1000 AA

Nasition paces around the entrance to Stasibel’s personal quarters. Faresoenn had decided to station him there a month ago after another successful negotiation with one of the Empire’s border provinces, Nalien. The reason, apparently, was “rest”. Not that he needs much rest anyway. In fact, he finds it rather frustrating.

It has almost been seven years since Norai’s death, and two since he took in Tevlaia among other children, the core pillar of his eventual plan. The children are young, yes, the eldest being only around seventeen years of age. However, they now outnumber the Guard itself, and given a few years, he will find himself a force able to overwhelm the Guard itself. Including Faresoenn.

He still hadn’t forgotten that defeat seven years ago, where his opportunity to kill Stasibel was thwarted by the strength of one man. In the cramped space of the hospital room, Faresoenn had not only managed to draw his sword, but efficiently blocked every single one of Nasition’s attacks. Even as he intensified his attacks, channeling his rage and what remained of his energy in a desperate attempt to defeat Faresoenn, he felt his own life slipping away, quite literally dying. As he faltered and saw the pommel of Faresoenn’s sword striking toward his head, he realized… I simply cannot defeat him.

He is weak. He knows. Ever since he was taken to the Paladeia… No, ever since he chose to flee the orphanage, he realizes how weak he is. He had tried to protect someone, to at least give himself some value in this world. He failed seven years ago. No longer did he find himself capable of protecting anyone. No, it isn’t my fault. Stasibel, hiding behind the shields of his guards, sitting comfortably in the Paladeia while reaping the benefits of everyone’s work. Well, it shouldn’t be a surprise if the Empire is overthrown in his lifetime. The waning, weakening Achien Empire, protected a whole millennium by its monarchs and heroes, would fall not to the various rebel groups that sprang up in recent years. No, it will fall neatly into the palms of Nasition himself.

Slowly, carefully, he had taken advantage of the unruly border provinces, working almost without rest for years until he gradually created a chokehold around the Empire’s Core Lands itself. The reason for their quick submission was simple: he had promised them autonomy, their leaders the power they desired, the people the freedom they yearn for. Several like-minded guards have voluntarily given themselves to his control, able to strike at a moment’s notice. It’s a wonder Stasibel still puts so much trust in him, actually, not even questioning his methods of retaining control of the provinces, only caring about the results. Well, it would become a problem if Stasibel decides to probe into his activities.

“Tch,” he scoffs, biting his lip. The coldness of Stasibel may have bothered him before, but he finds it rather convenient now. A nosy ruler would interfere quite significantly in his preparations, after all. However, a negligent one would only serve to further his plans. Plans not either of destruction or preservation, but replacement.

He imagines the day when he would stand atop the Paladeia, overlooking the lands of the former Achien Empire, when he would unite the world under not an iron fist, but a confederation of distinct peoples and regions. Where there was conflict and oppression, there would be peace and harmony. The outdated, obsolete Empire would disappear, not a single person remembering its existence. Yes, just like how the burdening memory of Norai was wiped out by the efforts of Stasibel and Faresoenn, so too would the memory of the Empire fade away. Years later, long after his death, the Empire would only be dust, blown away by the winds of history.

“Nasition, is Stasibel still here?” a woman’s voice calls out, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” he responds, slightly dipping his head, “He should be still in his study, reading about some fantasy. Ah, and welcome back, Queen Macrera.” He hurries inside the mansion, quietly ordering a fellow guard to notify Stasibel of the Queen’s return.

A kind, independent person is what he sees in the Queen of the Empire. She appeared rather abruptly into his life, being first introduced already as Stasibel’s fiancée a little more than a year ago. Apparently they had met in some local conference, where he heard a fierce debate had brought them together. Macrera wasn’t wealthy or even well-known prior to the announcement that she would be Queen. Yet in the short span of time, she had already proven herself as a generous and forgiving ruler supporting Stasibel, earning the rapid support of the people, eclipsing even the popularity of him or Stasibel. It is exactly this fact that makes him hesitant about his plans. He may be able to persuade the people of the corruption of Stasibel, but in front of the nearly flawless Macrera, he can find no fault. If he were to foolishly kill her, the consequences can be dire. What a shield you have there, Stasibel.

“Aren’t you cold?” Macrera asks, looking at Nasition’s uniform, “I know that the weather is gradually becoming warmer, but it’s still freezing in here.” This is precisely why Macrera is dangerous: a normal person simply cannot bear to kill such a caring individual.

“Worry about yourself first, Queen Macrera,” Nasition replies, feigning anxiousness, “You’re shivering despite wearing so many layers. Why don’t you enter the mansion first?”

“No, no, it is fine,” Macrera refuses, “I can hear Stasibel’s footsteps already.”

The doors burst open, and Stasibel, wearing only a thick coat over his clothes and slippers on his feet, rushes out, embracing Macrera. “Welcome back!” he cries, his voice muffled by Macrera’s clothing. Nasition turns away, flinching at the awkward scene. After all, it is a complete departure from Stasibel’s usual demeanor nowadays. It’s as if he has regressed twenty years, being a clingy adolescent than a fully-grown adult, nevermind the ruler of the Achien Empire.

“Stasibel, I’ve only been gone for the morning, not to mention I was only in the Paladeia’s hospital,” Macrera laughs, “You didn’t need to greet me like this.”

“What did the doctor say?” Stasibel inquires.

“As you had expected, Stasibel.” Macrera could barely hold in her excitement, her usually elegant and dignified self showing cracks.

“She has confirmed that I am pregnant.”

Wait, what? Nasition’s eyes widen in horror. His plans, already surprised by the introduction of Macrera before, will be completely for naught with the existence of an heir. And if the heir grows and matures… No, he cannot wait any more. He is far from ready, only having a handful of children who are even remotely battle-ready. However, he has no choice. He can afford at most a year or two of preparation, assuming he will rapidly change the people’s opinions against Stasibel before then. He cannot be careful anymore. The circumstances have changed too much for him to even make any maneuvers. He is, quite literally and figuratively, backed into a corner.

Stasibel gasps in joy. “Forget a thousand years of the Achien Empire,” he exclaims, “I’m going to have a child!” Stasibel laughs, skipping back to the mansion, his voice echoing off the walls.

Macrera smiles, staring at her stomach. “To think that I will have a child… It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?” She follows Stasibel into the mansion, escorted by two guards. As the doors close, there is only Nasition, standing frozen in shock.

A guard appears from a tree, approaching Nasition warily. He subtly gives a sign, indicating his position before standing before Nasition.

“You have heard everything?” Nasition asks, to which the guard nods.

“What do we do?” the guard whispers nervously, “Our plans weren’t supposed to be implemented until we have sufficient numbers of the children in the Guard itself, but at this point, only the highly talented Tevlaia is even comparable to us.”

“There is nothing to do to speed up their progress but this.” A faint fog slowly envelops around Nasition’s right arm, tiny crystals gradually forming on his palm before it combines together into a sharp blade.

“How…” the guard looks in awe.

“It is magic,” Nasition replies, “I have to give Stasibel credit, but it was he who taught me the existence of magic in ancient times, where legends tell of ‘mages’ who would harness this magic to create… and destroy.”

“No, you’re joking. The stuff from fantasies?” the guard questions skeptically.

“I somehow managed to discover my own potential on accident,” Nasition explains, “It was… a painful process, but development was so quick I believe it is worth the risk to experiment upon the children.”

He had never imagined that he would force upon a circumstance all too familiar onto the children. One where pain and primal instincts triumph over any sort of rationality… One that caused his loyalty for Stasibel to completely collapse. Still, it must be done.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m thinking of forcing the children to fight till their deaths, leaving one or two alive.”

“Have you gone mad? If it is found out, you would be charged of mass murder!”

“I have a theory,” Nasition answers calmly, “I believe that some children, when faced with such horrors, will have a sort of ‘awakening’, unleashing their potential to use magic. The ones that cannot discover such potential will naturally be killed, while the ones that do manage to unleash their potential shall assist in our obviously rushed plans.”

“To think that we are discussing this in front of the King’s mansion itself…” the guard mutters nervously, but is quickly stopped by Nasition’s hand over his mouth.

Nasition taps a hidden device inside the collar of his shirt. “Tell the children the King cannot feed all of them any more, that only one will be left in the Paladeia’s care, the rest being promptly... discarded,” he says calmly, “Oh, and also, don’t stop anything they do. I do intend to cause a few casualties, after all.”

“What are you planning now?” a crackled voice responds.

“You shall see. Lead them to a chamber and close the door. Only reopen it when the voices have mostly been silenced.”

There is a slight pause. “I shall trust your judgment, Nasition,” the voice replies, “May these few sacrifices bring us a large step closer to eventual peace.”

“I see you understand,” Nasition smiles, “See you later, then.” The call ends, and Nasition returns to a more relaxed pose, albeit sighing in slight disappointment. All these children that he spent years raising up, some that he is quite fond of… To think that tomorrow, those noises would be no more, being only another quickly forgotten memory, shouldn’t it cause at least some sort of lament? But here he is, accepting what must be done. I’m sorry.

“Go back to the facility,” he orders the guard, “Your job here is finished.”

“As you wish, Nasition.” With a salute, the guard departs, pretending to be patrolling as he makes his way west to the facility where the children belong. It had been an abandoned area in the Paladeia, being the residence of a former noble house that had long since perished. However, with permission from Stasibel, Nasition had managed to rebuild it into a modern facility able to house the children, training them to become future guards while at the same time providing education.

He marches into the facility, loudly descending a set of stairs before he arrives at a steel door. Although there are many other similar doors, the condition of this door is unsettling. The metal itself had been dented severely, as if someone had tried to destroy the very door itself. Although there are many fellow guards stationed just outside the door, the room inside seems to be completely silent. Occasionally, there are the squeaks from the floor inside, presumably from the footsteps of someone. However, besides those rare sounds, it is just like an old graveyard, quietly occupying a space as time passes by.

“Please stay away,” one of the other guards approaches him, her ears stuffed with the soft falha fabric, “We were told that no one, not even our fellow comrades, are allowed to be in the proximity of this chamber.”

“Nasition himself sent me here,” he lies, “Please let me through.” He plucks the fabric off the other guard’s ears. “There’s no sound. It’s over.”

“Already?” the guard responds in surprise, “It hasn’t been even a few moments since the screams began.”

“Screams?”

“Nevermind that. You were told to be here, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, the guard hands him the keys, the clinking of cold metal brushing against his hands. Why would anyone be still using the obsolete traditional metal key? He inserts the key into the lock, twisting and sliding the metal until it finally unlocks with a click. Carefully, he pushes the door, immediately seeming to be stopped by something behind. He kicks the door, forcing it open as a squelching sound reaches his ears, the sound of something slamming against the wall.

Inside, Tevlaia sits on the ground, her fists trembling. The other children are piled up on the side of the walls, their faces unrecognizable, their bones crushed, some of their mouths still open wide, as if screaming for help. The guard immediately notices the fragments of bones on Tevlaia’s arms, protruding out like spikes. On her right is a young boy, his skull cracked open, a gaping, bleeding hole in his stomach. There is a pungent, revolting smell of sweat and blood, overwhelming the guard as he begins to vomit, unable to bear the sight and smell.

“Why did Nasition trick us?” Tevlaia asks quietly, her strained eyes staring at the guard, “If he just wanted us all killed, why didn’t he tell us?”

The guard is silent, completely in shock at the scene in front of him. Tevlaia herself has sustained great injuries, her entire body dotted with dark bruises, one of her legs being completely unresponsive, but her face is unharmed. One could even call it beautiful in this carnage. Her fists, altho bloody, are almost like they’re untouched, the delicate skin still clean and intact.

“He probably just wanted one of us to survive, didn’t he?” Tevlaia deduces.

The guard steps back in surprise. Even according to Nasition, Tevlaia had never been a particularly intelligent child, showing only physical strength. She excelled in the handling of even full-weight weapons, but she always lagged behind in her education. Then how… How did she manage to guess so accurately?

“Is it for the greater good?” Tevlaia begins to crawl towards the guard, dragging her legs behind with her surprisingly strong arms.

“Y-Yes.” He doesn’t know how else to answer her. That would be what Nasition would answer, wouldn’t it? That all these horrifying deaths are for the abstract “greater good”, the hope that the world will return to peace and that everyone will no longer have suffering?

“I hope that is true, then,” Tevlaia mutters.