The night sky stretched above the imperial palace of Maharlica, its stars bright yet indifferent, casting an ethereal glow over the empire's seat of power. But within the palace walls, there was an air of tension, a hush that swallowed even the faintest sounds.
The emperor, Valenor Gaius Maharlica stood alone in the corridor outside his chambers, his figure tall and imposing in the shadows. He was a conqueror, a man who had united the warring clans and kingdoms of Maharlica under one banner. Years of battle had hardened him, carving lines of strength into his face, but tonight, he felt vulnerable in a way he hadn't since he first took the throne. Tonight, he was waiting—not for war, but for the birth of his child, his firstborn.
He paced back and forth, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble floor. His breaths were steady but shallow, his heart racing in his chest as he strained to hear any sound from beyond the heavy chamber doors.
A servant approached, bowing low before speaking. "My emperor, the midwives have assured me that all is well."
He nodded, his jaw tight. "Thank you. But I will wait here until I am called."
The servant nodded and withdrew, leaving him in silence once more. He lifted his gaze to the vaulted ceiling, adorned with intricate murals that told the stories of the gods—the same gods who had guided him through every battle and watched over his empire.
As he looked at them, he whispered a quiet prayer, his voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of devotion. "Bathala, Mayari, Apolaki… all you gods who have seen me through fire and blood, grant your blessing upon my family this night."
The gods had been his silent allies, his unseen protectors, granting him strength and victory in his conquests. He had conquered in their names, built grand temples to honor them, and offered countless sacrifices. Tonight, he prayed not for victory, but for the life of his child and the health of his beloved wife.
Suddenly, a muffled cry echoed from within the chamber. The emperor's heart surged with anticipation. He leaned forward, his hand resting on the door, waiting for a sign that all was well. But then, as quickly as it had come, the cry was swallowed by silence—a silence so deep and sudden that it sent a chill down his spine.
He pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The sight that greeted him shattered his heart.
His wife lay still on the birthing bed, her skin pale as marble, her eyes closed, and in her arms, a tiny, lifeless form wrapped in crimson-stained silk. He staggered forward, the weight of grief crushing him as he fell to his knees beside her.
"No… no, this cannot be." His voice trembled as he reached for his wife's hand, finding it cold and unmoving. The child—the heir he had longed for, the future of his line—lay silent, his face peaceful yet empty of life.
The emperor's heart broke in that moment, and he felt a deep, unrelenting rage begin to simmer within him. He clutched his wife's hand, his fingers trembling as he whispered, "Why? Why would the gods allow this?"
A flicker of light appeared in the room, casting long shadows against the walls. He looked up, his grief-stricken gaze meeting a sight that left him cold. Before him stood a figure of light, ethereal and commanding. Bathala, the supreme god, had appeared.
"Bathala…" The emperor's voice shook with both reverence and anger. "Why did you not protect them? I have been loyal to you. I have given everything for the gods."
Bathala's expression was stern, his eyes cold as he looked down upon the grieving man.
"You grew too proud, Valenor," Bathala said, his voice as deep as thunder. "In your victories, the people have begun to worship you as if you were one of us. Their faith has shifted, and in doing so, you have taken from us what is rightfully ours."
The emperor felt a surge of fury. "You think I asked for their worship? Everything I have done, I did in your names, to honor you! My people saw the blessings you granted me, and they believed."
"Your intentions matter not," another voice spoke, softer but laced with scorn. It was Mayari, goddess of the moon, her form shimmering beside Bathala. "The people now look to you in place of the gods. You have stolen their faith."
His mind whirled, grief and rage blurring his vision. "I asked for nothing more than peace—for my people, for my family. And this is how you repay me?"
A third voice echoed in the chamber, harsh and unforgiving. Apolaki, the god of war and the sun, materialized beside Bathala and Mayari. "You forget your place, Valenor. The gods do not share their power."
"You think I would claim your power?" he spat, his voice trembling with anger. "You gifted me strength in battle, but I wielded it for you. I never desired their worship—only their safety."
Bathala's eyes narrowed. "And yet, the people raise temples in your name. They call to you in their prayers, and your name has spread beyond your lands. You may have conquered Maharlica, but it is the gods who own the souls of its people."
Valenor felt his fury harden into something colder, darker. "So this is your justice? To take my wife, my child—"
"To remind you of your mortality," Bathala interrupted, his voice cutting through the emperor's words like a blade. "You may rule as their emperor, but you are still a man."
The emperor rose to his feet, his fists clenched. "Then I no longer serve gods who would strike down the innocent for crimes they never committed."
The gods exchanged glances, their forms flickering like shadows in the candlelight.
"Careful, Valenor," warned Mayari, her voice as soft as a whisper but sharp as steel. "Defiance has cost mortals more than you could imagine."
The emperor's gaze was unyielding. "I was your most faithful servant. I gave you everything. And tonight, you have taken everything from me."
Apolaki's laughter echoed, harsh and unfeeling. "Such is the way of men—to believe their sacrifices make them deserving of favor."
Bathala raised a hand, silencing Apolaki. He looked at the emperor with something like pity, though it held no warmth. "Remember this night, Valenor Gaius Maharlica. Remember what pride and defiance have cost you."
With that, the gods vanished, leaving only the dim candlelight and the silence of the chamber. The emperor stood alone, the weight of their words pressing down on him. He looked down at his wife and child, his vision blurring with grief.
He reached out, gently brushing his fingers across his child's tiny hand, then placed his other hand over his wife's heart. She had been his strength, his anchor, the only one who had seen past his titles and power. And now, she was gone.
As he knelt beside them, he felt a dark resolve settle within him. He would no longer be the servant of gods who had shown no mercy. He would uncover the truth behind their betrayal, find out why they had taken his family, he would bring them to justice—even if it meant defying the heavens themselves.
Rising to his feet, he looked up at the mural on the ceiling, his jaw set in a grim line. The gods had made him an emperor, a conqueror, but tonight, they had made him something far more dangerous: a man with nothing left to lose.
"Bathala, Mayari, Apolaki," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "You will regret the day you crossed me."
With that vow, he turned from his fallen family and left the chamber, his heart hardened and his path set. The gods had taken all that mattered to him, but they would pay dearly for it. He would not rest until they answered for their betrayal—and until every hidden truth was brought to light.