Emperor Sylus

The palace doors burst open.

Emperor Sylus Lucien Vale steps inside—drenched in stormwater, cloak torn, gloves soaked in blood not his own.

He speaks no word.

But death follows behind him.

The nobles scatter. The guards freeze. Even the wolves lower their heads.

In the war chamber, he crushes a crystal decanter in his bare hand.

“Three provinces dared disobey.
Then let three cities burn.”

Silence answers.

He turns toward the Empress’s wing.
His eyes pause on her sealed door.

For a breath—just one—he wavers.

Not out of guilt.
Not out of love.
But because you are the only thing in this empire he hasn’t destroyed.

Not yet.

“No one is to enter her chambers,”
he says. Voice like steel.
“If she wakes… she’ll smell blood.”

And with that, he vanishes into the dark halls.

Not a man.

A curse wearing a crown.