Legacy of the Broken Sword

The Fall of an Empire

The gates of the imperial capital loomed on the horizon, battered and broken. Everett staggered toward them, his armor cracked and bloodstained, his sword sheathed but dragging slightly with each step. His body screamed for rest, but the gnawing guilt in his chest drove him forward.

He had failed.

The streets were unrecognizable. Smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of ash and decay. Buildings lay in ruins, their stone walls scorched black. Bodies of soldiers and civilians alike lined the cobblestone paths, their lifeless forms a grim testament to the empire's defeat.

Everett's mind raced as he approached the palace. He needed answers. How had the Alcardian forces breached the capital so quickly? Where was the emperor? The imperial family?

The city felt abandoned, but as Everett turned a corner, he found the answer. Alcardian banners hung from windows and walls, their crimson and gold insignias stark against the gray of the ruins. Soldiers patrolled the streets, their armor pristine compared to the tattered remnants of the empire's defenders.

The empire had fallen.

Recognition and Fear

Everett kept his head low, hoping to avoid attention. But his towering figure and distinct presence made him impossible to miss.

"Stop!" a voice shouted behind him.

Everett turned slowly to find a group of Alcardian soldiers blocking the street. Their weapons were drawn, their expressions a mix of fear and aggression.

One soldier stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Everett. "It's him," he hissed. "The Demon of the Empire."

The others tensed, their grips tightening on their weapons.

"He's still alive?" one soldier muttered. "After everything, he survived?"

Everett said nothing. He stood still, his sword hanging limp at his side. He made no move to defend himself, even as the soldiers advanced.

"You're a monster," another spat. "Do you have any idea how many of our comrades you killed? You should be dead."

One soldier raised his spear, stepping closer. "We'll make sure of that now."

The Commander Intervenes

Before the soldier could strike, a commanding voice rang out. "Hold!"

The soldiers froze, their heads snapping toward the source. A tall figure approached—a man clad in Alcardian officer's armor, his presence exuding authority.

"Commander Veyar," one of the soldiers stammered, lowering his weapon.

Veyar stopped a few paces away, his piercing gaze fixed on Everett. For a moment, there was only silence as the commander sized him up.

"So, this is the infamous Everett," Veyar said finally, his tone measured but laced with intrigue. "The weapon of the empire."

Everett met his gaze but remained silent.

The commander's lips curled into a faint smile. "You don't look so invincible now."

One of the soldiers stepped forward, gesturing toward Everett with his spear. "Commander, let us finish him off. He's a monster. He doesn't deserve to live."

Veyar held up a hand, silencing the soldier. "No," he said firmly. "Killing him here would be a waste."

The soldiers exchanged confused glances.

"We'll bring him back to Alcardia," Veyar continued. "Let the matriarch decide his fate. She'll know what to do with him."

Arrest

Two soldiers approached Everett cautiously, their weapons ready.

"Drop your sword," one of them ordered.

Everett hesitated for a moment before releasing his grip on the hilt. The blade clattered to the ground, the sound echoing in the silence.

The soldiers seized his arms, roughly binding them with heavy iron chains. Everett didn't resist. He allowed himself to be disarmed and shackled, his mind too numb to care.

As they dragged him through the city, the soldiers muttered among themselves.

"He doesn't even fight back."

"Is he really human? After everything he's done, how is he still standing?"

"No wonder they called him a demon."

The journey out of the capital was slow and humiliating. Civilians who had been hiding emerged to watch, their eyes filled with a mix of awe, fear, and hatred. Some whispered curses; others threw stones.

Everett ignored them all.

The Road to Alcardia

The Alcardian soldiers escorted Everett out of the ruins of the imperial capital and onto the main road leading to their homeland. The procession was heavily guarded, a testament to the fear Everett still commanded despite his broken state.

Commander Veyar rode at the front, occasionally glancing back at Everett. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease. This man—this so-called weapon—had been the empire's greatest force of destruction. Yet here he was, shackled and silent, offering no resistance.

"Why don't you fight?" Veyar asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Everett didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his expression unreadable.

Veyar frowned but didn't press the issue. He would leave the questioning to the matriarch.

The Weight of Defeat

As the Alcardian banners swayed in the wind and the imperial ones lay trampled underfoot, Everett couldn't ignore the bitter truth. He had been the empire's sword, its shield, its crutch. But in the end, even he couldn't save it.

And now, he was no longer a warrior. He was a prisoner, bound for the land of his enemies, his fate uncertain.

For the first time in years, Everett felt something unfamiliar creeping into his heart.

Doubt.