Book 1: Epilogue (Part 1) & Announcement

After being sick for over a week, a lot of work piled up. Right now, I’m trying to get back to my usual backlog of 5–8 chapters. Unfortunately, time’s been really tight lately.

This afternoon, I’m flying to London for a wedding and won’t be back until Monday. Since I’m currently only 2–3 chapters ahead of RoyalRoad, I’ve decided to pause billing on Patreon for a month.

Everyone will get a free month again, billing will resume on August 17th, by which point I hope to be fully back on track with a proper chapter buffer!

I’ll still be posting Part 1 of the Epilogue now, I have to catch my flight in 4 hours, but I’ll edit and post the rest later. Consider this part and the upcoming one a single chapter split in two!

Thanks so much for your patience and support! (:

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Epilogue: The Birth Of An Era

“They say you could taste the dawn that day. The air over Valewick shimmered not with heat, but with history. I remember the red banners, the way they danced in the wind like blood and fire—bright, defiant, and cruelly joyful. We didn’t know, not then. We clapped for a child. We drank for a birthday. And we watched, smiling, as the world quietly shifted beneath our feet.”

These are not my words, but those of a colleague, a fellow historian who was there with me in the courtyard of the Citadel of Valewick, that day of Firstlight, the 2nd of Liriane, Year 646 of the Seventh Era. Like many others, I stood among nobles and commoners alike, witnessing a celebration we thought merely grand. It was the sixth birthday of Lady Grace of House Ashford, daughter of Duchess Liliana, heir apparent by virtue of bloodline and birthright. But in truth, none present could have fully understood what we were about to witness.

The Seventh Era of Nyras had been one of unprecedented stability—at least, this is how our scholars prefer to record it. They named it the Era of Calm, noting the rare unity among the six gods, their lack of direct interference, and the relative peace across the realms. Yet, I must respectfully disagree with this interpretation. The so-called calm was superficial; beneath it lay currents of deep unrest, conflicts kept quiet only by willful blindness.

On that morning, as the banners unfurled and the city of Valewick draped itself in festive red and gold, the illusion of peace was still intact. The streets were vibrant; smiles were genuine. It was a rare spectacle. Never in my memory had House Ashford celebrated a child's birthday with such extravagance. Valewick overflowed with joy, laughter, and innocence. And perhaps innocence was indeed the greatest blindness of all.

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder among knights and commoners, I joined in that innocent ignorance. I clapped and cheered, unaware that our world was poised on the precipice of a great change. The Ashford banners above us rippled proudly, displaying the stag on red fabric—a symbol soon to be retired forever. At that moment, however, we knew nothing of what was about to unfold.

The gates of the citadel opened with majestic solemnity, allowing nobles from all corners of the Duchy of Ashford to pour into the main courtyard. The gathered crowd watched eagerly as the balcony doors high above opened to reveal Duchess Liliana herself. Beside her stood young Grace, her small figure a miniature reflection of her mother’s presence; golden hair, perfect posture, and eyes that seemed impossibly knowing for a child of only six. I felt then, for the first time, a strange weight settles over us all. Scholars and historians later debated this presence, attributing it to Liliana, the legendary Duchess whose charisma was known throughout the kingdom. But looking back now, I am no longer certain. Perhaps the pressure we felt that day belonged not to the mother but to her daughter, already a nascent force, unknown but undeniable.

As Grace lifted one delicate hand, the crowd fell silent as though commanded. Her voice, clear and composed beyond her years, carried effortlessly across the courtyard.

"I thank you all for celebrating my birthday today," she said. Her speech, simple and brief, pledged her dedication to the welfare of Ashford. A child’s promise, perhaps. But the sincerity—the certainty in her words—struck the crowd profoundly. Even then, some deeper instinct within me stirred uneasily, sensing the future in those small words.

It was Duchess Liliana’s movement that snapped the spell, as she gently placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. The courtyard held its breath; Liliana’s voice rose then, calm but resonant, echoing with the authority of centuries of lineage.

"My friends and subjects," Liliana began, "today is more than merely the birthday of my daughter. Today marks the awakening of our heritage. After centuries, the blood of Ashford has been restored to its rightful strength." The crowd stirred, a murmur swelling among nobles and commoners alike. We knew that Duchess Liliana never spoke idly. Her declarations were law, and her truths shaped the reality we all inhabited.

Liliana continued, her voice growing colder, edged with quiet fury. "For too long, the crown—the Wyrm—has trampled upon our honor. They have killed our sons, mocked our traditions, and insulted our dignity. Only days ago, soldiers of the crown dared to humiliate my own son, striking him openly and murdering his companion, a loyal son of House Redlane."

A harsh silence settled over the courtyard, broken only by a faint sound of steel, armor shifting nervously. The Baron Redlane himself stepped forward, grief and fury etched in his expression. "They will pay for what they've done to my son!" His voice cracked with raw emotion, and the crowd erupted into cries of outrage and sympathy. Liliana raised her hand again, and silence returned instantly.

"This cannot and will not stand," she declared. "The crown is corrupt. They worship false gods, abandoning Iras, the Mother of Light, betraying the faith that made our kingdom great. Ashford has tolerated this disgrace long enough."

In the silence that followed, Liliana’s voice rose to a resounding crescendo, echoing off the ancient walls. "Today, we step out from the shadow of the Wyrm and into the Light. We reclaim our dignity and our destiny."

As if summoned by her words, a sphere of brilliant golden light appeared above her outstretched hand, bathing the courtyard in radiance. Awe rippled through us all. The presence we felt was undeniable: the divine favor of Iras herself. Liliana's next words rang with clarity and confidence.

"I hereby declare that Grace of Ashford, my daughter and true heir, is now Princess Grace of Ashford, sole heir of a newly founded empire—an empire that will cast down the chains of the old kingdom and restore light and honor to our world."

The crowd roared, swept up in the grandeur, forgetting caution in favor of fervent pride. The proclamation was bold, impossible, and yet inevitable. Liliana's eyes blazed with righteous certainty as she delivered her final declaration:

"I, Liliana of Ashford, name myself the first Empress of Ashford, ruler of a reborn empire. The age of weaklings is over. The age of Ashford begins today!"

At that moment, something fundamental changed. We felt history shift beneath our feet, a ripple extending far beyond Valewick's walls. On cue, the banners of Ashford—the proud stag of centuries—fell away. In their place, the new imperial colors rose: black and crimson, dark silk rippling defiantly in the wind.

Then, from deep within the citadel itself, came a low, rumbling growl—a sound none of us would forget. A wyvern, symbol of Ashford's new might, emerged onto the highest rampart, spreading its wings majestically against the dawn. The symbolism was unmistakable: a new era had been born, forged not in peace, but in pride, ambition, and inevitable conflict.

Years have passed since that morning. Our scholars now mark the beginning of the Eighth Era—the Era of Strife—with the Empress Grace's official coronation day, years later. Yet, I believe they are mistaken. The true beginning was there, in that courtyard, under the red banners, in the echoes of Liliana’s speech and Grace’s small, calm smile. I was there, and I am certain: the Eighth Era began on that morning, at the sixth birthday of Grace of Ashford.

Today, as we look upon the empire our Empress Grace rules with unquestioned authority, we call our time the Era of Strife. Yet I reflect often on how close we came to something darker, an Era of Despair, had the winds of fate blown differently. Our Empress protects us now, but the fragile peace we enjoy was born in conflict, ambition, and bold defiance. It began on a day meant to celebrate a child—a child whose birth reshaped our history and whose destiny forever changed our world.

Let future generations debate what I have recorded here, but let no one doubt its truth. I was there. I saw. I felt the dawn of a new world beneath my feet, tasted its promise in the air. And I watched, smiling like all the others, as the empire of Ashford rose from the ashes of innocence.