The capital burned like a dying god.
Smoke billowed from the marble towers of Varenhold, black veins crawling through the crimson sky. The once-proud banners of the Empire — gold and red, stitched with divine sigils — melted into the fire, collapsing like the ideals they once stood for.
The screams of soldiers, the collapse of stone, the metallic taste of ash — all of it blended into one truth: the Empire was dying.
And Ardan Vale stood in the middle of its corpse.
His armor was cracked, soaked in soot and blood. Every breath came ragged. The sword in his hand — his once-faithful companion — trembled under its own weight.
He'd fought in a hundred campaigns, forged alliances, raised armies from dust.He'd raised the crown prince into a ruler.And this was his reward — branded a traitor, hunted like a dog through the ruins he had built.
"General Vale!" someone screamed from below. "The eastern wall's fallen!"
He didn't look. He already knew. The east wall, the west gate, the heart of the citadel — all shattered. The empire's defense was gone, swallowed by the very army that once swore loyalty to him.
It was over.
But endings never come cleanly.
Ardan turned as the iron doors at the end of the courtyard groaned open, and through the smoke stepped the man he'd once called brother.
Prince Kael Dornhart — the heir of Varenhold. Cloaked in white and gold, armor polished like a saint's, eyes burning with conviction.
"Ardan Vale," Kael's voice carried above the flames. "For treason against the crown and murder of your comrades, you are sentenced to death."
Ardan almost laughed. Treason? The word had lost meaning.He'd given everything — youth, loyalty, even mercy — for this crown.And the crown had fed on him until nothing was left.
"Spare me the sermon," Ardan said, voice hoarse. "If this is justice, then perhaps the gods have gone blind."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You taught me that a leader must be ruthless. I only learned too well."
"No," Ardan murmured. "You learned to destroy what you fear."
The wind howled, carrying the scent of blood between them. The silence stretched — until a voice cut through the smoke.
"Ardan!"
He turned sharply. Lyra stumbled into the courtyard, her light armor cracked, one side drenched in crimson. Her silver hair was streaked with soot, but her eyes — sharp, storm-gray — burned bright as ever.
"Don't," she gasped, clutching her wound. "Don't fight him. You'll die for nothing."
Ardan caught her as she nearly fell, his hands steady even as the world shook around them. "It's already nothing," he said softly. "The empire's gone."
"Then live," she shot back, voice trembling but fierce. "You've lost everything before. You can build again."
He looked at her — this soldier who had followed him through hell, who had believed even when he stopped believing himself.She had always been too human for this world.
"I'm done building for others," he said.
Her hand gripped his wrist. "Then build for yourself."
The gates below burst open. Soldiers poured through, led by Kael's vanguard — the same elite corps Ardan had trained, now turning blades against him.
Lyra stepped in front of him, raising her sword despite the blood dripping from her side. "I'll hold them."
"Lyra—"
"Don't argue." She smiled weakly. "You taught me to die with purpose."
Then she charged.
Steel clashed, sparks scattering like falling stars. She moved with desperate precision, cutting through two, three men before pain stole her breath.
A blade slid through her gut.
Her sword fell.
Ardan froze — the world narrowing to that single sound.
He caught her as she fell, pulling her close. Her blood was hot against his palms.
"Stay with me," he said, voice shaking. "You hear me? Stay—"
She smiled faintly. "You never listened… General."
"Lyra—"
"You'll… remember this time," she whispered. "Promise me you will."
Her eyes fluttered closed. The warmth in her fingers faded.
Something inside him snapped — quietly, cleanly — like a blade drawn from its sheath.
When Kael approached, sword raised, Ardan didn't resist. He stood slowly, setting Lyra's body down with care.
The two men faced each other through smoke and fire — brothers divided not by belief, but by the price of it.
Kael's blade rose. "I learned this from you."
"And you'll die for it," Ardan said.
Their swords met.
Steel screamed against steel — once, twice, thrice — until Kael found the opening. His blade slipped between Ardan's ribs, straight into his heart.
Ardan's breath hitched. Blood spilled from his mouth, dark and thick.
Kael leaned close, voice low. "The Empire will survive."
Ardan met his eyes — calm, unyielding. "Then may it choke on what it's become."
The prince pulled the blade free. Ardan collapsed beside Lyra's body, the flames closing in.
As the fire consumed him, his last thought wasn't of loyalty or regret.It was of silence — the kind that waits before the next storm.
He woke to it.
No fire. No screams. Just the faint hum of mana lamps.
A ceiling of old wooden beams. The scent of parchment. The echo of laughter somewhere outside.
Ardan blinked, breath caught halfway between dream and memory.
He sat up sharply. The bed beneath him was small. The room — smaller. Books stacked everywhere. A desk. A window overlooking the Academy courtyard.
The Imperial Academy.
He stared, disbelief clawing through his chest. This place — this room — had belonged to him decades before the war.
He stumbled to the mirror. The face staring back wasn't the scarred general who died in fire. It was a boy — sixteen, lean, untested, eyes sharp as tempered glass.
A hollow laugh escaped him. "You've got to be kidding me."
He pressed a hand to his chest. Smooth skin. No wound.But beneath it — a faint pulse of black light. A sigil. Faint, flickering, unfamiliar.
He didn't remember earning it. But it throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat — alive, sentient, hungry.
A tether between life and death.
The gods don't give second chances, he thought. They demand entertainment.
He leaned on the desk, breathing slow. The ink bottle beside him was fresh, the same brand he'd used as a student. Even the faint scratch marks on the wood — identical.
This wasn't illusion. This was time folded backward.
Fate, divine punishment, or something fouler — it didn't matter.
He was here.
Alive again.
And this time, he would not waste it on serving anyone else.
Outside, the morning bells began to ring — bright, cheerful, ignorant.
Students hurried across the courtyard, laughing. The same laughter that once filled his days with ambition and false dreams.
Ardan watched them through the window, silent. His reflection stared back — a boy's face, a man's eyes.
He'd raised the crown prince into a ruler.He'd built an empire out of blood and trust.And both had buried him alive.
Never again.
He flexed his hand, like capturing the skies.... and without him knowing a different pulse thumed from his body.... a sigil which was pulsing with his emotions.
He smiled. Cold. Controlled.
"I will not work for the crown," he said quietly, but a voice with conviction and something more something deep."I will claim it."
His breath fogged against the glass.
"I will not kneel to anyone this time."
"I will make them kneel."
The words hung in the air like a vow carved into the bones of the world.
He turned from the window, calm now — a predator wrapped in the skin of a boy.
"This time," he murmured, "I'll burn the world before I let it burn me again."
He walked toward the door, the morning light spilling behind him.
Outside, the Academy rang with the sounds of ordinary youth.Inside, Ardan Vale — once the Empire's fallen general — began his second life.
And somewhere beneath his skin, the sigil pulsed again.Hungry.
As if it, too, remembered the fire.