— GREAT EDRYAN, YEAR 7294. SEASON: CENTRAL.

Ìmólè Jhan was silent, her hawk-like eyes on the Chosen of Madris as he exited the hall and went onto the balcony. Servants of the man entered, distributing food and livening the atmosphere. Ìmólè stood and walked to a window. Snake-Eye followed closely behind.

The proposal of the Chosen of Madris was at the forefront of her mind, but at its core, the divine quest received by the Goddess Jhan stood like a pillar of remembrance. If she didn't kill that man, then one day her brother could fall. Unfortunately, now was not the time for such actions. There were far too few people beyond mortality at her disposal. Snake-Eye was the primary guard assigned by her twin, but he wasn't her man.

Ìmólè watched the twinkling city, taking in the movements of people and vehicles from her vantage point. The young woman harbored a strong desire for power, and her brother's teachings helped guide her upcoming actions.

Just as her thoughts were taking on a darker, clandestine route, a voice startled her from her musings.

"It's different, isn't it? More than a realm of daemons and untrustworthy scum—human," the figure grunted.

The low, rumbling voice paused, allowing Ìmólè to turn and view the speaker. She turned with surprise on her face as she looked up at the Machan. Red Blade Kan peered at her deeply. The Machan held two hands behind his back and two crossed in the front. A single canine jutted from the bottom row of his teeth, slightly yellowed by age and the outside. A scar ran from his right ear, down his neck, and to his collarbone.

Ìmólè carefully took a step back, unsure of the Machan's intentions. Thus far, only Erin, his twin, had done the talking for the group, his job one of constant provocation until the forces of Edryan erupted. So little information was known about Great Edryan, and that made several parties interested in its current state.

A glance was what they earned for their efforts; it may seem small, but a glance led to deeper insights that could provide vital information to kill the Chosen eventually.

Ìmólè stepped back, not out of fear but to ensure her safety; she was closer to Snake-Eye. She held little goodwill for the Machan, even with their actions to reveal Edryan's forces.

"Human," Ìmólè laughed. "It has a level of civilization that those of orc-ish descent could never. Roma is far grander—a place with order that is the exemplar of the human species. Do not mix us with," Ìmólè gestured toward the Chosen. "This."

"Heh," Kan laughed. "Then there is one thing we can agree on—those of orc-ish descent are barbarians deserving to be put down to the child."

Ìmólè frowned; the Machan were a race of orc-ish descent, yet they vehemently denied such things among their nobility.

"Orcs are a plague on the world, much like the magi," Kan rumbled. "Their gestation period is low, just three months, and they grow to fierce low-level warriors in a matter of five to ten years. Perhaps their life expectancy is low, but when the orc hordes march, lands are left barren, and their aggression is constant. If their fertility window wasn't every five years, then I fear this realm would have fallen long ago."

Ìmólè took a mental step back, now recognizing why Kan approached her. The man's gaze shifted to the balcony, and her's followed. Their view on Lawruthian Edryani and the hooded figure who faced him. Kan continued to speak, his focus solely on orcs, yet his gaze staunchly remained on the hooded figure.

"Come next spring, their hordes will go on an annual raid as new life is bred into their population and a new generation of warriors has grown to the point of System Initiation."

"The annual raids have long plagued the Theocracy," Ìmólè added, "capturing our people for enslavement and, in the worst cases, nutrition should their rations run low. This has gone on for thousands of years."

The Theocracy was kept in an intense state of… survival. The orc hordes raided their borders, and such had gone on for thousands of years. The senate, leaders of the Theocracy and the Church never allowed the country to get breached, yet they never once actively sought to expel and force the invasion to end permanently. It wasn't until the Chosen of Jhan rose and his twin that things settled and even moved to the Theocracy, actively invading back.

Ìmólè's eyes narrowed; the conversation between Lawruthian and the hooded figure was kept to themselves. The words spoken seemed to be blocked by some sort of magical barrier preventing those who mingled from hearing the conversation.

And mingled they did. Alaric and the Daughter of Zion. The Federation of Farya and the Empire of Az'Dawn. Ìmólè saw it now. Cliques were forming in this group, a place where mutual benefits and other deals could be ensured. Although few had answered the invitation by the Chosen of Madris, those who arrived were taking advantage of the unique situation and nature that brought them together.

In seven years, the world would change as the game between the Gods began. Chess piece against chess piece, the mortals below were not unwilling. The continent was stifled, with hundreds of those beyond mortal with established territories and such. The removal of that vast amount of power left those who stayed behind in a prime opportunity to not only replace their forefathers but also accelerate to a state beyond them, given the chaos that would erupt.

What Kan wanted from her was simple…

"It wouldn't be unwise for the Machan and humans to ally on this subject," Kan directly stated. "Our nations are on two sides bordering the Jehda plains—targeted joint strikes could cripple the population for several generations, which would weaken them before the start of…"

Kan's voice trailed off, his eyes widening as he watched the Chosen of Madris. Ìmólè followed his gaze, and her expression turned complex. A mix of incredulousness, surprise, and a strong desire to kill rose within her.

The person facing the Chosen of Madris lowered their hood, showcasing a hair color that was unique to one person, one family throughout the realm. Not even those in old age shared the exact silver gradient on display.

The Chosen of El stood before the Chosen of Madris.

Ìmólè Jhan stood inside, her face mirrored on the glass as she stared outward.

Destined to Slay.

Ìmólè Jhan was destined to slay these figures, for if not…

Izon Jhan had done too much for her; memories of his protection flashed on the glass pane before her eyes. Their struggles for survival in the capital, their wolf-mother was a common whore who released them as soon as they were old enough to fend for themselves. The Church of Jhan finally found them and declared them to their rightful places. Then a new struggle emerged, one of political intrigue, clandestine orders, and a place where everyone was out for their benefit and that of their Domus.

It was her brother who cleared that muddy water, sacrificing his life for her sake daily. Even now, this still went on as the [Curse of Jhan] inflicted itself upon her.

It was her brother who established order in Roma, transforming it from a city of wood and stone to a city of white marble and gold.

It was her brother who brought a subtle peace to the Theocracy, ruling in the wild Domus houses and forcing them into compliance. He brought her to the disorganized Senate and left with them under his heel.

Izon Jhan had never once not brought her along during these events, and the twins nearly went everywhere together, giving the young woman a chance to see into the depths of his process and grasp on power, not one of a physical nature, but one beyond.

"The Chosen of El and the Chosen of Madris," Kan looked down at Ìmólè.

She couldn't read his expression, but it didn't matter as his eyes stayed on the two Chosen facing each other. A few words were exchanged, but ultimately, the Chosen of Madris walked away from the Chosen of El. As he did, Zeor and other interested parties made their way forward.

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Kan and Ìmólè continued their conversation and watched the growing factions within the hall. Three solid groups appeared, each with a different stance. Those who entered the balcony and surrounded the Chosen of El. These figures were people like Zeor and Alaric, among other representatives, and proved to be the largest group. The second was Ìmólè and Kan's group, which welcomed a few members. The last posed as the states nearest the Edryan nation—Ninjaro Ibadan, with members of the Az'Dawn Empire to accompany him and his advisor.

Lawruthian Imperius Koltius Edryan stood alone. He nursed a drink, casually watching the stars outside. This man alone could be considered a faction of his own, the host of the event, and the one who would start this grand war.

Thirty minutes passed quickly. Agreements were made, stances were given, and four cohesive sides appeared to take their seats.

"Welcome," Lawruthian spoke. "I've given those present the chance to deliberate. Now, I give the table for any to speak their vision for the future state of our continent."

The table was quiet, but a voice spoke, breaking the dark atmosphere.

"Should this agreement, treaty ," Wilarax corrected, "come to life? What would be the consequences of breaking it, and how would punishment on the offending party be delivered?"

The Chosen of El brought life to the table as members spoke their agreement. An agreement of this nature was restrictive but brought a measure of grounds for discussion. Such discussions could lead to further cooperation in a world that armed itself for battle.

‎ "Repercussions from all the nations involved," Lawruthian response was immediate. "Trust is built upon a foundation, and stronger trust cannot exist without consequences that fit the breach between such trust."

"This restriction could lead to abuse by those outside of such an agreement. How would such a treaty hold them accountable?" Zeor immediately countered. She seemed to be waiting for the opportunity to confront him. She wanted a direct answer from him, not any runarounds that could allow anything to be implemented.

"Only those here will be held accountable when any instance happens between members of this treaty," Lawruthian responded, glancing at the felion. "This is an action of trust placed between Us and should be accounted by Us."

"And if others wish to join later, how would that be resolved," Zeor responded.

"Hmph, at minimum three of the founding members should have given their recommendations, and over half should approve for their joining."

Zeor paused the felion, not having an immediate response. She tapped her finger twice, then remained silent.

What was proposed were the benefits—three-state recommendations ensured that at least three parties were able to receive favors from one another. There were both physical and intangible benefits available. The world prepared itself, but that didn't mean many believed the world would default to a battle that spanned the continent.

"And should the countries present be put in a position of weakness, one where they felt they held no choice or the sovereignty of their nation would be threatened," Ninjaro spoke up, reigniting the debate. "How would their punishment be instated?"

Many knew such words could be abused and interpreted as each wished. Who could measure the desperation of a nation at its weakest moment? One where, if such actions weren't taken, then they would perish from the indecisiveness of their leaders?

"Then, together, no matter our stance, we should provide their [Final Ending]."

A few words were exchanged between the parties near another. This would strictly hold all parties accountable to an extent of strict discipline. Or it could lead to a state where such actions were freeing. If destruction was coming regardless, it was better to use it all than let it go to waste.

That was Ìmólè's immediate thought, and it was likely a thought all parties involved held. That also meant it could be calculated against, but battlefields were constantly changing, and [Heroes] would rise and die to flip the board. What the first act of the treaty would ensure is that no one would use such divine weapons wantonly, and it became a race of arms directly between their Gods.

"And," Ìmólè said softly, drawing attention to herself. She paused for a moment as all eyes landed on her. She was nervous, not as much as she thought she'd be, but still nervous. It was her brother who would usually do the speaking, and all eyes would lock onto him. He trusted her for this mission and she would not betray that trust.

"And, what if there is no other choice but to employ weapons when facing these Chosen of Gods? There is a clear advantage each holds due to their closeness to their God. How are we to counter such things on the battlefield?"

Her question was simple but direct. It also seemed like she was going against her own interest, but it was entirely the opposite. Her brother could fight, yes, but he was best at strategy and putting together pieces that would make the game go one way or another.

The Chosen of Madris before her didn't seem the same. His directness in initiating battle told of a confidence in his strength and a willingness to use it over others. Ìmólè wasn't naive or reckless, even if her thoughts were such. With her current strength, she likely could barely hurt a Chosen of Madris or a Chosen of El. She didn't know their skills, class type, or any vital information that would allow her to build counters. All she saw was one physical strike from the Chosen of Madris that forced a Prestige to intervene.

How would she counter such on the battlefield if restrictions on such weapons weren't available?

"I did not ask for a restriction against the complete use of such weapons," Lawruthian answered. "They can be used against me, or anyone, for that matter. What I ask for is a restriction on the use of them near large populations."

"Then how can we ensure you don't abuse such a restriction? If you say, hide in a city after receiving a devastating blow, how could we pursue such advantages if restricted," Ìmólè immediately followed.

The Chosen of Madris turned to her and studied her carefully—truly looking at her for the first time. Ìmólè stared back, upholding her gaze and raising her chest in confrontation.

"Oh," Lawruthian said. "Interesting."

Ìmólè frowned, but before she could respond, the young man continued.

"Simple, we add a clause that if such actions are taken, then the restriction is negated for that instance. This ensures none can run to a populated city and hide; should they do so, then they'd send the mortals to damnation."

"This treaty should be expanded beyond just ensuring Weapons of Mas," Wilarax coughed, pausing for a moment. It wasn't wrong to use that term here, but…

Wilarax shrugged and continued after a small drink. "Ensuring Weapons of Mass Destruction aren't used in certain instances. It should establish more Rules and Regulations. Child soldiers—forcing an early System Initiation, inhumane treatment, pillage, and looting of civilian property unnecessarily—the rules and regulations should encompass more than just weapons."

"I agree," Feor added. "A code of conduct should be implemented with strict regulations for each."

"I fear this may not work," Kan suddenly interrupted. "How are we to regulate who is following such and keep an insurance that these… Rules and Regulations are not broken."

"A committee could be established…"

"And who would be in charge, how would it be structured—who would trust…"

Lawruthian watched with a cold gaze as the conversation continued. He would add input here and there as required, but the idea now existed. It was in the air, and the conversation between the parties outside of his input slowly began.

This was what he wanted. This was his reason for urging Minerva to begin SAFE all those years prior.

All is fair in love and war.

All is fair in love and war, and to Lawruthian, the war against the world officially started on the 11th of the third month of New Beginning when the Goddess Madris — The Sage, descended and announced his divine quest.

War was never about the fist, stone, and stick. Humans, those who possessed sentience and were cognizant of a greater world, could conduct warfare with nothing but words alone. Lawruthian already began his war, carefully constructing a premise to ensure he couldn't just be bombarded with multiple divine weapons or such. Granted, the scope of use and its restrictions were precise, but just the knowledge of them would enable him and his generals to make plans of action for the next decade.

All of this was for one purpose—one giant fog to confuse those he'd fight against.

"The magi have magic," a voice suddenly spoke, "would such rules not push us into a corner where certain actions could not be used?"

It was here. This was precisely his primary reason for all of this.

The Magi have magic.

And, magic… to the rest of the world… is scarce.

Now, it was time to implement step two of this three-part plan.

"The magi have magic, yes," Lawruthian responded. "But so do Orc Shamans and the many elven subsidiaries. Does your state lack the confidence to face them?"

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