Far away in the Veyrath capital...
Scarcely a month had gone by, and the Nine-Tailed Fox Empire had not mourned its former crown prince for long.
Three days after Levi’s disappearance, the imperial bells ceased their mournful tolling.
By the seventh day, the imperial court announced the official narrative; Crown Prince Levi had met his end, consumed and incinerated by the untamed backlash of his own ascension trials.
On the tenth day, the crown had a new head.
No matter how many doubts whispered through the aristocratic courts, the beast-lords bowed their heads to the new sovereign, choosing survival over dangerous curiosity.
The capital was a paradox of grief and pageantry. The streets were adorned with white silks, and the towering spires of the imperial palace glittered beneath the winter sun. Musicians played beneath arches of carved ice, while beastnobles in embroidered robes gathered to witness the coronation of the man who stepped up after his brother’s disappearance and death.
The undisputed master of Veyrath.
The seven-tailed fox.
[•]
The throne room was deathly silent.
Three figures knelt at the base of the towering dais, their bodies trembling so violently that their bones seemed to rattle against the marble.
They were Levi’s former attendants— the unlucky few who had survived his disappearance.
Too terrified to breathe, they kept their gazes glued to the freezing floor, acutely aware of the apex predator seated above them.
Severin lounged casually in the imperial throne, clad in pristine white robes embroidered with gleaming silver thread. He bore the exact same bone structure and devastating beauty of the brother he claimed to have supposedly wept for, though his hair fell in darker strands around his face. Behind him, seven heavy, obsidian-dark tails tipped in stark white rippled through the air like restless shadows, pulsing with a hypnotic, predatory grace.
The silence in the hall was heavy to crush bone
Part of it stemmed from the way his golden eyes lingered on their throats, as if calculating the easiest way to snap them. Part of it also came from the fresh blood painting the corridor outside, a clear warning to all who stood before him now that twelve other dissenting officials had been executed before them.
The attendants snapped their heads up instantly as if afraid of moving too slow, their eyes bloodshot and wide with panic.
Severin tilted his head, his expression as gentle as a scholar inspecting a specimen. He suddenly started to tap one clawed finger against the armrest, the rhythmic clack echoing like a death knell.
"Tell me," he murmured, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet. "Have you discovered the masked assailant who stole my dear brother away from us?"
The eldest fox attendant– a seasoned courtier bearing three tails– felt the blood drained from his face.
"Y-Your Majesty, our search parties are turning Veyrath upside down day and night. We are sparing no resources to track the murderer of His Late Imperial Highness. We only ask for more time."
The air in the throne room froze solid.
Severin stood up.
He drifted down the dais step in a slow, unhurried descent, his white robes whispering against the marble. His seven dark tails swayed behind him with mesmerizing, lethal grace. Even lacking the final two tails of absolute mastery, his sheer killing intent was enough to bend the room to his will.
The crushing pressure radiating from his imposing frame, forced the kneeling men to gasp as blood pooled on the marble. Severin stopped directly over the eldest attendant, his golden eyes narrowing into razor slits.
"Three weeks," he whispered, the words dropping like lead weight. "And still you have absolutely nothing to show for it? Perhaps your loyalty followed my brother to his grave."
Trembling so hard his teeth rattled, the courtier flattened himself against the stone.
"Mercy, Your Majesty! Remember that overpowering the late crown prince takes godlike power, that is why our initial search stalled. But recent intelligence from the frontier... there are rumors of an anomaly. The assailant who struck down the late prince happened to bore no beast core, no scent of bloodlines, and no claws. A creature entirely devoid of beastly traits. It sounds impossible, but we are close to uncovering the culprit."
"An anomaly, you say?" Severin’s voice dropped even lower. "Are you trying to insult my late brother by implying he was slain by a common nobody? You insult my intelligence and his memories with fairy tales?"
"Your Maj—!"
His words choked off into a strangled bubble of blood as his throat split open. He collapsed face-first into the stone, his fingers clawing weakly at the expanding pool of crimson spreading across the white marble. The remaining two beastmen froze to stone, too terrified to even scream.
"Tsk," Severin sighed, delicately flicking a single speck of blood from his immaculate white cuffs. "My brother was always plagued by incompetents. He simply refused to prune the rot."
Raising his golden eyes, he pinned the surviving courtiers in a paralyzing glare. "If you wish to keep your heads attached to your shoulders, I suggest you find something more substantial next time I call your names. Dismissed."
Without waiting for a response, the two beastmen threw themselves backward, scrambling frantically over the slick bloody marble until they vanished through the heavy palace doors.
Another beastman who was about to step inside, was forced to flatten himself against the frame as the frantic survivors bolted past.
The massive doors sealed shut behind him with a heavy thud.
Striding down the hall, the newcomer stepped neatly around the spreading pool of blood and lifeless corpse, undisturbed by the sight. He dropped gracefully to his knees.
"It would appear Your Majesty had a remarkably productive evening," Malachi observed smoothly, his tone laced with dry amusement. "Thirteen imperial officials slaughtered before dinner."
Severin didn’t laugh.
"Save the wits, Malachi," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose as a sharp ache bloomed behind his eyes. "Give me news that matters. Have we found my brother’s body?"
Malachi tilted his head, his slit-pupiled eyes reflecting the candlelight. "Recovering his late Highness has proven nearly impossible, Your Majesty. Without a fixed coordinates for where the descent scattered him, searching across Veyrath is like looking for a needle in a snowstorm. To speak frankly... the probability of him surviving the catastrophe he subjected himself to is virtually non-existent."
A tense, suffocating silence blanketed the throne room. Every candle flame flickered and froze.
For a terrifying moment, Severin did not move a muscle. Then a low, unsettling vibration broke from his chest. It echoed off the stone walls with manic intensity.
"Non-existent?" he sneered, his golden eyes blazing with unhinged fury. "You speak like you know that prick better than I do, but don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. Levi is far too stubborn, and arrogant to surrender that easily. He is out there. I can feel it in my marrow. Tear the empire apart if you must, but find him. I want him alive, and I want him broken at my feet."
"Understood, Your Majesty," Malachi answered with a bow, masking the cold indifference in his slit eyes. He would never truly understand Severin’s toxic, all-consuming obsession with his late brother, but the difference between him and the dead was that he was wise enough not to pry where it wasn’t needed.
"As Emperor of Veyrath, what does His Majesty wish to do with the outskirts? It has dawned upon me that those lawless fringes are precisely where the local civilizations reside. Shall I dispatch the imperial legions to purge the borderland?"
Severin slowly sank back onto the throne, a cruel, razor-thin smirk touching his lips. "No. Leave the outskirts alone for now. I have a much better plan for them."