--oOo--

September 7, 1939. Night.

18 kilometers from the front lines of the Valkyrien Empire's battlefield, Northern Astarte.

The sky hung heavy with clouds, a murky veil that smothered the moonlight, leaving the world below cloaked in near-total darkness. A bitter wind swept across the plains, carrying with it the sting of frost and the smell of war a toxic mixture of burning oil, gunpowder, and distant death. The night was alive with distant murmurs: the dull, thunderous rumble of artillery fire far in the distance, and the occasional flash of light illuminating the horizon like violent lightning.

On the frozen earth, a small, makeshift artillery outpost sat in the middle of a desolate clearing. Men huddled around fires, the flames barely a flicker in the vast, unforgiving cold. The officers and their crews moved about silently, their faces stern and weary, their breath fogging in the icy air. Most had stopped speaking hours ago. There was no need for words now. Only action.

In the center of the camp, pacing back and forth like a restless ghost, was the artillery officer. His grey uniform, creased from hours of wear, blended seamlessly into the dark, frost-bitten surroundings. His face was shadowed beneath the brim of his peaked cap, but his eyes sharp and alert caught every detail, every movement of his men. The cold gnawed at him too, but he paid it no mind. There were greater concerns.

The small comms device in his gloved hand buzzed incessantly, the static crackling louder with every passing second. He had been waiting for this call. They had all been waiting, knowing that the tides of battle would soon demand their intervention.

Finally, a voice broke through the static desperate, strained, and barely audible over the cacophony of battle that raged at the front.

"We need artillery support, now!!"

The officer’s jaw clenched, the adrenaline sharpening his senses. He raised the device to his ear, the distant roar of cannons mixing with the blood pounding in his temples. His voice, though calm, carried the weight of urgency.

"Send me the coordinates," he said, eyes narrowing as if he could see the battlefield through the night.

There was a brief pause, filled only with the hum of the wind and the far-off screams of war. Then, the voice on the other end, breathless and strained, rattled off a sequence of numbers and letters, designating the enemy positions positions where men were dying, where ground was being lost, where the enemy was advancing.

The officer repeated the coordinates under his breath, committing them to memory with a soldier's precision. With a swift motion, he pocketed the manacom inside his coat and turned on his heel, his boots crunching against the frozen ground. His sharp command cut through the frigid air like a knife.

"Coordinates received! Ready the howitzers!"

The camp stirred to life. Artillery crews, seasoned by countless battles, leaped into action with practiced efficiency. Their movements were mechanical, drilled into them through years of warfare. They handled the massive shells each one as tall as a man and loaded with enough power to obliterate fortifications with a reverence born from respect and fear of the destruction they commanded.

The howitzers stood poised on the edge of the clearing like silent giants, their cold steel barrels gleaming faintly in the dim light. These machines were more than mere weapons. They were beasts of war, engineered to rain devastation on the enemy, to shift the very balance of the battlefield with a single salvo.

The officer strode toward the battery, his eyes focused on the far-off horizon, where flashes of fire from the frontline battles lit the sky sporadically. He could hear the faint echo of explosions and screams carried by the wind, but it all felt distant, abstract, just a precursor to the destruction that was about to come.

"Ready, sir!" came the shout from one of the crews. Their faces were set, determined, their hands steady despite the cold and exhaustion.

The officer raised his hand high above his head. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, the world holding its breath. His pulse matched the steady thrum of the distant battle, and as he watched the night sky, he envisioned the enemy forces, entrenched and confident, unaware of the doom that was about to rain down upon them.

"Fire!"

The command shattered the stillness.

The howitzers roared in unison, their thunderous discharge reverberating across the frozen plains. Flames erupted from their barrels, lighting up the night with an eerie, fiery glow. The very earth trembled underfoot as the shells massive and merciless ripped through the sky, their trajectory a silent promise of death and destruction.

For a brief moment, everything was quiet, as though the world had inhaled in anticipation. Then, in the distance, the horizon exploded. Plumes of fire and smoke shot up into the air as the shells made contact, their impact obliterating everything in their path. The ground shook as the first wave of explosions ripped through the enemy lines, tearing apart defenses, bunkers, and men alike.

The officer watched the distant inferno unfold, his face a mask of cold detachment. It was necessary, he told himself. War was never glorious, never clean. It was brutal, violent, and unforgiving. But the Valkyrien Empire had made its choice: to conquer and unite Astarte under one banner. And to achieve that goal, there could be no mercy.

"Reload!" he barked, his voice cutting through the lingering echo of the first barrage. The crews, without hesitation, moved to load the next set of shells.

As the night wore on, the howitzers continued their deadly rhythm, each salvo sending shockwaves across the plains, each explosion a reminder that the Empire would stop at nothing to achieve victory. But as the officer stood there, watching the battlefield burn, he couldn't shake the thought that this war like the ones before it would leave scars far deeper than those etched into the land.

Scars that would never heal.

--oOo--

September 7, 1939. Late Night.

The Northern Front, the front lines.

The night was alive with the chaos of war. Above the torn landscape, artillery shells screeched through the darkness, cutting through the stillness like the harbingers of death they were. Their descent began as a low whistle, but quickly rose into a deafening crescendo before exploding on impact. The ground trembled and groaned beneath the weight of destruction, as flames erupted into the sky, painting the battlefield in a hellish glow. Shrapnel, dirt, and body parts scattered across the scorched terrain as if the earth itself was vomiting up the carnage.

Where once there had been trees tall, sturdy guardians of the forest now stood skeletal remains, twisted and charred by fire. Some leaned awkwardly, ready to collapse, while others had already been snapped in half by the sheer force of the explosions. The ground, a once frozen and firm expanse of northern soil, had transformed into a grotesque blend of mud, blood, and debris. The deep trenches that soldiers had labored to dig now lay in ruins, barely recognizable amidst the wreckage. For many, they had become graves, swallowing whole the lives of men whose faces would never again see the sun.

Gunfire crackled across the battlefield like electric storms, tracer rounds zipping through the air, their sharp zings punctuated by the occasional scream the unmistakable, gut-wrenching cries of soldiers wounded or dying. The wind carried their agony, mingling with the distant thunder of artillery, until it felt as though the very sky was weeping.

In the middle of this inferno crouched a lone Valkyrein sniper. His back pressed against the edge of a crater blasted into the earth by an earlier shell, he was alone, separated from his unit by the chaos that had unfolded. His breathing was ragged, misting in the cold night air as he clung to his sniper rifle, the weight of it familiar in his hands. His uniform, once pristine in its grey military crispness, was now soaked with the filth of war mud caked onto the fabric, blood smeared on his chest, the remnants of a comrade who hadn’t been so lucky.

His fingers were stiff with cold, the bite of the northern wind gnawing through his gloves. Despite the numbness that crept up his hands, he gripped the rifle tighter, the metal biting into his palms, reminding him that his life however fragile still hung by a thread. His eyes, trained and sharp, scanned the ruined landscape beyond the lip of the crater. The night was thick with smoke, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. Yet, even through the haze, he caught the faint silhouette of an enemy soldier.

The figure, clumsy in their movements, stumbled through the devastation, firing blindly into what remained of the trenches. The sniper recognized the outline Warsaw infantry, allies of Colista, fighting for the defense of their nation. The crosshairs of his scope hovered over the enemy’s torso. One breath in, one breath out. His finger tensed on the trigger.

The rifle kicked back against his shoulder with a satisfying crack. For a split second, the world froze as the bullet tore through the cold night air. It struck the soldier not in the chest as intended, but in the neck, sending a spray of blood into the darkness. The man’s head snapped back grotesquely before separating from his body entirely, tumbling into the mud like a grotesque puppet losing its strings. The sniper barely registered the horror of the kill before he ducked back into his crater, hands already reloading.

The distant whine of artillery fire grew louder, and then, without warning, another shell exploded nearby. The earth bucked like a wounded animal, tossing dirt, rock, and debris high into the air. The force of the blast rattled the sniper’s bones, his ears ringing from the shockwave. Shaking it off, he spat dirt from his mouth, his heart racing as he realized how close death had come.

"Damnit…" he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers trembling slightly as he slammed another round into the chamber. Despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he knew he had to stay calm, stay focused.

Through the smoke, he spotted another target a Colistan soldier, identifiable by his desert-patterned uniform. The enemy crept forward, carefully navigating the wreckage, but unaware that he was already in the sniper's sights.

The sniper took his time, steadying his breath. The crosshairs danced briefly before settling over the target’s heart. Another squeeze of the trigger, and the rifle barked. The soldier dropped like a stone, the bullet punching clean through his chest. No scream, no struggle just a sudden end.

A sudden weight dropped beside him in the crater, the muddy walls rattling with the impact. Another Valkyrein soldier had slid into the pit, gasping for breath, his face pale and streaked with dirt.

"This is insane!" the newcomer exclaimed, his voice thin with panic. His eyes darted around, wild with the fear of a man who had already seen too much.

The sniper grunted, his eyes never leaving the lip of the crater. "Bloody hell it is," he muttered, scanning for more targets. His mind was singularly focused on survival. On the next shot. And the next.

A bullet zipped past them, whistling just inches from his head. The sniper instinctively ducked, rolling into the side of the crater as snow and dirt sprayed over him. He cursed under his breath, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“They’ve spotted us,” he said grimly, gripping his rifle tighter. “We need to move.”

But before they could act, a blinding flash of light lit up the trench line, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle shot. The sniper’s comrade barely had time to flinch before his head snapped back, a spray of blood and bone painting the crater walls. His body slumped to the ground, dead before it hit the mud.

“Fuck!” The sniper recoiled, horror twisting in his gut. There was no time to process it. Another round tore through the air, sizzling past him with a faint trail of of light likely a tracer round.

The sniper growled, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. With enemy fire already trained on his position, he was a sitting duck. Every second in the crater was another second closer to death. He had to move. He had to find higher ground.

Crawling through the mud, using the scattered corpses and debris for cover, he searched the battlefield for a new vantage point. The enemy was pushing forward, their tanks lumbering across the scarred earth, crushing everything in their path. Infantry followed in their wake, darting between the hulking steel beasts for cover as they advanced on the Valkyrein lines.

The sniper’s pulse quickened. His rifle was useless against the tanks, but infantry? That was something he could handle. Spotting an enemy soldier making a dash for one of the advancing tanks, he adjusted his aim. The shot rang out, and the soldier crumpled, blood pooling beneath his lifeless body. But the tanks kept moving, relentless in their advance.

A deep, ominous rumble sent shivers down his spine. One of the tanks had turned its turret in his direction. The massive barrel swung toward his position like the finger of death.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

The sniper bolted from the crater just as the tank fired. The ground where he had been moments ago exploded into a cloud of fire and debris, the force of the blast sending him tumbling through the mud. Dazed and breathless, he scrambled to his feet, but pain shot through him. A bullet had found its mark, his shoulder, now slick with blood that soaked through his uniform.

“Ah, damn it…” he gasped, clutching the wound as the world spun around him. The pain was a burning ache, each movement sending waves of agony through his body. His legs faltered beneath him, and he collapsed back into the mud, helpless. His vision blurred, the sounds of the battlefield fading into a distant echo as the cold seeped into his bones.

"Is this it?" he whispered to no one, his voice barely audible above the distant roar of battle. The irony was bitter. After all the lives he had taken, it seemed that death had finally come for him.

But then, faintly at first, he heard the crunch of boots on frozen ground. Through his haze, he half-expected to see an enemy soldier, rifle raised to finish the job. But instead, a figure appeared—a Valkyrein medic, his red insignia bright against the mud and blood of the battlefield. His expression was focused, determined.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” the medic shouted, kneeling beside the sniper and slipping his arms under his shoulders. The sniper groaned as the pain surged again, but he bit down hard, forcing himself to stay conscious as the medic dragged him toward the relative safety of the trenches.

Every jolt sent fire coursing through his veins, but the sniper kept silent, focusing on the icy ground beneath him. Together, they made it halfway to the trench when the medic stumbled. The sniper glanced up just in time to see the dark stain spreading across the medic’s chest a bullet had punched through, blood gushing out.

“No...!” the sniper rasped, but his voice was drowned out by the chaos. The medic collapsed, lifeless, and the sniper was alone once more.

His heart sank as he lay there, surrounded by death. The ground shook again, as enemy tanks drew nearer, their advance unstoppable.

The world around him seemed to blur as the sniper lay in the mud, his body shaking with exhaustion and pain. His shoulder burned where the bullet had ripped through, the cold only amplifying the sting as it sank deeper into his bones. He could still hear the deep rumble of enemy tanks, their monstrous steel forms grinding relentlessly forward, casting long shadows over the shattered battlefield. Each breath he took was a struggle, the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood thick in the air, choking him.

He blinked slowly, his vision swimming as consciousness threatened to slip away. The medic lay lifeless beside him, a grim reminder of how fleeting life was in this war. The sniper tried to push himself up, but his strength was failing. Every movement sent a sharp wave of pain through his body, the blood from his wound soaking into the mud below him.

A distant explosion jolted him back to reality. One of the enemy tanks had stopped, its turret smoldering as it was hit by a shell from the Valkyrein artillery. Fire erupted from within the tank, and the hulking beast shuddered before collapsing in on itself, its crew likely consumed by the flames. The sight should have filled the sniper with a sense of grim satisfaction, but all he felt was the creeping weight of his own mortality. His grip on the rifle loosened slightly, his fingers numb.

Just as his vision began to dim, a shadow appeared above him. For a moment, he thought it was the end—that the enemy had found him at last. But the face that leaned down toward him was not one of death. It was another Valkyrein medic, his expression hard and determined, his breath coming out in visible clouds as he crouched over the sniper.

“Stay with me!” the medic shouted, his voice cutting through the ringing in the sniper’s ears. The sound was like a lifeline, dragging the soldier back from the brink of unconsciousness. With practiced efficiency, the medic knelt beside him, fingers already probing the wound with a clinical detachment.

The sniper groaned in pain, his teeth clenched as the medic tore open his coat to get a better look at the injury. “You’re gonna be fine,” the medic muttered, though his tone was more businesslike than comforting. His hands moved swiftly, pulling out bandages and supplies from a weathered kit strapped to his waist.

The sniper tried to speak, but all that escaped his lips was a weak, pained sound. The world around him seemed to tilt, the noise of the battlefield growing distant again. He could hear the medic working, his voice a steady hum in the background as he dressed the wound, but the sniper’s mind was elsewhere drifting in and out of the chaos.

“You’ll be alright,” the medic said, tightening the bandages around the sniper’s shoulder. The pain flared, sharp and hot, and the sniper let out a strangled groan, trying to push through it. “Hold still!” the medic snapped, though not unkindly. “We need to get you out of here. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Through bleary eyes, the sniper glanced around the battlefield. The front lines were a mess of smoke and fire, the ground torn apart by the relentless artillery strikes. In the distance, he saw the familiar shapes of Valkyrein tanks rumbling forward, their sleek, winter-camouflaged armor gleaming faintly in the flickering light of the battlefield. They were pushing back, but for how long? The enemy forces were vast, and their resolve unshaken.

“Come on!” The medic’s voice pulled him back. The soldier felt a strong arm slide under his good shoulder, hoisting him to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, barely able to support his weight, but the medic didn’t give him a choice. “You’re not dying here,” the medic muttered under his breath, his words filled with determination as he half-dragged the sniper through the churned-up mud toward the safety of the trenches.

Each step felt like a monumental effort, the sniper’s vision swimming as the pain in his shoulder throbbed with each movement. His head lolled slightly, but the medic kept him moving, focused on survival. Around them, the war raged on, deafening booms of artillery mixed with the rapid bursts of machine-gun fire. The air was thick with smoke and the screams of dying men, but the sniper could barely focus on any of it. His world had narrowed to the mud beneath his boots and the steady pull of the medic’s grip on his arm.

As they neared the trenches, another artillery barrage hit nearby, the ground shuddering beneath their feet. The medic pulled the sniper down just in time as a blast of dirt and debris exploded in the air, raining down around them. They both ducked, mud splattering against their coats. The sniper groaned, his body screaming in protest, but he forced himself to keep moving.

Finally, they stumbled into the relative safety of the trenches. Valkyrein soldiers were hunkered down, their faces grim and streaked with mud as they prepared for the next wave of the enemy assault. Some were reloading their rifles, others tending to the wounded, their expressions tight with exhaustion and fear. The trench walls were reinforced with snow and mud, but the ground was slick with blood, bodies lying half-buried in the muck. The sight was a grim reminder that this war was far from over.

“Stay here,” the medic ordered, laying the sniper down in a makeshift corner of the trench where the wounded were being gathered. He pressed a cloth to the soldier’s wound, but the sniper could barely feel it. His body was numb now, the pain a dull throb that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

The sniper’s head lolled to the side, his vision growing dark around the edges. He could hear the distant rumble of engines enemy tanks still advancing. He tried to focus, tried to keep his eyes open, but the exhaustion was too great. He slumped against the trench wall, barely registering the sounds of war around him.

The medic was saying something, but the words didn’t reach him. The sniper’s thoughts drifted to the faces of his comrades, the ones who had already fallen, and the ones who were still out there, fighting against impossible odds. The war wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As his vision blurred and darkness crept in, the last thing the sniper heard was the rumble of Valkyrein tanks returning fire, their cannons roaring into the night, fighting back against the inevitable tide.

The battle raged on, but for the sniper, the world finally went silent.

--oOo--

--Sometime later--

The soldier earlier awoke slowly, his body heavy, as though weighed down by the exhaustion of battle and the pain in his injured shoulder. His vision was blurry, but as he blinked to clear it, he realized he was no longer lying in the cold, muddy trenches of the battlefield. The distinct, rhythmic thrum of rotor blades reached his ears, and the harsh bite of the wind was replaced by the more controlled environment of a helicopter.

The faint smell of oil, gunpowder, and sweat filled the cabin. Around him, military personnel occupied their posts. The gunner stood at the open door, manning the high-caliber machine gun with steady hands, scanning the horizon for threats. Up front, the pilot and co-pilot were busy at the controls, their faces tight with concentration as they guided the chopper through the night.

Beside him sat a familiar face the medic who had dragged him from the trenches. She sat slouched, her helmet precariously balanced on her head, her eyes closed in what looked like an exhausted slumber. Her dark hair was barely visible beneath the helmet, and the soft rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that she was resting.

He blinked, his mind slowly catching up with the situation. He reached out instinctively, trying to fix her helmet, but his fingers, clumsy with fatigue and the bullet wound on his shoulder made it even more nervous, and knocked it loose. The helmet tumbled to the floor with a sharp metallic clank.

“Uaaaah,” the medic groaned, startled awake by the noise. She blinked several times before her eyes settled on Grisan, who sat frozen, feeling guilty for waking her.

Her sleepy gaze shifted to his hand, still outstretched toward her. “Uh...” she muttered, locking eyes with him.

The soldier pulled his hand back quickly. “Uh... your helmet fell off,” he blurted awkwardly, trying to explain.

A small, playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She chuckled softly, leaning back in her seat. “What? Didn’t expect a woman?” she teased, her voice carrying a warm but mischievous tone. “Or did you think medics are only men?”

Grisan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, holding up his good hand in defense. “No, no... I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammered, his words hurried. “Just... surprised, is all.”

Her smirk widened, clearly enjoying his awkwardness. “Relax, soldier. Rest while you can.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but her tone was gentle, even kind. There was a weariness there that Grisan hadn’t noticed before a heaviness that came from too many battles and too little rest.

The brief silence between them was filled by the steady hum of the helicopter’s engines and the occasional crackle of static from the radio. The soldier could feel the cold ache in his shoulder returning, the dull throb pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, leaning back against the seat, trying to push the pain aside.

“So... may I ask your name?” her voice cut through the quiet, pulling the soldier.from his thoughts. Her tone was softer now, no longer teasing.

“Grisan,” he replied after a moment, glancing at her with a guarded look. His voice, though steady, was low.

“Grisan, huh?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. “Well, I’m Kristen.” Her expression softened, and for a brief moment, the tension of the battlefield seemed far away, replaced by something simpler two soldiers caught in the whirlwind of war, trying to find some semblance of humanity amidst the chaos.

Before they could continue, a strange sound began to rise over the steady drone of the helicopter's rotors. The air inside the cabin grew thick, charged with an unseen energy. Outside, the world seemed to shift the wind, once steady, picked up with a sudden, violent force. The trees below whipped back and forth as if the very earth was rebelling against them.

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“Eh?” The co-pilot frowned, his hands tightening around the controls. The helicopter lurched slightly as the air around them grew turbulent. “What the hell is going on?”

Grisan’s eyes narrowed as he peered out of the window, watching the landscape blur beneath them. The winds were growing stronger, unnatural, their howls deafening as the helicopter struggled to stay steady. He could see the trees below bending and snapping under the pressure, leaves spiraling up in a chaotic dance.

“This isn’t normal,” the co-pilot muttered, his voice rising in confusion. “There wasn’t any storm in the forecast...”

The pilot gritted his teeth, his knuckles white on the controls as he fought to keep the chopper steady. “Hold tight!” he barked, trying to mask the rising panic in his voice. “We’re hitting some serious turbulence here!”

“Guys, this doesn't feel right!” The gunner shouted, gripping his weapon tighter as the helicopter lurched again, the craft tilting dangerously to one side.

Kristen's eyes widened as she looked out the window, the unnatural darkness outside swallowing the horizon. “What the hell is this?” she muttered, her voice shaking. “There’s no storm something’s wrong.”

Grisan’s heart raced as he felt the pull of gravity shift. The helicopter shook violently, the rotors straining against the unnatural winds. The sky itself seemed to darken, as though thick clouds had suddenly gathered, blotting out the stars. A low, eerie hum filled the air, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“What the bloody hell is happening?!” Grisan shouted, gripping the seat in front of him as the chopper pitched wildly.

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the air, and the entire helicopter jolted. Grisan was thrown forward, slamming into the side of the cabin. His injured shoulder exploded with pain as he hit the wall, a sharp cry escaping his lips. His vision blurred, the world spinning around him.

“Shit!” the pilot screamed, wrestling with the controls as the helicopter tilted violently to the side. “Something’s trying to pull us down!”

Kristen lunged forward, reaching for Grisan, but the helicopter jerked again, sending her crashing into the opposite side of the cabin. Grisan barely registered the impact as darkness began to creep into his vision. His body slumped against the wall, the pounding in his shoulder overwhelming his senses.

Before he could react, the helicopter shuddered once more, and Grisan’s head hit the metal wall with a sickening crack. The world went black.

--oOo--

--Back on the Frontlines--

The frontlines, once a desolate battlefield littered with craters, debris, and the smoldering remains of war, had transformed into something far more sinister. The sudden storm that swept over the land was unnatural in its ferocity, blotting out the moon and stars with its swirling, malevolent clouds. The skies, previously alight with flashes of artillery and muzzle fire, were now blanketed in an eerie, suffocating darkness. The air was filled with the deafening roar of gale-force winds, tearing through no-man's-land, carrying dust and debris like shrapnel across the landscape.

Valkyrien soldiers hunkered down in their trenches, eyes wide with fear as they tried to find shelter from the chaos. The familiar trenches, once symbols of grim survival, now felt like fragile fortifications against the fury of the elements. The world outside had been swallowed by the storm, and neither side could see the other through the churning wall of dust and wind.

"Ahh shit, this is too sudden!" an officer of the Valkyrien Army shouted, his voice nearly swallowed by the howling storm. His words barely reached the soldiers scrambling around him, their grey uniforms flapping in the relentless wind. The officer pulled his coat tighter around his body, struggling to maintain his footing as the gale threatened to sweep him off his feet. The gusts were like a beast, battering everything in its path with an almost conscious ferocity.

Snow and dust filled the air, swirling together in a thick, chaotic mess that obscured everything more than a few feet away. The battlefield had vanished into a haze of swirling particles. The officer’s heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled forward, trying to make his way to the nearest bunker, the only real refuge in the midst of this unnatural storm.

He wasn’t alone. Around him, soldiers shouted and cursed as they pushed toward the bunkers that stretched along the Valkyrien trenches. Their movements were frantic, driven by survival instinct. The skies above had transformed into a roiling black sea of clouds, broken only by sporadic flashes of lightning that illuminated the horror unfolding below. The sound of gunfire and artillery had ceased completely, overtaken by the relentless, furious howl of the wind. It was as though the very war had been frozen, locked in some nightmarish limbo.

The officer narrowed his eyes against the wind, grit stinging his face as he forced his legs to keep moving. The storm pressed against him like an invisible wall, every step a struggle. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air thick with dust and ice, making each inhale feel like swallowing broken glass. Around him, soldiers moved like phantoms in the storm, their shapes barely discernible through the thick haze.

He was almost at the bunker entrance when something latched onto his shoulder, hard.

"Huh?" The officer stopped in his tracks, his body stiffening as he whipped his head around, eyes wide with alarm. His pulse spiked, imagining an enemy attack in the midst of the storm. But what he found was something far stranger. Perched on his shoulder was a large bird, its black eyes gleaming in the dim light, talons gripping tightly onto the fabric of his coat.

The officer stared at the bird in disbelief. "HAAAA!" he screamed, startled by the bizarre sight.

"Kuaaah!" the bird shrieked back, equally startled, its wings flapping against the wind as it struggled to maintain its perch.

For a moment, both the officer and the bird seemed frozen, locked in a brief but absurd moment of mutual surprise. Despite the chaos of the storm raging around them, the surreal encounter cut through the madness.

"Get off me!" the officer barked, twisting his shoulder, trying to shake the creature loose. But the bird, a massive harow with sleek black feathers, refused to budge, flapping its wings to steady itself against the storm.

"Kuaaah!" it screeched again, almost indignantly, as it dug its talons deeper into his coat.

The officer let out a groan of frustration. "Fine, fine!" he muttered, feeling defeated by the stubborn creature. "You can stay just don’t claw through my damn coat."

With a huff, he pressed on, pulling the harow with him as he reached the heavy concrete door of the bunker. He pushed it open with a grunt, the wind fighting him every step of the way, and finally stumbled inside. The door slammed shut behind him, muffling the relentless roar of the storm, though the walls still shook under the pressure of the gale outside.

Inside, the bunker was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Dimly lit by a few flickering lamps, the room was cramped and filled with the metallic scent of oil and sweat. Four soldiers stood around a makeshift table, their faces drawn and pale, their bodies tense with fear. They snapped to attention the moment the officer entered, saluting in unison.

"Sir!" they called, their voices tinged with relief and unease.

The officer gave them a quick nod, brushing the dust from his coat. But before he could speak, the soldiers’ eyes drifted toward his shoulder. The harow was still perched there, its black feathers ruffling slightly as it adjusted its grip.

"Uhh... sir..." one of the younger soldiers stammered, his brow furrowing as he pointed toward the bird. "There's... umm... a bird."

The officer sighed, feeling the weight of the absurd situation pressing down on him. "Yes, I’m aware," he said dryly, glancing at the harow. "It seems I’ve made a friend."

"Kuaaah!" the bird squawked, as if in agreement, pecking lightly at the officer’s hat.

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to respond. A few chuckles escaped their lips, the tension in the air easing just slightly.

"Alright, enough of that," the officer said, his voice shifting back to its usual stern tone. He straightened his hat and turned to face the men. "Now, what the hell is going on out there?"

One of the soldiers, the ranking officer among the group, stepped forward. His face was grim, lines of fatigue etched deep into his features. "Sir, we... we don’t know. The storm came out of nowhere, and it’s not like anything we’ve ever seen. It’s affecting the entire battlefield, both our side and the enemy."

"A storm like this doesn’t just come out of nowhere," the officer snapped. "Not with this kind of force. Have we had any word from command?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, sir. All communications have been cut off. We’re completely in the dark here. Whatever this is, it’s not natural."

One of the younger soldiers, standing at the back, swallowed nervously before speaking. "Sir... could this be some kind of sorcery?"

The officer’s eyes narrowed. "Sorcery?" His voice was filled with skepticism, though the mention of magic was not entirely far-fetched. On Astarte, the forces of Arcane light and dark were merely legends, just some folk lore and nothing more

Another crash sounded outside, shaking the bunker and sending a cascade of dust down from the ceiling. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the harow shifted uneasily on the officer’s shoulder, its sharp eyes watching the room with a strange intensity.

The officer clenched his fists, the weight of uncertainty bearing down on him. "Whatever this is, it’s far from over," he muttered, glancing at the door as the wind continued to howl outside. "And if it’s sorcery... we’re going to need more than bullets and bunkers to survive it."

Outside, the storm raged on, relentless and unforgiving

--oOo--

--back on the helicopter--

"Agh, god!" the pilot of the medivac helicopter screamed, his voice raw with desperation as his hands gripped the controls. His entire body shook with the effort of keeping the aircraft steady. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with the grime and oil smudged across his forehead. The helicopter lurched violently as if caught in the jaws of a great beast, spiraling through the darkened sky.

Beside him, the co-pilot sat rigid, paralyzed by terror. His wide eyes flicked between the control panel and the storm outside, his mind too rattled to make sense of the chaos. Every nerve in his body screamed for him to act, but his hands remained clenched on the armrests, knuckles white as he held on for dear life.

"This... this is too sudden!" the gunner shouted from the side door, his voice nearly lost in the tumult. The wind outside howled like a banshee, slamming into the helicopter with such force that the gunner struggled to keep his footing. He slammed the door shut to prevent himself from being hurled out into the raging storm. His heartbeat roared in his ears, matching the frenzied rhythm of the spinning blades above.

Kristen, bracing herself as the helicopter bucked wildly, felt her stomach churn. Panic gripped her like a vice, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Each time the helicopter dropped or tilted, her chest tightened, and nausea clawed at her throat. She glanced down and saw Grisan sprawled on the floor, unconscious, his head bleeding from where it had struck the side of the cabin.

"Ah, shit!" she muttered, her voice a faint whisper amidst the storm's roar. Forcing herself to focus, she crawled toward Grisan, fighting the tilt and spin of the helicopter as it dipped and swayed unpredictably. Every movement sent fresh waves of dizziness through her, but she gritted her teeth, dragging him into a safer corner.

Her muscles screamed in protest as the force of the wild spinning intensified. The helicopter swung violently, tilting at dangerous angles that made Kristen's vision swim. Her body ached with every movement, but she refused to let go of Grisan. She needed to keep him secure, away from the unpredictable motions that had already caused his injury.

"This is a complete nightmare!" someone yelled, though the words barely registered in her mind.

Then, as if the storm had grown tired of toying with them, the spinning slowed. The sickening jerking of the helicopter eased as the aircraft leveled out, the violent thrashing giving way to a tenuous calm. The pilot, gasping for breath, slumped over the controls, his voice hoarse as he muttered, "Yeah... shit, we're stabilizing."

"Is... is there any damage?" the co-pilot asked, his voice shaky, but more controlled now that the immediate danger had passed. His fingers trembled as he scanned the instrument panel, still too rattled to fully trust the calm.

The gunner, catching his breath, leaned out to scan the horizon through the now-closed door. "No... we managed to stay in one piece," he confirmed, though his voice still held an edge of disbelief. The winds outside had calmed, the storm reduced to an eerie stillness that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Kristen, her body wracked with exhaustion and nausea, couldn't hold back any longer. She doubled over, vomiting onto the floor of the helicopter. "Gahah!" she gasped, her body heaving as she emptied her stomach, the violent churning finally too much for her to contain. The bitter taste burned her throat as her vision swam in and out of focus.

The co-pilot turned in his seat, concern flashing across his face. "You alright?" he asked, his tone soft despite the chaos they'd just endured.

Kristen wiped her mouth, nodding weakly. "Yeah..." she croaked, still panting from the exertion. She glanced over at Grisan, who lay unconscious but breathing steadily. She crawled over to him, placing her head on his chest to make sure his heartbeat was still strong.

Relief washed over her when she heard the steady rhythm of his heart. "Thank god," she whispered, her body slumping beside him, utterly spent. She closed her eyes, feeling the pull of exhaustion. "I just... I just need a rest."

In the cockpit, the pilot let out a faint, disbelieving chuckle. "That storm was a hell of a ride..." he muttered, rubbing his temples as if trying to erase the pounding headache building behind his eyes.

But before anyone could catch their breath, the gunner's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Ah... what the hell!" he yelled, his voice thick with disbelief.

Kristen's eyes fluttered open, her mind still sluggish from the chaos. She turned her head slowly, confusion written across her face. "What now?" she murmured, barely audible.

A loud bang reverberated through the helicopter, causing it to lurch violently. The co-pilot shouted in alarm, gripping the controls as the entire craft shuddered. "What the hell was that?" he yelled.

The gunner’s eyes were wide with fear as he peered through the open door. "There's something on our tail!" he shouted, his voice trembling as he clung to the mounted gun. "I don’t know what it is, but it’s big!"

Kristen forced herself to sit up, her body still weak from the nausea. "What do you mean... something on our tail?" she asked, her voice wavering with both disbelief and growing dread.

"It's... it's a fucking dragon!" the gunner stammered, barely able to form the words as he stared at the monstrous silhouette behind them.

Kristen's breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her chest. "A dragon...?" she whispered, her mind struggling to comprehend what she'd just heard.

The pilot's face went pale as he glanced at the radar, his hands beginning to shake again. "No way... no goddamn way," he muttered, his voice rising with panic. "Dragons are myths! They don’t—"

A deafening roar filled the air, cutting him off mid-sentence. The sound was so powerful that it shook the helicopter, reverberating through the metal like a living force. Everyone inside froze, their hearts pounding in their chests as the roar echoed in their ears. Outside, the dark shape of a massive creature loomed wings as wide as the helicopter itself, its body covered in gleaming black scales that shimmered in the dim light.

"Oh shit!" the gunner screamed, his voice barely containing his terror. He fumbled with the mounted machine gun, trying to lock onto the target. "It's right next to us!"

"Turn the chopper!" the pilot yelled, frantically pulling at the controls. The helicopter swung sharply, nearly tipping as the monstrous creature came into full view. Its glowing eyes burned with malevolent intent, and its wings beat powerfully against the air, sending shockwaves through the sky.

"Say hello to my little friend!" the gunner bellowed, and with a roar of his own, he unleashed a torrent of bullets from the machine gun. The sound of gunfire ripped through the air as the rounds hammered into the dragon’s scaled body. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off its thick hide, but several found their mark, punching through its wing.

The dragon screeched in agony, twisting in mid-air as it lost altitude. Blood sprayed from its wounds as it spiraled downward, crashing into the trees below with a thunderous impact. The helicopter shuddered, but remained airborne, the gunner panting heavily as he lowered the smoking weapon.

"Well... that was easier than I thought," he muttered, disbelief still coloring his voice.

Kristen, still sitting on the floor, wiped the sweat from her brow, her heart finally beginning to slow. She glanced at the others, all equally stunned by the encounter. "A dragon..." she whispered, her voice hoarse. "A real, goddamn dragon."

The gunner shook his head, still in shock. "Nah... pretty sure that thing was a wyvern."

The pilot let out a shaky breath, glancing toward the horizon. "This shit just keeps getting weirder," he muttered, turning the helicopter southward, hoping that whatever lay ahead made more sense than the madness behind them.

--oOo--

September 7, 1939. Early Morning.

Back inside the bunker.

The officer stirred awake, his head pounding as he blinked against the dim light in the cold, damp bunker. The musty smell of wet concrete filled his lungs as he took a sharp breath, the quiet around him unnerving after the chaos he had just experienced. His body ached from the tension, and the chill in the air clung to him like a heavy blanket.

"Oh shoot!" he muttered, bolting upright. His heart raced as fragments of the storm and the battle flooded back to him. He glanced around, disoriented, taking in the dripping walls of the bunker and the eerie silence that hung in the air.

"Where is everyone?" he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples as the throbbing pain in his head persisted. His eyes drifted to the floor, where the large Harow from before lay curled up, its sleek black feathers rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

"You again?" the officer grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. The bird, as stubborn as ever, had apparently remained with him through the strange events of the night. He watched it for a moment, almost expecting it to fly off, but the Harow remained calm, unbothered by the officer’s irritation.

Groaning, he slowly stood, his muscles stiff from lying in the cold for too long. The storm, it had been like no storm he had ever seen. There was something off about it, something almost unnatural. He remembered the biting wind, the way it ripped through the battlefield like an angry god, and then... darkness. He must have blacked out, but now that he was awake, everything felt wrong.

He stumbled toward the heavy bunker door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. The door groaned on its hinges as a gust of cold air rushed in, carrying with it a faint smell of earth and grass. Stepping outside, he squinted, blinking against the dim light.

The first thing that struck him was the sky, it was no longer the violent, swirling mass of storm clouds it had been during the night. Instead, the air was unnaturally clear, and the dawn was beginning to creep in from the horizon. But something was wrong.

"Huh?" he gasped, his breath catching in his throat. The winds had completely vanished, leaving the air still and unnervingly quiet. But more unsettling was the landscape itself. The battlefield, once a ruined stretch of trenches, mud, and barbed wire, was now an expanse of untouched green. Grass stretched as far as the eye could see, shimmering faintly in the early morning light. The wreckage of war, the bodies, the tanks everything was gone.

"God... what is this?" he muttered, eyes lifting toward the sky.

And there, in the heavens, two moons hung side by side.

The officer’s blood ran cold. The familiar sight of Astarte’s single moon had been replaced by this alien image. The twin moons cast a soft, eerie glow over the land, bathing the rolling hills in a pale light.

"This is absurd," he whispered, staring at the celestial anomaly. "What the hell is happening here?"

"Sir!" A voice rang out from above the trench line. The officer’s head snapped toward the sound, his heart racing as a young Valkyrien soldier appeared, saluting him from the embankment. The soldier’s face was pale, his expression mirroring the officer’s confusion.

The officer returned the salute, his mind still reeling. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice rough with disbelief. "And why are there two moons!?"

The soldier hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Sir, it's... it's best if you see for yourself," he said, extending a hand to help the officer climb out of the trench. "And the moons... well, we have no explanation for that either."

Frowning, the officer took the soldier’s hand and hauled himself up, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon. "Did the storm do this?" he asked, his voice low with suspicion.

The young soldier shook his head. "I don't know, sir. But look... the enemy lines—"

The officer followed the soldier’s gaze, his eyes widening at the sight before him. The trenches that had once housed the enemy forces, the artillery positions, the smoldering wreckage of the battlefield all of it was gone. In its place, a serene and untouched wilderness stretched out, tall trees swaying gently in the breeze. The war-torn landscape had been replaced with rolling hills of grass and forest, the scene completely incongruous with the devastation that had existed mere hours before.

"They're gone," the soldier whispered, his voice barely audible. "The enemy... they're just gone."

The officer’s breath caught in his throat. "What in the bloody hell...?" He scanned the horizon again, looking for any sign of the enemy, for any indication that this was some trick of war. But there was nothing. The battlefield, the destruction it had simply vanished.

"This isn’t possible," he muttered, shaking his head. "The entire front line can’t just disappear."

The soldier beside him looked just as bewildered. "It's not just the enemy lines, sir... it's everything. The war’s just... gone."

Before the officer could respond, the crackling of static filled the air. His comms buzzed to life, the sharp sound startling him from his thoughts.

"Wait... I think the comms are back!" the officer said, his voice tinged with hope.

"Really?" The soldier beside him leaned in, eager to hear what command had to say.

The officer adjusted the comms, wincing as multiple overlapping voices garbled through the static. "Too loud..." he muttered, fiddling with the settings until one clear voice came through.

"Affirmative, this is command. Please report. We’ve been cut off since the storm hit. What’s the situation on the ground?" The voice was sharp, but there was a tension to it an uncertainty.

The officer hesitated, unsure how to explain what he was seeing. "This... this may sound absurd," he began, glancing once more at the green fields that stretched before him. "But the enemy is gone. The entire battlefield has been replaced with... greenery. And there are two moons."

The radio was silent for a moment before the voice on the other end replied, "What the bloody hell do you mean, green fields? Two moons? Are you losing it, officer?"

"I’m not joking," the officer snapped, his frustration mounting. "There are two moons in the sky, and the enemy lines have vanished. We have no idea what’s going on."

"We can’t see anything from command, the sky’s clouded over," the voice on the other end replied, clearly struggling to process what had just been reported.

"It's clear here," the officer said, glancing at the surreal landscape. "Too clear. Something’s not right."

Around him, more Valkyrien soldiers were emerging from their bunkers, their eyes wide with disbelief as they took in the transformed battlefield. The officer could hear murmurs of confusion, shock, and fear as they tried to make sense of what had happened.

The officer glanced up at the two moons again, their pale light casting long shadows over the strange, peaceful hills. "God's what is this?" he muttered under his breath, his heart heavy with a growing sense of unease.

The war was gone. But something far worse had taken its place.

--oOo--

--hours later--

--date, September 7 1939. Early morning--

--Valkyries Empire, Imperial Palace--

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a faint glow over the Imperial Palace in the heart of the Valkyries Empire. It should have been an ordinary morning, but the previous night had been anything but. A fierce storm had ravaged the capital, leaving only minor damage in its wake, yet there was an unmistakable air of unease lingering over the city. The storm, strange and otherworldly, had disrupted more than just the weather.

In the dim light of a bedroom, a phone rang insistently.

"Ugh..." A man groaned, stirring from his sleep. He fumbled for the phone, eyes still heavy with fatigue. With a sluggish motion, he picked up the receiver.

"Your Highness!" The voice on the other end was loud, panicked, and urgent.

"Agh! Don't shout in my ear!" Emperor Kaylin snapped, wincing at the sudden burst of noise. His irritation was clear; he had been dragged from his slumber far too early.

"S-S-Sorry, my Emperor! But this is urgent!" the voice stammered, now more cautious.

Kaylin sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he slowly sat up in bed. "What is it? Have those Elenian bastards finally managed to build the first working nuclear warhead?" His tone was half-serious, half-mocking, though his disbelief was evident.

"No, no, I assure you, nuclear weapons are still beyond reach... But it's something else, something much bigger."

"This better be urgent, or else..." Kaylin muttered under his breath, forcing himself out of bed, his mind groggy but sharpening with each passing moment.

Twenty minutes later

Emperor Kaylin sat at the head of the long table in the emergency room. His expression was stern, his features tightened with a seriousness that reflected the gravity of the situation. Around him sat his closest advisors and officials: Seirah Hood, head of foreign affairs; Markuis Paul, head of defense; Baron Brial, head of intelligence; Clydle Hellas, head of homeland security.

The room was tense, and Kaylin could feel the anxiety simmering just beneath the surface.

"Ugh... what is it this time?" Kaylin asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Has the enemy pushed us back, or is there something more... urgent that requires my attention?"

The advisors and officials stood up in unison as the Emperor began the meeting, offering their respectful greetings. He nodded curtly and motioned for them to sit. As he settled into his chair, his sharp eyes scanned the room. The expressions on his advisors' faces were more than enough to tell him that this was no ordinary crisis.

"So... Is this a crisis that can threaten us," Kaylin said slowly, his voice steady. "I take it that's correct?"

Nods all around the table. Every face was pale, tinged with fear and uncertainty. The silence was heavy.

"Well because I have no damn Idea of what's going on, I presume we are being pushed back from the Frontlines?" Kaylin ventured, his tone expectant.

"No, Your Highness," one of his advisors began hesitantly, his voice shaky. "It's... not that. It seems, uh... we are no longer in our original world, as we speak."

Kaylin's gaze snapped to the advisor, his brow furrowing deeply. For a long, tense moment, he simply stared, the room growing deathly quiet.

"C-Can you repeat that?" Kaylin asked, his voice betraying both confusion and disbelief. His advisor was a trusted confidant, but what he was saying made no sense.

The advisor shifted uncomfortably under the Emperor's intense gaze. "It might be easier to understand if you take a look at the latest satellite images," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

The advisor turned to the main monitor in the room, pressing a button on the remote. The screen flickered to life, and the image of a large planet filled the screen.

Kaylin's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. The planet was enormous twice the size of Haiyan.

"Bloody hell..." Kaylin muttered under his breath, leaning forward in his seat. He couldn't quite process what he was seeing. The planet was twice the size of their homeworld. His mind raced as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Then how the hell does gravity work!?" Kaylin exclaimed, his voice rising. "This planet is a shit ton larger than Haiyan our old planet!"

His eyes flicked over the continents that now surrounded the Valkyries Empire, tracing their shapes, trying to find something familiar. "These continents... why does it look like Haiyan, but warped and there's more continens to the east?? And why is Northern Astarte smaller, and... greener?" He paused, his gaze narrowing as he zoomed in on the map. "And that... that is Valkyries?" he gasped, recognizing the outline of his empire.

It looked the same, untouched by the changes that had affected the rest of the world. Yet, Northern Astarte the region his forces had been fighting to conquer for years was strangely altered.

The other officials exchanged uneasy glances. They were just as bewildered as the Emperor. Their surroundings had changed, the world itself had morphed, and yet their homeland remained eerily the same.

"T-that's our... country," a voice from the back whispered, disbelief clear in their tone.

"What happens now?" another voice asked, the fear almost palpable.

Kaylin's thoughts spiraled, stress building with each new revelation. God, why now? he thought, frustration gnawing at him. We were so close to uniting Astarte... If we had just a little more time, we could have accomplished it. But now, what? His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He had fought for years to turn the Valkyries Empire into the dominant force on Astarte. Now, it seemed all of that might be in jeopardy.

"So... what do we do now?" Clydle Hellas, head of homeland security, asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

Kaylin clenched his fists under the table, trying to steady himself. "First, we gather as much information as possible. We cannot act blindly," he said, his voice measured despite the storm raging inside him.

"Our communications with other countries have been severed," one of the advisors added. "But our satellites are still functional."

Kaylin frowned, still trying to make sense of it all. "How did our satellites even transfer here? We're on another planet entirely, aren't we? That would mean there's the possibility of alien life."

"Your Highness," another voice chimed in, "our overseas citizens have been returned to the Empire. Everything tied to us the people, the naval bases, even some of the landmasses has been transported here."

Kaylin's hands tightened on the arms of his chair. "And the embassies? What about the ambassadors from other nations?" he asked, already suspecting the answer.

"They're... gone," Baron said quietly. "All foreign embassies are empty, and the ambassadors are missing."

The Emperor's eyes darkened. So, everything that wasn't part of the Valkyries Empire was excluded from the transfer.

"I see..." Kaylin muttered, the reality of the situation sinking in. They were truly alone in this new world.

"What do we do now, Your Highness?" Clydle asked, his voice laden with concern. "Should we impose martial law? Can we maintain order?"

Kaylin thought for a moment, weighing the options. "If it comes to that, we'll deploy the national guard," he said finally, his voice calm but resolute. "But first, we tell the truth to the citizens. There's no use hiding this."

The room fell silent as his words sank in. They were on the precipice of a new era one filled with uncertainty, danger, and the unknown. The Empire had survived many trials, but this... this was something else entirely.

Kaylin glanced at the map again, the vast, uncharted landmasses surrounding them. He would lead his Empire, no matter what it took. But where do we even begin in a world that isn't ours?

--oOo--

--Date: September 7, 1939, Morning--

The scene outside the Paradis Palace was unlike anything seen before. TV crews from every major network crowded the front lawn, their cameras trained on the podium where Emperor Kaylin stood. The palace's grand facade loomed behind him, the usual symbol of stability now serving as a backdrop to an unfolding mystery.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as the Emperor stepped up to the podium, adjusting the microphone. His face was serious but calm, the weight of his responsibility clear in his measured expression. The world or whatever this new world was waited to hear what he had to say.

Kaylin took a deep breath, scanning the faces in the crowd before beginning. His voice was firm, resonating with authority.

"My people, as of 4.34 a.m. today, the Valkyries Empire finds itself in an unprecedented and bizarre situation."

His words hung in the air, the tension palpable as he continued.

"Although we cannot confirm everything yet, we appear to have been transported into a new world."

Gasps echoed through the crowd, reporters exchanging stunned glances as the gravity of his statement sank in. The Emperor pressed on, unflinching.

"The following information is what we currently know. We have lost all contact with our previous world. All non-Valkyries citizens have disappeared, and yet, the people and possessions of the Valkyries Empire including those not on the Fatherland's soil have been transported along with us."

Kaylin paused, allowing the magnitude of his words to settle before continuing.

"Our military bases that were stationed further away from us have been relocated to the near us and were clumped together to form large Islands, lands that have now been replaced by unfamiliar terrain. The regions we once knew are no longer there, and we are now in a world we do not yet understand."

There was a brief silence as the Emperor straightened his posture, his eyes scanning the cameras and crowd.

"All Valkyries satellites remain functional and are currently in orbit around this new world. We are beginning to map the surrounding regions, though much remains unknown."

His gaze softened slightly, the weight of what had been lost, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead, becoming clear.

"My people, I ask for calm in these uncertain times as your government works tirelessly to seek more answers. We are strong, and we will face whatever challenges this new world brings with unity and courage."

The crowd was silent, absorbing the profound shift that had taken place overnight. Emperor Kaylin's voice carried a sense of conviction, even in the face of the unknown.

"May be whatever God bless the Fatherland."

With that, Kaylin stepped back from the podium, his speech finished, but the implications only began to unfold. The cameras zoomed in, capturing the solemn determination on his face, while the world watched and waited for what would come next.

--oOo--

-- Some Time Later --

The imperial council chamber was tense, the air thick with unspoken fears as Emperor Kaylin once again took his place at the head of the table. This time, however, the room was filled with more than just his closest advisors—gathered before him were the highest-ranking officials in the entire Valkyries Empire: department heads, generals, the commanders of the army, navy, and air force, and various other key figures that powered the empire’s colossal machinery. The weight of their collective anxiety pressed down on the room, each person keenly aware of the gravity of their situation.

The Empire had been inexplicably transported into a new, unfamiliar world. The magnitude of what that meant was only beginning to settle in, but already the consequences were evident. Uncertainty loomed large, and the task ahead securing the survival of their people was both daunting and immediate.

Kaylin, dressed in his formal imperial uniform, rose from his seat, his movements sharp and decisive. His eyes scanned the room, meeting the gazes of those who had followed him through countless trials, each of them now facing an entirely new challenge. The silence was suffocating until he broke it with his firm, steady voice.

"As all of you have been informed, we have been transported into a new world. Our understanding of how or why this has happened is irrelevant at the moment. What matters now is survival." His words hung in the air, heavy with responsibility. "There are many urgent issues we need to address if we are to continue to thrive in this new reality."

The Emperor turned his gaze to Rhia, the head of agriculture and production, a wiry man whose vast knowledge of the empire’s food supply had seen them through times of famine and abundance alike. Kaylin’s question was direct, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. "Rhia, can we sustain our population with our current food production?"

Rhia straightened in his seat, clearly prepared for the question. He spoke with the calm certainty of a man who had already run through every calculation in his head. "Yes, Your Highness. I can assure you that the Fatherland has a self-sufficiency rate of over 100% when it comes to food production. We'll be able to feed our people, but... we may have trouble growing certain exotic crops without the imports we used to rely on."

Kaylin raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. "Perhaps this new world might provide us with suitable alternatives. We should explore all possibilities."

The emperor’s mind was already moving to the next challenge. His eyes flicked toward the heads of the labor and commerce departments. The industries that fueled the empire’s prosperity would not remain untouched by this upheaval, and he needed solutions—immediately. "Our economy is going to take a hit," he said bluntly. "Many of our companies have foreign branches, and without trade, we're likely to face labor shortages. Some industries might struggle to fill roles that were previously held by non-Valkyrie workers. You two need to prepare contingency plans."

Both department heads exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in unison. "Understood, Your Highness."

Satisfied, Kaylin shifted his attention to the military. His thoughts lingered on the new lands that surrounded the Empire vast, untamed, and full of potential threats. He looked to Markuis, the head of defense, a seasoned general whose loyalty and strategic mind had been instrumental in countless victories.

"Markuis," Kaylin began, "We have personnel stationed at what used to be our northern border. But we can't call it ‘north Astarte’ anymore, can we?"

For a moment, the emperor's brow furrowed, and the room remained silent, waiting for his decree. He stood still, staring at the map of their newfound territory. Then, with a nod, he decided.

"The Special Region. That’s what we’ll call it."

The emperor’s decision brought a small wave of murmurs through the room, but they subsided quickly as he continued. "I want the personnel stationed at the border of the Special Region to begin exploring immediately. We need a full map of the terrain and intelligence on any resources or threats."

Markuis nodded, his face grim but determined. "Recon teams have already been dispatched, Your Highness. Preliminary reports should arrive within the next day or two."

"Good," Kaylin said, his voice sharp and approving. Then, with a slight hesitation, his expression grew even more serious. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Now, onto the most critical matter. Harry, tell me about our oil reserves."

A visible shift took place in the room, a collective bracing for what was to come. Harry, the head of energy, leaned forward, his face stern. His voice was calm but carried the weight of impending crisis.

"Your Highness, the Empire consumes approximately 27 million barrels of oil per day. However, we only produce about 7.2 million barrels daily. That leaves us with a deficit of nearly 20 million barrels per day—a deficit we can no longer make up through imports. We'll need to drastically increase domestic production, and I recommend that we tap into our Strategic Petroleum Reserves immediately. Fortunately, we have about 45.6 billion barrels in proven reserves."

Kaylin’s jaw tightened. The math was harsh. "So we need to ramp up production. How soon can our oil companies respond?"

"Within weeks, sir," Harry replied, though the strain in his voice was evident. "But even with increased production, we may still fall short."

The emperor rubbed his temples. He knew the next step would be unpopular. "I’ll have to announce oil restrictions. The public won’t like it, but we have no choice. And as for metals since we can’t import them anymore, we’ll need to increase mining operations domestically. Are we prepared for that?"

Harry’s expression darkened. "It will be a challenge. Mining operations will need to expand significantly, but the environmentalists won’t be happy."

Kaylin gave a heavy sigh, his frustration barely masked. "We don’t have the luxury to indulge in debates right now. Our survival depends on swift action. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

He paused, glancing at the clock, then looked down at his hands as if suddenly remembering something important yet mundane. With a slight, almost bemused chuckle, he muttered, "Speaking of desperate times, I haven’t even had breakfast."

Without warning, Emperor Kaylin stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape, and strode toward the door. The room full of officials watched in stunned silence as their emperor midway through a crisis meeting simply walked out.

Harry blinked in disbelief, looking around at his colleagues as if seeking confirmation that what just happened was real. "Eh? Your Highness, wait! The meeting isn't over yet!"

The officials exchanged confused glances. Harry threw up his hands in bewilderment. "What!?"

For a moment, everyone in the room sat frozen, unsure whether to laugh, shout, or continue the meeting without their leader. But one thing was clear there was no telling what was going through Emperor Kaylin’s mind in these chaotic times.

To be continued...