Page 97 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
"Step aside peacefully," Jalend said, his voice softening slightly. "Surrender. Let this end without more bloodshed. You still have that choice."
The Emperor's laugh was like the sound of breaking glass, sharp and bitter and full of contempt.
"And why," he sneered, "would I do such a thing? Why would I hand my empire over to a pathetic boy and his collection of slaves and savages?"
"Because it's the right thing to do," Jalend replied simply. "Because you still have a choice to be better than what you've become."
The Emperor stared at his son for a long moment and then threw back his head and laughed—a sound so full of genuine amusement that it sent chills down my spine.
"The right thing to do?" he repeated, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "My dear boy, I must admit I underestimated you. This coup—freeing the dragons, turning my own people against me, staging this little theatre—it's far more than I ever thought you capable of. I'm actually proud of you, Jalius. Finally, finally you're taking action instead of hiding behind books and principles."
His tone shifted then, becoming warmer, almost fatherly. It was somehow more terrifying than his fury had been.
"Come back to me," he said, extending one hand toward his son. "You've proven your strength, shown me you can be the heir I always wanted. I'll pardon your friends—even that one," he added, his gaze flicking to me with obvious disdain, "your little whore. Bring her to court if you must. We can work something out."At the words, I felt Marcus and Antonius tense, saw them tighten their grips on their swords and behind us, Sirrax let out a low growl. Jalend held out his hand, signalling them to stay put and instead shook his head.
"She has a name," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "Her name is Livia, and she is worth a thousand of you. As for your offer—" He spat in the sand at his father's feet. "I would rather die free than live as your puppet."
The Emperor's face went white with rage, all pretence of paternal affection vanishing like smoke.
"Then you are a fool," he snarled, "and you will—"
The sound of marching feet interrupted him. From the tunnels that led to the arena came the rhythmic tramp of legions, hundreds of Imperial soldiers in perfect formation. The crowd stirred uneasily as Legate Santius emerged at their head, his scarred face grim beneath his helm.
The Emperor's expression shifted instantly, his rage transforming into cold triumph as he saw the approaching troops.
"Ah," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "My loyal Legate arrives at last. Perfect timing."
He turned to face Jalend, his smile predatory and cruel.
"You see, my boy? You thought you had won, but you forgot the most important lesson of power—always have more soldiers than your enemies. Now I think I'll kill you all, starting with your precious whore, and then I'll have your head mounted on a spike outside the palace gates. A fitting end for a traitor."
But Santius did not move toward us. Instead, he marched directly to where Jalius stood and, in full view of sixty thousand witnesses, dropped to one knee on the bloodstained sand.
"The Emperor has lost his crown," Santius declared, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Long live Jalius Valerius."
Behind him, hundreds of legionnaires knelt as one, their armour clattering like thunder. The sound echoed off the arena walls, growing and expanding until it seemed to shake the very foundations of the world.
The crowd erupted. Not in the mindless bloodlust I remembered from my days as a gladiator, but in something else—hope, perhaps, or the first taste of real freedom. The same type of voices that had once cheered for death in every arena across the Empire now chanted Jalius's name, and the sound was like music after years of silence.
Jalend raised his eyes from his father’s and looked around the arena. The sun was high in the sky, casting golden light across his face, highlighting the strong jaw, the proud nose, the eyes that held both steel and compassion, and I felt such a surge of love and pride for this man.
"I am Jalius Valerius," he declared, and the words rang like a bell in the sudden silence. "Son of the Emperor. You have spent your lives living under the shadow of a tyrant and we are here today to end his reign. I claim no crown," he said, his voicecarrying to every corner of the arena. "I seek no throne. I return only to right the wrongs that have been done in our family's name, to end the cycle of blood and slavery that has poisoned this empire for too long."
His voice carried across the arena, reaching every corner of the vast space. I felt the crowd hanging on his words, sixty thousand people balanced on the knife's edge between the old world and something new.
"I will not be your emperor," Jalend continued, and I heard gasps ripple through the stands. "I will hold power only long enough to help you build something better—a republic where no single man can wield the absolute authority my father has abused for so long."
He gestured to the freed prisoners, to the broken cages, to the dragons wheeling overhead in joy.
"I will take control only long enough to create something this world has never seen—a Republic where power belongs not to one man, but to all people. Where Talfen and Imperial stand as equals, where slavery has not just ended but its victims are given reparations for what was stolen from them. Where no man or woman holds the power my father wielded, because such power corrupts absolutely."
Pride swelled in my chest like a physical thing, warm and bright and fierce, but I could see the Emperor's face, and there was no mercy there, no recognition of his son's words. Only cold fury at this public humiliation, this challenge to everything he had built.
"My son is dead," the Emperor said, his voice cutting through Jalend's words like a blade. "Has been for years. You are an imposter, a pretender wearing a dead man's face."
"Then let me prove it," Jalend replied, stepping closer to his father. The crowd leaned forward as one, sensing the dramaplaying out before them. "Let me offer you something the dead cannot—mercy."
The word hit me like a physical blow. Mercy. For this man, this monster who had destroyed so many lives, who had built his throne on a foundation of bones.
