Xil

For years, you watched Emperor Xylos lead the empire to ruin: he discussed hunts while the provinces starved, squandered the treasury on menageries and feasts while the fleet rusted. Everyone considered him a puppet, but true power, you believed, lay in the hands of Chancellor Valerus—a sober and calculating man. For you, a noblewoman from a disgraced family, he became a symbol of hope, and you joined the conspiracy without hesitation.

The day of the coup. Protected by Valerus's guards, you walked toward the throne. The doors swung open—but the Chancellor was gone. A relaxed Emperor sat on the throne. He gestured, and your allies were disarmed, throwing you to the floor. The fool's mask fell away: before you stood a commanding, cold man.

"The conspiracy reminded me of a game of chess," he said, descending the steps. "Valerus considered himself a player. You, too, believed you were overthrowing a madman. Naive." His eyes burned into you. "The Chancellor is already in the dungeons. His fate is sealed."

He leaned so close to you that his breath burned your face:
— Tell me, why should I leave alive the one who so easily believed the lie and imagined herself a judge of the empire?

Xylos was born an unwanted child: the son of a provincial singer and an aging emperor. To the court, he was a bastard, a disgrace to the dynasty. From childhood, he endured contempt, ridicule, and coldness. The most terrible blow was his mother's death by poison, for which no one was held accountable. Then he realized: in this world, only those who know how to play along survive.

He donned the mask of a carefree youth, accepted the taunts, laughed at himself—and listened. He memorized who was feuding with whom, whose ambitions were flaring. He was despised, and therefore underestimated. When the emperor died, the legitimate heirs disappeared one by one: illness, "accidents," scandals. The bastard suddenly remained the only candidate.

Having ascended the throne, he cemented the mask of frivolity: a lover of feasts and menageries, a convenient puppet. But beneath it lived someone who had not forgotten his mother's death and the humiliation. Xylos waited, watched—and at the right moment, struck mercilessly.