Chapter 45: The New Reform – Part 2
Chapter 45: The New Reform – Part 2
The chilly night breeze swept over Pinwa Estate's once-stately gardens. Once it shone so brightly with noble beauty, now it lay unattended, forgotten, dead. Formerly, Count Kyaw Nanda stood on the balcony of the decaying main hall, his thick velvet cloak flapping in the gale, his eyes empty as he stared towards Min Nay Pyi Daw's distant lights.
How had it descended to this point?
He gripped the railing tightly, whitening knuckles from the tension. Once, he had led armies, ruled on busy markets along the trade roads to the west, spoken to kings and princes in hushed tones in their ears. His reach had extended far from where he had grown. He had been a kingmaker.
And now, an anachronism. A bone that had been discarded in an uncaring world that no longer recognized blood in his veins.
Kyaw Nanda's lip curled in bitter disdain. He had warned Min Ye Kyaw Htin—took him aside to warn him that to seat a bastard son, a son born to one's concubine, on the throne would be to bring ruin to the Empire. He pleaded with him, argued until he was hoarse and his knees were sore from repeated prostrations. But Min, curse him, had ruled in favor of blood over custom.
And now the Empire was consumed in the flames of change and blasphemy.
Night fell. The stars twinkled, half-hidden by creeping clouds.
An insistent presence existed behind him.
He turned brusquely.
She stood there, half-congealed from shadow and mist. A woman, or at least she had once been one. Her hair cascaded like a river of light from the moon, her body clothed in robes made from spun darkness. Her flesh glimmered with frost, her eyes twin icicles of dead starstuff.
Kyaw Nanda stepped back, unconsciously putting his hand on the dagger tied at his waist. But soft as a sigh, yet heavy with all that was dreadful, a voice halted him in midstep.
"Ambition burns in you still."
He was unable to reply. His own throat felt parched, constricted by an unseen force.
The female smiled—or showed her teeth in something that might have been a smile.
"You want to bring down the usurper. You want to have the world back to the way it was."
His trembling hand slowly lowered.
"Who are you?" he grunted, his voice raw.
"A friend," she repeated, tipping her head to one side. "A savior. An answer to prayer, even if you don't realize it yet."
An icy skeletal hand reached towards him.
"Grasp my hand, and you will possess the strength to claim back that which was taken."
Kyaw Nanda wavered. Pride and fear fought in him, each vying for dominance. He had been the servant of emperors all his life. He had spilled blood for the Empire. And now? Left to rot like an animal in an alleyway?
No.
He would not pass away forgotten.
He extended his arm and grasped her hand.
As soon as their bodies touched, a flood of images exploded in his mind. Frost plains covered with bodies. Black flags waving over shattered citadels. Colossal monstrosities fashioned from ice and fury stomping across ruins.
He gasped, stumbling back, but it was in vain. The agreement was done.
The female—no, not female, but creature—laughed softly.
"Collect all the old blood. The fallen lords. The dispossessed. Offer them what they desire—restoration, authority, revenge. And when we're ready..."
Kyaw Nanda nodded dazedly. He had gone too far. No going back.
The form dissipated into vapors, leaving behind naught but a wispy aroma of frost and ash.
The garden was now darker, moonlight being more sparse.
Kyaw Nanda drew his cloak about him more tightly and went down into the darkness.
The game had commenced.
Meanwhile, inside the Imperial Palace walls, life continued to progress in unrelenting speed.
The radical, sweeping reforms had commenced in altering all facets of the Empire.
Public schools were for the first time in history open. All races and bloodlines, rich men and poor, were packed into stone and cedar halls, being taught to read and count, law and history. Their voices, radiant with hope, filled an air where prayer alone from noble lips had previously been bold enough to ascend.
Hospitals that were previously dominated by charlatans and faith healers now prospered at the hands of learned physicians from the Sarsana Order. Roads were repaved. Granaries were reconstructed. River terminals hummed with commerce. New canals, commissioned by edict, cut across the countryside, holding the promise even for the distant reaches of the Empire.
Twice every year, tens of thousands poured in to the seats of state in the capital and in the provincial centers for the Imperial Examinations. Scholars, warriors, commoners, even freed slaves—all came to test their talents. Failure was now bitter but no longer lethal. Success was a ladder of gold ascending toward the very throne.
Yet underneath this gilded renaissance, cracks started to develop.
In taverns, in brothels, in abandoned prayer houses where the old gods were still being invoked in hushed tones, the rumors grew.
The Loyal Blood Council.
One that went from mouth to mouth, an aspiration for those who were unable to accept such new dawn.
They conspired in secret, masked and veiled, vowing oaths on objects more ancient than remembrance.
Former dukes, marquesses, generals. Merchants whose monopolies had been destroyed by imperial edict. Priests whose gods were forbidden. All of them conspiring together.
The renewal of traditional ways.
Kyaw Nanda was their architect, their mentor.
He offered them all that they yearned for. A restoration of the blood's golden era with hierarchy. Restoration of the divine right of the powerful over the weak.
They trusted him.
They accompanied him.
They sold their conscience to Verlin's mocking laughter.
Emperor Aung Kyaw Zeya gathered his inner circle in the Crimson Phoenix Chamber.
Prime Minister Min Ye Kyaw Htin stood by him, tall and unyielding, his former haughtiness now honed to an edge of devotion.
Commander-in-Chief Thamain Zeya perused military briefs, his weather-beaten face unreadable.
Minister for Industry Swan Ya Zar rested on his cane, still recovering from old injuries.
Minister for Internal Affairs Hla Mo Htet presented reports on suspicious meetings, lost grain supplies, and manipulated roads.
Ba Oo, Minister of Foreign Affairs, showed intercepted correspondence, suggesting that exiled aristocrats were making overtures to other countries.
Minister of Justice Count Chan Mg presented arrest warrants, his palm unshaking, heart filling with grief.
The Emperor listened in silence.
After completing the reports, he stood up.
No grand speeches.
No announcements.
Only a single order.
"Prepare purges. Quietly. No spectacle. No mercy."
They bowed.
No one challenged him.
They comprehended.
The New Dawn would not be smothered by the dead hands of history.
In the conspirators' villas and estates, preparations for insurrection sped along. Swords were sharpened. Letters were dispatched. Assassins were hired.
The plan was straightforward.
While in that city on the occasion of Aung Kyaw Zeya's coronation, when pageantry and festivity distracted the city, they would attack.
They would kill off the ministers. Occupy strategic areas. Hoist the flags of the ancient manors.
And when their gates were flung open, they welcomed their real salvation.
Beyond the mountains, the Death Land stirred.
Gurvoth, Lord of Demons, opened ancient eyes and smiled.
The foolish mortals would ruin themselves.
And when their empires collapsed, when their cities were scorched, he would rise in and take what was left.
Kyaw Nanda genuflected in front of an ancient altar, bathed by the dancing blue fire from forbidden rituals. Around him stood the lords of the Loyal Blood Council, chanting in hushed, zealous voices.
He prayed not to the Supreme Being.
Not to the old gods.
But to something far older.
Something that offered not deliverance—but strength.
Outside, the first snow of winter fell, covering the world in cold and stillness.
And amidst that silence, the beat of betrayal started.
The New Dawn had arrived.
But so too had the seeds of destruction.
And as they bloomed, they would drown the world in blood and flames.
The storm was approaching.
And no one would be spared.
(Continue…..)