Rise of Tyrus

The nightmare shattered like glass, fragments of shadow and light scattering through Saldeon's consciousness as he jolted awake. Cold sweat clung to his skin despite the morning warmth filtering through the windows of his quarters. His heart hammered against his ribs with a violence that left him breathless, though he couldn't grasp what had terrified him so.

Again... Another jarring dream.

Fractured vision of flashes of golden radiance battling writhing darkness, and the stinging of sweat dripping onto open wounds had plagued him for days. Yet when he tried to focus on the details, they slipped away like cupping grains of sand.

Saldeon sat on the edge of his bed, running trembling hands through his disheveled golden hair. The familiar sounds of the warcamp drifted through his window: the clang of steel on steel as soldiers playfully sparred, the steady hammer blows from the forge, the casual banter of men going about their morning duties. Once, these sounds had been a symphony of peace to his ears, a reminder of life continuing safely under his protection.

Now they were nothing more than discordant notes to his nerves.

Why am I so irritable these days?

This question haunted him since the incident at Mevena's Scar. He remembered it clearly—too clearly, perhaps. The black tiger's unprovoked assault, its claws raking across both him and Gulinar before they managed to drive the beast back across the chasm. The creature's golden eyes burning with savage hatred as it snarled threats of war, and the way it had laughed as it wounded them, relishing their pain.

And yet... Saldeon's hands moved unconsciously to where the wounds should be, finding only unmarked skin beneath his nightclothes. The healers had done excellent work, he supposed, though he couldn't recall being treated. Everything about that day felt both vivid and strangely hollow.

But a quiet rage burned real and hot in his chest. Every time he thought of the Beastfolk's treachery, of their sudden turn toward aggression after decades of peace, his jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists. The diplomatic solutions he'd once favored now seemed naive, even foolish. How could one negotiate with beasts who spoke only the language of violence?

This isn't like me, a small voice whispered in the depths of his mind. Control yourself, Saldeon.

Saldeon shook his head, dismissing the thought. The attack had changed things. Perhaps it was simply the realization that his father's peaceful approach had reached its limits. Sometimes a Crown Prince had to become something harder, something willing to protect his people through strength rather than words. Could Gulinar had been correct in his assessment this whole time?

He rose and began donning his military uniform, the familiar motions helping to steady his turbulent thoughts. The silver medal gleamed as he fastened it to his chest. Prepared, Saldeon set off.

The morning briefing convened in the command tent, a grandiose structure at the heart of the warcamp. Maps of the surrounding region covered a large wooden table, marked with colored pins indicating patrol routes, nearby camps, supply lines, and enemy positions. Ostaun stood at attention alongside the other senior officers, his face bearing the same professional mask it always did, though Saldeon noticed the man's eyes studying him often these days.

Saldeon stood up with the rest of his companions, eyeing a particular map. "What do you have for us today?"

"All quiet along the perimeter, Your Highness," replied Tehen, a grizzled veteran responsible for the eastern patrol routes. His chin was free of hair, though thick, brown hair grew above his upper lip. "No further sightings of Beastfolk since the incident."

The incident. Such a light term for what should have been an act of war. Saldeon felt heat rise in his chest, a simmering fury that demanded action, yet he willed it back down. "And yet they continue to mass troops across the chasm. How many soldiers do our scouts estimate in their camp now?"

"Approximately two thousand, my lord," Ostaun answered. "Perhaps one hundred more than last week."

"One hundred more." Saldeon's fingers drummed against the table's edge. "They grow bolder by the day. I believe it is time we reminded them that the Lethos Empire will not cower behind walls like frightened children."

The tent fell silent. Several officers exchanged glances. Tehen cleared his throat and spoke.

"Your Highness, if I may... your previous orders emphasized restraint. Maintaining defensive positions while seeking diplomatic—"

"My previous orders were given before they attacked us directly. Before they showed their true nature." The words felt foreign in his mouth, as if tar slathered his tongue. "I will not allow them to mistake our patience for weakness. I was too foolish to believe the Beastfolk would remain docile during these times."

More uncomfortable silence ensued. Saldeon sensed their confusion and uncertainty about the change of plans. Part of him shared their bewilderment. But the larger portion of his consciousness burned with righteous anger at the Beastfolk's provocations.

"Increase patrols along the eastern approach," he ordered. "I want scouts ranging closer to their positions. If they so much as breathe in our direction, I want to know about it immediately."

"Your Highness," Ostaun ventured carefully, "perhaps we should await word from His Majesty before—"

"His Majesty entrusted me with this command," Saldeon snapped. "I will not send him messages of weakness while our enemies mass for war. We respond to strength with strength."

The officers nodded, though their expressions remained troubled. As they filed out to carry out his orders, Ostaun lingered, his weathered hands clasped behind his back.

"Your Highness, if I may speak freely?"

Saldeon gestured for him to continue, and Ostaun did so.

"These past few days, you've seemed different from usual. I've served under your command for five years, and I've never seen you advocate for such aggressive measures. Are you quite alright?"

For a moment, the memory of standing peacefully on a stone tower, watching the enemy camp with sorrowful eyes rather than indignation, flashed in his mind. Despite being recent, the image felt impossibly distant, like recalling a dream from childhood.

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"I am fine, Ostaun," Saldeon replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. "The incident at Mevena's Scar simply opened my eyes to realities I was previously too foolish to see. The Beastfolk understand only force. Perhaps it is time we spoke their language."

A slow nod from Ostaun, though his eyes betrayed a fleeting emotion Saldeon could not decipher. "Of course, Crown Prince Saldeon. I meant no disrespect."

"No offense taken. Your loyalty is commendable, and I appreciate your concern. However, be assured, I have this completely under control."

Doubt clouded Saldeon's mind even as the words were leaving his mouth.

***

Gulinar arrived as the morning briefing concluded, his approach announced by the distinctive shimmer of light that preceded his materialization. The radiance coalesced into his brother's familiar form—average height, golden-eyed, bearing the same features that marked them as sons of Emperor Johan. Yet where Saldeon's expression had grown harder in recent days, Gulinar's face showed only fraternal concern.

"Brother," Gulinar said, clasping Saldeon's shoulder with gentle care. "You look troubled. The dreams again?"

Saldeon nodded, grateful for his brother's understanding. Since the attack, Gulinar had been his only source of clarity, the one person who truly comprehended what they'd endured together. "Every night. Fragments of shadow and light, but nothing coherent. The healers said such dreams were common after traumatic encounters."

"The mind's way of processing violence," Gulinar agreed. "You've been more decisive and aggressive since that beast attacked us, Saldeon. Perhaps that's not entirely a bad thing."

The words stirred something uncomfortable in Saldeon's chest, but it vanished almost immediately, replaced by gratitude for his brother's support.

"I've been thinking," Saldeon said, moving to the tent's entrance and gazing out at the sprawling warcamp. "About Father's expectations. About the path he set for us."

"Diplomatic engagement," Gulinar replied, joining him. "Peaceful resolution through negotiation and compromise."

"Yes. Possibly that was wise against rational foes. But the Beastfolk reveal their true nature; they only respect strength.

Gulinar nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing. The old methods worked when dealing with civilized nations, but these are creatures driven by instinct and savagery. They attacked us unprovoked, brother. They drew first blood."

"I keep wondering if we were too lenient," Saldeon mused. "If our peaceful overtures were seen as weakness."

"Strength respects strength. And the Lethos Empire possesses strength enough to remind the Beastfolk of their place. The question is whether we have the will to use it."

Something flickered in Saldeon's peripheral vision. It looked as if Gulinar's shadow had wiggled, even while the man was standing perfectly still. But when he turned his head, there was nothing there. Just Gulinar watching him, waiting for his answer. The longer he stared at the shadow, Saldeon felt pain creeping into his head. He looked away and sighed.

"You're right," Saldeon said finally. "We cannot allow them to mistake mercy for cowardice. If they want to speak the language of violence, then we must respond in kind."

"I'm glad you see it that way. For a moment, I feared the attack might have shaken your resolve rather than strengthened it."

"Shaken my resolve? My resolve has never been stronger. I know what must be done."

Gulinar smiled, a look Saldeon read as approval, though it might have been simple satisfaction. The second prince had consistently warned him that war with the Beastfolk Kingdom was unavoidable. To Saldeon, Gulinar's disbelief that making peace with the neighboring kingdom should be their top priority was foolish. Though in hindsight, it was he who was now the fool for forcing peace to arrive.

Peace was supposed to be the natural state of things. The absence of conflict,and the presence of understanding. Yet as he examined his recent memories, that's exactly what it felt like he'd been doing. Forcing an unwilling solution onto a situation that demanded strength.

How many hours had he spent standing on that stone tower, watching the Beastfolk camp and telling himself that patience would prevail? How many times had he dismissed his officers' concerns about increasing enemy numbers as mere posturing? He'd been so determined to prove that diplomacy could succeed where others saw only the inevitability of war. So convinced that his way was inherently superior to the martial instincts of men like Gulinar.

Mere arrogance on my part, he realized with a bitter twist in his chest. That's what it had been. Arrogance disguised as moral superiority. He'd believed himself wiser than his brother, more enlightened than his peers, more civilized than the very creatures he'd sought to understand. And while he'd stood there congratulating himself on his restraint, the Beastfolk had been planning their attacks.

We gave them every opportunity. I extended trust to creatures who saw it as stupidity. I offered friendship to beasts who only understood dominance.

Saldeon shook his head. What mattered now was learning from his mistakes. Peace could not be forced upon those who rejected it. Mercy could not be extended indefinitely to those who repaid it with violence. These were hard lessons, but necessary ones for a future emperor to understand.

They stood together in companionable silence, watching the soldiers go about their duties. Before long, Gulinar trotted off, doing Sthito know what. Saldeon remained at the tent's entrance.

This is the right path, he told himself. This is what a true leader must do.

Yet somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, a part of him that had once stood for peace, wept in silent horror.

***

The afternoon brought a messenger lathered with sweat from hard riding. The young soldier dismounted with urgency, his face pale beneath the dust of travel. He knelt before Saldeon in the command tent, a sealed dispatch clutched in his trembling hands.

"Crown Prince Saldeon," the messenger gasped, still catching his breath. "I bring you urgent news from the border villages of Pilouth and Creslin."

Saldeon felt his jaw tighten even before breaking the seal. "What news?"

"Raids, Your Highness. Beastfolk raiders struck both settlements in the pre-dawn hours. Buildings burned, livestock and Lethians slaughtered..." The young man's voice cracked.

The parchment crinkled in Saldeon's grip as he read the hastily scrawled reports. The details painted a gruesome reimagining of what was discovered in the villages. Homes reduced to ash, fields trampled by clawed feet, and bodies with numerous bites and gashes along their soft skin.

"How many have perished?" Saldeon asked, his voice quiet.

"Forty and counting, Your Highness."

Forty innocent souls and counting. Men, women, children who had trusted the empire's protection, who had believed the old treaties still held meaning. Now they lay cold on the ground because he had hesitated, because he had clung to diplomatic niceties while the Beastfolk prepared for slaughter.

"Summon my officers," Saldeon commanded. "All of them."

As the messenger hurried to obey, Saldeon stared down at the reports with trembling hands. In the aftermath of he and Gulinar's fight with the black tiger, he had sent more scouts than usual near Mevena's Scar. Beside Saldeon's brief encounter, Beastfolk activity had not been reported across the border, neither recently nor in the past. And today of all days, Beastfolk raiders have now begun their attack...

The officers assembled with remarkable speed, their faces grim as word of the raids spread through the camp. Tehen, Ostaun, and a few others filled the command tent. Gulinar arrived last, slipping in quietly to stand beside his brother without a word.

"You've heard the reports," Saldeon began. "Beastfolk have crossed Mevena's Scar, breaching our borders and spilling Lethian blood."

"What are your orders, Your Highness?" Tehen asked, his weathered face set like stone.

Saldeon looked around the tent, meeting each man's eyes in turn. In a few of their faces, he saw the same fury that burned in Gulinar's chest. They were ready for war—had been ready since the first provocation. He had been the one holding them back with his ignorant pursuit of peace.

"Send word to every border village. They are to evacuate to fortified positions immediately. Any who refuse are to be brought by force. I will not have more civilian casualties on my conscience."

"And our response to the raids?" Ostaun pressed.

Saldeon's hand moved unconsciously to the hilt of his sword. "We have attempted diplomacy. We have exercised restraint. And our patience has run out. It is clear we are merely shouting words at a brick wall. If this is the decision King Murus has come to, then we should respond in kind."

In one fluid motion, Saldeon unsheathed his sword and clutched the hilt with two hands. He positioned the point of the blade to the ground and swung, driving it into the ground.

"By the authority vested in me as Crown Prince and Commander of the Lethos Empire, I will petition to the Imperial Court a Declaration of War against the Beastfolk Kingdom."