Prologue: Illusion
～I was like a patient who cannot tell the doctor where it hurts, only that it does.～
In the Middle of Nineteenth Century, the first day of the second month, the fourth year of the Kingdom of Fernisülfr, Hèslington.
The snow and wind came out of nowhere and swept through this thousand-year-old city of Heslington overnight. Hèslington is a suburban village and civil parish within the City of York district, in the ceremonial county of North Yorkshire.
Outside the city, 200,000 Elsüm troops were under heavy siege, waiting for a final showdown with the Hèlgüm army defending the city.
The soldiers were too hungry to fight, and the people were too hungry to flee, but they had the strength to curse. At one time, the city's crowd is raging, all in trouble.
The cold wave froze all the bright lights left in the city, leaving only the sound of rustling snow and the cracking of charcoal in the red clay ovens.
The cerenonial flames burned, these flames engulf all my skin as my health is wearing thin. It feels like I've being torch in these ashes that I've made as my kingdom burnt to dust and my honor burnt to blames.
The pain in his stomach was like a blazing fire, his blood and flesh torn and ripped into broken shreds. Then, he closed his eyes dispiritedly, the poison striking his heart, blazing fires bringing torment.
On the Empror's throne, Rían Helgüm Warnèr sat leaning, propping up his chin, his expression empty, thick curtains of fine lashes lowered before his eyes.
Everyone knew he was a monster and a savage devil, but in truth, he was good looking. The curve of his nose gentle and soft, his lips thin and dewy, his appearance naturally radiating notes of kindness and sweetness. Just by looking at his face, anyone would think he was a lovable, good person.
The eyes were screwed shut, his face deathly pale. His lips contorted into a sneer as he laid heavily back against the emperor's throne as he's engrossed in his thoughts.
There's no one's to take care of me, no one to comfort me as my body turns to stone and my memory is getting scorched by the wind.
Rían Warner pushed himself up, and wobbled as he rose to his feet. Using hands spotted with blood, sending himself to the front of Hestia Peak's Ozore Tower.
Rían Warner turned around and entered the darkness, stalking in large strides towards the dimly lit Ozore Tower. And finally stopping infron of the deserted room, opening the rusty metal door with the creek sound.
He enter that abundant room and glanced at 'it' calmly that weird thing was hanging still on the wall.
He again, was standing at the same spot where from it all once started.
Rían Warner step forward and stand in front of it, enduring the twisting pain in his stomach, speaking those ridiculous magic words for the last time, eyes going almost blind because of the magic. Yet he didn't care.
"Mirror, say, who is the fairest of all?"
The Mirror of Erised, which Rían Warner encounters on accident one night, hidden in a random room of tower of Ozore, symbolizes how intense, emotionally charged desires can be dangerous.
"Erised" is "desire" spelled backwards, and the Mirror fittingly shows the person peering in it the deepest desire of his or her hearts.
The Mirror of Erised is one of those magical artefacts that seems to have been created in a spirit of fun (whether innocent or malevolent is a matter of opinion), because while it is much more revealing than a normal mirror, it is interesting as it is quite useful.
It gives one hundred wishes and one can wish whatever he desires, whether it's fame, power, money, death or life and fulfilling one's all wishes, in return of pain and suffering.
The deep eerie voice sounded, "Oh my sweet suffereing, it's you. Speak what I can do for you."
"Clear my mind of all the things."
Idling repeats, memories turning vicious, now I can't remember what I wanted so badly. I never asked for this much pain yet here I'm suffering from it. Rían Warner thought to himself.
"Oh my sweet suffereing, I can't.
I'm but a being without importance."
"I've suffered enough, now no more."
The emphatic and chilling voice sounded again, "Oh my sweet suffereing, without you I'm bit at lost. You've still got three chances left, why not use them?"
"No one can ever tell me no. You do as I say, end this suffering of mine."
The voice played in his ears changed, a mere whisper but so rich and melodic, "Come on, Rían~ Use them... use them.. and get what you desire the most... it could be all yours~~"
Suddenly a lump of astringent sweetness swarmed up into his throat; Rían Warner coughed a couple times, and when he opened his mouth again, there was nothing but blood between his lips and teeth.
Blood completely drained from Rían Warner's face, his eyes bulging as he backed up entire body was shaking, his tears rolling from outrage.
"Stop that! Stop it!!"
That damn thing I don't know what have it done with my head? How did it creep in my blood? Why won't it ever let me go?
But it's hard to resist that melodic voice, as the sweet voice takes control of Rían Warner's brain. In the state of magic, the Mirror of Erised forces its way in his brain hypnotising him to say what it wants to hear.
"Then Let me into your disillusion.
To taste your sweetest illusion."
Without him knowing, he speaks the words of the mirror. The pain becoming unbearable, he said with a hoarse voice, "I'll do anything to start again! As long as I'm on the throne!!"
It was silent like the dead for a long time.
Then it voiced again, "Oh my sweet suffereing, why fight it since you'll start again."
Just like before, it will take him deep inside his dreams. Where every little thing is perfect, every little penny is worth it, everything is sweet and beautiful.
Its eerie voice drifting at the back of his head and with a loud thud his body collapsed hard on the ground, falling on his knees. The waves of blackness invaded his sight, he could almost feel his innards wrenching, melting, dissolving into stinking, bloody swill.
"Listen how immense is your heart."
The agony was heart wrenching, despairing wails became faraway, like there was an ocean spanning thousands of miles between them, and its voice was coming through the waters.
"It's time, here comes the pain."
Blood continued to pour out from the corners of his lips, and Rían Warner squeezed his sleeves tight, his muscles spasming.
Outside the deserted room, the haitang blossoms were beautifully thick and flowing in the wind.
He didn't know why in the end he chose this place to end his sinful life, but he felt since the flowers were blooming so vibrantly, it wouldn't be such a bad tomb.
He laid down in that open coffin, and looked up to watch the blossoms of the night, soundlessly drifting as they wilted.
Drifting into the coffin, drifting onto his cheeks. Dancing and fluttering, like the past wilting away.
In this life, from the bastard son who possessed nothing, after innumerable encounters, he became the only eminent Lord Emperor of the mortal realm.
He had blasphemed, and his hands were covered with blood. All that he loved, all that he hated, all that he prayed for, all that he resented, in the end, there was nothing left.
In the end, he had also never penned an epitaph for himself using that confident and wild writing of his. Whether it be a shameless "Emperor of the Era" or something ridiculous. He didn't write anything.
The grave of the first emperor of the mortal world, in the end, left no words behind. A spectacle that lasted for a decade finally dropped its curtains.
It was many, many hours later when the mob, with torches held high, invaded the resident palace of the emperor like a fire snake.
However, what awaited them was an empty Heslington Palace, a Hestia Peak without a soul, and before the Ozore Tower, Rían Warner, whose corpse was already cold.