Zerethis Deprayse.
The notorious second prince.
Whispers of his name carried fear through the halls of the empire. The man who orchestrated the death of his own eldest brother, poisoning him through the hands of the brother's own wife… only to execute her afterward, silencing the last loose end of his treachery.
The same man who made countless attempts on the life of the youngest prince, Visil—the golden child.
Visil was endlessly praised for achievements none in the royal family could rival. In studies, in combat, in politics, and in the delicate dance of influence among nobles, magis, and even the common folk—Visil shone.
And Zerethis hated him for it. So he had to eliminate him.
He also ensured his other siblings would never come close to the throne.
Some were led into addiction, others into indulgence, drowning themselves in vanity and debauchery. All rendered useless. All beneath him.
So that he alone could rise. So that he alone could claim what was rightfully his upon the inevitable demise of their senile father.
But there was always one obstacle.
One man who stood in his way, time and time again.
Eomer Velmiar, the royal advisor. The flawless white magis. Wise, composed and oh so infuriating.
Zerethis had loathed him since childhood.
Though not far apart in age, Eomer had never once bowed to him. Never once yielded. Never once obeyed.
And those eyes. Always the same, calm, unwavering and filled with quiet disapproval.
It enraged him.
His father, the emperor, would consult Eomer endlessly, hanging onto his every word, while barely sparing a glance for his own son—the "pitiful" second prince.
Yet his mother, the First Concubine, never allowed that bitterness to fade.
She whispered into his ears. Fed his ambition. Reminded him of his greatness.
At times, she did more than that. She acted and schemed. Executed horrors on his behalf, nurturing the cruelty within him.
Because she knew that he was his father's son.
And similar to his father, what he desired… he would take.
No matter the cost. No matter the blood spilled.
And now, at last—the man he despised above all others knelt before him.
Eomer Velmiar.
Bound. Bleeding. On the brink of death.
Ironically, struck down by the very emperor he served so loyally.
Zerethis had not expected things to unfold so perfectly.
He had anticipated resistance where the emperor clinging stubbornly to his ideal Theana. But this situation itself was a gift.
He would blame Eomer for the emperor's death.
Yes… that would suffice.
And while the empire reeled in confusion, he would eradicate the remaining white magis. Every last one of those "pure" beings.
In their place?
Dark magis.
Loyal. Ruthless. Useful.
And together they would bring ruin to the Omran Empire or any other empire that stands in their way!
The thought alone sent a shiver of delight through him.
A low chuckle escaped his lips… growing… rising…
Until it burst into unrestrained laughter.
"Hahahahaha! Oh, what a glorious day…"
His voice echoed through the chamber.
Zerethis slowly unsheathed his sword, the metallic whisper cutting through the air as his guards forced Eomer upright, holding him in place.
He pressed the cold blade against Eomer's neck.
"Let all bear witness…"
His grin widened, eyes gleaming with madness.
"To the fall of the great white magis… Eomer Velmiar!"
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a venomous whisper—
"…the man who killed the Emperor."
And then, he laughed.
"Nonsense! Lord Eomer would never kill the Emperor!" one of the white magis shouted. "We are not capable of killing. Especially one who is blessed by Vesta, the Phoenix!"
Zerethis paused as curiosity flickered in his eyes.
Slowly, he shifted his blade away from Eomer's throat and pointed it toward the white magis who had spoken.
"And what," he asked, voice low with interest, "happens if a white magis—so blessed—kills someone?"
The magis hesitated, but answered.
"Their powers will be stripped from them. Vesta is a pure being. The one who grants extended life and power of light in exchange for devotion. Those blessed by it cannot take a life, be it magis or non-magis… not under any circumstance."
Zerethis exhaled, unimpressed by the boring story.
He had no desire for a prolonged life like his father's hollow existence. But what he desired…was power.
And the dark magis would grant him exactly that.
"Well…" he mused, a slow grin forming on his lips, "he was the only one in the room… and now my father lies dead."
His gaze swept across them all.
"If I kill every one of you who witnessed the truth…"
His smile widened.
"…then no one will remain to deny that Eomer killed the Emperor."
A chilling silence fell.
"And with that," he continued, almost casually, "I can rid myself of every white magis who stands in my way."
The magis bristled, anger breaking through their restraint.
But Eomer remained composed.
Even now, bound, bleeding, and standing at death's door… he did not break.
That composure irritated Zerethis more than anything.
But he knew.
There was one thing that could shatter it.
"Oh… while I'm at it," Zerethis said lightly, turning his gaze back to him, "I suppose I'll execute the rest of the white magis as well."
He leaned closer, voice soft—cruel.
"Including your daughter… in the forest."
Eomer froze.
For the first time—his eyes widened.
How…?
That single reaction sent a thrill through Zerethis.
He burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! Look at you!" he mocked. "How can a child be your weakness? You magis are blessed with such power… and yet you are so weak to be dragged down by something pathetic like that."
He grabbed Eomer by the hair, forcing his head up. A pained grunt escaped Eomer's lips.
"I also know you cast a spell over that place," Zerethis continued. "My non-magis soldiers cannot see beyond your precious magic barrier…"
He smirked.
"But you forgot something…Orichalcum."
A ripple of dread spread through the magis.
Orichalcum—the one substance capable of nullifying magic.
Zerethis' soldiers must already be clad in it, scouring the forest, bypassing the barrier, searching.
By now, they may have already found them.
Zerethis' laughter grew louder, more unhinged.
"Ah… this is truly exhilarating."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with malice.
"I've heard your wife is quite the beauty. I only intend to kill your child, of course…"
He paused wile grinning.
"But if my soldiers take a liking to your wife…"
His voice dropped into something monstrous.
"…who knows? They might have their fun before killing her. Hahahaha—!"
Outrage erupted in the chamber.
The white magis, beings known for their restraint, were now shouting, cursing, struggling against their bonds. The other magis present in the room acted the same.
But Eomer—he did not shout. Did not struggle. But his eyes were filled with something far worse than anger.
Fear.
His golden irises trembled as visions overtook him—a possible future where Zerethis' words would come true.
He saw it.
Miriam—
Dragged, violated, raped, her screams echoing through the forest.
Ayumu—
Crying, terrified, as flames consumed their home, forcing her out of hiding. Then captured by the soldiers clad in Orichalcum.
And in that moment, for the first time—Eomer broke.
"No…" Eomer's voice was barely more than a breath.
A single tear slipped down his cheek and before it could fall, it hardened into crystal.