Main Studio - Vian 23, 2178
It was early morning, the quiet hum of the air-conditioning blending with the soft rays of sunlight streaming through the windows. The news anchors were preparing for the long day ahead, their movements a blend of routine and quiet tension.
Seated on the left side of the desk, Shinea Vlord sipped her coffee, visibly anxious despite her composed appearance. Karl, on the other hand, was intently reviewing his segment notes. Around them, the studio staff moved with practiced efficiency, setting up for the first broadcast of the day.
"Alright, everyone! Positions! We're going live in three, two, one—live!" the director called out with authority.
Shinea straightened up, her expression shifting into a professional calm.
"Good morning, people of the Imperial Federation. I'm Shinea Vlord, bringing you today's news."
She took a brief breath before continuing.
"In today's special report, the Emperor has issued an order to temporarily freeze bank accounts following the surge of mass withdrawals and public panic in recent days. The Souver?nian Spokesperson has assured that this measure is only temporary, aimed at maintaining stability while the situation is assessed and resolved."
Shinea continued, her tone steady despite the gravity of the news.
"Reports indicate that exotic food reserves are dwindling amid this crisis. Analysts project that by the end of the year, these stocks may be completely depleted. In addition, the automotive industry faces a potential slowdown—or even a complete halt—by the next quarter, as supplies of critical ores and metals have been cut off due to the transference."
She took a breath, her professional demeanor unwavering.
"Moving on from our plummeting economy, we have updates regarding our armed forces," Shinea said, as the camera smoothly panned to Karl.
Karl adjusted his notes, his expression stern.
"Well, to put it bluntly, we may only be a few steps away from the Emperor declaring martial law. Military patrols have significantly increased around key infrastructure and densely populated civilian areas. Just yesterday, the Ministry of Defense and Military Affairs authorized the deployment of WALKER-1 Units to high-value areas. The last time these units were seen within the Empire's borders was back in 2139."
A brief pause allowed the gravity of his words to sink in.
"WALKER-1 Units belong to the larger family of WALKER Units under the Autonomous Division of the Imperial Armed Forces. WALKER—an acronym for Weaponized Autonomous Lethal Kinetic Robots—are highly advanced and efficient combat machines. WALKER-1, the first of its kind, is a quadrupedal walker renowned for its agility and speed. Its razor-sharp claws can easily tear through enemy armor, and it's equipped with onboard miniguns and a high-precision railgun. These units are designed for rapid response and relentless combat, making their deployment within the Empire a significant and concerning development."
"If we don't establish a firm foothold in this new world soon, civil unrest may become inevitable. But we must remain steadfast and place our trust in the Imperial Government, for a fractured future is a doomed future. Stay with us—we'll be back after a short break."
The transmission shifted to a montage of the occupied territories to the east—the Volkovian Colonies. In the cold, unforgiving streets of the conquered cities, Alnanian soldiers patrolled relentlessly, their faces expressionless behind tinted visors. Armed drones hovered overhead, their mechanical eyes sweeping the ground below with ruthless precision, while the heavy footsteps of WALKER Units echoed ominously through the desolate alleys.
The locals moved cautiously, their gazes fixed to the ground, wary of drawing attention. A harsh spotlight from a patrol drone swept across a group of workers, who flinched as if burned by its presence. Some civilians hurried past the colossal machines that stood guard at major intersections—quadrupedal war machines with razor-sharp claws and miniguns primed, as if daring anyone to challenge their iron grip.
The air itself seemed suffocated by the constant display of force—posters bearing the Emperor's crest plastered over once-vibrant murals, while loudspeakers blared propaganda extolling the might of the Imperial Federation. Those who dared to speak out were swiftly silenced, dragged from their homes under the cold, unfeeling gaze of the machine sentinels. A pervasive fear lingered like a plague, seeping into every crack and shadow, reminding the colonies that resistance was not just futile—it was fatal.
Dominance had become the air they breathed, and the once-proud people of Volkov were now caged under the crushing weight of Alnanian forces.
City of Sievra - Western Provinces
2nd Administrative Region - Volkovian Colonies
"-and we're back again. We have gotten specia-" the radio was turned off abruptly.
"They say they're struggling, yet here they are—occupying our asses," muttered a man as he took a long drag from his cigarette, remnants of a Volkovian military uniform still clinging to his frame.
"At least we're alive, Dornel. Good thing we managed to escape during that first onslaught," replied his companion, a hint of relief mixed with bitterness in his tone.
"Alive for now," Dornel grumbled, crushing the cigarette under his boot. "Who knows when those Alnanian bastards will send us to fight their wars in this crazy new world. And who said you could call me Dornel? I'm still your sergeant."
"Fuck the ranks, man. We've literally surrendered and are just surviving off Alnanian food drops," his companion retorted, shaking his head.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What's the commotion over there?" Dornel pointed toward the square, where a group of Volkovians was gathering.
"I heard the Alnanians are going to announce something—maybe even hand out more food supplies. I say we check it out. Could be important... or just more propaganda."
Dornel hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sky where a few surveillance drones buzzed like metal wasps. "Alright. But keep your mouth shut. Last thing we need is drawing attention from those armored bastards."
The two men made their way cautiously toward the square, blending in with the crowd. The tension was thick, and whispered speculations filled the air. Whatever the Alnanians had planned, it couldn't be good.
The two men moved cautiously towards the square, blending into the crowd of civilians already gathered there. Alnanian soldiers stood in formation around the perimeter, their imposing black armor glinting under the midday sun. Armed drones hovered above, casting eerie shadows over the restless crowd. A WALKER Unit loomed near the square's entrance, its quadrupedal stance unwavering, railgun aimed downward but ready to activate at a moment's notice.
A makeshift stage had been set up at the center, with a prominent Alnanian officer standing behind a podium, flanked by more soldiers. The Volkovians whispered among themselves, wary of what the Alnanians would announce this time.
One of the soldiers barked an order, silencing the murmurs. The officer stepped forward, his expression cold and commanding.
"Citizens of Volkov," he began, his voice amplified by the loudspeakers. "By decree of the Imperial Government, new labor conscription orders will be enforced starting tomorrow. All able-bodied individuals are expected to register at the administration center. Failure to comply will be met with disciplinary action."
The crowd's unease grew palpable. Dornel clenched his fists, suppressing his anger.
"More slave work, huh?" his companion muttered bitterly.
Dornel just shook his head. "We need to keep our heads down. They won't hesitate to put a bullet in anyone who steps out of line."
The officer's voice cut through the square like a blade, each new regulation another chain tightening around the city. Behind him, soldiers moved with the precision of men who knew their presence alone was law—backs straight, rifles slung, their cold stares daring defiance. Yet when an elderly woman stumbled near the ration crates, one of them steadied her arm just long enough to ensure she didn't fall. No smile accompanied the act; it was a reflex, quickly buried beneath the steel of duty.
The crowd watched, tense as coiled wire. Some edged toward the crates, drawn by hunger's ache. Others hung back, eyes darting—was this food a gift, or a ledger entry to be repaid later? A young corporal tossed a packet of hardtack to a child, then immediately turned away, as if ashamed of the impulse. The sergeant's gaze swept over the hesitant crowd—their hunched shoulders, their eyes darting between the rations and the soldiers' rifles. He barked an order, his voice sharp enough to cut through the square:
"Everyone, line up! Get your rations now! ...And take more if there's leftovers."
The command was iron, but that final concession—almost grudging—carried the faintest hint of something softer. The people shuffled into rows, women and children pushed gently forward by the soldiers. One private, his face unreadable beneath his mask, pressed an extra loaf into the hands of a gaunt boy before turning away quickly, as if caught in a shameful act.
Dornel's companion exhaled through his teeth. "At least they've got some humanity left in them."
Dornel watched a soldier adjust the strap of a crate, his gloved hands careful not to crush the fingers of an old man reaching for food. "Yeah," he muttered. "Let's see how long that lasts."
The line inched forward. The sergeant's boot tapped impatiently, but he didn't interrupt when a mother fumbled with her bundle. Overhead, the occupation flag snapped in the wind, its shadow stitching the crowd like a brand.
Hours passed, and they finally managed to find a spot to sit. Eating their rations, they gazed over the nearly empty park, their eyes resting on the towering Statue of Sacrifice in the center. It stood as a grim reminder of the countless lives lost during the wars of the past, its solemn figure etched with years of history and sorrow.
In the distance, a convoy of Alnanian tanks marched toward the park.
"Those tanks... they don't even look like tanks," muttered Dornel, his voice tinged with unease. "Those fucking spider legs are creepy as hell."
As the tanks drew closer, one of them aimed its massive barrel directly at the statue. The soldiers around it pulled out their holo pads, clearly recording the scene.
"Don't tell me..." Dornel's voice dropped to a low, ominous whisper, his gut churning.
Without warning, the tank fired. The explosion echoed through the park, sending shockwaves through the air. The round broke apart into smaller projectiles, shredding the statue into countless fragments. The once-proud memorial, standing tall for so many years, was now reduced to rubble.
In the distance, the soldiers erupted into cheers, their voices carrying on the wind.
"YEAH, BABY! FUCK THAT STATUE! DOWN WITH THE REPUBLIC!" one of them shouted, the words echoing louder than the sound of the explosion. The group celebrated their destruction, oblivious to the weight of the history they had just obliterated.
Dornel sat in stunned silence, a mixture of disbelief and rage boiling inside him. The park, once a place of reflection, now felt even more empty—desecrated, tainted by the chaos of war and the reckless hatred that had replaced respect for the past.
"That was a nice statue, eh?" a voice said behind them, catching them off guard.
Dornel quickly jumped to his feet, his posture shifting to one of readiness, preparing to fight if necessary. But then he turned and froze. What he saw was enough to make his heart race—a swarm of armed drones hovered in the air, their weapons trained on him. Multiple WALKER Units stood poised, their immense metal frames looming over the scene, ready to strike on command. Rows of soldiers, rifles aimed directly at him, formed a tight perimeter. And in the center of it all stood an individual who seemed different from the others—his uniform more decorated, his demeanor commanding. This was clearly the leader of the group.
"Easy there, buddy," the man said with a voice that dripped with ominous authority. "I'm not here to fight you or do anything to you... unless you give me a reason to."
Dornel's instincts kicked in, but he held himself in check. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" he demanded, subtly shifting to shield his comrade behind him.
The officer gave a slight smirk, as though amused by Dornel's defensive posture. "I'm Colonel Kael Ryker, in charge of the 2nd Administrative Region. I've been looking for you. Sergeant Dornel of the 178th Infantry Regiment, right? Let's get this finished quickly. You've been chosen to accompany the diplomatic delegation in a few months to make first contact with the locals of this new world."
"Accompany? First contact?" Dornel's voice grew sharper, his confusion turning to suspicion. "Why the hell did you bastards choose me? Why a Volkovian? Are you trying to send us to our deaths first?"
Kael's smile faded, his eyes cold but calculating. "No, you see, you've built up quite a reputation. Surviving that first onslaught, warning the Republic, even helping evacuate civilians when the cities were on the verge of being reduced to nuclear ash—all while your commanders abandoned you and your people. By the Empire, if you were Alnanian, the Emperor himself would have personally given you a medal. But here you are, you've been chosen to, let's say, help forge a relationship between the Alnanians and the Volkovians. What better way than having someone who's already walked through hell to act as a bridge?"
Dornel's jaw tightened as he absorbed the implications of Kael's words. "This is too sudden," he muttered, his voice cautious. "And I don't think I can trust your people yet..."
Kael seemed to take no offense, his demeanor calm as ever. "We'll give you time to think about it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ration card, passing it to Dornel with a slow, deliberate motion. "Here. Take this as a sign of gratitude."
Dornel looked down at the card, his mind racing. It was filled with enough points to feed everyone in the city for a week—more than any ration he'd ever seen.
Kael took a step back, his voice dropping into something almost casual. "Remember, service guarantees citizenship. If you have an answer, you know where to find me."
Without another word, the colonel turned, his entire escort falling into formation as they began to retreat. Dornel stood there, watching them leave, the weight of the moment settling heavily in his chest. The park had been quiet once more, but now it felt even more like a battlefield—his mind torn between distrust and the growing weight of an impossible choice.
Imperial Calendar - Vian 30, 2178
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The High Room, Souver?nain Palaist
Imperial Capital City of Valdr?d
It had been about a month since the Transfer.
Once again, the room was packed wall to wall—Ministers, advisors, military brass, and their aides filled the room. The air was thick with unease, and the atmosphere remained grim, worsened by the growing economic struggles at home.
"Besides our economy continuing to tank," the emperor said, breaking the silence, "are there any meaningful updates about this new world?"
"Eurtre Majest?té," began the Director of the Bureau of Aerospace Command, rising from his seat, "upon our transition into this new world, we lost over half of our satellite fleet. Fortunately, by some stroke of luck—or fate—all of our orbital weapons platforms made the jump with us."
"Sounds like plot armor," muttered one aide to another, barely suppressing a smirk.
The director cleared his throat and continued. "Thanks to Valken Hòirzon's cooperation and their ability to meet quotas, we've managed to recover approximately 47% of our lost satellite network. I've brought a representative from Valken to brief the Council."
A tall man in a sharp, obsidian-gold corporate uniform stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Eurtre Majest?té," he began, his voice smooth and practiced, "our projections indicate that, if granted authorization to run the space elevators at maximum capacity and accelerate satellite production, we can re-establish the full pre-transfer satellite fleet in approximately two months."
The Emperor nodded. "Do what you need to do. I want orbital coverage back—soon."
"Of course, Eurtre Majest?té. However, there is a caveat," the representative added, adjusting his glasses. "This planet—designated as the New World at the moment—is approximately 2.1 times larger than Arkanis. Even if we fully restore our previous satellite array, it won't provide continuous, 24-hour global coverage."
He paused as murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"In other words," he continued, "certain regions—especially those far from our operational zones—will remain in shadow, out of reach of real-time orbital surveillance, unless additional networks are launched or local stations are constructed. Until then, we'll be operating with blind spots."
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Then I suggest we begin expanding. I want eyes on this world. Every inch of it."
"I will inform the CEO and ensure your order is processed without delay," the representative said, bowing respectfully before making his exit.
"We've been here for nearly a month now," the emperor said, his tone firm. "Surely by now, we have more comprehensive data about the inhabitants and geography of this world?"
"If I may, Eurtre Majest?té," Minister Elei interjected, stepping forward before uploading a series of visuals into the central holographic projector.
A sweeping map shimmered into view—alien in shape, yet strangely familiar in terrain. "This planet appears to be divided among six major continents. Our territory seems to have been placed within a vast ocean, located in the eastern hemisphere."
"By the Empire..." murmured one of the aides under his breath. "That's an unimaginable amount of new land to cover."
"And the inhabitants?" the emperor asked, leaning forward.
"We're beginning to form a picture," Elei replied. "The technological disparity across the continents is... striking. Some regions seem to rival our mid-20th century advancements, while others are steeped in what can only be described as medieval or even pre-industrial states."
"To gain deeper insight, we authorized a series of high-altitude reconnaissance overflights," she continued. "Our first pass focused on a continent located between two others—geographically significant. The results were clear: a largely feudal society, with scattered city-states, basic firearms, and minimal industrialization. Comparable, perhaps, to our own world during the early 1700s."
"Easy pickings if we ever decide to move in there," said Minister-General Viktor, ideas already forming for a potential scenario to take over the continent.
"Next is the continent above it," continued Elei, bringing up a new set of visuals. "They've progressed decently—though somewhat chaotically. Their infrastructure resembles something out of the early 1800s. Yet, from the limited reconnaissance we've managed, their military—particularly their navy and air power—seems more advanced, perhaps comparable to the late 19th or even early 20th century."
The display shifted, showing aerial footage of port cities and naval bases.
"We've confirmed the presence of multiple capital ships resembling dreadnoughts—possibly even battleships. Their air power is more eclectic. Most aerial units appear to rely on living wyverns, but we've also observed squadrons of biplanes. And, interestingly—"
The image zoomed in on a high-altitude snapshot of a hidden runway nestled in a mountain range.
"—we managed to catch this glimpse. Parked here are aircraft with monoplane designs. Likely experimental or part of a classified project, given how well-hidden they are. The rest of the continent generally follows a mid-19th-century level of development."
The map shifted again, centering on a glowing landmass.
"Now we come to the most intriguing one: the continent we've designated the Central World, due to its position at the center of the global landmass—and more importantly, due to satellite imagery indicating significant technological advancement. This was one of the most difficult regions to fly over."
She tapped a control. Nighttime satellite images filled the screen, revealing sprawling megacities aglow with artificial light.
"Unlike the first continent, which was oblivious to our presence, and the second, where a wyvern flight noticed us, this region was different. They successfully tracked our aircraft the moment we dropped below 25,000 feet. Because of that, we couldn't get closer images of much of the region, but we still gathered valuable intelligence on their major cities and military infrastructure."
Minister-General Viktor frowned. "What do you mean they tracked our planes? Our aircraft are among the most advanced back on Arkanis! The Avalonians could barely detect our stealth reconnaissance! Explain."
The emperor gave a slight nod, prompting Elei to continue.
"As of now, we haven't seen the full extent of their capabilities, but one thing is certain—our stealth technology was rendered ineffective below 25,000 feet. Above that altitude, their tracking systems lose effectiveness. But when we dipped below that ceiling, they locked on almost immediately."
She brought up another image: an enormous structure bristling with arcane and technological apparatus.
"These... these are what we believe tracked us. Massive anti-air batteries—each the size of a building. At first, we thought they were oversized cannons. But then we got visual confirmation of why they need such firepower."
The screen shifted again—to a formation of colossal warships rumbling across open terrain.
"On land?" Viktor asked, confused. "Are you saying this world also has flying warships?"
"That's what we believed at first," Elei said. "But closer analysis shows these ships are of conventional 20th-century design—steel hulls, naval turrets. What makes them fly is likely magic. Some kind of gravitational manipulation or elemental propulsion."
"That poses a serious threat to our empire and any future expansion plans," the emperor muttered. "Do we know more about this central nation?"
"We estimate their society to be operating at a late 20th-century technological level. We even witnessed a flight of jet aircraft taking off from one of their airbases, apparently in pursuit of our reconnaissance unit. Fortunately, their jets couldn't keep up."
"I want more data on this continent. Begin infiltration operations immediately. I want assets embedded within their population. And maintain at least five satellites in permanent geosynchronous orbit above the region," the emperor commanded.
"We'll initiate it at once, Your Majesty," Viktor affirmed.
The map then zoomed further west.
"And what about the remaining continent?" the emperor asked.
"That continent appears to be in the mid-20th century in terms of development. They too possess flying warships, though their designs are much cruder than those from the Central World. Likely early-stage adoption of whatever magical technology enables those vessels."
"Unbelievable... They developed such capabilities already? We only achieved that a few decades ago," Viktor grumbled.
"Magic likely accelerated their technological timeline," the emperor deduced. "It appears to be the key factor."
"There's also evidence of an ongoing conflict in the western regions," Elei added, showing new images. "Entire cities are in ruins. Bombings, artillery damage—clear signs of a large-scale war."
"Probably some regional dispute—" Viktor began, but fell silent the moment the emperor raised his hand.
The entire room grew quiet, anticipating his words.
"Does this world possess weapons of mass destruction?" the emperor asked, his voice calm but heavy.
Silence followed.
Weapons of Mass Destruction shaped the rise and fall of empires on Arkanis. It began with nuclear fire—entire cities turned to ash in seconds, the sky choked with fallout. Then came the plagues: viruses crafted in labs, released by zealots or rogue nations. One, called Red Choir, spread faster than borders could close, leaving fourteen million dead in its wake. In orbit, silent weapons hung above the planet—rods of tungsten dropped from the heavens, crushing cities with no warning, no radiation, just pure kinetic wrath.
Climatic and seismic weapons like Gaia's Wrath could trigger earthquakes and manipulate weather, while experimental psychological weapons induced panic and madness across populations. Though treaties were signed, the knowledge never died—only hidden, stored, and improved. By the late 22nd century, WMDs were central to geopolitics, with entire wars won without a shot fired.
Elei responded, her voice low, carrying a weight of uncertainty. "We're still analyzing, but based on current energy readings and what satellite imaging has revealed—no blast zones, no crater signatures, no signs of known testing sites—we believe this world has not yet discovered nuclear technology. There's no evidence of fission or fusion-based power anywhere on the surface. However..." She paused. "We can't rule out the existence of other forms of WMDs, particularly ones enabled by their use of magic. That unknown variable makes it difficult to assess. Still, if we compare this to early-stage Arkanis, and extrapolate based on infrastructure and militarization, the most pessimistic conclusion is that nuclear weapons might exist—just hidden, untested, or kept in deep secrecy."
The emperor leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in thought. "That answer is... sufficient. Nukes, we can handle. Anything beyond that may complicate matters." He stood, his voice gaining finality. "I believe this meeting has reached its end. You are all dismissed." As the others began filing out, he added, "Elei and Viktor—stay behind. There's something we need to discuss."
The room buzzed with chatter as the ministers and their aides filed out, the heavy doors closing behind them. Only Viktor and Elei remained, standing in the quiet tension that followed.
"Do you two have any idea why I asked you to stay behind?" the emperor asked, his voice calm but expectant.
"Yes, Eurtre Majest?té," they replied in unison.
"Before the meeting, you both mentioned wanting to share something privately—something not suited for the full council. I trust whatever it is will be worth my time."
Elei stepped forward, nodding. "Indeed, Eurtre Majest?té. During the briefing, we discussed only four of the six continents. The reason we withheld the final two is because they stand out significantly." As she spoke, the map shifted, highlighting two landmasses—the most western continent and the southern one.
She gestured toward the southern region. "This continent has proven... unusually difficult to observe. Satellite imaging has been nearly impossible. A near-permanent storm system rages over the entire landmass, interfering with both visual and thermal scans. However, during night passes, our satellites picked up distinct traces of light pollution beneath the clouds. The scale of these signatures suggests the existence of massive cities—potentially even larger than those found in the Central World."
Viktor took over, folding his hands behind his back. "The deliberate nature of this concealment raises serious concerns. It appears they're intentionally masking their activities—not from us, but from others on this world. That suggests a desire to remain hidden from native powers. We're currently working to identify other satellites or probes in orbit, but the presence of a dense asteroid belt is complicating the process. Distinguishing native orbital assets from debris or natural objects will take time."
The emperor nodded slowly. "Continue your surveillance. If they're hiding from the world, then they may be the most dangerous player on the board."
Viktor shifted the display westward. "The second, and perhaps more alarming case, lies in the western continent—or rather, the nation that occupies most of it."
He turned to Elei. "You should explain this one."
Elei gave a subtle nod and prepared to speak, the air in the room thick with anticipation.
The map zoomed into the northeastern region of the western continent, focusing on a jagged coastline that seemed unnaturally precise. It was not erosion, nor any known geological phenomenon.
"As you can see," Elei began, gesturing to the massive cliff, "this is no ordinary drop-off into the ocean. That is an entire mountain range—cut clean, or more accurately, displaced." Her tone was grim as she turned toward the emperor.
A flicker of realization crossed his face. "You're suggesting this nation... is not native to this world?"
"That appears to be the most plausible conclusion, Eurtre Majest?té," Elei confirmed. "Satellite comparisons show the mountain range once extended further—what we're seeing is only a fragment. The evidence suggests this nation was part of a larger landmass, possibly from another world entirely, and was pulled here, violently and unnaturally."
She paused before continuing. "And what's more disturbing—despite their origin, they've clearly adapted already. Their infrastructure rivals anything seen on this planet. Their cities are more advanced than even those of the Central World, and though they still lag behind our own technology, they remain a formidable threat."
"That's where our deepest concern lies," Viktor cut in. "I've rejected all overflight missions in the region. Two weeks ago, a satellite malfunction caused it to dip into detectable range of their defense perimeter. It was immediately destroyed. No heat signature. No launch detected. No missile trail. The most likely explanation is a railgun or another directed-energy platform."
The emperor's expression darkened. "Then they understand the realm above their world. That... raises troubling possibilities."
Viktor nodded. "They're also the ones currently hammering the shit out of the western seaboard of the neighboring continent. The war we observed earlier? They're not just a threat—they're a formidable foe."
The room fell into a heavy silence, though the tension clung to the air like a storm about to break.
"I want more information on those two continents," the emperor said coldly. "Thorough, precise. I want detailed reports on every inch of this world once first contact is made. Bleed them dry of knowledge—by any means necessary. But initiate proper containment protocols. I won't have some native disease wiping out millions of my citizens."
He was about to dismiss them when he noticed Elei raising her hand, eyes fixed on her datapad. "What is it, Elei?" he asked, his voice sharpening.
"...Eurtre Majest?té," she said slowly, her tone grim. "We've just received confirmation. The war in the west... it's gone nuclear—and perhaps worse."
The emperor's expression hardened. "Explain. Immediately."
"Our long-range infrared and Stratosight satellites just picked up multiple thermal signatures consistent with high-yield detonations—likely nuclear—impacting several cities along the western seaboard," she reported, glancing up from the screen. "The scale and spread suggest deliberate targeting, possibly a coordinated strike."
The emperor leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "So we now know... there are forces capable of matching Arkanis at its worst."
"But that's not all, Eurtre Majest?té," Elei added, hesitating.
"What do you mean?"
"Shortly after the nuclear strikes, we detected another anomaly. A separate blast—larger, cleaner, and far more devastating. The thermal profile didn't match a fusion or fission detonation." She took a breath. "It was a kinetic impact. One of the cities—possibly the capital—was hit directly. The crater doesn't match anything from a conventional weapon. The bedrock was displaced. It wasn't blown apart—it was crushed. This was an orbital kinetic strike."
The air thickened with dread. Orbital kinetic weapons—tungsten rods dropped from orbit, often called Rods from God—were among the deadliest tools of war. Unlike missiles, they were nearly impossible to intercept once fired. A single rod, traveling at Mach 15 or higher, could flatten entire cities without warning. The only real defense was destroying the launch platform before it fired.
"This changes... everything," Viktor muttered.
The emperor stood, his face unreadable. "Whoever these people are... we face an enemy that knows the heavens and the weapons beyond them. Expedite every project we have related to space defense. Full authorization. And start tracking every damn orbital platform that isn't ours. I want locations, capabilities, patterns—everything. You may leave."
Viktor and Elei stood, bowed, and exited without another word. The emperor remained, staring silently at the flickering map—haunted not by what he saw, but by what he couldn't. The burden of ruling an empire was heavy. But ruling it in a world that might already outmatch it... that was heavier still.
City of Sievra - Volkovian Colonies
Administrative Building
2nd Administrative Region
The room was modestly furnished—functional, clean, but far from luxurious. Once a sleek corporate office tower, the building had been hastily repurposed during the early days of the war. Now, it served as the regional command post for the Empire's eastern operations. Behind the large desk at the end of the room sat Colonel Kael, the man burdened with overseeing everything that happened in this volatile sector.
The silence broke as the door swung open and his assistant stepped in, urgency in her voice.
"Sir, Imperial High Command has moved up the date for first contact. It's no longer in three months—it's happening next month. They're also demanding an update on our Volkovian candidate."
Kael leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. "Can't believe they bumped it up so soon. Do we have any news on him?"
"Nothing solid, sir," she replied. "Surveillance shows he's been using the ration card we issued—giving food out to other Volkovians."
Kael cracked a faint, almost tired smile. "He's got the heart of his people, no doubt about it. But we need more than just a bleeding heart—we need his cooperation. I nearly lost my commission convincing High Command to let me handle this personally."
Just then, her hand went to her earpiece. A message had just come through.
"Sir, we have someone at the front gates... demanding to see you."
"Put it up," Kael ordered.
A holographic screen flickered to life, showing the perimeter gates—where a rugged, dust-covered man stood shouting at the security cams.
"Hey! I'm here to talk to that Colonel Kael guy! Let me the fuck through these gates! Hey! Ryker! I know you're seeing this, so whatever that 'first contact' thing was—I'm in! ...With a few conditions."
Kael smirked, folding his arms. "Well then. Inform Imperial High Command—we have a response. Let's just hope his 'conditions' are within reason."
But deep down, Kael knew reason was never part of the Volkovian equation.
In one month's time, the world would meet the Giant of the East.
A nation scarred by war, raised on suffering, and baptized in fire. They had clawed their way through centuries of collapse, invasion, rebellion—and survived. They didn't just endure pain. They learned to love it.
They come now speaking of peace—but if war ever dares knock on their door... then war becomes sports. And they? They're mad, professional players.
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Next Chapter:
First Contact
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Notes:
Jod hereee! Sorry about the long-ass wait. I took a break for a while. Like, holy hell, my brain was fried after cramming those first three chapters in just two weeks. So yeah, I chilled out a bit after that.
Also, I'm on vacation (from school), so I've been enjoying my travels while sneaking in some writing here and there. Again, sorry for the wait!
From now on, don't expect super frequent updates. Maybe just once or twice a month if I'm feeling energetic. This is a pet project, after all, and I'm still a student with other priorities. But damn, I really want to keep this going. I already have plans up to the New World Conference, sooo... yeah!
That's all for today! Thanks for reading! Leave some suggestions or comments if you've got any! Byeeeee!
Credits for the map go to u/Intelligent-Sir-280
(Thanks again for letting me use the map! If you ever change your mind, just let me know.)