[Thalryn Kingdom—After the War]
"The heroes are back!"
"Hooray—House Veyrhold saved us!"
Cheers broke like waves against stone.
"Hip—hip—hooray!"
"Hooray to Levin Veyrhold!"
"Hooray to Duke Veyrhold!"
The capital city of Thalryn erupted in celebration as the knights rode through the gates. Banners snapped in the wind, blue and silver fabric catching sunlight, the eagle of Thalryn soaring high above the crowd. Flowers were thrown. Children ran alongside the horses. Bells rang until the air itself seemed to tremble.
Victory had come and yet—No knights seemed happy because the war had ended with a single letter, not with a fight.
From the outside, it looked like glory, but within House Veyrhold, it felt like debt.
Levin rode beside his father. His expression never changed, even as the people shouted his name like a prayer.
"…I apologize, Father," Levin said quietly, his voice barely carrying over the cheers.
The Duke did not look at him at first.
"No apology is needed," he said at last, releasing a long, weary breath. "Sometimes, son… if bowing one's head brings peace to the empire, then so be it."
Levin's jaw tightened and neither of them smiled.
***
[The Imperial Palace of Thalryn—Later]
The palace gates opened in splendor.
Gold and white stone gleamed beneath the afternoon sun as nobles lined the hall, silk and jewels whispering as Duke Veyrhold and Levin stepped forward. At the far end of the chamber, the Emperor of Thalryn waited upon his throne, flanked by courtiers and guards alike.
His smile was warm.
Too warm.
"Welcome back, Duke Veyrhold," the Emperor said, rising from his seat. "The empire sings your name. I have heard much of your bravery during these trying times."
The Duke and Levin knelt on one knee in unison.
"We greet the Star of the Empire," they said together.
"Lift your head, Duke," the Emperor replied kindly. "You have served Thalryn with distinction. Your family has done more than could ever be demanded. You saved the empire from falling."
The Duke obeyed, meeting the Emperor's gaze.
"You will be greatly rewarded," the Emperor continued smoothly. "Gold, titles, lands—if there is anything you desire, merely say the word."
The Duke's hands curled slowly at his sides. "There is nothing House Veyrhold desires, Your Majesty."
The Emperor's smile widened—pleased, impressed.
"Such loyalty," he said warmly. "The empire is fortunate to have a family like yours."
The Duke did not smile. Levin remained silent. The knights behind them stood rigid, eyes forward.
And then—
"But…" the Duke said. "This victory was not achieved by Thalryn alone, Your Majesty."
A faint crease appeared between the Emperor's brows. "Was there another who fought beside you? A general? A mercenary commander? If it is a commoner, I can grant him a noble title—"
"Zahryssar."
The word fell into the chamber and the world stopped. It was not shouted. It was not emphasized and yet—The air itself seemed to tighten.
Whispers died mid-breath. Nobles stiffened as though struck.
The Duke continued, his voice calm, unyielding. "The Kingdom of Zahryssar ended this war with a single letter, Your Majesty."
A Deep Silence.
The Emperor's smile vanished. His eyes widened, color draining from his face.
"…What?" he breathed.
The Court stilled, because every soul in that hall understood what it meant to invoke that name within the walls of Thalryn.
Zahryssar did not involve itself without reason and it never acted without cost.
The Emperor swallowed. "What was the condition?"
The Duke's gaze hardened but his answer did not waver, "We need to send an Omega bride to the Emperor of Zahryssar."
GASP!
The sound tore through the chamber as if the court itself recoiled. Nobles surged to their feet. Mothers clutched their sons and daughters. Advisors exchanged looks of open horror.
The Emperor stared at the Duke, voice barely audible, "…To the emperor?"
The Duke nodded, "Yes, your Majesty. ToEmperor Zeramet Karash."
The name struck harder than thunder. Several nobles paled visibly. The guards tightened their grip on their spears—not in defense, but reflex, because that name carried weight older than crowns.
The Serpent Emperor. Prime Alpha of Zahryssar. The ruler no consort returned from.
The Emperor of Thalryn sank slowly back into his throne, "You…You swore that vow?"
The Duke did not look away, "I swore what was required to keep this kingdom alive."
The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Levin stood motionless at his father's side, jaw set, eyes forward—already knowing that the debt spoken aloud could never be taken back.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
At last, the Emperor of Thalryn drew a slow breath.
"Alright. We will… begin the search," he said carefully, every word weighed. "An Omega bride—one capable of surviving such a bond—will require time. You may take your leave for now, Duke Veyrhold."
The Duke inclined his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."
No relief touched his face. He turned and began to walk from the hall.
Levin followed. As they passed through the gathered nobles, Levin's gaze shifted—just slightly.
He saw hands clutching tighter around sons and daughters. He saw mothers draw Omegas closer, as if stone walls and royal favor could shield them from an empire that answered to no throne but its own. He saw fathers calculating distances, marriages, and escapes.
Fear had found a new name and it was Zahryssar.
The great doors of the palace closed behind House Veyrhold with a resonant thud. The court exhaled only after they were gone.
Far to the south—beyond deserts scorched by sun, beyond cities built in spirals of stone and gold—the Coiled Throne stood in silence.
And upon it, the Serpent Emperor waited.
Patient.
Unyielding.
As inevitable as fate itself.
***
[Three Years Later—Imperial Palace of Thalryn]
And…just like that Three years passed.
On the surface, Thalryn healed.
Burned fields were replanted. New stone rose where walls had fallen. Children learned to laugh again in courtyards once stained with blood, and merchants returned to roads they had sworn never to walk twice.
Peace settled like snow—thin, fragile, and deceptive.
Only the Duke of House Veyrhold knew the truth.
"They've refused again."
Levin's voice was calm and controlled as he stood before the council table—hands folded behind his back, posture rigid. His eyes were cold, sharp with restrained anger.
"The western house," he continued. "House Eltharyn. They have also declined to send their daughter to Zahryssar."
The Emperor exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "I expected as much. Another house finds courage when fear would be wiser."
The Duke's fist tightened at his side, "If this continues, we are courting disaster."
The Emperor glanced toward the tall windows, sunlight spilling across marble floors as if mocking them. "It has already been three years, Duke. Perhaps Zahryssar has… forgotten the vow."
Levin lifted his gaze to the Emperor, expression cold and unyielding.
"I apologize for the intrusion, Your Majesty," he said, voice steady but edged with steel, "but Zahryssar is not the kind of empire that forgets."
The Emperor turned to him.
"They are waiting," Levin continued. "And we are only spared because the Serpent Emperor has not yet lost his patience. If we do not send a bride soon, he will decide the manner of repayment himself."
The room fell silent; it felt as if even the air seemed still.
KNOCK! KNOCK!!
A knock echoed against the chamber doors.
Once.
Twice.
"Enter," the Emperor said sharply.
A knight of House Veyrhold stepped inside, helmet tucked beneath his arm. His face was pale. His throat worked as he swallowed.
"My apologies, My Lord," he said, bowing deeply. "But… we have received news from the butler."
"A news?" the Duke asked.
The knight hesitated.
"…Yes and he said we received a letter. A letter that bears the seal of the serpent."
The world seemed to tilt. The Emperor rose from his throne abruptly. The Duke straightened at once. Lorcan's breath stilled.
"It's a Letter from Zahryssar."
Silence slammed down upon the chamber.
Heavy. Final and Dangerous because far to the south, the Serpent Emperor had finally lost his patience.