Victoria sat in her spacious study, bathed in the soft light of lamps suspended on black gold chains. The walls, lined with crimson tapestries depicting battles, great kings, and ancient symbols of Demonia, seemed to absorb her every word. A light autumn wind raged outside the windows, playing with the leaves of the royal palace gardens. The queen sorted through sheets of paper - each engraved with the name of one of the influential nobles of the capital.
Morgana Scarlett stood before her, in full battle gear. Her dark scarlet cloak hung to the floor, and her eyes, burning with uncompromising faith in her queen, carefully watched Victoria's every move.
"Are you sure this is the right move, Your Majesty?" Morgana asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Morgana, each of these people is guilty of sins against Demonia. They either corrupted the people themselves, or tolerated those who did. They believed that their position was above the law. Today, that opinion will change, - Victoria answered.
She carefully signed the last invitation from the stack, dipping her quill into the inkwell. Then she put a small seal on the paper with the Demonia crest - a bloody crescent pierced by a dagger.
- But they do not expect anything like this. The word "banquet" for them is like music in the background of their gray life. They will think that this is an invitation to another evening of entertainment, wine and vanity, and not their own downfall, - the queen added with a slight smile.
Morgana nodded.
- Then I will arrange the Ephernites in the hall. They must be ready to shackle anyone who tries to break free.
Victoria stopped, her gaze became stern, almost icy.
- Not a single chance of escape. We are not just judging them. We are teaching a lesson to the entire people. Demonia must see that there is no room for betrayal or weakness. Each of them will be an example to the others.
Morgana only nodded silently and turned away, heading for the exit, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
Alone, Victoria glanced at the list. Her gaze stopped on each name.
- Cassar Elton, the treasurer who bribed ministers and robbed the treasury. Mirelle Townsend, the baroness for whom people were just goods. Horace Belwood, whose greed ruined more than one battle. Lendrick Hold, the commander who traded honor for luxury. Genth Ettleirge, the smuggler who sold the souls of the people for pitiful crumbs.
Her voice grew quieter, but her eyes filled with determination.
- Today, they will answer for everything.
Invitations began to circulate around the city. Messengers in black robes carried envelopes sealed with red sealing wax. Each recipient felt as if they had been singled out in a special way.
A small group of aristocrats had gathered in the palace of Baron Morian Karstel. Morian, a tall man with thick chestnut hair, examined the invitation with interest.
"What do you say, gentlemen? A banquet from the queen. This is unexpected, given recent events," he said, handing the envelope to Lady Astris Vallen, who was sitting next to him.
Astris, a refined woman with silver hair, took the letter and opened it with a dagger with a ruby decoration.
"Perhaps we underestimated the queen. After all the rumors about her harshness and... innovations, such a move seems like an attempt to regain the favor of the nobility," she said, glancing at the text.
"Or perhaps it's an attempt to distract us," put in Count Enteric Sandrel, an elderly man with deep wrinkles and a cold gaze. "The crown must show its power. This 'banquet' may be more interesting than it seems."
Astris put the letter down and looked thoughtfully at her interlocutors.
"I wonder who else got an invitation?"
"Everyone, I think. This is a chance for the queen to assert herself as a leader, not just an heir clinging to power," Morian chuckled.
"Or a chance for us to watch her make mistakes," Enteric raised his glass of wine. "Either way, this evening is worth attending."
At this time, Victoria continued to discuss the details with the high judge and the priestess.
"Amalia Wire, my devoted priestess." "We both know that the time for words is long past," Victoria began, addressing a slender woman in black robes with golden runes scattered across the fabric like stars in the night sky. Her bright eyes, the color of molten gold, seemed to penetrate the very soul.
"The time for words always ends when the time for truth comes," Amalia replied. "But remember, Your Majesty: the truth is seldom convenient."
The judge, Salistar Fennell, a tall man with gray hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, studied the list of accused. His sharp features and dark robes with the silver crest of the court marked him out as a man accustomed to deciding fates.
"Your Majesty, as a judge, I must ask. Are you sure we can prove all their crimes? The law must be unwavering."
Victoria looked at him, her eyes shining with determination.
— Judge, this time the law will not only be unwavering, but also merciless. Every crime they commit is recorded in the books, every step against the people has left a mark. Today we will show that no one is above the law.
Amalia smiled slightly and whispered:
— The Archangels have already pronounced their sentence. All that remains is to pronounce it.
Victoria rose from her seat, her robe flowing majestically behind her.
— Then we will begin. Today Demonia will learn that its queen is ready to do anything to protect her people. Even if it means drowning the crown in blood.
The hall was decorated in a dark splendor reminiscent of Demonia's former glory days. The ceiling rose high, disappearing into the shadows, where ominous candelabra scattered crimson reflections. Tapestries depicting the trinity of archangels hung along the walls, their dark figures watching over the proceedings like judges from another world.
The nobles of the capital, dressed in their finest robes, filled the hall. But instead of the enchanting melodies of the lute or the smell of delicious dishes, they were met with a tense silence. The golden chairs were empty, and instead, the edges of the hall were lined with the grim figures of the Ephernites, elite knights in black armor with scarlet engravings.
The doors of the hall slammed shut with a dull echo, and the nobles visibly tensed. Eight figures stood on a dais surrounded by candles. They were shackled, their heads were down, and their clothes, once rich, were now torn and dirty.
Loud footsteps were heard above the hall. Three figures walked out onto the balcony overlooking the assembly. Victoria stood in the center, her crimson velvet robe falling down, her eyes shining with cold determination. To her left was Salistar Fennell, dressed in the black robes of a judge, his gavel gleaming in his hands. To her right stood Amalia Wire, the high priestess, her golden eyes glittering in the candlelight.
"Silence," Victoria's voice rang out across the room, causing everyone to freeze instantly. "We are gathered here today not for a feast, but for judgment. These eight figures are symbols of what corrupts our nation from within. They represent the sins that poison our society. Listen and remember, for this is a lesson for each of you."
Victoria nodded to Amalia. She stepped forward, raising her hands as if to bless the room.
"Listen to the word of the archangels. For these sins are not simply your weaknesses, but weapons that tear the world apart. Let the names of the sinners be burned into your hearts as a reminder of what should not be." Amalia raised her hand, pointing to the first defendant, Lord Cassar Elton.
— Avarice, personified in this man. A treasurer who stole from the people to enrich himself, starving the army of supplies and crippling the country's economy. Archangel Athariel whispers, "The miser denies the future for the sake of his present." His greed left children without bread and soldiers without weapons.
Her voice grew more sinister as she pointed to Baroness Mirelle Townsend.
— Slavery, personified in the Baroness, whose pockets were filled with gold won through blood and suffering. Morinfael, Archangel of Chaos, whispers, "He who makes another a slave becomes a slave to his own darkness." Her sin destroyed human dignity and made life hell for many.
Next was Count Horace Belwood.
— Vanity that blinded Count Belwood, driving his warriors to die for his own glory. Entropiel, Archangel of the End, warns, "Vanity makes a man weak, for it blinds him to reality." It has cost us not only land, but thousands of lives.
Her fingers pointed at Sir Lendrick Hold.
— Wrath that destroyed this man. His rage, uncontrollable and destructive, turned his garrison into an instrument of terror. Athariel whispers, "Wrath is a flame that consumes itself." His cruelty left only ruin in his wake.
Next was Genth Attlerge.
— Deception. A smuggler whose lies have destroyed trust in society. Morinfael warns, "He who deceives opens the door to Chaos." His dark dealings have brought forbidden artefacts into the land and destroyed order.
Lord Vincent Estraine has caught her attention.
— Betrayal, embodied in the man who sold weapons to our enemies. Entropiel whispers, "A traitor destroys not only another's faith, but his own soul." His sin has weakened us in the face of war.
Baroness Marissa Neirin was barely able to stand.
— Flattery, which defiled the Baroness. She wove a web of words to survive, but with every step she took, we were weakened. Athariel warns, "Flattery destroys the foundation of any alliance." Her words have poisoned our relationships with our allies.
And finally, Captain Gaylard Stormfell.
— Greed. His soul, crippled by greed, served the smuggling for which he sold his ideals. Morinfael whispers: "Greed is a poison that kills from within." His actions have devastated our borders.
Every word of the priestess was like a dagger piercing the hearts of those gathered. Victoria watched their faces: some were white with fear, others tried to hide their contempt.
"You see them," Victoria finally said. "But look at yourselves. Who among you can say with certainty that you have not done something similar? Each of you swears to serve the Demonia, but who among you is truly ready to sacrifice yourself for the country? Today they will be judged. Tomorrow, perhaps, it will be you.
The queen's voice was a clap of thunder, from which even the walls trembled.
"Salistar, begin the trial."
The High Justice stepped forward, raising his hammer.
— Today, under the light of the archangels, we have meted out justice. Let the verdict be pronounced.
The hall froze in tense silence for a moment. A slight rustling could be heard from sighs and the movement of dresses, until one of the nobles, a man of about fifty, stepped forward. His face was pale, but he held himself with dignity, although his hands were trembling traitorously.
— Your Majesty, does not every person have the right to defend themselves? Even the accused, whose sins may not be as obvious as they seem at first glance?
His words rang out loudly, and many heads in the hall turned to look at him. Victoria, standing on the balcony, slowly turned her gaze to the man. Her crimson robe, falling to the floor, seemed like a living shadow, increasing her menacing presence with each passing moment.
The demonic blade on her belt seemed to whisper softly, raising a dull anger in her soul. She took a step forward, her eyes flashing.
"Really? Sinners who defiled the land of Demonia with their own hands dare to speak of rights? Those who betrayed their country for gold and power have no right to anything but justice."
Her voice was as icy as the wind from the mountain peaks of the Winter Alliance. The crowd froze, and the man himself took a step back, embarrassed. However, the silence was broken once again by Amalia Wire.
"Your Majesty," she said softly, her voice like warm light breaking through storm clouds. "Everyone should have a chance to justify themselves, if only to finally show their lies. Let the accused speak. But I warn you, nobles: if any of you help these sinners, you risk becoming the next in line. We will not allow the conspirators to continue to poison our country."
Her golden eyes pierced everyone present, and the room filled with tension once more.
Salistar stepped forward, his face as impassive as a granite statue.
"Let us begin. Accused One: Lord Cassar Elton."
Cassar stepped forward, his face, once plump and contented, now gray, his gaze wandering, as if searching for something to grab onto.
"I... I am innocent! Everything I did was to strengthen the economy of Demonia!" The gold I... temporarily borrowed was to be used to purchase grain for the provinces! It was a measure of necessity, not greed!
Salistar looked down at the papers laid out before him.
"Grain purchase, you say? It is interesting that according to our records, you purchased four estates in the Winter Alliance during the same years that you "temporarily borrowed" the treasury's money. You claim that this is a coincidence?"
Kassar turned even paler, his lips trembling.
"It... it was an investment. For the country!"
Victoria could not help herself. Her voice, cold and sharp, fell upon Kassar.
"An investment that was never returned? Or an investment that you considered your own? Lord Kassar, you are not only stingy, but also stupid. Your lies and weakness have defiled the very concept of honor.
Kassar fell to his knees, stammering, but no one listened to him. Salistar continued.
— The next defendant: Baroness Mirelle Townsend.
The Baroness, a tall woman with silver hair, stood up straight, but there was panic in her eyes.
— I was merely following the old customs! Slavery is an ancient tradition, and my lands need workers! Without it, our fields will remain empty, and our families will starve!
Amalia stepped forward, her voice soft but steely.
— Tradition, you say? Archangel Athariel said, "A tradition founded on suffering does not lead to light, but only deepens the darkness." Your actions have ruined hundreds of lives. Is that not your sin, Baroness?
Mirel tried to object, but her voice was lost in the loud whispers of the hall.
The trial continued, each of the accused trying to justify themselves.
- Count Belwood, - Salistar began, - you sent soldiers to senseless battles to glorify your name. Your talk about strengthening the country is just a cover for vanity. What do you say in your defense?
- I... I was thinking about the greatness of Demonia! About the glory that we deserve! This was a war for our honor!
Victoria smiled, but there was more cold in her smile than in the winter wind.
"Soldiers do not need your glory, Count. They need a home, a family, a life. You left them without all of this for the sake of your own ego. This is your sin, and you cannot wash it away."
One by one, the accused tried to justify themselves. Every argument, every phrase was shattered by Salistar's cold logic and Victoria's sharp comments.
But Amalia imposed the greatest burden on the room. She ended each defense of the accused with a quote from the archangels or ancient commandments that sounded like a curse.
When the last accused fell silent, Judge Salistar raised his hammer, his voice sounding like a clap of thunder.
"The verdict will be announced tomorrow, but let everyone here remember that the sins of these people are wounds on the body of Demonia. And we will not allow these wounds to remain unhealed.
Victoria stood up, her gaze sweeping the room.
"Those who think they can escape justice are mistaken. Your time has not yet come, but it is near. If you consider yourself innocent, prove it with your deeds. Otherwise, the same fate awaits you as these eight."
With these words, she left the balcony, leaving behind an ominous silence.
In the gathering twilight, Dreydus's headquarters was shrouded in oppressive silence, broken only by the sound of footsteps and the occasional clang of weapons. In the softly lit room, the Winter Alliance soldiers who had arrived in Demonia had gathered. Their commander, a middle-aged man with sharp features and eyes reminiscent of frozen ice, stood in front of a map, listening attentively to Dreydus's plans. On the map, decorated with gold inserts, the key points of the city were marked with scarlet lines.
The leader of the squad, Lord Haven Krayven, was a man whose reputation preceded him. The soldiers of the Winter Alliance called him "Ice Blade" for his impeccable tactics and coolness in battle. His armor shimmered in the reflection of the setting sun, and in his baldric rested a sword that held deadly power.
"Master Dreydus," Krayven began, his voice even but challenging. "Your plans are grand, but is 250 fighters not too bold to fight the Ephernites? They say Morgana Scarlett alone is worth an entire army. Even your plan has holes. Who will tend to her company while you pursue the queen?"
Dreydus, standing by the high window, leaned back in the carved dark oak chair. His gaze darted out to the flickering lights of Shadaria Veila, as if he had seen it burning before. He smirked, the corners of his lips twitching, radiating a confidence bordering on disdain.
"Lord Kraven, your men are not here to debate probabilities, but to follow orders," he began, his voice like the swish of a sharp blade. Then, softening his tone, he added, "But you are right. One force, no matter how skilled, cannot break the Ephernites. And yet… I do not rely on you alone. You are not the only ones who wish to see this new power fall."
Kraven frowned, his expression growing even more stern.
"Who else is in on your plan? Don't the nobles support the queen? It is her 'revolutionary' reforms that fill their coffers."
- They support her only as long as she does not threaten their personal wealth and positions. But Victoria has already crossed that line, and now these "loyal" nobles are sharpening their blades, preparing for their own war. They will create chaos by starting their battles against the royal guard, and you, Lord Craven, will strike where it is most critical. At the moment when the army of the queen and the troops of the rebels exhaust each other, we will strike the decisive blow.
Dreydus's words hung in the air like a harbinger of a storm. He stood up, turned to the table and traced a finger along a line on the map connecting Victoria's palace with key areas of the city.
- This is precisely our advantage, Lord Craven. While they are busy with internal squabbles, you will destroy the Ephernites, and I will personally take the head of this queen. When Demonia falls, only its shadow will remain, from which we will rebuild a new state - strong, ruthless, with no room for weakness.
A slight murmur passed through the ranks of soldiers, but it was quickly suppressed by Kraven's cold gaze.
- Are you sure that your "net" of aristocrats will not break prematurely? Will it not turn out that you, too, will fall into the trap of their ambitions?
Dreydus laughed, a low, deep laugh, as if he had heard a ridiculous joke.
- War, Lord Kraven, is a game where there are no clean hands. Their ambitions are my weapon, and I have already directed them in the right direction. Why do you think I eliminated Astaron? That was the first step. And the second... the second is the blade that our dear queen now holds. She thinks that the weapon obeys her, but in fact it obeys only one goal: destruction. It will sow chaos among her allies and in her mind.
He turned to Krayven, his eyes burning with the fire of madness and determination.
"Do not worry, my icy friend. I have thought of everything. We will take the city, we will take her head, and then the entire throne. The demonia will become a symbol of strength, not weakness. And this will happen with your help."
Krayven, despite his inner doubts, only nodded slightly.
"Very well, Master Dreydus. We will do our job. But if you have underestimated the enemy, I will not lose my people to your ambition. We will have only one chance."
"We do not need more," Dreydus replied.
Dreydus gave his final orders, telling Krayven where to direct his men, and returned to his chambers, where his trusted adviser was waiting for him. Soon another man entered the room, dressed in a modest but elegant cloak. It was a representative of one of the noble families that supported the rebellion.
"Everything is ready, my lord," he said with a slight bow. "The family troops are ready to march at your signal."
"Perfect. Let their bloodshed begin at the exact moment Victoria sends her army against me. Make sure the chaos is total."
The representative bowed and left. Dreydus stood before the mirror, his eyes looking at his own reflection, but he did not see himself.
"The Queen thinks she controls fate. But I am the one who writes her final chapters. Let this blade be her final mistake."
Outside, the night was consuming the city. Shadaria Veila was preparing to become the arena for the bloodiest spectacle in its history.
Shadaria Veila, the ancient capital of Demonia, was a living, pulsating organism, where every street, every pavement stone whispered of a past full of blood and ambition. Narrow alleys, where shadows always lurked, hid everything from secret meetings of thieves' guilds to the smuggling of magical artifacts. Not only trade flourished in the bustling market squares, but also lies, greed, and fraud.
You couldn't just walk here without being robbed or drawn into someone's plot. Barefoot children with cunning eyes darted between people, deftly pulling out purses. Their pockets, stuffed with stolen goods, represented that Shadaria itself was a great predator, devouring the weak.
The city came alive in a different way at night: the halls of the aristocracy were filled with candlelight and the sounds of music, mixed with the hum of negotiations and secret deals. Wine goblets clinked as lords and baronesses wove their intrigues, creating cunning schemes to enrich themselves even more. At the same time, in the lowlands of the city, where dilapidated houses barely held on to the ground, people desperately sought a way to survive. Some sold bodies, others - secrets. And some simply tried to preserve their honor and dignity, clinging to hope like a last breath of air.
The taverns in the lower quarters, half-immersed in darkness, were the places where the most dangerous deals were made. Mercenaries discussed the price of life, smugglers argued over a share of artifacts, and outlaw mages offered their forbidden services.
But the most significant sight in Shadaria were the luxurious carriages of the aristocracy, passing through the main streets under the protection of armed squads. The townspeople froze, seeing these lords of life, their faces, as if carved from marble, never betrayed emotions. But inside each of them a storm was boiling - greed, ambition and fear of losing their position.
Shadaria Veil was a city of contradictions, where nobility coexisted with scum, and order was a thin shell over chaos. And in this seething mass of people and events, sparks of revolution flared up, capable of turning the capital into an arena of unprecedented bloodshed.
In one of the mansions in the old part of the capital, where centuries-old buildings stood like silent witnesses to intrigue, Marquis Arkin sat at a long table, surrounded by nobles. The room, decorated with heavy curtains and paintings depicting past victories, was illuminated by the soft light of magical lamps. The atmosphere here was electrified - each of those present felt that their fates were balancing on the edge of a blade.
"So, gentlemen," Arkin began, his voice was even and confident, but there was something ominous in it. "We are approaching the moment when actions will become more important than words. Victoria's royal power rests on fear, but its support is weak. Now is the time to strike.
He opened a scroll on which was depicted a map of the city with key points marked.
— The first thing we will do is block the roads. We need to cut off all supply routes to the central district. This will paralyze the garrisons, and the city will begin to starve.
— And how do you propose to do this? — asked Count Orion Darkswain, known for his love of war and insatiable greed. — The Royal Guard can quickly defeat our troops.
— Sabotage, — Arkin answered calmly. — We have bribed enough soldiers to cause chaos in the barracks. Fires, poisoned wells, destruction of military warehouses. These actions will not only weaken the army, but also make the people doubt Victoria's ability to maintain order.
His words caused approving nods.
— What about the paid rallies? — Baroness Marisa Thane intervened. — The people need to see that they are not alone in their discontent.
— It has already been decided, — Arkin stated confidently. — The rallies will begin immediately after the first acts of sabotage. We need the streets filled with shouts. The more chaos, the easier it will be to deliver the decisive blow.
His gaze slid over the faces of those present, studying each one.
— And one more thing, gentlemen. The royal power still has supporters among us. They must be eliminated before the uprising begins. We cannot allow traitors to undermine our efforts.
The assembled were silent, each immersed in his own thoughts. This was the moment when they understood that there was no turning back.
— And the final blow, — Arkin continued, his voice became quieter, but it seemed even more threatening. — When the royal forces are exhausted in battles with us and with each other, we will deliver the final blow to the palace. By then, Victoria will be so weakened that she will have no choice but to surrender.
"And if not?" Count Darkswain asked. "What if she is stronger than we think?"
Arkin smiled, his eyes gleaming coldly.
"Then we will find a way to make her fall. Every ruler has a weakness. Victoria is no exception."
The room filled with approving murmurs, but there was tension in them. The rebellion they were preparing was their only chance for survival. Arkin looked at them and knew that among these people there was no one he could trust. Each of them was willing to sell out the other for their own gain. But that was his strength – he could manipulate their fears and ambitions like puppets.
"Gentlemen," he concluded, rising. "Demonia will change. Either you will be part of that change, or you will disappear along with the old order. The choice is yours.
With that, he left the room, leaving the nobles in a silence filled with uncertainty and apprehension. His face remained unreadable, but inside, Arkin knew that his own game was becoming more and more dangerous. He had to walk a fine line between loyalty to the queen and his own ambitions to ultimately create the Demonia he dreamed of.
Shadaria Veila braced herself for a storm that would change her forever.