Prolog: hermere quest

  Three years ago, hermere’s skyline decided it was time for a ge—a crack opened up in the sky, not for fresh air, but to introduce the local popuce to their new neighbors: a legion of spaceships.

  Yes, you read that right.

  Nons, not flying chariots, but spaceships. Thousands of them, because well, quantity has a quality all its own.

  These ielr tourists came from what they deemed a “higher” civilization, with iions to add hermere to their ic colle of quered nds.

  With teology so adva made quantum physics seem like toddler's babble, they traversed realms, searg for resource-rich mines as naturally as a river flows to the sea.

  Their arsenal? Oh, just your everyday ser ons, force fields capable of shrugging off nuclear explosions, and AI so smart it could outwit turies of strategic military thinking.

  They faced realms of all sorts, winning some over with the ing of intergactic salesmen and bulldozing others with the subtlety of a star going supernova.

  For them, hermere, with its quaint medieval charm and teology so archaic it might belong in an a history museum (they say), felt like a stroll through a ic park.

  "Crush and occupy," they decred. Straightforward strategy eno need for underhanded methods when fag off against sword-swinging, horseback-riding folks, right?

  But suddenly, their invasion ground to an abrupt halt, all thanks to a single man.

  King Burn of Soulnaught Kingdom decided he wasn't in the mood for visitors.

  Okay now, picture this: spaceships, engines humming with visions of erritories, suddenly bsted into ic fireworks. And the culprit?

  A man with nothing but his bare fists, a bit of "cruel” magid also, well, probably a disdain for unwele house guests.

  King Burn wasn’t just a man; he was a one-man army, a force of nature.

  As these futuristic vessels crumbled under his might, you could almost hear the invaders' fidence shattering into a billion pieces.

  Here was a guy who didn't need sers or AI; he had his fists and spells that made their advanced onry look like toys. It was as if an a hero, usually seen brandishing a sword in myths, decided to show the universe what real power looked like.

  So there they were, a civilization that had quered realms, brought to their knees not by another advanced civilization, but by a single man from a world they deemed "primitive."

  No.

  Just maybe, if that man hadn't been born, they would have

  That was, however, three years ago. It was a different story today.

  Thus, following Burn's ic reprimand, alnt invaders experienced a lightbulb moment. sidering that using force was iive, it was necessary to implement "Pn B: Make Friends and Influence People... to Destroy Themselves."

  Clever, huh? Instead of employing ser guns, they exged grins and handshakes and trated on trading strategies. "ologize for damaging your sky, but let's trade!"

  "We'll give you shiny tech gadgets in exge for... well, the very fabric of your society."

  Their products were ioo excellent to resist.

  Imagine having a hoverbike instead of a horse, a perpetual lightbulb in pce of a dle, a fusioor installed in your a royal chariot, and armor with a built-in temperature trol system.

  Is there anyone who could refuse? Not the aristocrats and nobility, who jumped at the ce to associate with these new, incredibly giving merts.

  The invaders whispered sweet nothings into the ears of the powerful, sowing seeds of distrust and ambition. "Did you see Lord So-and-So's new anti-gravity cloak? Bet you wish you had one. Maybe if you weren't such good friends with Duke What's-His-Name..."

  And just like that, the powerful people of the nd started eyeing each other like the st slice of cake at a birthday party. The onified front against the invaders crumbled faster than a cookie in zero gravity.

  In three short years, the nd was rife with chaos, all because of a few well-pced bargains and baubles.

  Let's give a round of appuse to our space-faring friends, shall we?

  They turned ielr invasion into a mastercss in manipution. Well, it wasn’t like they never did so before. It was just cssic for experienced spavaders like them.

  Who needs an all-out war when you just get the locals to tear each other apart over the test intergactiiacks?

  Bravo, invaders, bravo. You've successfully turned advanced quest into the gaxy's lo and most absurd episode of "Pawn Stars."

  Until…

  "Do you think King Burn is... you know, a bit harsh?"

  "What? He wasn't just harsh; I heard he killed his own brother in the civil war because the man dared to suggest a different wine for dinner! Well, maybe not just that, but I heard it was just over petty things!"

  "Really? That's nothing. My cousin's friend told me Burn's cruelty knows no bounds. He banished his aide for buttoning his shirt wrong. Imagine, his aide!"

  "Banished his aide? e on, that's child's py. I heard from a reliable source that he threw a jester into the dungeon for being not funny. Said it was 'high treason against humor.'"

  "No way! Well, did you know he outwed sneezing within a hundred paces of him because he believes it steals his thoughts? That's why nobody dares to even sniffle at court!"

  "That's utterly bizarre. But it makes sense. I heard he sleeps on a bed of swords to prove he's the toughest around. Cims it gives him 'dreams of steel.'"

  "Do you think any of it's true?"

  "Who knows? But it sure makes food tale. Just don't whisper too loud; the walls have ears, and they might just report back to our dear 'merciful' King Burn."

  Oh, you would hope it was just these kinds of silly rumors. In truth, it wasn’t. Or to be certain, it started silly, and it became an image.

  The reason for the civil war five years ago started to be questioned.

  Everyohought it was treason against the kingdom, but slowly, they started to think that it was rooted in how horrible of a king Burn was, and his brother wao take over the throne from him.

  “Y… Your Majesty…”

  “They even used my history with my brother, huh?” Burn, sitting on his throne, muttered.

  Ranks of ministers, nobles, knights and aides kneeling in front of him in that opulent hall, drenched i.

  The man sitting ohrone sneered, “Reports have been quite iing these days.”

  King Burn lounged on his throne, eyeing the sea of kneelers before him.

  No one had asked them to kneel, but there they were, sooling, as if the floor had suddenly bee the most fasating aspect of the room.

  ‘Aaaah, today, the hall’s floor is so cold and refreshing, polished so meticulously that it was squeaky … kudos to the pace servants… fuck, I hope I keep my head…’

  Shift.

  All bodies stiffened as they heard their King shifted on his seat.

  “Heh…”

  They heard their king chug! A goosebumps ran down their spine, simultaneously.

  ?"Gather round, folks, for the tale of how I, the 'Burn the vilin,' apparently won the civil war by beio my brother. ??Because, you know, no one's ever won a war being nice." ?

  ?There was silen the room as everyone's ears were tuo the sarcasm that was dripping from his words like honey.

  ?"And then there are the spavaders. ??Me? ??I used a broom to simply chase them away. ??I mean, that's how interpary wars get resolved, right? ??A cssic dust-up." ?

  ?He took a moment to process the ridiculousness. ??"But oh, no, let's not talk about saving the world. ??Let's gossip about how I supposedly throw people into dungeons for looking at me funny. ??Because, clearly, that's the kind of thing that keeps me all giddy." ?

  ?The audience shuffled with nervousness. ??No one dared to get up, their loyalty?or maybe fear?anch them to the spot. ?

  ?"Now, I hear these delightful rumors are courtesy of our extraterrestrial friends. ??Divide et impera, am I right? ??Ohh, so cssic." ?

  ?Burn's gaze swept over them, as cold and sharp as ever. ??"So, here we are, pying into their hands, turning against each other over whispers and shadows. ??Holy, I expected better. ??But hey, what do I know? ??I'm just the tyrant ohrone." ?

  ?As he leaned back, a calm smirk pyed on his lips. ??The message was clear: trust the rumors at your peril. ??Not just his own nasty rumor, but any rumor. ?

  ?The hall was silent as they tread the liween rumor ay, and the razor-thin ice upon which they all skated. ?

  ?THUD! ?

  ?As Burn's metal heel desded to the floor after he straightened his crossed legs, the court started to expeething. ?

  ?With a motion as methodical as the breaking of dawn, King Burn got up from his seat. ?

  ?Every heart stopped in mid-beat, every eye was fixated on him, and the quiet grew. ??He spoke, his voice like a razor slig through the tension, his sigh seeming to carry the weight of the entire universe. ?

  ?"Enough," he exhaled, his voice resonating against the gold and marble. ??It was a straightforward statement that seemed to e straight from the gods. ?

  ?"It would be embarrassing to let these outsiders be. ??No, it would be my shame," he said again, his tone nont yet loaded with the kind of authority that overthrow murmurs and whispers. ?

  He moved with a certainty that made it clear—this was not a mere shift in strategy; it was a decration of war, but on his terms.

  "Their game is clear," Burn announced, every sylble heavy with resolve, "and I io py. Not as a pawn, but as the sole pyer. quer? Yes, but it will be I who quers."

  The air in the hall turric, his advisors, ministers, and knights hanging on every word, witnessing the moment that would redefihe fate of their world.

  "Soulnaught shall no longer be a mere kingdom," he procimed, his stanwavering, the power of his presendiminished. "From this day forth, it is an empire, and I, its emperor."

  “And I decre war to take over the world before they .”

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  Chapter 1: Personal Red Carpet

  Hissing fire.

  Small explosions.

  Wind carrying the st of death.

  Once a geous site, the battleground was now a mastercss in colors of crimson and burned fir.

  Not to be outdohe sky decided red was actually its atg the destructive fireworks dispy below to perfe.

  The battleships and mechas that stole the show have turned into giant wn ors. Did they actually bring the room together? One might suggest?

  Once shining ieologically advanced armor, soldiers now y trying to make out the not-so-a ruins.

  And magis, magis, magis! With wands of rare space ore in hand, they y there definitively demonstrating that magic was not a panacea.

  Especially not for war.

  Especially not for him.

  What? You're asking what odor was that? Ah, indeed, everything was bzing, and the delicious st of victory permeated the air. Thus, there had been time to enjoy the silence as the st fme had burned out and the st drone had buzzed away.

  There was a man standing in the middle of what seemed like the remnants of a ic clearance sale.

  Not just any man, but one eared to have made a false turn while traveling to a post-apocalyptic, high-end photo session.

  His white hair, which seemed to be radiating ahereal light, provided a striking, almost beautiful trast to the devastation all around it. Those goldeoo? Totally unfazed by the mayhem all around him, he shoh the cool assurance of someone who has just discovered the st slice of cake in a flict zone.

  There he was, standing like he owhe pce, probably pting the eternal question: "To brunch or not to brunch?" amidst the age.

  As fires raged and remnants of what once were fluttered in the acrid breeze, he remained as nont as someone deg on a tte or tea.

  It was all as expected, of course. After all, he was him.

  There stood Emperor Burn. His nonce let him seem as if he thought the blood soaked ground was his personal red carpet.

  Not oo miss a beat in the political drama of hermere, he had turned his battlefield into a statement piece.

  He said, clearly amused by the chaos around him, "You allow those outsiders to entice you with fshy teology and create wedges between us."

  "You could have sworn loyalty to me, but you prioritized teology over people. What a disappoi, Wintersin Empire."

  His sword, reduced to a glorified stick, was lying mounted on the blood-soaked ground.

  "Ah, my faithful panion," he groaned, his shoulders bearing the weight of the world, or at least the weight of the destru of his on.

  This was a guy who had seeire civilizations colpse and innumerable enemies perish, yet he grieved over a k of metal like a little child grieves over a broken toy.

  "It's been quite the party, hasn't it?" He smirked as he made a joke, directed at nobody in particur.

  But as, it was the end of the road for his sword, a loss that seemed to sting more than the tless assets and lives he had id to waste.

  "More than any siege or skirmish, it's you, my trusty bde, that I'll pine for. What's an emperor without his sword? Just a man with a very expensive pieetal, I suppose."

  His sword started to crumble to dust.

  It reminded him of the civil war some years ago. He killed his brother with his own two hands.

  “You’re not the king’s son! I, t, am his only son!”

  It was before those invaders came.

  Despite not being the real son of the king, he still killed his brother, the oh the real royal bloodline. Well, it wasn’t like he knew before that he wasn’t of the bloodline. He was raised as oheless.

  Burn recalled how it was simir to today. The red sky, the body scattered about… except the space junks and fancy tech he destroyed.

  “It has been aful decade…”

  Yes, since he was ed the King, killed his brother for his rebellion in the civil war, stopped the invaders, and decred himself the emperor of the Soulnaught Empire.

  Even if time turned back to a decade ago, he would still do the same.

  He would ge nothing.

  With the colpse of the Wintersin Empire, the entire ti now y within his grasp. And soon the world too…

  Just as Burn was about to call it a day otlefield, hoping to catch up with his troops who were off having their own little skirmish elsewhere, a shadow flickered.

  A woman.

  Burn’s first rea to it—no, his first thought when he saw what it was was… ‘beautiful’.

  Blog his path, she drew her bde with a flourish. Then, in a move that would leave even the most avant-garde pywright scratg their head, she screamed his full name—"Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!"

  SLICE!

  Burn widened his eyes.

  As she stood there, blog his way, her face twisted in a visage of pure hatred, eyes abze with a fury that could ighe very air. Then, with a sudden, eerie calm, she drew her bde across her own throat.

  SPLAT!

  Blood spilled on the already blood soaked ground. Red on top of the red, yet it looked redder than the charred ground.

  Her face ged at that very instant, from hatred to a frantic, disturbing smile, as if, in her dying breath, she had accepted some siwisted triumph.

  It had a sting influence, carving a raw, emotional anguish into her features befiving way to a terrifying peace.

  And Burn—

  ***

  Chirp…! Chirp chirp…

  Rustle…

  “Ugh!”

  BLINK!

  Burn suddenly opened his eyes, finding himself in the familiar surroundings of his room, on his bed.

  “A dream?”

  It was as if time had folded upon itself; one moment he was otlefield, and the , he was here, the transition as seamless as a blink.

  Remarkably posed, he stood up, his brain reeling with fusion. Drawing the boundaries of his reality with the brushstrokes of a dream, his thoughts kept going back to the vivid picture of the woman he had seen.

  She was ethereal, an almost uhly embodiment of beauty. Her beautiful blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in a graceful manner, framing her face like liquid sunshine.

  Her lofty stature and sharp, curvaceous figure veyed a tradi that birength and tenderness in equal measure. She moved with grad fluidity in every motion, giving the impression that she was untouched by agitation or hurry.

  Her eyes were the most noticeable feature; they were a deep blue that, on the clearest of days, matched the sky. They radiated a radiance, a brilliahat appeared to overwhelm her surroundings and overwhelm everything else in their shadow.

  Burn observed a range of emotions reflected in those eyes, including fieress, despair, resolve, and an eerie depth that suggested she held secrets as enormous as the os.

  Burn sat on his bed, her appearance imprinted iail in his memory with ued precision. Even though it might have been a dream, she felt as real to him as the air he breathed.

  He felt fused, but also as though something precious had been taken from him by waking. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

  No.

  She cut her own throat in front of him.

  She robbed herself from him. Even in a dream—

  KNOOCK!

  The door to his room ened, and a man he knew as his closest aide entered.

  “Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is plete.”

  Burn raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

  Wasn’t the war… already over?