20 years ago…
The air on the battlefield was festered with the stench of corpses—men's bodies piled on top of one another, and the soil painted red. The sky trembled, perhaps angry at the fighting the humans waged below. If there is a hell on earth, then surely this is it.
Alone amidst the chaotic battlefield was an 11-year-old boy. All that lay within the boundary of his eyes was death—humans killing one another for something they barely had any use for.
Where is Big Brother? The boy thought, running through the battlefield, his sword drenched in blood.
He kept running, searching for his brother, all while fighting for his life.
"Darius!!" a man in armor yelled, beheading an enemy with a single stroke.
"Brother Edmund!!!" Darius screamed, rushing toward him.
"Brother, we must run now! Let's go back! To hell with Father—I want to go home!" the boy cried in desperation.
"It's okay, my little brother. I will protect you," Edmund said, his sword piercing through the stomach of another foe.
Blood gushed from the wound, splattering across Darius's face. The man's organs spilled out, hitting the ground at the boy's feet.
The horror in Darius's expression was unmistakable. He could only scream, even as he was forced to kill the enemies closing in around him.
"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" Darius repeated those words like a mantra as he fought through the carnage.
"Hang on, my little brother—we'll reach the imperial camp in a moment. Just hang on," Edmund said, trying to steady him.
But the distance to the camp felt like an eternity. Each step drained more strength from their limbs, already worn to the edge by endless fighting.
And then, just as the imperial banners came into sight, tragedy struck.
A blade slipped through Edmund's back. Blood poured from the wound like a river. Darius reacted instantly, stabbing the attacker through the neck before rushing to his brother's side.
"NONONONONONONONO!" Darius screamed, pressing his hands against the gaping wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
Edmund's face grew pale. With trembling hands, soaked in his own blood, he reached for Darius's cheek.
"I'm sorry, little one," he whispered with his final breath—before blood streamed from every hole in his face, and then…
He was no more.
"Brother!" the boy screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing throughout the battlefield.
And then, suddenly, the boy's expression changed. His eyes turned black, even darker than the night, revealing a bottomless pit of despair. His teeth grew sharp, as if they could bite an enemy's arm off. His sword turned into scales, and his tears, once clear, became blood.
Thus, he raised the sword in his hand—powerful malice enveloping the blade.
Swoosh! He slashed.
And in that moment—the sword tore through everything in front of him; not even traces of bodies remained in the aftermath.
Darius then charged forward, his speed unnaturally fast as he swiftly beheaded all the enemies in his path. He mutilated them, crushed them, pierced their heads with his blade.
After that, he raised the sword and drove it into the ground before him, where countless enemies stood—as if their land were no more than an ant nest waiting to be crushed.
From the earth, countless spears emerged—not of metal nor copper, but of pure dark matter, forged from the shadows of those they struck.
The blackness of despair consumed him whole; it became his armor—and his weapon.
And alas, none of the enemies were breathing anymore. None of the humans—be they ally or foe—remained alive before him.
Slowly, he walked toward his brother's lifeless body. His eyes returned to normal—empty, hollow.
Then, overcome by exhaustion, he collapsed beside him.
Thus, with the crown prince dead, the child became the empire's next emperor. The battle awoke the dragon power inside him—the power the imperial family hasn't seen in ages—and yet the child grew hatred toward his father.
"Why would you send us there?" Darius asked with rage to the man behind it all—the emperor.
"You're the empire's prince. A prince shall not cower while the people fight," the king answered.
"And yet… the king himself stands scared like a dog, sending his son to do his bidding!" Darius raised his voice.
"Insolent fool! I am the god-chosen king, like father before me. I AM THE DRAGON," the emperor said, raising his voice.
Suddenly, Darius's eyes grew red, full of hatred, as if he would rip the emperor's heart apart right this instant.
"Then, Dragon, would you be so kind to teach me your art?" Darius coldly said while holding the emperor's neck.
The emperor gasped for air, and when he was nearly dead, Darius threw him on the floor—his expression as cold as ice.
One day, the hatred reached its peak. The child, now a teenager, led the rebellion against his father. There cannot be two suns under the empire's name, so he overthrew the sitting emperor.
Those who stood behind the emperor, those who supported decisions leading the empire to war in the first place, those who stood corrupted behind the emperor as their shield—he killed all of them. Their families—all of them.
He purged the kingdom of all of the emperor's allies, those who prospered under the war the emperor waged, and those who benefited from his brother's death. Not a single one was left alive.
It was marked in the empire's book as the day the dragon claw ripped the empire of all its impurity. The fear seeped through all of the empire's nobility; those who thought they were in high heaven came to know the despair that comes from hell.
Alas, much to his ever-growing hatred, it was proven that all of the misery was the work of the demon cultists that assimilated themselves into the empire.
And with that, his hatred growing ever stronger, those who are walking the path of good revere him; those who walk the path of evil wet themselves before him.
And with his reign, the empire knew peace. No other nation dared oppose the empire's power. The child soon became known as Darius the Wise, the one and only king of the empire.
The tales of his power make the people cower; his nature toward those who dare raise a hand against him became legend.
Present…
The king awoke from his slumber. Beside him was the empress.
That dream again, huh? Darius thought, sighing. It has been 20 years since then, and yet it still haunts him.
Never again… Darius thought, while looking at the empress, who now peacefully slept.
At noon, Darius was at his office signing documents related to the empire's internal matters. The study was silent and peaceful; no one was there beside him.
Such an atmosphere was something that was naught but a dream during the days he spent on the battlefield. And yet at that time there was just a single thing—a single thing that was better than what he had now: at that time, his brother was still alive. Edmund was still alive.
Despite anxiously waiting for perhaps another day to live, Edmund was there. He gave him warmth in the most bleak space on earth—the coldest place he'd ever known.
I would be by his side tending to those who had been injured, then he would smile at me with that bruised face, Darius reminisced.
And then the tears started flowing out. Such a person—that is, an emperor—too knows sadness.
How could he not?
The things he had lost along the way, reaching this moment… all of that.
He still could remember each comrade who died during the war. They were thirteen , including him, and yet only two lived to see the future they all fought so hard for.
Marcell, Taylor, Berthold, Aiden, Vyron, Kaelen, Elyra, Tharok, Slyvene, and Vandric.
How can I not remember those names? We shared our dream together. I heard their every wish as we watched the firewood burn into the night, the emperor thought.
In the end, the empire moved on. Some people have forgotten the war altogether, and yet he has not. If they can't survive to see the future, then the emperor will make sure their memories live on. He shall never let their voice be truly dead. Such is the burden the emperor must carry, the only thing he could have done for them.
And now he'd even have a child of his own, such a cute child, with both his mother beauty and his father look , perhaps edmund would have been the most excited to see him the emperor thought.
As the day became night, the emperor brought Aslan with him to a place. It was surrounded with roses and poppies flowers, the silence was peaceful, not even crickets were heard, providing solace to those who were in the place. And there it was, at the center of all of the flowers, was a stone tablet. In it was written 400 thousand names. "Ah, I see this place," the emperor's face, it says it all… "this is a memorial…." And the names highlighted in special ink, 11 of them, Aslan thought. In those highlighted names, at the top, a word was carved.
Here lies the heroes of the 3rd Imperial War, their bravery, their hope, their will, all of them lie here. Oh dear future generation of the empire, remember all of the glorious days of the empire, but forget not those who cried for those days, who held out hope for this day, people of the empire will remember.
Thus, the emperor looked toward Aslan with a face showing a hint of sadness before saying,
"My child…say hello to your uncle."
" He would've been so happy to meet you; he was a good brother," the emperor said.
Even such a person as the emperor has his own sadness deep inside him, he is just as broken as I was, Aslan thought.
"And there is my friend too, 10 of them. Marcell would cook for us with veggies we find inside the woods, Taylor would tell us stories while we warm ourselves with firewood, Berthold would cheer us with jokes, Aiden would sing for us, Vyron would always hunt for us, Kaelen would sew back our cloth, Elyra would write letters for us, Tharok would help us when we were sick, Slyvene would wish us a good night, and Vandric would protect us." the emperor said smiling whilst hiding the pain away.
The emperor was very kind, Aslan thought while hearing the emperor describing each of them. The emperor will never forget the pain nor the memories, but he lived not for tomorrow but for the people waiting for the days ahead. That is the kind of person the emperor was.
And within the night, embraced by the emperor's arm, Aslan was left to wonder at the pain he himself felt. I wish to become just like the Emperor, so warm., I wish to have hands like his, able to stretch toward people even in pain, even when it feels hard.