changes

The weight of the blade lingered in Garmond's thoughts, but he dismissed it for now. In his current state, there was no way he could lift a weapon that once felt like an extension of his very soul. He had trained relentlessly to wield it—years of grueling battles and discipline forged his bond with the sword. But that was another lifetime.

Emerging from the dense thicket alongside Devine and Trevor, Garmond blinked as the landscape shifted before him. Stretching out in front of them was a vast, green field, rows of crops swaying gently in the wind. Despite the pastoral beauty of the scene, something was wrong. The air was thick with unease, a tension that gnawed at the edges of his awareness.

"Where are we?" Garmond's voice broke through the silence, his curiosity no longer something he could stifle.

Devine sighed, her eyes scanning the expansive farm with a mixture of bitterness and sorrow. "You wouldn't know it," she replied softly. "This is the eastern part of Kingdom Orion, under the rule of the Assyrian Empire."

Garmond's heart jolted. *Orion.* His kingdom.

His mind raced, trying to reconcile the name with what his eyes now beheld. The Orion he ruled over was prosperous, a symbol of strength and unity, not the oppressive landscape that now lay before him. What had happened in the time since his death? His pulse quickened. Everything looked alien, twisted. The empire he had worked so hard to protect now lay in ruins under someone else's rule.

The sound of cracking whips snapped him back to reality. Malians—soldiers wearing dark armor, their eyes hard and cruel—loomed over the villagers working the fields. Men and women toiled under the blazing sun, their bodies drenched in sweat, their faces marked with exhaustion and despair. Children, too, were among them, their small hands blistered from the relentless labor. The air was suffused with hopelessness.

"Who are those people?" Garmond asked, his voice low, simmering with anger.

Trevor's expression darkened. "The Malians," he spat. "They're the enforcers, the watchdogs of the empire. They make sure everyone stays in line... or else."

Malians. The name sent a shiver of confusion down Garmond's spine. It was a foreign concept to him, something that hadn't existed during his reign. His memory held no trace of such a force.

*What has Castan allowed?* he wondered, Castan being his trusted commander back then. But Garmond bit back his questions, deciding to remain silent for now. He needed more information, more clarity on how the once proud Orion had become this.

As they passed row after row of workers, Garmond's fists clenched involuntarily. He could see the flickers of defiance in some of the villagers, particularly in the eyes of a young woman who murmured words of resistance to those around her. The spark in her gaze reminded him of the rebellious spirit he once kindled in his people—a spirit that now seemed on the verge of being extinguished.

"The witch of Athens is the one behind all this," Devine continued, her voice hollow. "She controls the kingdom now, with the Supreme Emperor backing her every move."

"The witch of Athens?" Garmond couldn't suppress a small laugh. The name was absurd, yet it carried an ominous weight. It was strange that such a figure could rise to power in a kingdom he once knew so well.

"Funny, isn't it?" Devine managed a bitter smile. "But she's no joke. The things she's done... the way she's crushed anyone who stood against her... she's earned the title of a witch."

Garmond's heart was heavy with disbelief. This empire, this "witch," was not the future he had fought for. Not the world he envisioned for his people. He was a ruler once, and though he had made mistakes, he had always tried to protect Orion from the darkness. Now, that darkness had enveloped the land.

"I need to find Castan," Garmond muttered under his breath, his resolve hardening. "Or anyone who can tell me what's happened since my death."

Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the air, pulling him back to the present. "Hey, you three!" A Malian soldier approached them on horseback, his brown leathery armor glistening under the sun. "Why aren't you working?"

Devine and Trevor froze in place, exchanging quick glances. "We were just returning from our break," Trevor called out, his voice steady but tense. "We'll get back to it."

Devine turned to Garmond, concern flashing in her eyes. "Wait over there," she whispered. "We'll be done soon."

But the Malian soldier wasn't done with them. He trotted closer on his white horse, his dark eyes narrowing as they fixed on Garmond. "And who's this?" the soldier sneered. "Another worker?"

Garmond's blood boiled. The idea that this brute would speak to him, a former ruler, with such disrespect stung, but he suppressed the urge to lash out. He was no longer the towering, armored figure who could command armies with a glance. He was a child in this world now—small, vulnerable, and unknown.

Before Devine could explain, Trevor intervened, his grip firm on his sister's arm, subtly warning her to stay quiet. They knew how dangerous it was to challenge a Malian. The tension hung thick in the air as the soldier's cold gaze flicked between them.

Sensing the peril of the situation, Garmond smiled faintly, bowing his head in a show of submission. "I'll join the others, sir," he said, his voice calm, playing the part of a humble worker.

The Malian's gaze lingered on Garmond a moment longer before he snorted dismissively and rode away, his eyes still trained on them as if he relished the control he held.

As the soldier disappeared into the distance, Garmond's fists unclenched, his body relaxing ever so slightly. But the fire inside him had only grown. The empire might have changed, but he was still the same—driven, relentless, and ready to fight for what was his.

He would not let this empire, or its Malians, stand unchallenged.