February 15, 1641
Ragna, Gra Valkas Empire
The low rumble began at 7:50, a sound that Marcellon first mistook for distant thunder. A storm brewing in perfect synchrony with Wileman’s plan – or so it seemed. But as the sound grew deeper, more resonant, it became clear this was no ordinary storm. The rolling echoes carried too much weight. Not thunder. Explosions. Realization crept in slowly, until the fire alarm shrieked through the building, snapping him fully into the present. The wail drowned out everything else – the distant detonations, the rush of rain against the windows, even the sound of his own thoughts.
For a moment, the weight of what those explosions meant gnawed at the edges of his focus. Whatever was happening out there – whoever was being caught in the blast – was no longer an abstraction. The distraction wasn’t just some clever tactic anymore; it was a violent reality unfolding beyond the walls of the IBC. But as the fire alarm continued to howl, smothering every outside sound, Marcellon pressed forward, fully aware that it was too late to turn back. The chaos outside had one purpose – to give him this chance. His mission remained the same. He adjusted his tie, squared his shoulders, and moved.
He walked with the rest of the staff, matching their pace as they funneled toward the exits. His steps were measured, his gaze neutral. No one gave him a second glance. Years of public appearances had trained him well—how to hide under scrutiny, how to project calm even in the face of chaos. He kept his breath slow, controlled, fully aware that this, of all times, was no moment for anything but composure.
When they reached the stairwell, he quietly separated from the group. His exit was smooth, unhurried, as if he had simply forgotten something. The empty corridor absorbed the sound of his footsteps. Retracing his steps, he paused for just a moment outside an unused office, checking the time. Everything was on schedule.
7:55. Time to move.
The broadcast room. His sanctuary, his prison. How many times had he stood here, carefully crafting the Empire's image? Now it would be his stage for an act of rebellion. Marcellon's hand hesitated on the doorknob, cool brass against his palm. One deep breath. Two. He turned the knob and stepped inside.
The hum of equipment greeted him, a soothing white noise that almost – almost – drowned out the pounding of his heart. The Valkyrie V-50 transmitter's vacuum tubes glowed their usual soft orange, oblivious to the weight of the moment. How fitting that this machine, the pride of Imperial engineering, would now serve to restore the true voice of the Empire. Marix may have thought he controlled the airwaves, but tonight, the Crown Prince and Emperor would speak directly to his people once more.
Marcellon produced the pre-recorded tape from his jacket, given to him by Wileman. He’d seen exactly what was on it; he had verified the Crown Prince’s speech with his own eyes – witnessed the truths and lies of the Empire and of Marix’s rule. He mounted the reel and threaded the tape through the Hoens R-2's intricate path, securing it with three turns on the take-up reel.
He reached for the master control, fingers hesitating for a split second before flicking the switch. The current broadcast cut off mid-word, leaving only the soft hiss of dead air.
Marcellon leaned in, adjusting the microphone boom with his left hand while his right hovered over the 'transmit' button. He cleared his throat, tasting the metallic tang of adrenaline.
"We interrupt our scheduled programming for an urgent announcement from His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince. Citizens of the Empire, your attention is required for this critical message." The words came out crisp, each syllable clear despite the dryness in his mouth. His thumb pressed down on the 'transmit' button, hard enough that he felt the edge of the switch dig into his skin.
His gaze locked onto the play button of the Hoens R-2. The smooth plastic felt almost warm under his index finger as he pressed down, hearing the soft click of the mechanism engaging. The tape began to move, a quiet whir filling the room.
“Citizens of the Gra Valkas Empire!”
As soon as he heard the Emperor's voice come through clearly, he stood up. He’d done his part. Now, it was all up to the Crown Prince and the people.
– –
“Haufgard’s been hit! The entire dock is gone!”
The shout rang out from the far side of the room, where a junior officer crouched over his radio set, fingers tight on the transmitter, voice strained. “No response from the eastern hangars! Smoke’s everywhere!”
Marix’s eyes narrowed. His officers – his finest men – were stammering like schoolchildren. Reports echoed through the room, muddled by static and the frantic tapping of telegraph machines. Slips of paper flew from the printers, snatched up by aides who rushed them to their superiors, hands trembling as if they had never handled a crisis before. Pathetic.
“The airfield at Ragna, sir!” A pale-faced officer turned, stiff-backed as if trying to steady himself under Marix’s gaze. “Explosions confirmed. Primary runway is down, dozens of Guti Mauns destroyed.”
Marix’s lip curled, the disdain creeping into his voice. “Of course,” he muttered, beginning to feel his veins pop. “Where is Karlmann? Siegs?”
An aide stepped forward, hesitant. “Likely at dinner, sir.”
He exhaled air through his nose in a controlled manner – one that staved off the rage and frustration boiling within him. He composed himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again, “Find them and inform them of the news.”
The aide nodded, more than eager to rush out the door.
Marix returned to the chaos before him, seething with the sheer humiliation of the strike. It had happened once before, when the Imperial Family and other key figures escaped his grasp. American missile strikes. Such were the tools of cowards, weapons launched from beyond sight. Cowards they may be, but intelligent nonetheless.
Last time, the strikes covered for a team of American operators and their mission of extracting the Emperor. What could these very strikes be distracting them from now? The possibility of another strike plagued him to no end, and now he’d see the fruits of his relentless planning and contingencies. “Lock down the city.”
If the Americans wanted to enter the city again, he would ensure none could escape alive. Ragna was to be sealed, martial law fully imposed with constant patrols throughout the city. Not a single person would leave. Not a single person would enter. And not a single street would be free from the presence of his soldiers.
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Yet, as his men began to carry out his orders, dread filled his every pore. A voice emerged from the TV behind them – typically background noise, but now a poignant declaration of war. "We interrupt our scheduled programming for an urgent announcement from His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince. Citizens of the Empire, your attention is required for this critical message."
– –
All across the Gra Valkas Empire, the familiar chime of the Imperial Alert System resonated with an unhurried precision, seamlessly interrupting television programs and radio broadcasts. The Empire’s citizens had come to expect these interruptions for proclamations of national importance – declarations of war, military victories, or policy changes that reaffirmed the Empire’s indomitable presence. But this one carried an air of formality distinct even from those, a subtle shift that only the more perceptive would recognize.
In the cities, workers paused all the variants of curiosity – fearful curiosity, studied curiosity, plain curiosity. At factories, assembly lines slowed as tired laborers glanced toward the nearest radio. At street corners and in public squares, conversations waned, replaced by murmurs of inquiry. Vendors, accustomed to the dull monotony of their work, straightened as the transmission overtook their surroundings, sensing the weight of what was to come.
In homes across the Empire, citizens noted the interruption with a similar sense of expectation. Families, well-versed in the rhythms of state announcements, knew better than to ignore the unmistakable tone of the Imperial Seal. It signified more than just authority; it symbolized the continuity of the Gra Valkas Empire’s grand narrative, one in which they all played an ever-present, though minor, role. Mothers turned their attention from their children’s chatter, fathers set down their utensils with quiet deliberation, and the younger ones, oblivious to the gravitas, instinctively followed their elders’ leads.
This particular announcement, however, resonated with a sharper edge. It came at the precise time when the maximum number of citizens would be reached – dinner tables were full, laborers had returned home, and the daily routines of the Empire were in their most static phase. A broadcast now would ensure everyone was listening, which was, after all, the point.
In the capital city of Ragna, there was no panic, only a quiet acknowledgement of the announcement’s significance. Civil servants exchanged knowing glances, their years of experience offering little clue on the content of the broadcast, but certainty of the words – words that would undoubtedly shape policy, society, and public discourse in the weeks to come.
And then, across the Empire, the Imperial Seal dissolved from view, giving way to a face that many had nearly forgotten: the Crown Prince, standing resolute at the forefront.
It was, of course, fitting that the Crown Prince would step forward at this moment, as the Empire stood at a pivotal juncture. Yet, for many across the nation, the image that commanded their attention was not the Prince, but the figure behind him: the Emperor himself, seated in a wheelchair, flanked by the Imperial family and several key advisors including the Empire’s Chief of the Military, Xand Pastall, and the Office of the Sovereign’s Secretary Varden Kurtz.
The suddenness of it struck like a blow—there had been no prior signs, no explanation. The Emperor, once a symbol of unwavering strength, was now visibly diminished, leaving many stunned by the unexpected display of frailty. Were the rumors of illness true?
For the older generation, who had known the Emperor as a force of power, this marked an undeniable shift. Across the Empire, people grappled with the gravity of the moment – the older ones recognizing the transfer of authority, the younger ones bewildered by the change they had not anticipated.
As the Empire held its breath, the Crown Prince’s voice emerged, markedly different from the one they used to know. Once brash and full of youthful arrogance, it now carried a calm authority, tempered by confidence. There was no rush—why should there be? His words would be carried across the Empire, and their truth was self-evident.
"Citizens of the Gra Valkas Empire!"
"Your Crown Prince stands before you, not from the shadows of exile, but with the full weight of the Empire behind him. You were told that your Imperial family had fallen, that illness and fate had taken us. These were lies, spread by the hands of a traitor who sits on a throne he does not deserve. I am here today to reveal the truth: I, Gra Cabal, Crown Prince of the Gra Valkas Empire, am alive and well. And with me, the true Imperial family stands strong.
But not without scars. During Marix’s treacherous coup, my father, Emperor Gra Lux, suffered violent injury at the hands of traitors who sought his head. Though he lives, his wounds prevent him from ruling in these turbulent times. It is with the full blessing of the Imperial family – and in the face of this treachery – that I stand before you as the rightful leader of the Empire. The burden of command now falls to me.
Marix’s time is over. His rule has always been built on deception and treason, and today I bring his crimes into the light. Marix has betrayed the Imperial family, seized power unlawfully, and led the Empire into ruin. But as much as his guilt is evident to those of us who lived through his coup, I understand that the Senate, the military, and the citizens deserve to see the full truth. Therefore, in the name of justice and the Empire’s future, I am calling for a formal Imperial investigation into Marix’s crimes.
I have already begun gathering evidence – testimonies, communications, and records – that will expose the depths of Marix’s betrayal. His guilt is undeniable, but we will not allow any shadow of doubt to undermine the stability of our Empire. I call upon the Senate to authorize this investigation immediately. Let the rule of law guide us through this process, as it has always done.
Marix shall be placed under temporary detention, effective immediately, to prevent any interference with the investigation. He and his conspirators will face trial under the Empire’s laws, and those who are found guilty of treason will be dealt with according to our traditions – swiftly and decisively. But make no mistake, justice will be served.
Citizens, the time for division is over. The Senate, the military, and every loyal subject of the Empire must now come together to restore order. Marix’s actions have weakened us, but his removal will allow us to focus our strength where it is truly needed – rebuilding the Empire and securing its future.
And to the Elysian Defense Initiative – understand this: I am not Marix. Whatever you think you have gained in this conflict, whatever victories you believe you hold, are temporary, fragile things built on his incompetence. Under my leadership, you will face an Empire far greater, far more powerful than you could ever imagine. Our nation has recently made incredible leaps in science, and I will not shy from deploying new and cruel weapons of war. But I am not a fool blinded by hubris, unlike the man you’ve fought until now. I offer you an opportunity you will not see again: a ceasefire.
Once I have reclaimed my throne and justice is served, I will open the door to peace negotiations. Not because we lack the strength to continue this war, but because I choose to wield my power with wisdom, not recklessness. Know this: the terms will be ours to dictate. Any peace will be made with the understanding that the Empire’s sovereignty and honor will be preserved intact. I extend this offer not from weakness, but from a position of wisdom – a true ruler knows when to offer the olive branch and when to wield the sword.
But do not misinterpret my intentions. Reject this offer, and you will face the full force of an Empire restored to its rightful rule, armed with the power to turn cities to ash in an instant. This is your choice – accept peace on our terms or be crushed by the weight of our renewed strength.
Citizens of the Gra Valkas Empire, the path forward is clear. We are not a people who bow, who break, or who falter. We are Gra Valkans, heirs to a legacy of power and dominance. Under my leadership, we will not just survive – we will ascend to heights even greater than before. The Empire will be restored to its full glory, and those who stood against us will remember their place beneath our heel.
The traitor Marix will be purged. The Empire will rise. Victory will be ours, because it was always meant to be. Stand with me, and together we will restore the Empire to its rightful place in history."