Nothing.

He didn't know how long he found himself staring at it or how long it took to figure out he could feel he should be doing something else than looking at it.

It was endless, an all-encompassing nothingness that flanked on him from every side. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. It was like floating in a sea of black, but there was no cold, no warmth, no texture to the emptiness around him. It was as though he existed outside of existence itself.

Where am I? The thought drifted to the surface of his mind, unbidden but insistent.

There was a heaviness, a weight he couldn’t place. He tried to breathe, but the effort felt hollow, pointless. His chest ached for air, yet no breath came. There was no sensation of lungs expanding, no relief of oxygen filling him. And yet, he didn’t suffocate. He didn’t die.

Die.

The word rang in his mind, bringing with it a wave of scattered thoughts and fragmented images. They flickered before him, though his eyes didn't see anything . A throne room bathed in golden light. The fluttering of banners bearing his crest. A bed, soft but cold, and the sound of hushed and panicking voices. His thoughts clawed at the edges of these recollections, trying to piece them together, but they slipped through his grasp like sand through talons.

Who am I?

The question struck him like a blunt weapon. It was absurd, the kind of question one shouldn’t have to ask for it's obvious nature. Yet the answer didn't come. He searched, drifting through the darkness of his mind, feeling as though something vital was just out of reach.

Then, like a spark igniting a dormant fire, it came to him. I am the Emperor.

The realization slammed into him with force and with it came clarity. He was Grover. But not just any Grover, he was Grover the Fifth. Emperor of Griffonia. The ruler of an empire that stretched across the continent, or at least, it did before the dark times. He remembered the weight of the crown on his head, the way the nobles would bow as he entered a room, the expectations that had been placed upon him since the moment he could walk despite his extremely poor health.

But also he remembered the coldness of the bed. The weakness of his own body. The desperate voices of his doctors, a good friend standing by his side and the background noise of combat. And the last fleeting sensation of life slipping away. He had died. He remembered now. He had died in that bed, his weak body succumbing to the weight of stress and disease.

So why am I awake?

The question hung in his mind, unanswered. A wave of panic rose within him. If he was dead, how could he be here, thinking, feeling? Was this the afterlife? Some cruel joke of the gods? He fought against the void, trying once more to open his eyes, to see, to feel, to confirm this impossible reality.

And then he heard them. Voices.

One was deep, commanding, that sent a chill through him even in this formless state. The other was lighter, almost cheerful, but there was a strange undertone to it, something that made Grover’s unease become even more dominant.

“He’s stirring,” the lighter voice said, a hint of amusement in its tone. “I told you id work and he’d wake up.”

“Good,” the deeper voice replied. “Then why is it taking so long?”

“The machine just started up. Give him a moment. After all, he just… returned.”

The words sent a jolt through Grover. Returned? Returned to what? Who were these voices?

“Can he hear us?” the deep voice asked after a pause, its tone colder now, more calculated.

There was a moment of silence, and then the lighter voice answered, its tone practically dripping with glee. “Oh, he can hear us, all right. Can’t you, Grover?”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. His heart (if he even still had one) nearly stopped at the realization. They were talking about him. They knew he was awake.

Grover tried to respond, but no words came. His voice, his body, everything felt distant, beyond his control. But the deep voice spoke again, quieter this time, with an almost predatory calm.

“Activate right optic.”

As if triggered by the command, something within him shifted. The oppressive void gave way to a sudden burst of static, bright and blinding. Grover would've flinched instinctively if he had the ability to do so, though he felt no pain. Slowly, the static resolved into shapes, blurry at first, then sharpening into clarity.

He was seated on a throne. His throne. The grand seat of the Emperor, adorned with gold and intricate carvings of Griffonian history while still adorning his venerable imperial regalia. But the room around him was wrong. It wasn’t the shining palace he remembered. The air felt... Heavy, the light filtering through the tall windows was dim, as though the sun itself was hesitant to shine upon this scene.

Before him stood two figures. One was an albino griffon with piercing crimson eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul. The other was cloaked, the hood obscuring all but the curve of a beak that jutted out from the shadows.

The albino stepped forward, his movements rigid, fitting for a military being he was. Grover’s mind raced, recognition sparking like flint against stone. Ferdinand Dawnclaw. An officer in the Imperial military, ambitious, dangerous with an incredibly unique appearance.

The cloaked figure tilted its head, and with a pull from its claw, it removed the hood. The sight made Grover’s heart (if it was still capable at all) skip a beat. A black griffon with a mechanical monocle that enveloped his right eye, glowing faintly with a sinister light. Leopold. A name that dredged up memories of fear and revulsion. The disgraced scientist, expelled from Yale for his horrific and heretical experiments.

Leopold grinned, his beak curling in an almost mocking smile. “Ah, your majesty,” he said, his tone light and unsettlingly friendly. “A sight for sore optics, isn’t it?”

Ferdinand’s scowl deepened, and he waved a dismissive claw. “Spare me the theatrics, Leopold. What did you do?”

Leopold turned away from the emperor’s motionless body. His grin lingered as he glanced at Ferdinand Dawnclaw.

“What we did comrade,” Leopold began, gesturing toward the tangled mess of machinery that had turned the once grand and beautiful royal bed into a macabre laboratory. “We created a masterpiece, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ferdinand raised an eyebrow, folding his claws as he leaned slightly against the wall. “If you can call this desecration a masterpiece,” he muttered dryly, though his tone lacked any anger or hostility.

Leopold chuckled, the sound light and casual. “Oh, come now, Ferdinand. You and I both know this is beyond mere desecration. This is innovation. Progress.” He turned his attention back to the emperor’s frail form, his grin widening as he gestured toward the elaborate contraption. “This life-support system is unlike anything the Empire, or perhaps the world, has ever seen. A combination of advanced machinery, arcane elements smuggled straight from Equus, and the collaboration of some of the finest minds Yale had to offer, before they decided I was too ‘eccentric.’”

He sneered at the memory, then quickly recovered, waving a claw as if dismissing the thought. “But thanks to your... assistance,” Leopold continued, his grin returning, “I had the resources to make this happen. Without you smuggling in those precious magical artifacts, ensuring the right minds saw 'reason,' and bribing those fools of Gamia. I wouldn’t have been able to preserve him so completely.”

Ferdinand smirked very faintly at the praise, though his expression remained guarded. “You’re welcome, I suppose. Though I wouldn’t pat myself on the back too much. If this backfires, your head will roll long before mine.” It was obvious Ferdinand would make the mad scientist the scapegoat, not that he minded it. It wasn't the first nor would be the last time Leopold would be hunted down for his genius.

Grover could only watch in absolute silence from within the prison they had made of his own mind. The horror they inspired was all too real. He wanted to scream, to thrash, to demand an explanation for the atrocities that had been inflicted upon his body, but no muscle would move, no sound would escape his beak. He was trapped, a silent observer in his own broken form.

Suddenly, cutting the conversation of the two, the room’s heavy door creaked open, and a soldier rushed in, his expression a mix of urgency and worry. He froze mid-step, his eyes going wide as he caught sight of the emperor’s body, surrounded by the grotesque machinery.

“By the gods...” the soldier stammered, his beak slightly ajar.

Ferdinand snapped his talons sharply, drawing the soldier’s attention. “The emperor is not your concern,” he said coldly, his tone brooking no argument. “Now, report.”

The soldier hesitated but managed to compose himself, saluting quickly. “Sir, reports from the perimeter... they’ve sighted the young Grover, Grover the Sixth, approaching the palace. He’s under the protection of an unknown griffon bodyguard.”

The words sent a jolt of cold dread through the emperor’s mind. Grover... my son? No! Keep him away from this! Keep him safe!

Ferdinand’s crimson eyes lit up with a predatory glint, and a savage grin spread across his face. “So, the heir returns,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The grin sent a fresh wave of horror coursing through the emperor’s paralyzed form. No, no, no! He can’t! He wouldn’t dare harm him! My son! Please!

Ferdinand straightened, his grin never wavering as he addressed the soldier. "Order the nearest units to escort him to the palace,” he ordered smoothly. “We are duty-bound to ensure the safety of the heir and the future of the Empire. Make sure he is treated with the utmost respect.”

The soldier saluted and quickly exited. As the door shut, Leopold’s ever-cheerful demeanor darkened. The grin slipped from his face, replaced by a suspicious frown. “What exactly are you planning to do, Ferdinand?” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

Grover found himself inwardly agreeing with the scientist’s sudden change in tone. Even Leopold, with all his mad experiments and disregard for morality, seemed uneasy about what might come next.

Ferdinand simply shrugged, his expression one of infuriating nonchalance. “I don’t know yet, i didn't expect him to stick around. I expected him to be with the dogs in the north by now.” he admitted, though the sly smile that followed betrayed his intentions. “But I have... a few ideas.”

Grover’s internal panic intensified. The helplessness, the dread, the sheer agony of being unable to act, it was unbearable. He could only watch as his son unknowingly walked into the lion’s den, and the traitorous officer prepared to enact whatever schemes were brewing behind those crimson eyes.

Grover had a mouth, but he couldn't scream.

Author's Note

Another chapter, finally! Hope you guys like it, dragged my ass off with this one but i am very happy how it turned out, sorry for the small lenght of it, but if i didn't publish it now, probably this wouldn’t be relased until next year haha. Thank you all, love you guys and peace.