Three days had crawled by since the sudden, brutal death of the Chief Priestess, Sarzi Uno. The air still tasted of ash and omen. The news had spread like wildfire—flickering through border towns, burning through the spines of every region, whispered by traders, screamed by prophets, and spun by drunkards. Yet despite the reach of this tale, countless remained oblivious—either willfully deaf or buried in ignorance.
Opinions split the empire like a rusted sword. Some swore the Emperor, in all his divine birthright, could do whatever pleased him—be it raising temples or razing them with a glance. Others spat on his name, calling him a mad tyrant too weak to govern his loins, much less an entire empire. And then there were the indifferent—the ones who believed fate was blind and cruel. To them, Sarzi Uno's death was nothing more than chance spinning its wheel.
But the blood had consequences.
The priestesses—fierce and loyal under Sarzi Uno's leadership—did not weep. They did not pray. They burned. In a fiery display of rage, they set the Grand Temple ablaze, the sacred curtains turning to cinders, divine scrolls eaten by flame. Then they vanished, shedding their robes and titles like snakeskin, disappearing into the common lands. Not one stayed behind to hear from the gods.
At the time, the Emperor was oblivious. If he had known, he might have thrown golden chains around their ankles to keep them tethered. But now, it was too late. The bridge to the gods had collapsed. Sarzi Uno alone held the path—her rituals, her sacred knowledge, all turned to ash with her breath. And the cruelest part? That path was sealed not by enemies... but by the Emperor's own lust.
In the infamous inn known as Lofty Pleasures, with its half-lit corners and scent of spilt sweat and spirits, a familiar figure sauntered in—the trader, Leny. He was lean and leathery, his skin kissed by foreign suns, his voice always seasoned with secrets. He dropped into his usual stool like it was a throne, his fingers trailing over the worn counter.
Podri, the burly drink-mixer with arms like overstuffed bread rolls, lit up when he saw him.
"Hey, Leny! You got any gist for us today?" he bellowed, already reaching for the jug.
Leny said nothing. He simply dragged his empty cup across the counter, slow and deliberate. It was a ritual. Everyone in Lofty Pleasures knew: Leny spoke only when his drink was full.
Podri chuckled and poured generously. The golden liquid splashed in, frothing at the rim.
Leny rubbed his palms together and took a swig. Around him, the atmosphere shifted—laughter died down, dice games paused mid-roll. A few leaned in; others hushed their companions. Even the whores by the window stopped combing their wigs.
"Three days ago..." Leny began, his voice low and grainy like sand through silk, "...a dark truth crawled out of the palace, dripping like oil from a cracked pot."
Eyes widened. A stool creaked under someone leaning too hard. One of the women—overweight and easily startled—let out a loud fart from the tension, and the inn erupted briefly with laughter and curses, some fanning their faces dramatically.
"Someone from this very inn," Leny continued, undeterred, "heard my tale of the black dragon of Region 32. And that bastard—bless his stupid soul—carried the story straight to the Emperor."
Gasps swept the room like wind through dry grass.
"Now imagine... the Emperor, balls-deep in lust," Leny grinned, dragging the words out like honey. "The man had taken an aphrodisiac stronger than bull-root. His rod was harder than prophecy itself, and his appetite, unholy. One of his concubines passed by—gods save her—and the beast in him broke free. He took her. On the floor. On the throne. In the hallway. Even against the statue of his own father. Like a demon riding a storm."
Podri choked on his drink, wheezing with laughter. A man at the back slammed the table.
"And just then," Leny added, eyes twinkling, "a messenger arrived. Wanted to deliver the story. Emperor didn't even look at him. Just waved him off—'Not now, I'm not interested in men,' he says. But he tells the fool to fetch the priestess instead. To verify the tale of the dragon…"
He paused, sipping again. Faces leaned forward.
"Big mistake," Leny said, his voice dropping into a gravelled whisper. "Because the Emperor's rod wasn't just hard—it was cursed. His inner demon had taken over. And when Sarzi Uno came… she wasn't spared."
The silence that followed was thick and slow.
"He defiled the very mouthpiece of the gods," Leny said, his smile fading now, replaced by a sliver of something darker. "And when it was over, she lay there—not in pain, not in shock... but quiet. As if her soul had fled. And with her... the gods left too."
No one laughed now. Even the candles in the inn seemed to dim.
Leny leaned back in his chair, one leg lazily crossed over the other, his finger trailing a lazy circle around the rim of his cup like a man who knew he had the entire inn dancing in his palm.
"So drink, my friends. Drink and laugh while you still can. Because we no longer live under the eyes of the gods... but under the sweaty, trembling shadow of a man who mistook desire for divinity."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd, but Leny wasn't done. He slid his cup forward without a word. Podri, with the solemnity of a priest offering communion, refilled it with a long pour. Leny raised it, sipped, then continued with the slow relish of a man dishing out hot gossip baked in hell's kitchen.
"In anguish," Leny said, licking his lips, "I heard this from the palace guards themselves—Sarzi Uno cursed the Emperor with her final breath. She said, and I quote, 'May your rod burn in your sleep.' Then she drank poison like a queen and dropped dead on the Emperor's polished floor."
A unified gasp blasted through the room like a drumbeat. Even the floorboards seemed to creak in disbelief.
"A few days later, the maids—shivering like wet chickens—dragged her stiff body out and tossed it by the servant's quarters like bad meat," Leny added, slapping the table. "The Emperor? Didn't say a word. Just stared into the sky like a man whose dick had just started whispering secrets to him."
That was the last straw for one young man at the back. He sprang up, face red with rage.
"This is all made-up bullshit! You people are drunk on spiced lies!"
But before he could sit his righteous behind back down, a deep voice cut through the crowd like a butcher's knife.
"No, by the gods, what Leny says is true."
Heads turned. The speaker was an old man who'd been quietly nursing his drink in the corner, his eyes hidden beneath a dusty hood. He leaned forward now, his voice heavy with eerie calm.
"You can go see the Grand Temple yourself—nothing but ash and ghost songs. The priestesses burnt it down and vanished. And that strange wind… did no one feel it? Around three in the morning?"
Gasps erupted again—louder this time.
"I knew that wind was cursed," a one-eyed man barked. "It blew open my back door and tossed my goat like a rag!"
"I thought a god had descended!" cried one of the whores, her mascara already half-smudged from tears of laughter and dread.
"That," the old man said solemnly, "was the curse taking hold. The gods left us that night. The empire's belly is now bare."
Silence settled, thick and uneasy. A stool groaned. Someone's cup fell and rolled across the floor with a tragic clink.
"So you see, my friends," Leny said, rising to his feet like a prophet made of rum and charisma, "we are neck-deep in goat shit. Unless a new emperor rises—one with his pants zipped and his mind sharp—we're all going to feel the wrath of abandoned gods. And let me tell you… gods don't forgive. They smite. Hard."
Some in the room still wore skeptical faces, but many more wore fear like a second skin. One man crossed himself with a shaky hand. Another quietly slid his drink away, as though alcohol might anger the divine further.
And then—somewhere near the door—a woman whimpered, "I'm going back to my village. I'm not staying in a city where the emperor's penis started an apocalypse!"
That broke the tension like a blade. Laughter exploded through the inn—wild, nervous, slightly hysterical. Even Podri fell back against the counter wheezing.
But beneath that laughter, beneath the jokes and mockery, fear nestled deep. Because if even a sliver of what Leny said was true... then the empire wasn't just ruled by a man anymore.
It was ruled by chaos.
And chaos, unlike the gods, never leaves quietly.