Ash hung so thick in the air it blotted out half the sun, turning the sky a bruised, bloody orange. Beneath the boots of ten thousand Abyssal soldiers, the ground of the Fallen Lands crunched—broken stone, shattered crests, and the bones of those who’d stood their ground. For three weeks this realm had held out behind walls that had stood for five hundred years. Today, those walls were just piles of rubble. At the center of the broken royal square, the Dark Knight sat upon a throne forged right there from twisted iron and smoldering timber. His armor was blacker than the space between stars, etched with veins of glowing embers that pulsed slow, like a second heartbeat. His face remained hidden behind a jagged helm, but every soul still breathing in that square could feel his gaze heavy on their skin, cold and hungry. The surviving lords and captains were dragged forward, hands bound, knees scraping through soot. One by one they were forced to kneel before him. “Your banners are dust,” his voice rumbled, deep as shifting earth, echoing as if spoken from the bottom of a cavern. “Your armies are broken. Your gods have turned their backs on you. All this land… belongs to me now.” The old Lord of the Fallen Lands spat blood onto the scorched stones. “You’re nothing but a monster from the deep. The other kingdoms will march. The Monarch Empire, Necrokeep—they’ll grind you back into whatever hole you crawled from.” The Dark Knight shifted slightly. Before anyone even saw him move, a wave of searing dark force threw the man backward, pinning him high against the remains of his own great hall. He struggled, choking, as smoke began to curl from his clothes. “Let them come,” the Emperor said simply. “Let every last ruler of Mechrion see what happens when they ignore what rises at their gates. This is only the beginning.” A soft, low laugh cut through the silence that followed. From the smoke at the edge of the ruins, Alice stepped out like a shadow taking shape. She moved with easy, unhurried grace, her dark robes swishing over the debris as if she walked through a royal garden instead of a slaughter ground. Her hair caught the dim firelight, and her eyes swept over the terrified prisoners with cool, knowing amusement. Where she passed, extra hands would bloom briefly from thin air—brushing dust off her shoulder, catching a falling beam, tapping a lord’s shoulder just to make him jump—before fading away like they’d never been there. She walked straight past the guards, straight up to the Emperor’s side, and leaned casually against the arm of his makeshift throne. No one else dared come within three steps of him. “Bit loud for a quiet takeover, don’t you think?” she murmured, just quiet enough only he could hear. “Half the kingdom is already running for the borders screaming. Not that it matters—no one’s going to outrun the news.” He tilted his head toward her, and if you looked close, you could see the tension in his broad shoulders soften just a fraction. “Let them run. Let them carry fear ahead of us. It saves us the trouble of breaking every single door down.” He reached out, his large, gloved hand curling firm around her waist, pulling her closer to him right there in front of his generals and captives. No one breathed a word. No one looked away. They knew better. She wasn’t just an advisor, or a general, or a guest. She was his—first his secret, then his comfort, now the only one he ever let stand this near his fire. “Any signs of trouble from Necrokeep? Or the Monarch Empire?” he asked low. Alice traced a finger slowly along the edge of his pauldron. “Hestia’s locked her gates tighter than usual. Zimmerman’s gathering reports, but he won’t dare move until he sees the full size of your strength. They think this is just another border skirmish. Poor things have no idea what’s coming.” She looked up at him, a sharp, wicked smile playing on her lips. “I can go take a closer look whenever you want. See what they’re really hiding.” “Later,” the Dark Knight rumbled, his grip tightening possessively. “For now… we make this place ours.” He stood up then, and the whole army fell to one knee in perfect unison. The heat rolling off him was enough to make the stones beneath his feet glow red. “Send word to every corner of Mechrion,” he commanded, his voice booming out over the ruins and carrying far into the distance. “Tell them the Fallen Lands are no more. Tell them the Abyss has stepped into the light. And tell them—very soon—every crown, every sword, and every soul will bow before the Emperor of the Abyss.” Alice watched him with pride burning in her eyes, already seeing every step ahead. The war hadn’t been named yet. The kings hadn’t made their stands. But right here, in the ash and smoke, it had all already started. And no one was going to stop them.

Chapter 1: Footsteps on Fallen Soil