Son's wail(2)

The ruler of the empire once stood tall, but now he was laid down on a bed , his complexion pale and his skin cold. Once, he had led armies, issued edicts, and steered the crumbling empire back from the brink of total collapse . Three years of civil war had brought the empire to its knees, but then came a three-decade span of prosperity under his father, Gratios, the only one who could claim such an achievement.

When he ascended to the throne, the treasury was empty and two rival armies threatened the capital. Despite being the weakest of the three factions, he managed to prevail, not solely through skill but also due to fortunate circumstances. Positioned within the capital, he knew his brothers, the strongest contenders, would hesitate to besiege the city before dealing with the other. And so, a decisive battle unfolded outside Romelia, where Cracchus emerged victorious against his elder brother, Eauron.

Yet, victory was short-lived. The nobles who had served Eauron swiftly pledged allegiance to Gratios as their lands were promised to the nobles serving Cracchus , and when he laid siege to the capital, he found himself surrounded by an army of mercenaries raised by the rival's nobles and the city's garrison. Realizing the danger of being encircled, Cracchus retreated, but his nobles misinterpreted this as a sign of weakness and betrayed him, most of them after all went into debt to assist Cracchus in his fight. And so in less than a month more than a quarter serving Cracchus betrayed him and brought his head to Gratios. After all their treasury was empty and their leader was retreating back to their cities, leaving their fiefs free to be raided by Gratios' army. That was not what they signed for .

Gratios accepted their surrender and their offerings , only to swiftly execute them, seizing their treasuries and delivering their heads to the sons left to inherit their fiefs. Most of these sons were second-born, as the firstborn were fighting alongside their fathers. To ensure their loyalty, the emperor imprisoned the firstborns, holding them as hostages to prevent rebellion among the newly appointed nobles. The threat of replacement by an older brother compelled many to kneel and offer bribes, appeasing the emperor's wrath.

He stood there now , staring at the lifeless form of his father, the once mighty ruler of the empire. Gratios had been a strong leader, possessing both strength and intelligence, navigating the complexities of politics with shrewdness while upholding honor when it was necessary. And now, he was gone.

'Should I be crying?' After all, Gratios was his father, even if their interactions had been minimal. The young man had never truly understood why he, a bastard, had been permitted within the palace walls. He had never made an effort to seek his son out, to connect with him, so certainly father love was out of the equation

It wasn't that Tibianus harbored any animosity towards Gratios. In fact, he held an idealized image of him as a powerful and just ruler. But now, faced with his father's death, Tibianus found himself unable to summon any tears.

He lingered a few paces away, observing the scene unfolding before him. Mesha , his younger brother, knelt beside the lifeless body of his father, tears streaming down his small face in a torrent of grief. The room was hushed, empty save for the immediate family, as the nobles had respectfully left the royal household to mourn in solitude.

But amid the sorrow, Tibianus couldn't help but notice the empress standing a short distance away. Her countenance remained composed, a subtle sadness etched upon her features, yet there was no outward display of emotion. It struck Tibianus as peculiar.

He couldn't help but wonder about her true feelings. As a woman who had stood by the emperor's side for ten years, her reaction seemed somewhat muted compared to the overwhelming grief of his younger half-brother.

But then he checked himself. Who was he to judge? A bastard, not truly part of the royal family, he stood on the fringes, observing from a distance, his own emotions held tightly in check.

The emperor was laying still on the ornate bed, his once-vibrant brown hair now streaked with silver, cascading over his shoulders and mingling with his long beard that covered his chin. He seemed so old and tired. His skin, once bronzed from years of command and rule, now appeared white as snow, he once projected sternity, yet he now he only showed peace.

His eyes, closed in eternal rest, were now hidden behind shuttered lids. His mouth, typically firm and commanding, was now quiet and still, giving no hint of the words that once shaped empires and inspired loyalty.

He was the emperor , he was dead and now a new one was to arise

The empress, her voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and authority, addressed Petrinus, the head of the guards who had served the emperor faithfully for five years.

''Where are those who brought the body?''

Petrinus, a man of stoic demeanor and noble lineage from the prestigious family of Achaeia, stood before her, his gaze steady and respectful.

"They are under surveillance," Petrinus replied, his voice carrying a coolness that matched his rigid posture as he bowed before her.

The empress, her brow furrowed in thought, pressed further. "Are they Arlanians?"

Petrinus nodded in confirmation

Without hesitation, the empress issued her command, her voice firm and unwavering. "Cut off their heads and put them on pikes," she ordered, her words cutting through the air with a sense of finality.

''Bastards should not be allowed here'' The cool voice of the empress spoke. Her eyes not deigning to look at his , giving him the same repulsion one had when finding a bug on the ground.

'Seems like she recovered quickly', Tibianus mused as he bowed before nudging the sleeve of Clara to bring him inside his room. He preferred to be alone right now as he felt uncomfortable with the eyes of his step-brother and of the empress looking down at him.He wanted to go to his room and gaze at the sky, it was such a nice day and yet it was supposed to be so gloomy.

'Fuck them, fuck the emperor that never bored himself to meet his spawn, fuck his wife and sons and fuck the church .

 I did not choose to be born, it was the protector chosen by the gods who spilled his seed on my mother's womb, so why am I to get the shit?' He knew the answer, though, he was a bastard, and his father was the emperor.And emperor were supposed to have concubines, his mother was probably one.

He was the emperor true and now he was dead , a new one was to rise.

And the head of that such small bastard , would probably end on a pike or bowed on a monastery. Bastards were cursed by birth that was known plainly . A bastard brought ill-luck that was known too.Bastards were shady and disloyal, that too was aknowledged

And yet a bastard liked to gaze at the sky and that was not known.