Survyn Haraxis emerged, entering the war room with two of his offspring in tow.

Of all his children, he gave three the honor of carrying his last name, and thus were considered heirs of noble lineage. In truth it wasn’t so much of a gift as it was a curse. The weight of responsibility on each of their shoulders would soon prove immense.

Tinyra and Kylan walked behind him, each wearing royal robes. Tinyra, his eldest, was a maiden blossoming into womanhood, old enough to marry but hesitant to pursue a mate. She had chosen a dark purple bodice over her robes, contrasting against her bright red skin, and liked to adorn herself in fine jewelry. Her whip lash tail was surprisingly dexterous, even for a Redever, and her glaring red eyes were enough to make many a man swoon for her attention.

Kylan shared his fathers skin tone, but his blonde hair and blue eyes were clearly gifts from his mother. Newly come of age, Survyn’s firstborn son was only now starting to understand how society worked, and wasn’t impressed. He chose to wear a more conservative robe, rather than anything overt, or display any fashion trends. While only a year younger than his eldest sister, Kylan possessed a rare acumen for logistics and running calculations, but was a bit of a recluse when it came to social affairs.

Survyn already set aside a private fund, and harem rooms, for both of them to manage once they matured a little more. As for his daughter, he feared that her proclivities would lead to her joining someone else’s harem, rather than enjoy her own. Her darker desires seemed to hover more toward the masochistic side than he would generally approve of.

But all of that were things to worry about later.

Inside the grand chamber sat a large marble oval table, surrounded by neatly arranged chairs fashioned with Titalian styled cushion fabric. Brass and iron made up the floors, and the pillars were layered in marble. The lanterns emitted a combination of magical fire and natural flame, creating a bright orange light with a flicker of blue.

The dome overhead was immense, its scale nearly disorienting as it seemed to tower above them. It was made up of several vast layers of armor glass, exposing them to the world above and around them. The skies were clear above them, the warmth of the distant sun was limping in the distance, soon to descend beneath the clouds. Surrounding the peak of their mountain, dirty browns and reds of magical storms smothered the world.

Only a few times in his life had Survyn been invited to attend a war summons. While he wasn’t of the military establishment, his status as a noble guaranteed him a seat in any war council, or policy debates among the chancellery. The dome was originally designed to be ceremonial, primarily for weddings among the aristocracy, especially for the high counts. Seeing this place being converted for the arts of warfare, for a second time in his life, wasn’t something he would fondly remember.

Already it seemed this new war had its share of spoils.

There were seventeen women chained to the wall pillars around the chamber, the first to be captured in the opening skirmishes. Each were young, fertile, and healthy with strong bodies. The men who had been amongst them were likely already dead, or sold to breeding or labor farms. The women had all been stripped of their clothes, their nipples pierced, and some had been stamped with slave brands.

The price tag for each of them was determined based on their age and rank. The officers amongst them had already been abused, their bodies smothered in seminal fluids, and each of them marked with tallies for each time they were used. It was likely that neither of the two officers amongst them would be sold to anyone of any redeeming value, but rather juiced up with Allucia and sold to a commoners breeding house. If their was a captain amongst them, they might have had a better chance to be sold to a nobles harem, but even that was rare.

All the women’s bodies were drenched with sweat, their mouths filled with ball gags, and slave chokers were wrapped tightly around their throats. They were all exhausted, some seemingly resigned to their fates, while others glared menacingly at everyone in the room.

Survyn wasn’t in the market for a new slave, or a new breeder for that matter. He still had one to finish taming after all. While most of the women here would’ve made fitting breeders, he neglected to give them much attention.

There was only one who seemed to captured his sons attention, however.

Kylan looked at all the women in shame, having already voiced his disgust at the slave trade for much of his life. Obviously he had been spending too much time with his Hestatian friends.

The woman he seemed to notice was restrained to a nearby marble pillar, her dark hair was short and messy, covered in grime. Her bare dusky skin glistened with sweat, and her small well formed breasts jiggled with each exasperated breath. Freckles decorated her skin, especially her shoulders and along her collarbone.

She had a narrow angular face with sharp cheek bones. Dark almond colored eyes looked up at them, they seemed devoid of warmth, almost as if she were looking through them, rather than at them. The woman’s body had been hardened for combat, her muscles were tense and sticking out. Her flat toned stomach, wide hips, and a natural slender frame was hard not to look at and admire.

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She was a natural beauty, Survyn couldn’t have been prouder of his sons first choice of potential breeders.

“You interested?” The woman who spoke was walking towards them, her dark blue skin contrasted against her Titalian white uniform. She looked over to the captive, then back to Survyn and his son with a curious smile. “She’s quite the find, I still don’t understand why humans such as her waste themselves in military service. She should be working in a brothel, or marry into wealth, not risking that beautiful body on the field of battle.”

Survyn noticed Kylan was about to speak, and caught him off guard by speaking next.“Perhaps, but only if the price is right.”

The lights dimmed, as the meeting was about to begin. Already a crowd were walking over to find their seats surrounding the central table. Survyn would’ve preferred to sit in the balcony, overlooking the meeting, but could see all those seats up there were taken. He nudged his son to follow him to the far side of the room, where several other nobles were taking their seats. His daughter seemed bored, her eyes more interested in the men in uniform than the captives on the wall.

The slave dealer offered them a curt bow as they walked away. “Come talk to me after the meeting, the auctions will begin after we’ve adjourned.”

“Thank you,” Survyn replied.

Holographic monitors showered the walls, each detailing the surrounding landscape, weather predictions, magical pressures in the atmosphere, and so much more. Military assets were displayed, including vast details on disposition, armaments, and regiment data. City locations, and defensive redoubts, were clearly marked. The Godechill Mount stood out among the vast plains leading to Voxsturm.

Military commanders from every regiment were also in attendance, their staffs surrounding each of them. The chairs surrounding the marble table were for them, but they all seemed to want to be as far away from each another for as long as possible until the meeting started.

The Titalian regiments were adorned in fanciful regalia, their overcoats were a white cream color with vibrant blue shoulder paldrons. They each wore silver gorgets, and golden tassels were wrapped around their shoulders. Several commanders wore brass and gold medals over their chests, some seemed to over decorate their uniforms with them.

Their leader was a bulky man with a bulls neck, his hardened features and rough skin gave him the nickname ‘the old bull’. He was the only commander currently sitting at the marble table, and he seemed happy smoking his rather large cigar, while swishing a glass of fine brandy. A simple human girl sat next to him, dressed in a beautiful silk gown, and she seemed rather comfortable by his side.

Several other commanders had come from other cities, seeing some of them made Survyn’s skin crawl.

The Livilins wore dark red body suits, with even darker armor plates over their breasts and shoulders. They each bore dour expressions, and several were covered in scars. The leader of the Livilin core was a large masculine Redever, gene-enhanced from numerous magical and physical operations. His dark black hair, and red skin, made him seem like a demon more so than a respectable member of society.

The Seracins sat at the opposite corner of the room, each wearing dark blue uniforms with silver trim. Their leader was a woman with elongated horns, and a lithe frame. Her skin was pale, an albino that somehow rose to prominence! A dark blue tattoo decorated her cheek, and half her face, running down her neckline, and likely covering half her body as well. The blue rose and thorns was a common tattoo amongst Seracins, but seeing it on an albino made them truly stick out.

The Cruul occupied their own corner of the room. They wore black leather coats, and ochre colored fatigues. Their leader, a masculine figure whose tail had been sliced off during the last war, was studying one of the female specimens with interest. His pink skin should’ve been a mark of shame, and yet somehow he was leading the Cruul delegation.

The only ones missing seemed to be the Hestatians, their chairs remaining empty for the time being. Survyn wasn’t surprised. The Hestatians were always the most opposed to the war, and had grown more reclusive in the years following the last one.

Not having them here would cost us, Survyn couldn’t help but think to himself. The Hestatians had more Bohemoths than any other singular Redever city, and its king could marshal more manpower than Titalia if necessary.

As all the military leaders started to convene, slowly making their way to the large oval table. The holographic displays lit up a bit brighter, and the armor glasses above changed to let in less natural light.

“About time,” Tinrya sighed. She laid back in her seat, her tail coiling around to show off the gold jewelry around the base of her forked tip. “Look at how that pretty little girl sits so close to her old bull of a man. I guess he’s handsome, in a rough combatant sort of way. I wonder if she’s a pet, or something more?”

“Hush girl,” Survyn whispered.

“Fine dad, but only because you asked nicely.” She shot him a snarky grin.

“You only came to look at all the men in uniform,” her brother groaned.

“Like you’re one to talk, gazing at that pretty little thing just moments ago. Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart about the slave trade?”

“Enough,” Survyn placed a hand on both his kids shoulders. “We need to have a long talk after about public decorum, but for now, please don’t embarrass me by letting you come here.”

Tinyra chuckled at that, sinking further in her seat while ensuring the top button of her robe was undone. It was then that Survyn realized she was wearing a corset underneath the robes. A tiny sliver of cleavage was exposed, which caught the attention of one of the chamber guards nearby.

Kylan, meanwhile, leaned forward, his eyes looking over at the poor woman still restrained to the pillar. He looked at each of the other slaves as well, evidently not happy about what he was seeing. His feet wouldn’t stop tapping the floor.

Survyn remained punctual, not sure what to make of both his children. He only hoped this meeting would prove short.

Neither Tinyra or Kylan would remain completely silent during the meeting, that was until the Livilin commander started to speak, and unveiled his new weapon.