January 6, 1641
Magicaregia, Annonrial Empire
Oranatha Castle
Director Zamuras walked briskly down the castle’s stone corridor, his wings lightly flickering with a diverse play of colors. His mind skimmed through the impending reports, each word weighed and measured for Emperor Zaratosthra’s discerning ears. He had managed to secure five beacons from the Artticus Ocean – a noteworthy achievement, yet not one that immunized him from the Emperor’s exacting standards.
As he approached the chamber doors, two heavily armored guards stepped aside to let him pass. He knew what awaited him in the High Council meeting – scrutiny that could uplift or shatter. The doors swung open soundlessly. The chamber lay bathed in a cold, greenish light, like the depths of a still lake. Emperor Zaratosthra sat at the head of the elongated table, his special throne elevated above the other seats. His wings shone brighter than everyone else’s – a visual epitome of mana purity.
Director Vorus of the AIA was already there, seated beside Director Bachus of the Inferior Affairs Department and across from High General Duran. Like himself, Zamuras’ colleagues also had noncorporeal wings that signified their purity. Zamuras took a seat beside Duran, the mana-charged atmosphere tightening like a noose. The sconces at the walls of the conference room flickered briefly as if sensing heightened tension.
Emperor Zaratosthra’s eyes met his, a single piercing glance that lingered just a moment longer than comfortable. “We convene this High Council on matters most urgent,” the Emperor began. “It is the resolute will of this Empire to hasten the revival of our glorious Ravernal ancestors. In this chamber, any effort less than the utmost is not merely disappointing – it is heretical. Speak, councilmembers. Director Zamuras, your report.”
Zamuras felt a brief flicker of mana pulse through his wings as he shifted in his seat. “Y-your Excellence, five beacons from the Artticus Ocean have been secured and are now in our possession. Our sea monsters, dispatched for the collection, have also provided valuable information on the ongoing global war.” He glanced briefly at Duran, exchanging a nod with him.
Duran cleared his throat and began. His voice carried the timbre of command, but it wavered ever so slightly. Even he was not immune to Zaratosthra’s intimidating demeanor. “Your Radiance, we have gathered intelligence on the new developments upon the United States’ entry into the war between the Elysian Defense Initiative and the Gra Valkas Empire. One of our sea monsters, on a collection mission near Follicus Island, managed to observe an event of considerable importance.”
Zaratosthra’s unblinking eyes focused on Duran. The Emperor’s wings shimmered more vividly, as if pulsing with curiosity or worse – impatience.
“A devastating strike took place near the island,” Duran continued. “A Gra Valkan conquest fleet suffered immense losses. Their carriers, in particular, were targeted and nearly annihilated by American missiles. We have no further details on the strike, but this would imply that the Americans are beginning to push the Gra Valkans out of the Cartalpas Strait. It appears, based on the halt of their naval operations and disarmament, that they may have surrendered.”
The room went cold. Vorus and Bachus exchanged uneasy glances. Zamuras found his wings tightening against his back, an instinctive, almost involuntary, reaction to the tension that Duran’s report had ratchet up. Defeating a Gra Valkan conquest fleet was something they could do with ease with minimal losses and up to a day of combat. Yet, the Americans accomplishing the same feat with such overwhelming success was harrowing. It served as a stark reminder of their prowess and could affect their timeline for reviving the Ravernal Empire.
The Americans have only been participants in this war for mere weeks, and already they are turning the tides irreparably – even threatening a quick end to the conflict. Such an outcome was undesirable; Zamuras needed as much chaos as possible to obtain the beacons. If the Americans established regional stability too quickly, it would multiply the difficulty of his work dozensfold. Darkshield was lucky enough to be captured by the Americans. He, on the other hand, would not have the luxury of being overseas and would have to face Zaratosthra’s judgment head-on.
Zaratosthra’s voice sliced through the silence, his tone icy but curious. “These developments… they may serve our goals. The enemies of the Gra Valkans might be sufficiently distracted, offering us a quieter theater for our endeavors.”
“Indeed, Your Radiance,” Zamuras interjected, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation toward his department’s activities. “The conflict has diverted global attention, allowing us to procure the beacons without undue scrutiny. In light of recent developments, we may accelerate our plans. With your permission, Your Radiance, I shall elaborate on the specifics of our operations in the Artticus Ocean,” he said, his voice barely more than a controlled whisper, mindful of the Emperor’s disdain for unnecessary noise.
The Emperor nodded, his gaze lingering on Zamuras – an unspoken go-ahead.
“Our tamed sea monsters have been most effective in the clandestine recovery of the beacons. The five we have secured represent the highest concentration in that region. However, there are two more we are currently tracking.” Zamuras flicked his hand, and a scrying window showing a map of the region materialized in the air, traced with glowing lines that led to pulsating points.
Zaratosthra’s eyes followed the lines, his face unreadable. “And the delivery timelines?”
“Four of the five beacons are already en route, well-protected and shrouded from detection. The fifth is taking a detour to avoid possible hot zones of conflict near the Mirishial coastline. We expect all to be securely stored within our vaults in less than a week.”
For a moment, Zamuras felt the weight of the Emperor’s gaze heavier than ever. Then, Zaratosthra looked away, breaking the tension. “Very well. Hasten your efforts. We have an eternal empire to resurrect.”
Zamuras felt his wings lighten, a burden lifted. “Your Radiance’s will shall be done.”
The Emperor’s gaze moved on, and the weight of his calculating eyes shifted away from Zamuras, instead falling upon Director Bachus.
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Director Bachus, a figure with wings that bore a touch of silver at the edges, rose. His posture was formal but tense, as though each muscle anticipated a sudden, unyielding judgment. “Your Radiance,” he began, “the situation in Quila is - um - is evolving. Despite its destitution and need for assistance, King Leonus has been reluctant to engage with us.”
The sconces dimmed as if the magical energy was being sucked right out of them. Emperor Zaratosthra’s eyes seemed to deepen in hue, like a sky darkening before a storm. “Explain.”
“W-we offered s-substantial aid, Your Radiance, including agricultural supplies and monetary assistance, both of which the Quilans desperately need.” Bachus lowered his head, eyes on the table. “Surprisingly, they have refused our offers. Recent intelligence suggests that their refusal is influenced by their deepening relations with the Americans.”
Director Vorus stepped in, “Our sources indicate that the Quilans are receiving similar aid packages from Qua Toyne, and potentially from the United States itself. Some citizens disapprove of the Americans’ ties with Louria, but this is overshadowed by the Americans’ role in bringing peace to the region. It would seem they are sufficiently provided for, at least for the time being.”
The Emperor’s eyes remained cold. “Leave it to the mutts to side with magically inept monkeys. Since diplomacy has failed us, we shall adjust our approach,” he concluded, his voice a low rumble. All eyes instinctively glanced toward the Emperor, who seemed to be contemplating a multitude of outcomes in a single breath. “Prepare for a covert operation. We will claim what is rightfully ours, one way or another.”
Bachus felt a cool rush of relief that quickly receded, leaving the chilling afterthought that a failure in this next endeavor would not be tolerated. Zamuras’ wings darkened subtly in reaction to that news. He knew it wasn’t Bachus’ fault, but now the Quila beacon was his problem – just another thing to add to the list of potential death sentences, as if Gahara wasn’t enough of a concern.
Zamuras almost flinched as the Emperor’s gaze finally rested upon him again. As if reading his mind, he began, “In regard to Gahara, what is the status of the current operation?”
Zamuras felt the frayed ends of his nerves tighten. “Your Radiance, our operatives have successfully bypassed the American naval patrols in the Sea of Parpa, and have made landfall on the island of Fenn. They are now awaiting local transit to Gahara and in the preparation phase for the retrieval of the beacon.”
“Challenges?” The Emperor’s single-word question hovered in the air, sharp and loaded.
“Logistically, it’s the American naval presence we’ve had to maneuver around, Your Radiance. However, their focus is mainly on their own operations and their war against the Gra Valkans. Their patrols in the region are for no more than basic anti-piracy and monster deterrence. We have managed to exploit gaps in their surveillance by blending with local traffic.”
High General Duran added, “With our fleets patrolling international waters near the Columbian Islands and the Vestal subcontinent, and with the ongoing war, the Americans should be too distracted to pay heed to our operatives’ movements.”
The Emperor considered this. “And the Gaharans?”
Zamuras looked at Vorus, who answered for him. “Unaware of our presence. Or of the beacon’s true significance. Local politics are not a hindrance at this time.”
The corners of the Emperor’s lips almost imperceptibly quirked up, a rare display. “Timelines?”
“Operatives expect to secure the beacon within the next seventy-two hours,” Zamuras offered, acutely aware of the gravity each hour held, especially with the Americans in negotiation for the very same object.
Emperor Zaratosthra locked eyes with him. Once more, it seemed as if Zaratosthra was scanning his very thoughts. “You know as well as I that time is not a commodity we possess in abundance.”
The unspoken ‘or you’ hung heavy between them, but Zamuras was careful to maintain his poker face and keep his tongue neutral. Sweat began to pool up around his shaky palms, hidden under the table, as he replied, “I understand, Your Radiance. They will not fail.”
The Emperor broke the gaze first, a move that reverberated throughout the room as a sign of, if not approval, then at least reprieve. “Good. I expect Gahara to be a mere footnote in your next report.”
His attention gravitated toward Director Vorus. “Director, the Cryseilian theater – what say you?”
Virus rose from his seat, his movements disciplined and unyielding. “Your Radiance, Warrior King Minett and Queen Lamis have been identified as potential assets. They have a distaste for King Geuge’s pacifist regime and seek to make Cryseilies a force to be reckoned with.”
A subtle gesture from the Emperor’s hand beckoned him to continue.
“Minett is ambitious, but he is no fool. He is aware of the Americans’ capabilities but is not deterred by them. Given serious advantages, he could become a considerable asset in distracting American resources.”
The air in the room seemed to tense up, like a bow pulled taut before loosing an arrow.
Zamuras watched Vorus closely, catching the slight but deliberate shift in his posture. “And these ‘serious advantages,’ as you put it, could well be provided by the Ravernal technology we are concurrently pursuing in Cryseilies,” Vorus added, then turning to look at Duran. “Or by military expertise and upgrades to their existing arsenal.”
Emperor Zaratosthra leaned back, his eyes narrowing in consideration. “Such an alliance would serve dual purposes: testing the efficacy of our technology against the Americans and forcing them to divert their attention. A rather elegant strategy.”
The tension in the room loosened marginally; Vorus had navigated the Emperor’s scrutiny successfully.
“And the artifacts?” The Emperor’s gaze shifted back to Zamuras, who had been following the conversation with rapt attention.
“We have promising leads on several artifacts, Your Radiance. A joint operation could enable a swift collection while contributing to the destabilization efforts. The dual objectives would weave seamlessly into a single operation.”
“Excellent. Then consider this the weaving of two threads into a noose for our enemies. Proceed on both fronts – without delay, without error.”
Zamuras felt the weight of the Emperor’s expectations but also a flicker of something else: an opportunity, a glimmer of light in a tunnel of treacherous darkness; an opportunity for glory. “Yes, Your Radiance. We will proceed as instructed.”
The Emperor glanced around the table. “We find ourselves on the precipice of a new era, an era that will either herald our triumph or condemn us to everlasting ignominy.” He looked at Zamuras. “See to it that it is the former.”
Zamuras inclined his head, his wings folding closer to his body in a subtle sign of assent. “As you wish, Your Radiance.”
In a gesture that felt almost rehearsed due to its familiarity, the Emperor placed his palms on the table and slowly rose. The council followed suit, their movements mirrored with uncanny synchronicity.
“May the Ancestors guide your endeavors,” the Emperor said.
The council members echoed the statement in unison. “May the Ancestors guide our endeavors.”