Whispers That Led to Catastrophes

I was there, Arian Zephyrus Ironwood, just another shadow in a forgotten corner of the Imperial emergency bunker. It wasn't a place of rest, but a temporary tomb carved into the heart of the mountain behind the castle that had become mere ruins. The chill seeped from the bare stone walls, and the scent of old dust and faint mold filled my lungs with every labored breath. A single window, a narrow slit in the thick wall, was my only connection to the dying world outside, casting a pale rectangle of sickly moonlight onto the dusty floor, framing a nightmarish scene.

My body was rigid, not just from the cold, but from the deep, numbing fear that paralyzes muscles and makes blood flow like ice in the veins. All I could do was watch, helpless, as the final chapters of the apocalypse unfolded before my eyes. I saw them – the Four Gods, symbols of primal power – standing like pillars of fate against the Devil who had torn our world asunder. I saw the strange pity in their fiery, watery, icy, and metallic eyes, and heard the echo of their harmonious words, carrying as much sorrow as condemnation.

Then I saw the tear, that single molten drop that slid from the Devil's red eye. A devil crying? It seemed absurd, impossible. But the words the Gods whispered, which my ears barely caught across the distance and the dying din, began to paint a picture more terrifying than any monster: "O human, victim of sin...", "Chosen by Kamui...", "An innocent child twisted by human greed...".

A child? This entity that had cleaved the castle in two was a child? My heart, already pounding violently like desperate war drums, hammered faster, as if trying to escape my chest. A coldness unrelated to the bunker's stone crept over my skin. How? How could things have come to this? My mind refused to believe, but my eyes couldn't deny it. Memory, like a stubborn ghost, pulled me back, back just two days, to the spark that ignited this catastrophic fire.

Two days earlier...

The throne room in Giravia Palace was thick with suffocating tension, despite its outward grandeur. The heavy crimson carpets absorbed the echo of footsteps, and massive golden chandeliers cast a warm glow on walls adorned with intricate carvings depicting the bygone glories of the Empire. But all this opulence seemed faded, merely a mask hiding the anxiety clearly etched on the face of Emperor Zayron, seated upon his throne carved from ebony and studded with jewels.

I stood among the ranks of the Royal Guard, my polished steel armor reflecting the dim light, my hand gripping the hilt of my longsword. My duty was simple: to be part of the silent human wall separating the ruler from any potential threat. I wasn't permitted to think, only to observe and obey. But even from my position, the tension was palpable, a weight pressing down on chests. I felt it in the stiff posture of my fellow guards, and in the furtive, nervous glances exchanged silently by servants as they glided by offering refreshments.

The source of this tension sat opposite Emperor Zayron, on a luxurious chair brought specifically for the occasion: Emperor Narius, ruler of the neighboring and alarmingly powerful Arcanorus Empire. Narius was the embodiment of overconfidence, if not outright arrogance. His long grey beard was meticulously trimmed, and his sharp eyes scanned the hall with a cool, appraising gaze, like a merchant inspecting wares. A faint, barely visible smirk played on his lips, the smile of one who knows he holds all the cards.

The meeting was highly secret, so much so that Giravia's most influential nobles had been barred from attending, sparking their resentment. They were now gathered outside the closed doors of the hall, their faint whispers of protest reaching us. It was a meeting described as "amicable" to "strengthen relations," but the truth was far more bitter. Our empire, Giravia, was falling behind. We relied on traditional magic, on the nobles capable of wielding it, and on common folk who possessed little more than their daily bread. Arcanorus... Arcanorus was something else entirely.

They had developed what they called "Artificial Magical Energy," a mysterious and advanced technology that allowed even those born without magical talent to use devices granting them formidable combat abilities, forcibly extracting energy from their bodies. They had turned the weak into weapons, and their army had become a force to be reckoned with, relying on numbers and technology as much as magic. Zayron understood this danger, understood that the balance of power had dangerously shifted, and that war, if it broke out, would be catastrophic for Giravia. Thus, he initiated this meeting, attempting to buy peace, or at least time, through a trade deal.

"So... what say you, Emperor Narius?" Zayron began, his voice, despite his attempt at firmness, carrying a slight tremor of tension. "Shall we finalize the deal now? Half our annual food resources in exchange for limited access to some of your basic defensive technologies?"

Narius let out a short, dry laugh, stroking his long fingers through his beard. "Hmm, half your food resources?" he said, his tone dripping with obvious scorn. "Zayron, Zayron... don't be absurd. What use are your grains and vegetables to me? Do you think Arcanorus is starving? You summoned me here pretending to desire a relationship between equals, but we both know you're desperately seeking our technological superiority to patch up your crumbling defenses. And what do you offer in return? Food?" He shook his head slowly. "That is nowhere near enough. Don't jest with me."

Emperor Zayron's face paled. The offer was generous by Giravia's standards, even unfair to our people. Narius's flat refusal cornered him. I saw small beads of sweat form on his brow, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the armrest of the throne. He knew, as everyone in the hall knew, that Narius's rejection meant war was now an imminent possibility.

"W-What? Is that not enough? By the Gods, Narius, don't be so greedy!" Zayron burst out, but his voice held more desperation than anger.

"Greed is the engine of progress, my old friend," Narius replied coolly, clearly relishing Zayron's weak position. "You in Giravia, clinging to your outdated magical traditions, allowing only the nobility to advance, leaving the vast majority of your people in ignorance and weakness. We in Arcanorus believe in empowering everyone. Our technology is the future. And you... you are the past."

A heavy silence descended upon the hall. I could hear my own slow, steady heartbeat behind my ribs. I felt the cold metal of my armor, the weight of the sword hanging at my belt. If it were up to me... but it wasn't. I was just a guard, a small cog in the Empire's machine.

"F-Fine..." Zayron stammered, his weakness laid bare. "What... what do you want then?"

Narius paused, letting the weight of the moment sink in, then uttered a single word, a simple word, yet it carried catastrophic weight: "Greenhall Village."

Zayron's eyes widened in genuine shock this time. He shot up from his throne, his voice rising, echoing in the vast hall. "Greenhall?! A-Are you serious?! That village... it's an integral part of our ancestral lands! This is utterly unacceptable!"

Narius rose calmly, brushing imaginary dust from his fine robes. "Very well," he said with an air of finality. "I suppose we won't reach an agreement like this. Negotiations are over. I shall leave." He turned to walk towards the door.

"Wait! Hold on!" Zayron cried out, raw desperation in his voice now. He realized, as I did, what Narius walking out that door without a deal meant. It wasn't just failed negotiations; it was an indirect declaration of war. Perhaps Zayron considered, in a moment of madness, killing Narius here and now, but he knew, as we all knew, that the Arcanorus Empire wasn't a traditional monarchy. The Emperor was merely a figurehead; the real power lay with the technological councils and popular guilds. Killing him here wouldn't cut off the serpent's head; it would provoke its massive body into a devastating response.

Narius stopped, that faint smile of victory returning to his face.

A long, painful silence filled the hall. Zayron wrestled with himself, his pride against the survival of his empire. Finally, he spoke in a faint, defeated voice: "I-I will give you... half the village. Only half of Greenhall. That... that is all I can do."

Narius's smile widened until it nearly touched his ears, revealing stark white teeth. "Deal."

And just like that, in a matter of minutes, half of an ancestral land, half of a peaceful village, was signed away for a vague promise of access to technology that might save the Empire or hasten its destruction. Bitterness rose in my throat. I was shocked by how easily our Emperor gave up his land and his people. How could such an ineffectual man rule? But I remained silent. My opinion held no weight here. The nobles, who exploited the King's weakness for their own gain, would never allow the voice of a simple guard like me to be heard. My job was to guard, not to question.

Narius left the hall victorious, tossing a sarcastic farewell: "I look forward to our prosperous future relationship, Emperor Zayron, hohoho."

As soon as the doors closed behind him, Zayron collapsed onto his throne, his face pale, sweat pouring down profusely. He looked as though he had fought a real war and lost. He ordered his servant to cancel all his appointments, refusing to see anyone, not even the furious nobles who were now pounding on the doors with increasing clamor.

"Why weren't we summoned to this important meeting?"

"What are you thinking, Emperor?"

"Please tell us what happened!"

The Emperor stood nervously, wiping his sweat with a silk handkerchief offered by his old servant. "Silence!" he croaked, then turned, ignoring them. "I-I will return to my chambers to rest for a while..."

The Emperor retreated, leaving behind a throne room filled with unresolved tension and the angry nobles at the doors. I began to feel pity for the old man, but a crucial question echoed in my mind: How would he tell the nobles he had just given away part of their lands?

At that moment, despite my disgust at the King's weakness, I tried to see a positive side. Perhaps the risk was worth it. Giving up half a village to gain Arcanorus's advanced technology... technology that could shift the balance of power, grant the commoners the ability to defend themselves, secure the Empire's future. If things went smoothly, this humiliating deal could be the beginning of a new era for Giravia.

But things never went smoothly.

I didn't know it then, but among the ranks of guards standing silently in the throne room, there were those who were not guards at all. I realized it later, when I saw one of them, wearing the same armor and uniform as me, suddenly transform into a massive dragon and join the swarms of death descending from the sky. There had been infiltrators, dragon spies, witnessing our Emperor's weakness.

And it was these infiltrators who carried the news to the waiting nobles outside. They didn't just relay the fact of the deal; they likely exaggerated Zayron's weakness and Narius's humiliation of him. The news spread like wildfire among the nobles gathered before the palace. Whispers of protest turned into furious shouts of anger.

"Emperor! Show yourself at once!"

"How dare you sell our lands to them? Who gave you the right?"

"Explain yourself! Why did you do it?"

The number of opposing nobles swelled, gathering like a raging flood before the palace gates, the remaining guards barely able to hold them back. Then, amidst this escalating chaos, a leading voice rose, the voice of one of the most radical and enraged nobles:

"Enough is enough! We will never agree to this! We will not allow another country to seize our property! We will take back our rights with our own hands! If we can no longer have Greenhall, then no one will! We will destroy Greenhall Village ourselves! Who is with me?!"

"Let's go!"

"We'll destroy it!"

Like a spark hitting a powder keg, anger turned to madness. The nobles readied their weapons, mounted their horses, lit torches, and surged like a plague towards the innocent village of Greenhall, unaware of the fate decided for it in the cold throne room.

And there, in that quiet village, the real catastrophe began. The tragedy that would give birth to the Devil I had just seen weeping under the gaze of the Gods.