Fire Mage

'Damn, this old man is sharp. Is this an illusion? Or did I travel back to the past?' Suspicion appeared in his mind.

"Because now I understand," Zephyr replied, turning away toward the massive royal window.

Outside, the empire shimmered under the twilight sun.

"If I don't act now," Zephyr continued, voice tightening, "this empire will surely fall. Not in war, not to invaders… but from the inside. Choked by its own rot. One generation from now, Radiant Blood will be nothing but a broken name carved into a forgotten coin."

The Emperor went quiet.

What Zepher, aka his daughter Lina, said was the truth.

In truth, he was planning to give the Royal Decree to the first Concubine's son if Lina refused to come even today.

'She not only came but also changed into a completely different person.' Her action felt familiar.

'She looks just like Nira…'

The Emperor looked at him again, this time with something different in his gaze.

Not warmth. Not pride.

Fear.

"You want full authority," he said. It was not a question but a statement.

Zephyr turned back to him. "I do."

"And if I don't give it?"

The corner of Zephyr's lips curled upward.

"I will take it anyway."

If the Royal Guards or the concubines had heard those words, they would have instantly raised their weapons and declared him a rebel.

But Zephyr's words earned a weak laugh. It turned into a cough, but the Emperor still chuckled through the pain.

"You've got your mother's fire," he said bitterly. "And your grandfather's madness."

"At least I got my mother's fire. Unlike my sister, who only got our grandfather's madness, I'm still a sane person." Zephyr said coldly.

Slowly, Leone reached beneath his pillow. His hand fumbled momentarily, then withdrew with a small, golden object.

Zephyr noticed that the badge was not there before and furrowed.

'The bed is a spatial artifact?'

It was the Royal Decree Badge. A sigil of a lion devouring a serpent was engraved in its center, surrounded by four winged swords—each representing command over a Legion.

With trembling fingers, he held it out.

"This gives you command over the Palace Knights, the Royal Guards, the Court Mages, and the Four Grand Legions stationed across the Empire's corners," he said. "It is the key to the throne's will. Only those who held this decree can sit on the throne other than the Empire."

Zephyr stepped forward and took it gently from his fingers. The badge felt heavier than iron, though it fit neatly in his palm.

The Emperor held his gaze one last time.

"If you misuse it," he warned, "if you become a mad woman like your sister-"

"Then history will repeat, I know," Zephyr replied coolly. "But if I succeed… you'll live long enough to see this Empire breathe again."

The Emperor didn't answer.

He didn't trust her enough.

Meanwhile, Zephyr bowed—not low, but deep enough to acknowledge the blood that bound them.

"Rest, Your Majesty," he said. "I'll take over this Empire from now on."

He turned and shouted.

"Royal Guards!"

A dozen Royal Guards in silver armor stormed inside the bedroom as soon as he spoke.

Zephyr didn't mind their imposing look as he walked forth and calmly raised the Royal Degree.

"From this moment on, I'll act as the rightful executor of imperial will. By decree of His Majesty, and witnessed by the badge you see before you."

The guards stiffened. Some hesitated. Others knelt immediately, fists pressed to their chests.

But one among them remained upright.

He was Halden Fenaril, the Guard Captain.

"Pardon my words, Your Highness," Halden said, stepping forward, brows furrowed. "But your return was never announced. No formal summons, no notice to the Court. Forgive me, but I must confirm with His Majesty before obeying any such decree."

The corner of Zephyr's lips twitched.

"Very well," He said, voice calm, almost pleasant. He turned slightly, just enough for the edge of the Emperor's pale face to be visible behind him, sunk deep into his silken pillows.

"Your Majesty," Zephyr called over his shoulder without turning. "Kindly address your Guard Captain."

There was silence. Then, a raspy voice echoed from the bed, brittle but unmistakable.

"Halden Fenaril… You are dismissed. From this moment on, your services are no longer required."

The air in the chamber froze.

Halden's face went blank. "Your Majesty?"

"I said," the Emperor wheezed, "you are stripped of your position."

Zephyr stepped forward, the weight of the Royal Decree Badge gleaming in his palm. "Authority equal to the Emperor," he said, showing the badge to every guard. "It overrides the chain of command—even yours, Captain."

With a single gesture, he looked toward four more guards, all wearing the subtle crest of the First and Second Concubines on their sleeves.

"You four. Kneel."

They hesitated—then one dropped to his knees, followed quickly by the others. Only Halden remained standing, stiff as stone.

Zephyr's voice sharpened like a blade.

"Your faction loyalty ends here. Consider this your last act as servants of the Empire. You are hereby relieved of duty, stripped of all rank and benefits. Guards, escort them to the barracks. Confiscate their weapons, armor, and crests."

Two neutral guards stepped forward without hesitation. Halden looked like he wanted to protest, but Zephyr gave him no room.

"Speak one more word," Zephyr said coldly, "and I'll have your tongue nailed to the palace gates."

Halden flinched. In the next breath, he turned stiffly and walked out, his steps echoing like the final tolls of a bell. The others followed behind, silent as ghosts.

Zephyr turned to the remaining guards.

"From now on, Rhys of House Morlin will serve as Guard Captain."

There was a moment's pause—then a silver-haired man with stern features stepped forward and saluted with a sharp, disciplined movement.

"Your Highness."

"Your first orders," Zephyr said, "are simple. No one enters this room except the royal healers, certified physicians, or the maids personally assigned to the Emperor."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"And whenever someone enters or exits," Zephyr said, "two Royal Guards must be present—one inside, one outside. No exceptions. You'll rotate the detail every three hours. Anyone who breaches this order dies."

Rhys bowed low. "It will be done."

Zephyr gave the Emperor one last glance before sweeping from the room. Behind him, the new Captain's barked orders echoed through the corridors.

As Zephyr moved toward the throne hall, servants hurried ahead to spread the word of the appointment.

By the time he reached the imperial throne room's massive double doors, the atmosphere shift was palpable.

Ministers from every department lined the marble floor—Finance, Justice, Internal Affairs, and Military. A dozen nobles stood in their embroidered coats, whispering among themselves. Even veiled and silent concubines sat in the upper gallery like a row of masked vipers.

Then, the doors opened with a sonorous boom.

"Announcing the arrival of Her Highness, Lina Kar, bearer of the Imperial Decree!" Rhys's voice rang through the chamber.

Gasps followed—dozens of eyes turned toward the archway.

"And by command of His Majesty," Rhys continued, raising the golden badge high, "Zephyr shall act as Executor of the Imperial Will, with full authority equal to the Emperor himself."

Even the nobles, seasoned and cynical, couldn't hide their surprise.

And then Zephyr stepped inside.

He walked down the center aisle alone, his black coat swaying, hair tied back, the badge gleaming like a brand of fate in her hand. Every step echoed like the tick of a war drum, quiet and final.

Whispers turned into murmurs. Murmurs into stunned silence.

Zephyr stepped onto the dais and placed a hand upon the lion-carved armrest of the imperial throne.

The moment his fingers touched the ancient wood, the throne shuddered.

An unseen pulse rippled through the hall—a quiet but undeniable reaction. The Throne Will, bound to the bloodline, stirred awake. The faint sound of shifting chains echoed in everyone's minds.

It was a sign that the throne had acknowledged her.

The ministers froze. Even the oldest of them- the ones who had survived two purges and five civil wars—looked shaken.

"No," whispered the Duke of Tarn. "This can't…"

"It can," Zephyr said, voice carrying like a blade dipped in velvet. "And it has."

Outrage erupted.

"This is illegal!"

"You have no right—"

"The First Concubine's son was supposed to—!"

"His Majesty is ill," Zephyr cut through their words. "Therefore, as Executor of Imperial Will, and bearer of the Royal Decree, I hereby declare an Imperial Emergency."

The hall fell into an eerie hush. Zephyr continued, calm and clear.

"Clause Twelve of the Radiant Code. A dormant article in our constitution. Power shall be centralized in one suitable royal to prevent collapse in the face of an emperor's incapacitation."

She paused.

"That power is now vested in the hands of the Second Princess, Lina Kar. Myself."

The silence cracked, like glass under pressure.

"Until the Emperor recovers," Zephyr went on, "all state, security, and survival decisions will pass through my hand."