The first sign wasn't an explosion.
It was a scream — chilling, raw, and desperate — that ripped through the marble halls of the royal palace.
Maria and Elisha froze.
A second scream followed — and then the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.
Before they could move, the doors burst open. Palace guards — the loyal ones — stormed in, their faces pale with terror.
"Your Majesty!" one gasped. "We are under attack! The western wing— the traitors have revealed themselves!"
The Emperor rose sharply from his throne. The Empress clutched Maria's hand, her knuckles white.
Alex's sword was in his hand before anyone else could react, his face grim and unreadable.
"Protect the Empress. Protect Maria. Defend the Emperor at all costs."
He looked at Oliver and Raymond, who were already unsheathing their blades, faces grim.
"And no matter what happens—" Alex said, voice iron. "—this palace does not fall tonight," Raymond finished.
Within minutes, chaos engulfed the palace.
Masked figures bearing the serpent sigil — the mark Maria and Elisha had discovered — flooded in through the secret tunnels.
They moved with deadly purpose, striking at the guards, cutting through servants who dared raise alarms.
But this time, they were not unprepared.
Alex led the royal knights personally, his white cloak darkening as crimson stains spread across it. His sword was a flash of silver and red, a storm made flesh as he carved a path through the traitors.
Beside him, Raymond fought ferociously, his foreign training turning every movement into a precise, deadly strike.
Oliver, wounded but undeterred, shielded the Emperor with his own body, parrying blade after blade, blood running down his arm unnoticed.
Elisha fought like a hurricane, her sword dancing with raw fury, her roars shaking the air.
In the Empress's private chambers, Maria stood at the door — sword in trembling hands, heart pounding in her chest.
It was her first time truly holding a weapon meant for death.
The Empress, pale but composed, looked at her tenderly.
"You don't have to fight," she whispered.
Maria shook her head, her hands tightening around the hilt.
"I swore I would never lose someone I love again."
The Empress reached out, squeezed Maria's hand.
Outside, footsteps thundered closer.
Maria drew a deep breath and raised her blade.
If they want to harm her… they'll have to go through me first.
The True Enemy Reveals Himself
As Alex cut down another attacker, a voice called from the shattered grand staircase.
"Enough."
A single figure stepped forward — cloaked in black, silver embroidery glinting on his hem.
At his command, the traitor soldiers stopped moving, parting like shadows before him.
The figure pulled down his hood.
It was Chancellor Evermont — the Emperor's most trusted advisor. The man who had served the crown for three decades.
Alex's grip tightened.
"You," Alex spat. "You swore loyalty to the Crown!"
Chancellor Evermont smiled coldly. "Loyalty? To a decaying Empire?"
With a wave of his hand, dozens more traitors emerged — hidden knights, false courtiers, secret assassins who had lived in the palace walls for months, waiting for this moment.
"We are the new order!" Evermont roared. "Today, the old bloodline ends."
In the throne room, the Emperor stood tall, unflinching.
He drew the Ancient Sword of the Founder — a blade untouched for fifty years — and held it high.
"Let them come," the Emperor growled, voice trembling with righteous rage. "Let them see what happens when you dare threaten the heart of this Empire."
Beside him stood Oliver, bleeding yet unwavering.
And beside him, Raymond, silent and deadly, his foreign blood ready to stain this palace floor for the land he now called home.
They would not fall tonight.
They would not lose the Empire.
Not while breath remained in their lungs.
Hidden Betrayals Unfold
While Alex, Elisha, Oliver, and Raymond fought like demons in the burning corridors, holding back waves of masked enemies, another enemy slipped silently through the chaos.
The grand battle outside made it easy for one traitor to sneak inside unnoticed.
Inside the Empress's chambers — the last sanctuary of hope — danger crept silently.
Maria, still holding her sword, stood alert at the Empress's side.
The Empress, sensing something was wrong, tightened her hand on Maria's arm.
And then— the door creaked open.
A shadow entered.
It was Countess Willox, the Empress's most trusted lady-in-waiting — the one who had served her faithfully for more than fifteen years.
"Countess Willox?" Maria asked, confused, her voice low.
The Countess smiled — but it wasn't kindness in her eyes. It was cold steel.
She pulled a thin dagger from her sleeve, its blade glinting in the candlelight.
Without a word, she lunged at the Empress.
"NO!" Maria screamed.
With every ounce of strength, Maria threw herself between them, grabbing the Countess's wrist mid-air. The dagger grazed Maria's arm, but she didn't let go.
The Empress stumbled back, horrified.
"You!" Maria gasped, struggling against the Countess's strength. "You served her! You loved her!"
Countess Willox laughed, a terrible, broken sound.
"I served a dying Empire! I loved freedom! Tonight, it all burns!"
Maria twisted the Countess's wrist sharply, making her drop the dagger. They struggled, the small table crashing over, shattering porcelain across the floor.
Meanwhile in the Throne Room...
The Emperor fought side by side with his loyal guards, cutting down traitor after traitor.
His crown was gone, his robes torn — he looked like a warrior king from ancient legends.
He parried a sword aimed for his heart and rammed his blade into the chest of a masked enemy.
All around him, the sounds of battle thundered.
Elisha fought like fire, moving through enemies with a grace and rage only a Luxembourg could possess.
Oliver shielded Raymond, taking a blow meant for him, but still standing.
Raymond returned the favor, his sword slashing with brutal precision.
They would not fall.
They would not let the Empire fall.
Back in the Empress's room, Maria wrestled Countess Willox to the ground.
The Countess kicked her off, scrambling for the dagger.
Maria's arm was bleeding heavily now, her body screaming in pain, but she didn't stop.
"You will not touch her!" Maria roared.
With a desperate cry, Maria tackled the Countess again, slamming her into the wall.
The dagger clattered away.
The Empress, though weak, picked up a broken candlestick and tossed it to Maria.
Maria caught it — and with one swift, furious strike, knocked Countess Willox unconscious.
The room fell into heavy silence.
Maria stood there, panting, blood dripping from her arm, staring down at the fallen traitor.
The Empress — pale and trembling — whispered,
"You saved me."
Maria turned, her knees weak, and gently hugged the Empress, whispering back through choked tears,
"No one will take you from me. Not again."
Outside, the battle still raged.
Chancellor Evermont raised his sword, roaring orders.
Alex, breathing heavily, met his eyes across the courtyard, bloody but unbroken.
"This is our home!" Alex shouted. "You will never take it!"
And then — both sides charged at each other.
The palace burned.
The Empire's future hung by a thread.
But not one of them — not Alex, not Maria, not Elisha, not Oliver, not Raymond — would give up.
The palace was soaked in blood and firelight.
From the throne hall to the broken pillars in the great corridor — everywhere echoed with screams, steel clashing, and the shouts of dying traitors.
And at the heart of it…
Alex finally came face to face with Chancellor Evermont, the man who had once stood at the Emperor's side — and now led this rebellion against the crown.
They stood surrounded by smoke, bodies, and the chaos of war — but in that moment, it was only the two of them.
"You were like a father to the Emperor," Alex said, gripping his blood-streaked sword. "How did you fall so far?"
Chancellor Evermont looked at him with cold, hollow eyes.
"I was loyal to the Empire," he spat. "Not to the weakness that sits on the throne. You, the Empress, the North — you are all symptoms of the disease."
Alex's voice dropped low, dangerous.
"No, Evermont. We are the cure."
They clashed.
Steel screamed as blade met blade.
Evermont was older, but deadly — precise, fueled by fanatical hatred.
Alex was wounded, bleeding, but his heart roared louder than the pain.
He fought not just for the crown — but for Maria, for the Empress, for everything they had survived together.
Each blow was like thunder in the hallway. Sparks flew.
Finally, Alex caught Evermont off-guard, disarming him with a vicious parry. His sword rested at the Chancellor's throat.
"This ends now."
But Evermont only smirked… and whispered,
"You're already too late."
In the Empress's private sanctum, Maria helped the Empress into hiding — deep behind a reinforced inner chamber.
But suddenly — BOOM.
The ceiling cracked.
A portion of the wall exploded inward, and a masked assassin stepped through, blade drawn.
Maria moved in front of the Empress instinctively.
"I won't let you touch her," she said, her voice steady, though her knees trembled.
The assassin advanced, silent and deadly.
Maria looked at the Empress — pale, terrified — and knew there was no time for guards.
So she made a decision.
She threw open the heavy vault door behind them.
"Get in," she told the Empress.
"No!" the Empress cried. "I won't leave you!"
Maria turned and — with all the force in her body — pushed the Empress inside and slammed the door shut, locking it from the outside.
Then she turned to face the assassin — alone.
Her injured arm trembled as she raised her sword.
"I said… you will not touch her."
The assassin charged.
And Maria fought with nothing left to lose.
Back in the courtyard, Alex heard a horn.
It was a signal — from the Empress's tower.
Something was wrong.
He ran.
Slashing through what was left of the attackers, he burst through the upper corridor just in time to see the Empress emerging from the vault — alive.
But Maria…
Maria was collapsed in front of the door, blood dripping from a deep gash in her shoulder, the assassin lying dead beside her.
"Maria!" Alex ran to her.
She looked up — barely conscious — and smiled.
"She's safe," she whispered. "I kept my promise… I didn't let her go."
Alex fell to his knees beside her, cradling her face.
"You stupid, brave woman," he choked, "You always keep your promises."
She touched his cheek with her bloodied fingers. "So do you."
Behind them, the Empress wept silently.
The dawn rose, pale and smoke-stained over the battlefield.
Chancellor Evermont was taken prisoner.
The traitors routed.
The palace stood — barely — but it stood.
The Emperor declared a day of mourning… and a day of victory.
And in the medical chamber, where Alex refused to leave Maria's side — holding her hand long after she fell asleep — he whispered one last vow:
"Never again. Not one more tear. I will protect you — even from fate itself."
The sky over the kingdom was painted with the golden light of a new dawn.
Smoke still curled from the scorched towers, and banners hung tattered from broken walls. But the palace stood.
The Empire had survived.
In the following days, the palace turned from a battlefield into a sanctuary.
Healers moved swiftly through the halls, tending to the wounded. Citizens came bearing offerings of food, cloth, and flowers — tokens of love for their protectors.
The Empress, though weary, walked through the infirmary wing daily, whispering kind words, thanking soldiers and civilians alike.
Maria, though still recovering from her wounds, refused to leave Alex's side. He was seated now, arm in a sling, his shoulder bandaged — but alive.
They didn't speak much. They didn't need to.
Her hand in his was enough.
Even the Emperor, long hardened by rule, softened in those days. He visited every knight who had bled for his crown. He wept at the grave of one young soldier, a boy who had once served as a page and died shielding a noblewoman during the chaos.
The kingdom mourned their losses — but they also celebrated their unity.
For the first time in years, nobles and commoners dined at the same table in the Grand Courtyard.
Peace was returning.
Or so they thought.
High above the kingdom, hidden in the jagged cliffs that overlooked the capital, a figure stood beneath the blood-red sky.
His cloak whipped in the wind.
What was once a nobleman's face was now half-consumed by a terrible burn — gnarled flesh stretched over bone.
The other half of his face, untouched, still carried the cold beauty of someone who once walked the palace halls unnoticed.
He watched the city glowing in celebration.
Behind him, cloaked figures stood in reverent silence — a new council, forged not in law, but in vengeance.
The man's voice was hollow, cold, filled with venom.
"Let them rejoice. Let them rebuild. Let them pretend they've won."
He turned around, the fire of hatred alive in his single good eye.
"They think the war is over. But it was only the first act."
"Now… we begin Phase Two."
He extended his hand.
A masked man stepped forward and placed a sealed scroll in it — etched with the insignia of a long-lost royal house.
"Their kingdom was built on lies," he hissed. "Let's show them the truth."
And with that, they vanished into the mountains.
In the archives below the palace, Elisha discovered an old scroll tucked inside a damaged book — marked with the same sigil Alex had seen once, long ago, during a northern rebellion.
The markings were ancient.
But the language…
It wasn't just a forgotten dialect.
It was forbidden.
She took it straight to Alex.
His expression darkened as he read it.
"Maria…," he whispered.
She looked up from beside him, concerned.
"What is it?"
He slowly closed the scroll.
"A ghost from the past. One we thought we buried."
"And it knows everything about us."
That evening, as fireworks lit the sky in celebration of the kingdom's survival…
Maria stood beside Alex on the palace balcony, her head resting against his good shoulder.
The wind was soft. The people cheered below.
Alex looked toward the dark horizon — where a flame had just flickered in the distance.
He whispered to himself.
"We've won the battle. But the war… the real war…"
"It's only just begun."
The days of fear and mourning slowly faded into golden light.
The kingdom, scarred but strong, found its rhythm again — rebuilding its cities, mending its wounds, and breathing new life into its battered heart.
And soon… another miracle arrived.
It started with a cry — not of sorrow, but of life.
The Empress had gone into labor.
The royal palace, usually filled with the quiet efficiency of servants and ministers, now thrummed with nervous energy. The corridors were packed with courtiers, nobles, maids, and knights — all waiting breathlessly for news.
Inside the Empress's chambers, the midwives and royal physicians bustled urgently, while outside, the Emperor sat on a chair placed right at the door.
He couldn't stand still.
He rose, paced back and forth… then sat again… then rose once more.
Every cry from inside — every muffled instruction from the physicians — made his heart pound harder against his ribs.
Maria, standing nearby with Alex and Elisha, clutched Alex's hand tightly, her own face tense with worry and hope.
Then — it happened.
A tiny, shrill wail pierced the air — loud and clear, echoing like a bell of hope through the marble halls.
Everyone froze.
The Emperor stumbled to his feet.
Another cry followed — softer, but just as strong.
The door opened with a creak, and the royal physician appeared, his face beaming.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty," he announced proudly.
"The Empress has given birth to healthy twins — a Prince and a Princess!"
For a moment, no one moved.
The Emperor blinked as if he hadn't understood.
Then, overcome with emotion, he pushed past the physician and rushed inside.
Inside the Empress' chamber
The Empress lay against soft, silken pillows, her hair damp with sweat, her face tired — but radiant.
She smiled when she saw him, her eyes gleaming with tears of joy.
The Emperor rushed to her side, kneeling beside the bed.
"Are you alright?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The Empress reached out and brushed his cheek gently.
"I am… we are…" she whispered back. "We are complete now."
Beside her, wrapped in delicate cloths, were two tiny bundles — two new lives.
The Emperor stared at them in awe.
Their tiny faces, red and wrinkled, but unmistakably his — and hers.
He reached out instinctively, wanting to hold them — but then pulled his hands back, afraid.
"What if I drop them?" he muttered, horrified.
The Empress laughed softly, and the nearby maid smiled warmly, handing one of the babies gently into his arms.
Still awkward, the Emperor turned to Alex, who stood nearby.
"Alex!" he barked, though there was no anger in his voice — only panic.
"Help me!"
Alex chuckled quietly, stepping forward, and together — the Emperor and the Duke — carefully held the two tiny heirs of the Empire.
Everyone in the room was smiling, some even wiping away tears.
Maria clasped her hands together at her chest, her eyes shining with emotion.
Elisha leaned against the wall, biting her lip to keep from crying, her normally fierce demeanor softened into pure tenderness.
The bells of the capital rang out shortly after.
From the highest tower to the lowest village, the news spread like wildfire:
"The Empress has given birth! A Prince and a Princess! Twins!"
Citizens flooded the streets, cheering, dancing, tossing petals into the air.
Candles were lit in windows, songs were sung in taverns, and families embraced one another, celebrating not just the birth of royalty — but the rebirth of hope.
Children laughed in the squares, old men lifted mugs of ale, and women wept with happiness.
The kingdom, once teetering on the edge of despair, had found a new reason to believe in tomorrow.
That night, under a blanket of stars, the Emperor stood with the Empress on a quiet balcony.
In their arms, the two babies slept peacefully.
Maria and Alex stood behind them, watching, feeling the deep sense of peace that only came after surviving a storm.
The Emperor looked over his shoulder and smiled at them — a real, unburdened smile.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"All of you."
Alex placed an arm around Maria's shoulders, pulling her close.
They had fought for this peace.
They had bled for it.
And now, under the starlit sky, they could finally savor it.
But far beyond the joy and celebration, hidden in the shadows of distant mountains, the embers of vengeance still smoldered.
A dark figure watched the festivities from afar, his burned face twisted in a cold, knowing smile.
"Enjoy it," he whispered into the night.
"Soon... your laughter will turn to screams."
And then he vanished into the darkness — as the next storm began to stir.