The moon hung high over Drakmaris, casting a pale glow over the black stone spires of the capital. The city's skyline was jagged and imposing, much like its ruler. Elias von Drakrion had built his empire with an iron grip, but even iron had its weaknesses. The winds of rebellion were stirring, and there was no telling how deep the roots had sunk.
The war room was silent, save for the flickering of the lanterns. Elias stood at the map table, his eyes scanning the territories once more. The southern provinces had grown restless, their lords and barons murmuring about the rising power of House Drathnor. Elias had long suspected that something was brewing beneath the surface, but now it was undeniable. The flames of revolt had been kindled, and they threatened to spread.
Selene stood across the table, her sharp eyes focused on the reports in front of her. Her loyalty to Elias was unwavering, but even she could see that the cracks were beginning to show. The nobles were uneasy. The people were restless. It was only a matter of time before they tested the true extent of Elias's power.
"House Drathnor moves their forces to the southern border," Selene reported, her voice steady. "Mercenaries and a few loyal lords have joined their ranks. They're preparing for something."
Elias's fingers curled around the edge of the table, his jaw clenched. "They will never succeed."
"You know as well as I do, Elias," Selene said, meeting his gaze. "The southern territories are vast. If we move too quickly, we risk overextending ourselves. We need to be strategic."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "We strike fast. We strike hard. We make an example of House Drathnor. They'll learn that defying me is a death sentence."
Selene didn't flinch at his words, though she understood the danger of such an approach. If Elias acted impulsively, the rebellion would grow in strength, not diminish. But she knew better than to challenge him now. He had been crowned in blood, and his grip on Drakmaris was unyielding.
"As you wish," she said softly, stepping back from the table.
Varek, ever the loyal warrior, leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed. He said nothing, but the tension in the air was palpable. The Shadowblades had done their work well in the past, but even they could not defeat an uprising of this scale without the full might of the army.
"Are you sure about this, Elias?" Dorin's voice came from the doorway. The young boy had grown in stature, but the weight of leadership still bore heavily upon him. Elias had seen the boy struggle with the decisions he had made, the lives he had taken. But Dorin had to understand. He had to learn.
Elias turned to face him, his expression cold. "This kingdom does not bend to the whims of rebels and traitors, Dorin. You will learn this soon enough. Every move I make is for the future of Drakmaris. The people must understand that defying me brings only death."
Dorin looked uncertain, his gaze shifting between Elias and the others. "But what of the common folk? The ones who are not part of this rebellion?"
"They will kneel," Elias replied, his voice low. "Or they will fall."
There was a long silence. Dorin's face twisted with indecision, but he said no more. Elias knew that the boy still had much to learn. It would take time to shape him into the ruthless leader he needed to be.
That night, as the moonlight bathed the capital in an eerie glow, the first signs of rebellion came in the form of a bloodied messenger. He stumbled into the palace courtyard, his face pale and his breath ragged.
"Prince Elias," he gasped, falling to his knees before the throne. "Drathnor has... they've taken the southern cities. It's too late. The rebellion has already begun."
Elias stood, his expression unreadable. He had anticipated this moment, but the reality of it still struck like a blade to the chest. The rebellion was not just a threat to his reign—it was a direct challenge to everything he had built.
"Gather the forces," Elias commanded, his voice cold and commanding. "We march at dawn. Prepare the Shadowblades and send word to the northern lords. Drathnor will burn."
Selene stepped forward, her face a mask of calculation. "The people won't stand for it, Elias. They will see the destruction and they will rally behind House Drathnor. If we burn the cities, the rebellion will spread."
Elias's lips curled into a cold smile. "Then we make them regret their rebellion. We will not show mercy. Not to House Drathnor. Not to anyone."
The next day, the army of Drakmaris set out, marching toward the southern territories with all the force Elias could muster. The ground shook beneath the weight of their iron boots, and the banners of Drakmaris fluttered in the wind as they moved forward. Behind them, the city of Drakmaris remained still, a silent witness to the coming storm.
Elias rode at the head of the army, his black cloak billowing behind him like the shadow of death itself. His thoughts were sharp and cold. He would crush House Drathnor, and with it, any hope of rebellion. Drakmaris would not falter. The kingdom would bend the world to its will.
But even as Elias marched toward his destiny, doubts lingered in the back of his mind. He had underestimated the strength of the southern rebels, and now the rebellion was spreading faster than he could control it. Whispers of revolution were beginning to rise from the common folk. They saw the fires of the rebellion and thought that perhaps they could take advantage of the chaos.
The first city to fall was Arlith, a once-thriving trading hub on the southern border. It had been a place of prosperity, a jewel in the crown of Drakmaris's empire. Now, it was a smoldering ruin.
Elias's army had arrived to find the city in flames, its walls breached, and its people in open revolt. House Drathnor's forces were everywhere, and the streets were awash with blood. The people had risen up against their masters, taking to the streets with pitchforks and torches, their eyes burning with the fire of rebellion.
Elias looked down upon the city from the hills above, his gaze cold and calculating. "This ends today," he muttered.
He signaled to Varek, who raised his hand. The Shadowblades descended upon the city like a storm, sweeping through the streets with brutal efficiency. The rebels fought back, but they were no match for the elite assassins. Elias and his forces marched into the heart of the city, where the remnants of House Drathnor's forces awaited.
Lord Drathnor stood at the city's center, his eyes wild with madness. "You think you can destroy us?" he spat. "You think you can quell the rebellion with blood? The people are with us now! They will never kneel to you!"
Elias's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You have already lost, Lord Drathnor."
The battle that followed was swift. Elias's sword moved like lightning, cutting through the chaos with brutal precision. He cut down the leaders of the rebellion one by one, until only Lord Drathnor remained. Elias advanced upon him, his dark blade gleaming in the firelight.
"Drathnor," Elias said, his voice a whisper. "You thought you could defy me. Now you will learn the price of betrayal."
With a swift motion, Elias drove his blade through Drathnor's heart, the life leaving his eyes in an instant.
As the sun set on the burning city of Arlith, Elias stood over the remains of the rebellion. The southern territories had been crushed, but the rebellion was far from over. The whispers of revolution still echoed through the streets, and Elias knew that the fire would not die so easily.
The shadow of Drakmaris had fallen upon the land, but it was only just beginning.
To Be Continued...