"M-My lord..."
The soldier's voice trembled. His armor was shattered, his face smeared with blood. Every gaze in the Senate fell upon him.
"Pirates..." he stammered, swallowing hard. "They attacked us."
A deadly silence overtook the Senate.
The only sound echoing among the marble columns was the soldier's labored breathing. Palace guards flinched, nobles forgot how to whisper. All eyes turned to Emperor Kael, standing firm before the throne.
Kael's face turned pale, then flushed red with fury. His gaze pierced through the soldier.
"How can this be?" His voice was like ice. "We had them under control long ago."
The soldier could barely stand. His knees shook. His breathing rasped.
"Old Remistra... Bloodeye... He spared me. To deliver his message to you."
The emperor flinched. The name "Bloodeye" left his lips as he took a step back. One of the palace guards almost drew his sword.
The Senate erupted.
Aristocrats began to murmur; commanders exchanged bewildered glances. This was no mere pirate rebellion. Kael narrowed his eyes, approaching the soldier.
"What is the message, soldier?" His voice brimmed with anger and worry.
The soldier lowered his gaze. "Bloodeye... declared himself King of all pirates. He claims independence from the Empire."
The words hit like a thunderclap.
The chamber roared to life. Hands slammed tables. Voices rose in outrage.
Commander Auren surged forward, his voice drowning the noise:
"The Empire weakens! Bloodeye saw it and struck! I warned you years ago he couldn't be trusted. Yet you made him Lord of Remistra! You invited the viper into our heart!"
He pointed directly at the Emperor.
Then the High Priest rose, shouting:
"You knew better than to trust this godless brigand, Kael! Had you heeded the word of the gods, this shame would never have come!"
Another noble stood, his face flushed with fury:
"You gave land to a pirate who pillaged our goods! How can we escape poverty by crowning a thief?"
Voices clashed and collided. The Senate blazed like fire.
And then, the last heir of the ancient Valois line stood—slender but regal. Young Damen raised his voice above the chaos:
"You all voted for this! Today, you do not blame the Emperor—you blame yourselves!"
A sudden silence.
Then, politician Arintas rose, standing behind Damen:
"This Empire still stands because of democracy. Denying your own vote and blaming Kael only reveals your ignorance."
His words stirred another wave of conflict. The room spun out of control.
And then Kael stood.
"Enough!"
His voice split the room. Silence reigned once more.
"The past is past," he said, his eyes sweeping over every senator. "Not even the gods have toppled this Empire. A pirate won't. Take your vengeance in battle, not in blame."
When he finished, the air changed. Kael raised his hand and gave the order:
"The Senate is dismissed."
As the doors creaked open, silence fell again. But all knew: this was not an end. It was the storm's beginning.
The Senate chamber slowly emptied.
Some senators bowed their heads. Others grumbled in anger. Whispers of schemes filled the marbled halls. Footsteps echoed like waves against stone.
Two men remained.
Commander Auren stood with hands clasped behind him, eyes fixed on the spot where Kael had stood. A shadow veiled his stern face. Beside him, Damen stood upright, thoughtful.
Auren spoke, eyes still locked ahead:
"That was a fine speech... You're young, but you weren't afraid to raise your voice."
Damen didn't look at him. His eyes remained on the throne's empty space.
"Someone had to speak. You were shouting quite well yourself."
Auren smirked. "I don't shout. I declare truths."
Damen turned.
"Truth isn't yours alone, Auren. You claim to protect the Empire, but your kind often wounds it more."
Auren's eyes narrowed.
"You're a politician. Your words cut. I'm a soldier. My blade bleeds. Time will tell which wounds run deeper."
Damen sighed.
"Time only writes victors. If we lose... no one will write the truth."
Auren looked away. The chamber was silent now. The doors had closed. Footsteps had faded.
"This Bloodeye matter," said Auren, "Kael should never have allowed it. He raised the wolf that now tears our throats."
"You were there, Auren. You voted."
The commander turned. His gaze was heavy.
"I did. But I never trusted him. And now I was right."
Damen stepped closer, meeting his eyes.
"Do I hear pride or regret in your voice?"
Auren said nothing. Only the wind beyond the marble echoed.
At last, he bowed his head.
"Both."
Damen shrugged and turned.
"Then perhaps we can find a way to protect the Empire without blood. Maybe one day... we'll fight on the same side, Auren."
Auren didn't respond. He watched Damen go, alone in the vast marble chamber. And in his mind, a single word echoed:
"Bloodeye..."
Hours after the Senate's dispersal, deep within the Imperial Palace, in a chamber of black stone lit only by candlelight, shadows danced on vaulted ceilings.
Around a round stone table sat only five people.
Emperor Kael, dressed in a dark robe, his face stern yet alert. Beside him sat Intelligence Chief Maelor, Grand Marshal Sir Tharek, Royal Sorceress Ysmae, and master of whispers and diplomacy, Arven.
When the doors closed, Kael spoke:
"The Senate was theater. Now comes reality."
He leaned toward the table.
"Bloodeye is more than a pirate. He learned from us. Saw our flaws. Now he aims to rule the eastern coast. War is at our doorstep."
Tharek slammed his fist. "The army is ready. Say the word, and we'll burn Remistra to ash."
Kael shook his head.
"No. He expects that. A direct attack plays into his hand. First... we cleanse the rot within."
Maelor's voice was soft but deadly:
"Lords within Remistra still support him. Some traded with his men. Some conspire even now. Attacking before purging them is stabbing ourselves."
Ysmae, fingers laced, spoke with dark wisdom:
"Along the coast, I can cast illusions of phantom armies. Fear is our tool. Let Bloodeye overestimate himself. Then we trap him."
Arven leaned in, a sly grin on his lips:
"Two nights ago, I contacted Sadrik, Bloodeye's right hand. For gold, he agreed to sell port secrets. We can control his very words if we wish."
Kael stood.
"This table is the Empire's true council. No one will know. But this war... is for the Empire's soul."
His eyes burned, though shadows of fatigue lingered.
"Tonight, you each walk into different shadows. Tharek, mobilize west garrisons, but not to the coast. Gather in the center. Maelor, name the traitors. None must escape. Ysmae, prepare the mists. Let fear show without revealing the foe. Arven... watch Sadrik. But don't kill him. Not yet."
They nodded.
As the doors opened once more, only shadows remained.
The real war had begun. But none had yet drawn blood.
The sun was setting, but on Bloodeye's island, night had long fallen.
Shallow reefs surrounding the island were filled with wrecked ships. Broken masts, torn sails—warnings to all who approached:
"Here lies only death."
Atop volcanic rock rose the Blackfang Fortress, built upon black stone, breathing smoke from eternal forges. Even when no stars lit the sky, the fortress shone with its own fire.
The throne room was vast, smoky. Chains hung from the ceiling. Shields lined the walls. Broken banners lay nailed to the floor. At its center, a throne of rusted steel.
Bloodeye sat upon it.
Draped in furs. No crown adorned his head, but none doubted his reign. One eye lost, replaced by a black gem. The other, dark as a storm.
Before him knelt a shackled man—an old port lord. Trembling.
Bloodeye did not rise. He placed his sword beside his leg. His voice was gravel and steel:
"Your loyalty was sold for gold. That gold now pays for your grave."
"No... no, I—" the man gasped, but his words choked. A step behind.
Sadrik, Bloodeye's right hand, came forward. Without a word, he drew a dagger.
No scream. Just the sound of blood meeting stone.
Bloodeye breathed deep. Eyes lifted to the smoky ceiling. Then he turned to the table.
Maps sprawled: coasts, forts, trade routes.
"Kael still thinks I'm a pirate. But I... I bring back the old laws he forgot."
Sadrik approached. "Kael will strike. The Senate crumbles, but night is still ours."
Bloodeye laughed—deep, grim.
"Kael will start a war. But I already have. The coast lords are mine. The people feed not on imperial tax, but my salt."
He pointed to the map.
"Here... north of Remistra. Mistshore. If we take it, Kael loses the sea. Let him pray on his throne."
"Shall I begin?" asked Sadrik.
Bloodeye rubbed his black gem eye, then nodded sharply.
"No. Not yet. First, make them afraid. A lost ship. A burning dock. A captured merchant. Let them bleed shadows. Let them dream nightmares."
He stared at the map.
"Kael expects war. I'll give him dreams."
Outside, waves crashed. Night wrapped the island. Flames in Blackfang rose higher.
Bloodeye's war had begun. Yet not a single blade was drawn.
In the misty southwest—the Kingdom of Blackher.
Fog blanketed Blackher's coasts. Around the harbor towers, salt and coal-laden wind smashed waves into black rocks. Distant bells tolled.
Kulkule Harbor held a fearsome ship: The Crow's Fang. Obsidian-hulled, its sails whispered menace.
On the deck stood a man.
Jarret Korran, High Admiral of Blackher's Navy, draped in a gray cloak, listened to the sails.
Tall, broad. His face was carved from stone, but his amber eyes held a calculating mind.
He gazed at the horizon—not the sea, but beyond.
"Bloodeye... Kael..."
Behind him, footsteps.
"What do you think, Elric? Are the rumors true?"
Elric, a young and clever map officer, approached.
"Three imperial ports are silent. A fourth burned last night. Kael is preparing for war. Bloodeye declared himself king. He's no longer just a pirate."
Jarret bowed his head. He'd heard both voices at the same table once. Now both beckoned him.
Blackher lay between mountains and sea. No rich plains. No warm harbors. Only steel, salt, coal—and cold-hearted sailors.
A guard approached, kneeling. "Sire. Kael's envoys arrive tomorrow. Bloodeye also sent a message. A hawk brought it: 'Black sails suit black wood.'"
Jarret smiled.
"They both want me. One for law, one for revenge."
He turned to the sea towers and misty docks.
"Elric, do you think a man should be judged by whose side he takes... or by what he stands behind?"
Elric had no answer.
Jarret walked. Each step carried the weight of choice. Inside the black ship's tower, he found two letters.
He drew his sword. Placed it between them.
"Bloodeye calls with fire. Kael, with order."
He reached toward a letter.
Stopped.
He did not choose. He waited.
Jarret Korran was not a soldier. He was a compass.
And the southern wind... had yet to speak.