Luciana's breath caught. The past was not a ghost; it was a creature with teeth, and it had bitten down. "A survivor. Seeking vengeance under the banner of banditry."
"A survivor, or someone using his memory as a banner," Erebus corrected, leading her from the council chamber into the marginally quieter antechamber. "The Lord Governor had no sons. No brothers. His line was extinguished."
"Officially." She leaned against a polished table, the cool stone seeping through her gown. "You think a councilor is behind this? Using that symbol to stir old loyalties?"
He stood before the narrow window, his back to her, a silhouette of contained power. "I think the message was not for the masses. It was for this room. For me. To remind me that no amount of alliances or soft words can bury what I did to get here. And to see if the reminder would make me turn on you." He finally looked at her. "Would the beast, provoked, remember its nature and lash out at the hand that seeks to gentle it?"
"You are not a beast." Her voice held no room for argument.
"I am whatever I need to be to keep you safe." He turned fully, crossing his arms. "That is what frightens them. Not that I am a monster, but that my monstrosity is now on a leash of my own choosing, and the collar is in your hands. They cannot predict me anymore, because they cannot control you."
She absorbed this, the political landscape shifting in her mind from a simple challenge to a multifaceted siege. "So the presentation tomorrow… it's a counter-move. But also a trap."
"Of course it is a trap. We are the bait and the spring. We draw the threat into the open, where I can see its face." He took a step toward her. "Are you frightened?"
"Terrified," she admitted without shame. "But not of dying. I am terrified of failing them—of letting our sons inherit a throne built on perpetual, gnawing fear. That is the old way. The way of the kings who bled." She pushed off the table, closing the distance between them. "You asked me once to be the dawn that softened your night. Dawn does not fight the dark with violence. It simply persists, undeniable, until the shadows retreat. That is the spectacle we give them tomorrow. Persistence. Certainty."
He reached out, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch surprisingly gentle. "And if an arrow is loosed from the crowd during this undeniable dawn?"
"Then your shield guards will intercept it. Or general Zeraf will. Or you will." She placed her hand over his, holding it against her cheek. "But you will not raze the Forum in retaliation. You will have the archer or a hidden gunsman taken quietly. The parade will continue. The people will see that an attack on the imperial family does not shatter our resolve; it proves our strength is not dependent on their momentary obedience. That is how you rule."
A low, rueful sound escaped him, almost a laugh. "I always knew you do best when it comes to rule. But seeing you practice that skill always provokes a profound wonder. When did you become such a master strategist? I thought your expertise was in irrigation and moral philosophy."
"Love is the ultimate strategy, Erebus. It forces you to think in generations, not in quarterly reports." She allowed herself a moment to lean into his touch. "Now. We must speak with Nemesis. And you must be the one to do it."
He raised a brow. "He listens to you better."
"He adores you. And he needs to hear this from his Emperor, not just his mother. He must understand that tomorrow is not a game. It is his first, true duty." Her expression softened. "He will take his cue from you. If you are calm and dignified, he will be a prince. If you are tense and glaring at the crowd, he will think he must be a soldier."
Erebus sighed, the weight of fatherhood for a moment seeming heavier than the weight of empire. "What do I tell him? That there are men who may wish us harm because of choices I made before he was born?"
"You tell him the truth that matters," Luciana said firmly. "That we stand together. That his duty is to stand tall, to hold his brothers' hands, and to show the people that the future is not something to be feared. Leave the shadows to us. Give him the light to hold."
He was silent, his eyes searching her face as if memorizing its lines. He straightened, the Emperor's mantle settling back onto his shoulders. "Very well. I will talk to our heir. And you will brief Alessio on the precise… tone you wish for this event. If I leave it to him, it will resemble a military parade with children as ornaments."
She smiled. "A wise division of labor."
As he turned to go, he paused. " If anything happens tomorrow—"
"It will not."
"If it does," he insisted, his voice dropping to a graveled whisper. "You take our sons and do not look back. Do you understand me?"
She heard the raw fear beneath the command, the old nightmare of loss that forever haunted him. She walked to him, placed a gentle hand over his arm. "I understand that you are a man who loves his family. And that is why nothing will happen. Because the man who tore down kings is now a father defending his children. There is no force in this world more formidable. "Now go. Your heir awaits his briefing."
The council chamber emptied with the precision Erebus demanded—generals dispersing, ministers retreating with their ledgers, envoys slipping away behind heavy doors, their discussions unfinished but their postures wary. Even with their departure, the empire's pulse remained—a hum beneath stone and steel, sharpened by expectation.
Erebus stood at the towering window, silent, his silhouette carved in rigid lines against the expanse of Stygian city stretching below. From here, the empire unveiled itself—a labyrinth of black stone avenues, fortified sectors, and distant battlements unfurling beneath banners embroidered with the golden sun and three-legged wolf.
Krovzaryan, built from war, conquest, and blood, dwarfed the neighboring powers, an empire ten times the breadth of the Mayan civilization, its existence was not granted—it was taken.
Luciana approached quietly, the faint rustle of silk marking her steps. She paused beside him, her eyes observing as they traced the sprawling imperial heart below—the sheer scale of it pressing against the horizon, vast enough to swallow entire kingdoms.
"You're holding tension again," she observed, her voice low but edged with familiarity.
Erebus' jaw flexed, his hand resting against the window's cold pane, eyes narrowed toward the distant harbor.
"It never leaves," he muttered. "Not when peace is balanced on trembling alliances and half-kept promises....not when I still linger between past and the present fearing if I was meant worthy to rule. "
Luciana's gaze followed his, settling on the crimson-sailed ships docked at the harbor's edge—the vessels of the Mayan envoys, smaller yet unmistakable. Their arrival, though sanctioned, was bold—a calculated move bordering on insolence.
"They dock without clearance now," she noted coolly.
Erebus' mouth curled faintly, the expression devoid of humor.
"The Mayans forget the scale they're playing with. Their traders crave access to Krovzaryan ports. We need their sea lanes cleared for eastern expansion." His eyes darkened. "They test us. But they still fear me… for now."
Luciana tilted her head, amusement threading through her otherwise composed features.
"The rumors of the Demon Emperor still circle their courts." She walked to stand beside him while her thoughts lingered to the old Mayan couple— Fabio and Dacey. She longed to hear from them. But Fabio and Dacey had last sent her letter that they had only arrived at the island they used to live in and they were granted permission by the head priest to build their hut again.
"Let them," Erebus replied, his voice low, laced with quiet menace. "Fear buys time. But I want leverage—lasting leverage."
A knock interrupted, sharp and measured. Blake entered, bowing low with the deference demanded in the imperial court.
"The Mayan delegation awaits, Your Majesties. They've requested audience in the lower council hall."
Erebus straightened, command settling over him like a mantle. The weight of his presence—the ruler carved from blood, the tactician feared beyond borders—returned in full.
"Have them escorted. Full diplomatic formality," he ordered, his tone cool, lethal beneath its refinement. "And inform General Zeraf—discreet security at every threshold. I won't have Mayan pride confuse itself with immunity."
Blake bowed and withdrew swiftly.
Luciana's gaze lingered on the retreating figure before turning back to Erebus.
"Do you think they'll overstep?"
"They'll measure their arrogance against their fear," Erebus replied simply. His eyes traced the horizon, where imperial banners rippled like dark wings above the city walls. "But they already forget—we buried kingdoms larger than theirs beneath Krovzaryan soil."
Luciana's expression remained poised, but her words were sharp.
"Then they must be reminded. Politely."
A faint smirk ghosted across Erebus' face as he extended his arm to her—a gesture layered with both unity and the unspoken theater of power.
"We remind them together. My eternal empress."
Arm in arm, they descended the spiraling corridors, stone walls veined with obsidian, every passage draped with imperial crimson, gold and black.
Ahead, the lower council hall loomed—beyond its doors, the Mayan envoys waited: cautious, ambitious, but beneath it all, afraid. Whispers of Erebus' legacy had reached their shores—the demon Emperor, the blood-forged sovereign of the vast empire rising beyond comprehension.
Yet they had come regardless, eager to test the boundaries of Krovzaryan power—forgetting that beneath diplomacy, the empire's appetite remained, vast and merciless.
The heavy doors creaked open. The lower council hall echoed faintly with the hum of conversation, though it quieted like a severed vein the moment Erebus and Luciana entered.
The Mayan envoys stood at the far end, their ceremonial robes steeped in deep crimson and obsidian black, feathers adorning their collars, gold and jade amulets resting heavy across their chests. They were led not by merchants or soldiers, but by the highest caste in their civilization—the Priesthood, revered as oracles, lawmakers, and arbiters of the divine.
It was no coincidence. The Mayan leaders had sent their priests because no other voice carried weight enough to stand before Krovzaryan authority. Or so they thought.
Erebus advanced, his cloak trailing like a shadow behind him, Luciana poised at his side, her bearing an unspoken warning—refined, but edged with the steel of an empress sharpened by politics.
The priests bowed stiffly, their eyes careful, the bravado beneath their posture struggling to conceal the tension in their throats. They feared him—the Demon Emperor, the whispered terror of their courts. Yet they clung to the remnants of pride their smaller civilization afforded them.
The head priest, a tall, wiry man with jade rings piercing his lower lip, straightened, speaking first in their native tongue before shifting to the imperial common.
"Your Majesty the great Emperor of mighty Krovzaryan… Empress Luciana." His tone acknowledged titles but not equality. "We come as envoys of peace, guardians of the sea, and stewards of the gods' will. The Mayan civilization extends opportunity, yet expects respect in kind."
Luciana's expression remained composed, unreadable—but beneath her stillness, the faintest flicker of caution danced. She had been in courtrooms long enough to hear when respect was spoken through gritted teeth.
The priest's gaze slid toward her, lingering a fraction too long, his next words heavier with insinuation.
"And while we honor the empire's strength… we must question the wisdom of placing Amanécer's daughter—a symbol of delicate blood—within negotiations of such scale. Our waters are not mere trophies for imperial display."
The room chilled. Silence blanketed the chamber for a beat too long. Even the Krovzaryan advisors present stiffened, eyes darting to Erebus.
The Demon Emperor did not react immediately—his stillness heavier than any outburst. When Erebus spoke, his voice was quiet, precise, yet it cracked through the air like drawn steel.
"Cross that line again," Erebus warned, his gaze locking onto the priest, voice low enough to curdle the marrow of every listener present, "and I will reduce your priesthood to ash before the sun sets."
The priests faltered, the bravado draining like sand through trembling hands. Erebus took a step closer, the polished floor creaking faintly beneath his boots, his presence eclipsing the space between them.
"You forget," Erebus continued, each word sharpened with imperial authority, "Krovzaryan is not your coastal kingdoms—our borders stretch beyond the edges of your maps. Your gods cannot shield you if I turn my gaze south." His eyes narrowed. "Test me… and your temples will crumble before your prayers reach the clouds."
The chamber pulsed with unease. Even the Mayan envoys, prepared with rehearsed defiance, visibly recoiled beneath the weight of that threat. They now knew well and as a clear sign that the woman standing beside the Krovzaryan's Emperor was not some prized possession but the regal figure holding power equal to him.
Luciana stood beside him, expression unchanged, though her presence reinforced the silent warning—this empire was not a diplomatic indulgence. It was a machine of conquest, and Erebus its unyielding architect.
Moments passed before the priest collected himself, shoulders straightening with reluctant submission.
"We meant no insult, Your Majesty… merely ensuring our voice remains heard." His gaze dipped, the edge dulled by fear. "We… recognize the realities before us."
Erebus allowed the silence to stretch just long enough to imprint the lesson.
"Then we proceed."
The negotiations unfolded, detailed and deliberate:
— Mayan traders would gain structured access to designated Krovzaryan port cities—under strict tariffs, inspections, and imperial oversight.
— Krovzaryan naval fleets would gain unimpeded passage through Mayan waters, with the additional concession of establishing military outposts on selected Mayan island territories—"for regional stability," though no one in the room mistook the phrase for anything but veiled dominance.
— Maritime cooperation would be formalized, but sovereignty, as the Mayans clung to it, remained ceremonial at best.
Luciana intervened at intervals, her voice measured, ensuring civilian trade safeguards while quietly reinforcing the empire's position. She granted no space for the Mayans to exploit weakness, yet offered the faintest thread of diplomatic civility.
Despite whispered resistance among their ranks, the Mayan priests knew the inevitable conclusion. Their civilization, though proud, could not contest the empire tenfold their size—especially not when the man across the table bore the reputation of the Demon Emperor, and the veiled threat of obliteration hovered inches from reality.
The final agreement was drafted, seals pressed to parchment, ink still drying as signatures bound the uneasy accord.
The Mayan priests signed with thinly veiled reluctance—their pride bruised, their fear cemented. But they signed all the same.
As they departed, Erebus' parting words lingered like smoke, barely above a whisper, yet loud enough to coil beneath their skin:
"Remember… patience has limits. Pray yours holds."
The envoys bowed lower this time, departing in silence, shadows stretching long behind them as the imperial banners fluttered overhead.