Heir of a Shattered Empire

For as long as I can remember, I wanted nothing to do with politics.

Unfortunately, being born the Second Prince of Marneon meant that politics wanted everything to do with me.

My father, Emperor Alden Marneon, spent his life trying to drag our crumbling feudal empire into the modern era. He envisioned a nation ruled by laws, not bloodlines. A country where power belonged to the people, not the privileged few.

Of course, not everyone agreed.

At first, the nobles tried to mold me into their puppet, a backup plan in case my older brother, Crown Prince Elarod, proved too stubborn. They whispered promises of power, of destiny, of how I, unlike my brother, could be reasoned with.

"Your Royal Highness, Lord Kalron of the Perim Clan wishes to meet with you," my maid informed me one evening.

"Tell him I'm unwell."

I made myself an enigma. fragile and sickly child. The palace doctors were baffled by my sudden decline, but no one could cure an illness that didn't exist. Eventually, the nobles gave up. I was a disappointment, a sickly boy who would probably not survive until adulthood, not worth their time.

So, their attention turned elsewhere.

"Oh, it's you. Why are you here?" My Older Brother Elarod's voice was as sharp as his glare.

"Father summoned the whole family, B.R.O.T.H.E.R." My Younger Brother Tartarus spat, his tone filled with venom.

Elarod sneered. "How funny. Do you actually think you're part of this family, you filthy bastard? Go back to that whore you call a mother."

I sighed. "Can you two please stop?"

They ignored me. They always did.

As the Eldest, Elarod had our father's favor. He was the heir to the empire and the leader of the reforms. The one expected to carry our father's dream. But power was a burden, and the pressure to succeed, to be perfect had twisted him into something bitter. Father did not care. He simply needed an heir to continue his reforms.

Tartarus despised him. He was born of a mistress, yet our father never treated him as less. The nobles, however, never let him forget. And so, they whispered in his ear, telling him that his birthright had been stolen, that Elarod was the true enemy, that only he could restore the old ways.

And me?

I was the forgotten middle child, who watched it all unfold and said nothing.

Despite their hatred for each other, neither of them resented me. We were cordial—perhaps even friendly at times—but I never tried to bridge the gap between them. I knew that if I did, I'd be dragged into their war. And I wanted no part of it.

The people adored my father. To them, he was a visionary king, the man who would build a better future.

But a ruler who tries to change the world makes enemies. And my father had made more than his fair share. The nobles hated him for stripping them of their power. The Congress loathed him for refusing to play their games. The reformists despised him for not moving fast enough. Even the people who adored him grew tired of waiting for his promises to bear fruit.

So, I was not surprised when he was suddenly assassinated.

And as expected, after his death the empire collapsed overnight.

"I, Emperor Elarod Marneon, hereby declare the end of this outdated feudal system! The nobility shall be stripped of their power, the corrupt Congress shall be abolished, and a new order shall rise under MY absolute rule!"

"My tyrannical brother deceives you! He does not seek to reform this nation. He seeks to strip the nobility and congress of power so that he can give himself more power! That is why I, Tartarus Marneon, call upon you to stand against his oppression!"

Elarod had the Imperial Military.

Tartarus had the nobility and their private armies.

And just like that, the Civil War began.

The palace was already empty by the time I made my decision.

Servants whispered in the halls, their hands trembling as they packed their things. The banners of Clan Marneon still hung above them, but we all knew it was only a matter of time before one side tore them down and replaced them with their own.

"Your Royal Highness."

I turned to see General Atenius of the Third Army standing there, his brow furrowed.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

I glanced past him, toward the gates. Toward the road leading out of the capital.

"A place where I can have peace," I said.

His expression darkened. "Your Highness, I urge you to reconsider. The nation needs you."

I almost laughed.

The nation never needed me.

Elarod and Tartarus would burn the empire to the ground before they ever looked to me for guidance. I had spent my entire life ensuring that I was invisible. That I was forgotten.

And now, I would disappear for good.

Without another word, I walked away.

-------------

I took several things with me when I left.

Among them is a portable radio.

It was my sole connection to the empire I had abandoned, the only way I could track the war without getting dragged into it. Every day, I listened, the crackling voice of the announcer keeping me informed as my brothers tore the country apart.

"We have received reports that the Central Noble Alliance has been wiped out by the First Army under the command of General Kalren. The First Army is now advancing east to crush the remaining noble forces."

"After three weeks of siege, the Southern Military Port has been liberated by the Second Army under General Regis."

"Heavy fighting is underway in the city of Alhansha. The Eastern nobles have made their last stand there."

At first, it seemed Elarod would emerge victorious. His forces were unstoppable, tearing through the noble armies like a blade through silk. One by one, their strongholds fell. He had even captured Tartarus and thrown him into the dungeon.

"I will deal with him after I finish off the rest," Elarod had declared.

He planned to execute him once the war was won.

But then.

"Urgent report! The Northern and Western Noble Alliance has launched a direct assault on the capital! General Atenius and the Third Army are in full retreat after holding the defensive line for over a month!"

I froze.

While the First Army was busy in the East and the Second Army was occupied in the South, the North and West had made their move. Their forces had shattered the Third Army's defenses, forcing them back toward the capital.

In truth, it was a miracle the Third Army had lasted this long. They were outnumbered, outgunned. But unlike the chaotic noble factions in the East and South, the Northern and Western nobles fought with precision. Their armies were disciplined, coordinated. 

It was as if someone was pulling the strings from the shadows.

The two likeliest culprits?

The Freedom Alliance or the Coalition of Emerging Nations.

For years, those foreign powers had played a cold war in our lands, waiting for the right moment to tip the scales. Perhaps one of them had finally acted.

Elarod, of course, refused to abandon the city.

"I WILL NOT ABANDON MY CITY TO THESE TRAITORS!" his voice thundered over the radio. "LET THEM COME! WE WILL PAINT THE STREETS RED WITH THEIR BLOOD!"

In desperation, he conscripted every man, woman, and child.

"Your Majesty, this is not a wise decision," General Atenius pleaded. "These people are untrained, some of them are just children!"

"Enough!" Elarod snapped. "You said we needed more men, so I gave you more men. Now hold the city."

Atenius hesitated. Then, slowly, he bowed.

"…As you command, Your Majesty."

That was his mistake.

Among the thousands of terrified conscripts was an orphaned child whose parents were killed by the Imperial Army.

He was only nine. Far too young to be holding a gun.

But in the chaos, no one questioned it.

No one noticed as he slipped through the ranks.

No one stopped him as he got closer.

And when the moment came…

"We are saddened to report the death of Emperor Elarod Marneon."

"The Emperor was shot in the head at close range. The Imperial Army has refused to release details about the perpetrator. Control of the capital has now fallen to General Atenius."

Even with the radio's censorship, the truth spread quickly.

Elarod was dead.

Not killed in battle.

Not slain by a noble general.

But assassinated by a child soldier

A child that had been armed under his decree.

Despite that, the war was far from over.

The Northern and Western armies were still advancing. The only thing between them and total victory was General Atenius, the battered Third Army, and a horde of frightened, inexperienced conscripts.

The battle that followed was nothing short of a massacre.

The noble forces threw everything they had into the capital. The defenders had only one task: hold the line until the First and Second Army arrived.

And in the middle of it all…

Tartarus escaped.

No one knows how, exactly. Perhaps the chaos of the battle loosened security. Perhaps a sympathizer set him free. Perhaps fate simply wasn't done playing its cruel games.

What is known is this.

"Over there! Someone's running straight for us!"

"Fire!"

RATATATATATATATA—

A body hit the ground.

One soldier approached, stepping cautiously toward the fallen man.

His breath caught in his throat.

"S-sir… this man…"

"What is it?"

"I-it's the Third Prince. Tartarus."

A horrified silence fell over them.

They had shot their own prince.

Mistaken for the enemy. Killed by his own men.

By the time the First and Second Army arrived, the city was a graveyard.

The North and West had been obliterated, but at what cost? The capital had been burned, its streets littered with the bodies of soldiers and civilians alike.

And neither the First nor the Third Prince had won.

Because they were both dead.

-------------

After their deaths, a power vacuum swallowed the empire.

The First Prince. Dead, killed by a child soldier.

The Third Prince. Dead, gunned down by his own men.

And the Second Prince. Me? Missing.

I had prepared myself for the possibility of losing one of them. I thought I had steeled my heart for it. Though I never chose a side, though I refused to stand with them, they were still my brothers. I had played with them as a child, laughed with them, fought with them. I knew them.

But both of them?

I had no words for how I felt.

In the aftermath, there was only one person left who could claim the throne.

Me.

I was the last living heir of this shattered empire.

But despite that... I-

I could not do it.

Both of them had fought believing they were doing the right thing. Their soldiers bled for them, followed them into hell itself, because they trusted in their vision. Even if they were misguided, even if they left nothing but ruin in their wake, their cause was still noble in its own way.

And me?

What had I done?

Nothing.

While the people suffered, I looked away. While the empire burned, I hid in the shadows. I was not a leader. I was a coward.

Do I really deserve the crown?

Would anyone even accept me?

So, I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I ran.

The world moved on without me. I listened through the crackling static of my radio, a ghost haunting the remains of my family's empire.

"General Kalren of the First Army has accepted the surrender of the Northern Nobles."

"General Regis of the Second Army has accepted the surrender of the Western Nobles."

"General Atenius of the Third Army urges citizens not to return to the central region due to unexploded ordnance."

The reports continued, but one question remained unanswered.

Who ruled Marneon now?

The three generals had won the war, but victory brought no peace.

General Kalren controlled the East and North.

General Regis held the South and West.

General Atenius stood alone in the ruined center.

Rumors whispered that the generals might turn on each other next. But for now, they were too exhausted, their armies too battered. The war had drained them.

But there are however, some who could give them the necessary resources to claim the throne.

The Freedom Alliance and the Coalition of Emerging Nations. Two rival alliances, each led by a superpower locked in a cold war. The two alliances had been watching from the sidelines. Marneon had always been neutral, an empire too proud to bow to foreign masters.

But neutrality dies with weakness.

And our empire was weak.

No one knew which side made the first move.

But soon, The Freedom Alliance backed General Regis.

The Coalition of Emerging Nations backed General Kalren.

With their armies resupplied and their weapons reforged, the two generals turned their sights toward the ruined heart of the empire.

And in the center stood General Atenius.

"Ridiculous," he scoffed when presented with their ultimatum.

"You think I will pledge my allegiance to either of you?"

"Even if you are royalty, I will not submit to power-hungry hyenas like you."

He refused.

But he knew his Third Army was broken. He knew he couldn't hold the capital alone.

Instead of surrendering, he did what he could.

"Under orders from General Atenius, the Third Army has scattered into the countryside to search for the missing Second Prince. He has also issued an evacuation order as the First and Second Armies approach the capital."

The radio fell silent for a moment before the broadcaster added:

"Witnesses report that General Atenius has chosen to remain in the city. His fate is unknown, but given the scale of the battle, it is unlikely that he survived."

With my brothers dead, the war should have ended.

Instead, it had only changed hands.

General Kalren and General Regis now stood where they once had.

And the flames of war burned on.

-------------

This war was different.

Unlike the last, this one was longer, bloodier. With foreign superpowers fueling both sides, neither could gain the upper hand. The fighting stretched across the land, consuming everything in its path.

And the people suffered for it.

"Reports are coming in that Hansen Imperial Hospital has been overwhelmed with wounded civilians caught in the crossfire."

"Yet another mass grave has been discovered in the southern region."

"The Hazer refugee camp has just been hit by an airstrike. Hundreds have died, countless more wounded. Both the Regis and Kalren factions blame the other."

"This just in-wait, who are you? What are you doing here? STOP! GET OFF ME!"

Silence.

That was the last independent radio station.

Soon, all that remained were propaganda broadcasts, empty words, twisted truths. Lies.

So, I stopped listening.

I didn't need the radio anymore.

Because the war was no longer something distant.

It was here. In front of me.

No matter where I ran, the flames of war followed.

The entire nation had become a battlefield.

For a time, I thought about escaping. Fleeing to another country, leaving it all behind.

But I couldn't.

Because every day, the past followed me like a shadow.

Every night, the same thoughts haunted me.

"What if I had mended the rift between my brothers? Could I have prevented this?"

"What if I had protected my younger brothers from the nobles' influence? Would they have chosen another path?"

"What if I had stood by my older brother when he was under pressure? Would he have been strong enough to resist?"

"What if I had taken a side in the civil war? Would it have ended before it consumed everything?"

"What if I had stepped forward after my brothers' deaths? Would I have stopped this before it was too late?"

The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced.

This war is my fault.

The suffering of my people is my fault.

Because I did nothing.

Because I ran.

Because I let it happen.

I cannot leave.

Not because I lack the means.

Not because I lack the opportunity.

But because I am bound to this country.

Bound by my guilt.

Bound by my regrets.

Bound by my bloodline.

And no matter where I go, no matter how far I run.

I will never break free.

-------------

As the war raged on, I continued to run and hide like a coward.

But fate had other plans.

While gathering supplies in a quiet village, I was found.

A detachment of the Third Army had entered the village at the same time. Unlike the First and Second Armies—who were locked in a brutal struggle, backed by foreign superpowers, the remnants of the Third had scattered into the countryside. Without external support, they relied on the people for supplies, offering protection from bandits in return. Their reputation as defenders of the common folk had earned them goodwill.

There were, however, several notorious incidents related to the Third Army

When the civil war first began, numerous pretenders had emerged, claiming to be me, the lost Second Prince or a bastard child of the Emperor. These impostors sought the Third Army's loyalty, hoping to rally soldiers to their cause. But the Third did not tolerate deception. Every last pretender was hunted down and executed without mercy. Eventually, no one dared to claim my name, fearing a swift death.

I had assumed they did this out of revenge. After all, I was the reason the nation had fallen apart. I thought they hated me.

So, I avoided them.

But now, I was cornered. There was nowhere left to run.

I stepped forward with my hands raised, ready for whatever judgment they deemed fit. I couldn't blame them if they sought vengeance. After everything I had done.

After everything I had failed to do it would be justified.

But…

"Hey there, pal. Calm down. We're not bad soldiers. We're good soldiers. We're not here to hurt you."

They didn't recognize me.

They saw only a frightened man, just another lost soul trying to survive.

Of course, after years of running, I no longer resembled a prince. My clothes were torn, my face was smeared with dirt, my hair unkempt, my beard overgrown. I was unrecognizable.

Perhaps… there was no reason to hide anymore.

Perhaps… no one even remembered what I looked like.

And so, I made a decision.

"You want to join us?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Uh… you help people. And I want to help people too."

The soldier studied me for a moment, then shrugged.

"Alright. What's your name?"

I hesitated. My name… my true name nearly slipped from my tongue.

"Uh… John. John Marn."

"John Marn?"

"Yes."

"Alright, John. Welcome aboard."

And just like that, I became a soldier of the Third Army.

At first, I was just another nameless recruit. A porter. A handyman. Slowly, I get used to life within the third army.

But there is one thing that I will never get used to

"So, by helping people, they're more likely to cooperate with us," a soldier explained. "They'll let us know if the Second Prince has passed through."

I froze.

"…Do you even know what he looks like?" I asked.

"Well, we have this old portrait of the late emperor from when he was young. Since Prince Jonathan is his son, he shouldn't look too different."

I was always told I looked more like my mother. If she had been a man.

"…Why are you looking for him?" I asked carefully. "Revenge?"

"Revenge? For what?"

"He's royalty. He's partially responsible for this war, isn't he?"

The soldier shook his head. "The Second Prince was the only one of the three brothers who didn't tear this nation apart for power."

And I also did nothing but watch as power-hungry men tore apart this nation

"He fled because he was disgusted by the nobles and generals fighting over the throne. He was different from his brothers Elarod the Tyrant and Tartarus the Puppet."

I fled because I was a coward.

"But what if he's dead?" I asked. "He was always frail."

"That's just a rumor," the soldier scoffed. "General Atenius said the prince faked his illness to drive away the greedy nobles."

I faked it because I was afraid of them.

"General Atenius met him many times at the palace. He believed in him."

Atenius… He had always been different from the other old men. He never cared for power, only the well-being of the empire. One of the few people I trusted. But why had he placed his faith in me?

I was unworthy.

"And besides," the soldier added, "With his brothers dead, The Second Prince is the rightful heir to the throne."

They had no idea that the man they were searching for was standing right in front of them.

They spoke of the Second Prince with reverence, unaware that he was standing right in front of them.

To them, I was an ideal. A symbol of hope.

The more I listened, the heavier the burden became.

Months turned to years. They trained me to fight. Slowly, I proved myself as a capable soldier. Eventually I earned a title.

"Hey, Bandit Hunter, over here! We saved you a seat!"

They called me "John the Bandit Hunter," after the many raids I led against bandit groups that preyed on innocent civilians. I had gained their trust. Even Colonel Robert, the acting General of the Third Army, saw potential in me.

"In these dark times, it's a damn miracle we found a recruit like you," he once told me. "Keep it up, John. With men like you, we'll find The Second Prince in no time."

"…Yes, sir," I replied, forcing a smile.

Then, one day tragedy struck.

During a skirmish with General Regis's forces, my platoon commander, Lieutenant Henry, was killed in an airstrike. With no leader, we gathered to decide his replacement.

"What about Vasek?" someone suggested.

"No way," Vasek grunted. "I'm just a meathead. I can fight, but I ain't a leader."

"Well, leadership's more about intelligence than brute strength, I suppose."

"But he can't be a coward either."

"Then what about John?"

"...What? Me?"

I looked around in disbelief.

"I remember when you charge alone through enemy fire and destroyed a bunker by exploiting a weak spot within the structure you are one of the bravest men and most intelligent men that I know,"

I charged alone because I wanted to die, and the weak spot was nothing but a hole that was big enough to slip a grenade.

"But why me?" I asked. "I wasn't even in the Battle of the Capital."

I wasn't there when they needed me the most.

"Surviving that disaster isn't exactly a leadership qualification," another soldier chuckled. "If you were in command during that battle, I don't think you should be allowed to command again,"

Laughter rippled through the group.

"John, do you feel burdened by leadership?" A soldier asked.

I froze.

I was born into royalty.

By blood, I was meant to lead.

But I had spent my entire life running from that duty.

And I had regretted it every single day since.

"Why me?" I asked again.

But now, I have been given a second chance

"Because you're the most qualified."

Not because of my bloodline.

"We fought beside you. We know what you can do."

But because they chose me.

"Remember when you led us out of that encirclement?"

For my ability.

"You are a very selfless man,"

And for my character.

"So, will you do it?"

I wasn't being handed leadership because of my birthright.

I was being trusted with it.

And this time…

"Very well then."

…I would not run.

"I will not fail you."

Not again.

-------------

After I was given command of the platoon, I led my men to victory after victory. They called me a tactical genius, a natural leader. Colonel Robert was impressed, entrusting me with even more men.

Yet despite our successes, we were still no match for the two generals and their foreign backers.

Until-

SEND THEM BACK! SEND THEM BACK! SEND THEM BACK!

"Our nation is in crisis, and we're spending millions on some war across the ocean? What is our president thinking?!"

"The High Marshal has announced a full withdrawal from Marneon after mounting casualties."

A global recession struck, crippling both the Freedom Alliance and the Coalition of Emerging Nations. Their economies crumbled. Their people protested. Their leaders could no longer afford to fund a war that wasn't theirs.

One by one, the foreign troops pulled out of Marneon.

Without their sponsors, the once-mighty armies of General Regis and General Kalren began to unravel.

And the Third Army, the forgotten army, saw its chance.

"We must attack now!"

"This is our moment!"

"We must strike while they're weak!"

We emerged from the countryside, cutting through the demoralized remnants of the First and Second Armies. With every victory, our numbers swelled.

And at the head of this relentless advance was me.

Major John Marn.

The people called me a hero.

But they were curious about one thing.

There was no footage of me.

I had made a request not to be recorded, for "security reasons." In truth, I feared that someone, somewhere, might recognize me.

The Colonel agreed to my request.

Whenever I appeared in public, I wore a mask.

The newer recruits, those who had never seen my face, placed bets.

"Is he devilishly handsome or horribly disfigured?"

Neither answer was true.

But I let them wonder.

As we continued our march, I grew restless.

Not because I was afraid of losing.

But because we were getting closer to the Old Capital.

The city had been abandoned for years, a crumbling graveyard of past glories.

It had no strategic value. No resources. No enemy forces. Yet, we were here.

"Colonel, why are we here?" I asked.

Colonel Robert didn't look at me. Instead, he gazed at the ruins ahead.

"We've spent years searching for the prince, using nothing but old photographs of the late emperor," he said. "But the royal palace might have something better. Images of the prince himself or clues as to where he went."

I felt cold.

I had dreaded this moment.

We marched through the empty streets, ghosts of the past haunting every step.

We passed the avenue where Tartarus was shot by his own men.

We passed the square where Elarod was assassinated by a child soldier.

We marched past remains of dead soldiers, unburied, still gripping their rifles.

And then, we reached the palace.

They say it's cursed.

Looters had entered over the years, hoping to scavenge the wealth of a fallen empire.

None ever returned.

Some whispered that the spirits of the city's defenders still guarded its halls, refusing to surrender the last stronghold of the old empire.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" I asked.

Colonel Robert smirked. "What's wrong, John? Afraid of ghosts?"

The men chuckled.

"I wasn't afraid of ghosts," I muttered.

I was afraid of what I would find inside.

Because inside that palace…

Inside those ruins…

Inside the past I abandoned…

The truth was waiting for me.

-------------

It was very early in the morning when we reached the Palace.

I stood before it, staring at its towering silhouette against the dim pre-dawn sky.

This was perhaps my last chance to run.

To escape. To disappear.

Once I stepped inside, there would be no turning back.

They would know the truth.

And yet, I refused to run.

I refused to hide.

I chose to accept my fate.

We entered the Palace before the first light of dawn could touch its walls.

The halls were dark and silent, the air thick with dust and memories. Our flashlights flickered against faded murals and towering pillars, casting long shadows that danced across the dusty marble floor.

But despite the darkness, I knew everything.

I knew every corridor, every chamber, every hidden passage of this place.

How could I not?

The men remained silent as we marched.

Even before the war, they had never set foot in these halls. This was their first time—for them, this was a place of legends, of a forgotten empire.

Awe and fear flickered across their faces.

Then-

To our left, a massive frame loomed on the wall.

"This might be a portrait of the Imperial Family," Colonel Robert remarked. "Someone, shine a light on it."

The portrait was covered in dust, the grime of years concealing its details.

But I did not need to see it.

I knew exactly what it looked like.

Then, a voice echoed through the halls—low, weathered, filled with quiet defiance.

"You have no right to walk these halls."

A soldier gasped. "I-It's a ghost…!"

No.

I knew that voice.

It wasn't a ghost.

Or at least, I hoped it wasn't.

The men turned their flashlights toward the sound-

An old man stood before us, his clothes tattered, his face worn, his hands gripping a rifle aimed in our direction.

One of my men raised his own weapon.

I stopped him.

Then, I stepped forward.

"Leave, masked man. These halls are not yours to plunder," the old man warned.

I exhaled slowly.

"Why would I plunder what is already mine?"

And with that, I removed my mask.

The man froze.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Is it… Is it really you?"

At that moment, the warm light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the palace walls.

The sunlight touched his face, revealing him fully for the first time-

And I recognized him.

General Atenius.

The official leader of the Third Army.

He had remained here, within these ruined halls.

He had waited.

He had guarded the last remnant of a fallen empire.

He had waited for its master to return.

He had waited for me.

The men around me stirred.

They recognized him immediately. General Atenius.

They stood straighter. Then, almost instinctively—

"Sir!"

They saluted.

Colonel Robert nudged me. "John, what are you doing? That man is the General of the Third Army."

I didn't look at him.

"I know."

General Atenius stepped forward.

Then—

He bowed.

"I greet His Royal Highness, Prince Jonathan Marneon."

The room fell silent.

The soldiers stared at me, frozen, stunned by what they had just heard.

I turned to Atenius.

"That portrait over there," I said.

Without hesitation, Atenius stepped to the massive frame and wiped away the dust—

A small section was revealed.

A face.

My face.

The soldiers looked from the portrait to me. And then—

One by one, they bowed.

The die had been cast.

There was no going back.

-------------

News spread like wildfire.

The Second Prince had returned.

And he was none other than Major John Marn.

The Spearhead of the Third Army.

The Hero of the Empire.

The Savior of the People.

The Last Prince of Marneon.

The Heir of a Shattered Empire

Speculation ran rampant. Why had he hidden his identity?

The most popular theory:

"He hid his name so he could fight on the front lines alongside his men, so he would not be forced to cower in a bunker like other royals."

The people were in awe.

One by one, disillusioned soldiers from the First and Second Armies defected. The two so-called Nationalistic Generals, once the most powerful men in the country saw the writing on the wall and fled.

They were mocked as they ran.

While the Forgotten Prince had risen from a mere porter to a war hero, they abandoned the country they once claimed to love and would gladly die for.

"Now this is a Prince worthy of the throne," Everyone in the Marneon had thought of that.

And so, the war came to an end.

I stood before the people, my people, and addressed them.

"People of Marneon, today is a great day."

"The last organized remnants of the traitors have surrendered. Though scattered resistance remains, the war is all but over."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

They had lived through war, suffering, and bloodshed for too long.

They were tired. They wanted peace.

I let the noise settle before speaking again.

"And now that I have reclaimed my throne…"

"Reclaimed my empire…"

"Reclaimed my birthright…"

The crowd held its breath.

"I shall return it to its rightful owner."

Confusion spread. Whispers filled the air.

"Long ago, it was said that God gave the throne of Marneon to my Clan. He commanded us to rule with wisdom and justice."

"But did we?"

Silence.

"My father sowed the seeds of this war by neglecting his own heirs"

"My brothers tore this nation apart for their greed."

"And I-" My voice wavered for just a moment. "I abandoned you when you needed me most."

"The Marneon Clan has failed its divine mandate."

"So today, I return the throne to God."

The confusion turned to shock.

"And I return the nation to you."

"The people."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"I hereby declare the dissolution of the Empire and the birth of a new republic."

"A transitional government, led by General Robert, will guide this nation until free elections can be held."

I took one last breath.

"Today, the Empire shall burn."

"And from its ashes, Marneon shall rise anew."

And so, the Empire was no more.

The duty tied to my bloodline has been erased.

The people of this land is finally free.

And with them…

So was I.