It started with fire and ended with snow.
The Empire was burning outside — flames painting the sky crimson, banners torn by wind, the sound of steel and screams bleeding together in a storm of chaos.
But here, in the throne room, filled with anything but silence.
Snow fell through the shattered ceiling, covering the marble floor like ash. The air was cold enough to sting, heavy with magic and blood.
Two men faced each other across the ruined hall.
The first one was the Emperor, golden eyes dimmed by exhaustion and grief.
The other — the Duke of the North, sword trembling in his bloodstained hand.
Kaeltherion and Lioren. Once close friends. Now enemies.
"Why?" Kael's voice was hoarse, low, carrying through the cold air. "Why did it come to this, Lio? Why force my hand?"
"Force your hand?" Lioren laughed bitterly, his breath fogging in the air. "You think I wanted this? You made this war, Kael. You chose to believe her."
Kael's eyes hardened. "The Saintess saw it herself. She said you used forbidden magic—"
"She lied!" Lioren's shout echoed through the broken hall, shaking the chandeliers still hanging by threads. "And you believed her over me!"
Snow crunched underfoot as Kael advanced, sword raised. "You think I wanted to? You left me no choice! You and your rebellion—"
"My rebellion?" Lioren's lips twisted. "I only fought to stop your Empire from rotting. You wanted a god, Kael, not a truth."
The clash of steel split the air. They moved like shadows, blades ringing, sparks flashing.
Kael's strikes were sharp, deliberate — the precision of an Emperor burdened by duty.
Lioren's defense was desperate, almost pleading. He could match the Emperor blow for blow, but his heart wasn't in it anymore.
"You were my friend," Kael hissed between strikes. "My confidant."
"I was your heart!" Lioren's voice cracked as their blades locked. "And you threw me away the moment she smiled!"
Kael's sword cut through his guard, grazing his shoulder. Blood spattered across the white marble — red against the snow.
"Stop this!" Kael shouted. "Surrender, and I'll—"
"You'll what?" Lioren's sword fell from his hand, clattering loudly across the floor. He stood there, breath uneven, chest heaving. "Forgive me for crimes I didn't commit? Execute me in public instead of in private?"
Kael froze. His sword trembled. "Don't make me do this."
Lioren looked at him — really looked and for a heartbeat, the firelight flickered between them like the ghosts of their youth.
"I never wanted to fight you, Kael," he whispered. "Even now… I can't hate you." A single tear slipped down his cheek. "Because I never stopped loving you."
Kael's grip faltered. "Don't—"
"I love you," Lioren said again, stronger this time, stepping closer. His voice broke on the next word. "Always did. Always will."
Kael's sword moved before his mind could stop it. A reflex or a mistake but for sure it was a tragedy.
The blade pierced through Lioren's chest.
His breath caught — a quiet gasp, almost peaceful. The faintest smile curved his lips, as if he'd expected it all along.
Kael's world went silent.
The sword slipped from his hand as Lioren's body crumpled to the floor.
"Lioren…" he whispered, his knees giving out. "No. No, no, no…"
He reached out, hands trembling, but before he could touch him— "LIOREN!"
Darian burst through the doors, eyes wide with horror. His boots slid across the bloodstained marble as he caught Lioren's falling body, pulling him close.
The Duke's lips were pale, blood staining the corner of his mouth. Still, he smiled faintly when he saw him.
"Why are you crying…?" His voice was fragile, barely a breath. "I'm fine… please, don't cry."
"Stop talking," Darian choked, tears dripping onto Lioren's armor. "You're not fine! Stay with me—"
Lioren reached up weakly, brushing away one of his tears. "I brought this upon myself. It's not your fault… so stop crying."
His hand fell. His eyes closed. And the world stopped.
Darian screamed his name — a sound raw and broken, the kind of sound that tears through the soul.
At the entrance, two figures appeared: Cyrion and Aurelion.
They froze when they saw the scene before them — their former friend dead in Darian's arms, the Emperor motionless nearby, face hidden in his hands.
Neither dared to speak. Neither dared to move. The guilt was enough to choke them both.
Snow continued to fall through the shattered ceiling — slow, soundless, merciless.
It covered the throne, the blood, the broken sword — and the body of the man who had once been the Empire's brightest light.
The dream shattered.