Chapter 192: The beginning

[25 August: 09:40 Ante Meridiem]

[Vel'ryr: Capital City]

[Main Palace]

The rhythmic clang of heavy sabatons echoed through the grand halls of Vel'ryr's Main Palace, a place so ostentatious that even its servants were adorned in silken attire finer than the nobility of lesser nations. The air was thick with the scent of burnished metal, incense, and fresh-cut lilies.

General Grimm took slow strides. His armor, swallowed the light in its obsidian-black hue, making the red of his voluminous, wild hair stand out all the more. The horns jutting from his helmet-like mask gave him the air of some primeval warlord, a ghost from wars, while his billowing cloak trailed behind him.

Yet, despite the wealth of technological marvels lining the halls—walls laced with embedded circuitry, gilded chandeliers that hovered without chains, whispering automatons monitoring the palace's every breath—Grimm's expression (hidden though it was) radiated one emotion above all else.

Utter boredom.

("If I had to hazard a guess, the emperor was no doubt privy to the experimentations.") His mind worked at lightning speed, analyzing, dissecting. He was not a man of fantasies or idealism—only pragmatism. And pragmatism told him that what lurked beneath Vel'ryr's veneer of power was rotting from within.

Experimentation. Abominations. Violations of ethics.

("Eleanor would be most displeased at his misgivings if that were the case.") Eleanor Von Auerswald. The former empress. The only one in this den of political predators whose existence still demanded his respect. If she caught wind of this corruption, her reaction would be violent. The thought of Eleanor's wrath was almost amusing. Unlike the emperor, she would not brush such matters aside so easily. She never had. Eleanor Von Auerswald was a woman who had long since discarded the luxury of ignorance, and if she had caught even a whisper of the atrocities unfolding in the name of the empire, there would be consequences. Grave ones. But that was not his concern. Not yet.

What was his concern, however, was the unwelcome obligation of attending the festival—an event oh so grand. The mere thought made his lips curl into a sneer beneath his helmet. ("I have too much on my plate already. Zephyria, Doma, and Terra are pressing their offensives. They may be small, but their alliance is a thorn in my side. And yet, here I am—paraded around like a ceremonial blade.") But before his internal complaints could deepen, his attention snapped to something ahead. A conversation. A heated one.

Grimm's eyes flicked toward an extraordinarily extravagant window ledge, where two figures—one standing, the other seated—were engaged in what could only be described as a siblings quarrel. The Von Auerswald princesses. Amaury, was speaking in a measured, composed tone—the kind of voice that carried the weight of reason, burden, and resignation all at once. A woman who had long accepted her path, no matter how much blood stained it.

And then there was Emilia—whose posture, sharp glare, and defiant huff suggested she was not interested in accepting anything at all. Her black twin-tails swayed as she crossed her arms, her gauntleted fingers tightening in visible frustration.

"Come now, Emilia, you must get ready for the celebration tonight," Amaury urged, her voice even but laced with expectation.

"Why should I? I don't wanna take part in this stupid festival with you stupid idiots!" Emilia snapped, shaking her head, her voice a mix of scorn and frustration. Grimm observed, his presence a phantom in the conversation.

"As a Descendant, you have a duty to serve your nation. Your Draconic Resonance will be of great help to the empire come the festival," Amaury reasoned.

"As if I wanna be of service to this putrid nation," Emilia spat, her tone dripping with venom.

Amaury's eyes narrowed, her crimson irises darkening. "Emilia!"

"What? I told you what I saw," Emilia said, voice unwavering. Her fingers clenched into fists, the metal of her gauntlets groaning under the pressure. "If this is what Vel'ryr is truly like, then I want no part of it." Grimm's gaze remained fixed on her. She was young—too young to have any true grasp of the weight her words carried. And yet...

("She doesn't lack conviction. But conviction alone isn't enough.") He remained silent, listening.

"Tch, Father just brushed me off when I brought it up, and Anuran didn't even look bothered by it! Avice was the same. Hmph, I didn't even bother asking that psycho Selwyn," Emilia grumbled, her lips pressing into a thin line. "This family is seriously screwed up, to brush off something like this."

Amaury exhaled slowly. "Emilia, I've no room to judge our siblings. In the outpost of Verdantis, I did irredeemable things in the name of our nation," she admitted, her voice softer now. Her short black hair shifted slightly as she turned, crimson eyes locking onto her sister's own. "At the end of the day, I told myself that I needed to do this. For my loyalty to Vel'ryr. And my duty as the princess fourth in line."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Emilia muttered, "You've been like this since he died."

Amaury flinched—just slightly—but enough for Grimm to notice. No name was spoken, but the weight of grief settled in the space between them.

"Does Vel'ryr even deserve that much loyalty?" Emilia whispered. "I've been to the other nations. People seem... so free. So happy. Everything there is so full of life. The grass, the trees, the animals, the Astrothians, the flowers. Everything Vel'ryr lacks." She swallowed. "I don't want to fight for a place like this. Sure, the other nations may be hiding some secrets too, but would it be worse?"

Amaury hesitated.

And then—

"All hold secrets," Grimm's voice cut through the air, shattering the silence. Both sisters snapped their heads toward him, their gazes landing on his towering frame.

One moment, he hadn't been there. The next, he had materialized from the shadows, a specter of black armor, red hair, and authority. Emilia instantly tensed, her entire posture shifting to wary hostility. Amaury, however, simply regarded him with measured familiarity.

"General Grimm?" Amaury murmured. "You're back from your journey to Terra?"

Grimm did not bow. "I returned days ago," he said simply, his voice deep, even. "I could not help but take note of your yammering."

Emilia's eye twitched. "You mean eavesdropping," she corrected. Then, with a haughty scoff, she added, "And shouldn't you kneel before royalty?"

Grimm stared.

Then, flatly—

"I'll not kneel to such a brat."

For a moment, Emilia could only splutter, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, struggling to process the sheer audacity of the towering, horned general who had just refused to kneel before royalty—her, no less.

Her crimson eyes burned with indignation. "Wha—You—!"

She clenched her fists, the sound of metal groaning as her gauntlets flexed. Her black twin-tails bristled as if they, too, shared in her anger. It wasn't just his words—it was the way he said them. That flat, unbothered tone. That apathetic, unshaken presence. He didn't even give her the dignity of a proper glare, just an unreadable stare from behind that cursed, horned helmet.

"How dare you?!"

Amaury sighed, crossing her arms as if she had witnessed this scenario play out a thousand times before. "Calm yourself, Emilia," she drawled. "General Grimm holds a rather unique position. In a political sense, he may not be all-powerful, but when it comes to raw physical might..." She let the words linger, then dropped the weight of her statement. "He surpasses Selwyn—though the gap is small."

A silence fell over the hall.

Emilia blinked once. Twice.

Then—

"What!?"

The sheer disbelief in her voice made Grimm arch an unseen brow. Emilia snapped her gaze toward him, scrutinizing him with newfound intensity, as if trying to see past the armor, trying to find a crack in the claim that had just shattered her worldview.

"This guy!?" Her voice was a mixture of shock and skepticism.

Yes, Grimm looked intimidating—obviously. His very presence exuded a crushing aura that made lesser warriors want to sink into the floor. He was built like a fortress, clad in intricately designed armor that looked as though it had been forged from nightmares. He moved with an air of absolute certainty, like a man who had never once doubted his own strength.

But Selwyn?

She had seen her older brother fight before—truly fight. The ferocity. The speed. The sheer bloodthirsty brilliance in battle. She had seen him tear through warriors like a hurricane through brittle trees. "I refuse to believe that."

She huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly, as if her defiance alone could alter reality.

Grimm, on the other hand, reacted with the enthusiasm of a rock. "Uh-huh," he intoned flatly.

His utter lack of engagement only fanned the flames of her irritation. Amaury, recognizing the rapidly growing storm of Emilia's frustration, decided to steer the conversation before her little sister had an aneurysm.

She turned her attention back to the unshaken general. "What brings you to the palace, General?"

Grimm finally deigned to offer an actual response. "I have business with Eleanor," he stated, curt and to the point. "And I must locate my idiot of a lieutenant. She was last seen here. Seems she has an interest in the Ancestors."

Amaury's brow quirked in mild interest, but Emilia was already fixated on something else.

The mention of their mother.

Her sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"What business do you have with Mom?"

There was no royal formality in her words, just raw protectiveness—a daughter who had long since learned to mistrust the political games played within these palace walls.

Grimm, however, dismissed her question with utter indifference. "None of your concern," he said, his tone so unmoved that it was almost insulting. "Focus on playing dress-up, or whatever it is that children do."

Silence.

A vein bulged on Emilia's forehead.

Her gauntlets audibly tightened.

"You—!"

The sheer rage in that single syllable could have set fire to the very walls of the palace.

"I am NOT a child!" she all but roared, her crimson eyes ablaze. "I am fourteen winters old, you big oaf!"

Grimm's head tilted slightly, as if he were actually considering her words.

Then—

"I'm very sure that still means you're a child," Amaury unhelpfully supplied, her voice laced with deadpan amusement.

The betrayal on Emilia's face was palpable.

"You're not helping!"