The morning sky over the southwest of the Empire hung gray, as if the earth was holding its breath awaiting the steps of the rulers. The main road had been cleared of mud and gravel, leaving only the marks of carriage wheels and horses' hooves carrying the majesty of power.
The Imperial main carriage, drawn by six black and gold-armored horses, moved slowly. Inside sat Emperor Gaius Octavianus Magnus, upright yet calm, wearing his blood-black ceremonial robe embroidered with a golden phoenix worn only during the highest affairs of state.
In front of him stood Severan Malrec, Head of the Imperial Palace. The Emperor's right hand, the orchestrator of whispers and shadows that shape the Empire's face behind the veil of protocol.
The Emperor began without looking directly at Malrec. His voice was heavy, carrying exhaustion and decisiveness mingled in a single breath.
"This is not merely a handover of the banner, Malrec. It is a reminder. To the nobles. To the people. Even to our own troops."
Malrec responded calmly, eyes fixed on the carriage window showing the line of honor guards in the distance.
"And the best reminders, Your Majesty, are given in silence… without bloodshed, but with shadows enough to make everyone shiver."
The Emperor smiled faintly, thinly, like someone who knows this game is too old but must still be played.
"How is the tax policy in the eastern territories?"
"It has begun to be implemented. Taxes are gradually lowered, supply routes cleared. We have replaced three district overseers. Two exiled. One... will no longer appear in history."
The Emperor nodded slowly.
"Do not let them become martyrs. Traitors who die too gracefully can become painful legends."
"This one will not be remembered, not even by his own child."
A brief silence filled the carriage. In the distance, the banners of Duke Armand Vaelric began to appear. The gray dignity of the North fluttered without wind.
The Emperor leaned back slightly.
"I want to see the Duke's eyes when he receives the banner. If he is afraid, we have a problem. If he is too eager… we have a bigger problem."
At the outer gate of the Northern territory, Duke Armand Vaelric stood tall. His face was hard like the mountains he ruled. Behind him, his loyal commanders those who never retreated since the last war stood ready.
When the Emperor's carriage stopped, there was no sound except the synchronized steps of soldiers giving salute.
The Emperor disembarked without excessive ceremony. Malrec followed behind carrying a scroll wrapped in Imperial red cloth. He stood by the ruler as the Emperor approached the Duke.
"Duke Vaelric," the Emperor's voice was flat but echoed, "The Empire places its trust in you. Not because of your blood. But because no one is more ready than the North to welcome war."
The Duke bowed deeply.
"An honor I shall not dishonor, Your Majesty."
The Emperor took the scroll from Malrec. He unwrapped the red cloth slowly. Behind it was the Empire's war banner, with the symbol of a burning phoenix at the center of a black background.
The banner was handed directly into Duke Vaelric's hands.
"This is not permission. This is an order. If the fire spreads, burn their lands first. But do not let this banner fall."
The Duke accepted the banner with both hands. His knees bent slightly, and the troops behind him fell into total reverence.
The Emperor did not stay. After one last sharp glance at the troops' ranks, he turned back toward his carriage.
Malrec bowed.
"The show is over. And now the next stage awaits in the capital."
"And the storm is peeking behind the curtain of the feast."