Rosenheim Throne /Daelyn

Prologue

                             ⋆☽✹☾⋆

He was just a man full of knowledge. This is still what some worshipers says.

He had knowledge. But his dignity preferably hid it from the world, suffering from seeing his image deteriorate, to the dishonor of the victims of his vices. His soul rotted under its silent secrets, suffocated by false realities magnified with glory and honor, which, not without really lying, were only to hide the worst errors of his past.

But that knowledge has a name. A secret.

And the Emperor of Ravaryn has the most terrible secret. He destroyed lifes. And he felt no regrets.
At least, not until that cold, foggy night. That night during which the wind let out terrifying growls followed by disturbing whistles which prevented us from staying far from the darkness of the night, from keeping our feet warm in our bed and from going to wait for the first rays of the rising sun which would chase away the scary monsters from our nightmares.

Rodrigue did not let the disturbing image of the cold night and its mostly unreal monsters stop him. Only his heart and his guilt finally guided him towards what he should have done all along.

Tell the truth.

He walked quickly through the large, dimly lit corridors of the east wing of the palace. In his hand he held a small lantern in which shone a red flame which projected its shadow, disturbingly, on the large walls of the corridor.

Tell the truth...

He finally arrives in front of the large golden door of his office. He stops to check if anyone is spying on him, observing the dark rooms of the corridors in which the black night stretches, without seeing anything, then opens the large door with a slight creak. He closed it immediately after his passage and sat behind the desk, his look worried but confident. He places the lantern in a corner of the wooden table and takes a deep breath.
He coughed for a moment as he exhaled, quickly taking out of his pocket a light white handkerchief embroidered with his initials into which he spat a few drops of blood. He looked at the contents of the handkerchief with a dark look.

Even closer to death, he told himself...

His lungs were eaten away by the rare disease that was commonly called on the continent the Scarlet Slayer, this name given by the blood that the patients spat out with each coughing fit. They coughed, spit, and a sharp pain crushed their lungs, sometimes even killing them, which always happened one day or another.

Rodrigue therefore knew that his death could come at any moment. Maybe it would be tonight, or tomorrow, or in a week. Nothing said it, that's what gave such a terrifying look to the Scarlet Slayer and her unpredictable grip.

He was unable to know how she had gotten there, but he had already been dragging her along for two long years. It took little now before this illness took its last breath from the emperor and, Rodrigue knew, at that moment it was not a king that Ravaryn would lose, but his life. And the reason for this thought was too obscure, too unworthy, for him to admit it even to himself.

He put his white handkerchief in his pocket with a deep grunt and took a few sheets of paper which he put to the side and placed one in front of him. The yellowed color of the paper made him uneasy. He still took his pen and, after a second of hesitation, began to write.

He finished his last letter as the sky began to turn pink and the light slowly began to chase away the darkness. He quickly put the letter in an envelope, as he had done with the others, then adorned it with the blood-red seal of the Rosenheim family.
He grabbed the packet of letters and left his office. Rodrigue's messenger, a man with black hair reaching above his shoulders and a simple, almost peasant outfit, was already there. So much the better, he had an important mission to entrust to him.
The emperor greeted the man and moved closer with an air of confidence.

- Homerald! Already up so early in the morning? My son, come see me for a moment.

The messenger approached with confidence. His relationship with the emperor was often more friendly than with others. Rodrigue had great confidence in himself that in ten years Homerald had never betrayed.

- Sir?

- Homerald, you who promised me loyalty without borders...

The man, knitting his thick black eyebrows, remained silent and listened attentively to the emperor.
He handed him the envelope and a dark veil settled over his face.

- I would like you to send these letters to the ladies whose name is written on the back of each envelope... Make no mistake. I want this done immediately after I die, don't send them now.

Rodrigue gives simple and precise instructions, as he always did. This was why he became a great warrior and a great sage that everyone respected. He knew how to be obeyed with simplicity and a certain charisma.
But this was too much of an emotional burden for him, he added pressure on Homerald's shoulders with a serious tone. His confident, friendly demeanor was gone.

- These envelopes contain very important information. Under no circumstances should they be lost. And if they are...

He looks even more serious. He had moved strangely closer to Homerald and the messenger could feel his warm breath against his cheeks.

- ...I assure you that you would not like to know what will happen to you if they are lost, he continued, plunging his worrying gaze into the eyes of the messenger who, astonishingly, remained calm.

The emperor entrusted him with the packet of letters. By dropping the package, he felt freer, less anxious and above all proud of his decision. This weight of smile removed, he resumed his usual sunny self and thanked Homerald before turning his back on him and heading back to his room before his wife woke up.

- What do these letters contain? asked the messenger curiously.

Rodrigue stops and turns to him. He had a serious look and his gaze rested for a moment on his messenger then was lost in the vegetation of the palace courtyard.

- The future of Ravaryn, he replied with a serious air before leaving, leaving Homerald with a strange thrill that he had never felt. For the first time, he worried about his emperor. And for the whole empire.