"To the people of Verliance Aristocracy, this is your Lord speaking. As you have heard, our aristocracy has been invaded by hostile humans from other worlds. Not any humans but Altaerrie, descendants from Hispana.
Before I continue, I must apologize to my people. As head of the House of Verliance, I have dedicated my life to the longevity and prosperity of the Aristocracy. All actions, popular and unpopular, have been directed toward this achievement. This includes the current war surrounding our borders, the Unity, and the Coalition. Six years ago, I was able to negotiate a peace agreement with our former enemies, which had spared millions of fathers and sons from domination. While other empires fall around us, we stand today.
However, I have failed to keep my promise. Hispana summoned humans from Altaerrie, a distant world from ours. Within a short period of time, these Altaerrie sided with rebels against our greatness. They brought war and destruction and broke a carefully crafted peace within the Aristocracy and the annexed regions. They threatened our people and all the gains and suffering we had achieved.
As your ruler, I promise not to allow this transgression to be answered. Nevali belongs to the Verliance Aristocracy, as it always had been. Humans will not take what rightly belongs to us. By this creed, I swear that the Altaerrie will never reach the heart of our country.
With great regard, I call upon the Principality for tribute resources and recruits for war. I will not stand by as foreigners invade our lands and claim what was stolen all those centuries ago. As I failed to keep the Aristocracy out of war, I promised that the House of Verliance would triumph in these dark times.
Let the Katra guide us to the righteous path." – Kallem Verliance
March, 20th, 2068 (military calendar)
The Palace, Salva, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore
*****
Standing on the palace balcony, Mathew Ryder gazed into the sky, a celebratory cigar nestled between his fingers. Above, the lunar twins danced around their mother world, Tekali. The red moon, Orgatrash—God of War and Passion—erupted violently, its volcanoes spewing ash high into the stratosphere.
To Ryder's astonishment, he noticed the ash clouds cloaking part of Orgatrash's surface. That meant it had an atmosphere, not thick, but strong enough to catch the volcanic dust. Towering plumes of lava breached the moon's orbit, only to freeze upon contact with the frigid void of space. The result was a breathtaking phenomenon: dozens of rugged, incandescent spheres glowed with varying intensity—fiery orange, molten red, even shimmering yellow—born from the violent clash of extreme heat and the cold vacuum.
Nearby, Kallinth—Goddess of Water and Plenty—joined the celestial display. A geyser burst through her under-ice oceans, hurling vast amounts of water into space. These froze into massive icebergs, now suspended in orbit like frozen sentinels.
"It's a good view, isn't it?" said a voice beside him.
Ryder turned to see his second-in-command and long-time friend, Warrant Officer-1 Rommel King.
"Yes, it is," Ryder replied.
"I think I finally understand why the locals say those two moons fight," King mused, gesturing skyward. "The icebergs and lava balls—they're being drawn toward each other by both moons' gravity."
"I wonder how long until they collide?" Ryder asked. "I think Fraeya called this event the Fiery Veil."
"Even if they're close, it'll take hours—maybe days," King replied. "It's space, after all. Things move slowly."
Ryder smirked. "You're probably right."
"I am your XO. I'm always right," King said smugly. "I'm just smart enough not to correct a Duke."
They both laughed, taking quiet puffs from their cigars.
"What baffles me," Ryder continued, "is how both moons can orbit Tekali so closely without crashing into each other."
"Apparently, they don't," King said. "They just look close from here. There's likely tens of thousands of kilometers between them. If I had to guess, they're tidally locked."
"I think you're right again," Ryder nodded. "Funny how NASA spent billions exploring the Jovian moons. Now here we are, watching a living alien system from a palace balcony—for next to nothing."
Before they could continue, Ryder felt a light tug at his jacket. Turning around, he and King saw Assiaya standing behind them.
"What's up, kid?" King asked.
Assiaya gave him a puzzled look before glancing upward. Then, looking back at him, she said, "A ceiling?"
King chuckled. "Ha."
"Ignore him," Ryder said. "What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering what you two were doing," she said. "You've been up here talking about the heavens for over an hour, and you still haven't thanked Mother."
The remark caught Ryder off guard. He understood the cultural and religious weight her words carried, but he hadn't fully grasped the depth of the local rituals. He vaguely recalled Fraeya thanking Tekali when they first arrived on Alagore. Back then, he assumed it was a general custom, but maybe there was more to it.
"Would you mind showing us?" Ryder asked gently.
Assiaya's face lit up. She stepped past them to the balcony's edge and lifted her arms.
"Thank you, Mother, for another day, as your children are blessed to be here today. Please have your son, Orgatrash, give the Altaerrie strength to protect us and ride the horrors of the Unity darkness. Please have your daughter, Kallinth, rid the people of Salva of their troubles."
"That was very good, Assiaya," Ryder said, glancing at his XO and nudging him with his elbow.
"Huh? Oh," King blinked. "For a preacher, not bad. Focusing on others over yourself—I like that. You're going to be a good Princess."
Assiaya looked at King, noticing he was still puffing on his cigar and gazing into space. "Thank you. But I'm scared I will fail. I've been asking Tekali for help every day. Don't you have anything to say, Sir King?"
"'Sir King'… I like that," he said with a smile. Removing his cigar, he answered plainly, "Sorry, Princess. I respect the intention, but it's just not my thing."
"I… do not understand," she said, turning to her father. "Natilte said your kind believes in a Cosmic God?"
"He does," King replied before Ryder could speak. "But I don't. My ritual involves a cold ale in one hand and watching the Lions nearly win—again."
Ryder gave his friend a pointed look, clearly warning him about the alcohol comment in front of the child.
"Sorry," King said. "What I mean is—I don't believe in higher powers. It's just us."
"How can you say that?" Assiaya exclaimed. "That's worse than the Unity!"
"Assiaya," Ryder said firmly but not harshly. "Remember what we talked about in Vagahm. Respect others' beliefs."
"But—" she mumbled, visibly conflicted.
"Being a Princess means respecting everyone's beliefs," Ryder continued. "Even if you disagree. Whether religious or not, belief systems are part of a person's identity."
"But only those who respect you first," King added.
"Or hold a gun to your head," Ryder said. "That's what separates us from them. Our faith is strong enough to stand on its own. The Unity requires faith through force. Do you see the difference?"
To his surprise, Assiaya looked down with a distant stare. Not one of confusion, but one of deep thought—her lips moving slightly without sound, her head making minute nods. It was as though she were debating silently with herself.
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It wasn't the first time Ryder had noticed these behaviors. At first, he chalked it up to lingering trauma from her enslavement—but now, he wasn't so sure.
"Okay," Assiaya finally said. She adjusted her clothing and bowed politely. "I apologize for my outburst."
King chuckled. "Assiaya, you don't have to be that formal with me. I'm basically your uncle now. When your old man's not looking, I'll teach you how C4 works."
"The bombs?" she asked, then giggled. "Okay… but she wanted me to ask…"
"Who?" Ryder asked.
Her eyes widened momentarily before she smiled. "I meant me, silly."
Ryder looked at her carefully. She seemed nervous—but smiled convincingly enough.
"Silly indeed," he replied with a soft chuckle.
"Rommel," she said thoughtfully, "if you don't believe in a Goddess, then what do you believe in?"
King tapped his chest with a closed fist. "I believe you control your own destiny—no one else. Too many people rely on outside forces or wait for permission to do good. But your true strength?" He pointed at her heart. "It's right here."
"I think I understand," she said with a thoughtful nod.
"All right," Ryder interjected. "That's enough philosophy for one night. Sweetheart, would you mind bringing us something to drink?"
Assiaya nodded and skipped off, but not before pausing in front of King. She fixed him with a stern glare. "Mother is not a ball of gas," she said defiantly, then strode away.
The two men looked at each other and burst out laughing.
As the moment settled, Ryder stared once more at the vibrant alien sky. Without thinking, his hand drifted to the cross hanging from his neck.
All he could think of was his late wife—whether she was watching from somewhere above, proud or disappointed. He didn't know. But maybe, just maybe, by being a better father, he could redeem himself for having failed as a husband.
March, 20th, 2068 (military calendar)
Korlitta, Hastsano Gap, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie
Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore
*****
A coin was placed on the wooden table. The bartender studied it briefly before sliding it into a drawer. A male Yalate, he poured two pints and placed them in front of the travelers.
The Lat grasped the pint handle and took a swift drink, downing nearly a quarter of the beer. Flavius-Elpidius Antius's comrade, a Luperca, emptied his in a single gulp.
"You could have gotten a larger one," Antius remarked.
The Luperca chuckled. "Then how could I embarrass you, Lat, with your tiny stomach?"
"Derion," Antius replied, before taking another sip.
The Yalate reached for a bottle on the back wall and handed it to the dark gray Luperca with black and brown stripes, known as Derion-Luciferus of Clan Warclaw. The wolf stood nearly one and a half men tall, with a broad, muscular frame sheathed in thick brown fur. Only a silver streak ran down his back and across his hands. His right ear was notched, missing a section, and his elongated snout framed a set of sharp, black-and-yellow hunting eyes. He studied the bottle with an appraising look before taking a drink.
"That is some cheap brisket," Derion muttered.
"You get what you pay for," Antius replied, eyeing his half-full glass. The liquid inside was brown with a subtle blue tint. "Still, not bad for mountain folk."
Some commotion drew Antius's attention to the left. The Yalate who had served them was now scolded by a female with orange fur and dirty white stripes. Though he missed most of the exchange, it was clear the Kitsune was the tavern owner. She chastised the boy for failing to secure the business safe after each deposit. The scene amused Antius—it was familiar.
The Lat knew much about the Kitsunes: cutthroat merchants who operated or owned modest establishments like this tavern. Disciplined and meticulous, they valued their craft and sought to accumulate wealth for their household. They were born traders.
He found it humorous to watch a bird-like humanoid cower in fear of angering a fox. While it was typical to see a Kitsune dominate in such a setting, the Yalate were another matter entirely. These feathered humanoids generally ran major institutions—guilds, workshops, collegiums—and above all, they prized status. Wealth, to them, was a tool to display social superiority to the plebe.
After the lecture ended, the orange Kitsune turned to supervise the female dancers on the far side of the tavern. From what Antius could gather, the main event had begun: a Neko and a Noble Elf performing a dual dance.
The Yalate turned to him. "Apologies, you had to see that. She thinks one of us is stealing, but it's all in her head."
"I understand the tactic," Antius replied. "Keep them uneasy, keep them afraid. They're good at that. But it doesn't breed loyalty."
The Yalate let out a chirping chuckle and poured another drink. "I know. I can't wait to leave this place once my motuia contract ends."
"And then?"
"What else? I'll open my own tavern and steal the Agoranomos title from that wretched woman. Then I'll earn the respect I deserve."
Antius found the boy's ambition amusing—not because he looked down on him, but because it was typical. Seeking the city's highest economic title, which regulated and represented the marketplace, was a common dream. From what the Yalate said, he'd likely indenture himself to learn the Kitsune's methods to compete someday.
And yet, there was the other side of the coin. When lacking status, Yalates would pretend to be commoners. But Antius knew better. Given a chance to climb, they would seize it—no matter the cost to others.
What confused him, however, was the Yalate's desire. Most of their kind sought institutional power for status, not wealth itself. Antius had rarely seen one diverge from this path, avoiding the military, religion, or politics in favor of economic influence. To them, it granted status without the burden of leadership or sacrifice.
Strangely, he saw this as loyalty—of a kind. Their craving for institutional power meant they depended on a stable society to thrive. This required valuing warriors, workers, and political leaders. Even if self-serving, it made them balanced contributors to society.
He'd once been told that Yalates invest in stability because they need others to fight and lead.
Derion chuckled. "You're an ambitious one."
"You think the world will survive long enough for your dynasty to rise?" Antius asked.
"The Unity will need people like me—once you Lats accept the war is lost," the Yalate replied.
"Surrendering to the sword is not peace," Antius said. "The problem with the people here is your lack of vision past your nose."
"You sound like a Legionary."
A deep voice to his left interrupted. Antius turned to see a Nagal sitting down.
The man, a robust human cousin with a sloped forehead, bore a cut across his broad nose. He wore a filthy black apron. His darker skin was hard to distinguish beneath the grime and ash, and his unwashed hair gleamed with grease.
Antius slid slightly to his right, distancing himself from the Nagal. Though of shared ancestry, the Lat had always held mixed feelings about his cousin's race. While relations with the Nagal were better than with the J'avais, their social habits unsettled him. They valued family clans above all else, and seeing one alone was… odd.
"Being a Traveler has its hardships," Antius said. "More importantly, it shows you all Mother has to offer."
"Mother?" the Yalate asked. "You realize the Katra outlawed any service or mention of Tekali?"
"Yes," Antius said, taking another drink. "Does anyone care?"
The Yalate chirped a laugh. "Not at all. But tell me—why are Lats traveling through enemy territory?"
"Better than being in Hispana right now. We thought it safer than staying near the onslaught."
"That was until we heard from a passing merchant," Derion said. "They claimed the Aristocracy is mobilizing to invade the Republic."
The Nagal barked a laugh. "You are misinformed. The Aristocracy is preparing for war, yes—but not against you. Against Nevali."
"A Toriffa caravan raided us four days ago for supplies," the Yalate added.
"Those J'avais horse-asses," the Nagal muttered, spilling his drink. "They stormed my shop and stole every weapon I had. My clan cast me out because I could no longer contribute—all thanks to those freaks."
As the two argued over the Nevali war, Antius found himself perplexed. Why would they target a trade town? He turned to Derion, who shared his confusion.
Six years ago, Nevali had fallen swiftly to Kallem's Aristocracy, toppling House Balan overnight. The Republic and Thali'ean Fiefdom, bound by treaty, could not respond due to their war with the Unity—another defeat in a long string of them.
Kallem, ever the opportunist, had played the board well.
Peace, at least within Nevali, had endured. A poor, rugged region, it had seen no major battles since. That's why these rumors surprised Antius.
"What happened?" he asked. "I thought the war avoided these lands."
"Until the Other Worlders arrived," the Nagal said.
"I heard one of the J'avais call them Altaerrie," the Yalate added. "But others said they were Lats. No one knows. All I know is—something was found near Salva. A rebellion was crushed… and then it wasn't."
"The Altaerrie?" Antius echoed. He'd heard the name but couldn't place it. Probably a militia with a dramatic title.
"I doubt it," a Wood Elf said from a nearby table. "I came from Salva. You don't mobilize an entire nation to squash a revolt. Salva was already suppressed—then these Altaerrie showed up. Now the fighting is back. Whoever they are, they're not folding."
"I remember one J'avais saying there's a doorway to the human homeworld," the Yalate said. "That's why they called them Altaerrie. But he didn't look happy, so who knows?"
"A doorway?" Antius looked at Derion, who shared his incredulous expression. He turned back to the bartender. "Please. Next, you'll say Valkyries are dancing on Tekali children."
"He's not lying," the Nagal said. "The Temple of Indolass has long been rumored to house an Orilla device. There's also the Lat-Orc legend."
"I've seen thousands chase that ghost," the Wood Elf said. "Centuries of searching, and nothing—until now. Something's in that mountain, and it's scared Lord Kallem enough to go to war."
Antius drained his glass and nudged Derion. Time to go. "Thanks for the stories."
He pulled out his purse, debating between paper and coin. Paper was valid here, but after the Toriffa raid, coin would draw less attention. He paid, noting a few patrons watching with suspicion, likely due to their outsider status.
Outside, he mounted his Ossinlundo, a two-legged, raptor-like mount with vibrant feathers. Derion secured the supply cart and began leading it toward the town gate.
"Do you think it's true?" Derion asked.
"Yes," Antius said. "I didn't want to arouse suspicion, but their stories aligned. No diversions."
"If true, this changes the war. I wonder what these Altaerrie are."
"Anything that scares the Aristocracy is good for us."
"That assumes they're on our side. They're no militia."
"So, what was the Palatini of Orias's mission? It seems they succeeded—if this is connected."
"Then why haven't we heard from them in four months?"
As they exited the town, the Lat reflected on their mission. The Palatini wouldn't simply vanish—unless they were dead.
Their task was to investigate what happened to their sister unit. There were no other details. Deep in enemy territory, Hispana had surrendered these lands a decade ago. The information was scarce. Exposure meant death.
They passed merchants and debris left by the Toriffa—trashed wagons, waste, filth. Near the treeline, a cloaked man waited—under the hood: elite armor.
The Legionary saluted with a fist to his upper left chest—a quiet frontline gesture symbolizing Internally Strong.
Three more emerged and secured the cart to their crawler mule.
A pale-green Noble Elf named Ælia Valhana approached. Her dark green eyes fixed on Antius. Unlike the Legionaries' heavy metal armor, she wore dragon-hide, light and strong.
"Did you learn anything?" she asked.
"Yes," Antius said. "They're called the Altaerrie. From another land."
"Never heard of them," she replied.
"None of us have," he said. "But that's where we're going. Whatever the Orias did here, it started a war. And now, some Lats are holding their own against the Aristocracy."
Ælia narrowed her eyes. "If war is coming, it will be difficult to avoid detection."
Antius gazed down into the valley, its rough beauty stretching into shadow.
"If what they said was true," he said, "we're the least of their concerns."
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