Once, the Adler Empire stood unchallenged, its banners casting long shadows over the world. But empires do not fall in a single day; they wither, they rot, until nothing remains but the memory of their former glory. Its vast northern territories were defenseless against relentless barbarian invasions. In the bustling southern port cities, plague spread like wildfire, leaving the streets filled with the cries of the dying. The people starved while the nobles continued to live in luxury, untouched by the suffering below. As if this weren’t enough, rival kingdoms and empires gathered their forces, eager to reclaim lost lands and settle old scores.

  Emperor Tiberius stood on the grand balcony of his palace, overlooking the capital. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, mirroring the storm that raged within his heart. His once-golden, shoulder-length hair had turned silver, and the sharp vigor in his eyes had dulled into a weary gaze. The scars of countless defeats marked his body and soul, each one a bitter reminder of the empire's slow decay.

  For months, the weight of a dying empire pressed against his chest, crushing the breath from his lungs. Each day, the walls of his palace felt narrower, the shadows in the corridors longer. How does a man stop the inevitable? How does a ruler fight against time itself? The crises that plagued every corner of his lands gave him no respite. Enemies pressed in from the borders, and even his allies had grown restless, their loyalty hanging by a thread. Betrayal, he realized, was as much a threat as open war.

  As these thoughts weighed heavily on him, a voice broke through the oppressive silence.

  “Your Majesty...” General Cassius’ voice was steady but laced with despair. He bowed deeply, his weathered armor clinking softly.

  Tiberius didn’t turn around. His voice, though weak, carried a note of unyielding authority.

  “Speak, Cassius.”

  Cassius hesitated for a breath before delivering the blow.

  “The northern fortress is lost. The barbarians have cut through our defenses like a blade through rotted wood. Our ranks are broken, and what little remains cannot be rallied in time.”

  The emperor’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his face expressionless. The barbarians had always been a thorn in the empire’s side, but their success in penetrating this far was a testament to how fragile Adler had become.

  “And the south?” Tiberius asked, though he already knew the answer.

  Cassius’ shoulders slumped further. “The plague spreads unchecked in the southern ports. The people riot in the streets. We have no troops left to maintain order. Medicine is scarce, and our physicians are overwhelmed.”

  Each word was another nail in the coffin of a dying empire. Tiberius exhaled sharply. His empire, once a beacon of power, was now nothing more than a flickering candle in a storm. “Is this how it ends?” he whispered, his voice lost in the howling wind. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, the noise of the city fading into a suffocating silence.

  But Tiberius could not afford to surrender to despair. Opening his eyes, he turned sharply to Cassius, his voice regaining a semblance of its former strength.

  “Let it be known across the land—every man who can wield a sword shall be called to arms.” he ordered. “The Rhazgords must be summoned, no matter the cost. We shall empty our coffers if need be, for there is no price too steep to halt the tide of barbarians. And issue an edict to gather every physician and ounce of medicine across the empire. We must restore the people's faith.”

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  Cassius bowed deeply.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I will begin the preparations at once.”

  As the general departed, Tiberius lingered on the balcony, staring into the stormy skies. A tempest was brewing—both outside and within his empire—and he knew it was his duty to weather it. But deep down, he questioned whether Adler could truly be saved.

  Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The mobilization efforts drew the attention of neighboring kingdoms. Some feared that Adler was attempting to reclaim lost territories, while others recognized the desperation behind Tiberius’ actions. The continent teetered on the brink of chaos.

  Though Tiberius poured his remaining strength into bolstering the army and pacifying the populace, the barbarians remained an unstoppable force. Their raids were less frequent but more devastating. The Rhazgord mercenaries fought bravely but drained the treasury faster than expected.

  In a final, desperate act to inspire his troops, General Cassius led a charge against the barbarian forces. General Cassius rode at the front, his blade cutting through the enemy like a tempest. But no man, no matter how brave, can stand alone against the tide of death. Cassius fell to his knees, his sword slipping from bloodied fingers. He raised his gaze to the sky, the Adler banner above him torn and burning. He had sworn to protect the empire—but as the darkness closed in, he realized there was no empire left to protect. The loss of his most trusted general left Tiberius reeling. The last thing he saw was the Adler banner, falling with him.

  The day of Cassius’ funeral, Tiberius wandered the vast, echoing halls of his palace. The walls were adorned with paintings of Adler’s golden age, but they now felt like cruel reminders of a legacy slipping through his fingers. Whispers of dissent echoed through the corridors, the servants' hushed voices carrying the scent of fear.

  Eventually, he found himself in the royal library. Dust coated the once-prized tomes, symbols of a time when knowledge and power had been Adler’s greatest assets. He pulled an old book from the shelves, its pages recounting the empire’s founding—a time when hope had burned brightly.

  As dawn crept over the horizon, Tiberius closed his eyes for the last time, the book resting on his chest. A peaceful expression replaced the burdens etched into his face. In death, he found the solace that eluded him in life.

  After Tiberius’ passing, his son Octavius ascended the throne. Tiberius had sought peace in an age of war. Octavius would bring war to forge an age of power. He stood in the throne room, the echoes of his father’s weak rule still clinging to the marble walls. No more. With fire and steel, he would carve a new Adler Empire. As a boy, Octavius had watched his father negotiate with enemies instead of crushing them. He had clenched his fists as Tiberius offered gold instead of steel. “A ruler does not kneel, nor does he barter like a merchant.” he had once whispered to himself. Now, as Emperor, he would make sure Adler never bowed again. He believed Tiberius’ leniency had weakened the empire. To Octavius, survival meant dominance—and he would stop at nothing to restore Adler’s former glory.

  Octavius stood before his assembled generals, his voice like steel.

  “My father’s weakness has shackled Adler in chains of mercy. No more. No son of Adler shall kneel before lesser men. Let them march upon us; let them test our mettle. They shall find naught but fire and steel. Strength alone is law, and we shall write it in blood. Those who refuse to march with us will fall beneath our swords.”

  Octavius conscripted thousands into the army, executing those who resisted. The military swelled in size, but feeding and equipping them drained what little remained of the treasury. Undeterred, Octavius led his forces to push back the barbarians, driving them beyond the borders. But he didn’t stop there. His armies marched further, violating treaties and invading neighboring lands.

  The continent, already unstable, descended into full-blown chaos. Octavius’ relentless campaigns fueled resentment, and soon, alliances formed against Adler. War became the empire’s lifeblood, and Octavius thrived in its shadow.

  However, the very aggression that expanded Adler’s borders also sowed the seeds of its downfall. The Sizat Empire, Adler’s fiercest rival, began to rise in strength. Their soldiers exhibited unnatural resilience, and rumors spread of dark experiments involving strange, glowing stones—stones that would soon plunge the entire continent into a new era of conflict.

  In the distant kingdom of Daria, far from war and ruin, a merchant’s fingers traced the surface of an unfamiliar stone. It pulsed beneath his touch, its glow whispering secrets that had long been buried. And soon, the world would listen. Salaz Durin had no idea what he had just uncovered—but he would soon learn.

  The first four chapters of the story are all about the background of the story. If you are not interested and want to meet the main characters directly, you can start with the fifth chapter. However, I recommend you to read these chapters to get a better understanding of the story.