Ethian Glory (Closed)

[North Timistania]

Prologue

Tirol Fortress

Old Maloria

In the age following the waltz of lions​

It was the beginning of spring; the border lands hummed with newborn vitality as the world shrugged off the winter like a snake abandoning dead skin. The air was heavy with moisture, the echo of months of rain that had raked the plains beneath mount Tirol, the afternoon breeze carried a mélange of wet earth, lavender and moss as it flowed across the land.

Marshal Bergman stifled a pained grimace as he dismounted from his horse and passed the reins to a squire, at fifty he was a collection of aches and scars, a largely held together by duty and obstinacy. His leg was already burning as an axe wound, he had received whilst fighting Vikings protested his descent, his black armour had once been as a second skin, now after so many years it was finally beginning to feel more like a crushing weight.

In some ways the old warrior savoured his pain, it was a reminder that he yet lived when so many of his comrades had perished. He doubted he would see many more seasons; each new spring was a blessing and a reminder his time drew thin. He pushed the thoughts from his mind, this was no time for moribund reflections, today was a day of honour.

From summit of Mount Tirol, he was afforded a view of all creation for miles in all directions, it was precisely for this reason that the elderly general had chosen the ancient mountains as the site of his bastion. Prydania and Norsia loomed at his back, old enemies that eternally threatened to cross the border and resume the cycles of fire and plunder. Bergman had spent the majority of his life watching that horizon, oath sworn as he was to defend the lands of the Severyn kings unto death.

However, today his attention firmly rested upon the valley below and the vast host gathered amongst the bloom of lavender and blood rose. Even from upon high he could recognize the standards of his bannermen, the red kestrel of house Fel, the roaring bear of Esterhaszy and in the centre the resplendent black hawk of house Moravecs.

Four thousand men at arms stood at attention, mail and polished plate glinted in the glare of the ascendent sun and at the head of this mighty host stood the men and women who had bled at Bergmans side. Death could have the elder general, but it would have to wait its turn, today he would grant his retinue their justly earned homage, today the peace won at sword point would be exalted.

Bergman cleared his throat, already wishing he had a cup of wine as he fought down a fit of coughing. He glanced briefly at his own standard, the rampant blue lion of house Tirol looming over the valley in roaring defiance, he steadied himself and turned his attention back to the assembled army below. He nodded to his equerry and the horns sounded out, booming across the valley and announcing to every settlement for miles that today the great and valiant had gathered.

“My brothers and sisters, today we gather in the shadow of the mountain to give rightful honor to those noble persons that God has seen fit to exalt in the splendour of victory! For twenty years we have fought the enemies of our emperor, Vikings, Bayardi, Trien and an endless litany of other godforsaken swine! We bled, watched our fields burn and suffered the sight of our loved one’s bones bleaching beneath smoke clogged skies! But our oath has never broken! We have held these lands as our emperor commanded! We have faced every enemy this continent could muster, and we have beaten them all! Maloria is the strong back of this broken continent and shall ever endure!” Bergman declared his booming voice carrying for miles

Cheers rose from the mass of warriors in response, hafts of polearms and hilts of blades smacking against war battered shields as the men of the borderlands roared their approval. Bergman waited for the cheering to die down before continuing.

“Today let all who have bled in defence of our homes count themselves amongst the blessed few, elevated by their sacrifices, I call forth my loyal commanders to stand before me and to bring honour to their hosts!” Bergman declared in a commanding voice

At that three armoured figures ascended the hill to join Bergman, a woman in gilded mail with an ermine cloak draped across her shoulders, a bear of a man in red and white plate armour whose weatherbeaten face was a tapestry of scars and a tall man in worn scale mail, his face cropped in a tonsure and his black eyes narrow in a perpetual expression of disapproval. These three knights had stood with Bergman since the very beginning and today he would repay their loyalty.

“Ekaterina Fel, step forward!” Bergman commanded

The woman in the gilded mail strode forward and knelt before Bergman, in her early thirties the lady Fel was no less intimidating, he had personally seen her wade through lesser warriors her sabre flashing like lightning as she laid low foes many times her size.

“Your courage at the battle of the Reznov gap carried the day! and your timely intervention ensured I lived to see another! Ekaterina of house Fel! I bestow upon you the title of warden of the marches and bequeath you the village of Kuznow and all its rents and subjects, may they prosper under your stewardship!” Ekaterina rose and saluted her lord gratefully before stepping back

“Marius Esterhaszy step forward! “The bear of a man complied and knelt before his lord, still towering even on one knee

The champion of house Tirol wore the marks of his service upon his body to an extent greater than any other in Bergmans retinue. His right eye was milky white and the flesh above and below it marked by a long, jagged scar that charted the course of a Trien Sabre. His nose had been broken and reset so many times that it was near flat from the trauma, and his ears bore the telltale marks of frequent brawls.

Bergman had seen Marius crush a berserker’s skull with his bear hands and had witnessed him split a man down the middle with one swing of his halberd. He was every bit the ursine monstrosity his houses sigil suggested.

“Champion of house Tirol, you personally saved my life at the Tarthian fields, I award you the rank of Prefect and award you the estate and village of Trieste, may you bring honour and prosperity to the office!” Marius grunted in sincere approval one giant hand slamming into his breastplate in reverent salute. The giant rose, armour joints clanking as his gigantic frame stood, giving one last salute he stepped back.

“Bronislav Moravecs, step forward” Bergman intoned warmly

Of the three companions Bronislav was the least impressive, he bore no scars, could claim no superhuman feats in combat and his humble panoply was distinctly lacking in embellishments. And yet, despite his seemingly unimpressive visage, he was the greatest of the three. His counsel and genius having won untold battles before armies had even taken the field, he was the right hand of house Tirol and the most trusted of all Bergmans sworn retainers.

“Bronislav, you have served at my side for two decades, you came to my service at the behest of the emperor and have been my wisest council ever since, no reward is too great for such a trusted servant, therefore, I offer the hand of my daughter Petronella that we might join our houses eternally, blood of my blood let none divide the union we shall today form” Bergman declared proudly

“I am the sword in your hand and the shield at your side, in victory and defeat my loyalty shall remain ever true and undiminished!” Bronislav intoned in reverent reply

“Honour has been satisfied, now we feast!” Bergman roared his voice jovial

Cheers boomed across the valley below, Honour done and an alliance for the ages formed.

 

[North Timistania]

CRANE

September 22nd, 2025

The Empire of South Ethia

New Bergum

Office of State Security ​

Light streamed in from the open windows, the morning sunbathing the room in blinding yellow, it was a spectacle that reflected the impractical design of the entire building. The headquarters of the state security suffered from the same contradiction that so many secretive organizations seemed prone to, it was a wholly conspicuous mass of glass and polished steel that speared the new Bergum skyline with all the subtlety of a drunkard waving about a pig sticker.

E’vika Crane had been fortunate to have rare occasion to visit, her assignments with diplomatic protection ensuring she was carried to locations across the wider Eras. Now though, something had changed, official summons had necessitated her presence here and that usually meant either a promotion or more likely an inquest and dismissal.

If director Muller noticed the blazing sunlight, he made no show of acknowledgement or annoyance, he was almost unmoving as he scanned over countless folders. He had been a great man once, his career a storied one, however the liver spotted diminutive sitting before E’vika was little more then crumbs after a banquet. He seemed shriveled and shrunken by age, as though an invisible hand had twisted and wrung him out many times over and yet his focus seemed sharp as ever.

His office seemed as ancient as he was, how old was the director? 60? Early seventies? Either he was ancient, or he was wearing his years very poorly. The room décor spoke of an antiquated taste, lots of varnished teak and countless portraits of yesteryears monarchs, a cavalry sabre even lined the corner wall, the entire room seemed determined to exist in defiance of the modernity that defined the rest of the building.

“You can relax agent Crane, if this was a disciplinary, we wouldn’t be meeting personally” Muller set as he set aside another folder, almost as though he had read E’vika’s mind

E’vika felt her stress start to dissipate at that, though that still didn’t answer the question of what she had been summoned here for. Muller finally seemed to conclude whatever inspection he had been carrying out, the final folder returning to the stack with a shaking hand. The director removed his spectacles and regarded E’vika with a withering stare, a look that made crane feeling like the director was trying to dig into her very soul.

“You have a long and impressive career behind you agent, your superiors in the army, the VIPs you’ve protected, even General Nguyen, they all had nothing but praise for your methods and skills”

“General Nguyen actually consented to discussing classified intelligence?” E’vika exclaimed in genuine surprise

“I got a name and a censored copy and only after I explained I was speaking on behalf of the imperial house, whatever you did with taskforce “black lion” is still largely a secret, but the praise was there even without the details” Muller explained

If Muller had asked about black lion this had to be something important, that entire deployment had been off the books, a deniable asset to be used and then hidden behind a mound of paperwork and official obfuscation. Clearly imperial authority still carried some weight; Nguyen wasn’t known for being so accommodating.

“If I may ask sir, what did you call me here for?” E’vika asked

“I have been asked to assign you to the emperor’s personal security detail” Muller said in a businesslike tone, almost akin to voice someone would use when offering a sandwich

“It would be an honour sir! But…” she said excitedly before trailing off

“Why you?” Muller replied with a knowing smile, he leaned back in his chair for a moment to consider his response, he looked shrunken as he rested in that tall, backed recliner

“The Satraps rampage had consequences” Muller explained matter-factly

“With respect sir, the Satrap is dead, he failed” She replied regretting not keeping quiet as she did so

“Did he? His rampage exposed how vulnerable every leader in Eras truly is, ambassadors killed, multiple heads of state either murdered or placed in immense danger, he has made Eras more dangerous then ever, alive or no. its prompted a review of our security apparatus and we have decided that the emperors detail needs an upgrade, your record speaks for itself agent, the only question is will you accept the offer?” Muller said leaning forward and pushing an open folder toward Crane

She would be stupid to turn it down, she knew, but still the imposter syndrome creeped to the surface. Was she really deserving of this high honour? what if they were just using her, mixed race and a pretty face to make the state look progressive. What if she failed? Or worse what if the emperor depended on her and she was found wanting? The thoughts assailed her like a horde of phantoms.

“Agent” Muller asked in a quizzical voice, pulling her out of the rumination

“Sir, it would be my honour to serve” she said without any further hesitation

“Good, your flight leaves in two days, once we have completed the security checks you will proceed to Bad Kessel, congratulations agent” Muller replied approvingly, a parchment-like hand reaching out

She took it, the man’s grip surprisingly strong despite his aged appearance, she promptly signed the papers and then was dismissed, she slumped in the elevator as the turbolift descended back to the lobby.

“Oh Vika, what have you gotten us into now” she muttered somewhere between amazement and panic​

LUTHER

South Ethia

Province of Vossland

Bad Kessel

September 24th, 2025

Early mornings at Bad Kessel were normally sedate affairs, time for the imperial house to gather for breakfast and settle into a new day. The old estate was a far cry from the cold formality that defined the imperial palace in New Bergum, life in the country running to a loose and more languid pace. Today was not like the others, the sound of drills and marching feet filled the air as the household guard readied itself for the sovereign’s review.

In the master bedroom the emperor was presently finishing dressing, he could hear the commotion from the window, the bellowing of noncommissioned officers shattering the serenity that typically defined life here. The intrusion of pageant and parade into the emperor’s private home felt tantamount to an invasion and the marching did little to dispel that assumption.

Luther shifted uncomfortably as he regarded his reflection, the man that stared back had an appearance and bearing that seemed threatening and unassuming all at once. Physically Luther was every bit an heir of the Severyn’s, he bore the telltale gauntness and raven black hair that had long distinguished the great northern dynasty, only his eyes marked him as an offshoot of the parent house, two cold orbs of grey stared back a reminder of his Tirol ancestors.

For all the sharpness of his features, Luther had always seemed…underwhelming, his receding hairline, horn rimmed spectacles and self-effacing nature tended to cause people to view him as a harmless academic. His lip curled in an expression of momentary irritation as he adjusted the collar of his uniform.

“Like a college academic in a costume” he muttered

He despised wearing military uniform, though not for the reasons one might expect, he wore the uniform well, the sea blue field marshal’s blazer with its golden trim seemed to augment his otherwise unassuming looks with an air of cold authority. It was this affectation that Luther felt the most uncomfortable with, he wore military attire too well and he knew intimately how easy it was for his family to adopt the shape of autocrat.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and reached for the tricorn that rested on the dresser, he did not put it on instead letting it sit in the crook of his arm. He sighed and again began to fidget with the collar.

“Too stiff, all of this too bloody stiff” he thought wearily

He had brought his family to Kessel in an attempt to shield them from the rigid formalities of court life, life at his ancestors country estate was peaceful, dignified, happy even. However some traditions could not be avoided, the changing of the household guard amongst them. Whatever his misgivings about displays of power, Luther understood that the arriving agents were sworn to give their life in his defense, the least he could do was to honor their arrival.

“You’ll break that collar if you keep pulling at it” Claudia said softly, brushing his cheek with a delicate white hand

His queen, the mother of his children and the love of his life, theirs was not the fierce romance that defined other couples, not the fiery passion of ancient lovers. They had married for practicality but over time found they complemented one another, both calm and analytical. Years of respect, two children and mutual support had bloomed into something deeper than passion, an abiding love that seemed to weather every challenge.

The Empress was every bit her husband’s equal, though where he was dark and somewhat unimpressive in outward appearance, Claudia was practically aglow. Her wheat gold hair was bound up in a delicate bun and a diadem of simple rose gold rested on her brow, her eyes were the same he had fallen in love with, warm green ovals framed by high cheek bones and a mouth whose edges were marked by slight but endearing laugh lines.

“I will be happy to return this monstrosity to storage!” Luther replied tugging impotently at the collar

“It suits you; you spend so much time trying to convince the world you are anything but an emperor, its not always a bad thing to remind them” she said her voice sincere, encouraging even

Luther paused his fidgeting and regarded Claudia with a painful look that hinted at the deep insecurities that wracked him. He set the tricorn down and leaned against the dresser, massaging his temples with a gloved hand. He seemed to sit there for a long time, as though recovering from an unseen blow.

“Do you remember what I told you when we moved here? “Luther asked after a long silence

That had been over a decade ago now, first child newly born and the joys of a young marriage still fresh. It had proved to be a wise move, far from the stifling atmosphere of the royal court the family had thrived, and Luther’s marriage had blossomed.

“That you wanted to give the children some normalcy and that you couldn’t do it at Graffenburg*, why?” she asked repeating their ancient conversation verbatim

“I wasn’t lying about my reasons, but there was more to it then just giving the children the most normal upbringing possible” he explained tone calm but the pained undercurrent never fully dissipating

“What then?” she asked softly

He paused again, memories of stiff pageantry and endless lessons flooding his mind, the span of his entire youth a roll call of one ceremony after another. He sometimes wondered if there had ever been a child at all, the memories all seemed to contain the heavy weight.

“My mother turned me into her pet project, she wanted to shape me into the perfect ruler, my childhood was the cost she paid to attempt that” Luther explained, feeling the weight lessen somewhat as the admission flowed from his lips

Summers in Maloria spent hunting with his Great uncle, moral tutelage from the metropolitan, endless lectures on duty and the need to maintain tradition. His mother had sought to make him the savior of the Tirol dynasty, a would-be restorer to counteract the decline she saw in the bloodlines, a decline that seemed to exist only in her mind. He could almost hear her disparaging voice, the telltale mix of chastisement and cloying affection.

“You are a grown man now, she can’t control you anymore” Claudia said in a determined voice, reaching out to squeeze his hand

Perhaps not, but the damage was done, he would always chafe against the imposed skin of duty and obligation that his mother had forced upon him. He understood the necessity of his position, he was justifiably proud of his families’ achievements, but his mother…she had taken tradition and driven it to heights of obsession only a Severyn could achieve.

“No, but I wasn’t going to allow her to do the same to our children” he said a brief flash of anger filling his words

His mother would not have them, that was an oath he had made, she would not have any opportunity to repeat her project. He had brought the children to Kessel, to a place of warmth and happiness and it had served its purpose admirably, but now here they were, stiff ceremony invading their peace even in faraway Kessel. Complete escape would never be achieved, once a Severyn, always one.

“Very, every time I put on this uniform, I feel like I’m being pressed into a mold” He said his voice low and pained

“So, all this ceremony is, triggering?” she asked

Like canned meat forced through a strainer, everything unique or worthwhile cast aside in order to better fit the stiff and tradition bound expectations his mother had long ago established.it was an odd situation in truth, she was not Emperor and he was not a child, he had succeeded in making his own life, but the blue uniform with its weight and pomposity would always drag out the child denied and all the suffering a son of Katerina Severyn seemed destined to inherit.

“You will always be your own person Luther and the children will be fine, this is just a formality and the sooner we attend to it the sooner we can get back to normal” Claudia said her voice soothing

“You’re right, as always darling” he said after a long sigh, a grimace approximating a fragile smile moving across his features briefly

“Someone has to be, now come, the bugle is about to sound!” She said offering her him a gloved hand

He reached out, accepting the offered hand, together they walked out of the room and out into the waiting parade ground.

*Graffenburg Palace, the traditional fortress and home of House Severyn Tirol​

 

[North Timistania]

Petyr

Federal Republic of Sainaam

Auroria

1982

Seven miles outside of San Juk Sing

Sainaam had always been a country of contrasts, on the one hand megacities and industry and on the other rural lands that existed in the same grim serfdom that had always been the peasant’s lot. The collection of huts and paddies that Petyr now found himself in was like something from another age, gone was the smog and Neon of the city, out here life remained tied to land and season.

He didn’t know the name of the village they had been brought to, they all looked broadly similar, it was little more then a dozen shacks that had clustered around the longhouse in the center of the village. Of course that was only the outward truth, beneath the settlement was the tunnels and labs that churned out black tar heroin and fentanyl, the world above acting as a screen for the operations beneath.

Heroin was big business in Sainaam, the government was little more then a collection of criminal interests and would happily turn a blind eye to even the worst excesses, provided they got a cut that was. This village was one such place that had fallen off the governments radar, a self-sustained little fief owing its continued existence to the good graces of Petyr’s father. Today those graces were being worn thin.

The pained moans and the crack of the bamboo Rotan had taken on a rhythmic quality in the haze of sweltering midday heat, Petyr had quickly lost track of time, had the man been hanging there for minutes or hours? It was a question he didn’t have a true answer for, not that it mattered particularly. Stealing from one of Sainaams most powerful always ended badly and this unfortunate man had stolen from the worst.

The militia had arrived at dawn, dragging the man from his bed and depositing him in the compounds main square, the beatings had been near continuous since then, by the time Petyr and his father arrived the thief’s back was a ruin of red lacerations and oozing gore. He was hanging from a pole, arms suspended at the wrists by coarse rope, there was no shade here from the wicked summer heat.

The man had fainted on multiple occasions, this had provided no respite, Petyrs father would simply gesture to one of the villagers and a woman would arrive moments later and throw a bucket of brackish paddy water on the stricken man. His wounds would then be splashed with methylated spirits, perfect for killing bacteria and prolonging the man’s agony and then the torture would resume.

“Enough!” a Gregors father had eventually declared

Gregor Moravec’s was presently sat beneath a sun umbrella, a servant fanning his languid form with a palm frond whilst he smoked clove cigarettes and observed the proceedings. He had a disinterested air about him, torture of a man barely warranting more then a yawn, his attire as well spoke more to a businessman on a day trip than a warlord dispensing justice. Dressed in white linen, Gregor looked every bit like a Gotic tourist.

The torturer nodded, shouldering his cane and stepping back with a low bow, Gregor rose from his chair and strode towards the stricken thief without urgency or fanfare in his step. He reached out with a ringed hand and raised the former village chiefs head so that he was forced to look upon his master.

“A kilo of my merchandise stolen, tell me Cheng, was it worth it?” Gregor asked in an admonishing tone, like a father scolding a child

“I’m sorry, I made a mistake!!! I can get the money back I just need time!” Cheng had blurted out in a terrified voice

A strike lashed out, Gregors hand smacking into the side of Cheng’s face with enough force to send him stumbling backwards. The man swayed, unable to truly fall over due to his bindings, blood spilled from his broken lips as he wheezed from the sudden flash of agony.

“DO, NOT, SPEAK, UNLESS, TOLD, YOU, SUBHUMAN, FUCKING, COCKROACH!” Gregor snarled with unconcealed rage, every word enunciated in the same hateful tone

Gregor reached into his belt and pulled out an engraved silver pistol, the villagers gasped and recoiled slightly, probably wondering if they would be on the receiving end. Gregor didn’t fire; he simply held it in his hand and caressed the slide with a loving gesture. It was the same movement that Gregor always enacted before making a public display, a theatrical motion before the coup de gras.

“I like guns, as long as you clean them and keep the parts oiled, they will never fail you, a misfire or malfunction is always a failing of the owner and not the firearm” Gregor explained in a calm, almost relaxed tone never ceasing in his gentle caress of the pistol

“People are less consistent, you can give a man everything he needs, food, shelter, women, a job, you can raise him higher than he has any right to ascend and he will still decide to fuck you without a second thought” Gregor continued, his tone becoming more laced with anger and even the slightest hints of disappointment

“Please! Boss I didn’t….” Cheng stammered fearfully

“Didn’t try to fuck me!? Didn’t steal what was rightfully mine?” Gregor asked as he wrapped a hand around Cheng’s throat

“No…I….” Cheng began only to be silenced

“Shhhhshhhshhh” Gregor soothed

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, I don’t particularly care about the product, I don’t even particularly care that you stole it, what I do care about is that you got caught and a thief that gets caught makes his master look weak and I cannot have that” Gregor explained his tone never rising above a soft almost parental tone

“I…I’m sorry!” Cheng hissed from between pained lips

The gun rose and Gregor pressed the barrel into the man’s temple, Cheng began to moan and drool, all decorum lost as he pleaded for his life. The gun did not move from its position; Gregor was not a man prone to indecision.

“Apology, accepted” Gregor said his tone still soft and free of any audible anger

“But you still stole from me, that makes me look weak and this I will not allow” Gregor continued, face shifting into something more fearful and tone becoming cold again

A single shot fired out, Cheng going limp as the side of his face exploded in a spray of crimson brain matter and bone chips. Gregor returned the weapon to his belt and wiped his gore splattered face with a silk handkerchief as he turned to his men and nodded. Machine gun fire rang out as the guards massacred the chief’s entire family, onlookers gasping and stifling screams as the execution was carried out.

“This is the price you will pay if you try to steal from the Moravecs!” Gregor declared, hand pointing to the bullet riddled corpses strewn across the porch outside the chieftain’s house

*************************************************************************************

The longhouse burned, acrid smoke rising in choking tendrils as the building was put to the torch. As the car drove away, Petyr could still feel the reeking melange of burning flesh and wood sticking to his nostrils and throat, the scent of a massacre clinging to everyone involved. Petyr wasn’t sure how to feel, this hadn’t been his first time witnessing the fate of thieves, his father gave these men everything and when they betrayed his trust the price was death, to Petyr it seemed a fair exchange.

“You seem quiet boy, hmmmm it was a long one wasn’t it, I wish you didn’t have to see these things but hiding reality from you serves no benefit” Gregor said gently a soft smile across his features as he turned to regard his son

It had always amazed Petyr, his father was as a shapeshifter, one moment he was the gentle and quick to smile man that the boy knew as father and in the blink of an eye he could become the man that burned villages and executed thieves without a second thought. Petyr longed to hold the same power, he worshipped his father, there was no other way to describe his awe, his father’s power over the world was a thing of true wonder.

“It was necessary” Petyr said repeating the line he knew all too well

By now, Petyr had seen many men die at his fathers hands, rivals who grew too bold, police who dug too deep and of course, thieves. Life in Sainaam was law of the jungle, the tiger ate and everything beneath it hid or was devoured, his father had been clear from day one, it was either their family or their rivals that would end up in the mass graves, the strong ruled and the weak became fertilizer.

“I’m glad you understand, but do you know why it is so?” Gregor replied unsatisfied with the answer

Petyr paused, there were plenty of answers he could have given, but the reality was he suspected strongly that his father was about to give him a lesson and so he held his tongue and simply shook his head.

“Sainaam is ruled by the strong, those who have the will and power to enact their desires, the weak serve and the strong rule, but strength is as much a belief as a reality and if we were ever to appear weak in the eyes of rivals or servants, everything we have built could vanish in moments, this is not a land ruled by mercy Petyr” Gregor explained in a calm, academic voice, as though describing an equation, in some ways he was

“What about…South Ethia?” Petyr asked unable to resist his curiosity

He knew of course that his family had once been a great house there, owned estates and commanded armies, turned the very ear of emperors and empresses. Those days were gone, his father had fled east and built a new life in Sainaam with nothing but a gun and the will to use it, claimed new lands and established new armies.

“South Ethia? Our forefathers reigned over vast tracts of land for generations, we ruled at the emperor’s pleasure and served him loyally, that is a land of tradition and laws” Gregor said, voice becoming briefly sentimental

“Then why are we here?” Petyr asked bluntly

“Because my boy, it is also a land of hypocrisy, feigned virtues and short memories, when we fell on hard times your grandfather turned to war to make us strong again, the emperor didn’t care for this and so we were disposed of, inconveniences to be removed. We served them for half a millennium, and they cast us out in mere weeks! Ethia can present itself as pure and ordered all it wants, but here in Sainaam power is honest, pure and without the lie of virtue or worth, we rule here because we have the strength to do so” Gregor explained voice contorting into bitter anger before returning to its previously calm tenor

Strength, they did indeed have, even at ten Petyr knew his fathers reach was extensive, friends at every level of government, private armies sworn to defend his possessions and countless estates and places of power, in Ethia they had been dukes, here they lived as kings and warlords.

“What I will build here and across Eras will be your inheritance son, a shadow empire with which you will restore our name and when the time is right, destroy the ones that banished us” Gregor said in a tone that was almost reverent, like a religious oath

Petyr nodded, he believed his father, one day the strong would take their revenge.


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