The city of Achien. The coveted trophy of the world. The seat of power for the Achien Empire for a thousand years, the Confederation for twenty one, and now the New Rule for the first day. A city on the coast and the mouth of a river, built by traders millennia ago, established as a prominent population center by some ancient kingdom, risen to the heights of power by the monarchs of the Achien Empire, decimated by the decades of war in recent years, and now, once again back in the hands of royalty, under the rule of Avalel, leader of the New Rule.

Avalel observes the city as he stands atop one of the Confederation’s captured mobile fortresses, Klarsten loyally by his side. It’s a beautiful place, he admits, even as some buildings remain as rubble, damaged from a series of bombing earlier in the year. While skyscrapers stretch to the skies, finely maintained gardens and parks breathe life into the environment. A multitude of lights adorn the streets even as the Elyfesta blesses the surface with its radiance. Shops display colorful signs pointing to their consumer products, luxuries Avalel would’ve never imagined in his childhood. Every few blocks or so, an old monument or repurposed mansion can be seen, detailing the city’s long and rich history.

Even in two decades of constant war, the old capital of the Achien Empire remains attractive, its beauty almost mythical compared to the destruction beyond its outskirts, behind the northeastern mountains and hills that form its border.

And on this special day, the main road leading to the white palace, the Paladeia, is emptied of pedestrians and vehicles. All for the entry of Avalel, leading his troops in a victorious procession as they declare the end of the Confederation.

With Nasition dead, the Confederation’s military and political organization quickly collapsed. They had no one to take the mantle of Common Leader, after all. Apparently, there were ongoing riots in Achien all the way until its surrender to the New Rule just a few days prior. Avalel can still see traces of burnt bricks and glass shards on the street, an ugly stain on this sacred ground.

What an undignified way to end a struggle.

As he and his armies march in, there aren’t any fervent cheering or celebrations, the civilians instead hiding inside their homes, peeking from their windows or through displays, the cameras held by drones utilized to film this special moment. Well, no matter. None of them are opposing him, as intended by Fate. This path has led to a perfect ending, his domination accepted by the people, his enemies falling in their futile resistance.

Somewhere in a certain forest, the stubborn leaders of the Confederation are being executed by a small platoon of soldiers, their corpses falling before the site where Faresoenn had died. The village is abandoned now, the foresters no longer to be found.

“Can’t believe we actually reached here,” Klarsten comments. “Achien… What a city.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Avalel responds.

They arrive at the end of the road, and hence, the gate leading to the white palace of Achien: the Paladeia. Residence to the heads of state of the Empire, and temporarily to Nasition, it stands as the crowning jewel of the city. Originally built atop a hill, the palace now sprawls over much of central Achien, its protective energy domes still somewhat functional even as the Confederation experienced energy shortages near the end of the war. The vehicles stop, and Avalel begins to descend and approach the entrance, finally reaching the place of his birth.

“So this is the Paladeia,” he blankly mutters.

With that, he steps inside the grand gates, and into the place where he was born. Twenty one years since he last left at the fall of the Empire.

The interior of the Paladeia is elegant as it is lavish. Much of the sculptures and various structures are left intact, although Avalel notices some patches of grass with visible indents. Small vines grow on the walls of the buildings, but most of the greenery is well-maintained and trimmed, the white walls pristine and polished to spotlessness. Flowing streams, fountains, and waterfalls decorate the gardens, the sounds of water pleasing to the ears. It’s as if this is just a recently built structure, not a complex organically grown from centuries of Achien rule.

And as expected, the Paladeia is practically vacant for the day, reserved for the victors of the war.

They reach the Main Hall, an exceedingly spacious building perhaps utilized for special occasions for the monarchy, including the coronation ceremony. The crown of Achien still rests there on the vacant throne, untouched for so long. A carpet is laid out from the doors to the elevated stage, the wooden seats organized in many rows on the sides. The others, led by Klarsten, enter first, taking their seats as they gradually fill up the entire hall. Most of them Avalel do not even recognize, but that is not a particularly important matter. The sound of shoes, the ruffling of clothing, and hushed chatter echo across the interior, but soon settle down as everyone is seated. The drones turn their cameras towards the main character of the narrative, the man who vanquished the once-mighty Confederation of Parvilien.

With all the eyes of the world on him, Avalel finally enters the hall.

Dressed in his white military uniform in addition to a red belt tied to his waist, he immediately stands out among the hundreds of attendees in their black suits and uniforms. In the majestic, elegant backdrop of the Main Hall, he is the spotlight, the sound of his boots ringing clearly with every step, every little movement of his heard by all.

Five years ago, he was just a child fleeing his village into the unknown. Now, on the first day of the first month, exactly 1022 years since the founding of the Achien Empire, he has returned to the throne he once lost.

All thanks to the machinations of Fate.

He steps onto the stage. There is no one else there but him. Only Klarsten is standing below, the others all seated and looking upwards at their leader. He proceeds to turn, but instead stops, his eyes staring at the crown for a brief moment.

Fate demands you to take up the crown.

That heavy headpiece, worn by dozens of monarchs through the ages, the object itself a symbol of supreme power, lay seated on a cushion on the throne. The memory of the Empire is still somewhat in the people’s minds despite the war, and there were even discussions of removing the crown before Avalel arrived to finally put an end to the dead nation. Yet now, it isn’t restrained, nor is it encased in some transparent box. It’s just there, available for him to claim. Patiently waiting.

This is a declaration of your supremacy.

As Fate demands.

Slowly and deliberately, Avalel walks up to the throne, the crown resting quietly before his eyes. He is destined to be the protector, the ruler of the world. There is no reason not to take it. It is an imperative for him to claim the crown, and by extension, the throne of the Achien Empire.

It will be resurrected.

He takes the crown. A few audible gasps can be heard from the audience, but he ignores them, gently placing it on his head, feeling the heaviness of the precious metals bearing on him. Such is the burden of a ruler, a leader: to guide his faction— no, his nation, his empire, to the desired path as set forth by Fate.

He is obsessed with Fate.

Turning around, he faces the audience, taking a few steps to allow his body to be bathed in light. He stretches his arms wide, looking up to the arched stone ceiling. He is truly blessed by Fate, bringing him up from a secluded village to the highest peaks of power. He, the vessel, the hero, is chosen to win, and here he stands, above all the mortals in status and spirit. The world is all his to govern, creation all his to steward over.

“This marks the destruction of the Confederation of Parvilien,” he begins, projecting his voice for all to hear. “It is no longer a functioning governmental entity, its possessions absorbed into the stewardship of the New Rule. For too long the lands have been divided, even when the people are one and the same. We have embroiled ourselves in petty rivalries, fighting nonsense wars when the people only desire peace. The grand city of Achien is a shadow of its former self, Thille becoming a refugee camp more than a subterranean metropolis. But starting from today, things will change. From now onwards, the city of Achien will be the administrative center of the New Rule. I, Avalel, the President of the New Rule, will oversee the reconstruction of the conquered lands, as well as continuing to lead my nation towards a collective goal of eventual peace.”

Some of the audience are already disapproving of his gesture, their faces expressing their discomfort at this otherwise arrogant declaration. No faction has ever dared to declare themselves as a nation. But what do they know as mere mortals? Without Fate’s blessing, they are as worthless as any insect, forgotten in the annals of history. Only he, the vessel, is the true ruler, the true representative of Fate’s creation.

“Hark my words, my people! The New Rule is no longer a faction on equal ground with the lesser factions in Parvilien, fractured from the old great Achien Empire. No, it cannot even be compared with the nations of Staegond, of the West. The New Rule, as it states titularly, is a wholly new nation. Everyone who is witnessing this moment of great victory, this is not merely the death of a faction, but the rise of a nation! No, an empire!”

He raises an arm forwards while his other hand clutches his chest, ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable audience below. “The New Rule signifies the beginning of a new era, led by a new generation, but also the rebirth of old values we have thrown away in the chaos of war! The people seek order, not freedom! They want peace, not war! They need a strong leader, not a council of bickering politicians! This was the Achien Empire, but the Confederation in their folly have destroyed it!

“I hereby declare…” He pauses, his face brimming with enthusiasm. “... The rebirth of the Elydeia, the god-ruler the world truly needs! Fate has guided me to this position, for I am chosen to save the world from its wretched sin and brokenness! And with it, an Empire reborn from the ashes of Achien, an Empire that will no longer simply dominate the world, but rule it! We are not fighting for our individual selves anymore. No more selfish desires of freedom. There is only the unity of all, the unity of every human, every creature in our world of Parvilien!

“We move forward as one, and may Fate bless us as I guide us all towards the path to peace and order. There are no citizens of Thille, of Achien, of Tecullia, of Narras, of Vuur, of every great settlement of humanity. There are only citizens of Parvilien! And in the end, the Parvilien Empire will prevail! All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!”

Silence. The audience is completely shocked. It is as if the world has come to a standstill, unable to comprehend the consequences of such a declaration.

Of course they are. No one dares to declare their faction an empire, bearing far too many connotations with the hated Achien Empire and its regime. No one will even dream of calling themselves the Elydeia, confidently stating their ambitions to rule the world. This is practically a declaration of war to every single faction and nation, an act of pure malevolent chaos for perhaps further decades.

But this is Avalel. He is already crowned by Fate for this eventual destiny. He is merely publicly declaring his status to all, his status above all mortals.

And if they decide to revolt against him? He will simply destroy them as he had to Nasition and the Confederation. Fate will not allow small uprisings to disrupt the grand narrative.

In this narrative, he is the hero. And the hero always wins.

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!” The silence is broken, as all eyes instead focus on one individual, standing just at the foot of the stage.

Klarsten salutes, pointing his raised arm at Avalel. Although he understands the absurdity of such a declaration, he has chosen to completely trust in his President— no, the Elydeia to bring the world to its long-deserved peace. He has only known war his entire life, the prospect of peace always seeming like a distant dream to his generation. Yet here is Avalel, the young man who once saved the New Rule from the brink of destruction, and now has brought it to the heights of power, destroying the Confederation, the most powerful faction since the death of the Achien Empire. There can be no one else who can claim and do such things.

The world is far too broken. No matter how small the possibility, the fact that a way to salvation is before their eyes is enough to convince Klarsten to side with his leader.

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!” he shouts again. If no one else flocks to their cause, then he will gladly die Avalel’s last and most loyal follower.

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!” a second, feminine voice responds. It’s some young officer at the back of the audience. She too salutes at Avalel, even going so far as to remove her ceremonial helmet for the occasion.

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!” More voices follow, the chants growing louder and louder. They must’ve all realized by now. Avalel is the only one they can follow. All it takes is a catalyst to begin the reaction. And Klarsten will take pride in being that catalyst.

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!” The sounds are deafening now, roars filling up the entire hall. Hundreds of politicians, military officers, scholars, and wealthy merchants are in the hall. And all of them have decided to chant Avalel’s name, celebrating the rise of a new state, a new empire.

Klarsten can taste it. They can all taste it. The taste of peace. The end of the war is nigh.

“The war has not ended,” Avalel shouts. “There is still much to do. Let us make this dream of peace a reality!”

He recites the words he had said on the battlefield, on the day he killed Kavlina and Nasition. “I will always lead you and be with you, from now till the end of the world itself! The Confederation has fallen, the New Rule will rise! No, the Parvilien Empire will rise! All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!”

“All hail the Empire! All hail Parvilien! All hail Avalel!”