The crowd gathered in the grand square of the Kingdom of Eiraz, where the air was saturated with the fragrance of roses scattered along the long royal path leading to the throne. The sun wavered in the sky, as if watching this momentous day, its heat reflecting the anticipation burning in the eyes of those present.
The multitude was vast men and women from every corner of the kingdom, their faces displaying a mixture of hope and worry, anticipation and fear. Their whispers intertwined like threads of wind, some wondering about the future, others praying that the new king would be worthy of his responsibility.
In the front rows, the nobles stood in their ornate garments, their hands clasped behind their backs, trying to conceal their conflicting thoughts. The soldiers, on the other hand, stood rigidly, striking their spears against the ground in a steady rhythm, as if to declare that order would not waver.
Amidst this commotion, a small boy clung to his mother's robe, his wide eyes gleaming with curiosity as he whispered, "Mother, will he be a good king?"
The mother bent down to whisper to him, her gaze fixed on the royal platform where the new king would appear: "We hope so, my dear. Eiraz needs a wise ruler."
On the marble steps leading to the throne, the royal advisors stood whispering among themselves, some stroking their beards, others scanning the crowd with scrutinizing eyes, trying to gauge the public sentiment.
Suddenly, trumpets blared across the square, their echoes merging with the pounding hearts of the anxious audience. All eyes turned toward the massive palace gates, which slowly creaked open, casting a long shadow across the polished floor.
The new Vastarian emerged with confident strides, adorned in a royal robe woven with threads of gold and silver. He advanced steadily, yet within him raged a storm of emotions. His eyes scanned the masses, searching their faces for signs of acceptance or rejection, loyalty or defiance. His heart pounded fiercely, but he did not allow his turmoil to show.
As he reached the throne, he turned to face his people and took a deep breath before raising his hand, bringing an eerie silence over the square. This was the defining moment the moment that would determine his fate and that of his kingdom.
The sky was laden with heavy gray clouds, as if it, too, was anticipating the outcome of this fateful day. Despite the creeping morning chill, the air was thick with the heat of expectation and tension the kind of heat that arises when one stands on the brink of monumental change. The faces in the crowd were a mixture of curiosity and dread, fear and hope, as though everyone was searching for a sign that would tell them whether this new Vastarian would be their savior or their burden.
At the edge of the crowd, an old man leaned on his worn cane, his sunken eyes fixed intently on the platform. He recalled standing here decades ago on the day of the late king's coronation, and now he found himself witnessing the same scene unfold again but under entirely different circumstances.
"Will he rule with justice? Or will he, like his predecessors, be nothing more than a shadow of the kingdom?" the old man muttered to himself.
Beside him, a young man clenched his fists anxiously. "It doesn't matter who sits on the throne," he whispered. "The kingdom needs a true leader, not an empty title."
On the platform, the High Priest stepped forward with steady steps, carrying the golden crown encrusted with emeralds. Each gemstone reflected the light of the lanterns hanging from the columns of the square. The crown was not merely a symbol but a heavy burden, carrying the history of kings who had preceded this day, leaving their marks whether through blood or wisdom.
Behind him stood the new Vastarian, a young man who appeared to be no older than thirty. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, yet within them lay something enigmatic, something no one could quite decipher. Was it determination? Conflict? Or perhaps a fear hidden beneath a mask of steel?
As the High Priest lifted the crown high, whispers spread through the crowd some murmuring with excitement, others with unease.
In the corner, an elderly woman held her grandson's hand and whispered, "Look closely, my boy. This day will be written in history. People will remember every word spoken and every step taken."
When the crown was placed upon the new Vastarian's head, he felt its true weight—not just as a physical object, but as the burden of thousands of souls depending on him.
The priest's voice thundered through the square like a storm: "Long live the King of Eiraz!"
A moment of silence followed.
"My people,"
"I am the current Vastarian, and my name is Edgar Lockard."
"Many have sat on this throne before me, and now I sit upon it. Not because I seek your love, nor because I desire your approval. Rule is not a transaction between you and me it is a reality, an unshakable truth beyond debate. I am not here to be close to you, nor to share in your joys or sorrows. My emotions are of no consequence, just as your emotions hold no importance to this throne."
"I will not promise you hope, for hope is a lie for those who lack power. I will not promise you mercy, for mercy is a weakness unbefitting a ruler. I will not promise you justice, for justice is a relative notion, shifting like the wind. But I will promise you one thing: order. The laws I will establish will not be fair, nor will they be unjust they will simply be laws. Those who obey them will live, and those who defy them will die. Simple, isn't it?"
"Do not chant my name, for I have no need of your cheers. Do not raise your hands in prayer for me, for I will not hear you. Simply do as you are commanded, and everything will remain in order."
"This is the end."
A heavy silence settled over the square, as if even the air itself had ceased to move. Not a whisper was heard, no cheers erupted, no one dared to applaud or protest. Some stood in shock, uncertain of what they had just heard. Others swallowed hard, contemplating the terrifying meaning behind the words just spoken.
This was not what they had expected from their king.
Then, slowly, some knelt not in reverence, but in surrender. The kneeling spread like a heavy wave across the crowd until only a few remained standing.
In their eyes, there was no love, nor even hatred... only the cold realization that a new era had begun.
The nobles of the kingdom gathered in the grand council chamber, a vast room with a vaulted ceiling and massive chandeliers that shimmered above them. The walls were adorned with paintings depicting the glory of the royal family, but the atmosphere in the chamber was far from proud. It was charged filled with suppressed anger and fear flickering in some eyes, while others maintained a cautious silence.
The new Vastarian, Edgar Lockard, had just delivered his first speech after ascending the throne, and it had not been a speech of reassurance or unity. It was a blatant declaration of absolute power a warning to anyone who dared to oppose him.
Duke Aldric, a towering man with a thick gray beard, stepped slowly to the center of the room, his lips pressed into a grim line. He looked at the other nobles with burning eyes before bellowing,
"Gentlemen, did you hear what I heard? That was not the speech of a king ruling with justice, but the proclamation of a tyrant who sees himself as a god upon the earth!"
Duke Jastir, a slender man with sharp features and piercing eyes, nodded before saying dryly,
"He has left us with only two choices: total submission or reckless defiance. But he is more cunning than we think… He secured the army's loyalty before making his speech. Any rash move would be suicide."
The chamber filled with murmurs some spoke of rebellion, others of diplomacy. But there was no consensus only growing anxiety over the dark future looming ahead.
The Count "Reynard," an old man with sunken eyes, pointed his cane at everyone and said firmly:
"We must think carefully… If he wants to be a dictator, so be it, but we know from experience that tyrants fall quickly if they lack support. Perhaps we should wait for our opportunity instead of acting now."
There were some approving nods, but it was clear that most of the nobles were not yet ready to accept the matter.
In one corner of the hall, Prince "Rain Lockard" sat with one leg crossed over the other, slowly sipping fine wine as if he didn't care about the political storm sweeping through the room. His lips were curved into a sarcastic smile as he listened to the nobles arguing like panicked chickens.
He raised his glass and swirled the wine inside, then said in a calm voice that carried clear mockery:
"I loved the speech. Isn't it wonderful how one man can throw you all into a state of panic in just a few minutes? It's truly a rare talent!"
Some of the nobles looked at him angrily, but none dared to challenge him directly.
He continued, waving his glass in the air:
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I agree with him, but I do admire the way he delivered his words. So dramatic! I half expected lightning to strike from the sky the moment he finished!"
Duke Aldric scoffed and said angrily:
"Is this a joke to you? Your father is about to turn the kingdom into a massive prison, and you sit there as if you're at a theatrical performance!"
Rain chuckled quietly, then placed his glass aside and said…
"Of course, it's a farce, but that doesn't mean I take it lightly. The truth is, you all know my father won't back down, and I know that none of you will challenge him openly. So, why don't we spare ourselves this long discussion and start adapting to reality? Or… perhaps we should plan with a bit of intelligence instead of whining."
There was a dangerous implication in his words, but he did not say it outright, which made the nobles stare at him with wary eyes.
As for the younger prince, Alexis, he was entirely different from his brother. He sat in another corner of the hall, staring at the ceiling as if he had no connection to what was happening. There was no trace of fear or mockery on his face, only clear boredom.
When one of the nobles asked for his opinion, he responded indifferently, stretching in his seat,
"Huh? What were you talking about? Sorry, I was thinking about something more important… like dinner."
The attendees exchanged tense glances, and one of the lords stood up, outraged.
"Do you realize the gravity of the situation? Your father has declared he will rule the country with an iron fist, and we are here searching for a way out, while you are thinking about dinner?"
Alexis raised an eyebrow and replied coldly,
"Of course, I realize that. But I also realize that I can't change anything right now. So why waste my time worrying when I could be enjoying some good food?"
Then he stood up and walked toward the door without bothering to look back, leaving behind a hall full of stunned faces.
After Prince Leon left, silence prevailed for a few moments before the nobles resumed their discussion. It was clear that the three reactions Adrien's sarcasm, Leon's indifference, and the deep concern of the nobles painted a clear picture of what awaited the kingdom under the rule of the Vastarians.
Later
Prince Alexis walked through the city's back alleys as if on a quiet evening stroll, unconcerned by the shadows of criminals lurking around him or the watchful eyes peering from dark windows. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of mold and smoke, but he seemed unaffected.
He finally reached an abandoned crossroads where narrow tunnels intersected beneath a moon partially veiled by clouds. In the heart of this darkness stood a man dressed in black, cloaked in anxiety, his eyes watching the prince with a mix of fear and anticipation.
It was the same person he had met before, a member of the mysterious organization that had previously tried to recruit him. But this time, the man was more nervous, fidgeting with his fingers and rubbing his hands together as if standing before a predator that might devour him at any moment.
"I didn't expect you to come again," the man said in a hoarse voice.
Leon did not reply immediately. He simply stood there, observing the man as if studying him deeply. Then, slowly, he smiled… a cold, unnatural smile, carrying an unsettling feeling like the mouth of a snake widening before it swallows its prey.
"You know," Leon began in a quiet yet piercing tone, "there's something interesting about these meetings of ours… The first time, you were excited, trying to convince me with false enthusiasm. And now… you look like you're forcing yourself to stand here. Why so anxious?"
The man swallowed hard and replied,
"You… you're different from last time."
Alexis tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the statement, then took a single step forward. It wasn't a large step, but it made the man instinctively step back.
"I've always been like this. Maybe you just weren't looking closely last time," Alexis said, then added, his eyes narrowing as if seeing something others could not, "Or maybe you preferred not to see."
A shiver ran down the man's spine. This prince was unlike his brothers or even his father. There was something terrifying about his voice, his tone, the way he observed others as if he were weighing their souls rather than their words.
"Why did you agree to come this time?" the man asked in a hushed voice.
Alexis smiled, but his eyes remained cold, devoid of emotion.
"Because I decided I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines… You see, everyone thinks I'm just someone who cares about nothing but food and comfort. Isn't that pathetic? To have the world at your fingertips but choose only to watch it?"
He paused for a moment, then continued, toying with the shadow of a dim lamp with his fingers as if he were petting a small snake.
"So I thought… why not play with them a little? Why not make this game truly interesting?"
The man shuddered, not just because of the words, but because of how they were spoken… There was a tone that did not belong to an ordinary human.
"So…" the man asked cautiously, "does this mean you'll join us?"
Alexis did not answer immediately. He simply stared at him for long moments, thickening the tension in the air. Then, he raised a finger before the man's face and wagged it slightly, as if scolding him for the question.
"Don't ask obvious questions; they lower the value of the conversation. Yes, I'll be part of your game… but remember this well: anyone who enters the game of snakes must be ready for its bite."
The man pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it toward Leon, as if unwilling to get any closer.
"This is your number and the location of the first meeting. Don't be late… and don't play too much. Even snakes can be crushed."
Leon caught the paper and glanced at it for a moment, then smiled again this time, a deeper, more threatening smile.
"Oh, don't worry…" he said, slipping the paper into his pocket, "I don't play to be crushed. I play to see who falls first."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving the man standing there, watching the prince's shadow disappear, while a deep sense of fear crept into his heart.
They had thought they were recruiting him, but the truth was something entirely different…
They had merely opened the door for him, and now, the snake had entered.