I passed Kylen a tankard of cider over the dinner table, and he raised it to his mouth with a mirthful grin. I could tell he was trying his hardest to not laugh at the situation unfolding before us. Weiland and Eyes were having an argument about what god was the most likely to steal a cow. So far, they'd dismissed most of the active ones out of hand.

"All I'm saying," Weiland began. "is that according to the myths, Fenrir couldn't--"

A noise at the front of the room cut him off.

A young boy burst through the wooden double door that led to the dining hall. He wore the customary regalia of the Imperial messenger corps, an ugly cotton outfit completed with blue tassels, and his face was beat-red with exertion. The door slammed into the wall behind him with a bang, and the assembled crowd of eating enlisted got so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The messenger paused, collected himself, and then hollered out to the room at large.

"Orders from the Capital! Lobsterhead is to march to war! The Lakelands are under assault!"

The reaction was immediate: cries of dismay broke out throughout the room, many of the people around us stood and began to leave, and some shouted their disbelief at his declaration. It was shocking- we knew that war was inevitable, but for it to finally go from a looming threat to a reality was the kind of change no one expects. I believed the messenger, what reason would someone have to lie?

It made me angry. Really, really angry. Angry enough that I wanted to do something about it. Angry enough that I wanted to snap the messenger like a twig a sinister voice whispered in the back of my mind. It was not my own.

I recognized immediately that wasn't right. It wasn't the courier boys fault- he didn't deserve to be the target of my wrath. To punish him would be cruel. I wasn't cruel. Sometimes I was angrier than I could control, but I was never cruel. The thought of hurting him- a defenseless boy who was practically my age- made me sick to my stomach. If I did that, I'd be no better than Beluga. I'd be a bully.

The chime of the System rang out through my consciousness.

*Congratulations! Successfully resisted external attempt at influence of user's emotional state. Rejoice, for your AUTHORITY was challenged and you were victorious! Survival requirements for greater progression met.*

Authority I -> II

*Chrysalis enhanced.*

The attribute enhancement was a pleasant surprise. I still had no idea what the Authority attribute did, but higher was usually better. I had more pressing things to be worried about.

The language was strange, but the meaning of the System message was clear. Someone, somehow, was deliberately inflaming the outrage of my fellow enlistees. I doubted it was just the common cafeteria at Lobsterhead, so that meant the scale of the ability must've been huge. Big enough to stretch across a city, or even an Empire. I only knew of only one god capable of shaping a person's emotions and we'd just declared war against him.

The Psychic Prince, first among the rulers of Kanaada, was the most accomplished mind magician on the continent.

Shit.

Others must've come to the same conclusion because the situation rapidly degraded from then on. An unidentifiable legionnaire flipped one of the dining tables, spilling its contents onto the floor in a loud clatter. Fights immediately began to break out among the groups eating near us. Tensions might've been high, but this was pandemonium. Something wasn't right. The Prince's ability had definitely sunk its nasty teeth into some of them.

Someone started yelling insults. A musclebound, fully-grown man in officer's garb curled into a ball and began to sob. He shook back and forth as he wailed. I knew it wasn't appropriate, but I couldn't look away. A divine will had forced him to lose touch with reality. Broken him. I had the sinking feeling in my stomach that a thousand different versions of this scene were playing out across the Empire. People reduced to messes of rage and sadness.

How do you help someone who is separated from the world?

The sound of nearby knocking drew my attention away from the man. Eyes was wrapping his knuckles against the table where we ate, and had garnered the attention of Kylen, Weiland, and I. Everyone else was in varying degrees of mania. I wasn't sure how my friends had resisted the telepathic attack, but I was glad they had.

"I think we should scram," I announced. I might've been stating the obvious, but I didn't want to be in public whilst the fort was in a state of uproar.

Eyes motioned with his free hand for us all to come in closer, like he wanted to tell us a secret. I wasn't exactly sure how he planned on doing that, but I was happily surprised when he pulled out a pen and parchment. More accurately, the pen was a quill that came from being tucked behind his ear, and the parchment was folded in his pocket. I was impressed. It seemed a practical solution for someone who didn't speak. Where had that been for the past few weeks?

He laid it flat against the table and wrote out a brief message. His script was neat and well-practiced.

Don't split up. Fort'll be MAD. Head to Fletcher.

The reality of the Legion was that war meant death, and even the most veteran among us wanted to avoid that when possible. It wasn't a shocker that people would lash out when forced to confront it, especially when it felt like every negative emotion was multiplied by a factor of ten. Any instability would be temporary, it'd last only until one of the ranking officers at Lobsterhead got ahead of the situation, or someone devised a solution to the Prince's attack.

It seemed like the attack functioned by playing off of emotions that were already there. It was timed too perfectly with the declaration of war, meant to take advantage of the feelings of unrest.

After everyone in our group finished reading Eyes' message, Kylen was the one who took charge of the situation.

"Everyone done eatin'? Everyone feelin' like themselves?"

At that point none of us had cutlery in hand and our appetites had disappeared faster than snow on a hot summer's day. It was a shame. They'd been serving a delicious roasted pork. It was a special treat for the enlisted, meant to boost morale. It hadn't done much good in the end.

In our own way, the four of us each confirmed that we were still in control of our mental faculties. Eyes gave a thumbs up and a grin, Weiland hummed in affirmation, and I simply gave a slow nod.

"Good. Let's go, and let's be quick about taking the alleys." Kylen thought about it for a moment, and then added under his breath, "May Zeus's grace protect his loyal servants."

I hoped we wouldn't need it.

We formed a chain by linking our arms, and the red-head led us out of the frenzied crowd of the dining hall and onto the sculpted streets. It was a short walk to Fletcher, but the path was a risky one. The low rumble of conflict and the unintelligible sounds of shouting at a distance served as a backdrop for our journey home.

As we walked, a sense of order began to reassert itself in the fort. We hadn't been the only ones to resist the attack, and, it even looked like some of those who succumbed were coming back to reality. A group of heavily armored imperial guardsmen marched down the main roads, taking control of the populated sections of the fort one block at a time.

I was confident in my ability to muscle my way through any brawls that happened on a streetcorner, but I couldn't say the same for my friends. My size dissuaded people from wanting to pick a fight with me. If someone decided that Eyes or Kylen were easy targets, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I'd end up doing something stupid like killing an innocent person who'd lost control of their own body.

If that happened, I wouldn't feel responsible. I knew that the Psychic Prince was responsible. But I would feel bad.

When we were about halfway home, something noteworthy happened. It made us freeze in our tracks.

An ability was fired off nearby.

A beam of sharp crimson light so bright that it was blinding shot through the clouds overhead from the ground. It bisected the horizon, splitting our sky vertically across the middle and washing it in an eerie red glow and casting the buildings around us in Scarlet. It continued on uninterrupted into the heavens. You couldn't see where it stopped from the ground, if it stopped at all.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The beam originated in the center of Lobsterhead. The Citadel. Someone important had noticed the unrest in the streets, and decided to make a show of force. They'd decided to remind us of our own insignificance. As far as threats went, it was a good one. The ability was an order of magnitude larger than any I'd ever seen before.

Weiland gasped, and then pointed with an uneasy hand, "H-Hyperion!"

Hyperion. Another character torn straight from the myths of the Empire, one who was apparently nearby. Hyperion was one of Zeus' oldest generals, one of the divines who had originally helped the Sky Lord establish the Empire of New Rome a millennia ago. He was a great warrior, and his power over light was said to be great enough that he could melt steel with the flick of a wrist. It was Hyperion who turned the ancient metal undercity of New Rome to slag, and paved the way for the Empire to build.

On a more grim note, there was more than one famous story about him accidentally destroying friendly military fortifications. His power over destruction was absolute. It came, however, at the expense of his control. He'd become the cliché lesson that parents told their children about being careful with knives.

"Skies preserve us."

Kylen muttered, and I couldn't help but agree with the sentiment.

"I'm not sure I wanna try my luck against something like that," I mumbled. I didn't want to find out if a person could melt. Much less if I could melt. I got the feeling that the Tough trait provided by the System didn't mean unmeltable.

Eyes turned our cautious walk into a jog and then a full-blown run. It wasn't like sheltering indoors would do us much for protection, but I don't think any of us wanted to be outdoors to witness whatever that beam intended. The air took on a strange, tingly quality as we ran through the alleys. The hair on my forearm began to stand on its own.

Just as the ground began to shake beneath our feet, we slammed the door to Fletcher Hall shut behind us.

I collapsed onto the soft couch of the shared dormitory. Someone of my size isn't meant to run hard for an extended length of time. Kylen and Weiland struggled for breath. As per usual, Eyes was silent. The red light streaming through the windows coupled with his sharp visage created a haunting look about him. For the briefest moment, it was like someone had taken a demon and made it flesh.

It wasn't anything but an unearthly trick of the light. Still, it startled me from my position prone on the sofa. I blame the stress of the afternoon.

Kylen spoke first, and it brought me back to the situation at hand.

"So," He said in-between two deep breaths. "Does anyone understand what's going on?"

Eyes gave another thumbs up. Kylen groaned.

* * *

A few hours later, once things had calmed down and it was safe again to walk on the streets, a group of us sat in an oversized auditorium overlooking the sheer drop down the sides of Lobsterhead's cliff walls. Thousands more funneled in as we waited. At the center of the auditorium was a stage that could comfortably fit a dozen people, maybe less, that opened out on one side onto the great fall. The empty space behind them magnified the presence of those on the stage, but also added palpable air of suspense.

The entire place was just an overengineered bundle of nervous energy.

The garrison commander, a praetor in his own right, had called for an assembly of all souls serving within the fort. We were going to be addressed about not only the attack, but also the war to come. We'd been promised an explanation.

I suspected the explanation I'd cobbled together based on context clues was mostly right, if not missing a handful of specific details. The Psychic Prince was definitely responsible, and Hyperion had definitely struck back somehow. I knew nothing about the impetus for the attack. The courier had mentioned it was an assault on the Lakelands, but that was a region that spanned hundreds of miles.

Weiland, due to his position as the bastard of an assemblyman, probably knew something I didn't. It was a good thing for me that he was my friend. Eyes, Kylen, and I had gotten caught up with him during the confusion and he hadn't left our side since. He was a welcome, if surprising, addition to our trio.

"Hey Weiland," I tapped him on the shoulder. "What'd you hear about the attack on the Lakelands?"

Weiland turned to me, causing a swoop of his dark curls to fall in front of his face. He brushed them aside and spoke softly to me.

"Haven't heard anything from Dad, but I'd wager they took the land route down and walked right past the fortifications on the water. It'd take a damn long time to march an army that way, but we've been expecting them for weeks now."

I sucked in my breath. That was a shocker. Invading over land would mean they marched an army through what was supposedly neutral territory, owned by neither Kanaada or New Rome, but instead a series of lesser states called the Middles. Kanaada would've had to pay them a fortune, as their neutrality was the only thing that protected their existence. Or, I thought, maybe they'd been put to the sword too.

"How'd they feed 'em? That'd be month straight worth of marching." Kylen asked.

I hadn't thought about the logistics of the attack yet, but I instinctually knew they must've been a nightmare. Kanaada wasn't known to be a bountiful farmland. Instead as a cold, bordering on artic place.

Weiland considered the question.

"The Middles are a bread basket." He responded, "They've got nothing going for them except wind and grain. And they don't have a lot of positions from which they can defend the grain. It'd make sense for the Kanaadian force to just gobble them up on the way south. Depending on if their governments decided to roll over, it might not even have slowed them down."

Kylen frowned. He didn't like the reality that Weiland was proposing, but it made sense given what we knew. His voice sounded angry. I thought it was unfortunate, but, the Lakelands were not my home. In fact, they were as far away from my home as one could be whilst still residing in the Empire. Patriotic fervor did not motivate me in the same way it did him.

"Zeus won't tolerate a betrayal of that magnitude. Heads'll roll for this, I'm sure."

Weiland nodded.

"You're probably right, Kylen. Heads will roll. Countless people will die. It's just my hope that The Middles will still exist when this is said and done."

No one had a good way to respond to that. Thankfully, the silence didn't stretch on for long. A person stepped out onto the stage in the center of the auditorium, cleared his throat, and then waited. I watched him like a hawk as he did so. I'd never seen him before in my life.

He looked young. Too young. He was on the scrawny side, and if not for the tattoos, I would've thought that he was my age. He could've blended in with any of the enlisted at Fletcher Hall. If he took a spot in our barracks, I would be none the wiser.

Lining his fists and going up his forearms were dark and intricate tattoos of symbols I didn't recognize. There was one that sort've looked like a diamond, another that could've been a crown, and one that definitely was intended to be Zeus' lightning bolt. Images of monstrous beasts lined his upper-arm, all of them open-mouthed like they'd been frozen in the midst of a scream: a massive lizard, a cat with two heads, a snake with a sword puncturing one eye. I didn't see a Spineback on there, but it wouldn't have felt out of place.

He was clean-shaven, well-kept, and sitting on his brow was a pair of visibly orange translucent goggles with straps running behind his ears. He was wearing nothing that indicated a badge of office or his identity. He surveyed the crowd, taking a long glance at the huge crowd of people assembled before him. Then, he brought two fingers to his lips and let out a whistle.

He didn't gain the attention of the crowd at large on his first attempt. Whatever noise he made was instantly consumed by the passive roar of such a densely populated space. We weren't sitting even a third of the way up the steps, and if I hadn't been looking at him, I would never have known he tried.

"Who is that?" I asked no one in particular. If he was to be addressing us, we should at least know his name. Even if I was never going to speak to him again.

"Who?" Weiland asked, and then followed my gaze. He spotted the tattooed man shortly thereafter. He let out a soft whimper. "By the bolt, that's Hyperion."

"That's the Lightlord? He looks like he's our age!" I exclaimed.

"I wasn't sure at first, but it was the goggles that gave him away. Hyperion wears them everywhere to protect his eyesight." Weiland whispered. "As for his looks, being a god has treated him well."

I wasn't sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking how I did at seventeen, and my life was comparatively short. Hyperion's life was endless.

Nearby, Kylen looked like he was about to have a fit. His face was a mess of warring emotions. As far as I knew, this was the first time he'd actually seen one of the objects of his worship. He cycled rapidly through confused, delighted, and scared.

I thought he'd chosen a funny time to have a crisis of faith.

Below, Hyperion whistled again. This time it was louder and some of the crowd started to take notice. There was a low murmur of panic as the rest of the masses finally clued in on the fact that there was something going on.

A handful of moments passed. The auditorium got quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. Then, Hyperion stepped forward and addressed the space.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" He made a noise that I thought sounded like a giggle, but I wasn't sure what was funny. Then, he put on a serious expression and continued to speak.

"As many of you are already aware, we were set upon today by those dogs to the North. The Principality of Kanaada. They strike us now from afar, across countless miles of land and sea, because that is a thing they must do! Because they have no chance at surviving a direct confrontation with as mighty a Legion as I see before me now."

Hyperion paused. It gave his words time to resonate with the crowd. The appeal at the Legion's vanity hadn't gone unnoticed by me, or many others. I wondered how many of the people gathered there believed it.

"So, they must hide away like a child awaiting punishment. And they must throw their pathetic pebbles at a distance against the great wagon wheel that is our inevitable conquest. It is no matter. Either way, they will be crushed by what is to come."

A small source of red light began to spill out from between his fingertips. When I looked at it I felt strange. Something about it was unnatural, and I didn't like the glow it gave off. It unnerved me.

"The Princes of Kanaada are of the belief they can assault us with impunity. This is wrong."

The light intensified, casting a vermillion shadow onto the stage. It expanded into a ball of fire, one large enough that Hyperion had to use both of his hands to hold it. It burned so hot that wisps of smoke began to rise from the fabric of his clothes.

"It is our sacred duty to Zeus to correct that assumption. From here on, there can only be one solution."

The fireball began to shake uncontrollably. Hyperion roared, and then tossed the fireball into the air above the drop of the cliff. After a few seconds, it exploded with a boom that shook the foundations of the fort. My hair was swept back by a suddenly warm gust of wind.

"We must show them they are but ash in the wind compared to the raging fire that is the strength of New Rome!"