Chapter 15 : Aftermath

Chapter 15 : The aftermath 

Empire of Sylvaris

The empire had yet to recover.

Not truly.

The echoes of that night had not faded. The city's grand streets, usually bustling with life, now carried a strange, uneasy silence.

People still spoke of it in hushed tones, as though afraid that even mentioning it too loudly would summon the wrath of the empire's rulers.

A whole bloodline had been erased.

Not just any bloodline.

The Ignis.

The Children of Fire.

And now, where once stood a great house—an unshakable pillar of power—there was nothing. Only charred ruins and scorched earth where the estate of House Ignis once stood.

The consequences of the battle between four Saint Realm experts did not stop at the Ignis territory. No—its devastation stretched far beyond.

The land itself bore the scars.

Poisoned by the darkness of the Noctis.

Severed by the blade of the Sword Saint of Sylvaris.

Burned to nothing by the flames of the Ignis.

The destruction was so great that nothing would grow there again.

Even the air had changed.

The burning stench of death still lingered, days after the flames had died.

Some called it "The Night of Purge."

A name spoken with pride by those who worshipped the empire's strength—the ones who saw it as a necessary purge of rebellion.

But others…

The ones who understood.

The ones who saw the truth.

They called it "The Night of Slaughter."

For in a single night, an entire family was erased.

And now—

The Citizens Speak

"Did you hear?" whispered a woman in the market square, her voice barely above a breath. "Not a single one survived. The entire Ignis family… gone."

The old merchant she spoke to tightened his grip on his cart. "A bloodline as old as the empire itself, and they were wiped out just like that." His voice was heavy, his eyes filled with something unreadable. "I don't know whether to call it a victory… or a tragedy."

"Victory?" A younger man scoffed. "It was a massacre. The Ignis were powerful, but in the end, they stood no chance against both the imperial family and the Noctis." He exhaled. "I heard the Ignis patriarch fought to the last breath, even as his body burned away."

The woman shuddered. "And the son?" she asked hesitantly. "Lucas Ignis? The heir?"

A heavy silence followed.

Then, the old merchant shook his head.

"Dead."

That word hung in the air, heavy with finality.

"No body was found," the young man muttered. "But tell me, do you think anyone could have survived that?"

Another merchant, an older woman, leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Rumors say the young Ignis heir fought back. That he unleashed a white fire upon the empire's warriors before falling."

A hush fell over the group.

The young man scoffed. "If he was strong enough to stand against the empire, he wouldn't have died."

But the old merchant only sighed. "Strength alone isn't always enough, boy."

…

Not all spoke in whispers.

Not all mourned.

Inside the grand halls of a noble estate, laughter echoed.

"At last!" A nobleman raised his glass high, his rich silken robes swaying as he grinned. "One less threat to the empire. The Ignis always thought themselves untouchable, but in the end, they burned just like any other commoner!"

Laughter followed.

A gathering of aristocrats, men and women dressed in luxury, toasted their wine in celebration.

"A warning," another noblewoman said, her lips curving into a smirk. "A reminder that no one, not even the strongest of noble houses, can defy the empire."

"And now," a third nobleman added, "their lands, their wealth, their legacy—all of it, gone. Their power is no more. The empire stands stronger than ever!"

They laughed, they drank, they celebrated.

For them, this was nothing but a power shift.

A game.

A political move.

But not all felt the same.

Because they know, if the empire can do that to the mighty Ignis Family, then they were not safe either. 

…

Inside the Palace—

In the grand halls of the royal palace, away from the whispers of the people, two figures stood before a towering window overlooking the empire.

One, an older man, adorned in golden robes.

The other, a younger man, standing tall with golden hair and piercing eyes.

"There are those who doubt," Crown Prince Asher Sylvaris said, his arms crossed. "The Ignis were powerful. Some fear their destruction will have unforeseen consequences."

The Emperor of Sylvaris—his father, Atticus Sylvaris—did not turn from the window.

"Fear is a tool," the Emperor said. "Let them fear. Let them understand what defiance leads to."

Asher was silent for a moment. Then, carefully—

"And what if we destroyed something we cannot replace?"

At that, the Emperor finally turned, his golden gaze sharp.

"Then we shall make certain that nothing rises from its ashes."

Asher stared at him.

Then, slowly, he smirked.

"Of course, Father."

Then—

A knock at the door.

A royal attendant entered, bowing low before the Emperor.

"Your Majesty. Urgent news."

The Emperor's gaze narrowed. "Speak."

He hesitated…but still managed to speak

"The Mindweavers—those who could read minds, those who saw fate itself—had begun to accumulate power."

"Noble families—those once loyal to the empire—were now aligning with them."

"One by one."

"And Not through war. Not through threats."

"But through secrets."

The Mindweavers knew everything.

The Duke's mistress.

The Count's betrayal.

The Prince's hidden ambitions.

They did not ask for loyalty.

They took it.

With whispers. With carefully placed words.

With fear.

They were turning the empire's own nobles into their puppets.

A dangerous aura filled the room. A sharp aura. Even sharper than the aura of Zephyr the sword Saint. 

The Emperor exhaled slowly. His golden eyes gleamed with something cold.

"I see."

He turned to Asher.

"Go." His voice was calm, but heavy. "Go to Veldran Noctis."

Asher's brows furrowed.

The Emperor's gaze did not waver.

"We will need his… expertise."

Silence.

Then, Asher said. "Understood, Father."

He turned, his golden cape flowing behind him as he left the room.

And behind him—

The Emperor stared out at the empire, his fingers curling into a fist.

The Mindweavers had made their move.

And soon—

So would he.

Or so he thought…

End of chapter 15.