The palace was wrapped in an oppressive silence. Too quiet, even by the standards of Devinberg’s customary opulence. Usually, the air hummed with the melodies of sailors’ songs, the lively chatter of nobles, the laughter spilling from the courts, and the rustling of slaves bearing fruits, wine, and exotic delights. Today, the stillness hung heavy, a rare tranquility that Arax hadn’t known for months.

"Silence is more valuable than gold. Cherish it in its fleeting moments, for it will not linger." — The late Emperor Khar.

Arax absentmindedly plucked the strings of his sitar, letting the notes fall like soft raindrops in the hushed chamber. The scent of exotic incense lingered in the air as he recalled his father's words. Reindorf had fallen, Queen Levanna's falsehoods crumbling with it. The knights of the Order were mostly gone, scattered like ash, while Arax's scouts tracked the remaining rebels. In a few months, after mourning his father, he would wed Solven — a political necessity that filled him with distaste, a punishment in human form.

"My wife is war, and my father is the free wind. By the hand of one, I will fall; by the grief of another, I will be mourned." — A soldier's song of the Devinbergs.

A servant entered with a deep bow nearly touching the floor. "Emperor, we have something worthy of your attention. A prisoner. They say he has caused much grief to our army. A mage." Arax raised an eyebrow, boredom evident but curiosity piqued by the rare diversion. Within moments, the bound prisoner stood before him — bloodied and torn, yet with eyes glimmering defiantly. "What is your name?" Arax asked lazily. "Well... give me at least one reason why I shouldn't have you executed right here, right now?" The room held its breath as their gazes met, the emperor's boredom hanging thick like smoke, waiting for a spark to ignite the inevitable cruelty.