May 20th, 1636, Royal Castle, Feplan, Feplaria, 1:05 P.M.
Peaceful and tranquil places were far and few in the bustling city of Feplan. It swelled with life, having sucked most of it from the ‘inferiors’ of the region. The city built upon the spoils of conquest, moulded by the blood of thousands of proud Dark Elves, showed no hesitation in boasting about it, in the form of a constant cacophony that receded only at dusk.
The Royal Archives was one of the few places that provided one with respite from all the boasting. Built within the Castle grounds, surrounded by a spacious, well-kept garden, it was a sacred place for any and all scholarly pursuits of the royalty. A grand structure, incorporating design choices from the Castle itself.
The inside of the place was dark, damp. Candles and oil lamps, along with some windows, provided most of the illumination, since the new “Magic Lamp” Divine Artifact gifted by the High Elves was not available in large numbers. Most the place was dark. The air was heavy, and smoke from the candles and oil lamps stagnated in the air near the ceiling.
A Dark Elf scampered around. His dark, chocolate-coloured hands deftly moved and sorted scrolls and books. Another one of the High Elve’s gifts. A contraption that had bewildered the Dark Elves when they first set their eyes on it. Such intricate and small, yet beautiful and ordered writing, on sheets of such smooth parchment. And not just one sheet of parchment, rather countless sheets of parchment bound together between two thick leather sheets. It had been the subject of pure wonder from all the Dark Elves that set their eyes on it.
Every book in the Royal Archives had been delivered by the Holy Temple of the Divine High Elves in the city. Many Dark Elves had unsuccessfully tried to find out the secret behind making such ‘books’, and had failed repeatedly. No one could wrap their heads around it. No one had the slightest idea as to how to recreate those fine lines, those intricate illustrations, and those smooth sheets of parchment.
“Hard at work?”
A voice echoed in the closed chambers. The Dark Elf immediately stood at attention at hearing the voice. There was rarely anyone in the Royal Castle that didn’t recognize it.
Arc Mage Onas stepped out from behind a shelf. Cradled in his left arm was a book. “Collected Folklore of Feplaria, Volume 1”, it read.
“Arc Mage Onas, sir.” The Dark Elf bowed. Arc Mage Onas extended his hand.
“You may rise.”
The Dark Elf rose. Keeping the scrolls in his hand on a desk, he turned to the Arc Mage. Work could wait in such cases.
The Arc Mage gave a jovial smile. Pulling a chair out, he plopped down on a seat on a nearby table, putting his book down near a candle. The dim candle light illuminated the book’s dull-red cover, revealing all the ageing and wear and tear the book had been through.
“Carry on, son. Do not halt your pursuits just for the sake of honouring old traditions, much less for an old man like myself.”
“Oh no, sir! I could never! I, uh, um, uh--”
The Dark Elf fumbled at the Arc Mage’s unexpected remark. Referring to the Arc Mage of all people as ‘some old man’ was felt nothing short of suicidal. Even if it was the person in question himself saying it.
As the young elf fumbled with his words, Arc Mage Onas opened the book. Just as the name said, it was a collection of various folk tales and stories, described in the words of the Divine High Elves.
Arc Mage Onas didn’t like it. Reading the book felt suffocating. Every page seemed to mock the Dark Elves. Every belief, every ‘folk tale’, everything that made the Dark Elves the Dark Elves.
The only part where it wasn’t suffocating was the part detailing the Emissaries. For whatever reason, the High Elves seemed to have taken interest in the stories regarding the Emissaries. Unlike other sections, here the author seemed to have gone into great detail. Every section of the popular tale was dissected, and multiple hypotheses and theories regarding every little detail were present everywhere.
Arc Mage Onas skimmed through the book. This wasn’t the first time he was reading it. He had dug through all the volumes of these books countless times in search of answers. Yet not much had turned up.
He needed answers. The current symphony of events concealed within their surface a sinister and disturbing truth. He had an inkling, yet he could not put a finger on it. Something simply failed to fit in together with all the pieces he had in his hands.
He closed the book, deep in thought. This book was useless garbage, just like the High Elves themselves. The others could worship them all they wanted, but he knew better. He knew what true Divine beings looked like. And in his eyes, the High Elves were nowhere close enough to them.
“My Lord, can I, uh, assist you in anyway?”
Arc Mage Onas looked up from the book. The young Elf was starting there at attention, looking at him anxiously.
He smiled. This young one was taking too much unnecessary pressure. No need to be so nervous, was there?
“Ohh! Of course! This old man needs some companionship, come sit here! Come, come!”
Arc Mage Onas beckoned to a nearby chair. The young elf looked between him and the chair hesitantly, before slowly approaching it. With apparent trepidation and timidity, he sat down quietly.
Arc Mage Onas opened the book again. “You heard the story about the Emissaries when you were small?”
The young elf thought for a moment before speaking. “Uh, yes my lord, I have.”
“Good, good! Now then…..oh wait, your name! We don’t know your name, do we?”
“Castien, my lord, it is Castien!” The young elf replied loudly, probably out of nervousness. Interacting with such high-status members of Feplarian society wasn’t going to be easy for his health, it would seem.
“Haha, no need to be so excited, boy! I am not going to execute anyone, ya know!” Arc Mage Onas laughed heartily.
“You have a family boy?”
Castien looked a bit shaken by the seemingly random question, but answered nonetheless. “Yes, my lord. My old man and my Ma, and my wife. We are expecting a child soon.”
Arc Mage Onas smiled again. “You’re going to expect a kid soon, so you better practice telling some bedtime stories now. I tell you, raising kids is hard, very hard. You’ll know once you reach my age, young one.”
The young elf smiled awkwardly. The tension visible on his face slowly seemed to loosen. “Y-yes, my lord.”
“Good, good. That’s the spirit. Now, where were we……….oh yes, about the old story about the Emissaries, yes! Castien, fetch me every scroll and every book on this subject. Everything that ever so much as attempts to breathe their names even.”
Castien looked at him a little quizzically. Sure, there were many such pieces of literature that mentioned the story, yet no one bothered to remember them apart from the Royal Servants in the employment of the Royal Archives. No one had enough time to bother with such children’s tales, after all.
He shook his head lightly, and stood up. No time to think about such things. This was one job he was good at, and he wasn’t going to disappoint the Arc Mage of all people now.
“At your service, my lord!”
And off he scampered, disappearing between the labyrinths of wooden shelves. Sounds of shuffling and footsteps reverberated off the cold stone walls of the Archives as the elf diligently searched up books and scrolls, with a pair of eyes deftly scanning each and every word in order to find what the Arc Mage desired.
Every time he found something, he would quickly reappear and put down his find on the table, then disappear within the shelves again. Within a few hours, he had amassed a large pile of scrolls and books arranged neatly on the table.
“These are all the records I could produce, my lord.” Castien took his position alongside the table, wiping sweat off his brow. All the nervousness and tension from before seemed to have dissipated entirely.
Arc Mage Onas smiled, going through each scroll and book carefully. Both the piles of the books and the scrolls were equal in size, containing literature from a vast array of topics: there was everything from cooking to books about seafaring and farming, or rearing livestock, or sometimes from the Divine High Elves themselves.
“Absolutely wonderful, young lad! You did well. Now come sit beside this old man. We’ve got a lot of studying to do!”
Castien’s expression became anxious again, as he gingerly sat down on the chair next to the Arc Mage. The two began unfurling scrolls and opening books, skimming through yellowed pages, under the instructions of the Arc Mage.
“Uhmmm, my lord, pardon me, but I do not understand the motives behind your actions.” The young elf spoke up after a while, having mustered up some courage.
Onas looked up from his book. “Hm? Oh, this? Hmmmm…..” The Arc Mage contemplated for a while, before speaking up again.
“Young one, you are aware of recent happenings, aren’t you?”
“Uhh, y-yes my lord, I think, yes s-sir……” Castien wasn’t really confident in his general knowledge skills, or about anything that usually happened outside the Royal Archives, or his own home.
“Then you heard of the whole Demon affair Her Majesty talked about?”
“Y-yes sire! I did!” Castien replied in a loud voice, his anxiety levels climbing higher and higher. Onas wondered for a moment why the young elf seemed so excitable today.
The news of the invasion of the Far West island chain had been finally revealed to the people. All the elves posted there had been declared slain, and compensation for those of noble birth was being considered. The news of the Demons invading the island chain had also been declared, though the exact details were withheld. Then again, there weren’t that many details to begin with.
The effects of the proclamation were already spreading out. Gossips across every corner of Feplan contained the word “Demon”, and the curiosity surrounding its true meaning. Already there were rumours of the Queen withdrawing troops from the border standoff against the Prelians and the Eglians. Yet nothing concrete had popped up since then.
“Tell me, Castien,” Arc Mage Onas spoke. “what do you think of the entire tale? About what you heard, of course.”
Castien gulped nervously as he began to think. He may not be well-versed in the art of statesmanship, but even he knew that words had to be chosen wisely. Anything unsavoury, and he might find his position in jeopardy, if not his life.
He finally managed to muster a coherent answer. “I, uhh, I don’t know much about it, my lord. My knowledge on these, uhhhhh, ‘Demons’ is limited at best, sire.”
Arc Mage Onas stared at the youth. Castien gulped, cursing inwardly at himself for giving the wrong answer.
For a while, there was silence. Only the noise of the wind and the occasional crack of the burning wax of the candles dominated the scene.
Then Arc Mage Onas burst out into laughter. “Hahhaha! Young lad, I said no need to be so tight with this one! I just need your opinion on this, regardless of whatever it may be. I am not gonna punish you for saying the wrong thing.”
Castien let out a sigh of relief. How many times had he sighed today, he wondered. This conversation really had taken a chunk of his lifespan away, and only a nice, calm holiday could fix that now.
“Tell me young lad, what do you know about the Emissaries?”
“Uhhhh,” Castien winced at the unexpected question, shaken. “Just the basic, my lord. That they were dark-skinned humans of noble birth, fought with ‘divine weapons’, and uhh, defeated the evil human kingdom and ruled the land happily after………. Yes, that’s as far as I know, my lord.”
Arc Mage Onas smiled. “And?”
Castien gave him a puzzled look. “Is there more to the story my lord? This is as far as I rem--” Then stopped abruptly as if remembering something suddenly.
“Now remember? The part about them escaping to the Far West, beyond the edge of the world, in order to save the elves?”
Arc Mage Onas smiled as he reminded the young elf. He is going to have a tough time with his new kid, he thought to himself.
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“A-apologies, my lord, I do remember, I, uhh, I just had bit of trouble remembering it……..” Castien fumbled, much like a child that had been caught stealing sweets.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. We all forget, it’s fine. No need to apologize.”
It took Arc Mage Onas quite some time to quieten down the anxious elf. An awkward silence settled in the air for a few minutes after that. Though only Castien seemed to feel its weight. The Arc Mage seemed unperturbed, sifting through scrolls and books with the same smile on his face as ever.
“Castien.”
The young elf flinched. “Y-yes my lord…?”
This time, there was a little weight added to the Arc Mage’s voice, something that was hard to miss.
“What do you make of this entire affair? The Emissaries escaping to the Far West, and Demons coming from the same direction?”
The Arc Mage looked deep into the Royal Archives’ keeper as he spoke. The young elf flinched again. This was the one thing he dreaded the most, and now his mind was running in circles, completely in disarray. Getting out of the situation now seemed far more urgent than pondering about the question.
“I-I don’t k-know, my lord……….” He stuttered as his panicking mind tried desperately to come up with something coherent.
The Arc Mage continued staring at him, his gaze unwavering. Castien’s breath was caught in his throat, suffocating him. These were probably one of the, if not the, longest few seconds of his life.
Then the Arc Mage sighed, and surfaced a smile on his face.
“Hahah, you seem to be pretty occupied, young one. Take your time and ponder about this one for a moment.”
With that, the Arc Mage heaved up from the chair. Taking his long staff, he headed out towards the large gates.
“No need to be so stiff, young man! You’re going to become a father soon, a young, proud father! You should look the part as well!”
Arc Mage Onas turned around to give one last piece of advice to Castien, before stepping out of the opened gates. Leaving behind a confused and mentally exhausted soon-to-be-father, and the keeper of the Royal Archives.
May 20th, 1636, Holy Church of the High Elves, Feplan, 11:00 A.M.
Father Horith took off his embroidered coat as he stepped into large underground atrium. Despite being many feet underground, the place was well-ventilated and cool, with fresh air constantly being pumped in from above ground. The walls and the ceilings were beige-yellow in colour, and a set of magic-powered panels hanging above illuminated the place, acting as a source of artificial sunlight.
The atrium had an atmosphere of calm, just like the fancy ‘church’ built above. Hidden from the eyes of the barbaric natives, it served as the centre of a large underground structure serving as the base of operations of the High Elves’ in Feplaria.
Horith winced. Of course, this calm was illusive. It always had been. The peace was only on the surface, in the eyes of the outsider, the ignorant. For just beneath that peace lay chaos and conflict.
High elves milled about in the atrium. Many had their hands full of papers or files, and their minds full of thoughts, sometimes related to the files in their hands. Sometimes not. Most wore simple white shirts and black trousers, a stark contrast to the flashy priest garb that he wore.
An aide arrived almost immediately as he entered the atrium. The young lad seemed to have been busy previously, and it was evident that a little ‘heavy exercise’ had saved him from getting reprimanded.
“Sir.”
Horith handed him the coat without saying a word. It was bulky, and made his arms sore just holding it. He was used to working on the field, sure, but no one had ever listed lifting heavy weights as a requirement.
“Team 12 has found something, sir. They’ve prepared a report about whatever it is. They say it’s something interesting.”
Horith’s forehead wrinkled in thought. Between trying to remember where they sent Team 12 to who the team leader was, his mind was now fixated on the report. Among those working under Project Divine Leaf, it was a common belief that whenever someone said something was “interesting”, it was usually something worth looking into.
“Team 12…… ahh yes, that was Professor Carron’s team, huh.”
“Yes sir.”
The aid replied as he pushed open the door to Horith’s office as they stepped inside. The inside of the office seemed modest in comparison, in contrast to the atrium outside. In the centre was a large, polished wooden desk. Bookshelves filled with books and files lined the walls.
Horith sat down on his chair as his aide began preparing some quick tea. Pouring water in an ornately-decorated glass cup already containing a teabag, he picked up the cup and applied some magic. A slight glow appeared in his palm, and the water in the cup turned cream-brown. Unlike the barbaric natives, High Elves had no qualms about using magic for such mundane activities.
“Here, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Horith spoke absentmindedly as he picked up the cup of tea that his aide had made. In his hand was a brown paper folder.
He began taking out the contents of the folder as he sipped his tea. He knew Team 12 had been sent to investigate a site almost a thousand miles north-east from the capital. One of the agents had once overheard a dark elf native talk about remains of “Emissaries” somewhere in a remote location while he was in the church just above. Further questioning - in exchange for some cheap freebies, of course - had opened a new link up for investigation.
Horith turned a page. The “Emissaries” had always intrigued and amazed them. The tales of dark-skinned humans blessed with “Divine Weapons” had been spread far and wide everywhere the Fliassauans went. For some reason, evidence of their presence was always there, ready to greet them wherever they set foot.
In the early days of Divine Leaf, the stories were dismissed with a hearty laugh and a little contempt. The barbaric, uncivilized native had many of such stupid beliefs and superstitions. And this was probably just another one of the many. Besides, most of the time, the source of these usually came from rumours and hearsay, which were usually exaggerated well out of proportion.
Horith sipped his tea. He was on the first few pages of the report. They contained details about getting to the site, and how the team had great difficulties getting there. A footnote at the bottom contained an urgent request to supply the team with better logistic support.
Why act on what could probably be a stupid story concocted by some mischievous native, would be the natural question here. A natural question like this, however, didn’t work here. The Project was under the HEC, the country’s primary foreign intelligence agency. It was their job to sift through all intel, false or true, rumour or not, and find out everything hidden between the lines.
“Team 12 discovered the site around 5 days ago.” The aide began explaining as Horith turned the pages. Various photos and maps replaced the paragraphs from before.
“The site was spread over in an area of approximately point-six square miles, and contained various intricate structures. All same as the ones seen in the Kingdom of Plaria.”
Horith placed a finger at a photograph. “I am seeing a lot of greenery here. Certainly not the same as back in that Kingdom.”
“They concealed the whole damn spot into the forest sir. Very clever indeed. The team had a real hard time with all those big plants and bugs.”
Of course they would, Horith mused. That’s what happens when you send frail white-collar teachers and professors for a field trip.
The aide cleared his throat. “Permission to proceed, sire?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“The team reached the site three days after departing from their base station. Upon arrival, they stumbled upon an Emissary Remains site similar to the ones seen in Kingdom of Plaria and Empire of Kuwhea.”
Horith kept the file down on the table as he let the aide fill him in instead of sifting through all the data on his own for hours. In his mind, conjectures and guesses raced around regarding the Emissary Remains site, the unofficial term given to these structures and sites scattered all over the world.
The aide pointed to a map in the file as he continued. “The site is completely isolated from any human, demi-human, or elf settlement, with the nearest populated settlement being approximately sixty miles away. The choice of the location seems deliberate – though Team 12 says they only have guesses as to what the reasons might have been – since the entire place is situated in the middle of a small valley. Combined with the tall and rich vegetation around, it makes for a perfect spot for hiding such a large facility.”
Horith nodded, absorbed in his thoughts. The aide turned a page as he continued.
“The site is secured by a several inches thick, reinforced concrete wall. Conventional military structures can be seen clearly even from the outside. Here, sire,” the aide pointed on the map in the file. “and here, as well as here are what the team identified as entrances – specifically, what looked like fully barricaded gates of a military base - to the site. The markers on either side are watch towers.”
Something was tugging at Horith’s mind. “Was the site magically sealed?”
“Astonishingly, no sir, the site was not sealed, unlike many encountered previously.”
A frown appeared on Horith’s rather feminine face, an oddity unique to elves, as well as High Elves. All the ‘Emissary Remains’ sites that they had encountered until now had always been magically sealed. The High Elves had, to their unpleasant surprise, found them pretty much impossible to break, despite having no superlatives when it came to magic.
The seals were odd, too. Completely unlike anything they had ever seen before, the seals were designed to slow time and preserve anything inside from decaying. Something that had baffled the Fliassauans.
Local folklore suggested that special chants spoken and written - in a completely alien and unheard-of language - existed, which could open these seals, which according to said legends, had also been built the mysterious dark-skinned humans of the forgotten past. Unfortunately, no one, it seemed, had been lucky enough to chance upon said information.
Every time Horith thought about them, his stomach churned. The real reason why the High Elves were in a rush to break the seals, were their contents. Secured safely inside the seals, shielded from the harmful touch of time, were things. Buildings, structures, objects. While many were obscured, some were out in the open, for everyone to see, but never touch or feel. Intricate, alien objects, a testament to craftsmanship that could have never been achieved by the natives…..
Nay, it wasn’t craftsmanship, Horith had realized long ago. It could have never been craftsmanship. Those objects, all of them, were progeny of an industry. An industry far ahead of any that powered and breathed life into any of the first world powers.
Was it a product of the Human’s mischief? Or was it the Redonians? Such questions had been floated around when they first encountered these sites. Yet they were dismissed quickly. The Humans were too haughty to even step outside their homes, and of all the things that the Redonian vixens could do other than whine about their ‘noble cause against oppression’, manufacturing anything that lasted for more than two days wasn’t one of them.
Horith leaned forward. “I assume the contents inside weren’t in good shape?”
The aide cleared his throat before speaking again. “That would be partially incorrect, sire.”
“Partially incorrect?”
“Yes, sir. The team discovered that while the military structures on the outer perimeter were almost completely covered with vegetation and in a state of decay, the inner structures were different. Here.”
The aide turned a page in the file as he pointed to a black-and-white photograph. Visible in the photograph was a structure with an elongated, pyramidal crown. The immediate surroundings around it spoke of the length of time it had fought with, covered with dark green vines and foliage of various kinds. Yet oddly enough, the vegetation had stayed completely clear of the structure itself. Ornate patterns were carved into the concrete structure. Horith’s magical eyes perceived them as flowers and animals drawn in an awkward, yet mesmerizing way.
“This is identical to the structures discovered in other sites. The ornamental patterns seen here match the ones seen in Kingdom of Plaria and Empire of Kuwhea. Including that…….symbol.”
The aide gulped quietly as he pointed to another photograph on the same picture. It was a close-up shot of the same structure, this time focusing on a certain point on the wall. For a moment, Horith felt a chill run down his back.
The photograph contained a symbol, painted on the side of the structure. It had four lines criss-crossing each other and bent at right angles, with the ends of the lines flared out. A large dot was present in the spaces created by the bent lines.
Horith breathed a sigh. For whatever reason, looking at the symbol always made him feel uncomfortable. He would have dismissed it as merely a sign of fatigue and too much thinking, had other High Elves not reported the same thing. No matter how or where he or any High Elf saw it, it was always the same. The same chilling, ominous feeling, that same momentary pang of dread.
Horith closed the file and put it aside. He could always read the full report later. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He took another sip of his tea as he turned to his aide. The bland tea suddenly felt more welcoming now.
“Any message from the HEC?”
The aide shook his head. “Negative, sir.”
“I see. And how is Escil?”
“Patrolling just off this country’s western coast, sir. She is expected to arrive soon for a resupply run within the next ten days, sir.”
“Very good.”
Horith sipped his tea as he contemplated. They had just managed to find an important link to unearth the Emissary’s secrets, when they stumbled upon the dark elves, and discovered that for whatever reason, their magic, which was supposed to be inferior to the High Elves, could in fact actually be used to unseal the seals on the Emissary Remains.
They had done it once on an old, weak site. Granted, it took forever to do so, and even then they hadn’t managed to find some earth-shattering, changing-the-world-forever kind-of object, and neither had they chanced upon a superweapon of any sorts. They had found old, mundane, everyday objects; things like glass bottles, broken and dirty cutlery, military rations that had long decayed, and what was once probably a military camera, based on the piece of metal that resembled a camera’s flash.
It was evident at first glance, however, that these were definitely a cut above anything they could have ever produced. A small, preserved footprint of a long gone, massive, powerful civilization, its fate unknown.
Now, the High Elves were as active as ever. More sites had been discovered, and they contained far more than just prehistoric litter. There was no doubt that using these would allow the Holy Empire to gain a strategic advantage over the Humans.
But now, a new issue had risen up. Something had risen up in the Far West. Overnight, the dark elf country had just lost the entirety of their ‘backyard’, as they called it. That entire region had turned dark, devoid of light. Nothing that went to it ever returned.
Horith sipped his tea. He had remembered the reports from the Aster, the fateful ship that had been sent out and beyond. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the ‘great surge’ or whatever it was that the dark elves reported feeling. The Fliassauans were far more sensitive to magic, yet they never felt it. What was with these uncivilized bugs……?
Horith swatted away those thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. Right now, he had to deal with these new challengers, who had conveniently popped up just at the time when they were close to unearthing an important Emissary Remains site.
He had heard the reports and the recordings from the ‘Divine Messengers’. He had heard them, on repeat, again and again. No matter how many times he heard them, he couldn’t mistake it for anything else. The distinct boom of a big gun. Horith may not be a military officer or a soldier, but he knew a cannon when he heard one.
The emergency transmission from the Far West further confirmed his suspicions. Everything described by that brave native – even Horith had to admit that, since radio operators in Fliassau weren’t known to be this brave – had eerily reminded him of how the natives had once described their equipment. There were some that he didn’t recognize, such as a ‘giant hovering insect’ with ‘a large flower spinning on top of its head’, that made a large noise as it flew. But he didn’t need to delve too deep into it to derive a conclusion.
Another thing he remembered was the dark elves mentioning the word ‘human’. That was more than enough to set off alarms in Horith’s mind. Had the Humans discovered about this project? Were they out for a piece for the cake for themselves too? He didn’t know for sure. Or maybe it was the Efrusians? It could be them too.
There were the peculiarities too, such as how fast that gun was firing. Or how the ‘humans’ aboard the ship reported themselves as hailing from a country with a funny name, something that Horith didn’t bother remembering. But Horith didn’t mull on it too much. That was someone else’s job. Right now, a new foreign agency was trying to get involved in this, and he needed to report this.
Horith turned to his aide. “Anything new from Ploaton? Especially on that new ‘Demon’ guest that has popped up graciously on these damned natives’ doors?”
The aide thought hard for a moment, trying to remember something, before he spoke again. “Negative, sir. Ploaton is still patrolling in the Esparian Sea.”
“Send an emergency transmission. Code yellow, target: the Far West. Have her scout the area. I need a report on everything that is out there by the end of this month.”
“That shall be done, sir.”
“One more thing.”
The aide straightened his back. “Yessir?”
“Get Dr. Maertha to my chambers, and send an emergency transmission to the Escil as well.”
“Do you wish to transmit a message to HEC HQ as well, sir?”
Horith gazed at a painting on the wall. It depicted a grand scene, with the High Elves standing atop a large globe, with all the other species underneath it, trying to lift the globe up. Beautiful elf maidens wearing robes and playing musical instruments lined the frame of the painting. As if celebrating the might of the Holy Empire, its proud citizens, its innovations; its mighty land cruisers and walkers, its airship fleet, its guns. And its birthright over the world.
“I do. They must know about this, and without any haste.”