The throne room sat in devastation, a shadow of its past magnificence. Once decorated with banners symbolizing triumph and justice, the chamber now resonated with the groans of its shattered columns and the murmurs of invisible forces. Moonlight poured through jagged cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the focal point of the room—a jagged, obsidian sword resting on the skeletal remains of a throne. The Soul Sword.
A lone figure lurched through the shattered doorway, his steps echoing on the cracked marble floor. Emperor Caldris, once celebrated as the mightiest warrior of his era, was now a mere shadow of a man. His regal garments hung intatters on his emaciated frame, and his formerly sharp eyes were clouded with fear and regret.
He advanced toward the throne, his trembling hand gripping a worn journal. The words within were smudged and frantic, marked by desperate attempts to uncover the truth he had come too realize too late. His voice, hoarse and broken, resonated throughout the chamber.
" I should have destroyed you....long ago."
The sword glimmered faintly, as if mocking his statement. Caldris paused, memories crashing over him like an overwhelming tidal wave.
The battlefields of his past erupted in his mind's eye—screams, the clash of steel, and his own victory as he seized the Soul Sword from the lifeless grasp of a rival. He had been younger then, reckless, deceived by the illusion of strength. He recalled the way blood had pooled at his feet, the manner in which the bodies of his fallen foes had stacked around him. He had smiled that day.
" This is power, " his younger self had whispered, clutching the hilt of the sword.
" This is what it means to be emperor. "
But power had its cost.
The visions shifted. His empire, his people, his loved ones—all of them gone. The Soul Sword had taken everything from him, stripping away his sanity, causing him to perceive foes where none existed. His own generals had turned against him, and he had Slaughtered them in a blind fury. He had sat alone on the throne, conversing only with the sword in his hands.
He violently shook his head, dispelling the visions. " No more, " he rasped. " No more sacrifices. No more bloodshed. No more emperor. "
Caldris moved towards the throne, grasping the hilt of a rusted warhammer he had brought with him. His hand quivered, not from frailty, but from the immense weight of what he was on the verge of doing.
" I was a fool to believe I could control you, " he murmured, lifting the hammer above his head. " No one should control this power,"
The Soul Sword responded instantly, its black blade igniting with an ethereal silver flame. A low hum filled the air, resonating deep within his chest. The atmosphere turned frigid, and for a brief moment, Caldris felt the burden of countless souls pressing down upon him.
A whisper crept through the air.
" You think you were the first?"
His grip faltered.
" You are nothing but another name in the dark."
" Another emperor swallowed whole. "
" I will not allow you to claim another life! " he shouted, his voice breaking. He brought the hammer down with all his remaining might, targeting the blade's radiant core.
The hammer never made contact.
A blur of movement rushed through the room, and Caldris stumbled back, the hammer falling to the ground. He turned, breathing heavily, as an figure emerged from the shadows.
The intruder wore a mask of black iron, devoid of features except for two narrow eye slits—save for the faintest hint to red at the edges, resembling smoldering embers. Their movements were fluid, nearly inhuman, as they approached with deliberate steps. In their grip, they held a curved blade that shimmered like water in moonlight
" Who are you? " Caldris demanded, his voice shaking. " What's your purpose?"
The figure tilted their head, seemingly amused. They remained silent, but the gleam in their eyes conveyed all he needed to understand.
A predator's stare. A conqueror's appetite.
" You don't understand, he urged, positioning himself between the stranger and the Soul Sword. " This game ....it's a curse.
The sword—"
The figure moved faster than his fading vision could follow. A blade pierced his chest, sliding between his ribs like a whisper.
Caldris staggered backward, gripping the wound, fresh blood oozing through his fingers. " Not....again..."
The masked figure walked past Caldris's collapsing form, their focus entirely on the Soul Sword. They stopped in front of it, hand hovering above the hilt, as if waiting to sense the blade's response.
The sword reacted instantly, its silver flame flaring brighter, casting eerie shadows around the room. The whispers that had tormented Caldris for decades grew louder, merging into a single, chilling voice.
" A new vessel. "
The figure gripped the hilt, and the flames vanished in an instant. The chamber was swallowed by silence.
Caldris, slumped at the base of the throne, lifted his head with effort. Blood dripped from his lips as he gasped out his last words.
" You...don't understand...what you've done..."
The figure turned to him, removing their mask with deliberate slowness. For the first time, the throne room saw their face—sharp, young and confident. Their lips curled into a smile, one that belonged not to a king, but to something far darker.
" Oh, I'm fully aware of what I've done."
The Soul Sword began to glow once again, its blade shimmering with melovolent energy.
The figure raised the sword high, their smile widening.
" Let the game begin."
As the words echoed through the chamber, the room darkened, and a faint, unsettling laughter filled the air—layered and incomplete, as if possessed by multiple voices at once.
The throne room fell silent once more. The Soul Sword was now in the hands of its new master, its dark power ready to be unleashed. Somewhere across the empire, five heirs stirred in their sleep, the mark of the sword glimmering faintly on their skin.
And so , the Empire's Final Game began.
—END OF PROLOGUE—