# Chapter 4: The Night Everything Burned
The harvest festival had been perfect.
Three days of celebration had filled the Aurelius Empire with joy and laughter. Children ran through the streets with paper lanterns, merchants sold exotic treats from neighboring kingdoms, and the great feast in the palace courtyard had brought together nobles and commoners alike in a spirit of unity that made Emperor Marcus beam with pride.
Riven had played his part flawlessly, just as his mother had taught him. Every bow was precise, every conversation graceful, every smile genuine. The people loved their young prince, and he could see the hope in their eyes when they looked at him—the belief that their future was secure in his hands.
Now, as the final night of festivities wound down, Riven stood on his balcony overlooking the capital city. Lanterns still glowed in windows throughout the districts, and the sound of distant music drifted on the warm evening breeze.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
His father's voice came from the doorway behind him. Marcus stepped onto the balcony, two cups of wine in his hands. He offered one to his son.
"Father, I'm only ten—"
"Tonight, you've earned it," Marcus said with a smile. "I watched you these past three days. The way you spoke with the merchants about their concerns, how you listened to the farmers' suggestions about crop rotation, the patience you showed with the children who kept interrupting your dinner to ask about sword fighting. You're becoming the leader our people need."
Riven accepted the cup, taking a small sip of the rich red wine. It burned slightly, but warmly. "I had good teachers."
"You had something more important than teachers," Marcus said, looking out over their prosperous domain. "You have the heart of a true ruler. Not someone who seeks power for its own sake, but someone who understands that power is a tool to protect and serve others."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, father and son, emperor and heir, watching over the empire they both loved.
"Father," Riven said quietly, "Master Chen mentioned that some of the other empires might be... concerned about our prosperity. Should we be worried?"
Marcus's expression grew more serious. "There are always those who would rather tear down what others have built than create something themselves. But we have good allies, strong walls, and loyal people. As long as we remain vigilant and wise, we have nothing to fear."
A shooting star streaked across the clear night sky, blazing bright before fading into darkness.
"Make a wish," Marcus said with a chuckle.
Riven closed his eyes and wished for many more nights like this—peaceful, happy, surrounded by the people he loved.
He would never get another chance to make such a wish.
* * *
The attack came three hours before dawn, when the guards were drowsy and the celebration wine still clouded men's thoughts.
Riven was jolted awake by the sound of screaming.
He rolled out of bed, instantly alert despite the late hour. Through his window, he could see orange flames licking at the sky from the direction of the outer city. The screaming grew louder, punctuated by the clash of steel and the thunder of horses' hooves.
"What—"
His chamber door burst open. Not with his usual servant, but with Captain Aldric, the head of the royal guard. The man's face was grim, his armor splattered with blood that clearly wasn't his own.
"My Prince, we need to move. Now."
"What's happening?" Riven demanded, already reaching for his clothes.
"Joint attack," Aldric said hurriedly, helping Riven into his boots. "At least twenty empire banners spotted. They hit us from four directions simultaneously. This was planned."
Twenty empires. Riven's blood ran cold. No single neighboring power could threaten them, but twenty empires working together...
"My parents?"
"The Emperor and Empress are being evacuated through the southern passages. I'm to bring you to them immediately."
They ran through corridors Riven had walked his entire life, now filled with smoke and the acrid smell of burning wood. Servants and guards rushed past them, some carrying wounded, others hauling precious documents and treasures from the flames.
As they reached the main hall, a section of the roof collapsed behind them with a thunderous crash. The attack wasn't just conquest—it was annihilation.
"Why?" Riven gasped as they sprinted toward the southern wing. "Why would they work together against us? We never threatened anyone!"
Aldric's jaw tightened. "Sometimes, my Prince, success itself is seen as a threat."
* * *
They found Emperor Marcus in the secret passage beneath the palace, but he wasn't fleeing.
He was dying.
"Father!" Riven rushed to where his father lay against the stone wall, Empress Elena cradling his head in her lap. A massive wound in Marcus's chest painted his royal robes crimson.
"My son," Marcus whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of battle. "You came."
"Don't talk," Elena said, her tears falling onto her husband's pale face. "Save your strength. We can still get you to the healers—"
"No." Marcus's hand found Riven's. His grip was surprisingly strong. "Listen to me, both of you. This attack... it's not random. Someone wanted our family dead specifically. The coordination, the timing... this was arranged by someone with detailed knowledge of our defenses."
"A spy?" Riven asked, his world spinning around him.
"Or worse. Someone we trusted." Marcus coughed, blood flowing from his mouth. "You need to run. Both of you. Get as far from here as possible."
"I won't leave you," Riven said fiercely.
"You will." Marcus's voice carried the authority of over twenty years as an emperor. "Because if you don't, everything we built dies with us. The people need to know that the Aurelius line survives. That hope survives."
Empress Elena sobbed, but she nodded. "He's right, my love. We have to—"
The passage door exploded inward.
Armed men poured through the opening, wearing the mixed colors of multiple empires. At their head strode a figure in dark armor, his face hidden behind a helm in the shape of a snarling beast.
"Well, well," the figure said, his voice carrying an accent Riven didn't recognize. "The royal family, all together. How convenient."
Captain Aldric threw himself forward, sword flashing, but three blades met him before he could reach the leader. He fell without a sound.
"Touching," the armored figure continued, stepping over Aldric's body. "A family's last moments together. But I'm afraid this reunion must be brief."
"Who are you?" Marcus demanded, struggling to rise despite his wounds. "What do you want?"
"What I want is already mine," the figure replied. "Your empire burns, your people flee or die, and your precious dynasty ends tonight." He gestured to his men. "Kill the emperor and empress. The boy... has other uses."
"No!" Riven lunged forward, but hands seized him from behind.
The leader's sword pierced Marcus's heart with surgical precision. The Emperor's eyes went wide for a moment, then fixed on his son's face.
"Remember," he whispered. "Remember who you are."
Elena's scream echoed through the stone passage as the second blade found her throat.
Riven's parents—the two people who had loved him most in the world, who had taught him wisdom and strength and compassion—died in a pool of their own blood while he watched, helpless.
"Now," the leader said, turning to Riven with satisfaction, "for the final touch."
* * *
They held him down on the cold stone floor while the leader drew a curved dagger from his belt. The blade gleamed with a strange, oily light that made Riven's skin crawl.
"This will hurt," the man said conversationally. "But don't worry. You won't die. You'll simply never be able to cultivate again."
The dagger plunged into Riven's chest.
Pain beyond description tore through his body as the blade sought out his meridians—the channels through which spiritual energy flowed. One by one, he felt them sever, felt the pathways that connected him to the very essence of cultivation snap like broken strings.
His scream echoed off the stone walls until his voice gave out entirely.
"Perfect," the leader said, withdrawing the bloody blade. "A crippled prince makes for a much more manageable slave than a potential cultivator. The Argus Clan pays well for exotic specimens."
Through waves of agony, Riven heard footsteps approaching. More soldiers, dragging something heavy.
"The rest of the royal guard is dead," one reported. "The palace is secured. What about the city?"
"Let it burn," the leader replied carelessly. "We have what we came for. Load the boy onto the transport. Our buyers are waiting."
As consciousness faded, Riven's last sight was of his parents' bodies, still and cold in the flickering torchlight. His last coherent thought was a promise that felt like it came from somewhere deeper than his ten-year-old mind:
*I will remember. I will survive. And I will have my revenge.*
The golden prince died that night in a pool of blood and betrayal.
What emerged from the ashes was something else entirely—something that would spend the next five years learning just how much darkness the human heart could endure.
But deep in the ruins of the palace, buried beneath fallen stones and forgotten by the looters, a fragment of rusted metal pulsed with the faintest hint of warmth.
Waiting.
Always waiting, and would be waiting until it was time.