March 2, 1901.
Gawel made it back from his excursion to the cathedral with almost no fanfare, which is just how he liked it. Both of the guards took off their disguises and returned back to their barracks. This close to the morning, it would be ludicrously easy to avoid the guards on their patrol routes, after all they were the ones who made them. For Gawel, returning to his bedchamber was just as easy as walking down the halls, not even the foreign Imperium guards would question their charge roaming around to get an early morning breakfast. Then it was just a matter of trying to get as much sleep as he could. Ironically, this would be the only decent night's sleep he would get in quite a while.

Gawel usually woke up to the sound of his father's aviary performing their morning choir practice, but today the morning was accented with the sounds of condescending officers barking orders at the lesser soldiers, rifles being loaded and examined, and horses protesting with their handlers and contemplating their new fate. It was a cacophony that Gawel was entirely unfamiliar with, but knew that I will mean nothing good. Even getting out of his room was difficult as the halls were overtaken by frantic servants and guards making room for the armed Drzewan soldiers and Imperial officers, with the path to his father being a river of paranoia, smugness and bravado. Gawel soon surfaced back in the throne room, where his father held court, a court that now held more people than he thought possible. The few faces he did recognize were the common visitors to the king and occasional friends, the trade minister from Lieria, all the mayors from the cities and the richest factory heads. But he ones who holding the king's attention at the moment were the Imperial officers barking at his father.
"As a dominion of the Sovereignty, you have an obligation to serve our new Emperor Olarth. As such you are expected to lend your country's army to our aid, that goes the same for all the factories in the country, any nonmilitary factories will be managed by our own supervisors and the current supervisors will be asked to step down and face investigation of their loyalty to ensure a strong supply line in our efforts."
This claim nearly made the other subjects erupt into a riot, but the king remained as stoic as ever.
"We will support the Sovereignty, as we always have." The king proclaimed, with the only signal of acceptance from the officers being a nod the head and a smirk of the face that screamed "we expect nothing less."
"At last we come to an understanding, your orders will be that your men will report to Fort Doromirian to be outfitted, reorganized, mustered and deployed. We expect the first trains tomorrow at 700. Do not be late."
"I would never dream of it, sirs"

March 2, 1901
With that the generals left the chamber, confident as most Imperials are. The king then left his chair, almost ignoring the subjects trying to protest his new orders. He moved towards his son, who was still waiting in the wings, who just had to witness his father played the victim yet again. A look of understanding meet his sons eyes. The king took his son by the shoulders and led him down the hall,"I know what you must think, seeing the father you admired being brought so low by these foriegners, I wish I could say that it was the betterment of our people, but you know just as well as I that it would be a lie." The conversation led the pair into a room Gawel was not entirely familiar with, one filled with suits of armor, lances and muskets of old. "The truth is that these Imperials would endanger all that we held dear if we went against their 'benevolent guidance'. I know you are more than familiar with the old stories of our bravery and gallantry on the field of battle. When the Cavalry of Heaven was feared against all those who would be our enemies. We stood out as a nation by our bravery, by standing out against all equals."
Kajetan Klos then reached out to a gilded helmet standing on a podium, and in a silently ceremonious way, put on the helmet. "And that is what I hope to become in this war. It is what I know you will be one day as well, it's in our blood, your spirit, a nation. So this is what I will leave you with, so that you will not forget what you have." Gawel looked down and saw a necklace of the golden Drzewan eagle, a sight that he kept his eyes on as his father walked out of the room, mounted his horse with his generals, and rode to the train station with the rest of his men. The look on all of the soldiers as he rode by were those that Kajetan would be familiar with for all of the coming days, uncertainty.

1st Week of March (Part 1)

As the war reached its second month, the Shogunate spent its time consolidating its positions now that the Home Island is more or less secure. The Auxiliary Legions that were surrounded eagerly took on the Emperor's offer to surrender and pledge loyalty to Olarth. However, their fighting capacity was severely to 10%, 20, or 30% at least after the fierce fighting in that occurred in February. Even the Yamato soldiers and militiamen were still skeptical of their loyalty and some Yamato didn't even know that they were fighting for Olarth until the last minute. Nevertheless, the Auxiliary Legions were momentarily treated as POWs having to be forced to give up their weapons. Some of the remaining Yllendyr Officers that surrendered were trialed under accusations of excessively cruelty and treatment of locals before the charges were dropped as everybody had to be reorganized immediately under orders of the Shogun Emperor.

Elsewhere, the first bandit part from the deserted Auxiliary legions have been located with the cavalry quickly following behind for eradication. The two legions stationed in the port city fled with the Yllendyr citizens through the help of the Yllendyr Navy leaving the port city utterly deserted. The Yamato reinforcements that arrived in the 4th immediately took the city and razed the Yllendyr flags and whatever Yllendyr propaganda posters that were present. Since no one has anticipated the port city to be abandoned, the Samurai commander ordered the city to be striped of its industrial and naval capacity and to be distributed elsewhere through out the Shogunate. This meant the city would utterly useless to assault and defend in the foreseeable future. At least until the military high command figured out what to do with it.

Speaking of the Yamato High command, officially designated as the Shogun's Headquarters, had fierce debates of the direction of the Army and Navy after detailed reports were coming in after the surrender of the Auxiliaries and the humiliating attack on the port city.


There were to decisive factions that dominated the debates: the Tōseiha and the Kōdōha.
The Tōseiha, lead by ashigaru Lieutenant General Tetsuzan Nagata, was comprised of experienced officers, infantrymen, and industrialist who was more moderate and conservative to the more fanatical counterparts. Their argument was the army need to emphasis more modernization and higher emphasis on the machine gun and heavy artillery. That before and during an assault was carried out, the enemy positions were to be bombard with artillery to suppress enemy counterfire while machine gun will be moved into aggressive positions in order to support infantry pushes. Tōseiha's main source of credibility was taken from experienced gain from the Battle of Red Blossoms and the Dawn Assault where banzai charges were immediately repulsed with heavy casualties and the only thing that prevented the the Auxiliary from counterattacking was the the officers quickly ordered machinegun fire and artillery strikes onto their positions. Those weapons would later on would allow the Yamato forces to advance at a more reasonable approach.

The Kōdōha, lead by Samurai Major General Sadao Araki and comprised of other Samurai generals, advocated the importance of character building through rigid mental and physical discipline, which meant the focus of the army was not to be on the weapon per se but on the humble infantryman himself. They believed that a banzai charge of armed soldiers would utterly overwhelm the enemy by putting so much pressure through the weight of superior numbers and élan, that no amount of firepower could snuff out the spirit of Bushido. That even a rock would be the most dangerous weapon in the world if the soldier was brave enough to use it as such. There was some merit to their argument, however, as seen in the Battle of Bihoro where the Auxiliary Legion stationed there was overwhelmed by the ferocity of the Yamato soldiers as they got close enough to engage in close quarters urban combat. The Yllendyr machineguns had to reload at some point and that was when they were overrun by banzai. Mass infantry charges could prove to be effective in forms of shock tactics against weakened entrenchments. The Kōdōha, amazingly enough, were the most ardent in terms of preserving the honor code of the Samurai legacy. They stilled believed that melee combat was crucial in military training if modern weapons increased the distance in which both sides would engage. Kōdōha officers were actually the nicest, or at least the most respectable, soldiers a Yllendyr officer could ever hope to meet since they allow them to keep their weapons and travel equally among them. The Shogun Emperor said that they will be our allies against Ecurir if they surrender, which they did and there was no way around that to treat them less as allies. After all, betrayal against the Shogun Emperor is a fate worse than death.

"What's the point of sending a soldier to a battlefield without a proper weapon?" the Tōseiha would argue. "What's the point of giving a weapon to a soldier if he is unwilling to use it?" the Kōdōha would counter.

All this argument itself also expanded into the usage of cavalry. The Tōseiha were proponents of replacing cavalry as motorized vehicles and cars as military units such as motor scouts. Due to the industrial capacity of the Shogunate, Tōseiha believed it was feasible and some of the more ambitious industrialists and officers thought of making the entire army mobile by using cars as a form of troop transport.

Kōdōha, however, was the opposite: they argued that all this motorization is redundant as the speed of the horse is still perfectly viable to be used for recon. There's no point in training entirely new divisions when time and effort could be saved by simply re-equipping and re-training the existing cavalry units.

As for leadership, Tōseiha advocates for centralized command and plans the squads being idle on the fact that theres wasn't enough time to organize a proper command structure by the time the battle occurs. Just like their ancestors in the past, the Samurai generals and field marshals believed that wars are won through strategy: carefully-time counter-attacks and well-coordinated offensives will break through any line anywhere. Preparation and planning was the key to success and reducing the authority of the High Command would lead to general disorganization.

The Kōdōha propose a decentralized command as the junior officers and squad commanders felt that the High Command was too rigid and not flexible enough to react to sudden changes in objectives. There were some squads that did absolutely nothing in these battles because they were not granted the initiative by the High Command.
With better trained soldiers with high quality officers meant that the squads are perfectly capable of handling objectives when given autonomy.

In the end, Shogun Emperor Eikou has to make the decision: would he support Tōseiha or Kōdōha? Is a compromise even viable?

A day had passed since her conversation with the Emperor, and Mara had yet to leave the room she’d been given. She’d accepted the breakfast a servant had brought without enthusiasm, but otherwise hadn’t moved from the bed she was now splayed out on. It hadn’t even occurred to her to turn on the lights. On some level she understood that the Weavers would be arriving soon, and that she’d have to submit a report on what Olarth had told her, but that was a distant concern; it had no bearing on the thoughts that raced through her mind, nor did it rouse her from her lethargy. The future was not what consumed her attentions.

Yesterdays revelations had cast her adrift, and through she’d raged upon learning Naerzo, the man who’d built the empire she idolized, was a monster, all she could do now was reflect. Reflect and regret. She regretted her outburst in front of Olarth, and moreover she regretted that briefest of moments where she’d been tempted to call the Emperor a liar to his face. It had been fleeting, a single impulse among many, but where she scarcely remembered the myriad of other things she’d thought while speaking to Olarth, the memory of that compulsion lingered. How foolish was she, to love a man she’d never met, to the point where she’d nearly defended him to his own son?

It was a thought that shamed her. Her cheeks reddened and, as if looking for a distraction from that line of thinking, she glanced at the clothes she’d hung on the opposite wall. She’d shed her dress at some point, but it had never left her sight, hanging on the wall as it was. Even in the thick of her rage, her confusion after hearing Olarth’s words, she’d taken care to keep that dress pristine. Oh she’d considered tearing it apart, in fact even now she longed to, but she didn’t. It was a product of the Empire in a way that nothing else she owned was, it could not have existed without the Imperium. Without Naerzo. If she truly regretted all she’d believed, why hadn’t she destroyed it? Somewhere, below the chaos of her current state of mind, she knew that for all her beliefs had been faulty she wasn’t yet prepared to abandon them. She wasn’t ready to crawl back to her father.

Her father. Years of arguments came back to her, accusations and demands. How could she undermine him so, how was she so blind as to ignore the shackles the Emperor had put on her people? All the things he’d said, she was forced to reconsider. She regretted fighting with him, siding with his rivals, being cast out of her home. She missed him, she missed her family, and yet... Even now, as she was realizing, she didn’t agree with her fathers beliefs; she didn’t support a return to brutality of her grandfathers time. Did that make everything he’d said wrong though? She’d unflinchingly argued the enlightened principles of the Yllendyr, of the Emperor that led them, and now she realized she’d done nothing but drive a wedge between her and her family for the sake of delusional, cruel, old tyrant. She might never agree with her father, but she understood him now. She saw how asinine her obstinate refusal to see any evil in the Elves had been. Still, that didn’t justify her own peoples evil. The dead Emperor had done wicked things in the name of prejudice, her father would do them in the name of tradition.

She still loved her father, but she was not the only one that had tarnished that relationship. Had she the chance to go back in time maybe she’d not have fought him as viciously as she did, and maybe he would have been kinder in return, but Mara still believed that the old ways of her people were wrong, and that the Imperium had done something good in forcing the Harpies to change. Naerzo was dead, his empire lived, and if even the cruel old corpse had done a good thing, then what could Olarth accomplish? Mara had doubts about him, suspicions fuelled by a new found and frightening skepticism of the Yllendyr, but he had told her the truth.

The Weavers would be coming with their radio soon, and Mara knew what she would say in her report.



Ena had been in a foul mood for days now, ever since Mara had been sent away. She hadn’t so much as spoken a word regarding her daughters ‘assignment’ to him, and she’d been as cordial as could be expected in public, but while they were alone Temar’s wife had taken ever opportunity she could to demonstrate her fury without making an argument out of it. He’d hoped she’d calm down before they discussed the issue, but as Temar entered his home and saw Ena looming in the hallway he knew his wife had finally worked herself up to the confrontation they’d both known was inevitable.

It began, predictably, with an indignant shout, “I can’t accept this Temar! How could you! Our own daughter!”

Temar always tried to project an air of calm, but while he didn’t shout the tension that immediately entered his voice was indicative enough of his feeling regarding the question, “How could I? I am the Chief, how could I not? How many times have I told that girl to restrain herself, how many times has she defied me? Much more and I’ll be a laughing stock, in my own city!”

“So that’s it?” Ena fumed, “You sent your daughter into a war for the sake of your reputation? Where did my husband go, Temar, or is all that’s left of him a coward?”

It was an assertion designed to nettle, and nettle it did. Temar made no effort to restrain the volume of his reply, “A coward!? Is that what you think of me Ena? I’m a coward to do what had to be done to hold onto this house, to keep you, and yes, her safe? Do you really think those bastards Mara calls ‘friends’ would be kind to us if they had their way, be kind to her? If Umar took my title do you think he’d hesitate to exile us!?”

Ena all but exploded, “Safe! With the Elves! They are at war you old vulture, war. What happened to those stories your father liked to tell us? Have you forgotten what war means to the Elves, have you forgotten why you took the stance you did? Why you and Mara fought to begin with!”

They were inches from each other now, and Temar could see the genuine fear behind his wife’s fury. The sight was too much for him to shout in her face, to truly defend his actions, he only irritably muttered, “Altairis is as far from the front line as any city in the Yllendyr’s lands. She’ll be fine, safe, with the Emperor the silly girl says she loves.”

Ena lowered her voice, but her tone was sharp, “Oh if she’s with the Emperor then. I guess she’ll be the last to die, when the southern Emperor falls.”

Temar balked, but managed to voice a meek retort, “She’ll fly away long before then, she’ll see the Elves for what they are Ena, she’ll finally understand what those carrion eaters she associated with are trying to accomplish. She won’t stay, not when she knows.”

“When she knows,” Ena shook her head, “When she knows what Temar? That you were right? You two have argued too long for her to ever accept that, and we both know she’ll not abandon her duty, she got that from you. Your stubbornness. You have to nominate another at the next consensus Temar, bring our girl home before its too late.”

Temar couldn’t find a reply to that. He couldn’t think of one in all the time he spent looking after Ena had turned her back and strode into the depths of the house.



Some Days Later.

Temar stepped into the Great Hall of Heartwood with an outward confidence that belied the anxiety that had gripped him ever since his argument with Ena. He hated to admit it, but the woman was right. Mara wouldn’t run even when she saw the true nature of the Elves. She had a duty as an ambassador of the forest, and she wouldn’t betray that; not like he’d betrayed his duty as a father by sending his only child into a situation he knew all too well the reality of.

Oh he was sure the so called ‘reformists’ would use his recommendation Mara be replaced by a more qualified ambassador to further subvert him. Maybe Mara would even help them when she got back. It hurt that she’d turned on him, that she’d sided with the very people who’d steal Temar’s city and slander his name, but if he lost her... Just the thought made him sick. For all their differences she was his daughter, his only child, and the thought of her dying was as nauseating as it was incomprehensible. Damn it all, he had no choice.

The rest of the assembled took their places in the vast room, and as always the oldest of the Dryads, Shaetarae, spoke before the rest of the consensus, “In the name of the Forest I convene this meeting of the consensus of Greater Beings. As you all know we have gathered so that you may share the results of your efforts to safeguard the Forest, and to hear the first report of our new ambassador to the southern Emperor of the Elves.”

Temar straightened at that, he had not known Mara had moved so quickly to Altairis as to have a report ready for the consensus already. He wanted nothing more than to hear it, but he hadn’t the authority to demand it come before the perfunctory reports of the other Greater Beings; his people had suffered greatly for bringing the Yllendyr to the forest. They had not been expelled from the consensus, but these days even the Weavers words carried greater weight.

It was no small blessing that the reports on the status of the Forests defensive preparations were delivered concisely by the assembled with something to say. In truth it was a miracle not a single argument broke out. It seemed everyone agreed on the necessity of what was being done, and moreover the impression Temar got was that nearly every one of the assembled would rather get back to their tasks than waste time here.

He could sympathize, of course. Between myriad of status updates on the border fortifications and reports on factory and tooling conversions Temar was exhausted and frustrated by the time Mara’s report was read by Shaetarae. Of course, the moment the Dryad spoke he perked up and listened intently, “Very well, it seems none of you have been idle. This is good. Now, our Ambassador has delivered a... Disturbing report.”

Temar’s stomach dropped, but the Dryad didn’t seem to notice, or care about, the expression of horror that momentarily crossed his face and continued impassively, “Mara of Paprean has informed us of a most distressing tale conveyed to her by the Emperor Olarth regarding his brother Ecurir and the former Emperor Narzo.”

What followed was a story that drove nearly every Harpy in the room into a frenzy. Temar’s chest burned with rage, and vindication. The divisions between the Harpies present were unlikely to be mended by this alone, but the details of the story, and the fact Mara had conveyed it, was enough to unify the fractious people for now.

As soon as Shaetarae finished relaying Mara’s recommendation to support Olarth’s bid for Emperor, Temar cried out, “This is intolerable! My daughter is right, we must have vengeance. This Olarth may help us get it, but even so I demand we recall my daughter, I won’t have her in the court of someone who shares the same blood as that monster in the north. Regardless of their intentions.”

The room froze. Temar had the backing of nearly every Harpy in the room, but that counted for little. Shaetarae’s gaze narrowed, “That is not your decision, child. Know your place.”

Her voice quieted the Harpies as it seemed to reverberate in the very roots and trunks that made made up the floor and walls. Temar shivered, but forged ahead, “She is my daughter, it is nobody's decision but mine. As for vengeance, my people must have it. Even if you deny us, we will take things into our own hands, Dryad.”

He had no assurance of that, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter. The Harpies behind him certainly didn’t object to his words, regardless of their feelings about Temar as a chief. Shaetarae strode towards him slowly, but with a fierce look in her eyes, “You sent your daughter away, and in the doing you surrendered your right to control her fate, little Harpy. She is an agent of the Forest now, and it will be the Forest that decides when she may leave her post.”

There were a foot apart when Temar opened his mouth, only to find a root had separated from the floor and begun to choke him in an instant. His support dissolved as the other Harpies exchanged panicked glances and nervously backed away as every Dryad in the room began to glare at them, barely restrained violence in the wooden women's eyes. The very walls of the Great Hall seemed to vibrate as the magic of the Dryads awakened something in the living wood of the building.

Shaetarae didn’t appear to care as Temar struggled to breath with the root wrapped around his neck all but lifting him off the ground. The ancient Dryads speech continued unabated, “And vengeance? With your own hands? You and your people seem to have forgotten the oaths they made. You will follow the laws of the Forest, or you will not live to see yourself leave it.”

The root snapped back into the floor and Temar collapsed, grasping at his throat. Shaetarae only frowned at him, “Leave, Temar of Paprean. Perhaps when you next visit Heartwood you and your people will remember you participate in the consensus at the leisure of we who have permitted you to do so.”

There was nothing else to say, not that Temar was in a position to say it. His throat had already begun to bruise when a number of other Harpies carried him out of the great hall. His people followed him, each one departing with sour, indignant expressions. Of course, even in shock as he was, Temar saw the fear behind the masks the Harpies struggled to keep in place. The Dryads had never threatened a resident of the forest, nor raised a hand against them. Not once in living memory.

He was terrified, and he was not alone.



Ena had spent the previous day tending to her injured husband, and fending off the flurry of questions that had been directed at her and him in the aftermath of the disastrous meeting of the consensus. The forest was in an uproar, and from what she knew it wasn’t just her people that were scrambling to understand just what had happened in Heartwood and why; even the Weavers had made inquired as to whether Temar was well enough to speak with their Matriarch. Ena didn’t know what to make of that.

Of course, at the end of it all, all she cared about was her Husband, and her daughter. The Dryads had refused to even consider recalling Mara, and with what Ena had heard about the story her daughter had delivered to the consensus, she was terrified for her little girl.

Which was why she was here now, in a place known only to Harpy chiefs, and occasionally their wives. There was nothing to mark the spot in the forest she landed, it was simply a tiny clearing in a seemingly endless expanse of trees, but as soon as she did Ena found herself surrounded by other Harpies. The others were odd, each one dressed in black flying clothes and covered in jewelry of every kind.

They might have looked peculiar to an outsider, even savage given the macabre nature of some of their ornaments, but any Hapry would know exactly who they were. The Sky Witches. Rarely were they seen outside of religious ceremonies, and in the last decades there had been few enough of those that they had acquired an almost mystical status.

They made no effort to greet her, she was not a chief, but nevertheless Ena spoke, “I come to make a request, children of the spirits, recipients of the pact.”

A wrinkled woman, for they were all women, stepped forward from the circle of Witches that had surrounded Ena, she rasped, “You have no right to request something of us, you are not your Husband. You are not a chief. We owe you nothing.”

Ena did her best to look unaffected by the statement, but worry crept its way onto her face regardless, “I know, I know, but please. Temar is injured, he cannot come, but I speak on his behalf. I beseech you, please send some of your number to Altaris. My daughter is in danger. She needs you, your protection.”

Ena was about to continue, to tell the Witches of all that had transpired, but the old woman held up her hand and Ena faltered. The elder eyed Ena appraisingly before speaking, “Yes, we know where your daughter is, Ena of Paprean. We know what task she has been entrusted, and we know how your husband came to suffer the wrath of the Dryads. We will do as you ask, we will uphold the pact.”

With that the mysterious women retreated into the forest without another word, and Ena was left alone in the woods. She nearly shouted her thanks at the trees.

The village of Seaside Arrow, aurelian Emerald Coast of the Yllendir Empire, March of 1901.
At night's dawn.....



"It's time to go, brother." said Vens to his brother, Caleb. His brother was quietly staring at the stars on the sky, as if they were whispering something in his head, but before long, he replied back "You're right, mother's probably going to tell the constabulary that we've been eaten by wolves...". The two got up and grapped their wooden fishing equiment, together with the small catch of the day, and went back home hastly. The stoned patch through the village seemed empty of life, if it wasn't for the calm, comfortable atmosphere inside the wooden houses. The start of the spring was still chilly enough, especially at night on a coastal village like this, so most houses were unleashing smoke trails into the sky from the stoned horns.



Gentle lights from entrances and windows touched the eyes of the two brothers as they wandered back home. Time seems to obey the villagers, not around, it seems. Life here is simple, kind, boring at times even. "You read the newspaper they keep bringing here each week? I gave the newsboy some fish yesterday and he gave me the newspaper without demanding money." said Vens, breaking the silence, before proceeding to continue "This entire bicker for the emperor throne is affecting more and more nations. It's unsettling!" said Vens. "I know what you're thinking...." replied Caleb, seemingly all-knowing. "Of course you do! You're going to reach 18 years old in a week, remember? You will soon be... conscripted." said Vens, eyeing his brother closely as they walk the stoned path. "I know you care for me, but that's how it is...damn elves, we're fighthing in their war, and for what? It's not enough that they've been oppressing us for only the gods know how long... replied Caleb. You could see the hatred in his eyes, ever since childhood he's been holding that hatred for elves. Hatred which has been passed down from generation to generation, father to son. Certainly, most of the humans hated the elves, but Vens wasn't like Caleb in this regard.

The two arrive at the wooden fence of their family's house, hearing a dialogue from inside. Before they could enter, two mysterious human men open the door and take their leave, without any gesture or words, hastly walking by the two brothers, ignoring them. Caleb and Vens look at eachother with confusion, then step inside the house as they are greeted by mother. They exchange the usual dialogue and proceed to hand over the catch of the day, ready to be prepared into a sweet fish soup by mother. After a while, the soup was ready, and the whole family was called to dinner. Nobody sat on the table before the leader of the household, the father, sat first. After he came, they all quietly take their seats, say the customary prayer before the dinner and then they start to eat. Oh, it was good and warm, definately only a mother's touch can make such fine food....but across the table, their old man sat, quietly staring into his bowl as he takes small sips with his wooden spoon. He was clearly nervous about something, something was on his mind. Had it any link with the two men that perviously rushed out of the door? He was troubled indeed, and it didn't take long for Caleb to notice.



"Are you going to tell us what's wrong? Did the pointy ears demand even more grain again?!" said Caleb with his usual distain for elves. "Watch your language at the table!" shouted his mother. Caleb just rolls his eyes and looks at his father, who was still silently looking down into the bowl. "There's a storm brewing, my children. I just wish I wasn't alive to see it..." said the father, breaking the silence. The two children stopped eating for a brief moment, leaning closer to listen. "Listen, there's not enough time. Caleb, you are the eldest child here, I need you to prepare yourself for what will come next for you, and for all of us." said the old man, as Caleb stopped eating completely and just sat there, listening. The father puts on the table a rolled manuscript, with the village's seal stamp on it. "You will have to deliver this to...Aurelia and-.." the father did not even get to finish his sentence before Vens replied with "What's that!?". The father gestures him to shut up and proceeds to continue "Caleb, you have to deliver this to Aurelia! It is of utmost importance, do you understand? Deliver this to a man named Maverick, in the Gilweed Tavern, by the docks! You will find it. Do not ask any questions, for they will be answered in due time."The father finishes his soup and gets up from the table, further saying "You're leaving tonight.", leaving Caleb with no time to ask anything but to do as his father commanded him to do. The father gives Caleb a couple of fine clothes, certainly from the cities. Caleb never before adorned such clothes, made him look like one of those prestigious people from the city, and in haste, he left.

Riding the family's horse down into the night, carrying the manuscript, Caleb could only wander what awaits him, he had so many questions, his head could blow at any moment, but in a moment of silence, as he plunged his right hand into one of the suit's pocket, he grabbed what appears to be a small gun. A gun!? What for? Time seems to no longer hold the village in regard. As father put it: "They were running out of time."

I was a young man when I first met the Naerzo Vyalviur, both kings of a sort, both young in a way. The difference, however, was that I was terrified, and he, he was serene and placid. Like a statue. He was 77 then, though didn't look a day over 30, which is a funny thing about elves. He grew to be the same age as my father when he died, Got bless his soul, but looks not much older than myself. I remember the way he looked down at me from atop his throne, in his robes and finery. Heh… I felt naked standing there among his court, in my navy officer uniform. I had inaugurated the first ship for the Coast Guard, not a month earlier, so it felt fitting I wore it to greet the emperor.

The needle jumped out of its groove and scratched about the surface of the record, much to the annoyance of everyone listening. Villim, sat in the chez-lounge beside his aged mother, gave the machine an irked expression, gesturing to a maid in the corner.

“Beatrix, if you could please replace the needle on that infernal machine, I would forever be in your gratitude.” The whole family had come together, to be with father for his last days. Everyone knew the time was near, and for some, it was a blessing, the whole nation was in an apprehensive silence. And for once, Villim’s deaf brother Maethias wasn't missing out on anything. In the corner of the windowed study, sat closest to the bay, the oldest prince watched his wife sign to him what was going on. Villim had told him they would be listening to records, but the requirement of hearing didn't seem to dissuade him. From nearby their sister Kara caught Maethias’ attention, signing something that made him grin.

The queen mother closed her eyes and released a long sigh, listening as the servant’s footfalls approached them and then draw away towards the phonograph. She was five when Vulfram went to meet the Elven King, no one then would have ever guessed she would be queen back then. She opened her eyes, the room tinted with nostalgia, and made a noise between a sob and a laugh.

“Damein should be here.” She said, looking at the tall doors at the end of the study, as if he was going to step through them at any moment. Damein, the eldest brother, would have turned 35 a few months prior, had he not died at 16 due to complications surrounding his sickliness. Which later would be classified as polio. Maethias, who sat facing his mother, frowned having read her lips. He was old enough to remember what kind of person Damein was like, Kara, of course, remembered him, but did not see much of him. A mistake she would not make with her remaining brothers, whom she spent much of the year bouncing between. Villim took his mother’s hand and kissed it, holding it to his chest as he watched the darkly dressed maid replace the needle. She wore a floral hairpin however, as if she were a testament to the old saying ‘You can't bleach a Falla.’

“You must forgive me for not being present to witness the Cerulean being put to the water.” he said in perfect Fallian, though the fact he knew the name of the ship was far more surprising. They told me to wait for the Emperor to speak first, I did not expect this to be his first words. Hehe.. “You were busy kinging,” I replied idiotically, not sure how it came to me or why I had said it. But, to answer your question.. Yes, I do believe we got along rather well..

As he grew older, King Vulfram took it upon himself to chronical his life, with the aid of a young sound specialist who over time became the king’s de facto biographer. Sylus Girdbeck would remain a close friend to the king and eventually the family, and wept quietly to himself from his chair by the door as the memoir played. Despite the state of war between the two princes, The Elven King was given a ceremonious funeral, one that (despite the human hostility about Ylleria) Vulfram had to attend. Ecruir, though cold, respected the ageing king’s desire to be close to the head of the procession, to see his friend of many decades off into the next life. Despite the fact that Naerzo believed in no such thing, Vulfram hoped the emperor would be there for him when it was his turn to arrive.

The day had lapsed into night, the moon was a sliver in the sky, and the ambient light of the stars illuminated the forests and meadows that surrounded the Zaelandt Estate, the private seasonal, residence of King Vulfram. The Queen had excused herself long before, accompanied by Girdbeck, Maethias and his wife, leaving only Kara and Villim, and a pair of guards by the door.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of Damein…

The pair sat silently, as the needle went around the record, occasionally popping and hissing. They looked down into their drinks, a wine and a gin-tonic respectively, the mood was indeed a sombre one, as news came from their father’s bedchamber regarding his deteriorating health. They’d look up at each other when they heard footsteps on the floorboards above, and Villim checked his watch constantly as if the train was late.

“10 Lire he won’t last the night.” Kara said finally, breaking the silence, making the tasteless joke to cut the tension in the air. Villim snorted, followed by a mirthless chuckle, rummaging through his trouser pocket sarcastically before sitting up in his seats. He would have taken that bet, had he carried cash on him.

“I don’t think father would appreciate us gambling under his nose.” Looking over at his sister, a thought flitted through his mind. Maethias was meant to be king, after Damein perished he was set to inherit the throne from their incumbent father, but as he grew older he realised it would not have been in the country’s best interests if a deaf man inherited. His sister, his elder by 2 years, couldn't inherent on account of being a woman, however unfair the law was it had not been changed. That left Villim, and the stress had certainly gotten to him as his father’s health deteriorated. More and more of his time was demanded by preparatory lessons, military academies, observing parliament, and other activities, despite all this he wasn't sure whether he was going to be ready or not.

But time waited for no man.

From upstairs, through the floorboards, a wail cried through the house and the pair dropped their eyes somberly. Villim rose, looked up and took a long draught from his drink, raising his glass to the ceiling.

“Dear Lord-Father, Who art king in the heavens and on the earth, Deliver us your blessings and deliver us from your wrath, And keep us in your good company, For this time and all times.” He proclaimed, before placing his glass down and taking a shaky breath. “Son of a bitch I think I'm going to have a heart attack.” He muttered under his breath as he headed for the doors, the gleaming guards pulling them open as he passed through.

‘Long live the King.’ Kara thought, biting back her tears as she contemplated her wine.

The headlines and records the next day echoed across a silent, sobered nation. From Zaelandt, on the Fallian border, all along the great tracks towards the capital, Mantz, in the north, people congregated to bid farewell to the Old King in his procession. The iron locomotive ripped across the landscape, Villim accompanying the body of his late father, cold under the layers of his uniform and regalia. Despite the noise of the steam engine and the grating of wheels against tracks, silence prevailed for the king-to-be. And it seemed for the time being that he understood the oblivion that his brother Maethias lived in.

In a cabin just ahead of the hearse, windows let the fleeting horizon peek at the pensive Prince. Pen in hand, he scribbled on a sheet of official stationery, fountain nib scrawling out his cursive thoughts. “To whom it may concern..” Villim mumbled, before shaking his head and crossing it out. “To all whom it concerns..” Two things really brought people together, enemies or otherwise, a wedding and a funeral. And his first official act as regent, before his ascension to the throne, was to assemble all those men and women of power and renown to watch his father be sent away.

He may have struggled with wording the invitation, but he did not struggle to recognize to whom his father’s death concerned. An invitation to a funeral was always signed, sealed and delivered from one state to another, and who the recipient state would send to represent itself was wholly up to itself. Except for that one time. There were two people he wanted to be there, to be within spitting distance of one another. As such, Villim would not pen a letter to Yllendyr, instead he wrote two, inviting the pugilist princes both to the funeral.

Villim looked over his shoulder, at the door that lead to the hearse, where a flag draped coffin sat silently and in the dark. His father had met Olarth and Ecruir both, multiple times over many decades. They were the same age when they first met, despite them looking like children, but so was the curse of the elf. Villim hoped the death of someone close to their father could bring them close enough to have a dialogue.

“Someone has to sort out this mess.” He mumbled before binning the piece of paper.