The world spun on, indifferent to my unrest.
The book lay open before me, its faded pages a labyrinth of history. By the flickering light of a single candle, I traced the outlines of maps and read accounts written in ink that had long since begun to fade.
The air of the inn room was stale, but my focus never wavered. Every word I consumed came with a dagger's edge, carving through my thoughts.
The book recounted the fall with brutal efficiency. My empire, once a bastion of power and order, had fractured. Betrayed from within, it crumbled under the weight of infighting and external pressures.
Three distinct factions emerged from the ruins: The Eastern dominion, flourishing under a military oligarchy; The western consortium, a hub of trade and political intrigue; and The bracklands, the decaying remnants of what was once my heartland, now a haven for bandits, warlords, and despair.
One hundred fifty years.
That's how long it had been. My empire—my legacy—wasn't just fractured. It was gutted, divided into pieces by lesser men who crawled from the ashes of my fall like vultures.
Of those three pieces, two had grown into independent provinces, boasting their own banners and kings. The third, the heart of my empire, was nothing more than a husk, rotting away beneath the weight of its own failures.
Haverstead.
This backwater town was nestled in that decaying husk. Once, this region had been the breadbasket of my empire, the lifeblood of an army feared across continents. Now, it was under the authority of a baron—who answered to a duke—who was no doubt licking the boots of a kingdom that had sprung up where my throne once stood.
I closed the book, the leather cover snapping shut with a satisfying finality. The knowledge burned in my chest, equal parts fury and opportunity. My betrayers were long gone, but their descendants—those who fed off the scraps of my empire—still thrived.
They would pay for that arrogance.
But still yet, I needed time to process all these and somehow keep myself up to date.
The candle sputtered, casting long shadows against the walls. For the first time in hours, I leaned back in my chair, letting the exhaustion creep in. I rubbed my temples, contemplating the next move. Vengeance was a slow game, and I wasn't about to squander my second chance rushing in blind.
A soft knock at the door snapped me from my thoughts. Myra stepped in, her presence a welcome break from the weight of history pressing on my shoulders. She said nothing, but her sharp gaze took in the state of the room—the scattered papers, the empty mug, the untouched bed.
"They're awake," she said simply.
Daytime had crept silently on me with little notice.
I rose, stretching muscles stiff from hours of stillness. "And you're here to drag me out of my own head?"
She smirked. "Someone has to, my Lord. Besides, the others are restless. You should address them before they start plotting their own ideas."
"It would be the first time," I muttered, grabbing the book. As I followed her downstairs, my mind whirred with possibilities.
_____
The common room of the inn was modest but lively. Myra had done well to rouse the others without drawing too much attention. Faco leaned against a corner wall, his usual stoic demeanor intact, while Lira sat at a table near the window, picking at the remnants of breakfast.
"We have work to do," I said, taking a seat.
Faco tilted his head. "Already? We haven't even gotten a proper look at the town....L-lord sovereign."
"Then we'll start there." I gestured toward the door. "Haverstead is small enough to cover in a few hours. The sooner we understand its structure and the people who run it, the better positioned we'll be for what's coming."
"And what is coming, My Lord?" Lira asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"Conflict," I said. "A place like this doesn't survive without stepping on someone's toes. Bandits, rival factions, corrupt leaders—it's all here. The question is how we use it to our advantage."
They nodded, understanding the unspoken command. We split up, each tasked with a different area of the town. Myra and Lira would gather rumors among the market stalls, while Faco would observe the movements around the chief's outpost on the far side of town.
I, meanwhile, took to the back alleys and quieter corners, where people spoke freely when they thought no one important was listening.
Haverstead was a patchwork of ambition and decay. The main street bustled with merchants hawking wares, but a closer look revealed cracks in the foundation.
The guards patrolling the streets were poorly equipped, their mismatched armor a testament to neglect. The townsfolk whispered about rising taxes, dwindling food supplies, and bandits who had grown bolder with each passing week.
I spoke to a butcher who grumbled about how the chief had taken his best livestock to appease the baron's latest demands. A blacksmith muttered about the duke's soldiers requisitioning weapons without payment. Everywhere I turned, I found discontent simmering just beneath the surface.
By the time we regrouped at the inn, the picture was clear. This town was a powder keg, and it wouldn't take much to light the fuse.
Night fell, and with it came the first signs of trouble. From the window of the inn, I spotted movement on the outskirts of town—shadowy figures slipping through the tree line.
"Bandits, My lord" Myra murmured, joining me at the window.
I nodded. "They've been testing the town's defenses for weeks, but tonight feels different. This isn't a raid—it's an invasion."
"Should we intervene?" she asked.
I watched as the bandits moved closer, their numbers growing. The guards at the gates seemed unaware of the impending threat, their torches casting feeble light against the darkness.
"Not yet," I said. "Let them show their hand. The more desperate this town becomes, the more leverage we'll have."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before she nodded. "You're playing a dangerous game, My lord."
"It's the only game worth playing," I replied, my voice steady.
As the bandits closed in, I leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. Tonight would be the first of many tests, not just for the town, but for me. My empire was gone, but the embers of its legacy still burned. And from those embers, I would forge something new— something greater.
For now, I watched, waiting for the perfect moment to make my move.