The throne room of Nytherra was not a place for mercy.
Tall pillars lined the obsidian chamber, carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with red light. The air was thick with power, heavy with fear. Soldiers in black armor stood like statues, their faces hidden beneath skull-shaped helms.
Before the throne knelt a trembling ambassador from the southern kingdoms. His fine robes were soaked with sweat.
"Y-Your Majesty," he stammered. "We… we beg for mercy. The grain tribute was delayed because of a storm. Please understand—"
From the throne, Zeraphine Cruentis did not speak.
She watched him, eyes glowing like twin coals in the shadows. The crown of dark crystal sat atop her silken black hair, but it was her presence—cold, suffocating, and inhuman—that made even hardened men tremble.
"You ask for mercy," she said at last, voice like ice. "And yet you let my people starve while your coffers overflow?"
"N-No! Never, I swear it—!"
She stood. Her long cloak trailed behind her like a storm cloud as she descended the steps.
With a flick of her fingers, the ambassador's body froze. Magic coiled around him like a serpent.
"Let this be a lesson," she whispered. "The age of forgiveness died with the Hero's betrayal."
She turned away.
Behind her, the man collapsed—alive, but broken.
The guards dragged him out in silence.
As the heavy doors closed, a soft voice spoke beside her.
"You seem more tense than usual today."
It was Lilith Vireya, her personal handmaiden and court witch. With silver-white hair and eyes like moonlight, Lilith was one of the few who dared to speak freely in the Empress's presence.
Zeraphine did not answer at first. She walked to the tall stained-glass window behind her throne, staring out at the blood-red sky.
"The wind carries a name I have not heard in centuries," she murmured.
Lilith tilted her head. "A name… or a memory?"
"Both."
Zeraphine closed her eyes, and for a moment, the tyrant vanished—and all that remained was a woman with an aching heart.
"Lucien Thorne has returned."
Meanwhile… in the Timberland Kingdom
The once-glorious capital was a shell of what it had been during Queen Melissa's reign. War had aged the stone, and greed had stained its heart.
Inside the royal library, a young knight pushed through dusty shelves, his brow furrowed. He wore no royal crest—only silver armor and a leather satchel filled with ancient scrolls.
Sir Caelum Virelius, a historian-knight with golden hair and sharp blue eyes, was no ordinary warrior. He had dreams—vivid, burning dreams—of a woman in flames, a name he did not recognize on his lips.
Melissa.
And lately, a second name had started to haunt his thoughts.
Zeraphine.
He unfurled a scroll written in a forgotten language. The ink glowed faintly.
A whisper curled around his ear.
"She is awake…"
He froze.
The candles flickered. Somewhere in the distance, the wind howled.
Back in Nytherra…
Zeraphine stood on the castle balcony, overlooking her empire. Her hands rested on the rail, fingers tapping.
"Lucien, if you truly have returned… this time I will not fall for your lies."
She smiled darkly.
"This time, I will be the villain they fear."