The First Steps of a Tyrant

The palace was silent.

Not the peace of a kingdom at rest—but the silence of a storm brewing.

Valtherion sat on his throne, one leg over the other, his fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. Before him, Solmara stood, her piercing blue eyes locked onto his.

She hadn't spoken a word since their last exchange.

The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them wanted to name.

Valtherion finally broke the silence.

"You look tense," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Solmara's expression didn't change. "And you look like a man who enjoys watching people squirm."

Valtherion chuckled. "You're not wrong."

A soft wind passed through the open windows, causing the flames of the torches to flicker. The smell of burnt flesh and blood still lingered from the battlefield. The stench of victory.

"You came here to see if I was the monster they whispered about, didn't you?" Valtherion leaned forward, golden eyes glowing under the dim light. "Tell me, did I live up to expectations?"

Solmara studied him. "You surpassed them."

Valtherion laughed. "Good."

He could feel her hesitation, but he also saw something else.

She was intrigued.

"Enough games," Solmara finally said. "You didn't slaughter Raegath just for the fun of it. You want something more. So tell me—" She took a step closer. "What happens next?"

Valtherion's smirk faded.

That was the question, wasn't it?

What did come next?

Rebuilding the Empire

The next few weeks were a chaotic dance of politics and military reorganization.

Valtherion drowned in paperwork, a necessary evil if he wanted to stabilize Valtheria.

Every day was the same:

Meetings with military leaders, discussions with newly appointed governors, and public executions of those who thought rebellion was still an option.

It wasn't glamorous.

It wasn't fun.

But it was necessary.

He sat in his office, scrawling his signature onto yet another decree, when Isabelle walked in, arms crossed.

"You're actually working?" she teased. "I thought you'd just kill your way to stability."

Valtherion didn't look up. "Tempting. But then I'd be ruling over a pile of corpses instead of a kingdom."

Isabelle smirked. "Progress."

She stepped closer, glancing at the documents on his desk.

"Military expansion?" she asked, reading one of the papers.

"Yes." Valtherion leaned back. "The current army isn't enough. I need more men. More elites. If another kingdom tries to challenge Valtheria, I want to crush them before they even raise their banners."

Isabelle nodded, but she hesitated.

"You're thinking ahead," she said. "But... don't you think you're pushing too fast?"

Valtherion met her gaze. "You don't build an empire by waiting."

He stood, walking to the window. Outside, the city of Raegath—now the heart of Valtheria—was slowly returning to life.

Merchants reopened their stalls. Soldiers patrolled the streets. The people bowed when they saw his banners.

They feared him.

They respected him.

And yet... he could feel it.

There were still cracks.

A kingdom shattered by war couldn't be rebuilt in a day. But he would make sure it was reborn stronger than ever.

The Shadows Move

Late that night, Valtherion sat in the war room, a large map of the continent spread out before him.

Elyndra stood beside him, sipping wine. "You're obsessed, you know that?"

Valtherion smirked. "It's called being prepared."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Elyndra twirled her glass. "What's next? Who do we crush after Raegath?"

Valtherion's fingers tapped against the map.

"The western kingdoms are weak," he muttered. "Scattered. They won't dare challenge me yet."

He moved his hand to the south, where a larger kingdom loomed.

"Solmaria."

Elyndra raised an eyebrow. "You're not serious."

Valtherion leaned forward. "Why not?"

"Because Solmaria is different." Elyndra set down her glass. "They're not like Raegath. They have resources. They have numbers. They're a kingdom that's been around for centuries. Taking them down won't be easy."

Valtherion grinned.

"That just makes it more fun."

Elyndra sighed. "You're insane."

Valtherion turned to her, eyes gleaming. "And yet, you're still here."

Elyndra smirked. "Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

Before Valtherion could respond, the doors burst open.

A soldier rushed in, bowing quickly.

"Your Majesty! Urgent report!"

Valtherion's amusement vanished. "Speak."

The soldier straightened. "Solmaria is mobilizing their army. Their king has declared you a threat to the entire continent."

Silence.

Then—

Valtherion laughed.

Not just a chuckle. A full, manic laugh.

Elyndra rolled her eyes. "Oh, for the love of—"

Valtherion clapped his hands together, grinning like a madman.

"They actually did it!" He turned to Elyndra. "Do you know what this means?"

Elyndra sighed. "That we're going to war?"

"No," Valtherion corrected. "It means they know they're doomed."

He stood, throwing his cloak over his shoulders.

"Prepare the army," he ordered. "If Solmaria wants war..."

His golden eyes burned with excitement.

"...then I'll give them a massacre."

A War Unlike Any Other

The next few days were chaotic.

Messengers were sent. Allies were contacted. Soldiers trained day and night.

The people of Valtheria felt it—the tension before the storm.

In the royal barracks, Valtherion stood before his generals, all of whom looked tense.

"Solmaria has resources," one of them said. "They're not like Raegath. Their forces are disciplined."

"And?" Valtherion tilted his head. "Are you scared?"

The general flinched. "N-No, my lord. I'm just saying we should proceed carefully."

Valtherion smiled. A cold, knowing smile.

"Fear is the greatest weapon in war," he said. "And right now? Solmaria is terrified."

The generals exchanged uneasy glances.

Elyndra, leaning against the wall, chuckled. "You're enjoying this too much."

Valtherion turned to her, grinning.

"You have no idea."

The Beginning of Bloodshed

As the sun set, the first reports came in.

Solmaria's army was moving.

Valtherion stood atop the palace walls, gazing at the horizon.

The flames of war had been ignited.

And he couldn't wait to set the world ablaze.