WAR OF EMPİRES: ANCİENT REQUİEM

The Year of Saston, 620 After the Pratogony, The 3rd day of the Month of Sanran

Summer rain was falling gently on the domes of Alphamos's stone-wrought, majestic palace. The sky hung over the city like stretched gray silk; droplets struck the palace walls—sometimes sharp, sometimes soft—as if even the gods whispered when they breathed upon this place. Centuries-old pine and cypress trees swayed slowly before the palace, and as the wind echoed across the wet stones, it felt as though even time itself had grown heavy. In that moment, the Palace of Alphamos stood like an ancient temple being cleansed by water.

Along the stone-paved paths of the garden, a lone figure walked. It was the Caesar himself. A thin, dark cloak draped over his shoulders, rain touching his face—yet he walked as though nothing could reach him. He loved walking in the rain. There was a noiseless silence in such moments—a silence where the voices of the past, the future, and all responsibilities faded away… Only the rain and him. That's why he came out alone to the garden, distancing himself from the stillness of the palace to lose himself in the damp serenity.

But that day... something was different.

Suddenly, a great Silence fell over the palace. Caesar stood as if in the middle of a desolate desert, the sound beneath his feet echoing with emptiness. He narrowed his eyes, glancing around. Golden sands stretched toward the horizon where they met the gray sky. No sound, no sign of life. Just a strange silence and a hot wind that never ceased to blow.

"Where is this place?" he muttered to himself, his breath becoming uneven.

"What's happening here? How did I get here?"

He turned his head. On all sides, only endless dunes. But then—right ahead—a silhouette appeared. Instinctively, Caesar reached for his sword. His back muscles tensed, his eyes sharpened.

"Who are you?"

The figure began to approach slowly. It looked human, but its face was shrouded in a veil of darkness. A deep shadow—almost the embodiment of night—clung to its face. No eyes, no expression, just a hollow void.

Silently, it reached out a hand toward Caesar. He immediately swung his sword. The steel sliced through the air with a hiss but passed right through the figure. Like a mirage, the silhouette scattered.

Caesar's pupils widened. He stepped back, breath racing, sweat beading across his brow. The air grew heavy, as if his lungs were filling not with air but with sand. Struggling to breathe, he lifted his head and looked to the sky. And in that moment...

The sky cracked like shattered glass.

A deep rift tore open at the center of the heavens, spiderwebbing outward like a cosmic fracture. From the fissure, something emerged, something no nightmare could fully describe. The being was entirely white, but not with purity—rather, with the silent scream of misfortune. Its face bore two eyes—one centered on its forehead, the other just beneath. Both were pitch black, cold and empty. And beneath them stretched a chilling smile... not of joy, but of rot. Its lips curled open slightly, revealing teeth black as obsidian—hard as stone, and as lifeless as death.

From the rift, a hand emerged. Long, thin, skeletal fingers reached slowly downward toward the sands. It looked divine—but the darkness it came from whispered of curses, not divinity.

Caesar tried to retreat, but his feet felt sunken in the sands. His breath quickened. He reached again for his sword, but his fingers were soaked with sweat—too slick to grip.

Sweat poured down his back, from his brow, soaking his garments. The air was aflame. The closer the being came, the hotter the desert became. Every breath burned. Caesar coughed, his vision blurred. All threats he'd known were nothing compared to... this.

This was fear, given form.

The creature's hand reached closer—slow but unstoppable. Each finger blanketed him like a curse, every motion echoing with infinite dread. Caesar's eyes were wide, his chest frozen. Time itself seemed to halt. The heat was unbearable. His sweat evaporated before touching the ground, as though his flesh were laid upon embers. He could barely stand—yet still, he watched through trembling fingers, into those cursed, empty eyes...

And then...

A guttural, soul-rattling voice echoed from the void.

"See me."

It wasn't one voice but hundreds of souls whispering a shared curse directly into Caesar's mind.

Then everything fell apart.

Light... sound... heat... the creature... the desert... Gone.

After a droning sound that felt like it would tear his soul apart, Caesar found himself once again in the rain-soaked gardens of the palace. The sky was still gray. The rain still fell.

But Caesar could no longer stand.

His weakened legs trembled, and he dropped to his knees. For a moment, he stayed there. His hands pressed into the wet earth. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling erratically, and his pupils still trembled with the echo of a shaken mind. A look of sheer confusion stretched across his face.

He couldn't comprehend what he'd seen.

Perhaps what he had seen... wasn't meant to be understood.

The raindrops now seemed to try washing away the sweat and fear from his face. But the shadow that had settled in Caesar's mind was far too deep to be so easily erased.