The coronation feast had long since dissolved into embers of conversation and forgotten wine. Krovzaryan's capital slept restlessly beneath the crimson banners that now flew unchallenged across the realm, but within the stonework of the imperial villa, its newly crowned emperor remained wide awake.
Erebus stood by the window of his private chambers, fingers resting against the cool obsidian frame. Beyond the glass, the city stretched in uneasy silence—the scars of war barely concealed beneath hastily rebuilt walls and shimmering lantern light.
Behind him, the door creaked as **Callum** entered, his cloak damp with evening mist. His footsteps halted at a respectful distance.
"You should be resting," Callum remarked casually, though his sharp eyes registered the tension gripping Erebus's shoulders.
Erebus didn't turn. "Rest feels foreign these days," he murmured, gaze fixed on the horizon where distant clouds swallowed the moon.
Callum approached, pouring himself a modest drink from the carafe by the hearth.
Leo was napping beside the hearth. Erebus' wolf was always a wonder to Callum.
"The empire is secured. The banners fly. Even your enemies dared not contest the coronation—yet here you are, staring into shadows like a man still hunted."
Erebus finally turned, the dim lamplight sharpening the angles of his face. "Because I *am* still hunted," he said flatly. "Not by assassins. Not by rebels. By failure."
Callum's brow furrowed, but he let the words settle before responding.
"You're thinking of Amanécer," Callum stated plainly.
Erebus's silence was answer enough.
He strode across the room, pulling open a carved chest—inside, parchments bearing sigils from various provinces, diplomatic seals, and scattered maps. His hand hovered over a particular scroll—an unfinished treaty proposal stamped with both Krovzaryan and Amanécer's insignias.
"An alliance," Erebus said quietly. "A formal one. Trade routes. Military counsel. Shared resources. Public unity."
"And beneath that," Callum added knowingly, "the real purpose."
Erebus's jaw tensed, eyes hardening. "To bring Luciana…and my sons home."
Callum set his cup down, studying his commander—no, his emperor—with careful consideration. "She's still bound by Amanécer's politics. You can't drag them back by force without risking war."
"I'm not a fool," Erebus snapped, though the edge lacked venom—only exhaustion. "But if they think I will be kept from them, they're mistaken. This alliance—it's the only viable path…for now."
Callum's expression softened, understanding woven through his steady voice. "You left because you thought building this empire would secure them—that once Krovzaryan stood unchallenged, they'd be safe."
"And yet," Erebus admitted, his voice low, "they are shunned in Amanécer. My blood stains them in the eyes of cowards. Nemesis…Hades…Ra'el… they suffer for what I am." His gaze darkened. "Luciana carries the weight of it alone."
The silence thickened.
Callum leaned forward, voice firm but devoid of judgment. "So—stop torturing yourself with what-ifs. You want them back? Take them back. But not as the broken lord clawing for scraps—as the emperor the world now fears."
Erebus exhaled slowly, conflict etched into every line of his face.
"You're not the beggar lord anymore," Callum pressed. "The ones who spat on your name—they cower now. The schemers offering daughters like bribes—they obey now."
Erebus's hands curled into fists, the room spinning with years of regret and unspoken longing.
"You built this empire to protect them," Callum finished, "so protect them. Stop hesitating, Erebus—or you'll regret it longer than a lifetime."
The weight of the crown pressed on him, but so too did the ache of absence.
Erebus straightened, resolve flickering in his shadowed eyes.
"Prepare the envoys," he ordered coldly. "We begin the first phase of negotiations at dawn—but beneath every diplomatic word… make it clear: this is a reclaiming."
----------->
The golden light of early summer cascaded across the towering spires of Amanécer, gilding its marble avenues and glass domes in warm brilliance. Yet beneath the tranquil facade, the realm stirred with anticipation—and uncertainty.
A month had passed since Luciana received Erebus's letter—and though her mind had wrestled with countless possibilities, her duty remained undeterred.
The letter stated everything he's done after arriving at Krovzaryan. The new empire reinstated, how the people have united under his banner and how the empire was developing at a speedy pace.
But behind this mask, he made his worries about them clear. He wanted them back. Back to Krovzaryan.
She knew that day was closer than she'd anticipated it to be.
Everytime she read through his words, she'd looked out of the window.
Beyond the towering gates of Amanécer's opulent districts, a new structure rose—nestled upon neutral grounds between the heart of the capital and the bordering townships. It was a carefully chosen location—accessible to all, regardless of status—a symbolic gesture that knowledge, like the sun, should touch every corner of society.
Academia Solaris, as it had been named under Luciana's patronage and sanctioned by Emperor Helios, began to take form—its foundations set upon sprawling fields, unmarred by nobility's restrictions. Stonemasons, architects, and artisans toiled day and night—constructing lecture halls, libraries, courtyards, and spaces for young minds of all origins.
Meanwhile, select sections of the Imperial Villa had been temporarily repurposed—its eastern galleries and garden courts transformed into scholarly halls, open for educational programs until the grand campus stood complete.
The initiative marked the first inclusive institution within Amanécer—open to children of all lineages, status, and origins. Marble courtyards once reserved for royal banquets now echoed with the voices of eager students, shaded by silk canopies. The Villa's northern halls—adorned with towering stained glass—housed temporary libraries and study chambers.
Etched into the stone arches of both the villa's temporary halls and the rising academy beyond the walls were ancient proverbs:
"Knowledge is the inheritance of all—regardless of the crown upon their head or the soil beneath their feet."
Luciana oversaw every detail—her presence unyielding, though exhaustion clung to her. With Melody at her side, overseeing the logistics with youthful determination, they orchestrated the monumental task of weaving education and unity together.
Beyond practicality, the academia served another purpose—a shield for her sons, especially **Nemesis**, to integrate among peers—to quiet the whispers of "tainted blood" that still lingered in the corners of the realm.
Nemesis, garbed in a robe reminiscent of his father's battle cloak, trained daily under Imperial guards, his silvery-ashen hair shimmering faintly in the sun. He observed the preparations with wary curiosity, often accompanied by Tiberius, whose boisterous confidence balanced Nemesis's quiet introspection.
The inauguration approached swiftly.
Word had already rippled across Amanécer—nobles, merchants, and common folk alike whispered of the unprecedented academy. Parents from all walks of life prepared their children—boys and girls, heirs and orphans—for enrollment.
But not all eyes looked upon the development with approval.
In hidden chambers of the palace, Emperor Helios received another matter altogether—an envoy from Krovzaryan, their arrival unannounced, yet expected.
The grand doors to the imperial council hall opened, revealing a procession of Krovzaryan emissaries:
Zeraf now a man with a soldier's bearing and eyes hardened by decades of conquest.
Callum, whose quiet confidence spoke of unwavering loyalty to his emperor introduced himself as the prime minister of Krovzaryan.
And Alessio, the diplomatic architect behind Krovzaryan's treaties, his words as sharp as the blade at his hip.
They arrived clad in tailored Krovzaryan regalia—dark cloaks embroidered with crimson and gold sigils, their clothes engraved with scenes of victory and unity.
A vast entourage accompanied them—diplomats, aides, and towering Krovzaryan sentinels whose presence alone unsettled Amanécer's court.
Helios, seated upon his marble throne—his injured leg supported by intricately carved rests—regarded them with composed scrutiny. His silvered hair shimmered beneath the stained-glass light, his sharp features betraying none of the conflict raging beneath his regal facade.
"Two weeks," Callum declared, presenting an ornate scroll—its edges sealed with Erebus's mark. "Our emperor intends to arrive in Amanécer within a fortnight—bearing the olive branch of peace and alliance."
Helios accepted the document, his fingers brushing the seal—the weight of history pressing upon him.
He already knew the undercurrent woven beneath Erebus's overture—the political alliance was merely the facade. Erebus sought Luciana—his wife—and their sons—Helios's grandsons—to return with him, binding their fates beneath the banner of Krovzaryan.
The hall fell into momentary silence.
Helios's advisors exchanged wary glances—some urging caution, others seething at Krovzaryan's audacity.
Yet Helios—inwardly—felt the fracture of his own resolve. The strategist in him recognized the value of unity—the shield it provided against dissent and foreign powers. But the father in him—the protector—bristled at surrendering his daughter and grandchildren into Erebus's tempestuous empire.
"We will receive him," Helios stated at last, his voice resolute, though weighted. "But understand this—my bloodline, my daughter, my grandsons—are not pieces upon Krovzaryan's war board."
Callum bowed stiffly. "Our emperor does not play games, Your Majesty—he reclaims what is his."
Before departing, Alessio stepped forward with another request—one sanctioned by Erebus himself.
"His Majesty Erebus requests permission for our delegation to visit the Alchemist Tower," Callum declared smoothly. "The Grandmaster, Cornelius, holds knowledge our empire would see extended—temporarily—to Krovzaryan."
Though hesitant, Helios granted the request.
The next morning, under discreet escort, Callum, Zeraf, and Alessio ascended the spiraling obsidian stairs of the Alchemist Tower—the air thick with incense and ancient sigils.
Cornelius,greeted them rememberong the night they visited Luciana to congratulate her for the birth of the new prince.
Back then Erebus asked him to lend him the alchemist tower's assistance when the right time came. Cornelius knew it was this time.
"Krovzaryan does not make frivolous requests," Callum explained after pleasantries. "Erebus honors your mastery—and seeks your scholars' aid in establishing a temporary exchange of alchemic knowledge—for the empire's advancement, and our alliance's strength."
Cornelius studied them—his hazel eyes sharp as obsidian glass—before nodding thoughtfully. "For a time," he agreed, "the tower shall lend aid—but mastery is earned—never given."
A silent understanding passed between them.
Two weeks later—the earth itself trembled as the great Krovzaryan portal materialized outside Amanécer's eastern gates.
Through it emerged Erebus—his figure clad in imperial black and crimson—his presence both commanding and subdued.
Behind him marched an entourage twice the size of the envoy—not in arrogance—but as calculated declaration—that the world should recognize Krovzaryan's place in this age.
Soldiers, diplomats, scholars, and seers—all advanced under Krovzaryan banners—the sigil black as night, embroidered in golden threads depicting a three-legged wolf howling at a golden sun—a merged emblem, honoring both Erebus's lineage and Luciana's house.
As the banners rippled in the wind, the storm—inevitable—finally reached Amanécer.