Dead silence.
Not the silence of peace —
but the kind that follows screaming.
The banners of Archduke Cassian Valmere under the order of King Magnus Daimoor IV, moved slowly through the windless air as his expedition entered Sterling County.
Four hundred soldiers marched behind him, clad in polished imperial armor. Steel glinted beneath the pale sky. Cavalry hooves pressed into soil still dark with blood.
At the Archduke's right rode Imperial High Marshal Alaric Voss, commander of his forces.
Behind them followed the three dukes sworn beneath Cassian's authority:
Duke Edmund Harrington
Duke Lucian Montclair
Duke Theodore Rutherford
And behind them, the six counts of his dominion:
Count Rowan Westbrook.
Count Victor Ashcroft.
Count Brian Langford.
Count Sebastian Hawthorne.
Count Dominic Kingswell.
Count Julian Whitfield.
Total nine nobles and four hundred soldiers.
And yet—
Unease crept into every spine.
Because before them…
There was no county.
There was only ruin.
Bodies littered the roads. Not corpses — fragments.
Limbs severed. Torsos split open. Faces unrecognizable.
Children reduced to unidentifiable ruin.
Dogs fed openly.
Crows perched upon shattered ribs.
No smoke remained. No voices. No survivors.
Duke Edmund Harrington covered his nose with a silk handkerchief.
"What an unsightly display."
"Indeed," Duke Lucian Montclair replied quietly.
Duke Theodore Rutherford dismounted, crouching near a corpse split cleanly from shoulder to hip.
"The brutality suggests Varkhal," he said. "But brutality alone is not proof."
Count Rowan Westbrook's voice trembled.
"My lord… Count Richard Sterling was under your protection. How could an entire county be erased?"
Brian Langford swallowed.
"We eradicated the Varkhals a decade ago… If this is their return—"
"Enough." with aggressive duke Edmund harrington warning gesture towards the counts.
Cassian Valmere raised one gloved hand.
Silence fell immediately.
His eyes were cold, calculating , swept across the carnage.
And Edmund harrington let's his anger out and explained,
"Even Count Viscon, unaffiliated with us, had fallen.what do you say now?"
"But...." Count Brian Langford couldn't accept the fact,
"Two counties. Not one.
This was not random slaughter.
This was a message".
"We do not act on fear," Cassian said calmly.
"We act on certainty."
He turned his horse toward the road leading to Visconnia.
"If this was Varkhal… the trail will not be subtle."
Marshal Alaric Voss signaled the column forward. Steel shifted and horses moved.
And the army of Valedyrn advanced deeper into the land of the dead.
At the Manor of Visconnia, Yelena sat on her bed, sobbing.
She remembered her father — the man who had showered her with endless love.
She remembered Adrian.
And one particular meeting in spring, when they were still teenagers.
The academy garden had always been quieter than the imperial court ever allowed. Stone benches curved around a circular pond, lilies floating lazily across its surface.
The afternoon sun filtered through tall cypress trees, scattering shifting shadows over the gravel paths.
Yelena sat beneath one of those trees, parchment spread before her — though her attention had long drifted from her studies.
Adrian found her there, as he often did.
"You always escape here before exams," he said, dropping his satchel beside her.
"It's not escaping," she replied without looking up. "It's thinking."
He sat close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. "Thinking about politics or philosophy?"
She hesitated. "Neither."
That made him smile.
A light breeze carried the scent of blossoms between them. One of her notes slipped from her lap and drifted toward the pond.
Adrian caught it before it could touch the water.
"You'd be lost without me," he teased, handing it back.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither pulled away immediately.
For a moment, the world narrowed — no empire, no noble expectations, no council shadows.
Just the warmth of his hand against hers.
"Adrian," she asked quietly, "what happens after this? After the academy?"
He looked at her differently then. Not playful. Not teasing.
"I'll still find you in gardens," he said. "Wherever they are."
She laughed softly, though her cheeks warmed.
When the academy bell rang in the distance, neither of them moved right away.
For fleeting moment, the kingdom didn't exist.
And suddenly a door creaking open shattered the memory.
Yelena gasped and woke on the bed.
Standing at the doorway was Michael.
Love filled his face. Fear and irritation filled hers.
She immediately ran from the bed, grabbing a fruit-slicing knife from the nearby table.
"Don't come near me. If you do, I'll kill you."
"Sure, my love," Michael replied calmly.
He stretched his arms wide.
"Wherever you want, you can stab me."
Frustrated and furious, Yelena's hand trembled.
"Fine," she said, pressing the knife to her own neck. "Then I'll slit my throat first—"
Before she could finish, Michael closed the distance in a single second.
He grabbed her wrist, the one holding the knife.
The sudden force made her stumble into him.
He tightened his grip.
"Like I said," he whispered, "you have my life."
His eyes locked onto hers.
"And at the same time, I have yours. Even if you want to end your life… I won't allow it."
A long silence stretched between them.
Michael looked into Yelena's eyes very calmly and in his eyes,she was something caged,
And Yelena looked into his eyes with fear and tears filling eyes and in her eyes he was something that caged.
The air between them felt suffocating.
Then—
"My liege, I have information to relay."
Olivia Varkhal stepped into the room, her voice cutting through the tension and dragging them back to reality.
Michael slowly released Yelena's wrist and turned toward Olivia.
"Tell me."
With a delighted smile, Olivia spoke.
"The kingdom has made its move. They are marching toward this county."
For the first time since the massacre, hope flickered inside Yelena.
The kingdom was coming.
She might escape this hell.
A pure, relieved smile formed on her face without her realizing it.
Michael noticed.
"Pffff…"
A mocking laugh escaped him.
"Let them come," he said casually.
Then his eyes darkened with excitement.
"This is the perfect opportunity."
He smiled wider.
"The world has forgotten our names,let's make them remember it again"
An hour passed.
Lord Cassian Valmere marched into the County of Visconnia with Imperial Marshal Aleric Voss, commanding four hundred soldiers. With his dukes and counts accompanied them.
The moment they entered the territory, they were shattered by the sight before them.
Every soul in Visconnia was dead.
Corpses lay everywhere — mutilated beyond recognition. Limbs severed. Bodies torn apart. Blood flowed across the ground like a crimson river.
The counts trembled.
"Look at this… this is definitely the doing of the Varkhals. We are doomed."
Duke Edmund Harrington turned sharply.
"Refrain from such words, Count. I will not speak kindly if you utter another cowardly sentence."
Lord Cassian Valmere raised his hand, silencing them all.
"All counts, return to your counties immediately. Report the current situation to the king. Go."
Without hesitation, the counts fled with their retainers, riding as if in a race to escape death itself.
Duke Edmund Harrington frowned.
"My lord, why are you sending them away?"
Cassian's eyes remained fixed ahead.
"We are being drawn here. We may not leave this place alive. This is the best decision I can make."
The duke did not argue further.
Neither did the others.
They followed Cassian toward the Manor of Count Viscon.
Soon, the Imperial Marshal, Archduke Cassian Valmere, and three dukes arrived before the manor gates.
What awaited them there—
Michael varkhal stood calmly at the entrance.
Cassian narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you?"
Michael smirked.
"I don't like introducing myself."
He slowly raised his hand into the air.
From nowhere, a giant axe came flying and landed perfectly in his grip.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Rather… my slash will make you remember me until your death."
With that, he leapt high into the air.