MOTHER EMPIRE
CHAPTER ONE: LULLABY OF THE BEGINNING
This is a story of a kingdom that emerged as an empire. People used to say, "Whenever God shows His power, He sends a new heir of the Empire of Antania." This empire ruled over 12 continents, with more than 1,000 great monarchies bowing to the mighty Empress Hira of Antania—daughter of Emperor Arsel and granddaughter of Empress Antania. She was the final authority, the last decision-maker. The empire thrived, its influence spreading like the roots of an ancient tree. But it was not always this way. Many monarchs came and went, but three figures built this empire. Their decisions and words were the unbreakable pillars of Antania, known only to God. These legendary monarchs were: Mother Empire the Founder, Empress Antania the Savior, and Emperor Arsel the Conqueror.
The true history of Antania began not with its glory but with Empress Antania's revenge. She changed the destiny of a forgotten land. During her reign, people simply called it the Empire, but after her death, it became the Empire of Antania. The people gave it that name—Antania, the savior of her people, but only Maria, her real name, knew the truth: it was a story of vengeance. When she was crowned, there were only three left in the royal dynasty: Maria, her son, and her daughter.
It all began when Antania was just a kingdom ruled by the House of Prime Blood, the royal dynasty. After the sudden death of the king, power and the throne fell upon Queen Helga of Silver Blood. Seeing that all dynasties—except for the Houses of Judah and Noah—were secretly plotting revolt, Helga acted swiftly to protect the Prime Blood. She declared her 12-year-old son king, and with the backing of Judah and Noah, the boy ascended, and the 31-year-old widow became the Mother Queen. The houses fell silent, their chance to rebel slipping away with Judah and Noah's loyalty to the new king. Though he wore the crown, the kingdom was truly ruled by the Mother Queen behind the scenes.
14 Years Later (Location: West Province of the Kingdom)
A 25-year-old man stood at the port, his gaze fixed on the endless ocean. The salty breeze brushed his face as a commander approached, bowing slightly. "My lord, what should we do with them?"
The young man, calm and unflinching, replied, "Cut their throats."
"All of them?" the commander asked, uncertainty flashing in his eyes.
The young man slowly turned his head, his stare cold and resolute. The commander hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, your majesty," he said before walking back.
"Kill all 500 men? Are you sure, your majesty?" the royal adviser whispered, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves.
The king's expression remained unchanged. "I don't want the queen mother to have any trouble in the future."
The commander returned to the city center, where soldiers stood ready, blades glinting in the sun. Rebels and their families huddled, fear etched on every face. The commander's voice rang out, firm and unyielding: "Soldiers! Put knives to the necks of every prisoner."
The soldiers moved in unison, pressing cold steel to flesh. Murmurs of panic swept through the crowd, children clung to their mothers, and the sky seemed to darken as if mourning what was about to unfold.
"Behead them," the commander ordered.
Screams filled the air, mingling with the wet thud of blades. Blood sprayed the cobblestones, turning them slick and dark. A woman's wail rose above the din, piercing the chaos, while the leader of the rebels stood silent, tears streaming down his face. His eyes locked onto the statue of the Mother Empire, towering above the scene—a silent, unmoving witness.
"Save us," he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation. His eyes pleaded with the cold, unfeeling stone. "Save us." A soldier stepped forward, slashing his throat in a swift, brutal motion. The man's blood flowed, staining the statue's feet, a red line tracing its path toward the commander, who watched in silence, the cries of the crowd echoing in his ears.
Location: Imperial Fort, Capital, Kingdom
The Mother Queen sat on the velvet sofa, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon through the grand windows of the palace. She stroked her cat, each movement slow and deliberate, as if weighing the future in her hands.
Mother Queen: (cold and pensive) "When will the king return?"
Maid: (nervously adjusting her posture) "His Majesty is expected in three weeks, Your Grace."
The Mother Queen's eyes narrowed, a hint of impatience flickering in her otherwise calm demeanor.
Mother Queen: (voice heavy with longing and a touch of vulnerability) "I must see the heir before I die. Time is not on my side."
She paused, her fingers tightening on the cat's fur, revealing a rare glimpse of the burden she carried.
Mother Queen: "Fella."
Fella: (hurrying in, bowing respectfully) "Yes, Your Highness."
Mother Queen: (voice commanding, eyes sharp) "Find the pure-blood daughters of kings from each kingdom on the continent. I want their portraits prepared."
Fella hesitated, glancing nervously at the Mother Queen, knowing the implications of this request.
Fella: (cautious but firm) "Your Grace, the dynasties will not take kindly to this. Tradition dictates the king must marry a daughter of one of the three houses."
The Mother Queen's lips curled into a thin smile, cold and unyielding.
Mother Queen: (voice steely, dismissing any objections) "That's not their decision to make. It's mine. They will bend, or they will break. Now, go."
Fella bowed deeply, sensing the finality in her tone, and quickly exited the room. The Mother Queen snapped her fingers, and another maid entered, her steps hesitant, sensing the tension in the air.
Mother Queen: "Any news today?"
Maid: (voice trembling, eyes downcast) "Your Grace, 500 men were executed in the West Province."
The Mother Queen's expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something dark and knowing in her eyes.
Mother Queen: "By whose orders?"
Maid: (hesitating, voice barely above a whisper) "His Majesty, Your Grace."
The Mother Queen leaned back, her gaze piercing as if seeing beyond the present moment.
Mother Queen: "Were they traitors?"
Maid: (shaking her head, swallowing hard) "No, Your Grace… rebels."
A heavy silence filled the room. The Mother Queen's face remained impassive, but her eyes spoke of a cold calculation.
Mother Queen: (softly, almost to herself) "You may leave."
The maid bowed quickly and left. The Mother Queen stared ahead, her fingers slowly petting the cat again, her mind churning with thoughts of power, legacy, and the sacrifices required to keep her family's grip on the throne. She took a deep breath, a hint of resignation laced with a quiet, unshakable resolve. She could see the future unfolding, and she would stop at nothing to secure it
A little way from the capital, there was a village of around 1,000 people. The main occupation of the people was agriculture, in a land of flowers where they harvested happiness. In this village, a 25-year-old girl named Maria was chasing her calf, her laughter ringing out as she ran.
"If you don't stop right now, I'll turn you into stew!" she teased, her voice light and playful, stopping near a small fountain.
"You should settle down, Maria," called a middle-aged woman from a window, her tone filled with gentle chiding.
Maria rolled her eyes, grinning. "Sometimes I think so too. But then I wake up."
The woman chuckled, amused. "If you're serious, I have a boy in my family. I could talk to your grandfather."
Maria laughed, shaking her head. "Thanks, Auntie, but whenever I see you, I remember why I love being single."
The older woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head with mock disapproval. "You cheeky girl."
Maria's calf returned, nibbling on her skirt. She scooped the calf up with a warm smile, whispering softly, "There you are, you little troublemaker."
As she walked away, the aunt muttered with a hint of fondness, "That wild girl."
Maria returned home, her calf trotting happily beside her before darting off to its mother to drink milk. "Grandpa! Grandpa!" she called out, her voice echoing through the modest house as she searched each room.
"In the kitchen, Maria," her grandfather's voice came, warm and comforting.
Maria peeked into the kitchen, where the old man stood over the hearth, stirring something that smelled heavenly. "What are you making, Grandpa?" she asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.
"Roasted chicken, just the way you like it," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the village, they sat down for dinner. Maria closed her eyes, clasped her hands, and softly prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for this food and for keeping us safe."
Her grandfather watched her with a fond smile, his heart swelling with pride. He had raised her with love, and moments like these reminded him of how special she was.
Maria opened her eyes, catching the look on his face. "Why are you smiling like that, Grandpa?" she asked, playfully narrowing her eyes.
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, it's nothing. Just thinking how proud your parents would be if they could see the wonderful young woman you've become."
Maria's smile faltered, and a shadow passed over her eyes. "Grandpa, please, don't talk about them. They chose their path and left us behind. I'm not going anywhere—I'm staying right here with you."
A heavy silence settled for a moment, thick with unspoken emotions. Her grandfather nodded, knowing better than to push further. They began to eat, and the warmth of the roasted chicken filled the room. Despite the lingering sadness in Maria's heart, the joy of their shared meal and the strength of their bond were unmistakable. Laughter soon replaced the tension, and their little home felt like a sanctuary—safe, filled with love, and far removed from the troubles of the outside world.
It all seemed perfect, but as life often reminds us, good things are fleeting. As the saying goes, "God gives sorrow at wholesale rates, but happiness comes at a discount." One fateful day, the king happened to be passing near Maria's village, and on a whim, he decided to visit.
Maria was in a flower field just outside the village, lying on the soft earth with her aunt, niece, and nephew. The sky was a canvas of drifting clouds, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms. It was a moment of pure, unguarded joy—a rare escape from the world beyond. One of her little nieces, eyes bright with curiosity, crawled over and asked, "Maria, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Maria smiled, gazing up at the shifting clouds. "Hmm... I want to be a farmer," she said thoughtfully.
"A farmer? Why a farmer?" the girl asked, her head tilted with innocent bewilderment.
"Because I want to harvest happiness and sell joy," Maria replied, her voice light and dreamy, as if her simple wish held all the answers in the world.
"Ohhh, me too! I want to help you!" the little girl squealed, clapping her hands with excitement.
Maria laughed, scooping the girl into her arms. "Alright, you little rabbit. We'll grow fields of laughter together." They rolled in the grass, tickling each other, their laughter echoing under the open sky. It was a beautiful, carefree moment that Maria would forever cherish.
But the future has a way of arriving unannounced. Unbeknownst to Maria, the path of her destiny was about to shift. While she laughed and played in the flower field, a twist of fate was drawing near—one that would forever change her world
Stay with Aunt; I'll be back in a few moments," Maria said, ruffling her niece's hair before heading off to buy something to eat. Her grandfather was also at the village market, deep in conversation with other elders about preparations for the monsoon season. Maria spotted him but continued toward the sweet shop, her mind drifting as she eyed the colorful confections.
The calm was shattered by the sound of a thousand horsemen thundering toward the market. Dust clouds rose as the villagers turned to watch, anxiety tightening their chests. The riders stopped abruptly, forming a formidable line, and one of them rode forward with an air of arrogance. "Bow down! The king is here!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the marketplace.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. "The king… The king…" they whispered in shock and fear. Faces turned pale, and knees hit the dirt as everyone knelt, lowering their heads in trembling obedience.
The king, clad in dark armor and exuding an aura of unchallengeable power, leaned toward his royal adviser and spoke with cold indifference, "My soldiers are tired. Tell these villagers to send all the women to serve my men for three nights."
The adviser nodded obediently. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied, turning to the crowd with a disdainful glare. "All women are ordered to serve in the military camp for three nights!" he announced, his voice sharp and merciless.
Maria's heart pounded as the words sank in, her blood running cold. She felt frozen, trapped between disbelief and horror. Suddenly, her grandfather stepped forward, his voice quivering yet resolute. "Your Majesty, I am the head of this village. I beg you, please… show mercy. Our women are not—"
The king's eyes narrowed dangerously, and his lip curled in disdain. "How dare you question my command, old man?" The adviser's eyes flashed with anger as he barked, "Guards, teach this insolent fool a lesson. Beat him until he knows his place!"
Two guards surged forward, dragging Maria's grandfather to the ground. The sound of fists striking flesh echoed through the market, each blow met with a sickening thud. Maria gasped, her heart wrenching as she watched in helpless terror. Tears stung her eyes as her grandfather's pained groans filled the air, each one a dagger to her soul.
"Stop! Please, stop!" Maria cried, pushing through the crowd, but no one dared to intervene. The villagers averted their eyes, powerless and paralyzed by fear. The king glanced briefly at the scene, utterly indifferent, before turning away as if nothing more than an inconvenience was being handled.
Maria rushed to her grandfather, her hands trembling as she cradled his bruised face. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his eyes were swollen with pain. Fury welled up in Maria's chest, hot and searing. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away, her rage boiling over.
"Get lost, you bitch ," a guard snarled, raising his hand to strike the old man again.
Without hesitation, Maria snatched a rusted nail she used to tie her cow and drove it into the guard's leg. The man howled in pain, staggering back. Another guard lunged, sword half-drawn, but Maria was quicker. She yanked the nail free and thrust it into his neck. The first guard, still reeling, made a move, but Maria turned and plunged the nail deep into his skull.
The king watched, stunned, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of admiration and desire. He raised a hand, halting his guards, who had drawn their weapons, ready to kill.
"Stop!" the king commanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the chaos. He stared at Maria, intrigued. "What's your name, girl?"
Maria's chest heaved, her eyes blazing with defiance. "Maria. Maria Blood Sword," she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The king's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Maria Blood Sword… fitting. A warrior's blood runs through you. No wonder you killed them so easily." His tone shifted, dripping with a cold, predatory edge. "I have a proposition for you. Spend a night with me, and I will spare your village."
Maria froze, revulsion twisting her insides. She glanced at her grandfather, who was struggling to sit up, his face contorted in agony. Around her, she saw the terrified faces of the villagers, their eyes begging her to accept, to save them from a fate worse than death.
Maria's heart pounded in her chest, torn between rage and the crushing weight of responsibility. She wanted to scream, to refuse, but the sight of her people, her family, held her back. Her voice cracked as she finally spoke, each word like a blade cutting her soul. "If that's what it takes… then I will do it."
The king's smile widened, satisfied. "Good choice. For tonight, you belong to me."
Maria looked away, unable to bear the smug look on his face. The villagers' silent gratitude felt like a knife in her heart. She knew that this night would haunt her forever.
Just as the king reached for her, his adviser hurried forward, his face pale with concern.
Adviser: (stepping forward, urgently) "Your Majesty, you cannot be intimate with her."
King: (frowning, irritated) "Why not?"
Adviser: (carefully choosing his words) "According to royal law, if a king or any member of the royal family lies with someone of lower blood, they are stripped of their royal status and forever branded a bastard."
King: (pausing, his expression darkening) "Very well... then I will marry her."
Adviser: (stunned, struggling to maintain composure) "Your Grace, the laws forbid marrying someone of lower blood. She is unfit for a royal union."
King: (growing impatient) "Then what must I do to make her fit? What must be done for me to marry her?"
Adviser: (hesitating, knowing the gravity of his words) "To marry her, she must be the last of her kind—no family, no village. Only then can she be considered a part of the higher bloodlines."
King: (coldly, decisively) "So be it. Soldiers, burn everything—homes, animals, people. Leave nothing but ashes... except her."
As the king's command echoed through the air, the soldiers moved with ruthless efficiency, grabbing villagers by the hair, yanking children from their mothers' arms, and dragging terrified animals away. The once lively marketplace was now filled with the deafening chorus of screams and cries. Those who dared to resist were silenced with swift, brutal deaths, their bodies crumpling to the ground as blood stained the earth.
Two guards seized Maria, their grip ironclad, while another violently hurled her grandfather into the crowd. Maria's heart shattered as she watched him fall, his frail body hitting the dirt with a sickening thud. Desperation clawed at her throat as she screamed, her voice raw and broken. "No, please! I'll give you anything ,everything !Your Grace, please, spare them!" Tears streamed down her face, her pleas piercing the chaos like a desperate prayer. But the king watched with cold, unfeeling eyes, his indifference more painful than any weapon.
Soldiers doused the villagers in oil, the acrid scent of it burning Maria's senses. Mothers clutched their children close, fathers shielded their daughters, and loved ones held each other tight, knowing these were their final moments together. It was a sight of unspoken goodbyes, their trembling embraces the last act of defiance in a world turned cruel.
With a heartless flick of his wrist, a soldier hurled a burning torch into the center of the crowd. Flames erupted instantly, roaring to life as they devoured everything in their path. The fire spread like a beast unleashed, its searing heat swallowing the villagers in an agonizing embrace. Screams of pain ripped through the air, echoing into the sky as if the heavens themselves were crying out in grief. Flesh sizzled, and the thick smoke rose, choking the sun and darkening the world.
Maria's voice broke as she shrieked, "No! Please, God, no!" She thrashed against the guards' hold, her entire body straining toward the flames, toward the people she loved. But they held her back, their strength unyielding, and she could only watch as her home turned into a nightmare. Her tears, once warm and wet, felt like burning coals against her cheeks.
The villagers' final cries lingered in the air—a mother's desperate wail for her son, a father's last whispered prayer. Each scream was a knife in Maria's heart, each tear a reminder of her helplessness. The fire was relentless, consuming not just bodies but memories, hopes, and dreams.
Maria's knees buckled as she watched her grandfather's silhouette dissolve into the inferno, his hand reaching out as if trying to touch her one last time. The world seemed to slow, every second stretching into an eternity of pain. The sky bled red, the earth trembled beneath the weight of so much sorrow, and the air was heavy with the smell of burning flesh.
In that moment, something inside Maria snapped. Her screams died on her lips, and her tears stopped falling. The fire that raged around her seemed to seep into her very soul, turning her grief into a seething, unquenchable rage. The sky screamed with her, the land wept, and the air carried the haunting echoes of her loss.
The village, once a haven of peace and laughter, had become a graveyard. And in the heart of the inferno, Maria stood alone, her eyes blazing with the promise of vengeance.