Crushing Solitude

The halls of the imperial palace gleamed with opulence.

Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathering of nobles, generals, and dignitaries who filled the grand ballroom. Their voices rose in excitement, the air alive with admiration and gratitude.

At the center of it all stood Neron, clad in the finest ceremonial robes, a medal of honor freshly pinned to his chest.

Cheers erupted as the Emperor himself stepped forward, raising a goblet in celebration.

"To Neron, the Hero of the Eastern Empire! The man who ended the war and secured peace for generations to come!"

The crowd erupted in applause. Neron stood motionless, his face an unreadable mask. He glanced at the sea of faces around him—smiling, laughing, full of hope.

This was what they had fought for.

This was what so many had died for.

Yet, as the cheers washed over him, he felt none of the pride or satisfaction they expected.

It all felt empty to him.