In early July of the year 9824 of the Radiant Calendar, Olthea was appointed commander of the Bloodfeather Legion by Velin and placed under Xuemiyya's direct command.
In mid-October, with only three months remaining before the barrier shrouding the entire New Continent disappeared, the Iserania Empire, one of only two empires on this land, entered its final twilight.
In the imperial capital of the Iserania Empire, the prosperity of days past had vanished, replaced by crumbling walls and ruins.
Deep within the palace, Elroy Iserania, the reigning emperor of the Iserania Empire, sat on the Throne. His hair was gray, his face haggard, and his clouded eyes stared silently ahead.
"Cough, cough, cough."
He suddenly coughed several times. Blood threaded with wisps of black miasma fell onto the crystal floor tiles, corroding pits into them.
The old man standing beside him hurriedly took out a handkerchief and offered it to him.
Elroy took the handkerchief and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. His already pale face grew a shade paler.
"The war drums outside have stopped, haven't they?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. They have stopped," the old man answered respectfully.
Leaning against the Throne, Elroy murmured, "We've held out another day."
Some time later, a general rushed into the hall and dropped shakily to his knees. Pressing his forehead to the floor, he reported in a voice choked with tears, "Y-Your Majesty, the Third... the Third Prince has fallen in battle."
Elroy let out a long sigh at the news.
"Help me up."
The old man stepped forward and helped Elroy to his feet.
Elroy descended from the dais and slowly made his way out of the hall.
The moment he stepped outside, he saw his third son lying on the ground, and sorrow welled up within him.