[The Forgotten History of Zahryssar]

In the empire of Zahryssar, silver hair was never considered ordinary.

It was believed that when a child bearing silver hair was born from the mother of the empire herself, it meant Lord Urzan had placed his divine blessing upon the throne.

Such children were called Heaven-Touched Serpents. Feared, worshipped, and destined to rule.

And centuries ago during the reign of Malik Vaelzareth, such a child was born, but the story of Zahryssar’s tragedy did not begin with war. It began with love.

Before Malik Vaelzareth married the future Mother of the Empire, before politics poisoned the throne, the emperor had already loved another serpent.

A serpent with no noble blood, no powerful house, no royal title, only beauty and the emperor’s affection.

The imperial court despised her because in Zahryssar, love held no value against bloodlines. Yet even then, Malik Vaelzareth married her not as the mother of the empire, because the court would never allow it.

But as his first legal wife, from that union a silver-haired serpent was born; the entire empire celebrated for seven nights because the child carried silver hair from birth.

A blessing of Lord Urzan and the emperor, blinded completely by love, named that child Slyvarakh and made him Crown Prince Slyvarakh, the future throne of Zahryssar.

For several years peace remained; the emperor adored the silver-haired prince openly. The common people worshipped him; even the temples called him

The Heaven-Blessed Child.

But royal peace never survives politics, and eventually the noble houses grew restless because the future emperor of Zahryssar had been born from a serpent with no noble blood.

To the ancient houses, that was humiliation.

Blasphemy.

So pressure began spreading through the palace, slowly and poisonously, like venom dripping beneath silk carpets.

And eventually Malik Vaelzareth surrendered. To stabilize the empire, he married the daughter of the high priestess’s temple.

Malika Seraphal.

A serpent born from one of the holiest bloodlines in Zahryssar. The moment she entered the palace, the entire political balance shifted because, unlike the emperor’s first wife, Seraphal possessed noble blood, temple authority, and the backing of the ancient houses.

And soon afterward, she gave birth to another silver-haired child. A child possessing silver hair and golden serpent eyes.

The mark of imperial blood at its purest. That child was named Zeramet.

And from that day onward, Zahryssar split into two worlds. One side supported Crown Prince Slyvarakh: beloved by the public, born first, and already declared heir.

The other side supported Prince Zeramet, child of the Mother of the Empire, blessed by temple blood, and backed by noble houses.

The palace transformed into a battlefield hidden beneath luxury, smiles became knives, banquets became traps, and every corridor inside the imperial palace whispered the same question.

Which silver serpent would inherit Zahryssar?

Then tragedy arrived: the emperor poisoned the mother of the empire, and the night Malika Seraphal died, the empire drowned in blood.

Prince Zeramet went mad with fury, not grief or sorrow, but pure imperial fury. That single night, the palace became a slaughterground.

Princes died. Princesses died. Nobles drowned beneath the silver serpent’s wrath. And eventually even Emperor Vaelzaret fell upon the imperial throne.

Killed by his own son.

The next morning, the empire awakened beneath a new ruler.

Malik Zeramet.

But the strangest part of Zahryssar’s history was this: he spared Slyvarakh. The elder crown prince lived, though nobody understood why.

Some claimed Zeramet loved his elder brother too deeply to kill him. Others whispered the emperor simply lacked the strength to murder the last remaining piece of his family.

But after taking the throne, Malik Zeramet vanished. He sealed himself inside the imperial chambers for days.

Then weeks, then months, and the throne of Zahryssar sat empty, silent, and waiting. The empire began trembling because no throne survives emptiness peacefully.

And so to stabilize the kingdom, Crown Prince Slyvarakh stepped forward, not as emperor but as acting emperor of Zahryssar.

And to the horror of the noble houses, he ruled brilliantly. The starving were fed, bandits vanished from trade roads, temple taxes were lowered, border wars ended, and even the lower districts began worshipping him openly.

And slowly the people stopped calling him Crown Prince.

Instead, they began whispering another title beneath desert winds: the True Emperor.

For six months Slyvarakh ruled Zahryssar like sunlight over a dying kingdom. And perhaps that was precisely why the tragedy became inevitable.

Because in Zahryssar, two silver serpents could never exist beneath the same throne, and history would soon drown both brothers in blood.

***

[Inside the Isolated Tent — Continuation]

Levin remained silent afterward, listening carefully and thinking carefully because the more he learned, the less simple everything became.

Then finally Iru spoke again, quietly and painfully.

"And that is exactly what happened, Malika. Malik Zeramet killed Acting Emperor Prince Slyvarakh."

Silence.

Levin slowly stared toward the flickering blue flame nearby, lost in thought because somehow something about the story felt incomplete and wrong. As though important pieces were missing.

’Why...’ Levin’s thoughts quietly stirred. ’Why does it feel like something deeper happened between Zer and Slyvarakh?’

The question lingered heavily inside him but before he could speak further—

Iru suddenly continued as the eagle’s wing fluttered faintly. "But now that Prince Slyvarakh has returned...the people shall rejoice again."

Levin slowly looked toward him. And a faint, hopeful smile appeared in Iru’s eyes. "And perhaps...he may even reclaim his throne—"

Immediately, the eagle froze. Horror crossed his expression instantly. As though he had just committed blasphemy.

"I—!"

Iru quickly bowed deeply inside the cage.

"Forgive me, Malika!" His voice became panicked. "I did not mean disrespect toward Malik Zeramet!"

Levin sighed softly afterward, tiredly. "It is alright."

He quietly stepped toward the cage once more, then calmly added, "Slyvarakh was merely acting emperor, not emperor."

Iru slowly nodded afterward. Though the conflict inside his eyes remained visible, Levin softly said, "I shall send someone to feed you."

The eagle immediately bowed deeply again. "Thank you, Malika."

And just like that Levin finally turned toward the tent exit. Outside, the desert winds greeted him immediately. Several knights standing guard immediately straightened and bowed, but Levin barely noticed them.

His thoughts remained tangled, heavy, and restless. Then softly he rubbed his forehead, murmuring beneath his breath:

"...too much is happening." The winds moved gently through his hair. "For once...I truly wish to rest."

And just as he turned toward the council tent—ready to meet Raviel and Zyvera—

"Good morning..." A familiar voice echoed softly behind him. "...to the Mother of the Empire."

Levin stopped instantly. Then slowly he turned, and there stood Slyvarakh. Long silver hair drifting beneath the desert winds. Silver eyes, calm and beautiful.

Yet somehow the longer Levin looked at him, the more unnatural he felt—not alive, not entirely—but something about his smile reminded Levin strangely of High Ensi Rakhane.

That same elegance. That same hidden madness beneath composure, and immediately, Levin understood something dangerous. This serpent was terrifying not because he screamed but because he remained calm.

Meanwhile, Slyvarakh smiled faintly afterward.

"...Do I not deserve a greeting from the Malika?"

Levin stared at him silently, and finally his blue eyes narrowed slightly as his voice remained calm. "To receive greetings from the Malika...one requires permission from the Malik first."

A faint pause.

Then deliberately, Levin added:

"...brother-in-law."

Silence, and for the first time, Slyvarakh froze, only briefly. Only for a second, but Levin noticed it. Then slowly a faint smile returned across Slyvarakh’s face.

Though this time it looked thinner and sharper.

"I apologize for my rudeness, Malika." He lowered his head slightly, elegantly and controlled, as his silver eyes gleamed strangely.

"Then perhaps... I shall greet you properly once we return to my palace."

Levin’s expression did not change, but inwardly something cold crawled beneath his skin. Because the way Slyvarakh said

my palace

felt deeply wrong. Then quietly, without another word, Slyvarakh turned and walked away through the imperial encampment. The knights nearby visibly stiffened while he passed because even his presence alone felt cursed.

Meanwhile, Levin silently watched his retreating figure longer than necessary. Then finally he whispered softly beneath the desert winds:

"...he feels rotten." His blue eyes darkened thoughtfully. "...like a corpse pretending to breathe."

And somewhere far ahead, walking beneath fluttering imperial banners, Slyvarakh smiled, as though he had heard every word.

***

[Meanwhile—Malik Zeramet’s Imperial Tent]

Night had not yet fallen across Eastern Zahryssar. Yet inside the imperial tent, the atmosphere already felt darker than midnight.

Blue serpent flames burned low around the chamber while incense smoke curled slowly through the air like wandering spirits.

And upon the lowered imperial diwan lay Zeramet, lazily and dangerously. One arm was resting behind his head while the other held a long, black, imperial pipe near his lips.

Silver robes hung loose across his body, half-open. His chest bare beneath dim lantern light.

And somehow the calmer the emperor looked, the more terrifying he became. Meanwhile, near the center of the tent, Sarash remained kneeling deeply upon the carpets, head lowered, expression tense.

Almost troubled. For several moments only the sound of crackling incense and slow breathing filled the chamber.

Then finally Sarash spoke quietly and carefully. "I apologize for speaking beyond my place, Malik."

Zeramet said nothing, only exhaled smoke slowly into the air.

"But..." Sarash hesitated briefly. "I do not believe this is the correct decision."

The smoke above Zeramet twisted lazily beneath the blue flames. Sarash visibly lowered himself further. As though already regretting his words.

"Malika Levin..." His voice weakened slightly. "...will be heartbroken."

Silence.

A long, heavy silence. Then slowly, Zeramet lowered the pipe from his lips. His golden eyes remained fixed upward toward the silk ceiling above him, unreadable, ancient, and tired.

And then quietly he exhaled another stream of smoke.

"There is no other choice."

Sarash immediately looked upward, shocked.

"Malik..." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

But Zeramet slowly closed his eyes, and for the first time since Slyvarakh returned, the emperor no longer looked furious.

He looked exhausted. As though centuries had suddenly settled upon his shoulders all at once. Then finally, his voice echoed quietly through the tent:

"...I must divorce my consort."

Silence crashed across the chamber, violently and completely.

Sarash’s pale serpent eyes widened in disbelief because nothing...nothing felt more impossible than those words leaving Zeramet’s mouth.

The emperor who burned kingdoms for Levin, protected him obsessively, and held him like something sacred was now speaking of divorce.

And somehow that made the atmosphere inside the tent feel even more tragic than war. Meanwhile outside the imperial encampment, the desert winds howled louder beneath the darkening skies.

As though Zahryssar itself had sensed the beginning of another catastrophe.

And somewhere far away Slyvarakh slowly smiled because perhaps the empire was already beginning to break apart exactly as he desired.