Two Months After the Fall of King Vali Zwein
The Struggle for Zweinston
The death of King Vali Zwein shattered the morale of Zweinston's armies—but it did not end the war.
In the days that followed, chaos erupted across the enemy nation. Their generals turned on one another, each hoping to seize power. The royal family, stripped of its head, had no unified heir to rally behind. Noble houses in Zweinston fell into disorder—some fled, others fortified their regions, unwilling to bend the knee to either Asphalia or their own fragmented regime.
But Duke Danise Ellesmere, armed with the legendary Hawk Frost and his son Sylves—now a powerful figure in his own right—moved swiftly. They launched the most aggressive two-month campaign in Asphalia's history.
The objective: to bring Zweinston to its knees and expand the borders of the Empire.
---
Week 1–2: The First Push
In the first two weeks, Asphalia's forces pushed deep into southern Zweinston, capitalizing on the sudden leadership vacuum. Border towns fell swiftly. Derlheim and Veristal—once staging grounds for raids into Ellesmere—were swiftly captured and fortified.
Count Bronn Aswel led troops through rugged terrain, using the high ground to choke off enemy escape routes. Countess Arelia Vilmire's cavalry cut supply lines and flanked scattered opposition.
Sylves stood at the center of these operations, not as a noble heir, but as a vanguard of the Empire's will. His mastery over Void magic made him both feared and revered. Clad in a black cloak bearing no insignia, he moved like a phantom, leading surprise assaults that decimated key enemy posts. Rumors of the "Silver Reaper" spread quickly—some Zweinston units fled upon hearing whispers of his approach.
By the end of the second week, Asphalia had claimed nearly a quarter of Zweinston territory.
---
Week 3–5: Resistance and Guerrilla Warfare
But Zweinston did not go quietly.
Asphalia's momentum was slowed by a surge of guerrilla tactics. Isolated enemy generals, unwilling to surrender, coordinated ambushes from forests and hidden passes. In one devastating attack, half of Count Renald Kestmere's mages were lost to a magical trap in Nightroot Woods.
Villages once claimed were booby-trapped with cursed glyphs. Wells were poisoned, and merchant caravans went missing. Morale dropped.
Sylves responded with brutal efficiency. He established Void detection grids—runes laced across key regions to track and reveal hidden presences. With Hawk Frost's tactical oversight, night raids were launched on enemy hideouts, ending dozens of resistance cells in a matter of days.
Emperor Maevor, seeing the campaign's intensity, dispatched another 15,000 troops. His orders were clear: "Bring order by any means. Let the Empire be unshaken."
---
Week 6–7: The Breaking Point
The decisive blow came in the sixth week with the siege of West Berrinth—Zweinston's last major stronghold in the central region.
The city's defenders believed their walls impregnable. But they didn't expect Sylves.
Through a combination of stealth and spatial magic, he breached the inner defenses, allowing Duke Danise's forces to pour in. The siege ended in just three days. The defenders surrendered before dawn on the fourth.
That victory shattered the remaining resistance.
Nobles who had once backed Zweinston's crown now defected or surrendered, seeing no future in continuing the fight. Their territories, weakened and disorganized, were taken with little resistance.
---
Week 8: Surrender and Annexation
On the first day of the eighth week, the surviving nobles of western Zweinston—led by Lord Cregan Dorvan—knelt before Duke Danise in the throne room of the captured royal palace.
"We have no king," Cregan said, exhausted and bruised. "And no more will to fight."
Duke Danise granted conditional annexation. Lords who cooperated would retain their positions under Asphalian law. Those responsible for war crimes would face trial in Asphalia's capital.
By the end of the month, half of Zweinston had been absorbed into the Empire. Borders were redrawn, stretching farther south than they had in over a century. The once-hostile land now flew banners of Asphalia.
---
Aftermath
The campaign left scars.
Forests burned. Cities were buried under ice and ash. Yet among Asphalia's people, hope rose. The threat that once loomed over the southern duchies was gone. Their protectors—led by Sylves—had prevailed.
In the war room of Whitebark Fortress, Duke Danise and Hawk stood with Sylves, gazing over a map where new lines had been inked.
"It's done," Danise murmured.
"Not entirely," Hawk said. "Peace is temporary. There are always more watching."
Sylves said nothing. His eyes lingered on the south—on the lands they had taken. The lands he had bled for. The lands he now helped rule.
Victory was theirs.
But the weight of conquest had only just begun.
---
Two Months Later – The War Ended
The sun cast soft golden rays over the snow-kissed lawn of the Duke's Castle. A delicate breeze whispered through the garden hedges, rustling the leaves in gentle sways. Sylves sat beneath the shade of an ancient ash tree, a porcelain teacup in hand, his violet eyes reflecting a quiet calm not seen in him for years.
Beside him stood Aria—the ever-composed head maid, Ashia's mother—her hands folded neatly in front of her, watching over him like she had since he was a boy.
Sylves broke the silence. "Why are you standing, Aria?" He motioned to the empty chair across from him. "Have a seat."
Aria straightened slightly, as if unsure she had heard him correctly. "No, Young Master. A maid does not sit at the table with her Master."
Sylves raised a brow, his expression faintly amused. "Hm? But that doesn't apply here… You're not my maid, after all. You're like a mother to me."
The words caught Aria off guard. For a moment, her carefully maintained composure wavered, warmth flickering in her eyes. "If you insist, Young Master," she said softly, then sat, as though doing so for the first time in decades.
The wind carried the scent of blooming frostlilies and steaming tea. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, only the sound of birds and distant castle bustle filling the space between them.
As Sylves brought the last sip of tea to his lips, Aria leaned forward slightly, hesitant. She gently poured him a second cup, and then, after a pause, spoke carefully. "Forgive my insolence, Young Master… but… is Ashia—"
"Yes," Sylves interrupted with a faint smile. "She's doing well."
Aria's breath caught softly, and her hands stilled over the teapot's handle.
"She's grown taller," he continued, his gaze drifting to the sky as he spoke, "Her hair now reaches all the way to her back… and she's as disciplined as ever. Comes in the top ten students every year in final exams."
Pride softened his expression. "Well, I am proud of her."
Then a sigh escaped him.
"We didn't get much time to spend together though," he admitted, "Master Hawk kept us constantly occupied. One mission after another, barely room to breathe, let alone share moments."
He looked down at the tea swirling in his cup. "But she never complained. Not once. Just like you."
Aria lowered her gaze, hiding the shimmer that briefly welled up in her eyes. "That girl… she has always been strong. Stronger than me."
Sylves set his cup down gently on the table. "No… she learned it from you."
And for a moment, the war felt far away.
---
The war was over. With the fall of Zweinston's monarch and the surrender of its remaining territories, peace finally returned to the northern front. But peace did not mean silence, nor did it mean idleness. For Sylves Ellesmere, now returned to his homeland after almost six long years, the next chapter had already begun.
The Duke's Castle, nestled in the heart of the Ellesmere Province, was no longer the same as he remembered it. Parts of its stone walls were cracked from the distant rumble of war. Villages surrounding the estate bore scorch marks and broken gates. But amidst the wounds of battle, the first seeds of recovery had begun to sprout.
It had been a full two months since Sylves returned, and four months still remained until the official graduation of his class at the Imperial Academy. In that time, he did not rest.
Each morning, he would rise early, often before the first light of dawn. The air in Ellesmere was different from that of Asphalia City or the Academy—crisper, with a familiar chill that spoke of home. His mother, Duchess Ylva, would already be awake, seated by the large window in her solar, sipping tea with papers spread before her.
"You're early," she'd say, every morning, with a quiet smile.
"I get that from you," Sylves would reply.
They would talk briefly about the affairs of the province. Ylva, ever composed, handled the estate's civil operations—relief for displaced families, coordination with temples, and organization of food and winter supplies. Sylves began to assist her, offering suggestions she hadn't considered. One morning, he proposed the integration of enchanted waystones to help connect isolated villages for quick travel and communication.
"Void-anchored markers?" Ylva asked, intrigued. "Would they be stable without your presence?"
"If I inscribe them carefully and bind them with secondary stabilizers, yes. They'll allow rapid troop or aid movement if ever needed again. And they can help couriers cut their delivery time by more than half."
Ylva nodded slowly. "It will be our first step toward a stronger province."
During the day, Sylves met frequently with his father, Duke Danise Ellesmere. The Duke, though proud of his son, was clearly adjusting to Sylves not as a boy, but as an emerging leader.
Inside the War Room, now repurposed for planning reconstruction, Sylves stood beside his father and senior officers.
"This town, Venshire, took the worst of the damage," Danise said, pointing to the map. "But its position is too strategic to abandon."
"Rebuild it with layered defenses, then," Sylves replied. "Use local stone, but bind the outer walls with water-dispersion glyphs. If they're attacked by fire or siege again, the walls will react accordingly."
The older men murmured in agreement.
Danise looked at his son. "You've changed."
"Everybody does," Sylves replied.
"No," the Duke said, "I mean you think like a ruler. Like a protector. I see the Duke you are becoming."
Some afternoons, Sylves would visit the reconstruction teams personally. He walked through the half-ruined alleys of Havenreach and Southwin Hollow, listening to the people, talking with carpenters, healers, and teachers.
"We could use some help rebuilding the school," a grizzled old man told him once.
"Then you shall have it," Sylves answered. "And more. I'll personally ensure our academy offers volunteer assistance."
Despite his station, he never carried himself with arrogance. His cloak was simple. His manner sincere. And slowly, the people began to speak of their young lord not just as a warrior, but as a guiding star.
In the evenings, when most of the estate had settled into a hush, Sylves would often retreat to the garden with Aria. Sometimes Ylva would join. These moments were quiet—intimate.
Aria brought him tea, but he insisted she sit with them.
"You still refuse to rest, Young Master," she said.
"I rest best when I know the people I love are safe," he replied.
She smiled at that.
Sometimes, they'd speak of Ashia.
"She's changed," Aria said one night, gazing at the stars. "I can barely believe she's the same girl I sent with you."
"She's grown into her own," Sylves said, a touch of pride in his voice. "But she's still the same where it counts."
Aria didn't ask what he meant, but the look in her eyes said she understood.
Ylva, observing quietly, would often speak with a mother's wisdom. "Peace is harder than war, Sylves. Anyone can burn and break. But to rebuild, to protect, to lead—that takes the true heart of nobility."
"Then I hope I am learning," he said.
And he was.
As weeks passed, the Ellesmere Province transformed. The void-tethered waystones were installed. Refugee camps were converted into small housing districts. The duchy's archives were digitized by magical memory-seals to prevent the loss of knowledge in future wars.
Danise delegated more responsibilities to Sylves. Trade proposals, alliance letters, even military dispatches were reviewed by him. Slowly, subtly, the people of the castle began treating him not as the Young Master, but as the next Duke.
But amidst all this, Sylves never lost his softness. He visited injured soldiers regularly. He spoke with children who had lost their homes. And each night, he would sit under the same ash tree in the courtyard and read the same old book Aria had once gifted him.
He had four months left before he would walk through the gates of the Academy one last time. Four months before he would stand among his peers as a graduate, a sovereign, and a legend in the making.
But for now, he was simply Sylves. Son of Danise and Ylva. Apprentice of Hawk. Future Duke of Ellesmere.
And for these four months, he was home.
---