Where the cold, moisture-laden winds of the east collide with the warm, arid air of the west, a unique atmospheric phenomenon takes shape. These opposing forces meet over the vast expanse of the Swirling Sea, creating a perpetual cycle of weather patterns that give life to the Coroner Islands—a tropical archipelago born from the harmony of nature's extremes.
Warm ocean currents from the western waters fuel the formation of lush rainforests and vibrant ecosystems, while the eastern winds carry just enough cool air to temper the heat, creating a balanced, habitable climate. The Swirling Sea, true to its name, is characterized by its ever-rotating currents and shifting winds, which make for treacherous navigation but also provide the fertile rains that nourish the islands year-round.
The Coroner Islands, an isolated chain in the heart of the Swirling Ocean, are officially under the rule of the Shogunate of Iritora—a once-proud kingdom now caught between two great powers vying for control. Geographically distant and politically marginalized, the islands have become a focal point in the ongoing struggle for influence in the region.
Historically, the Coroner Islands were the sole gateway through which foreign merchants could trade with Iritora during the country’s period of isolation. However, with the expansionist ambitions of the Valerian Empire, the islands have fallen under increasing imperial control, their autonomy gradually eroded by Valeria’s growing presence.
The Shogunate’s rule over the islands is now mostly symbolic, with local governance subject to Valerian oversight. The Coroner Islands have become a key strategic outpost for the Empire. Valeria’s trade routes stretch across the Swirling Ocean, using the islands as a hub for goods, resources, military, and political leverage. Traditional island customs, once protected by the Shogunate, are slowly being replaced by Valerian trade laws and bureaucratic control.
For Valeria, the Coroner Islands hold far more than economic value. Their strategic position in the Swirling Ocean is key to controlling critical sea routes, giving the empire a foothold to project its power across the surrounding regions.
Mainly, the islands serve as a buffer zone in the rivalry between Valerian Empire and the Aquilean Empire—an ancient civilization of sea-people who have dominated the oceans for centuries.
The Aquileans, with their mastery of the seas and natural affinity for maritime life, have long considered themselves the unchallenged rulers of the ocean. Their sleek, organic ships—grown from living coral and powered by bioluminescent algae—patrolled the waters uncontested. But with Valeria’s recent development of metal-hulled ships, the balance of power has shifted considerably.
For the Aquileans, these steel vessels represent more than a technological threat—they symbolize the land dweller’s ambition to encroach on their maritime hegemony. What was once an empire divided by land and sea is now inching closer to outright naval confrontation. The Coroner Islands, positioned at the frontier between Valerian and Aquilean-controlled waters, have become a flashpoint in the conflict.
Valeria's militarization of the islands—building outposts, docking fleets, and establishing logistical bases—has not gone unnoticed by the ever-watchful Aquileans.
Tasked with overseeing the entire Swirling Fleet naval base in the Coroner Islands, Lord-Admiral Montague found himself in a role that felt more like exile than duty.
It’s a boring job, he had to admit. Being sent to the islands as an Admiral such as himself is an obvious act to isolate him from the political scene back in the mainland. But for him, he had learned to embrace the slower pace of island life. The occasional skirmish with the Shogunate or a fleeting Aquilean ship presented more of a distraction than a threat.
"My Lord, I highly advise against that decision,” Montague's aide voiced his concerns while preparing to line up a shot.
Montague smirked, adjusting his stance. "Watch and learn, kid." He took aim and fired, the harpoon piercing the water with precision to strike a shark that had ventured too close to the surface. Catching fish had become one of his favorite pastimes, a simple joy for a simple man.
Montague leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his marksmanship as the shark was hauled aboard. He watched with a smug grin as his aide worked the winch, pulling the massive fish onto the deck. “Told you, kid, nothing to it.”
But as they began to move to their next fishing spot, a faint rumbling reached Montague’s ears. At first, he thought it might be the ship’s engines, but the sound seemed to be growing louder—and coming from below.
He shot up, brow furrowing as the deep vibration only intensified. The crew around him exchanged uneasy glances. "That’s not the engines," Montague muttered under his breath, gripping the railing.
The water beneath the ship began to ripple unnaturally, and the once calm sea felt like it was holding its breath. He knew all too well what this sound was… an Aquilean ship is going to surface. He had heard this sound before—the unsettling groan of living coral stretching and twisting from the depths. An Aquilean ship was about to surface.
"Coral freaks," he muttered, his nose wrinkling at the thought. Aquilean ships weren't like the proud iron-clad vessels of Valeria. No, they were crafted from living corals, pulsating and breathing as if they were extensions of the sea itself. And with them came a distinct, pungent odor—an overwhelming stench of salt and brine mixed with something far more organic, like rotting seaweed.
The ripples in the water transformed into violent waves, and moments later, the massive coral-encrusted hull of an Aquilean warship broke through the surface, water cascading off its rough, reef-like exterior. It was a ship like no other, its jagged form towering over Montague’s vessel, its vibrant hues of green and purple shimmering in the sunlight.
Montague sighed, glancing down at his casual attire—an open, flowery shirt and white shorts. Hardly fitting for a meeting with the Aquileans. Diplomacy wasn’t on the schedule today.
The Aquilean warriors, with their towering frames and pale skin, glistened under the sun as they climbed onto the deck of their living coral warship. Each one bore a serpent tail that coiled behind them, their bronze armor reflecting a greenish hue from the sea below.
Montague spat into the sea. "Let’s see what they want this time."
"Well, gentlemen, what’s the occasion?" Montague called out in near-perfect Aquilean, trying to maintain his usual bravado despite the clear disparity in formality. He adjusted his shirt as though it made any difference.
One of the Aquilean warriors, a figure even taller than the others, stepped forward. Montague could tell he was a nobleman simply by the fact he wore a toga instead of armor, a diplomat, perhaps. His voice was deep, but it flowed like water over smooth stones. "Lord-Admiral Montague, we come bearing a message from the Council of the Abyss. You are hereby under arrest for illegal harming of ocean life!"
For a moment, the tension that had gripped the Valerian crew was shattered, not by violence but by sheer absurdity. Montague blinked, caught off guard. A beat passed, then another. The situation felt less like a naval standoff and more like a ridiculous misunderstanding. "Wait, what?" Montague barked a laugh. "Arrested? For shark fishing?"
But before he could fully process the situation, the Aquilean warriors acted with swift precision. Their serpent-like tails propelled them forward, leaping from their coral ship and landing on Montague's deck with startling grace. The Valerian crew scrambled, but there was no resistance—just shock and confusion.
"You're joking, right?" Montague's voice was edged with disbelief as two Aquileans grabbed his arms with surprising strength. "For a fish?"
The Aquilean diplomat's gaze remained unflinching. "The Council of the Abyss takes the protection of ocean life very seriously. You have violated our sacred laws."
Montague struggled briefly, his frustration building. "You've got to be kidding me! It's a damn fish! Is this how you people handle diplomacy?"
The diplomat gave no response, his calm demeanor only adding to Montague's irritation. Montague was shoved aboard the coral-encrusted deck of the Aquilean ship, the pungent odor of saltwater and living reef assaulting his nose. The vibrant, pulsating coral seemed to pulse with life, and the ship itself felt more like a creature than a vessel. He grimaced, trying not to breathe too deeply as his mind whirled.
False charges. It had to be. In his mind, fishing for sport wasn’t a crime, let alone an offense worth detaining an admiral over. But these Aquileans clearly took their laws—however absurd—very seriously. Montague, his hands still bound, glanced back at his own ship where his crew stood frozen, unsure whether to fight or flee.
The empire wouldn't take kindly to one of their admirals being hauled off in chains for such a trivial matter. He could already imagine the political storm brewing back on the mainland.
The island base had been a quiet post, far from the empire’s political heart, but this incident could bring more than just tension. It could provoke a full-on confrontation.
Like… another battle of the Corral, for instance.
Montague snorted. "War? For a shark?"
image [https://i.imgur.com/v9u22y4.png]
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There comes a pivotal moment in the course of history when an extraordinary breakthrough reshapes the world. The Gods—in any culture or faith—bestowed upon humanity the gift of conjuring the arcane, drawing raw power from the very essence of their bodies and their surroundings.
This divine gift birthed elemental mages, whose mastery of fire brought warmth and light to the early peoples. Fire, in turn, became a cornerstone of survival, transforming human existence. With it, they cooked food, warded off predators, and survived the harsh elements.
Yet fire was only the beginning. As mages learned to manipulate other elements, entire societies blossomed. Water mages brought forth rain to nourish crops, wind mages harnessed storms to propel ships, and earth mages shaped the land to build cities and fortresses. This newfound arcane knowledge became a bridge between the mortal and divine, leading humanity to unprecedented heights of power and civilization.
However, as with any advancement, even magic—once a wonder—began to lose its luster over time. What had once been revolutionary became routine, and as the centuries passed, innovation slowed. The arcane arts became the domain of an elite few, guarded jealously by those capable of wielding them. Though civilization flourished, the age of magic reached a plateau, its brightest days seemingly behind it.
Then came a curious device—something so simple, yet destined to change the world. A professor, tinkering in the shadows of grand academies dominated by mages, invented what would later be called the steam engine. It was a machine powered not by incantations or elemental forces but by the raw strength of steam pressure.
For the first time, power was no longer tied to the gifted few who could manipulate magic. This invention was mechanical, tangible, and could be built, copied, and distributed by any craftsman with the right materials.
The steam engine sparked an industrial revolution. Factories replaced workshops, and labor became easier than ever before. Trains crisscrossed the lands, moving people and goods at speeds previously thought impossible. Cities grew even larger, powered not by arcane runes, but by steel.
And that was why Ries now found herself in Valyra's industrial district, standing amidst the roar and clatter of one of the largest steel mills in the empire. The smell of burning coal hung thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of molten iron. Massive machines rumbled as they shaped and refined the steel that would build the empire's future.
Ries stood on a raised platform overlooking the production floor, her sharp gaze absorbing the scene below. Beside her stood two of the most powerful women in the empire—Viviana Livingstone, Minister of Home Affairs, and Recina Helvia, Minister of Finance. Together, they were an intimidating trio. If these women had been anyone else, the mill workers might have assumed they were simply lost on an ill-advised night out.
“Why did you bring me here, Helvia?” Ries glanced at Helvia, who was still staring at the workers below.
“Around thirty percent of our steel output comes from this mill,” Helvia replied, her eyes fixed on the workers below as they labored with molten metal and machinery. "And they're asking for more—more resources, more workers, more money."
Viviana frowned, her arms crossed over her chest. "More of everything, it seems. But at what cost? These people are already stretched thin."
Despite her recent appointment as Minister of Home Affairs, her long experience as the former Minister of Public Works gave her a deep understanding of infrastructure and labor. A reason why Ries invited her here because she also trusts her more.
Ries looked between the two ministers, sensing their concerns. "And you brought me here because you think we need to scale back?"
Helvia shook her head, finally turning to face Ries. "No. Quite the opposite. This is the heart of the empire’s industrial future, Prime Minister. If we don’t invest now, we risk losing momentum. But Viviana’s right—the workforce is close to breaking. If we keep this pace without providing better conditions, we’ll face more strikes and riots."
“This place is a CDLWP stronghold, I’d bet,” Ries thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched a worker wipe sweat from his brow before returning to the grueling task at hand. The clanking of metal echoed through the mill as sparks flew from molten steel. She could almost feel the tension hanging in the air—these workers, pushed to their limits, were likely sympathetic to the increasingly vocal and radical CDLWP—or at least the “Worker’s” part of it.
She knew well enough that the "Worker's" part of the CDLWP had its claws deep in this place. Sardine, the leader of the liberal faction within the party, had always favored cooperation and gradual reform, pushing for a more progressive but controlled shift. His vision clashed with the more radical voices in the CDLWP who sought outright revolution, a complete dismantling of the old aristocratic order, and a remaking of the empire from the ground up.
But the true problem wasn’t Sardine—it was Anya.
Ries hadn’t been in contact with Anya, the face of the more aggressive wing of the CDLWP, in quite some time. The last exchange she could remember had been... less than diplomatic. Anya was a firebrand, with no patience for half-measures or those who straddled the line between old and new. Their brief interaction had devolved into a brutal insult-fest—though Ries could hardly recall who had thrown the first jab.
It was her, obviously.
But if there was one thing Ries knew, it was that the mill workers here wouldn’t care much for Sardine’s softer approach. Anya’s rhetoric of immediate and total change would ring louder in these conditions.
“Is there any way we could improve their conditions?” She turned to Viviana and Helvia.
“We could, we have many ideas to do it. But it is without their own drawbacks and consequences. Particularly involving productivity, profit, and wages.” Helvia responded.
Ries frowned, her gaze lingering on the workers below. "Drawbacks and consequences. That’s always the catch, isn’t it?" She sighed.
“We can’t ignore the fact that better conditions will slow production and cut into profits,” Helvia continued. "Less working hours means less output. Higher wages means higher operational costs. If we push too hard, we’ll make enemies of the industrialists and landowners."
Viviana shook her head. "It’s a delicate balancing act, really. We balance a million different things nowadays. We improve their conditions, but we risk angering those who hold the money and power. If we don’t, we’ll have a revolt on our hands."
“Is there any way to implement these changes incrementally? Give the workers hope without causing an immediate drop in productivity? Maybe we focus on safety first—reduce accidents, make it safer to work here.”
Viviana nodded thoughtfully. “Safety improvements would be a good start. Less pushback from the industrialists, and it shows the workers we’re making moves. But it’ll only buy us time before they demand more.”
Helvia, however, seemed less optimistic. “It’s a short-term solution. The wages and hours are still a major issue. Those are the most affecting problems.”
Before Ries could respond, a voice interrupted them. “Your Excellencies, how does my factory look?”
A man in a finely tailored suit approached, his gait confident despite the extra weight he carried. He looked to be in his thirties, though his body was soft and bloated, in stark contrast to the hardened workers around him. The sharp lines of his suit couldn’t hide the indulgent lifestyle that had clearly taken its toll on him.
He was part of a rising class that dominated the economic landscape—Capitalists, wealthy factory owners like him who had amassed their fortunes in this new industrial age.
“Mr. Aldeen," Ries greeted him, turning her head to nod at him slightly. "Your factory seems to be working at full capacity."
Alden chuckled, a deep, booming sound that didn't quite match the tense atmosphere. “Indeed it is! And I must say, we're proud to be such a vital part of the Empire’s steel production. Thirty percent, isn’t it?”
“Not a small percentage, definitely,” Ries nods. “Have you ever thought about the working conditions?”
Alden waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, the workers. They always want more, don’t they? We pay them a fair wage for their work.”
“A wage that barely sustains them,” Helvia interjected. “And the hours? These men are working themselves to the bone. How is that not the same such as slavery.”
Aldeen seemed taken aback, his expression was as if he was disgusted with something. “Slavery? Goodness no. I am a man of morals,” he forced a smile. “Simply put, Your Excellencies, I’m a businessman. My job is to keep this place running, to keep the Empire’s wheels turning. If we start giving in to every demand, where does it end?”
Ries raised an eyebrow. "It ends with you having a workforce that’s loyal, healthy, and capable of keeping those wheels turning without collapsing from exhaustion."
Alden shifted uncomfortably under her stare, but his smile remained plastered in place. "Your Excellency, running a factory isn’t charity. These men are compensated for their labor, and while it may not be luxurious, it’s fair. Besides, if they’re unhappy, there are plenty of others willing to take their place."
“Mr. Aldeen," Ries began again, her tone cooler, "there’s a difference between keeping the wheels turning and grinding your workers into the ground. You may find replacements, but a burned-out workforce only breeds resentment—and revolution, if you’re not careful. No one wants that."
“Your Excellency,” Aldeen clears his throat. His face was more serious now. "You must understand, it’s not that simple. We’re all doing our part to support the Empire, but concessions like higher wages or shorter hours would cut into our profits—profit that the Empire itself benefits from, might I remind you.” His voice trailed at the last sentence as he eyed Ries, who narrowed on her gaze.
Helvia looked to Ries, who nodded. Then she turned to Aldeen, “Mr. Aldeen, please, I would like to discuss some things with you.”
Helvia took Aldeen aside, her tone slipping into a more diplomatic cadence as they moved to discuss the finer points of their negotiation. Ries, meanwhile, remained on the platform, watching the bustling steel mill as the steady hum of labor continued below.
Her moment of reflection was interrupted by the approach of one of her royal guards. He bowed slightly, his voice low and respectful. "Your Excellency, Minister Nay wishes to speak with you at the governance complex. He says it is urgent."
Ries’ brow furrowed at the message. Urgent. That word rarely preceded anything good. Nay wasn’t one to overstate things, which meant this needed her attention—and quickly.
"Very well," Ries replied, glancing toward Viviana, who had been observing the interaction. "Viviana, handle things here until I return. Make sure Helvia gets through to Aldeen."
Viviana nodded. "I’ll keep an eye on things."
Ries turned back to the guard. "Let's go."
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Ries entered the room with a suppressed groan, her tail flicking sharply in irritation as her gaze swept across the faces gathered around the table. Minister Nay of Foreign Affairs sat at the head, his expression calm and controlled despite the apparent urgency of the situation. High-Admiral Edelweiss of the Navy, arms crossed, radiated tension and slight anger. While Director Vaspier of the ISD, characteristically unreadable, observed from the shadows.
Nay stood as soon as she entered, offering her a curt nod. "Madam Prime Minister," he greeted. "We have a brewing crisis."
“Of course we do,” Ries thought, biting back another curse. “Barely two months in, and already a crisis.” She hadn't even had time to fully settle into her role, let alone navigate the impending disaster.
"What the hell happened?" she snapped, getting straight to the point.
Nay exchanged a brief glance with Edelweiss before responding. "Lord-Admiral Montague, Commissioner of the Coroner Island Naval Base has been arrested. By the Aquileans."
Ries blinked, her ears twitching in disbelief. "Arrested? By the sea-people? For what? I didn’t think they had the spine to provoke us."
Nay cleared his throat, maintaining his even tone. "Apparently, Montague violated their oceanic laws by hunting sea life—specifically a shark. The Aquilean Council of the Abyss detained him, and they’re calling for a trial. Whether or not this trial will be a formality or a political maneuver remains to be seen."
"A trial? For fishing?" Ries’ eyes narrowed further, her disbelief now giving way to irritation. "You're telling me one of our admirals was arrested for fishing?"
"Ha. That’s the official reason,” Nay snorts. “But we’re not so stupid to believe that. The Aquileans are using this incident to assert their dominance over the seas.”
Ries clicked her tongue, the last thing she needed was a power struggle with the Aquileans—especially not when she had to focus on building the constitution. "And what exactly do they want from us? Are they expecting us to grovel or hand over concessions?"
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Nay shook his head, pulling out a document and placing it on the table. "They haven't made any formal demands yet. But Montague’s arrest directly challenges our naval supremacy. If we don’t act, it will set a dangerous precedent."
Ries' tail lashed behind her as she absorbed the information. "Let me get this straight," she said, voice tinged with frustration. "They're using a shark as an excuse to detain one of our top admirals and flaunt their control over the oceans?"
Nay gave a curt nod. "That’s exactly it. They believe they’ve found a way to challenge our authority. What they don't realize is how easily we could retaliate—with depth charges over their cities if necessary."
That remark earned him a raised brow from Ries. Nay was a diplomat, but his hawkish attitude in his words surprised her.
She turned her attention to the rest of the room. "What are our options?" she asked, "Because I assume we're not about to let some glorified fish people get away with this."
Edelweiss was the first to respond, her voice was posh, yet authoritative. "We can't allow them to bully us. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. I propose we send the fleet, force them to release Montague, and remind them who truly controls the seas."
Ries’ eyes shifted to Edelweiss, unsurprised by the bluntness of her proposal. A military woman, Edelweiss' solution was forceful and straightforward. It was certainly an option, but Ries knew it might not be the wisest.
Before Ries could respond, Nay lifted a finger. "I agree, we need to project strength," he began, "but we can’t risk all-out war over this. It’s a shark, not a strategic waterway. We need to employ a little finesse—gunboat diplomacy. Show them our naval strength without firing the first shot."
Ries leaned back in her chair, thinking. The military option was tempting, but Nay was right—starting a war over a shark would make them look reckless, not strong. However, doing nothing would make them look weak.
"Gunboat diplomacy," she repeated, her mind working to remember what that term meant. The pursuit of foreign policy objectives with the aid of conspicuous displays of naval power, implying a direct threat of warfare unless terms are met. It was an age-old tactic.
"I see the merit in that," she said aloud. "A show of force, but without immediate escalation. Keep the fleet on standby, but they don’t engage unless provoked."
Edelweiss’ mouth twitched into a thin line. "So we threaten them but don’t follow through?"
"No, no," Ries corrected. "We make it clear we will follow through if they don’t back down. But we give them an out, a chance to de-escalate on their terms. Send the fleet, yes, but let’s also send a diplomatic envoy."
Edelweiss nodded slowly. "As long as we keep the option to retaliate."
"We will," Ries affirmed. "Nay, make contact with their delegation. Get our people ready for a negotiation.”
"Of course." Nay nodded but then gestured towards the silent figure seated at the end of the table. "Uh, Director Vaspier has something to add."
Ries shifted her attention to the Director of the ISD, who was already sliding a plain, unmarked file across the table. In stark contrast to the notoriously bloated Veron, Vaspier was lean, muscular, and composed—his athletic build hidden beneath a sharp, tailored suit. He had a predatory stillness about him, like a man who could move swiftly if needed.
"Madam Prime Minister," Vaspier began in a measured tone. "Our intelligence has reason to believe the Aquileans have built an extensive spy network within the Empire."
“Of course they have…” Once again, Ries cursed internally. “How extensive are we talking about?”
"Extensive enough to be potentially dangerous," he said, meeting her eyes. "I propose we establish a counter-intelligence program focused on monitoring our Aquilean citizens."
“We can’t—”
“Madam Prime Minister, the Empress wants to see you,” a servant interrupted, stepping into the room.
Ries bit back a sigh. Just her day, is it?
She turned back to Vaspier, her frustration barely contained. “Fine, do what you want,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation. It wasn’t as though extra surveillance was going to harm anyone, right?
“But the Foreign Affairs Ministry has another report!” Nay interjected quickly.
“Send it to my office!” Ries snapped, already heading toward the door. She didn’t have the time or patience to listen to another complaint or sift through documents.
Whatever Vaspier was up to would have to wait, the Empress takes priority in what she has to say. She was already juggling too many tasks—the main course being a brand-new constitution, a side dish of reforms, and now, a dessert of diplomatic crisis.
When she arrived at the palace, the opulence of its halls didn’t faze her as much as it once did, her position and responsibilities dulled the grandeur. She was promptly escorted to the Empress' private office, where she found the monarch seated, calmly sipping from an ornate cup filled with a dark, fizzy liquid. A strange choice, she thought—she hadn’t imagined a royal indulging in such an unassuming drink.
The Empress, draped in layers of silk, turned her gaze toward Ries without haste. "Ah, you’ve arrived," she spoke, her voice melodic yet composed. “I trust the burden of governance has not yet worn you down, Madam Prime Minister?"
Ries offered a curt nod, but there was exhaustion in her voice as she sat down on the sofa opposite to her. “I wouldn’t say that.”
The Empress smiled slightly, though her eyes held the weight of matters beyond pleasantries. “It seems the Empire is beset on many fronts—legal, domestic, and now... aquatic.” She placed the cup down gently, her fingers lingering on its rim. "But I won’t burden you with that today.”
Ries blinked in mild surprise. Not about the Aquileans?That had been her expectation. Before she could respond, the Empress continued.
“I hear you are attempting to untangle the bureaucratic mess that is the imperial government. A task not unlike taming a hydra, wouldn’t you agree?”
Ries exhaled softly, thinking about the labyrinthine bureaucracy she’d been thrust into. “That’s one way to put it, Your Majesty. It feels like every time I think I’ve cut through the red tape, another tangle of regulations and protocols springs up to take its place.”
The Empress nodded slowly, as though weighing each of Ries’ words with her own understanding. “The machinery of governance is as much a creature of habit as it is of necessity. It resists change as fiercely as any army defends its borders. Yet, it is the very spine of the Empire. Break it too hastily, and everything collapses.”
Ries felt a pang of frustration at the truth of those words. “I know reforms are needed, but getting anything done requires the approval of three departments, four ministries, and a handful of nobles who all have their own agendas.”
The Empress raised a brow, "and now you understand why our predecessors often favored central control," she mused. “Efficiency may not be a virtue our current system prizes, but stability—ah, that is the crown jewel.”
"Stability," Ries echoed. "But how stable is it, really, when it keeps everything so... stagnant?"
The Empress leaned forward. “Stability is not stagnation, Lady Katzennia. It is the quiet rhythm beneath the noise, the pulse that holds the empire together even when the surface ripples with chaos.” She straightened, her tone shifting. “Still, reform must come, for a system that cannot adapt is doomed. Hence why called you here, to implement my own forms of reforms.”
Ries slowly nodded. Reforms coming straight from the Empress, huh? If these reforms were anything like what she suspected, they would likely focus on further centralizing power—diminishing the influence of the aristocracy and consolidating authority within the hands of the monarch and her own technically. It made sense, given the Empress' preference for control.
The Empress paused, as if in thought, then spoke again. “I presume you have been briefed on the Empire’s racial and ethnic demography?”
That caught Ries off guard. Briefed? She hadn’t even been aware that she was supposed to be briefed on that. After all, she was supposed to know these things. Being Prime Minister and all. The reality was… she didn’t. Her lack of understanding about the intricacies of the Empire’s racial structure was suddenly glaring.
“I—” Ries started, but caught herself. No point in bluffing her way through this.
The Empress’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the faintest hint of disapproval crossing her face. "I see…" she said, her voice still soft but carrying a subtle authority. "Then, let us correct this oversight."
Her tone, though not harsh, carried a gravity that made Ries sit up straighter. “Yes?”
"The Empire, contrary to what many assume, is far from a homogeneous state," the Empress began. "According to our most recent census, only forty percent—perhaps sixty if you follow more conservative estimates—of our population are human." She paused, letting the statistic settle. "We reside in the western regions, often called the core of the Empire, where human influence may seem dominant, but beyond this, our lands are shared with the others."
She took a measured sip of the fizzy liquid in her cup before continuing, "the rest, as you may imagine, are the so-called 'others'—Beastmen like yourself, Elves, Dwarves, Aquileans, Orcs, and the myriad tribes that inhabit our lands."
Ries felt herself stiffen at the words. Your kind. It stung, even though it wasn’t meant as an insult. She knew the Empress wasn’t belittling her; in fact, the very reason she sat across from her now was because of her identity. Yet hearing it broken down so clinically only deepened the chasm she felt between herself and the world of human politics.
"I won't bore you with a lengthy account of how this Empire came to be—suffice it to say, it was forged through conflict, as is often the case with nations of such size and power. But that is not our focus today."
The Empress set her cup down, her gaze sharpening as she shifted to the matter at hand. "Our discussion, Lady Katzennia, must now move toward the present. Namely, administration, bureaucracy, election, race relations, and the future of the constitution."
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Meanwhile, far from the political discussions of the capital, tension brewed at sea.
“Those fish people just don’t know when to quit, do they?” Captain Altheim of the VIS Unsinkable, sighed, lowering his binoculars. His eyes squinted at the horizon, where a fleet of Aquilean coral ships glided silently in the distance.
Altheim's crew moved with practiced efficiency around him, but there was an undercurrent of unease rippling through the deck. The Aquileans had been quiet for months, but here they were again, just lingering on the fringes of Valyrian waters just outside of the Coroner islands.
“Steady on, men,” Altheim muttered, tapping the side of his binoculars. “They’re testing us. Waiting to see if we’ll blink.”
He knew all too well of this. Being a veteran of the battle of Corral, all five of them and a potential sixth one. Another day, anoter Aquilean aggression. It’s like a string contest.
He was in command of a fleet of seven Valyrian warships, each a towering juggernaut of steel and firepower. The VIS Unsinkable, his flagship, led the charge—a hulking dreadnought designed to withstand the fiercest of sea battles. Behind it trailed two cruisers, three destroyers, and a single supply ship, all positioned within standard naval doctrine.
His fleet was no stranger to the tensions with the Aquileans, but something about today felt... heavier. The coral ships on the horizon shimmered like phantoms, their strange, living hulls was a reminder of the eerie magic the Aquilean race wielded.
"Captain," came the voice of his first officer. "They're holding position just outside the exclusion zone. Waiting for us to make the first move, like always."
Altheim grunted. "Classic Aquilean provocation. They want to draw us out, make us look like the aggressors. Well, not today."
He had seen this before during the countless skirmishes around the Coroner Islands, a contested stretch of ocean that had seen five major battles—The Battle of Corral, they called them. Though the last of these skirmishes had ended months ago, the threat of a sixth loomed over their heads like a dark cloud.
“You think they’ll attack us first?”
Altheim let out a heavy sigh, his fingers drumming absently on the railing as he weighed the question. "They’re too smart for that," he muttered, his eyes still locked on the distant fleet. "The Aquileans never attack head-on. They provoke, they test... but they won’t strike unless they’re sure they have the upper hand."
His first officer frowned, his gaze shifting uneasily between the captain and the fleet of coral ships that floated eerily on the horizon. "So, what do we do, Captain? Just sit here and wait?"
"Patience," Altheim replied, his voice carrying a sense of battle-worn wisdom. "They’re hoping we’ll get impatient, make the first move. If we fire first, they’ll cry foul to every kingdom on the continent. They'll play the victim, turn this into some grand injustice. No... we hold the line. We make them blink."
"Aye, sir. But what if they don’t blink this time? What if they’re preparing for more than just a skirmish?"
Altheim paused. It was the unspoken fear that had haunted him since the last battle of Coral—the sixth battle. It wasn’t a matter of if anymore, but when. The Aquileans had been preparing for something, and it wasn’t just another skirmish over the Coroner Islands.
"We’re ready for them," Altheim said, more to himself than to his first officer. "Let’s hope they remember that."
Just then, a low hum reverberated through the ship’s hull. Altheim glanced up at the sky, squinting as something caught his attention. Was that a school of wild griffons?
"Captain!" A sailor dashed up, panting, panic in his eyes. "Strange activity on the Aquilean flagship! Their energy cores are lighting up!"
“What?!”
BOOM!
It was in fact, not a school of wild Griffons.
The ship’s deck exploded with a deafening blast. It wasn’t griffons. The Aquileans had unleashed supercharged artillery—a signature weapon of the Aquileans. The roar of the explosion drowned out every other sound as the world tilted around him.
The deck erupted with a deafening roar, sending debris and crew flying. Altheim was thrown off his feet, his body slamming hard against the cold metal of the ship’s bulkhead. For a moment, his vision blurred, and the world around him spun as smoke and fire engulfed the air.
The ship rocked violently under the barrage. Debris rained down. Crew members who had been on deck were tossed into the air like marionettes, their screams cutting through the rising flames. Thick, black smoke billowed up, engulfing the air and burning Altheim's lungs as he fought to regain his bearings.
Fortunately, it’ll take more than a few hits on the deck to sink the Unsinkable.
"Captain! Captain, are you alright?" The voice was distant, muffled by the ringing in his ears, but Altheim forced his body to respond. He gripped the railing and pulled himself to his feet, his vision clearing just enough to see Rourke, his first officer, rushing toward him.
Altheim coughed violently, tasting blood. "Tell—cough—tell them to prepare to fire a salvo!" He gripped the first officer’s shoulder, shaking off the daze. His eyes burned with a cold fury. "And signal the fleet. We're not letting those Aquilean bastards get off scot-free!"
The first officer nodded and ran to relay the orders, his voice carrying above the noise as the ship’s crew scrambled to man their stations. Despite the chaos, the Unsinkable’s well-trained sailors moved like a well-oiled machine—a sign of a disciplined army. Damage control teams rushed to seal ruptured compartments, while gunners took their positions, priming the ship's cannons for a counterstrike.
Altheim steadied himself, wiping blood from his lips as he turned toward the looming shadow of the Aquilean fleet. Their flagship, glowing with the ominous energy that had rained destruction upon them, still lingered on the horizon, seemingly untouched. Preparing to launch another attack, no doubt.
But it was their turn now.
"Ready the broadside batteries!" Altheim barked to a nearby officer. "And load the new shells—let’s see how well their fancy energy cores hold up to real firepower."
The hum of the ship’s weapon systems came to life as the massive broadside cannons rotated into position. The Unsinkable might be damaged, but it wasn’t out of the fight.
"Captain, all guns primed and ready!" came a shout from the gunnery chief.
Altheim raised a hand, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto the distant flagship. He could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of the crew hanging on his next command. This is what true power feels like.
"Fire!" Altheim roared.
The Unsinkable's cannons unleashed a thunderous barrage, a salvo of shells hurtling through the sky toward the Aquilean ships. The recoil shuddered through the ship, but Altheim barely noticed, his gaze locked on the enemy as explosions rippled across the water.
The first few rounds missed, splashing into the sea around the Aquilean fleet, but then a direct hit struck the enemy flagship’s hull. The blast sent a plume of fire into the sky.
"That’s right," he smirked. "We’re still in this fight."
But even as the satisfaction of the hit settled, a chill ran down his spine. The Aquileans were not retreating. Instead, their flagship began to glow even brighter, a pulsing, ominous energy gathering around it.
His first officer returned, breathless. "Captain, we’ve got reports—the Aquilean flagship’s charging something big. It’s not just artillery. They're preparing to unleash—"
Before he could finish, the sky above them crackled with a sinister, electric hum. A massive beam of energy erupted from the Aquilean ship, cutting through the air like a sword of light, aimed directly at the heart of the Unsinkable.
Altheim’s blood ran cold.
"Brace for impact!" he shouted, but the warning came too late.
The beam struck, and the world turned to blinding white.
----------------------------------------
“Checkmate, pay up.”
Maxim groaned as his last Bishop was captured by a Rook, watching the piece slide off the board. Across from him, his friend grinned, clearly pleased with himself. Maxim begrudgingly reached for his pocket.
“Five Silver Virs, there.” He tossed a crumpled note onto the board, and his friend eagerly pocketed it with a triumphant smirk.
“Cheer up, Max. Our shift’s still long. Fancy another game?”
Maxim leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Sometimes I forget we’re security guards for the academy and not just two guys playing board games like a couple of jobless bums.” He rubbed his face, his voice laced with sarcasm. “But sure.”
His eyes wandered lazily to the road outside the academy, half-expecting the usual uneventful quiet. Instead, his heart skipped a beat as he spotted a truck speeding toward the front gate.
“Woah, woah, woah!” he yelled, leaping to his feet.
Without hesitation, he chanted an arcane incantation, his fingers weaving through the air. Almost instantly, the plants beside the road responded to his spell, surging up from the earth to form a makeshift spike strip.
Beside him, his friend was already casting a similar spell, reinforcing the barrier. The vines, thick and thorny, snaked across the path like a living trap, ready to stop the oncoming vehicle.
Maxim stood frozen, watching as the truck—just moments from crashing into the spike strip—slowed to a complete stop. Confusion washed over him, his mind trying to piece together what was happening. Then he saw it, another truck pulling up behind the first, then another, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. These weren’t just any trucks—they were military.
Soldiers poured out of the first vehicle with practiced precision, boots hitting the ground in unison. Maxim's eyes widened as an important-looking man, dressed in a plain black suit and an armband, stepped out from the front seat.
"Why do we always get the crazy shit on our shift?" Maxim cursed underneath his breath.
The man, clearly in charge, approached him with a sharp gaze and an air of authority. “ISD, move aside,” he ordered, his voice clipped and no-nonsense. He barely spared Maxim a glance as soldiers surged past them, moving with purpose toward the academy gate.
Maxim’s stomach churned. The ISD—the Imperial Security Directorate. He’d heard enough about them to know that when they showed up, it was never for anything good.
His friend nudged him with an elbow. “What the hell’s going on?” he whispered, his usual casual demeanor cracking.
“I have no idea,” Maxim replied, his voice low. He stepped back as instructed, watching the soldiers unlock and push open the academy gates with unnerving efficiency.
Whatever was about to happen, it was way above his pay grade.
“I think we have time for a few more chess games.”
In the grand atrium of the Academy, the air was filled with the hum of anticipation as students gathered to celebrate the accomplishments of four exceptional individuals. Lily, the once unassuming commoner girl, now stood in the spotlight, her lineage as a descendant of the Saintess of the West revealed in a dramatic turn of fate. Next to her were Prince Gerard of the Kingdom of Kaskadia, regal and poised; Prince Lutto of the Aquilean Empire, with his signature aloofness; and Joseph of House Lingez, a young lord from an Archduchy whose charm was unmatched.
At the back of the room, seated away from the fanfare, was Elisabeth. She watched the scene unfold with a deep frown, though her mind was elsewhere. It wasn't the congratulatory speeches or the admiration of the crowd that bothered her, but the unmistakable significance of this moment. She knew it all too well.
"This is the part where the game splits," she muttered, eyes narrowed on the four standing before the crowd. The three "capture targets" as they were called, would soon confess their feelings, each vying for Lily's affection. Elisabeth had seen it happen before—depending on the route chosen in the game, one of them would propose.
"I wonder who she chose?" Elisabeth mused, her fingers tapping idly on her lap. In the original game’s timeline, this event marked a crucial turning point—the heroine would make her decision, and the rest of the story would pivot based on that choice. Elisabeth had no interest in the romantic entanglements. She was far more preoccupied with her own survival. After all, in every possible route, her character was doomed to a grisly end.
But not this time. She had made strides already, taking careful steps to avoid the pitfalls that led to her head being chopped off, or hanged. Depending on the route Lily chose.
The crowd clapped and cheered, oblivious to Elisabeth’s internal turmoil. She glanced at Lily, who stood at the center of attention, her smile serene. Elisabeth couldn’t help but wonder if the girl even knew the weight of her decision today.
When the cheers died down, Prince Lutto of the Aquilean Empire—a tall, handsome, and imposing figure with a serpentine tail, bright blue hair, and eyes as cold as glacial waters—suddenly knelt before Lily. His sharp, predatory teeth gleamed as the entire hall seemed to hold its breath. This was it. The proposal. The moment the story would take a fateful turn.
“Here it is!” Elisabeth tightened her grip on the chair. Truth be told, she would be lying if she wasn’t looking forward to this. Despite being transported to the body of the main antagonist, she still had fond memories of the game.
“Lily, wi—”
BANG!
The deafening sound of the door being violently torn from its hinges silenced the hall. Soldiers, tens of them, flooded the room in perfect synchronization, their heavy boots echoing off the floor. The serene atmosphere shattered into chaos as students screamed and faculty scrambled, their panic overtaking the formal ceremony. The clattering of chairs and gasps of shock filled the air as everyone rushed to comprehend what was happening.
"This wasn’t supposed to happen!" Elisabeth’s heart pounded in her chest as she rose from her seat. The scene before her was not part of any route in the game. What was going on?
"Out of the way!" one of the soldiers barked, pushing students aside as they surged toward the center of the room, making a beeline for Lily and her suitors.
Prince Lutto had instinctively risen, his serpentine tail coiling protectively around the heroine, his sharp eyes blazing with defiance. "What is the meaning of this?!"
But the soldiers weren’t listening. A man wearing the unmistakable armband of the Imperial Security Directorate—the ISD—stepped forward. “By decree of the Prime Minister, you are hereby arrested for espionage, bribery, and terrorism!” His voice rang with authority as more soldiers surged forward.
"All students are to remain where they are!" the ISD agent ordered. His tone brooked no argument, no confusion, only compliance.
Prince Lutto barely had time to process what was happening before a soldier struck him across the head with the butt of a rifle. The sharp crack of the blow echoed across the room as Lutto crumpled, his serpentine tail thrashing in pain as soldiers rushed in, forcing him into manacles. Blood trickled down his face, staining his regal features.
“Do you have any idea who I am?! I am Prince Lutto of the Aquilean Empire! You will regret this, you—" His voice which was full of fury, was cut short as soldiers yanked him upright, his body still weak from the blow. His protests echoed, but no one listened.
Elisabeth’s stomach dropped. Espionage? Bribery? Terrorism?! Prince Lutto? None of it made sense. Her thoughts whirled as she tried to process the impossibility unfolding before her eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to Lutto, not in any of the game’s routes. Was this a secret path on the game’s codes?
Her gaze snapped to Lily. The girl who had been radiant and poised moments ago was now frozen in place, her eyes wide with terror. The brilliance of her saintly bloodline and charm had dimmed, replaced by fear as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
Lily’s suitors, Prince Gerard of Kaskadia and Joseph of House Lingez, looked equally stunned, standing in defensive positions around Lily but unsure of how to act in the face of the soldiers and the ISD. But even their noble status seemed insignificant in the face of such raw force.
Just then, the ISD agent pointed toward Lily. “Seize her too.”
Elisabeth’s blood ran cold. Lily? Why her?
This wasn’t in the game. There was no storyline, no alternate route where Lily got arrested. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something Elisabeth could predict, control, or avoid. What the actual hell is going on?!
Lily’s frozen composure broke as soldiers grabbed her. "Wait! No, I—what’s going on?" Her voice cracked, but the soldiers were merciless. They bound her hands, dragging her toward the exit without any explanation, as if her protests were meaningless.
Prince Gerard and Joseph exchanged a quick glance, their confidence visibly shaken, yet neither made a move to intervene. Even they knew when they were outmatched, their noble lineage offering no protection against the raw power of the Imperial Security Directorate.
Elisabeth's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Lily being dragged away, tried to remember through every possible scenario, every route from the game that she could recall. But there was nothing—no hint, no clue that this would happen. Spies? It didn’t make sense. Lily wasn’t involved in anything like that. She was just the protagonist, the heroine of the story… right?
What is this world turning into?
The ISD agent from before took his place at the podium. "Apologies for the interruption, but we have reason to believe this esteemed institution is harboring foreign spies."
"This is now a matter of state security," the agent continued, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "Further disruptions will be dealt with harshly."
“Please do not resist.”
----------------------------------------
Ries let out a long, exasperated sigh, feeling her soul practically ascend to the heavens as she sank into the plush chair. Talking with the Empress could drain the life out of anyone, she thought. The woman had a way of speaking that made her feel like she was being transported centuries into the past.
"Ahhh…" she sighed again, this time louder, letting the frustration seep out as she closed her eyes for a moment of reprieve.
"Why did I take this job again?" she muttered to herself, rubbing her forehead in frustration.
Ries glanced at the stacks of paperwork on her desk, her eyes glazing over them with disdain. Important, no doubt, but there was no chance she'd wade through that today. Laziness is a virtue, she thought, letting herself relax into the plush chair. Her mind drifted, seeking solace in the quiet.
“Madam Prime Minister!”
Of course, that tranquility didn’t last. With a groan, Ries opened her eyes to see Clarissa standing at the door, looking frantic. "What is it?" she muttered, her voice tinged with annoyance.
"You have to make your radio announcement!"
"For what now?" she snapped, barely able to muster the energy.
“We’re under attack!”
Ries shot up from her chair, her heart pounding as her mind shifted from weary resignation to full alert. "What do you mean, 'we’re under attack'?" she demanded, storming past Clarissa as she straightened her suit, all traces of exhaustion replaced by a sudden surge of adrenaline.
Clarissa, trying to keep up with her, fumbled with a stack of reports. " Three hours ago, Aquilean naval vessels fired the first shot on our fleet. They sank the VIS Unsinkable—"
Ries couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that bursted out of her. "The Unsinkable? Sunk?" She let out a bitter chuckle, shaking her head as they walked. "Who came up with that name? What a joke."
Clarissa frowned but pressed on, her tone urgent. "They’ve crossed the exclusion zone, and their fleet is approaching the Coroner Islands. Our forces are mobilizing, but we need to address the public before panic sets in."
Ries waved off Clarissa’s concerns, her voice laced with impatience. "Yes, yes. It’s not like we’re going to fight a land war anytime soon," she muttered, more focused on preparing for the broadcast than the details of naval strategy.
.
.
.
.
As the office door slammed shut, a stillness settled in the room. For a moment, everything was quiet—until a dark mist swirled into existence at the corner of the room, almost imperceptible at first, growing thicker until it coalesced into the shadowy form of a cloaked figure. They stepped forward silently, the dim light casting long shadows across the floor.
The figure approached the grand desk, its wooden surface polished to a sheen. "Hm, you never told me about your promotion, Ries," the figure whispered to the empty room, their voice barely audible. There was a hint of amusement, maybe even mockery, in their tone as they traced their fingers along the desk, their gloved hand pausing over the papers strewn across it.
With a quiet but deliberate motion, they opened the top drawer and pulled out a thick document. The title at the top, written in bold letters, caught the figure’s attention.
‘IMPERIAL CONSTITUTION DRAFT #5.’
A slow chuckle escaped from beneath the cloak. "Interesting... very interesting," they mused, flipping through the first few pages with an air of practiced detachment. "What are you up to, Prime Minister?"
The figure's eyes scanned over Imperial Decrees, reform plans, scribbled notes, and countless other documents scattered across the desk, all awaiting approval. Yet, none of them held the same weight or significance as this particular draft.
Then, just as fast as they had materialized, the figure disappeared back into the swirling mist, leaving behind no trace of their presence—except for the faintly rustling papers, unsettled by the departure.
Bringing with it, the draft of the constitution.