Chapter 1
After a catastrophic event nearly wiped-out humanity in 2561, the survivors spent the next 500 years painstakingly rebuilding civilisation. Yet instead of resurrecting the technological marvels of the 26th century, they made the radical choice to abandon them altogether. Digital dependency, they believed, had been their undoing. Computers, televisions, and phones—once the lifeblood of society—were erased from memory, relics of a forgotten age.
In their place, a society took shape that looked to the distant past for guidance. Noble families reclaimed vast patches of land, reviving hierarchies and social structures reminiscent of medieval and early modern times. Lords and ladies ruled this new world, where life revolved around personal interactions, face-to-face encounters, and a culture steeped in grand rituals. Lavish balls, ceremonial feasts, and complex social dynamics became the heartbeat of the upper class. Without the distractions of digital entertainment, creativity bloomed in the form of artisanship, live performances, and elaborate courtly displays.
Technological advancement continued, but along a drastically different path. Mechanical ingenuity replaced digital innovation, with complex clockwork systems, automatons, and machines powered by renewable energy at the forefront of progress. Viroxyon, a safe and potent energy source, emerged as the fuel of the new age. Discovered and fiercely controlled by the imperial family, this precious resource allowed them to tighten their grip on power. With it, cars were replaced by sleek, elegant carriages powered by this mysterious energy.
Communication, too, adapted. Instant messaging took on a physical form through the use of ‘letter pads’—handwritten letters that, upon completion, would teleport to their recipient in an instant, maintaining the intimacy of personal correspondence while harnessing the mechanical marvels of the time. Knowledge was no longer stored digitally but painstakingly transcribed into hand-written books, kept in vast libraries curated by the nobility, who controlled the flow of information and innovation with a wary eye on the lessons of the past.
Yet beneath the surface of this seemingly elegant and orderly society, tension simmered. The emperor, whose reign was built on Viroxyon’s monopoly, surrounded himself with only a select few trusted allies, all of whom shared his rigid vision of control and order. His greatest threat, however, came not from distant enemies but from within his own bloodline. Archduke Killian Cainos, the emperor’s closest relative, stands as both his war hound and his greatest rival.
The emperor knew that Killian’s popularity among the commoners, proven battlefield prowess, and lineage made him a potential contender for the throne. Despite their shared blood, the emperor could sense the potential ambition that Killian may harbour—an ambition that could one day ignite into rebellion. The delicate balance of power, hidden behind the layers of pomp and protocol, was more fragile than it appeared.
Killian's POV
I kneel before the emperor, my blood-soaked armour still clinging to my skin. There was no point in changing—why bother? The emperor will likely send me to another battlefield soon enough, eager to rid himself of me once again. Ever since I came of age, I've been his sword and shield, or so the public believes. In truth, he seizes every opportunity to send me to war, hoping that one day I won’t return. To him, I am a thorn buried too deep to pluck out—an unwanted rival who only serves to remind him of his own fragility. And with every campaign I survive, every victory I bring home, his frustration grows. I can see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his lips twist in barely contained resentment.
He sits on his gilded throne, smirking down at me as if I’m nothing more than a pawn in his endless game. His hair, once dark, now streaked with grey, tumbles to his shoulders, a golden crown perched atop his head. But it’s the hands that draw my attention—his fat, sausage-like fingers dripping with rings, each gemstone more ostentatious than the last. Every movement he makes is a reminder of his wealth and power, flaunted like an animal marking its territory.
“Congratulations on your latest victory, Archduke Cainos,” he drawls, his voice thick with mockery. “Your contributions in the war have benefitted our lands greatly over the last eleven years.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air as if he’s savoured each one before spitting it out. I say nothing. I know he’s setting a trap. He always does.
“As such, I would like to grant you a reward for all of your efforts.” His grin stretches wider, a predator about to pounce. The court murmurs around us, eyes flicking between us like spectators at a blood sport. They know as well as I do that this "reward" is laced with poison, but there's nothing I can do. It would be a grave dishonour to refuse a gift from the emperor.
“I humbly accept any reward you’re willing to bestow upon me, your royal highness,” I reply, my voice cold and steady, betraying none of the fury boiling inside me. I lower my head in deference, keeping my expression blank.
He leans forward slightly, savouring his dominance, his grin widening as though he’s already won. What could he possibly offer me that doesn’t come with strings attached? Land? Titles? A command in some remote outpost far from the capital, where he hopes I’ll be forgotten or killed? No matter what it is, I’ll survive. I always do. But this endless game he plays, using me as both tool and rival, grates on my every nerve.
I glance up briefly, meeting his eyes. For a moment, his smile falters, just slightly—a flicker of something darker beneath the surface. He knows I am not broken, not yet.
“Seeing as you’re now twenty-seven years of age and still without a wife. I have arranged the most wonderful marriage prospect for you, my dear boy,” the emperor announces, his voice dripping with false warmth. My heart sinks instantly. The game he’s playing becomes clear. This is no reward—this is a leash. He means to plant a spy in my own home, someone under his thumb who will report back my every move. A set of eyes that can gather any scrap of evidence, no matter how small, to accuse me of treason when the time is right. I’ll have no privacy, no sanctuary—not even in my own bed.
“I would be honoured, your majesty,” I say, forcing the words out with a calmness I don’t feel. My face remains a mask, neutral, betraying none of the fury or dread twisting in my gut. “And what lovely lady have you granted me?” I ask, though deep down, I already know the answer. The emperor is nothing if not predictable.
His grin widens, relishing the moment. “I bestow upon you only the most sought-after lady in all of high society—Lady Adeline Portio.”
Of course. My worst fears are confirmed. Adeline Portio. She is the daughter of Duke Gilles Portio, the emperor’s most trusted advisor, his right-hand man in all matters of state. Her name has been whispered in noble circles for years—young, beautiful, and kept away from society’s prying eyes. A treasure hoarded by her father, guarded like a rare gem, untouched by the scheming and politicking that swirls around her. The emperor couldn’t have chosen a more perfect instrument to tighten his grip on me.
The Portio family’s loyalty to the crown is absolute, and I can only imagine what price the emperor paid to convince the Duke to part with his most beloved daughter. Perhaps wealth or power was exchanged—more likely the promise of greater influence in the emperor’s inner circle. Either way, the Duke must have been reluctant to relinquish her to someone like me. To him, I am little more than a glorified soldier, a man shaped by war and violence, unworthy of his prized daughter.
Adeline herself is an enigma. Sheltered, yes, but certainly not naive. The rumours suggest she’s sharp, perhaps even dangerous in her own right—clever enough to understand her place in this game, whether she likes it or not. She would come into my home with her father’s corrupt ambitions stitched into her soul, and through her, the emperor would watch my every move. Every word I speak, every decision I make, would pass through her and back to the court. She would be my wife in name, but in truth, she would be the emperor’s eyes, ears, and—if necessary—his dagger.
“Lady Adeline Portio,” I repeat, tasting the name on my tongue, feeling the weight of it. I nod slowly, pretending to consider the honour bestowed upon me, when in reality, I am calculating my next move. I cannot refuse this marriage without damning myself—it would be a public rejection of the emperor’s ‘gift,’ an insult to his authority. But to accept it means inviting an enemy into my bed, a woman loyal to the very man who wishes me dead.
I bow my head slightly. “Your majesty is most generous. I will endeavour to be a worthy husband to Lady Portio.”
The emperor’s smirk deepens. “Oh, I’m certain you will. The wedding will be arranged swiftly, of course. There is no need for delay.”
Of course, there isn’t. He wants her in my home, in my life, as soon as possible. No doubt she’ll arrive with a retinue of servants loyal to her father, all eager to sift through my affairs, to uncover anything that could be twisted into treasonous behaviour. I’ll have to be careful—more careful than ever before. One misstep, one wrong word, and I could find myself accused of plotting against the crown. And with Adeline in my home, there will be no escape from their watchful gaze.
As I rise from my kneeling position, I steal a glance at the emperor. His eyes glitter with satisfaction, fully aware of the trap he has laid. But he underestimates me. He always has. I will play this game as I always have—cautiously, patiently. If Adeline Portio is to be the emperor’s pawn, then I will simply have to avoid her as much as possible, she will be my wife in name alone, nothing more.
The war he believes he's already won is still raging, and it’s far from over.
I walk away from the emperor, each step echoing on the marble floors, reverberating through the grand hall. The weight of the moment presses against my chest, but I don't falter. Around me, the whispers of lords and ladies swirl like venomous winds. I hear their words—thinly veiled behind fans and hushed tones, but they reach me all the same.
They wonder aloud how the Duke could allow his precious daughter to be married off to someone like me. Someone so monstrous, they say, their voices dripping with disdain. My scars are their favourite topic of conversation—marks left by years of brutal warfare, each one a reminder of battles fought and survived. They speak of me as if I am something other than human, as though my disfigurement has stripped me of my right to walk among them.
I may be wealthy, but to them, wealth means little when they cannot bear to look me in the eye. When they do, they see only the long, jagged scar that cuts down my face, forever marring what was once considered handsome. To them, it’s a mark of disgrace, a blemish on the image of high society. I feel their gaze like knives at my back, their disgust thinly masked behind their courteous smiles. They pretend civility, but I know they recoil at the sight of me. I hear the unease in their voices as they wonder why Adeline Portio, untouched by war and so revered for her beauty, would be handed over to a man as scarred and dangerous as I am.
But to me, these scars are badges of honour. They’re not marks of shame, but testament to the countless battles I’ve fought—and survived. Each one a story of how the emperor, time and again, tried to send me to my death. And each one a reminder of how I defied him, how I beat the odds and returned alive. I wear them proudly, though they whisper behind my back that I should hide them. They are proof of my resilience, of my fighting spirit, and of the fact that no matter how many times the emperor tries to rid himself of me, I keep coming back.
Let them speak. Let them judge me by what they see. They think me monstrous because they fear what I represent—someone they cannot control. Someone they cannot break. I am the emperor’s sword, his hound, but I am also the reminder that he has failed to kill me, no matter how hard he’s tried.
As I walk through the hall, head held high, I feel their whispers clinging to me like shadows, but they do not weigh me down. Each step I take is a reminder to them—and to myself—that I am still here.
