Chapter 2: Whispers and Shadows
The soft rustle of silk and lace filled the air as Elena allowed the maids to finish dressing her. Layers of embroidered chiffon were wrapped delicately over her frame, the final touches of her formal gown settling into place like the last brushstrokes on a master's canvas. Her gown was a deep midnight blue, reminiscent of the storm-touched sea, with silver embroidery tracing elegant motifs of dragons and blooming moonflowers along its hem and sleeves—a subtle tribute to her house's ancient lineage.
Her reflection in the mirror still haunted her, but the time for introspection had passed. As the maids worked, their voices carried through the air like birdsong, cheerful and oblivious to the weight in Elena's chest.
"Did you hear? The Stormbringer is here. Grand Duke Dragonguard himself!"
"Oh, I heard. They say he arrived last night, descending from the skies atop his dragon, Valdora. The sky was alive with lightning."
"He's here on official business with the Emperor, no doubt. But as usual, His Majesty is likely too drunk on wine and women to care."
Elena's eyes flickered up, catching her own gaze in the mirror. The mention of that name—Dragonguard—sent a jolt through her body.
And then it came—
A memory, fierce and vivid.
A warrior clad in obsidian armor, etched with golden veins of power, descending from the heavens atop a silver-scaled dragon that rode the lightning like a beast born of storms. The sky had been a tapestry of fire and thunder, the air trembling with the force of his presence. Thousands of enemy soldiers, raging and howling, only to be silenced as lightning fell from the heavens. The dragon's roar had split the sky.
She had watched from atop the ramparts, her heart pounding as Dragonguard led the charge alone. A symphony of destruction, every motion of his sword a death sentence. And when the battlefield fell still, when silence descended upon the carnage, he had returned—his armor bloodied, his face soot-streaked yet noble.
He had landed in front of her.
He had been about to say something—something important. She could still see the way his storm-gray eyes had locked onto hers. But then—
"My Lady, you are ready," a maid's voice chirped, shattering the vision.
Elena blinked, disoriented, as the illusion faded. She gave a soft nod.
A knock came at the door. Sharp, formal. The door creaked open to reveal a tall man in dark steel armor, a silver cloak pinned to his shoulder. Vice Captain Bernard.
"It is time for your appearance Princess," he said flatly, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth and emotion.
The maids immediately stepped back and bowed, two of them blushing and giggling behind their hands. Bernard's cold blue eyes ignored them all, landing only on Elena.
She rose from her seat with grace, the weight of the gown nothing compared to the weight in her chest. Bernard stepped aside as she passed, falling into step beside her.
A small squad of Imperial Knights formed around her, gleaming in ceremonial armor. The sound of polished boots striking marble echoed through the hallway.
As they walked, Elena's eyes flicked toward Bernard. He was a Rank 9—one of the highest-ranked Imperial knights. A living legend, though one devoid of vanity or ambition. Of all the knights within the corrupted palace, Bernard was among the few who had never bent the knee to bribes, threats or debauchery. His loyalty to the crown was unshakable. His silence, absolute.
As they passed gilded windows and towering statues of fallen emperors, Elena's mind turned inward.
She recalled what came next. The events she remembered from her past life.
Whispers.
Assassination plots.
A poisoned chalice meant for someone else.
And the slow, inevitable collapse of the imperial family's power beneath the weight of greed.
She would change it all.
A pair of towering golden doors came into view. Two Honor Guards stood at attention, dressed in ceremonial red and gold. As Elena approached, they slammed their spears against the ground.
"Presenting Her Highness, Lady Elena of House Evergreen!"
The doors groaned open.
The ballroom beyond was a spectacle of opulence. Massive chandeliers bathed the hall in golden light. Marble floors gleamed beneath a thousand polished shoes. Nobles adorned in the finest silks and velvets mingled in groups, their jeweled fingers clutching crystal goblets.
And then, silence.
All eyes turned toward her.
Elena stepped forward, flanked by Bernard and her escort of knights. Every movement was poetry—her chin high, her back straight, her expression serene. She let the whispers wash over her.
"She's beautiful…"
"That gown… it must be enchanted."
"She looks like a goddess reborn."
But behind the awe, she heard the venom.
"A spoiled child, nothing more."
"She only rose so high because of her blood."
She spotted them among the crowd—her siblings. Half-brothers, half-sisters. Some looked at her with open disdain. Others feigned courtesy with plastic smiles. But Elena saw the truth now. The envy. The bitterness. The fear.
She would deal with them in time.
A small crowd of noblewomen swarmed around her. Daughters of dukes, Marquesses, and counts, all eager to win her favor.
"Lady Elena! Congratulations!"
"You look ravishing—positively divine."
"We must speak later—I simply must introduce you to my brother."
She smiled, offering polite responses, her voice like honey but her mind elsewhere. Her attention snapped forward as a new announcement echoed through the hall.
"His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Caelus V, Ruler of the Evergreen Empire!"
A line of Imperial Knights entered, each bearing the insignia of the crown. Their formation was perfect, their armor shimmering like molten gold.
To the Emperor's right strode Knight-Captain Marcus, a Rank 10 Mythic—clad in black-and-red plate, his sword strapped across his back like a sleeping Lion. He was a man of integrity, fearsome on the battlefield, and loyal to a fault.
And to the Emperor's left… Luke Granith.
Another Rank 10 Mythic. One of the Empire's Five Swords. In public, he was the epitome of honor and discipline.
But Elena knew better.
Luke was a lustful beast in secret. Hidden behind the mask of discipline was a man who reveled in carnal vices. He was also a staunch supporter of the Fifth Prince—Vokos Evergreen. A dangerous, manipulative man who sought to usurp the throne through shadows rather than steel.
Yet fate would strike both of them down.
Elena's eyes darkened as she remembered.
Marcus—sacrificed by the Imperial Princes, just like Bernard would be. Sent to hold back the orc Disaster with neither support nor strategy, dying a martyr.
Luke—arrogant and overconfident, would later volunteer to lead a second push back the orc hordes, believing the weakened enemy would guarantee him glory. He, too, would fall. But not as a hero. No, the orcs would tear through his ranks and scatter his men, dragging him from his mount like a butchered deer.
Both Marcus and luke had died that day.
One a hero.
One a fool.
She scoffed under her breath.
And the Emperor? Barely a Rank 8.
Elena's lips curled in contempt.
An Epic only because of the endless magic potions, mana baths, and alchemical elixirs pumped into his aging body. If even a tenth of that gold had gone toward the knights or academies, we would have a squad of Rank 9s by now. Real warriors. Real defenders.
She muttered softly to herself, "So much gold... wasted on vanity."
The Emperor made his entrance, a man in his fifties, dressed in imperial purple with a cloak of a Mythic blackmoon wolf fur draped over his shoulders. He bore the same striking features of the imperial line—silver hair, golden eyes—but where Elena's beauty was regal and refined, his face was lined with indulgence and moral decay.
His gaze swept the ballroom—lingering on the young women too long, his smile dripping with perversion. Elena saw him for what he truly was: a man who had squandered the empire's future on wine, pleasure, and whispered lies.
The hall bowed.
As they entered, the very air grew heavier. Elena could feel the pressure of their aura pressing down on the room like a storm cloud.
All knelt.
Even Elena.
The Emperor ascended the stairs to his throne, taking his place beneath the golden canopy. Marcus and Luke flanked him like twin statues of divine judgment.
He rose slightly, opening his mouth to speak.
Then—the doors opened again.
The Honor Guard's voice rang out like a bell.
"Entering, His Grace, Grand Duke Dragonguard of House Slayer!"
A hush fell over the hall.