"RGO units in the Royal Capital are preparing alongside OAF forces for what many expect as a final push from the Putschists to 'liquidate' Royalist control over Halia. Queen Amelie has now decreed an all-out localized conscription order in the Grand Duchy of all women aged eighteen to twenty-one, marking the first time in Orlish history in which women are to be conscripted. Defense Minister Pristina Dubois justified it in a press conference after the fall of Heiflitz, calling it a 'temporary measure for extraordinary times'."

- ROCN News

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Halia

November 8, 2024

Keep your rifle by your side.

Those words still rang true to Colonel Jonathan Kleist as ever. Even more so now.

It was a saying that originated at the end of the Arcane Wars. Who said it, no one knew. But it became widespread as the years passed for men of all kinds. When women held both the power of the wand and of the state, men feared. Women told men that it was the dawn of equality, of fairness, of gentleness…many bought it, and many didn't.

It took many decades before the cracks of that lie became obvious. Many thought that the Arcane Wars were merely for the liberation of women until men found themselves stuck in a world that levied punishment after punishment upon them.

Revenge – men realized what was happening. They were being punished, and the pendulum was swinging hard on them. And without anything else to hold on to, men found solace in the only thing they could hold on to. If women could hold onto their wands – men should keep hold of their rifles. It was a simple solution. It gave solace and security. But it too was a lie, the Colonel knew as he looked down at the road.

Young men, young men with empty faces, new recruits that held rifles and uniforms that barely matched their young faces, now asked to defend their Kingdom and die for it. In the end, men's desperate refuge of arming themselves only ended up giving the Matriarchy a tool to use.

How…ironic.

"So the 14th Knight Detachment Unit will be posted with the 10th Infantry Brigade?" Kleist asked, and Defense Minister Pristina Dubois nodded. "I see."

"You seem to have reservations about it," she pointed out, but Colonel Kleist didn't reply. "I thought all you men would be in celebration that we finally decided to be knee-deep in the trenches with you."

"How romantic," Kleist bitterly snapped back. "Men and women, both equally dead in some muddy trench line. We can finally rest easy that our boys can die with pretty faces around them. Is that how you imagine our reactions? That we'll celebrate having you women die with us?"

"Hmm…not really, but it's quite close." She looked back to the marching men of the 10th Infantry Brigade down below, leaning down on the balcony railings, her silver hair swaying as the wind breezed through. "You men always seem to want to drag us women down with you."

"Quite the petty accusation, Defense Minister." As far as he knew, he'd find more men who would rather take the place of his sister, wife, or mother in the frontline. He knew they wanted equality, but most men would never ask for equality in death. It would be better for no one to die in the trenches instead. "Would we men accept going to some distant war if that was our mentality? And throw ourselves to our deaths for you?"

"All you men are silly," she said, completely unmoved. "You all ask for this and that. But none of you understand. The times will not return to the past. Burning down everything in this world won't change that. All you are getting is death in a blaze of glory. Flashy, but all in vain."

"Not all of us want to burn down everything. We're even defending you."

"So what? What difference does that make? Royalist or Putschist, all of you are just looking for a way out that will send a message. Die in the defense of the Queen, or die for the revolution. None of which any of you believe in. You're all just…dying…for what?"

"Most men didn't ask to be conscripted–"

"Don't kid me, Colonel. Eighty percent of the men on the ground joined voluntarily. You're all…suicidal."

"What's your point in telling me this, Defense Minister?" He asked, already miffed. "So most young men are suicidal, and they're searching for some greater purpose in the desperate hope that things will be better, or die if it doesn't. So what? Did any of you women even care? Why not just laugh at it instead?"

"You really all are sweaty rats." She shook her head. "I hate you all. All you…men and your ways. You say you care for yourselves. You say you all want rights to better things. But you'd all rather shoot things up. Terrorize everyone. Burn down nations. And in the end, victimize yourselves further. It doesn't help you. It doesn't change things. It doesn't make people more empathetic of you. It gives everyone justifications to harm all of you more. How…stupid. Shortsighted. Disgusting. Self…destructive. Why? Why would all of you do it? No sane human being would do such a thing."

He looked down at her. She was beyond salty, wasn't she?

"You sound like you care for us too much. Do you even really hate us, or are you hiding your guilt with your hate?"

"Don't assume things about me. Of course, I do."

"You're sure? Do you really hate us, the so-called monsters, and our actions…or do you hate whoever created and used that monster? You asked why, does the answer perhaps scare you?" Kleist laughed to himself. "You women fear the eyes of your own creations. You hate it. Because all of you know that once all is done, you'll live knowing who created those eyes. You deny your sins and pass it all to us, and glorify your virtues…because you can't stomach being in the wrong. You find the root cause of our behavior…terrifying. For you will have to face your own selves."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He scoffed at her, walking away toward the door.

"The world is burning and all the blame is on us men alone. For the other half of humanity is too virtuous and innocent…apparently."

He closed the door and left, leaving the Defense Minister alone to ponder her thoughts. She wanted to lash out at him and prove him wrong, but when her eyes fell on the hollow eye of one of the marching young soldiers down below – a man that could have been her brother, husband, or son…

She could not.

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Halia

Ivory Palace

Amelie didn't exactly know what she was doing right now. Perhaps the defeat in Heiflitz really did affect her in many ways. Perhaps she didn't really like seeing the frontlines way too close. Perhaps…perhaps.

On her way back home on that day, she still remembered that Löwe crew, parked on the side of the road near a school that noble girls attended before the war started. The same school she once attended in her childhood. She talked to her driver and security head to let her "check on something" when she stumbled on them.

They didn't quite recognize her. Perhaps they didn't care. Perhaps their minds weren't in the right. Perhaps they were just fatigued. But they didn't mind her presence.

Ah! Damn…it. The books from the bookshelf fell, and she almost despaired at having to pick them up. The Ivory Palace had long been temporarily abandoned in the early days of the war. And so were her chambers. Everything was already dusty, and abandoned…the paintings were almost unrecognizable.

At this point, the Putschists gave up on even hitting the Palace. They weren't stupid. They knew she wouldn't be there, at all. It would be a mere waste of missiles to fire at it, especially with all the air defense around it. And Amelie could wager that they planned to parade in the Ivory Square straight in front of the Palace once victorious.

Still, the risk was enough to vacate the Palace. But none of it mattered for Amelie yet. For now, the Palace was safe, as it had been for months. Months that left it untouched. And so she picked things up. The books and novels she loved to read. Her personal belongings that she hadn't bothered to carry to her bunker. It all…reminded her of how things were before the war.

Her diary too…it was actually what she was searching for. But she couldn't find it. What a klutz she was, she chastised herself. She misplaced it so badly that she couldn't get her most personal belongings during the evacuation of the Palace. She scanned through her rooms, checking every inch and corner. Her bags and drawers. Everything.

When at last, when she was attempting to reach a box above her wardrobe, she pulled something wrong, and it all fell to her head.

She looked up at the ceiling, lying down in defeat. This is all pointless. She told herself, and the dust made her nose all runny. She almost sneezed, but she held it off as she sat back up, distraught at not having her own diary by now. They're closing on the Capital, and I still don't have all my stuff with me.

"Ahahaha, life? Come on, life's too short!" Declared their drunk commander. "You ladies always mull over sentimental nonsense…who cares about the Queen or some…family, or…hahaha, the nation? I bet you all still write diaries to record your lives."

Amelie frowned. Of course, she did. Why would she not? Even during her isolation in the bunker, she scribbled down everything each day. Why would they not care? Men died…statistically, nearly twenty years earlier than women. Wouldn't that be more of a reason for them to write something to record their lives?

She rummaged through the box that dared to fall on her head. It was nothing but messy documents, piles of artwork she wouldn't show to anyone, and her personal essays (more like rants) about anything she was angry about in particular that she bothered to actually print her deranged writings. And dust. Lots of dust that she coughed for a moment before she pulled out something.

A leather book. Brown in color, very much old school, which was her style. Indeed, it was her prized diary and the pointless reason for her venture today into a potentially dangerous Palace.

"Why did I even place it here?" She really wanted to slap her past self, but she supposed there was nothing she could do to change that. She found her diary…because…stuff. Was she really that paranoid about the Putschist attack that she felt enough fear to salvage everything she personally owned?

She vowed to stand here. That if they took the city, it would only happen with her dead. But the truth was…perhaps she would really rather run once push came to shove. To roll over so easily. To cave in when the waves of reality rattled her.

She flipped through her diary, from her days in that school. To her reclusive time when the Great War raged. And to those months that she struggled in vain to stop the disaster that now raged in her Kingdom. Her eyes could only stare at what she wrote on the day of her coronation.

I will never send young men to war. To their deaths…I really said that…didn't I?

What did her vows really mean? She vowed and promised so much, yet…now, she signed, with her own hands, the order to conscript men to their deaths. Then last week…for women too.

Was she really any different from all those women she hated because they hated men? Was she really any different from all those monarchs who sent millions of men to their deaths? Was she…

Was she really just the same spineless leader that she feared to be?

The same one who would run now, just because the enemy was at the gates?

Silently, she hugged her diary and crumpled on her floor for a while, trying to make sense of her monumental failures. Trying to look for ways to change things. Trying to…look for excuses perhaps to free her from it.

"She'll just send us to our deaths, obviously!" Their gunner declared atop from the turret as he held his can of beer. He popped it open and took it in one go. "We're just…we're just cannon fodder. That's the truth."

"I…I didn't want any of this…" Amelie silently told herself. "I just…wanted to make things better."

At some point, she decided that grieving like some fool was pointless, and she finally stood up, holding her diary in her hands. When she walked out of her chambers, out straight to hallways, she eventually stopped. She looked outside of the massive window.

The Ivory Square, empty and desolate…for a brief second, she was there. And the thousands that listened to her speech. And she heard her own voice speaking to the crowd.

"Citizens of Orland! I promise you, change and hope!"

She looked down at the floor, breathing heavily as she clenched her fist. Who was she to be a coward? Who was she to vow so many things but leave them unfulfilled? Who was she…to lose now?

She walked on forward. She wouldn't lose this battle and run. She would win…for that promise to be true, even if it would be far away.

Perhaps…that would be the thing that would separate her from the monarchs before her.