[ WP ] The last soldier of a once great empire sits alone in a small room . There is a knock on the door . Two men in uniforms have come for him .

The riots of yesteryear rang loudly now as they did before. Fire engulfed the market district with hundreds of militia flowing in from the main square. Partisans from each corner of the empire made their way to the capital to witness the birth of a new age. 
 
 
 And the death of an empire. 
 
 
 Sitting at the desk, I poured more light onto the sigil that once lay upon my shoulder. A stylized glyph, symbolising loyalty and strength. Certainly not to the empire, for that he had forsaken. Not to the emperor, whose oath he had broken repeatedly in the line of duty. Not to the people outside for loyalty had no meaning. 
 
 
 Loyalty to the greater good? Personal strength, no the *courage* to do what is necessary? 
 
 
 He had thought of the days gone by, the halcyon days of his youth. A place where innocence and naivety were smiled upon. Stark contrast to his bloodied hands. A knock shattered his concentration. 
 
 
 Two men in uniforms have come for him. 
 
 
 `` Enter.'' 
 
 
 The men wearing blackened miner clothing with a crude stitching of a white circle on their shoulders entered. They saluted with sharp movements. 
 
 
 `` The preparations are ready?'' he asked quietly. 
 
 
 They both nodded, one of them motioning towards to the door. The time had come. For the white phoenix to rise. 
 
 
 According to the Saints, it was said that the moment that the last soldier betrays your monarch is the moment that the empire will crumble. How true of the holy trio of Saints to foretell his rise. Exiting the room he moved towards the exit towards a balcony. He could hear the crowd out in the capital square. Before exiting, he closed his eyes. 
 
 
 In one motion, he exited and opened his eyes to the sight of victory. A new age. 
 
 
 *His* new age.
