The imperial throne of the Eronger Empire had belonged to House De Morvain for centuries.
Centuries of unchallenged rule had twisted the Morvains into believing the throne was theirs by divine right.
They oppressed the commoners, tortured those who displeased them, and showered the nobles with favors, all while the people below starved.
The palace, meanwhile, overflowed with lavish feasts, glittering halls, and empty promises.
An empire built on such cruelty could never last forever.
It was only a matter of time before rebellion erupted.
It was about time, Ray thought, watching the distant flames consume the palace walls.
If they had already killed the emperor and his family so swiftly, either they were terrifyingly skilled—or this had been planned for years.
Ray exhaled slowly.
Either way… it sounded like a lot of effort.
The night was heavy, thick with smoke and the smell of burning timber. Distant screams carried through the air, along with the occasional clash of steel that made the hair on Orven's arms rise.
Ray barely reacted.
His attention drifted back to the small device in his hands, as if the chaos around him were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Your Highness! You must go!" Orven's voice trembled, cutting through the night. He rushed forward, eyes wide, desperate. He shoved a pouch of gold into Ray's hand.
"This should last you four years at least. Take it—run as far as you can before they reach you!"
Ray glanced down at the pouch.
Then leaned back against the cold stone bench.
"...Running?" he repeated.
He let out a quiet breath.
He would rather get killed than do something as tiring as that.
"Calm down, Orven," he said. "Think realistically. Where would I even go? The borders are far. If they breached the palace this quickly, they're organized–and most certainly skilled. I wouldn't even make it out of the city."
Orven shook his head. "But... there's a chance—"
"No," Ray said flatly.
"Do you think such a massive rebel force wouldn't anticipate escape attempts? They've probably stationed guards at every entrance, every corridor. Running would only make them angrier."
He shifted slightly, adjusting his position against the bench.
Even thinking about it felt like too much work.
"And if I do get caught…" he trailed off, glancing back at the device in his lap.
Orven felt a chill crawl down his spine. The hopelessness of the situation sinking down on him heavily.
But Ray wasn't panicking.
He wasn't even tense.
It was as if the collapse of the empire was… beneath his concern.
Orven stared at him for a moment. He had known how brilliant, capable, even fearless he was–but he had forgotten how calm he could be even in the eye of a storm that would have shattered anyone else.
"Sit," Ray said quietly. "Panicking won't help."
A brief pause.
Then, almost lazily—
"You think this is the first time the world has tried to get rid of me?"
Orven hesitated, then slowly sat beside him.
The night was eerily still here, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the occasional thud of falling debris. Smoke rolled across the pond, casting shadows that danced like ghosts across the water. The moonlight shivered on the surface, reflecting the burning palace in fractured silver and gold.
The contrast was suffocating.
Fire devoured the palace in the distance—
yet here, by the pond, everything felt still.
Smoke rolled across the water, distorting the moonlight into fractured silver.
"This… could be the last time we see each other," Orven whispered.
Ray didn't look up.
"Then don't waste it worrying," he said.
His tone wasn't cold.
Just… unbothered.
The flames climbed higher, swallowing banners and gold-lined halls. Somewhere between the fire, the empire they had known for centuries was collapsing before their eyes.
Ray adjusted the device again, his fingers moving with quiet precision.
Focused.
Unhurried.
As if he had all the time in the world.
Orven watched him, something tightening in his chest.
Even now… he's not rushing.
A loud crash echoed as part of the palace wall collapsed.
Orven flinched.
Ray didn't.
The pond remained still, reflecting the chaos like it didn't belong there.
"Do you ever… think about leaving all this behind?" Orven asked.
Ray paused.
His fingers hovered over the device.
"I don't think about running," he said.
A small pause.
"It's inefficient."
Another second passed.
"And annoying."
The words were simple.
But they settled heavily in the air.
Orven turned back toward the burning palace, the truth of them pressing down on him.
And beside him—
Ray continued typing.
Unhurried.
Unafraid.
Unwilling to move unless absolutely necessary.
As if even the fall of an empire wasn't worth rushing for.
The palace burned brighter.
Shadows twisted in the flames.
Smoke curled into the sky.
And still—
Ray remained where he was.
Calm.
Detached.
And impossibly, frustratingly… at ease.
Tonight, Orven realized, this young prince that he served was unlike any other.
And somehow, something within him said that even if everyone else dies, he would somehow survive without meaning to.