Port City of Maihark - A Few Hours LaterHeavenly Kingdom of Qua-Toyne

  The coastal skyline of Maihark shimmered in the midday sun, its bustling port teeming with wooden galleons, trade vessels, and the occasional steam-driven ship belching faint plumes of smoke into the sky. Sailors hauled crates, merchants shouted over each other, and dockhands scrambled across creaking piers, working in rhythmic chaos.

  Then, silence began to ripple through the crowd as something unfamiliar loomed on the horizon.

  Sleek, metallic silhouettes. Warships-massive, steel-cd giants-cut through the sea like bdes, their hulls dwarfing even the rgest merchant vessels in the harbor. The ocean seemed to part for them.

  Crowds began to gather along the docks and seawalls, murmurs swelling into awe and unease.

  "By the Emissaries... those ships-there's no way they'll fit in any of our berths," muttered a dockhand, shading his eyes with a calloused hand.

  "They're like floating fortresses," another gasped.

  The harbormaster, a grizzled man with decades at sea under his belt, clicked his tongue. "Signal them," he barked to a nearby officer. "If they've got smaller craft on board, now's the time to use them. No way I'm letting one of those steel monsters crack my piers in half."

  He turned back toward the distant behemoths, watching as their angur forms steadily approached.

  "Whatever realm they came from," he muttered under his breath, "it wasn't one where subtlety was taught."

  Aboard the Herald of the EmissariesEastern Waters, Approaching Maihark

  The bridge was quiet but tense as the sea wind hummed softly through the open observation ports. The dull hum of mana-reactors below deck provided a subtle, constant thrum beneath their boots.

  "Admiral Midori," the communications officer called out, holding a freshly transcribed message in his hand. "We've just received word from the Port Authority in Maihark. They say their harbors can't accommodate vessels of our guests' size. The Alnanian fleet will have to remain anchored offshore."

  The Admiral let out a slow breath, brushing a gloved hand across his beard in thought. "Well, that's an issue." He stepped toward the forward window, narrowing his eyes at the distant silhouettes of steel giants resting in the waves. "And I don't see any smaller nding craft out and about, either."

  He paused, then gave his next order calmly, but with clear direction.

  "Send one of our wyverns. Have them approach the fleet and attempt to establish visual communication. Try hand signals first, or any other non-threatening gestures that might get the point across."

  "Aye, Admiral," the officer replied, already turning back to his console, fingers gliding across the communication crystals to rey the command.

  High above the fleet, one of the patrolling wyverns shifted its course with a sharp turn, breaking formation. Its rider spurred it on with a practiced gesture, and the beast angled downward toward the Alnanian formation.

  Wings cutting through the air like scythes, the creature descended in sweeping arcs, circling the foreign fleet. It made several passes, eyes scanning the formation for signs of leadership-fgs, markings, or anything that resembled a fgship.

  The wyvern's presence was clear, but its movements were measured, careful not to provoke arm.

  The message was simple: We need to talk.

  From the deck of one of the wooden frigates, the crew watched with tense curiosity as the wyvern rider banked low above the sea, wings glinting in the sun. The beast's graceful circles grew tighter, clearly scanning the Alnanian fleet anchored beyond the harbor.

  Then, motion.

  A figure-clearly an officer, judging by his uniform and composure-stood atop the upper deck of one of the rger Alnanian warships. Spotting the wyvern overhead, he raised an arm and signaled with slow, deliberate waves. His body nguage was steady and non-hostile-a universal gesture of "let's talk."

  The wyvern rider took the cue, pulling the reins gently to steady the beast. With a beat of leathery wings, the creature adjusted its height and hovered just off the port side of the warship, close enough that the two could exchange words over the sea breeze.

  Back aboard the Herald of the Emissaries, a soft hum buzzed from the mana-comm panel. One of the operators quickly adjusted the tuning crystal, nodding toward Admiral Midori.

  "Sir, we're receiving a transmission. It's from the wyvern rider."

  Midori turned from the window, folding his arms. "Put it through."

  The speaker crackled, then came the rider's voice, slightly muffled by distance and wind interference.

  "This is Airman Kaelis. I've made contact with one of the Alnanian officers. They confirm they have no compatible nding craft onboard. However, they're prepared to deploy a team via aerial transport-some kind of advanced aircraft. Requesting clearance to guide it in."

  "Have him escort the Alnanians to the Wyvern Base near Maihark," Admiral Midori ordered. "Inform the base commander to prepare for their arrival and tell our envoys to be ready to receive them."

  The orders were swiftly reyed-rune-scribed messages sent through the kingdom's manacomm network and flight signals dispatched to the nearby aerial units.

  Soon after, movement stirred aboard the Alnanian fleet. From the distant horizon, observers saw signs of preparation on the steel warships. Hatches opened along the hull of the lead vessel, and two smaller metallic craft burst forth-sleek, angur, and obviously designed for rapid aerial movement. They began circling overhead in a protective pattern, likely escorts.

  Then came the rger craft.

  From the main warship, three of the massive flying machines-simir to the one Officer Lucien had arrived in-slowly emerged, their propulsion systems humming like thunder against the wind. The lead dropship was unmistakably the same one used in the initial contact. The two others, slightly bulkier, appeared to be carrying cargo or equipment beneath their armored hulls.

  From above, the wyvern rider banked gently and began heading toward the nearby military airbase. Without hesitation, the dropships fell into formation behind him, their metallic hulls gleaming as they glided through the skies.

  Despite clearly having the speed to overtake him, the Alnanian craft held back, maintaining formation behind the wyvern rider-a silent show of respect, and restraint.

  The citizens of Maihark watched from afar, shielding their eyes from the sun as ancient and modern wings soared together through the heavens-an omen of history in the making.

  Ascension Wyvern AirbaseSouthwest of Maihark

  The base's runway—once crowded with roosting wyverns and resting riders—had been hastily cleared. Stable hands and airfield personnel scrambled to drag beasts of burden to the side, while ground crews lit signal runes and raised colored banners to mark the improvised nding zone.

  A distant thunder began to roll in overhead. First came the local wyvern rider, soaring just above the airstrip to signal the base. But what followed silenced the murmurs of the crowd.

  Five foreign aircraft pierced the clouds—metal beasts of a design never seen before on this continent. The trio of rger dropships broke formation, peeling away from their nimble escorts, which remained circling overhead like steel hawks scanning for threats. The dropships banked wide, their bellies glowing faintly from directional thrusters now pivoting to face downward.

  A low-frequency hum reverberated through the earth as the crafts initiated their nding sequence. Hydraulic panels shifted with mechanical precision, side vents opened to release pressure, and small stabilizer wings adjusted their pitch to counter the descending wind shear. The air rippled from the sheer energy output of their hovering systems, kicking up dust, debris, and discarded parchments across the airstrip.

  Inside the lead dropship, Officer Lucien stood just behind the pilot's station, observing the base below through the reinforced gss canopy. He could see soldiers, officials, and riders alike forming a perimeter around the nding zone. The craft shuddered once—subtly—as the nding struts touched down. A moment of stillness followed, as if the very world held its breath.

  Then came movement.

  "Stand by!" barked Sergeant Dornel, stepping forward toward the sliding exit door. His gloved hand hovered over the manual override as the squad inside shifted into position. Twelve soldiers formed a semicircle, weapons raised, helmets locked, visors flickering to life with integrated HUDs. The interior lights shifted from blue to amber—combat standby mode.

  Dornel gnced to Lucien, who gave him a subtle nod.

  "Drop team, ready!" shouted a voice from one of the other dropships via intercom.

  Dornel pulled the lever.

  SHUNK-KSHHH!

  The side hatch hissed and slid open with a metallic grind, heat and sunlight flooding into the dim interior. Immediately, the squad surged forward.

  "Go go go!" Dornel roared. "Secure perimeter—watch your angles!"

  Boots smmed onto the dirt in rhythm. Each soldier pivoted, forming a defensive semicircle around the lead dropship. Rifles trained, they scanned the surroundings—over the rooftops, toward the treelines, and down every visible alleyway of the base.

  From the second and third dropships, parallel units disembarked in perfect sync, adding nearly a full ptoon's worth of troops onto the field. The sleek, dark armor of the Alnanian infantry stood in stark contrast to the leather-and-mail uniforms of the local guards watching from a safe distance.

  "Status green. No immediate threats," one soldier reported over comms, lowering his rifle slightly but keeping his eyes forward.

  "Clear zone. Local forces in sight. Standing down to watch posture," another echoed.

  Dornel adjusted his visor, the digital overy zooming in on a group of Qua-Toynian officers approaching the field with raised hands and neutral stances. He nodded in approval.

  "Hold formation. Officer Lucien, you're clear."

  Officer Lucien stepped down the ramp with calcuted calm. His boots struck the concrete with a soft thud, his uniform fluttering lightly in the wind.

  "Let's make history then," he muttered to himself.

  Behind Officer Lucien, the dropships remained idling—low mechanical growls pulsing beneath their armored hulls. Their engines hummed with tent power, ready to fre into motion and lift off at a moment's notice should an extraction become necessary. Dust and heat shimmered in the air around their vector nozzles, which remained slightly elevated—watchful and reactive.

  From the edge of the runway, a figure in formal robes strode forward with poise, fnked by a pair of armored guards in ceremonial gear. The figure stopped a respectful distance away before offering a soft smile.

  "Quite the entrance, wouldn't you say?" she said, her voice confident and clear.

  Lucien turned, nodding slightly.

  "I'm Ministral Assistant Aer," she continued, pcing a hand over her chest in greeting. "I've been assigned to accompany you and your delegation to the Sacred Capital on behalf of both the Prime Minister and the Ministral Office of Foreign Retions. Transport has been arranged for your aides and escort personnel."

  Her gaze drifted past Lucien, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sheer number of armored soldiers fanned out behind him—still vigint, still scanning.

  "...Although I suspect we may need to procure more mana-gliders than originally anticipated."

  Lucien gave a slight smirk and raised a hand, gesturing toward the rear two dropships. "That won't be necessary. We brought our own."

  At his signal, the soldiers moved swiftly into position. Behind them, the rear dropships shifted in response—servo motors whirring and locking as their ramp mechanisms activated. With a hydraulic hiss and the mechanical whine of high-torque pistons, the stern hatches split open and slowly angled skyward.

  From within the darkened interiors, powerful magnetic cmps released with a dull thunk. Twin ramps extended down to the runway with smooth precision, reinforced tread pting unfolding in segmented yers.

  Then came the real show.

  Two hulking silhouettes emerged from the shadows—three-meter-tall armored vehicles, matte bck with glimmering lines of kinetic shielding nodes and autonomous sensor pods.

  The MBX-41 "Bunkret." A modur, multi-environment armored troop transport designed for full-spectrum combat and hazard conditions. Twenty metric tons of composite-ceramic muscle, equipped with adaptive suspension, electromagnetic reactive armor pting, and full CBRN (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear) filtration and isotion systems.

  Twin retractable coilgun turrets—each housing 15mm hypervelocity slug unchers—swiveled automatically as their targeting optics calibrated, momentarily locking on to nearby structures before going dormant. The low, throaty growl of their fusion-assisted motors sent a shiver through the air.

  Each vehicle could carry up to twelve personnel, with climate-controlled interiors, advanced comms integration, and independent oxygen recycling—making them mobile fortresses on any terrain.

  The Bunkrets rolled down with synchronized precision, guided by motion beacons from the escorting soldiers. Their weight stabilizers emitted a subtle vibration as they adjusted to the uneven weight of deployment.

  As they aligned into formation near the dropships, soldiers began boarding them swiftly and silently—well-drilled, organized, efficient.

  Two full squads remained behind to secure the nding site, forming a temporary perimeter around the dropships while diagnostic drones scuttled across the hulls to perform idle status checks.

  Aer blinked, her expression straddling amazement and mild concern. "I see. Your preparations... are thorough."

  Lucien gnced at the vehicles and then back at her. "We prefer not to rely on chance. Especially in new territory."

  He stepped forward, straightening his coat as he spoke smoothly, "I'll ride with you and your... mana-glider, was it? I'd like to have some conversation during the trip, if you don't mind."

  "Gdly, Mister...?" Aer tilted her head with polite curiosity.

  "Lucien. Officer Lucien." He offered a small nod. "Shall we get going then?"

  "Yes, of course," Aer replied, gesturing toward the nearby carriage-like craft. "This way, Officer."

  The two boarded the mana-glider—one of the nation's bulkier, magically-propelled transports. Compared to the elegant interior of Alnanian dropships or even standard military transports, it was... quaint. Functional. A bit bumpy on the initial lift. The carved wooden panels inside cshed with riveted steel reinforcements and glowing mana conduits etched into the floor. Seats were padded, but slightly cramped, likely not designed with armored officers in mind.

  Lucien leaned slightly as the glider rumbled into motion, moving on arcane propulsion runes and humming softly. Outside the viewport, the Alnanian Bunkret APCs followed behind at a precise distance, their engines whispering along the paved road like stalking beasts of war.

  They passed through the edge of Maihark—a city built with an old-world charm: cobbled streets, steeply tiled rooftops, and curious pedestrians halting to glimpse the imposing foreign vehicles trailing the mana-glider. Children ran to keep pace briefly, waving, until guards urged them away. Steam rose zily from chimneys as the te afternoon sun dipped, casting golden hues across the buildings.

  Soon, the urban ndscape faded into a wide expanse of farmnds. Endless fields rolled out beyond the hills—wheat, rye, and strange violet crops Lucien didn't recognize. Wooden windmills churned zily in the wind, and irrigation channels glittered in the sunlight like silver ribbons drawn through the earth.

  Lucien gnced out for a moment before speaking again.

  "Your fields are vast. Fertile," he said, his voice calm, contemptive. "It reminds me of the northern provinces... before they were industrialized."

  Aer smiled softly. "We try to preserve the nd. Much of our food comes from here. It's not perfect, but it sustains millions."

  A quiet hum filled the silence for a time. Then, Aer turned slightly in her seat.

  "Officer Lucien, if I may ask... why are you addressed as a 'Diplomatic Officer'? Does your nation not employ ambassadors?"

  Lucien paused, considering. "We used to. Roughly... a century ago now, give or take. Traditional ambassadors were standard, as you'd expect. But that changed after the Havre Accords breakdown."

  Aer tilted her head. "The Havre Accords?"

  Lucien's jaw tightened ever so slightly. His gaze drifted outside the window again. "A multiteral peace initiative during a period of fragile detente between superpowers. One of our ambassadors—Ambassador Feyn—and his entire staff were sughtered in a sudden uprising. The embassy was burned. No evacuations. No survivors."

  Aer's expression softened. "That's... tragic. I'm sorry."

  "Thank you. But tragedy has always been the midwife of policy in our history," Lucien replied. "After that incident, the Emperor issued a directive to overhaul how the Empire represented itself abroad. No more career diplomats trained solely in protocol and etiquette. We needed envoys with operational authority—trained in diplomacy, yes, but also w, intelligence, emergency logistics, military coordination... and sometimes warfare."

  "Hence the Imperial Diplomatic Officer Corps?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Precisely. We are not merely messengers—we're decision-makers. Trusted to act with imperial authority when conditions become... unstable."

  Aer studied him for a moment, not with fear, but a growing understanding. "That must be a heavy burden."

  "It is," he said simply. "But it's a necessary one. Especially in worlds like this, where unpredictability seems to be the only constant."

  They both fell silent for a while, the hum of the mana-glider filling the space between words. Outside, the sun dipped further, casting long shadows across the open fields. The escort vehicles followed like watchful shadows—steady, unyielding.

  Aer finally broke the quiet with a thoughtful murmur. "You speak like someone who's seen a great deal of loss."

  Lucien didn't respond immediately. Then: "Loss is a good teacher. The Empire remembers every lesson. So do I."

  She nodded solemnly. Then, with a more diplomatic tone, "Then perhaps... there is much we can learn from each other, Officer Lucien."

  His gaze turned back to her, a hint of something unreadable behind those stern eyes. "Perhaps."

  "It's strange," Lucien muttered, gaze trailing over the shimmering blue runes lining the walls of the mana-glider, "yet... interesting."

  "What is?" Aer asked, casting him a sidelong gnce.

  "This mana-glider of yours," he gestured subtly around them. "Judging by your cities and architectural style, I would've expected horse-drawn carriages."

  Aer chuckled softly. "You're not wrong. The majority of the Heavenly Kingdom still relies on them. Mana-gliders like this are reserved for the upper echelons of society or special guests such as yourself. They're rare. Costly to maintain, and even harder to build."

  "I see," Lucien nodded. "So, I assume your people haven't exactly mass-industrialized."

  "Not in the way your nation clearly has," she admitted, her eyes flitting briefly to the armored escort vehicles trailing behind them. "I take it horse-drawn carriages are obsolete in your society?"

  "Haven't seen one used outside of ceremonial events in over a century," he said pinly. "They belong to museums or historical reenactments now."

  Aer raised a brow with mild amusement. "Such a different world..."

  Lucien tilted his head, then asked, "If you don't mind—how does this thing even work? I don't see a smokestack, no visible power source... certainly not steam or combustion."

  Aer smiled sheepishly. "To be honest, I don't know the intricacies. But it runs on a mana-engine—a crude replica based on what little we've salvaged from one of the Emissaries' artifacts. We call it the Dye-zel Engine Artifact."

  Lucien blinked, his mind catching the word instantly. Diesel...? The pronunciation was warped by time and culture, but the resembnce was unmistakable. An old internal combustion engine—primitive by modern standards, phased out globally in favor of zero-emission high-density battery cores and hydrogen cells. The idea of a civilization revering such a thing as a sacred artifact was... both amusing and a little disconcerting.

  But that wasn't what stuck in his mind.

  "Emissaries," he said aloud. "I've heard that word a few times now—from you, from your admiral. Who were they, exactly?"

  Aer's tone shifted, reverent. "The Emissaries were divine warriors—champions of the Sky Deity. A thousand years ago, they descended from the heavens to save us during the Great Demonic Invasion. Their technology, their weapons, their wisdom... it changed the course of our history. Many of their works remain far beyond our comprehension. What little we've retained is safeguarded in the Emissarian Archives."

  She continued, her voice softening further. "We call our belief system the Emissariat. Our faith—and our kingdom itself—is guided by Her Holiness," Aer expined, her tone shifting again to that mixture of reverence and pride. "She is the st living person to have witnessed the Emissaries with her own eyes, a thousand years ago."

  Lucien raised a brow. "A thousand years? You mean she's still alive?"

  "Yes," Aer nodded solemnly. "She was just eleven when the Emissaries st walked this world. But she is not like us. Her Holiness is a Highblood Elf—one of the st remaining of the pure lineage. The trueborn elves, as our ancestors called them. They can live for millennia, sustained by their undiluted mana and unbroken connection to the old magicks."

  "I take it that's rare now?" Lucien asked, his voice more analytical than awed.

  "Extremely," Aer said. "The newer generations—our generation—are... lesser, in a way. We still live longer than humans, a few centuries perhaps, but the purity of our bloodlines has waned. The Highbloods faded with time, either lost in war, mixed through intermarriage, or voluntarily stepping away from the world. Her Holiness is one of the st... perhaps the st."

  Lucien leaned back slightly in his seat, processing the implications. A ruler who had seen the world change for a thousand years. A religious figure revered as both living history and divine authority. That could be valuable... or dangerous.

  He kept his voice neutral. "So she's both your spiritual leader and political head?"

  "In a sense. The Heavenly Kingdom is still governed by a Prime Minister and the Ministrals, but Her Holiness is the final voice in matters of doctrine, prophecy, and sometimes national direction. When she speaks, the kingdom listens."

  Lucien exhaled silently, looking out the window as fields gave way to winding rivers and distant mountains.

  Immortal, divine, revered... A thousand years of influence. She'd outsted empires. Even the worst theocracies never had that.

  His grip tightened slightly on his knee.

  A thousand years was a long time to build a cult of personality... and a longer time to justify anything in the name of prophecy.

  "Others believe she remains for a singur purpose—to herald the Emissaries' return. Prophecy holds that when they come again, it will be in preparation for a far greater evil."

  Lucien leaned back into his seat, exhaling a quiet sigh. "So they're the ones your people worship..."

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw tensing.

  He had hoped—prayed, even—that this kingdom wasn't one of those. But the signs were here. Religious doctrine, prophecy, divine leadership... It was milder than the worst he'd seen, but the arm bells were already ringing in the back of his mind.

  Please don't let them be another Avalon.

  That name alone stirred the bile in his throat. The Divine Kingdom of Avalon—tyrannical, zealously theocratic, endlessly delusional. Lucien had spent years dealing with their so-called "diplomats"—fanatics who cloaked holy war under the veil of peace. Self-righteous, paranoid, and obsessed with fulfilling divine mandates that brought the world to the brink more than once.

  The Avalonians had meddled in foreign states, assassinated secur leaders in the name of their gods, and threatened to ignite six separate conflicts during Lucien's tenure. One of them—Operation Silent Cross—had nearly dragged three superpowers into direct confrontation. All because some mad Hierophant cimed to receive a vision of divine territory being "vioted."

  He remembered the fallout. Burned cities. A chemical weapons scare. The corpses of innocent negotiators dumped at a checkpoint border.

  Lucien's hand subconsciously clenched into a fist.

  No, he had no patience left for theocracies. The Empire had long since shed faith for reason, prophecy for pnning, prayer for policy.

  The Imperial Federation didn't kneel to gods.

  And if this nation, this Heavenly Kingdom, turned out to be another version of Avalon behind a smiling face and a polite envoy, then the mission would change. It always did.

  He opened his eyes again and found Aer still watching him curiously.

  "I take it," she said gently, "you're not particurly fond of faith-led nations."

  Lucien gave a thin, guarded smile. "Let's just say we have a long and complicated history with states that pce gods above governance. The st time we tolerated a theocracy, they blew up an international summit with a martyr-bomb disguised as a diplomat."

  Aer went silent. The humming of the mana-glider filled the space once again.

  Eventually, she spoke, quieter this time. "I hope we don't repeat those mistakes."

  Lucien watched the horizon. The sun was dipping now, casting long golden shadows over the farmnds. The towers of the Sacred Capital were beginning to pierce the sky in the distance.

  "For everyone's sake," he murmured, "I hope not too."

  Sacred CapitalHeavenly Halls of Emmisaria - Conference Room

  The room was far quieter than it had been earlier in the day—its once-bustling energy now repced by a calm, deliberate stillness. Only Prime Minister Kanata, Foreign Minister Iras, and a handful of Ministral aides remained. The long oval table was neatly arranged with delicate trays of traditional delicacies, warm tea kettles set atop mana-infused heating ptes, and a series of parchment and crystal-stes prepared for note-taking.

  Soft, constant pulses of mana light bathed the room in a warm, ethereal glow. Outside the tall windows, the radiant towers of the Sacred Capital shimmered against the velvet dark of night, their crystal-lit spires battling the shadows with brilliant defiance. The city, a millennium-old marvel built on ancient elven ingenuity, still stood as one of the greatest wonders of the East—its beauty rivaling even the famed city of Esthirant far to the north.

  Kanata sat with his hands folded before him, his brows slightly furrowed. "These newcomers... what do you think they want?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Appearing out of nowhere, sailing in with such overwhelming might."

  Iras leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Trade, perhaps. Maybe diplomacy. But nations that arrive like this—unannounced, unflinching—they're rarely so simple. The world's become... unpredictable."

  Before Kanata could reply, the chamber doors opened with a gentle creak. Aer entered, giving a respectful bow.

  "Prime Minister, the Alnanian delegation has arrived. Shall I show them in?"

  "Of course," Kanata nodded. "Please, guide them inside."

  Aer stepped out with a soft rustle of her robes, returning moments ter with Officer Lucien and his aides in tow. Their boots echoed softly against the polished marble floor as they entered, every movement disciplined, deliberate. Cd in their formal uniforms, the Alnanians exuded the cold precision of a people who had long forgotten hesitation.

  Lucien gave a slight bow before taking his seat. "Good evening," he began, his voice steady, almost mechanical in formality. "I am Officer Lucien Kohl, of the Imperial Diplomatic Corps, representing the Imperial Federation of Alnania. On behalf of my nation, I thank you for granting us this opportunity to speak—especially at this te hour."

  Kanata nodded politely. "The honor is ours. I am Kanata, Prime Minister of the Heavenly Kingdom of Qua-Toyne. This is Foreign Minister Iras, head of the Ministral Office of Foreign Retions. We appreciate your willingness to meet on such short notice—and at a rather unsociable hour."

  Lucien gave a light wave of his hand. "There's no need to apologize. We anticipated such a setting. After all, diplomacy waits for no clock."

  Kanata chuckled softly at that, easing the tension just slightly. "Then, Officer Lucien... shall we begin?"

  Lucien leaned forward slightly, activating a small datapad on the table. Its soft blue glow flickered to life.

  "Yes," he said. "Let us begin."

  "Well then," Kanata began, folding his hands atop the table, "if you don't mind me asking first, Officer Lucien... where exactly is this Imperial Federation of Alnania located? And more importantly, what has your nation been doing all this time? Judging by the scale of your fleet and technology, you're certainly not some newly founded power."

  Lucien offered a small nod, tapping on the datapad in front of him. A soft hum followed as it projected a 2D map above the table—first showing the familiar contours of Rodenius and the southern edges of Phides. The projection slowly panned eastward... farther and farther until an entirely new ndmass appeared.

  "Our homend lies approximately 10,000 kilometers east of this continent," Lucien expined. "Beyond the open seas and far past what your maps likely chart."

  "By the Emissaries..." Iras muttered in astonishment, leaning forward as her eyes traced the eastern edge of the projection. "That's an unfathomably long journey—especially with how many Leviathan-css sea monsters roam those waters."

  Lucien let out a short, knowing breath. "Yes, it was a treacherous crossing. But as to why we only appear now, after what may seem like centuries of silence... the reason is more complex." He tapped the datapad again, and the projection shifted to a completely different globe—one none in the room had ever seen before. The continents were alien, the ocean currents unfamiliar.

  "We don't originate from this world. We came from a different one entirely—a pnet we call Arkanis. One moment, we were going about our lives, tending to affairs on our continent... and the next, the entirety of Valdrad—our homend—was ripped from our world and dropped here, severed from everything we once knew."

  Silence settled over the room like a bnket. The projection hovered above them, flickering faintly.

  "You're saying," Kanata said carefully, "that your entire continent was transferred here? You were moved between worlds?"

  Lucien gave a slow nod.

  Kanata turned to Iras. "The st time anything like this happened was... what? Half a millennium ago? The Vestal Archipegos, right?"

  Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Wait—did you just say we weren't the first?"

  Iras leaned forward, intercing her fingers. "That's correct. Our world—Elyndra—was, according to ancient records, once little more than an endless ocean, dotted with a few isoted isnds. Then, over centuries, new ndmasses began to appear. First a continent, then archipegos... and eventually entire ecological and cultural systems came with them. These transference events—as we call them—used to happen more frequently. But they've slowed down over time. The st major event was nearly five hundred years ago."

  Kanata added, "It's believed that the majority of Elyndra's ndmass wasn't originally native to this world. Much of what now forms the Civilized Spheres came from elsewhere."

  Lucien's datapad clicked softly as his aides scrambled to document every word. The implications were enormous—and troubling.

  "But," Iras continued, "this is the first time I've heard of an entire functioning nation being transferred intact. The closest comparison might be the continent of Mu. When it arrived, it was home to fractured tribal societies—nothing like your Federation. They were quickly overwhelmed by native powers, partly because they couldn't wield magic, and partly because they had no unified defense."

  Lucien's expression darkened slightly at the mention of magic.

  "That expins a lot..." he muttered. "And if that's the case, then we may be walking into a world shaped by other refugees from unknown realms."

  He leaned back, the weight of the moment hanging heavy.

  "To be blunt," he said, gncing between the ministers, "this transfer may be history repeating itself—but we're not like the others. Alnania did not arrive as a fractured nd of scattered tribes. We arrived as a nation forged in the fires of centuries of war and diplomacy. We may have lost our world... but we didn't lose our strength."

  "Noted, Officer Lucien," Kanata said with a nod. "Shall we move on, then? What exactly does your nation seek from this meeting?"

  Lucien sat straighter, his expression sharpening. "First and foremost, we'd like to establish a trade agreement—both in materials and information. While we are rgely self-sufficient, we ck critical data about this world. Its geography, political ndscape, major powers, regional threats... we're operating blind. That's not a position the Federation is comfortable with."

  Foreign Minister Iras nodded thoughtfully. "Understandable. Information exchange is doable. We may even be able to arrange a diplomatic access tier to our archives. As for material trade... we'll have to address currency systems. I assume yours is incompatible with our mana-based economy?"

  "It is," Lucien confirmed. "Our economy is based on an energy-credit system backed by megawatt consumption quotas, not precious materials or mana."

  "Well then," Kanata said, his interest clearly piqued, "we may need to establish a conversion framework, or a bartering intermediary—at least temporarily."

  And so, for hours, both sides delved into the depths of negotiation. Documents were exchanged, information packages passed across the table, each side cautiously sharing key but non-sensitive information.

  There was tension, yes, but also curiosity and professional respect on both sides. The Qua-Toynians were awed by the Federation's level of technological development—while the Alnanians were struck by the sheer scale and complexity of a world interwoven with living deities and mana.

  As the talks wound down, with the capital's mana-lights shimmering through the windows like starlight, Prime Minister Kanata posed a more delicate question.

  "Officer Lucien," he said, voice soft and measured. "If I may ask something more... cultural in nature. What deity or divine being does your Federation revere? What faith guides your people?"

  Lucien didn't hesitate. "None."

  There was a pause. Iras blinked.

  "To crify," Lucien continued calmly, "the Imperial Federation of Alnania is a secur, atheistic state. According to the most recent census, 96.7% of the popution identify as atheist or agnostic. The remaining percentage are either cultural adherents to extinct religions from Arkanis, or members of permitted philosophical orders."

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Shock rippled across the Qua-Toynian delegation. Eyes widened. Aer's hand twitched slightly as if suppressing a reaction. Even Kanata seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

  An entire nation... without faith?

  That was unheard of in Elyndra. Even the magically inert Muish had long worshipped the Informatis Deity, a divine figure who, according to their own records, took pity on the disoriented tribes after their arrival a few millenia ago. She had granted them her blessing—the gift of boundless creativity and scientific thought. It was through her influence, the Muish believed, that they had caught up to the rest of the world and risen to become a superpower rivaling Mirishial.

  In this world, deities were not abstract ideals or distant myths. They were active, present, and often visible forces. Some controlled storms. Others infused their followers with gifts—magic, insight, strength. To live without faith was to forgo favor, to deny divine aid, and in many eyes... to risk doom.

  "Forgive us," Iras said finally, clearing his throat. "We... simply haven't heard of such a thing. A faithless civilization, thriving no less? It's... staggering."

  Lucien responded with a practiced diplomacy. "We understand. To you, faith may be a foundation. For us, it was once a crutch. History taught us harsh lessons. Millennia of conflict waged in the name of gods that never answered. After the War of Reason of our first era, faith gave way to reason. Unity, for us, did not come from prayer—but from principle."

  The Qua-Toynians exchanged gnces, clearly shaken but intrigued.

  Lucien studied them for a moment, then added, with the faintest edge: "But we respect your beliefs—as long as they do not harm others."

  Kanata gave a slow nod, a subtle shift in his expression suggesting a reevaluation of their guests. "Then I believe our dialogue has only just begun."

  The meeting pressed onward into the ter hours. Agreements were struck—on limited trade, the exchange of non-strategic information, and the establishment of temporary diplomatic channels. But some proposals stalled: Alnanian requests for mineral rights were deferred, while the Kingdom's demand for a mana-technology sharing cuse was politely but firmly rejected.

  Prime Minister Kanata sat quietly now, thumbing through the elegantly bound data package provided by Officer Lucien. The quality of the paper alone—crisp, synthetic, resistant to mana interference—was unlike anything produced in Elyndra. The ink was jet-bck, printed with such precision that it put most royal scrolls to shame.

  His fingers stopped at a section beled:

  THE IMPERIAL ARMED FORCES OF ALNANIA[CLASSIFIED — LIMITED EXCERPT FOR DIPLOMATIC USE]

  The section was succinct. Four primary branches: Army, Navy, Aerospace Force, and Marines. Kanata raised an eyebrow.

  'Aerospace'? Why not simply "Air Force"? Does this mean they operate beyond the atmosphere? And 'Marines'... are those specialized infantry? Naval soldiers?

  Each branch was described in general terms—mission focus, organizational ethos, operational doctrine. Specifics, like force composition or technological capabilities, were either vague or struck through with redacted lines. It was clear that the Alnanians were revealing only what they wanted others to see.

  Kanata's expression tightened. Their military was far more advanced than he had feared, and he didn't like flying blind. He tapped his fingers against the folder, then asked with a touch of cautious skepticism:

  "Officer Lucien, if I understand your technology correctly, your nation possesses highly capable flying machines, no? More than sufficient for wide-area reconnaissance."

  Lucien nodded.

  "Then why," Kanata continued, "did your nation not conduct such reconnaissance covertly before sending in a full diplomatic fleet? Wasn't it dangerous to risk a direct appearance without more data?"

  Lucien offered a small, knowing smile. "With respect, Prime Minister, we did conduct reconnaissance. Extensively."

  He tapped his datapad, and a holographic projection blinked to life. A series of high-resolution images appeared—sprawling cities, military garrisons, major roads, and even overhead views of government buildings. The images were unmistakably of Qua-Toyne territory, taken from well above its airspace.

  "We've had unmanned high-altitude surveyors operating in this region for over a month. Some autonomous, others manually directed. They're silent, difficult to detect, and operate beyond the reach of most known anti-air systems. We've mapped most of the continent's coastal nations, major terrain features, and atmospheric phenomena."

  Kanata tried to maintain composure, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Impressive..." he said with a tight, diplomatic smile. "But I must express my concern. We cannot condone foreign aerial incursions over sovereign territory. I would ask that such overflights cease immediately."

  Lucien didn't blink. He nodded respectfully, but his tone hardened just enough to signal finality.

  "I'm afraid we cannot agree to that."

  Kanata raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

  Lucien looked him in the eye, firm but not hostile.

  "Back on Arkanis, we maintained a long-standing doctrine—unrestricted overflight, to preserve freedom of navigation and safeguard national interests. We used it to protect trade routes, monitor threats, and deescate conflicts before they began. That policy wasn't abandoned when we arrived here. We're prepared to limit the frequency, adjust altitude thresholds, and notify local authorities as a courtesy. But a full restriction on overflight is—respectfully—non-negotiable."

  The room fell quiet.

  Kanata leaned back, cing his fingers together. His tone grew colder. "Then that... is a problem. In our world, the sky is not just an empty expanse. It is sacred to some. Controlled and watched by others. Flying without permission, especially by unmanned machines, could be seen as an act of espionage—or worse."

  Lucien nodded. "We understand. That's why we're here now—to be transparent. But security policy cannot be dictated by external pressure. Our position on this matter is firm."

  Kanata exhaled slowly. "I see."

  Then he stood up and turned toward a nearby aide. "Prepare a briefing for Her Holiness. She must be made aware of this development immediately."

  Lucien said nothing more, but he understood the weight behind those words.

  The room's diplomatic warmth had cooled—but not broken. It was now a fragile bance of interests, belief, and caution. And for the first time, both sides were starting to realize just how different their worlds truly were.

  The meeting adjourned quietly.The Alnanian delegation, escorted under guard and courtesy, was shown to their reserved quarters in one of the embassy wings—a finely adorned guest compound typically reserved for royal emissaries. Neither side showed hostility, but the silence between guards and guests felt... heavy. Both parties knew that the real conversations had only just begun.

  Prime Minister Kanata lingered in the now half-empty conference room. Aides gathered the leftover documents and secured packages, some whispering quietly about the strange technologies and the blunt assertiveness of the foreigners.

  Iras turned as she pced her notes into her leather satchel."It seems these newcomers may be... troublesome, wouldn't you agree?" she said softly. "I hope they can still be reasoned with in the days ahead."

  Kanata gave a tired nod. "Yes. Their presence is a storm on still waters. Their power is undeniable—but their motives, still uncertain. If they are genuine in their intent, perhaps they can be managed. But if not..." He trailed off, eyes cold. "Their arrival threatens more than just diplomacy. It threatens preparation. Her Holiness will not take kindly to this."

  "I trust your judgment," Iras said, bowing her head slightly before leaving.

  The doors shut behind her.

  Kanata sat in silence, alone with his thoughts. He stared at the folder Lucien had left behind, fingers tapping lightly on the table as the shadows stretched along the walls. The fme of war or salvation—he wasn't yet sure which had nded on their shores.

  Heavenly Garden - Sacred Capital

  The Sacred Garden glowed with otherworldly beauty. Lush greenery swayed gently under the breeze of purified mana winds. Streams of crystalline water traced smooth paths around ancient marble walkways, and mana-stones lit the area in hues of soft emerald and sapphire. The Heavenly Garden, said to be the closest point to the heavens, remained untouched by time.

  In its center, beneath a spiraling arch of living gold vines, sat a figure.

  Her robes shimmered with threads of dawnlight, each hem embroidered with runes older than memory. Her presence was serene yet suffocating, divine yet piercing. Eyes closed, she meditated, but the power that surrounded her was very much awake—thrumming like the heartbeat of a divine storm.

  Kanata approached reverently, bowing low, until his knees touched the ground.

  "Your Holiness."

  She opened her mouth without lifting her eyelids. Her voice was neither old nor young—just eternal.

  "What news, Prime Minister? How proceed the preparations for the Emissaries' return?"

  "We are now at forty percent readiness, Your Holiness. The temples have accelerated artifact restorations, and the southern seers report stability in the mana fields... but—" he hesitated.

  "But?"

  "There are... complications. The newcomers, the Alnanians. Their presence disrupts the rhythm of our pnning. Their offers of economic support and cooperation appear generous, but I fear it is a subtle ploy to foster dependency."

  There was a pause. Then a single, unwavering command:"Denied."

  Kanata nodded as if expecting it. "Understood. I will instruct the ministers to reject any binding trade entanglements. And regarding their insistence on overflights...?"

  She slowly stood, the ambient mana pulsing in resonance with her movement. When her eyes opened, the garden stilled. Mana surged around her, cracking lightly in the air like invisible lightning. Every drop of power she contained whispered the warning of death—and divinity.

  "They may fly," she said, voice sharp like a bde through silk. "But impose every restriction we can. Corridor limits, altitude caps, escort requirements. Show them the thorns of our patience."

  Her gaze burned with unspoken force.

  "If these Alnanians truly are what you say—resolute, godless, powerful—then they will be thorns in more than just our diplomacy. But should they attempt to disrupt the divine path we walk, should they dare to interfere with the prophecy of the Emissaries' Return..." she extended her hand, and in it, mana coalesced into a sword of light, humming with sheer ethereal pressure.

  "I will remove them myself."

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  Next Chapter:Veiled Agreements

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