Dr. J'an
The following account originates from the private writings of Empress Ruke of the Tàiyáng Empire, supplemented by records from High Xi'wu Fuxi during the early stages of the Huǒ Róng Yuán campaign.
It is one of the few surviving documents that captures Emperor Marrick not as a conqueror, but as both a father and a man in quiet conflict with something far beyond mortal comprehension.
I am Ruke.
A gray-winged tango.
A wielder of magi'ce.
The Empress of the Tàiyáng Empire.
And I am a mother.
I owe all of this to my husband.
Marrick.
The emperor of this empire.
The warlord of these lands.
He is known for his power.
His cruelty.
His hatred.
His unstoppable wrath.
And at first—
I believed that was all he was.
Before I truly met him.
Before I understood him.
Now I know him differently.
I know his love.
His love for his people.
His love for this empire.
His love for me.
And for our child.
But as much love as he holds—
he holds no compassion for those outside of it.
And that is what allows him to do what he does.
Because in his mind—
everything he destroys is justified…
as long as what he loves remains.
And that is why I love him.
Because he will do anything—
anything—
for me and our family.
But even Marrick—
is not unbreakable.
He is only ever truly weak…
when he is afraid.
And when he is afraid—
he becomes something else entirely.
It was the day my pregnancy ended.
I was with May.
She was painting—as she always was.
A battlefield.
Bodies.
Ash.
Fire.
She always painted war like it was something beautiful.
I never agreed.
Then—
Pain.
Sharp.
Immediate.
I dropped.
"Ruke—?!"
"My water—" I forced out.
Everything after that moved too fast.
Slaves rushed in.
Hands grabbed me.
Voices blurred together.
I could feel the child more than ever before.
A pressure.
A weight.
A presence.
Pain came in waves.
Sharp.
Then dull.
Then sharp again.
Over and over.
They rushed me to the healing chambers in the west wing.
By the time we arrived—
I could barely think.
"Where is Han—"
"She is coming—"
Then—
The doors slammed open.
"Ruke!"
Marrick.
"Yes, I am here," I said, forcing my voice steady.
"Ruke, are you alright?"
"Yes," I said.
Then—
"No."
That almost made him laugh.
Almost.
"Han!" he called, his voice edged with something sharp—something born from fear.
"I'm working on it, Marr," Han snapped.
"Do not rush me."
"…Sorry."
And he meant it.
He came to my side.
Took my hand.
And he did not let go.
Not once.
Hours passed.
Pain.
Breath.
Pain.
Breath.
My father arrived.
Fuxi.
Between him and Han, the room filled with controlled magi'ce.
Sigils.
Words.
Precision.
And through all of it—
Marrick stayed.
Right there.
Holding my hand.
When she was finally born—
Everything stopped.
When they placed her in my arms—
I felt something I had never felt before.
Something deeper than love.
Something absolute.
She mattered more than life.
More than death.
She was everything.
I held her for what felt like forever.
And then—
"…Ruke."
Marrick.
"…May I?"
I hesitated.
Not because I did not trust him—
But because letting go felt wrong.
Still—
I gave her to him.
And in that moment—
I saw it.
The care.
The precision.
The way he held her—
as if she could break at any second.
The way he looked at her—
Pure love.
The same overwhelming feeling I had just experienced.
But then—
It changed.
Just slightly.
So quickly most would have missed it.
But I didn't.
Fear.
And something else.
Determination.
Cold.
Focused.
Possessive.
I saw something in that moment—
something he did not want anyone to see.
But I did.
I will always see it.
We named her Fay.
Fay Dalorde.
She had his red skin.
Four wings.
One horn.
And white hair like mine.
In the months that followed—
Marrick became… something else.
At first, I thought it was because of the child.
He was always there.
Watching.
Guarding.
He would not allow any slave to touch her.
Not once.
He fed her himself.
Held her himself.
Watched her sleep.
He did not sleep.
At first, I thought it was because of her.
But then—
I stayed awake.
Three days.
Three nights.
And I watched him.
He did not sleep once.
Not until—
He collapsed.
On the way to the bathhouse.
That was when I knew—
Something was wrong.
After that—
I watched him more carefully.
Too carefully.
I noticed everything.
The way he would stare into nothing—
like he was seeing something.
Something that terrified him.
The way he would flinch—
like it saw him back.
And when he slept—
It was worse.
He would wake up gasping.
Like he had drowned.
Like something had taken the air from his lungs.
I asked him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every time—
"It's nothing."
"I'm fine."
"The war."
Lies.
I knew they were lies.
And I hated it.
Because Marrick only lies—
when it is for love.
A week later—
He told me he was leaving.
To meet the kings.
The tribal leaders.
To prepare for war.
I begged him to take me.
He refused.
Too quickly.
Too firmly.
"It's too dangerous."
A weak excuse.
A thin lie.
I knew it.
He knew I knew it.
Still—
He would not let me come.
So I turned to my father.
"Watch him," I told him.
"Help him."
"And send me word if anything happens."
He only nodded.
From what I learned—
The journey was… worse than expected.
Marrick was not himself.
He was quicker to anger.
More volatile.
He pushed everyone.
Not just slaves.
Everyone.
As if patience itself was something he no longer possessed.
When they met the first tribe—
He did not negotiate.
He threatened.
Join.
Or die.
Be burned.
Erased.
Forgotten.
And most of them believed him.
Because it was not a threat.
It was a promise.
Some tribes joined quickly.
Those—
he rewarded.
Food.
Water.
Protection.
Not kindness.
Never kindness.
When they met King Sha'le—
He spoke to Marrick like they were equals.
Marrick kept his composure.
Barely.
He gave him the same choice.
Join.
Or die.
Sha'le chose to live.
But when they met King Tiy—
Something broke.
Mid-conversation—
Marrick stopped speaking.
Completely.
Lost.
Gone.
My father had to take over.
He spun lies.
About the beast.
About its hunger.
About slaughter making it stronger.
Tiy believed him.
Because he was a fool.
That alone—
terrified me.
Because Marrick does not lose focus.
He does not lose control.
Not like that.
When he returned—
I already knew.
Something had followed him back.
That night—
He woke again.
Gasping.
I reached for him—
"Marrick—"
He froze.
Then slowly—
looked at me.
And something broke.
"…Ruke."
His voice—
was small.
"I saw something."
I stayed quiet.
Let him speak.
"I don't know how to explain it."
"I don't even know if what I remember is real."
His hands were shaking.
"The world changed."
"That's the only way I can say it."
"It didn't look right."
"It felt wrong."
"Like everything became…"
He stopped.
"…violent."
"…violet."
The word felt wrong even as he said it.
"I saw it."
"I think I saw it."
"I don't even know if I can call it that."
"It wasn't something you look at."
"It was something that replaces looking."
My chest tightened.
"I tried to understand it."
"And I couldn't."
"And then—"
His voice broke.
"It noticed me."
Silence.
"I think."
"I don't know if it noticed me."
"But something did."
"And in that moment—"
"I stopped being me."
My grip tightened.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean there was no 'me.'"
"No Marrick."
No thought.
No anything.
"I wasn't even there."
"I was part of it."
"I couldn't think."
"I couldn't move."
"I couldn't even remember what it meant to be me."
His breathing became uneven.
"And the worst part—"
"I didn't fight it."
"I couldn't."
"…and for a second…"
"It felt right."
That made my heart stop.
"Like I wasn't supposed to exist as myself."
"Like being part of it was…"
"…better."
Silence.
"It let me go."
"I think."
"I don't know if it let me go or just stopped caring."
"I came back."
"But I don't feel right."
"I feel like I can disappear."
"At any moment."
"I wake up and I still feel it."
"That emptiness."
"That nothing."
"That feeling that I am not real."
His voice cracked.
"I can taste it."
"My own oblivion."
"My erasure."
"And it doesn't leave."
"I'm scared, Ruke."
And there it was.
The truth.
"I'm scared I'll lose myself."
"I'm scared I'll disappear."
"I'm scared that one day…"
"I won't come back."
Silence.
"I'm scared for you."
"For Fay."
"For all of you."
"I don't understand what I saw."
"But I know one thing."
His voice hardened.
"This war…"
"…is not for me."
"It's for you."
"For this family."
"Everything I do now—"
"…is for you."
And in that moment—
I understood.
Marrick loves.
Deeply.
Violently.
Completely.
He loves this empire.
But more than that—
He loves this family.
Me.
Fay.
My father.
His mother.
His sisters.
But none of that—
compares to his fear.
His fear of losing us.
His fear of losing everything.
And most of all—
his fear…
of losing himself
2 MONTHS AND 1 YEAR UNTIL WAR