A Throne For A Puppet (Part 1)

Yes, the First Emperor. Alvator Valtirium, conqueror of continents, breaker of armies, wielder of the legendary Scepter of Origins, and architect of an empire so vast it practically needed its own time zone. A figure of myth and might, etched into history as an indomitable force of nature. And now?

Now, he was a cat.

A cat.

A cat no larger than a loaf of bread, with fur so fluffy it could smother a sneeze. His tiny triangular ears twitched imperiously, and his luminous white eyes—eerily unblinking—resembled the soulless stare of a particularly judgmental barn animal.

The mighty Alvator, reduced to a glorified house pet. If irony had a throne, it would sit here and laugh itself hoarse.

Argider, shackled and battered, blinked at him, her sense of reality cracking like cheap porcelain. Emerging from an underwater delirium and mistaking her reflection for a stranger had been disorienting enough. But this? A talking cat, claiming to be the First Emperor, speaking in a voice so rich and commanding it could narrate the creation of the universe? It was too much.

"You must be joking. This can't be real," she squeaked, her tone caught between disbelief and hysteria. "A cat? The First Emperor? It's... utterly absurd!"

The cat—Alvator—sighed, his tiny frame emanating a palpable weariness, as though this wasn't his first rodeo with incredulous mortals. He padded in a dignified circle around her, his tail flicking with regal nonchalance, before seating himself with the air of a monarch granting an audience.

"Argider Valtirium," he began, his tone dripping with feline disdain, "youngest son of Novan Valtirium, the late, thoroughly assassinated Emperor. A man whose life was a parade of bad decisions and worse progeny. You, the least of his offspring, a menace to propriety, a father of far too many bastards, and a walking cautionary tale. Truly, the world has a knack for breeding irony. You are not unlike your father."

"Excuse me?!" Argider's chains rattled as she lunged forward, fury igniting her like a struck match. "I am nothing like him!"

The chains yanked her back, slamming her against the wall with a painful thud. She glared at the cat, her anger mingled with shame.

The truth was bitter, like biting into an unripe apple. She was her father's daughter, whether she admitted it or not. The same rotted roots ran through her, sprouting a poisonous tree of her own.

Slumping to the ground, Argider let out a broken laugh. "Why are you even here? To mock me? To revel in my misery? If so, do me a favor and end it already."

"Mock you?" Alvator tilted his tiny head, looking vaguely insulted. "No. I'm here to guide you."

Her brow furrowed. "Guide me? Why would you of all people guide me?"

He flicked a paw dismissively. "Because that's my lot now. A price paid long ago. My consciousness is bound to the imperial system, and I take on a form most... appealing to each Emperor I assist. Evidently, you prefer cats to people. Charming."

Argider's face flushed. "W-what? I d-don't—"

"You do," he interjected smoothly. "Your soul practically screams, 'I would sell my last crust of bread for a soft thing to pet.' A commendable priority for someone in your position."

She groaned, her shame mounting. He wasn't wrong, but having her innermost quirks laid bare by a tiny furball was excruciating.

Before she could retort, the flicker of torchlight danced into the cell, its glow dragging long, ominous shadows over the bars. The rhythmic clink of footsteps followed—sharp, deliberate, and far too familiar.

Her stomach churned.

"Hide!" she hissed, gesturing wildly at Alvator. "If they see you—"

"Relax," the cat said, stretching languidly. "They can't perceive me. You're the only one blessed with this honor."

The light dimmed as a figure emerged—a man with broad shoulders and a serpentine grace. His tailored boots whispered against the stone, and his smirk oozed enough smugness to oil a machine.

Denzelle.

Argider's blood boiled. The traitor. The snake who had sold her out and plunged her world into chaos.

Denzelle's gaze swept over her, lingering on her disheveled form. His lips curled into a patronizing grin. "Talking to shadows now, Argider? I didn't realize you'd fallen so low."

She gripped the bars tightly, her knuckles whitening as her eyes burned with unrestrained hatred.

"You bastard," she spat, her voice venomous.

"Careful," he drawled, inspecting his nails with feigned disinterest. "You wouldn't want to injure yourself before the main event, would you?"

Behind her, Alvator yawned. "Dramatic, isn't he? Classic traitor energy. You should bite him. Cats do it all the time, very therapeutic."

Argider shot him a glare. "Not helpful."

"Suit yourself."

Denzelle tilted his head, watching her as though she were the most curious specimen in a menagerie. "Who are you talking to, Argider? A ghost? Or have you finally lost your mind?"

Her lips curled into a defiant smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Beside him, two formidable guards stood. They were clad in ornate armor of the highest caliber, each piece of gear bearing testament to the knight's high status and prowess. Their helms were embossed with intricate designs that fully encased their faces, leaving only their eyes visible.

When she looked back at Denzelle, there was no sign of sympathy, nor any trace of compassion in their immovable expression that Argider felt herself crumble further, the weight of her pain multiplying beyond measure. Her eyes twitched and stung, desperate to find release in the form of tears, yet her eyes remained painfully dry.

"Then why didn't you just kill me? What's even the point?!" Argider lashed out in anger, trembling with resentment.

Denzelle met her gaze unflinchingly, his tone even and unsympathetic. "I was intending to kill you, until I discovered your possession of the system. You see, it's not surprising that anyone would underestimate your worth - you've never been capable of anything. That's why I revealed your location - it seemed logical that the Valtirium Family line would finally end with you. And perhaps, we thought the system finally decided to go beyond your bloodline."

"Is that why my system warned me about imminent civil war?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"So, your system told you about the possibility of a civil war, did it? In that case, it was correct."

"Then are you the one who killed father and the rest?"

"How flattering for you think so. But unfortunately, I'm just a puppet. He had to be killed because he never had a system in the first place."

Argider became solid. 'No system?' 

"Then who schemed it?"

"I couldn't exactly point out who. Everyone in the palace has their own ambitions and schemes, which is why I will remain as your advisor. My master, however, says that he expects of your best behavior."

The heavily armored guards entered the cell, the metal door clanking open. One approached Argider and removed the iron chains from her wrists. When the restraints were finally lifted, deep, reddened welts were visible on her pale skin, a painful reminder of how tightly the bindings had dug into her flesh.

Argider was taken aback as she was gruffly yanked out of the cell. She let out a startled gasp, her eyes widening at the unexpected treatment. When she glanced back, she was surprised to see Alvator hovering in the air, his loyal presence following her as they departed.

"W-where are you taking me?" She protested with a meek whisper.

"We're returning you to your responsibilities," Danzelle answered. 

"I have become a woman... Wouldn't that be odd if I show myself now?"

"It can be of use," her traitor of a friend said. "For now... you will meet your wives."

.