200 Years ago.
The Emperor opened his eyes and looked around his room. The sun had not yet risen far enough to peek over the mountains, as it would do quite soon, judging by the pink clouds.
He looked at his hands, which were shackled and chained to his bed. How long had it been this time?
A few minutes later, Steward walked into his room, holding a platter with his breakfast on it. A bowl of soup, bread, and a cup of tea.
"Worry not, my friend, I am in my right mind today." The emperor said calmly.
Steward sighed, a relieved expression on his face. He placed the breakfast tray on the emperor's nightstand before unlocking his cuffs.
"It is good to see you again, my lord." He said, smiling carefully.
Steward looked, in all respects, just like all the previous stewards. His father, who had been Steward before him, and his father, and his father before. But somehow, the emperor felt like he didn't know this one nearly as well as any of the others, even though he had ascended to the position nearly a decade ago.
"How long have I been gone, Steward?" He asked quietly, as he sipped from his tea.
"Exactly forty days, my liege." Steward said.
By the goddess, he thought. That was much too long.
"That's longer than..." he started to say, but he trailed off before he could finish his sentence.
"Yes," Steward said. "Longer than you were present."
The emperor sat up, anxiety seeping into his mind. That really was too long.
"Has that ever happened before?" He asked Steward, already knowing the answer.
"No, my liege, it has not," Steward said quietly, handing the emperor his clothes, which had been prepared in the closet on the far side of his room.
He dismissed Steward, giving him a thankful nod and acknowledging the man's bow on the way out of the room.
The Emperor got dressed, but did not leave his room. Instead, he just stared out of the window, waiting for the sun to peak over the mountains on the other side of the valley, and looking at the city streets that were now slowly filling with people.
Where was his bloody champion? When he had requested permission to add his words to the prophecy, he had expected it to be fulfilled much sooner. But alas, Emina was a fickle goddess, and she would not grant him his heir before he had lost his sanity fully.
So be it then!

‘He who pulls my blade from this rock, if he be worthy, if they have the strength to do so, will be my heir, may all recognize him as legitimate, may he rule the land of Eskar with skill and competence as I have!’

Those had been his words, that was the way they had been accepted by the goddess. He had proposed alternate versions, he had debated carefully, not wishing to push his luck. In the end, he had been forced to settled for these words, and the goddess had accepted them. Now, he regretted not having included a timeframe.
But no, that thought was in vain, she would not have accepted such a thing. No one rushes a goddess, least of all this one. He would just have to wait, whether that be ten years, a hundred, or more. Whatever the goddess would deem long enough. If only he could be sane when he finally did arrive, but he was starting to think, believe, but not yet accept, that that wish would go unfulfilled.