[b]On the world of Ciribac, 185 years after its unification under the Rozarrians[/b]

The Shadow Bell rang again and again, with each strike echoing across Rozarria, the capital city of the empire which shared its name. Though a faint mist blanketed the city, a massive crowd had gathered at the steps of the First Temple. A more illustrious gathering was never seen, the guests being the rich and powerful who ran the Empire, the cream of the aristocracy. They sometimes gathered in more social events, in the great parties that the nobility threw to amuse themselves, and to increase their own prestige. 

There was nothing celebratory about this day, however. As a drizzle fell, complete silence enveloped the assembly, disturbed only by the loud ringing and the crashing that the synchronized marching of a hundred men caused.

The procession made its way through the crowd, thirty men in front, thirty men behind, and twenty on each side. In this way, they guarded from all directions the royal family: The Emperor himself, towering above lesser men, marching on resolute, followed by the dozen or so members of his direct family. Two men carried an ornate coffin at the centre of it all: the Crown Princes Garris Rozzaria and Armand Rozarria. As the party advanced, the crowd knelt in unison on each side of the wide street. 

Finally, they reached the steps of the First Temple. The Imperial guard fanned out, making a demi-circle of uniforms around the royal party. In front of the temple was a giant stone brazier. As the princes laid the coffin down in it, His Majesty turned to the crowd. 

"A Prince has died. A paragon of his nation, Marevan Rozarria, count of Telles, served our glorious Empire his entire life," he boomed with a voice that could carry for miles. "With his death, we are much diminished. We salute you, Prince Marevan."

"We salute his memory, and mourn his passing," the assembly chanted, still kneeling, the words being tradition at royal funerals. At this, His Majesty made a sign, and two servants rushed forward, carrying torchest. These they handed to the Crown Princes, who in turn placed them in the brazier. At once, the fire caught, and a great plume of flame erupted, reaching hundreds of feet in the air. The Emperor did not even look.

"Rise," he ordered instead, and ten thousand noblemen did so in unison. 

"The death of the Crown Prince, the heir to the throne of Rozarria, and my own son, was a tragedy. But do not make the mistake of thinking that it weakens our Empire. Far from it! Tragedy does not weaken! Tragedy STRENGTHENS! It is only through tragedy that we can overcome our weaknesses, both of strength, and of sentimentality." 

"In this universe, there is but one law: The strong prey upon the weak. This is how weakness is purged! Those who cannot muster the strength to survive to not DESERVE to survive! Do not pity those without power; crush them, without mercy or regret."

"This is why Britannia is great. We do not deny this reality, we embrace it! And it is because we accept it that our Empire shines as it does. Greatness cannot be born without brutality. And so, I say to you, do not pity those without power; crush them, without mercy or regret. Serving death upon the weak is the kindest thing one can do."

"From Prince Marevan's brutal murder at the hands of Inferiors, we must draw strength. Some will speak against retaliation, warning that it will lead to even greater bloodshed yet. I say, let the blood flow! Violence is beauty incarnate! Fill yourselves with rage, and scour the stars of those without the will to survive!"

"Long live Rozarria! LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" At this, the crowd joined in. 

The Emperor departed for the interior of the Temple, to pay his respects directly to the ancestors. Only he was allowed within those holy walls. As he left, Princess Lerane moved forward to adress the crowd. "Honorable citizens of the Empire," she said with an authority that defied her young age of twenty-six, "I would like to say a few words concerning my departed brother, whose death has shaken us all. He was a good man, a kind man, a..."
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[b]Shortly thereafter, within the Imperial Palace[/b]

"...a pompous ass who didn't know his right foot from his left," Lerane went on angrily, "but for some reason, we've given him the funeral of a war hero."

Armand Rozarria, second in line to the Imperial throne, raised an eyebrow and shifted in his chair. Luckily, they were alone in the room; that kind of talk was dangerous, and both their heads could end up on spikes because of it, but of course Lerane didn't care. "It doesn't matter who he was, all that matters is what he can be turned into. He'll be more useful to father as a corpse than he ever was living." He caught himself then, realizing what he had said. "But, ah, we shouldn't talk about that. That line of thought is bad for one's health."

"Please," his older sister irritatedly. "It's occured to all of us, I promise you that." 

Though their brother's death had publically been blamed on an Inferior terrorist, members of the Royal family and the nobility knew better. He had been shot in the stomach at point blank range, while taking a stroll through the palace gardens. The idea of a terrorist sneaking into the most well garded mansion in the Empire, killing the heir apparent, and sneaking off without being detected, was simply ridiculous. No, Armand had no doubt that the murder was orchestrated from within, but by whom?

His Majesty could never have done it, he knew. Not out of some parental love for his son, god forbid. No, the one thing the Emperor loved was his title, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. Murdering one's heir was definitely not a seemly thing to do. 

Prince Garris, then? His older brother was certainly the obvious culprit. As the new heir to the Empire, he personally benefited a great deal from their brother's tragic demise. Also, he was extremely traditional and devoted to their father's ideals. By blaming the act on Inferiors, he would be able to justify a crackdown, stripping them of even more rights, if that was possible. But something told Armand that Garris was not the one responsible; Perhaps because his brother seemed so obviously guilty of it.

In fact, it seemed as if the one responsible had planned it out so that Garris would seem to be the culprit, by virtue of benefiting the most. A plot to set the contenders against each other, perhaps. But whom would gain from that? Adeline, Armand thought without a second's hesitation. Though the second-oldest child of His Majesty, as a woman, she had no possibility of inheriting his throne. She had all the ambition of a man, however, and was as vicious as a viper in dealing with those who stood in her way. She would murder her own brother without a second's thought, he knew, if she thought it would pave her way to the throne. 

Still, he had no proof, so all he said was: "We may never know the one responsible, and that's probably for the best. I'm more concerned with the war with the Compact. With all the chaos our brother's death has caused, nobody seems to know what will come of it. Garris is practically fuming trying to get support from the nobles for another go at the traitors."

"He won't find any," Lerane said, taking a sip of tea as she did. "The nobles have seen what a mess last year's campaign was, and they will want no part in another one, I can promise you that. Duke Korwitz will promise his support, but as for the others..." She shuddered as she said Korwitz's name. Armand didn't blame her; Half human, half machine, Korwitz quite literally had no heart. He was the kind of man to give you nightmares just by looking at you, with his uncanny robot eye.

"At any rate, an even bigger obstacle is all the insurrections," she went on after a pause. "There are seventeen worlds that are in the midst of rebellion, and those are only the ones the Empire can't officially deny. Imperial authorities are being found murdered, our liasion offices are being firebombed, and when we chase after the terrorists, they hide back in the crowds, and its impossible to identify them again. Brute military force won't solve these conflicts."

"I disagree," Armand said with a smirk, "there is always a military option. We could simply bombard the planets from orbit, purging them of both the guilty and the innocent."

Lerane gave him an exasperated look. "That's no option, and you know it. Aside from the horrific moral burden, a massacre like that would just cause other worlds to tip into chaos. We can't solve this with a hammer: This whole mess is on our shoulders because of the excessive brutality we've treated the people with the past few years."

Armand sighed. The people, she had called the Inferiors. She had always been compassionate, and she seemed to regard them as equal in value to true-born Rozarrians. But one did not simply speak against Imperial policy. "Careful," he warned her again, "some things are simply better not said. You heard the emperor, the 'strong' must crush the 'weak'. And Imperial policy is what the Emperor says it is."

"Mph," his sister said, eying him with a curious look. "But what if there was a different Imperial policy?" As she explained herself, Armand's eyes went wide, and he nearly dropped his tea cup.