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It's the power of envy, he was taught. While he learned in his youth that the Dragon-blooded invoke the power of the elements to bolster their abilities he merely needed to imitate the Yozi, in his case Szoreny, and the essence stirring within him would grant him power. So long as he acted to exceed others, either by overcoming them or dismantling them, he would succeed. It was hard to wrap his head around it. But not hard to use. He always acted with the refined dignity of nobility, of someone who was born better than others. And he was bitterly jealous of those who received the blessings he thought were his by right. He simply needed to lean into those urges.
With that he soared to the very top of his class, as everyone above him plummeted down. Even Yuen reaped great rewards from his machinations as he rose to the ranks of the top ten after the yearly exams. But they could not give their achievements the proper celebration they deserved. They planned on hosting a party not much after they got their results. Sadly grim news spread all across the Blessed Isle, sapping everyone's good mood.
It started with a baseless rumor that was as unbelievable as preposterous. But over the course of days more and more evidence came to light, until finally the Deliberative came forth and confirmed everyone's suspicions. The city of Thorns has fallen.
Thorns was an imperial satrapy, but the populace always considered themselves a proper part of the Realm through and through. They were the most loyal subjects of the Empress, and were probably the center of culture outside the Isle itself. Known for its elegance, refinement and skill at the fine arts, Thorns was a popular vacation spot for the wealthy of the Realm. And now it was gone, besieged, taken. By scores of the vengeful dead nonetheless.
Horror stories spread throughout the Blessed Isle of how one night the hungry dead and scores of undead nightmares rose up in a great and terrible army, led by a new breed of strange, black Anathema and how they took the city in a single night. The heroic Dragon-blooded defenders were all slaughtered, those who dared to still resist were put to the stake. And once none were left to stand against the tides of the dead a walking mountain of shambling, dead meat moved on the city. This behemoth carried on its back a dark castle, which spread a dark miasma over the city. Thorns became what's known as a Shadowland, a place where Creation and the Underworld intersect. Here ghosts and other abyssal abominations could linger without having to fear the cleansing power of the sun.
This was unheard of. Never before have the dead risen up in such armies, nor could they turn entire regions into Shadowlands before. These new "Abyssal" Anathema were also quite worrying. But the worst thing was that the Empress did not return from her exile to turn the full might of the Realm on these abominations. She was truly gone, and her Realm now had to deal with whatever this was.
