Page 98 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
"Abdicate," Jalend continued, his voice steady despite the magnitude of what he was asking. "Step down. Let the people choose their own path. The cycle of blood ends today—even yours, father. Even yours can end with mercy instead of more death."
My entire life had been driven by vengeance. Every breath I had taken since the day they dragged me in chains from my burning village had been in service to one goal—to see the Empire burn, to watch those who had hurt my people pay for their crimes in blood. I had dreamed of watching arenas collapse with their masters trapped inside. I had fed on hatred for so long that I had almost forgotten how to feel anything else.
But standing there, listening to Jalius offer mercy to the man who had destroyed so many lives, I felt something shift inside me. A recognition so profound it left me breathless.
This is what I dreamed of, I realized, but vengeance isn't freedom. Justice is.
The thought was like lightning in my mind, illuminating corners of my soul I had kept dark for years. Vengeance was just another chain, another master demanding service. It had kept me alive through the worst of my slavery, yes, but it had also kept me trapped in the past, unable to imagine any future beyond the destruction of my enemies.
Justice was different. Justice meant building something new instead of just tearing down the old. Justice meant choosing to be better than those who had hurt us. There was no way we could start our new republic with murder. It had to begin with freedom.
The Emperor's face had gone ashen, his eyes wide with disbelief. This wasn't just rebellion—this was the complete dismantling of everything he'd built, everything he believed in.
"You would have me give up the throne?" he whispered, and for the first time since I'd laid eyes on him, he sounded genuinely shaken. "You would throw away an empire?"
"I would give the empire back to its people," Jalend replied. "Where it belongs."
He turned to address the crowd again. "You have been told that strength comes from conquest," Jalius continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast arena. "That glory lies in the subjugation of others, that an empire's greatness is measured by the suffering it can inflict. But I tell you now—that is the philosophy of cowards."The Emperor's face had gone white with fury, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he watched his son dismantle everything he had built with nothing but words and truth."True strength protects the innocent," Jalius declared. "True glory comes from lifting others up, not grinding them down. A true empire earns the loyalty of its people through justice, not fear."I felt tears burning at the corners of my eyes as I listened to him paint a vision of the world we had dreamed of in our darkest moments—a world where children didn't grow up in chains, where families weren't torn apart for sport, where dragons soared free in skies that belonged to no one."The Talfen are not our enemies," he said, gesturing toward the freed prisoners who stood watching with wonder and hope written across their faces. "They are our neighbours, our future, our friends and family. For too long we have feared and hated them, but today that shadow lifts." His voice grew stronger, more resonant, carrying to every corner of the arena. "Today we choose a different path. Not the Empire built on the backs of slaves, not the realm sustained by the suffering of the innocent—but something new. Something better."
The crowd's roar was deafening, a sound that seemed to shake dust from the ancient stones. I watched faces in the stands transform—the same people who had cheered gladiator deaths were now crying out for freedom, for justice, for the chance to choose their own destiny. But even as the soldiers around the arena began to throw down their weapons, I saw the Emperor's face twist with rage. He had lost everything—his soldiers, his people, his power—and men like him did not accept such losses gracefully.He moved toward Jalend with his arms spread wide, as if to embrace his son in defeat. For just a moment, I thought he might actually yield, might choose to live in a world where his word was not absolute law.Then I saw the glint of steel in his hand."Jalend!" I screamed, but it was too late.The dagger went into his side just below the ribs. Blood poured out over the golden blade and splashed onto the sand, and time seemed to fracture around me like broken glass.I had seen this before. Different time, different place, but the same terrible truth—the blood, the shocked expression, the sudden absence of everything that made a person whole. Tarus falling with Imperial steel in his chest, his eyes going dark. The tears streaming down my face as I tried to reach him, tried to hold him while he died in the dirt like an animal.I was moving back up before I realized I had decided to move, my sword singing as it cleared the scabbard. The Emperor stepped back from his son's falling body, blood dripping from the dagger in his hand, his eyes fixed on Jalend’s face. He didn’t see my blade until I had driven it up under his ribs, the sharp point piercing his heart, if he even had one. I twisted, dragging the blade back, and Emperor Valerius fell to the sand beside his son with his eyes wide in surprise. It was over, and I finally had my vengeance. I didn’t care.
I dropped to my knees beside Jalius, pressing my hands against the wound in his side. Blood seeped between my fingers,warm and red and terrifyingly human, but his eyes were clear and focused as he looked up at me.
"He'll live," Santius said, kneeling beside us. "The blade missed the vital organs. You'll have a scar, but you'll live to see the Republic you dreamed of."
“My father…” Jalend asked me, and I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry, he tried to kill you…”
I felt his hand cup my face and opened my eyes to find him looking up at me.
“I had to give him the choice, Livia. He made it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
My tears flowed without stopping then, and he brought me down to lay my head on his chest, stroking my hair as I cried for my parents, my brother, for Octavia, and for everyone else we had lost.
Santius stood and addressed the crowd, raising his sword toward the sky.
"The Emperor is dead," he declared, his voice carrying to every corner of the arena. "Long live Jalius Valerius."
Then, as sixty thousand people held their breath, he added: "The Empire is over. From this day forward, we are a Republic.”
The chant that rose from the crowd was like nothing I had ever heard. Not the bloodthirsty roar of spectators demanding death, but something deeper and cleaner—the sound of people choosing their own destiny for the first time in their lives.
"Republic!" they shouted, over and over, until the word seemed to take on physical weight, shaking the marble walls and rattling the iron gates. "Republic! Republic!"
I took a shaky breath, getting to my feet as servants from the palace rushed towards us with medical supplies, and found myself being pulled into Septimus’ arms. He looked down at me with something like wonder in his eyes."Tarus would be proud of you," he said quietly."My brother would be proud ofboth of us," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "And happy that we finally found each other, and a family of our own."I looked around the arena one final time—at the freed prisoners embracing their loved ones, at the dragons wheeling overhead in joyous spirals, at the crowd chanting for a future none of us had dared to imagine just hours before. The same type of people who had cheered while gladiators died in arenas across the Empire now cried for liberation, and the sound was like music after years of silence.Once, we fought in arenas while the crowds cheered our suffering. Today, we chose justice. Today, the crowds cheered for freedom.The Empire had fallen—not by blade alone, but by truth. And in its ashes, we would rise.
32
Three months had passed since the day the Empire fell, and I still found it surreal to stand in the Imperial Arena and see no blood on the ground.
The transformation was so complete it felt like stepping into a different world. Where blood-soaked sand had once drunk the lives of countless innocents, polished wooden platforms now gleamed in the afternoon sun, their surfaces reflecting the light like mirrors. The air that had once been thick with the copper tang of spilled blood and the acrid stench of fear now carried the sweet scent of fresh timber, burning incense, and the wildflowers that Talfen citizens had scattered in honour of their ancestors who had died here.
Where cages had once held prisoners and gladiators, banners now hung in the colours of the new Republic—deep blue for justice, gold for freedom, green for the living earth we all shared. The marble walls that had echoed with screams of the dying now carried the voices of citizens, sixty thousand people who had come not to watch death but to witness the birth of something that had never existed before.
I stood on the central platform where my father had died, my hand unconsciously moving to the scar beneath my robes. The wound had healed cleanly, Santius had been right about that, but it still ached on cold mornings—a reminder of how close we had all come to losing everything. Sometimes, in moments like this, I could almost see the ghosts of all who had fallen here: gladiators with their weapons raised, Talfen prisoners who had died with prayers on their lips, even the dragons who had been forced to burn their own kind for entertainment.
But now, instead of jeers and bloodthirsty roars, I heard children laughing in the stands, saw families, both Imperial and Talfen, sharing bread and pointing excitedly at the proceedings. Accepting the Talfen into society would not be easy or quick. The Empire had instilled so much fear and hate into its citizens, that it would be hard to fight back against so much conditioning, but we had begun, and we would not stop until all were seen as equal, and the legacy of the Empire would finally burn away to ash.
