Chapter 1: Beginning of an End
A dull black-and-white guillotine stood at the center of the square. Its blade, smeared with rust and dried blood, gleamed faintly under the gray light of morning.
Kneeling at its base was a man—Lancelot Haier.
Once heir to a family that ruled the nation for fifty years, he now knelt in shackles, his fine clothes shredded and soaked in blood. The tailored uniform that once symbolized power and prestige was now a tattered banner of defeat, dirtied by mud.
"Kill him!"
"Bring down the tyrant’s son!"
"Lancelot Haier must die!"
Jeers turned into roars. Fruit and stones flew. Someone hurled a broken placard. Another spat. The name Haier no longer inspired fear—only fury.
But he just got caught in the mess.
Lancelot didn’t fight the crowd’s judgment. How could he? His last name alone was a curse, etched into decades of oppression and corruption. The truth—that he had tried to break away from it, that he’d planned reforms behind closed doors—was irrelevant. Too late. Too hidden. The people didn’t care for nuance. They wanted an ending.
And so he accepted it.
The guillotine blade gleamed above him. He felt the cold kiss of steel in the air, the vibration of tension humming through the wood beneath his knees. His head was locked in place.