The Rammaset Empire did not rise gently.
It grew the way mountains do—through pressure, heat, and the quiet crushing of everything beneath it.
From the highest balcony of the Imperial Palace, the capital looked serene. Towers of marble and steel caught the pale morning sun. Aqueducts carried clean water across districts laid out in flawless geometric order. Temples of the Flame and the Night stood at opposite ends of the city, each claiming equal legitimacy, each watching the other with practiced distrust.
From above, Rammaset appeared unbreakable. From the streets, peace was a myth.
Every household had someone drafted into the war.Every family knew a name that would never answer again.Every market stall raised prices weekly. Every tavern lowered its voice whenever blue light pulsed beneath the stones.
A City Divided by Belief and Blood
In the markets, arguments flared.
"It's the Flame's favour," one vendor insisted.
"No," another spat. "The Night is warning us."
In noble courts, advisors murmured about ancient texts long dismissed as allegory. In back-alley gambling dens, men prayed the pulse meant fortune rather than famine.
But the soldiers did not pray.
They counted rations.Sharpened blades.Tightened armor straps already worn thin.
Everyone understood the truth the Empire never spoke aloud:
The war with Rinnett had entered its third generation.
Children were born beneath banners already stained with blood shed before their grandparents wed. The Empire's armies still marched. Its factories still produced weapons. Its borders still held.
But strength, like metal, grows brittle when stretched too long.
And when certainty fractures, superstition fills the cracks.
Rumors of the Unseen War
Beyond the front lines—beyond the mountains, beyond the forests—lay the ruins of the Gate Cities, remnants of humanity's desperate escape from Terra.
And beyond that?
Darkness.
Most citizens believed the Empire fought only Rinnett.
A few knew better.
Because when the Veins pulsed blue at night, shadows moved where no light fell. Whispers crossed empty fields without wind. People vanished near ancient ruins without leaving footprints behind.
Officially, the Empire denied every claim.
Unofficially, the Imperial Court received weekly reports detailing:
The impossible sounds beneath the earth, Structures shifting without seismic cause. The shared nightmares across entire provinces. Stories creatures glimpsed only at the edge of vision.
Something beneath Zues was stirring.
Something older than war. Older than empire.
And it was changing.
A Week of Unease
The blue pulse beneath the capital rippled outward.
In distant villages, shepherds found their flocks refusing to graze. In canal cities, water trembled in perfect linear waves, like plucked strings. On the northern frontier, soldiers woke in the night, swearing they heard a low, rhythmic hum beneath their tents.
At the Academy, the Empire's heart of military advancement. Magisters quietly doubled patrols and sealed restricted wings.
Because the last time the Veins pulsed with this intensity…
A child was born in the outer districts with veins glowing faintly blue.
The glow lasted ten minutes.
The priests of the Flame called him cursed.The Night-Wardens called him chosen.The Empire called him dangerous.
He did not survive the month.
The Price of Stability
Rammaset endured because it was ruthless.
It buried uncomfortable truths beneath bureaucracy. It labelled mysteries as threats. It erased anomalies before they could become legends.
That was the Empire's strength.
And its greatest weakness.
Because the Veins did not care for borders.They did not recognise decrees.They did not ask permission to speak.
And when they did. The Empire had to listen.
Even if it pretended otherwise.