Once a respected lord in the Kingdom of Ellis, Leonardo Eleonor was a childhood friend and confidant to Princess Seraphina, a woman of rare vision and kindness who dreamed of a more just world. Her ideals inspired Leon, who became her devoted protector and unwavering ally. But when the Emperor of Elthor, a man whose appetites knew no bounds, noticed Seraphina's beauty, her fate took a dark turn. To secure their standing, her family sacrificed her to become the Emperor’s concubine, shattering her dreams and ideals.

Desperate to remain by her side, Leon disguised himself as a woman and took on the role of her silent guardian—a royal servant helplessly watching as Seraphina’s life devolved into a cycle of torment and confinement. Each night, he bore witness to the brutal consequences of the Emperor’s attention. The worst blow came after a miscarriage, an event that stripped her of hope and left her pleading with Leon for an escape from her waking nightmare.

“Leon, I see no freedom left in this world—only chains, each link heavier than the last. Can you still call this a sacrifice for the kingdom?” Her voice cracked, a painful symphony of resignation and trust.

Leon’s heart clenched at the words. Time dragged on, each day weighed down by unspoken sorrow. Night after night, Seraphina begged Leon for freedom. Finally, a chance emerged—a desperate plan to flee back to Ellis. But home offered no salvation. Terrified of incurring the Emperor’s wrath, her family deemed Seraphina a liability and prepared to send her back, sealing her fate. Despair broke her final defenses, and she turned to Leon with one last plea: Leon, please kill me...

As they made their way in a carriage, fate intervened. Ambushed by none other than Prince Michaelli of Marceau, a young leader whose name is well known for his ruthless intellect, Seraphina seized a final opportunity. She offered him an ancient piece of Arcanographica—a relic of immense and mysterious power—in exchange for his help in destroying the kingdom that betrayed her.

With calculated interest, Michaelli accepted. The very defense of the Empire of Elthor is helping him achieve his goal rather easily. Under his strategic hand, Ellis fell, its leaders annihilated, and its legacy reduced to ruins. In the ensuing chaos, Seraphina wielded her newfound fury as her only weapon.

When the time came to fulfill their bargain, Seraphina revealed that only through her death could the Arcanographica’s power be transferred to Michaelli, freeing him from his burden temporarily. In return, she made one final request: that he take Leon under his protection. Michaelli, aware of Leon’s ability to decipher the relic’s mysteries, agreed to honor the princess’s wish with a solemn nod.

Seraphina met Leon’s eyes, a quiet smile trembling on her lips, carrying the weight of unsaid words. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread binding them one last time. Gratitude and memories flickered in her gaze—shared laughter, late-night whispers, and lessons that were now ghosts. Michaelli’s jaw clenched.

The act was swift, merciless. Seraphina's life slipped away like the last note of a mournful song, leaving the air thick with silence. Power surged into Michaelli, searing through his veins, but the room’s newfound brilliance only deepened the hollow darkness left behind.

Leon fell to his knees as grief consumed him, a raw, tearing agony that twisted inside his chest. Memories of Seraphina’s laughter echoed like taunts in the stillness, each one striking harder than any blade. He reached for her lifeless hand, fingers trembling, the room spinning as the void she left swallowed him whole.

The room was now empty, an echoing shell where warmth once lived. And as Michaelli stood, power pulsing within him, he glanced at Leon—now a broken man defined not by purpose but by the aching, irreparable loss.

Leonardo Eleonor, relinquishing his title of Marquis of Astoria, became Leon Eleonor, Head Historian to Prince Michaelli. Hardened and relentless, he devoted himself entirely to Michaelli’s cause—to dominate the land and conquer the world. His grief crystallized into unwavering loyalty, as he vowed to continue Seraphina’s twisted legacy. Where his heart was once tender, it was now a fortress; his resolve, an unyielding blade. With Michaelli intent on conquering the land, Leon’s service was driven by a single aim: to uphold the vision of the princess he could not save.

Leon watched the dark sky at the window, his eyes shimmering with unspoken promises. “For you, Seraphina, I would help burn this empire to the ground if it meant your peace.”

--

At the Prince’s Quarters, a figure emerged from the shadows, a lone sentinel whose presence dominated the room with lethal precision. This was no mere warrior of the crimson ranks—this was their commander, known only by the title The Veil. His armor was a seamless blend of shadow and crimson, forged from metal so dark it seemed to swallow the light around him. Each piece fit like a second skin, etched with arcane symbols that had become synonymous with fear across the empire, whispering of battles that never reached a public record.

A mask of polished obsidian covered his eyes, granting him an unnerving anonymity and a silence that masked not just his gaze, but his very intentions. Yet he moved without hesitation, every step carrying an authority that kept even the most hardened warriors of his command in thrall. His gauntlets were sleek and understated, revealing hands that bore no visible scars, suggesting a precision in battle that bordered on unnatural. Around his waist, a single, long blade hung in an intricate scabbard; its hilt was wrapped in dark leather, bearing no adornment except a single, barely perceptible engraving—the great royal ape emblem, marking him as a weapon of the prince’s elite.

He stopped a few paces from the prince’s seat, bowing deeply. His voice, when it came, was low and coarse, reverberating through the chamber like a quiet storm. “Your Highness,” he intoned, his words measured, reverent yet unyielding. Though the prince’s gaze rested on him, it was clear The Veil required no sight to perceive his ruler’s will. Each breath he took seemed in sync with the prince’s own, as if he were not just a man, but an extension of the prince’s most dangerous commands—a weapon in human form, honed, loyal, and waiting only for a signal to strike.

As he rose, his head inclined slightly, an indication of his complete attention. Here stood a man unbound by sight, yet fully attuned to the empire’s pulse, a harbinger of secrets and shadows, ready to lead the crimson warriors into the empire’s unseen battles.