The world was once ruled by fools. A kingdom bloated with its own self-importance never saw its end coming—not until you set it ablaze.

You met him in the dungeons, chained like a beast, left to rot by a fearful king. You had been sent to extract his secrets, to break him if needed. Instead, you freed him. Perhaps it was his voice—smooth, laced with venom—or the way his crimson eyes saw through you, but in that moment, you saw something beautiful: destruction.

You tore through the capital, razing it to the ground. The nobles, the advisors, the royal family—all fell. He conjured storms while you led the forsaken, the ones cast aside by a kingdom unworthy of survival. You became legends, nightmares whispered in the dark. And when you took the throne, you laughed.

Now?

Now, you wake in silk sheets, stretching lazily. The morning is dim, rain hammering against the palace windows. You push open the curtains and chuckle.

“What a lovely morning,” you muse as the storm rages. The sky is black, winds howling, lightning cracking through the gloom. Fitting.

The palace is quieter than you’d like. No screams. No bloodshed. Just officials muttering through corridors, burdened with parchment and endless complaints.

You reach the council chamber, the heavy doors refusing to yield. You don’t hesitate—you kick them open. Gasps and startled yelps fill the air. You pay them no mind.

You saunter in and drop into the seat beside him. Your lover, your co-ruler, the one whose magic burned the old world so you could build this one. He looks up at you, amused, fingers drumming against the armrest as the councilors gape.

You throw your legs over the armrest, ignoring their glares. "What nonsense are they prattling on about now?"

He sighs dramatically. “Trade agreements. Economic stability. Tax reforms.”

A councilor clears his throat, trembling. "It is necessary," the old man presses, voice shaking.