The world had not always been united under one crown. For three hundred years, the great continents had been torn apart by what historians now called simply "the War." Eleven mighty empires had battled for supremacy, each controlling multiple countries and territories. The fighting had been relentless—armies marching across borders, cities changing hands, and entire generations growing up knowing nothing but conflict.
Within those eleven empires, one hundred and thirty-six countries had existed as either subjects or allies, while nineteen independent states had tried to remain neutral, though neutrality proved nearly impossible during such widespread chaos. Trade routes were disrupted, families were separated by shifting battle lines, and the very idea of lasting peace seemed like a distant dream.
Then came the Rienhard Empire's final campaign. Unlike the other ten empires, Rienhard had not sought to destroy its enemies but to absorb them. Their strategy was patience rather than brute force. They offered terms to defeated nations—keep your local customs, maintain your royal families, govern your own people, but acknowledge Rienhard as the supreme authority. It was a choice between total destruction and vassalage.
One by one, the empires fell. Some surrendered after seeing their neighbors' fates. Others fought until their resources were exhausted, then accepted the same terms they could have had years earlier. The nineteen independent states, seeing which way the wind was blowing, negotiated their own agreements before the war reached their borders.
When the dust settled, the Era of Absolute Rule began. All one hundred and thirty-six countries and nineteen former independent states had become vassal territories under Rienhard's banner. The Aliester family, who had ruled Rienhard for generations, now found themselves the sovereigns of the entire known world.
That had been five hundred years ago. Five centuries of unprecedented peace and stability. The local royal families still existed, still wore their crowns and held their ceremonies, but everyone understood the reality. They were vassals, not true rulers. Real power flowed from the Rienhard capital to every corner of the world.
The Aliesters themselves remained distant figures to most people. They ruled from their grand capital, far from the daily concerns of farmers and merchants and city workers. Most citizens of the vassal states lived their entire lives without seeing a true member of the royal bloodline.
The pure-blood Aliesters, as they were known, followed ancient traditions that few outsiders understood. Before each heir could claim the throne, they were required to complete a secret ritual—a tradition so closely guarded that even the vassal kings knew nothing of its nature. Some speculated it was a test of worthiness, others believed it involved ancient oaths or pilgrimages to sacred sites. The truth remained locked within the Aliester family itself.
This was the world in which all people lived—stable, peaceful, and utterly dominated by a single royal line whose power had gone unquestioned for five hundred years. In the vassal country of Livenhime, in its capital city of Barako, life continued under this reality just as it did everywhere else.
The Beginning
Barako stretched along the coast where merchant ships brought goods from all corners of the vassal territories. The harbor stayed busy from dawn to dusk, with workers loading and unloading cargo while gulls circled overhead. The city's thirty thousand residents went about their daily business—bakers kneading dough before sunrise, shopkeepers arranging their displays, children playing in the narrow streets between stone houses.
Aria Kronen walked through the administrative district each morning, her officer's uniform identifying her among the flow of people heading to work. At nineteen, she held the rank of fourth-level city officer, making her the first woman in Barako to reach that position. The achievement had taken her three years of steady work and proving herself to colleagues who hadn't initially expected much from her.
The administrative building housed the offices that kept the city running. Aria's desk sat in a room with five other officers who handled everything from shipping permits to tax collection. Her specialty was harbor operations—coordinating with dock workers, reviewing cargo manifests, and resolving the disputes that inevitably arose when merchants competed for the best berths and fastest service.
"Morning, Kronen," Marcus called out as he settled at his desk. He was in his thirties, reliable and friendly enough once he'd gotten used to working alongside a woman. "The harbor master needs those new docking fee calculations by Wednesday."
"I'll have them finished by tomorrow," Aria said, pulling out the relevant files. She had learned that completing work ahead of schedule earned her more credibility than meeting deadlines.
Her morning involved reviewing requests from fishing boat captains who wanted permission to expand their operations, checking inventory reports from the grain merchants, and approving storage permits for the textile traders. The work required attention to detail and an understanding of how different parts of the harbor's business affected each other, but it wasn't particularly complicated.
At midday, Aria walked home through streets she'd known since childhood. Her neighborhood consisted of modest houses built from local stone, each with a small garden and enough room for a family. The buildings had weathered many coastal storms but remained solid and comfortable.
She lived in the house that had belonged to her father, Captain Kronen, before his death five years earlier. He had served in Livenhime's army, maintaining order within the country's borders as part of the broader peacekeeping apparatus that served the Aliester empire. When he died in the line of duty, Aria had been fourteen and suddenly alone except for the young man who lived in the house next door.
That neighbor, Rick Gwon, was now her husband. She found him in their kitchen, stirring a pot that smelled of vegetables and herbs from their garden.
"Good timing," Rick said, smiling as she hung up her coat. "I was just finishing up here."
At twenty-one, Rick was two years older than Aria, tall and lean with dark hair that never quite stayed in place. He had taken over most of the household tasks while Aria focused on her career, and he seemed genuinely content with the arrangement.
Their lunch was simple—bread, cheese, soup, and vegetables. Rick had a talent for making ordinary ingredients taste better than they had any right to. They sat at their small table by the window that looked out on their neighbor's garden.
"Anything interesting happening at the harbor?" Rick asked.
"The usual merchant complaints about fees and storage space. Nothing that can't be sorted out." Aria tore off a piece of bread. "What about you? Did you finish fixing the roof tiles?"
"Most of them. I'll get the rest done this afternoon if the weather holds."
Rick had grown up in the house next door, though his circumstances had been quite different from Aria's. Rick's old butler had once told her that Rick's family had once held minor noble status in Livenhime, but when his parents died, that status died with them. By the time ten-year-old Aria met twelve-year-old Rick, he was living with just a few servants who gradually found other employment as the years passed.
He had never talked much about his family's history or what had caused their fall from noble standing. Aria had never pressed him for details. Most people had difficult stories somewhere in their past, and she was more interested in the life they were building together than in the life he had lost.
When her father died, Rick and his remaining servants had helped her with the practical matters of living alone while she finished her training for city service. As they grew older, their childhood friendship had developed into something deeper. They had married a year ago in a simple ceremony attended by neighbors and blessed by the local priest.
Their current life suited them both. Aria found satisfaction in her work keeping Barako's harbor operations running smoothly. Rick seemed genuinely happy managing their household and maintaining their property. They earned enough money to live comfortably, their neighbors respected them, and they enjoyed each other's company.
"I should head back," Aria said, though she made no immediate move to leave. Their midday meals together were the part of each day she looked forward to most.
"The harbor will manage without you for a few more minutes," Rick said, reaching over to take her hand.
It was a familiar gesture that reminded her of all the years he had been part of her life—as the boy next door who had become her closest friend, as the young man who had helped her through her father's death, and now as her husband who understood that her work mattered to her without needing to compete with it for her attention.
When Aria walked back to the administrative building, she felt the quiet satisfaction that came from a life that worked well. Her job kept an important part of the city functioning properly. Her marriage gave her the emotional stability that made everything else possible. She and Rick had built something solid together in their corner of Barako, and that was enough.