggle to recognize them now—these were the heads of the kingdom's most powerful noble houses, brought to their knees.
"Burn them."
The man's voice was low but thunderous, like the crack of distant war drums.
A deafening roar rose behind the nobles.
"ALL HEIL SATYA VES MASHIACH!""ALL HEIL ARCOSE, OUR SAVIOR!"
Slaves turned soldiers. Barbarians made zealots. Their chants echoed through the bones of the dead city.
Arcose raised the crumpled man he had dragged—the fallen king—and gripped his throat, lifting him for all to see.
"Look at your king." His voice boomed across the square. "This... is the man you feared. Pitiful, isn't he?"
There was no mercy in his tone—only mockery.
"But do not despair," Arcose continued, his eyes gleaming like coals. "I will liberate you from your misery."
With one swift motion, he slit the king's throat. The body crumpled to the snow, steam rising from the blood like a final breath.
A chorus of spear hafts beat against the ground, horses shrieked and reared—the storm of conquest thundered through the city.
Then, a soft voice, delicate as snowfall.
"Was it all worth it?"
Arcose turned sharply. Standing behind him was Vivian, untouched by snow or blood.
"I avenged you," he said, voice low, broken. "That's all that matters."
She stepped closer, gaze solemn.
"Hundreds of thousands are dead," she whispered. "Are you sure I would've wanted that?"
Her voice cracked slightly, like ice under strain.
"How far are you still willing to go? Is this still for me?"
Arcose looked away, jaw clenched. He turned his eyes toward the soldiers below—the army that had followed him into madness.
"Who are you to judge me? You're already dead."
Vivian tilted her head gently.
"If that's true... how am I here?"
Arcose's breath caught. He looked back, slowly.
"That's the thing," he whispered. "I'm imagining you."
She was gone.
Only snow remained, falling over the dead and the living alike.