Central World Calendar - Month 6, Day 21, Year 1678Barakesh - Capital City of the Quin Protectorates

  The scorching sun beat down mercilessly upon the dusty city streets, as vendors roamed and shouted, hawking whatever wares they could still gather.

  "Two silver coins for a basket of bread? That's outrageous!" a disgruntled buyer protested, waving a worn pouch of coins in frustration.

  "I know, I know," the vendor replied hurriedly, gncing around. "But we have no choice. Qua-Toyne raised their prices again after what happened a month ago. We have to survive too."

  Before more compints could rise, a sudden commotion echoed from a nearby tavern. Voices were raised, chairs scraped loudly against stone, and the telltale sounds of a brawl broke out. Quin enforcers, wearing their patchwork armor and carrying short batons, rushed toward the scene-clearly unprepared for anything beyond petty theft.

  Then, without warning-

  BANG.

  One of the brawlers colpsed to the ground, screaming in agony as he clutched his knee. Smoke trailed from a pistol still warm in the hand of an elf-his presence unmistakable. He stood tall at the edge of the scene, cloaked in a sleek, polished uniform far more refined than the dusty rags of the Quin enforcers.

  "Everyone, step back!" he barked, voice sharp and commanding. "And you-Quins! Is this how you handle a fight? Do you do anything beyond breathing and whining? If it weren't for the overseer's mercy, your kind would've been jobless long ago."

  "Sir! They were getting violent. And we've only got batons-if you'd let us carry firearms-"

  "And have you turn them on us?" the elf sneered. His voice dripped with disdain. "Never. Not in your pitiful little lifespans. Clean up this mess, lock up the others, and get that one to the ward before he bleeds out."

  Nearby, a cloaked figure leaned in toward a wary vendor. "They're quite a piece of work, aren't they?"

  The vendor grunted. "Yeah. And they've only grown more oppressive these past few weeks. Who are you supposed to be?"

  "Just a traveler. But who are they? And why are they so embedded here?"

  "A traveler, huh? Sure. I won't pry. Those are Qua-Toynian Peacekeepers-or so they cim. Been here for two centuries, ever since the Heavenly Kingdom steamrolled the United Tribes of Qui and spped the 'protectorate' bel on us. That title doesn't mean protection-it means control."

  A deep, thunderous roar echoed across the sky as a flock of wyverns swept overhead, mounted by armored riders with long nces and glowing banners trailing behind.

  "That's the fourth time today," the vendor muttered, shielding his eyes as he looked up. "There's been too much movement tely. Something's brewing with the Qua-Toynians, I'm telling you..." He paused, gncing to his side. "You should probabl-wait. Where'd you go?"

  The traveler had vanished without a sound.

  High above, the wyverns continued their flight in a wide arc-until a burst of static came through their comms.

  "16th Wyvern Squadron, this is Headquarters. Come in."

  "This is Commander Marl Patima of the 16th Squadron. Reading you."

  "We've received reports from coastal fishermen-unusual activity in the eastern sea. The 1st Fleet is mobilizing, but they're still hours out. We need immediate recon."

  "Copy that," Marl responded. "16th Squadron redirecting east. Ascend and accelerate-we fly now."

  The wyverns shifted formation, streaking into the morning sky, their shadows racing over the city below.

  Easter Sea of RodeniusApproximately Seventy Nautical Miles Off the Coast

  The sea roared violently beneath a gray, storm-swept sky. Towering waves crashed against a fleet of dark, angur warships-massive steel beasts with hulls that defied the ocean's fury. Yet, they didn't so much as shudder. This was no ordinary armada-this was the 2nd Imperial Fleet. Fifty-five ships strong, it was the Empire's most elite naval formation. Forged in the crucible of the First World War in 1902, the fleet had carved its name into history-quelling rebellions, striking first in dozens of conflicts, and famously retaliating during the brutal "Strike on Fleet Week of 2137".

  Dornel leaned over the railing, face pale, knuckles white. "Dear god... I'm gonna be sick."

  He gagged as another wave sent a salty spray over the deck. "Why didn't we just fly there...?"

  Behind him, a voice cool as steel cut through the wind. "That's because of the gravitational anomalies we've been encountering in this region. We can't risk airborne transit until we've completed more scans. And even then, only if I give the order."

  Dornel jumped at the voice and snapped into a sloppy salute. The man before him wore a tailored bck uniform with golden trim-his cap marked by the Imperial Crest, his insignia unlike any Dornel had seen before.

  "Good morning, sir! Sergeant Dornel, Volkovian Volunteer Forces, 1st Ptoon!"

  The man studied him with faint amusement. "Ah, so you're the Volkovian they've all been whispering about. The one that actually stood out." He turned on his heel. "Walk with me."

  They entered through a bulkhead into the belly of the fgship-an interior that stood in stark contrast to the battered steel exterior. Bright white LED strips illuminated a pristine corridor lined with armored doors and automated wall panels, each blinking with status readouts. Everything smelled of sterilized metal and ozone. The hum of machinery echoed with each step. Gilded banners bearing the Imperial emblem fluttered in the controlled airflow.

  The deeper they walked, the more byrinthine the structure became. Dornel passed rooms filled with analysts, automated drones, and reinforced conference chambers sealed by biometric locks. Every surface was polished. Every crew member that passed them clicked their heels in salute.

  "Sir... if I may-why have you called for me?"

  The officer stopped beside a sealed viewport, giving Dornel a sharp gnce. "I'm officially taking you in as my aide. Your file is... interesting. Your people surrendered, but you? You adapted. I want to see just how well you perform under pressure."

  He extended a gloved hand. "Right. I haven't introduced myself. Diplomatic Officer Lucien Kohl-Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I've been assigned full jurisdiction over the 2nd Imperial Fleet and, by the Emperor's decree, command over all first-contact protocol in this world."

  His expression hardened, eyes sharp beneath his officer's cap.

  "You're going to help me decide who we speak to... and who we silence."

  Suddenly, the ship's internal speakers crackled to life, bring through the corridors with a steady, commanding tone.

  "All personnel, report to your assigned stations. Officer Lucien, please proceed to the bridge immediately. Repeat: Officer Lucien, please proceed to the bridge."

  The message echoed three more times before Lucien gave Dornel a quick nod.

  "Looks like we've got something. Let's move."

  They quickened their pace through the vessel's winding halls, boots striking the polished floors with echoing precision. As the reinforced doors to the bridge slid open with a mechanical hiss, the hum of systems and low murmur of officers filled the air. The moment Lucien stepped in, all personnel straightened and snapped to a crisp salute.

  "At ease," Lucien said sharply as he approached the central command ptform. "Admiral, report."

  The fleet's admiral-a hardened man with salt-and-pepper hair and a chest full of medals-stepped forward from the console.

  "Officer Lucien, we've detected twelve radar contacts, inbound to our position. ETA: forty-five minutes."

  Lucien's eyes narrowed. "Hmph. The fishing vessels must've reported us. Can't be helped. Instruct the fleet to maintain course-no changes in posture. Begin precautionary measures. Ready primary weapons and unch the intercept squadrons. I want a fighter screen in the air within five minutes."

  He paused, gaze sweeping across the digital dispys. "Do we have any identification on the contacts?"

  "Yes, sir," a radar officer called out, fingers flying across the console. "Thermal and visual scans confirm them as biologicals-rge airborne reptiles. Wyverns, most likely. Size and wing ratio match those we've cataloged during earlier mainnd sweeps."

  Lucien raised a brow. "Flying in formation?"

  "Affirmative. Tight V-pattern. Definitely not wild."

  "Then they're riders. Possibly a military or elite unit from one of the local factions," Lucien muttered, tapping his chin. "Deploy electronic countermeasures but keep weapon locks passive. No need to provoke them-yet."

  The bridge fell into a tense silence as the countdown ticked away. Officers manned their stations, watching screens fsh with telemetry data and targeting readouts. The gentle rumble of unching interceptors reverberated through the hull.

  Then-

  "Visual contact!" one of the deck officers called out, raising a pair of binocurs to the forward viewport. "Altitude: low clouds. Twelve confirmed. Coming into view now!"

  Through the reinforced gss, shapes began to materialize from the misty horizon. Large, scaled creatures with powerful wings and armored riders upon their backs. The wyverns cut through the sky like ancient specters of war, their presence primal, alien... yet undeniably intelligent in maneuver.

  The bridge stood still, watching the encroaching formation with a mix of awe and caution. Weapons primed, fighters circling above, the 2nd Imperial Fleet was ready.

  Lucien folded his arms behind his back and stared into the horizon.

  "Let's see what this world intends to throw at us first."

  "Officer Lucien, how do you propose we communicate with them? There's no way I can allow them to nd on one of our ships-let alone dock on our carriers."

  The Admiral's voice was steady, but clearly concerned as he gestured toward the tactical dispy. "And even if I did approve it, they wouldn't be able to nd anyway. Our deckless designs make that impossible."

  It was true. Alnanian carrier doctrine had long evolved past traditional flight deck configurations. With the rise of next-gen VTOL technology and teral catapult unch systems, carriers no longer needed sprawling topside runways. Instead, they featured reinforced armored exteriors, modur bay ports along their fnks, and internal hangar lifts that could unch or retrieve squadrons from concealed compartments. This shift allowed carriers to double down on defensive armor pting, active shield matrices, and low-profile stealth geometry, turning the once-vulnerable supercarriers into heavily armed fortresses of the sea.

  Lucien folded his arms behind his back, eyes still on the holoscreen. "Of course it's out of the question. Letting one of those creatures nd would be suicidal. And we can't risk miscommunication using archaic fg signals either-for all we know, we'd be decring war."

  He paused.

  "But... body nguage has remained remarkably universal across cultures. Hand gestures, posturing-primitive but surprisingly effective. Have the teams monitor closely. Look for any signs of intentional signaling."

  Moments ter, one of the officers leaned forward. "Sir-uh, I think one of them is trying something."

  On the central holographic dispy, one of the wyvern riders pulled away slightly from the formation. The camera zoomed in as the figure began gesturing-waving his hand wide and high, then pointing firmly to his chest... then outward, gesturing toward the direction they came from. The motion repeated several times before he pulled back into formation.

  Then, the entire wyvern group banked hard, turning back the way they had arrived.

  Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Did he just... tell us to follow him?"

  "It certainly looked like it, sir," the officer confirmed. "The gestures were deliberate. Consistent."

  "Alright then. Send a pair of our fighters to tail them. Maintain strict observation-no weapons lock, no sudden movements. Let's not give them a reason to see us as a threat."

  "Understood."

  Within seconds, two interceptor fighters peeled from the fleet's screen. Twin sonic booms echoed across the sky as the sleek craft banked westward, engines fring as they accelerated to supersonic speed. It didn't take long before they caught up to the wyvern squadron-who, sensing the approach, slowed and maintained formation. The two aircraft adjusted their velocity, pulling into position alongside the riders.

  There was visible tension. Several wyvern riders gnced sideways, hands near weapons, clearly uncertain about the flying metal machines pacing them. But no weapons were drawn.

  They flew in formation for just over fifteen minutes. Ocean gave way to distant silhouettes-ships.

  A fleet.

  Massive in number but clearly older in construction. Their wooden hulls, multiple sails, and traditional rigging contrasted starkly against the sleek imperial steel of the 2nd Fleet. They flew banners of green cloth, billowing in the salty wind. The symbol was just barely distinguishable: a woman wielding a fiery sword, radiant with embroidered thread-likely a national emblem.

  The fighters veered upward, passing once overhead. Then, in a respectful gesture, the pilots dipped their wings and offered a salute.

  Surprisingly, several of the wyvern riders returned the gesture, pounding their fists to their chests or raising their weapons skyward.

  With the message received and contact made, the fighters peeled off in a smooth arc, breaking away from the formation and accelerating back toward the 2nd Fleet.

  Lucien watched silently as the holoscreen repyed the footage.

  "Looks like we've just been invited."

  An Hour Later - Qua-Toyne 1st Emissarian FleetTES Herald of the Emissaries - Capital Ship

  Midori, the admiral of the fleet, peered through his telescope, his eyes narrowing at the strange metallic vessels steadily approaching them from the horizon. This was the first time he had ever seen such a rge number of metal ships gathered in one formation. Though his own fleet was rger in number, it was clear they were no match for whatever force y ahead. Still, the entire fleet was on high alert, combat-ready should the situation turn hostile.

  "Where do you think they came from, Admiral?" the captain asked, his voice tense.

  "They're definitely not Parpaldian. They don't resemble anything like their new dreadnoughts," Midori replied, not taking his eyes off the alien ships.

  "Could it be Milishial? These might be some of their newer warships."

  "I doubt it. The Milishials would've approached from the west," he said, pausing for a breath. "Besides, why would their asses be all the way out here? Aren't they still dealing with tensions with the Muan Congressional Union?"

  "There's been news that Mu is arming other nations. Maybe this is a Mu-sponsored fleet?"

  "Out of the question. Mu wouldn't go out of their way to arm some random nation on the other side of the world. And like I said—they'd be coming from the west. No sane fleet would cross the eastern ocean. It's far too vast and dangerous."

  He lowered the telescope slightly, brows furrowed in thought. Whoever these newcomers were, they weren't from any known power. And that made them all the more dangerous.

  Rumors had recently begun to circute throughout the Heavenly Kingdom—terrifying ones. A new nation was said to have emerged west of the Second Civilized Continent. Reports cimed that this mysterious power had utterly destroyed and subjugated the Sovereign Realm of Leifor, one of the five great superpowers of the world. If the metal fleet before them belonged to that nation, then it could spell the end for Qua-Toyne—and worse, bring disgrace upon the Emissaries.

  "Admiral! Something's happening on one of their ships!" a crewman called out, his voice strained with urgency.

  Midori snapped the telescope back to his eye. Sure enough, activity stirred aboard one of the lead metal vessels. A rge hatch on its deck was opening—and from it, a strange, metallic creature emerged. It had the shape of a bird, though it clearly wasn't alive. Blue fmes roared from nozzles beneath its wings, lifting it into the sky with an unnatural steadiness.

  The metallic bird hovered for a moment, stabilizing itself before turning toward Midori's fleet. It shot forward with astonishing speed and reached them in seconds. The strange contraption began circling above, focusing particurly on Midori's fgship. The sight alone struck fear into the hearts of the crew across every ship in the formation.

  "Admiral! What do we do?" the vice-captain asked, his voice caught between awe and panic.

  "Signal the fleet—do not fire! But keep all weapons at the ready. I don't want to spark an incident," Midori ordered firmly.

  "Admiral! The beast—it's opening its belly! There's... a person inside!"

  Everyone watched in stunned silence as a panel on the side of the flying machine retracted. From within, a figure emerged, securely harnessed and standing inside the open hatch. The person—dressed in unfamiliar gear and wearing a helmet with a reflective visor—was waving energetically at the fleet below.

  Then, the figure began making hand gestures—broad, deliberate, and repeated. One arm reached out and pointed at Midori's ship, followed by a closed fist pounding over the heart—a universal gesture of peace or respect. Then, both arms pointed downward, followed by the thumbs pointing inward toward the person, then again at the ship.

  "They want to come aboard..." Midori muttered, transting the message aloud. "They're signaling they wish to nd—probably to communicate."

  The gestures repeated in the same sequence. This wasn't an act of randomness—it was calcuted, almost like a nguage of its own.

  Midori's mind raced. Whoever these people were, they had technology far beyond comprehension. But they weren't being openly hostile—at least not yet.

  "Prepare to receive them," he said grimly. "If they wanted us dead, we'd be sunk already."

  He turned to his officers. "Get a nding signal ready. And pray to the emissaries this doesn't go badly."

  Soon, the fleet began to shift formation, creating a wide clearing around the fgship to allow the metallic flying creature enough space to maneuver beside the Herald of the Emissaries. The strange craft descended steadily, its engines humming with a smooth, almost eerie resonance. Eventually, it hovered just off the side of Midori's ship before stabilizing.

  With a soft hiss, a ramp extended from the aircraft's side, and a small group of individuals disembarked and stepped aboard the ship.

  Six figures in total.

  Five of them wore sleek, bck-and-gold uniforms with tactical gear that was completely unfamiliar to Midori. Their faces were obscured by bck helmets with tinted visors—mask-like, but clearly functional. Each of them carried a compact bck weapon, its design streamlined and deadly in appearance. Soldiers, without question.

  But the sixth figure stood out. At the head of the group was a man wearing a more refined, ceremonial variant of the same uniform. His helmet was translucent, revealing his face beneath. Unlike the others, he carried no visible weapon, though his demeanor exuded calm authority.

  Midori stepped forward to meet them.

  "I am Admiral Midori of the 1st Emissarian Fleet. You are currently on course toward the territorial waters of the Heavenly Kingdom of Qua-Toyne. State your intentions," he said firmly, though respectfully.

  The man tilted his head slightly, as though analyzing Midori's words. Then, in a low voice, he muttered something unfamiliar.

  "Merz?e..."

  He raised a hand, signaling with an open palm to wait a moment, then tapped rapidly on a sleek metal device strapped to his wrist—a data pad of some kind. From it, a synthetic voice spoke in a foreign tongue:

  "Kore rikai dekimasu ka?"

  Midori narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like Fennesh... but we don't have anyone on board fluent in the nguage."

  He shook his head.

  The man sighed, clearly disappointed, and tapped the device again. The pad spoke once more, cycling through nguages:

  "Você entende isso?""Hal tafham hadha?""Apakah Anda mengerti ini?""Igeol ihaehasinayo?"

  Then finally—

  "Verstisci—do you... understand this?"

  Midori's eyes widened. "Yes, I do now. You're speaking the Common Tongue?"

  "Excellent," the man replied, voice now his own, not synthesized. "You understand Sicnale—an old dialect. Lucky for both of us, I picked it up during my spare time as a kid."

  He paused, coughing once. "Kh—kff! Sorry. Dust," one of the masked soldiers muttered in their own tongue behind him.

  The man in front straightened his posture. "Apologies for the dey. Could you repeat what you said earlier?"

  Midori nodded. "I am Admiral Midori of the 1st Emissarian Fleet. You are currently on course to the territorial waters of the Heavenly Kingdom of Qua-Toyne. State your intentions."

  The deck fell silent for a breath. The visitors from the sky exchanged brief gnces—measured, professional.

  Then, the envoy finally spoke.

  "I am Diplomatic Officer Lucien Kohl," he announced, his voice smooth yet resonant. "Envoy of the Imperial Federation of Alnania—representing the empire and its Emperor."

  He let the name hang in the air for a moment, giving Midori and his officers time to absorb it.

  "We are here under direct orders to initiate diplomatic contact with the inhabitants of this world. Our fleet is currently conducting a strategic survey of regional powers, territorial boundaries, and cultural frameworks. As part of that mission, we are reaching out to your nation, the so-called Heavenly Kingdom of Qua-Toyne, to establish channels of communication, and to ensure peaceful understanding between our worlds."

  His gaze remained steady, firm but not hostile.

  "That said," Lucien continued, his tone tightening ever so slightly, "you should understand—our presence here is not incidental. The Imperial Federation does not stumble into unknown waters blindly, nor does it act without cause. We are not scouts. We are the vanguard."

  The five armored soldiers behind him remained perfectly still, a silent but potent reminder of the power he represented.

  "We come with words first. But the Imperial Federation stands ready, should words fail."

  A pause.

  Then Lucien's expression softened, if only slightly.

  "That said... we do not seek conflict. Not with your fleet, not with your kingdom. But we expect the same courtesy in return. Cooperation... would be mutually beneficial."

  He extended his hand, gloved and firm.

  "Admiral Midori. Shall we begin?"

  "Understood, then," Midori replied with a nod. "I'll rey your intentions to our government immediately." He turned slightly and motioned to one of his officers. "Send the message—full diplomatic alert. Make sure it reaches the capital without dey."

  The officer saluted and rushed off to carry out the order.

  Midori then looked back at the envoy, his gaze curious. "If you don't mind me asking... what's with the masks?"

  Lucien offered a faint smile beneath the transparent visor.

  "Ah, that. The Imperial Federation has exercised the maximum level of caution during this first-contact scenario," he expined smoothly. "As a policy, we wear sealed masks and gloves during initial encounters to prevent any possible cross-contamination—particurly exposure to native pathogens."

  He gestured gently toward Midori and his men.

  "Your people may be naturally immune to certain local diseases that could be dangerous or even lethal to us—and the reverse is also true. We don't want either side falling ill over a handshake."

  There was no arrogance in his voice—just a calm, pragmatic tone that suggested they'd done this sort of thing before.

  "A temporary measure, of course. Once medical protocols are verified and biological compatibility is established, the masks can come off. But for now, we take no chances. I trust you understand."

  "Very well," Midori said, his tone calm but firm. "In the interest of mutual respect and safety, may I request that your fleet maintain a secure distance from ours?"

  Officer Lucien gave a small nod. "That's a reasonable request." He turned to one of his aides and motioned silently. The message was reyed instantly.

  Midori offered a slight bow. "Thank you, Officer Lucien."

  "Admiral Midori, with your permission, I would like for myself and my escort to remain aboard while we await your government's response. It will demonstrate good faith on our part."

  Midori studied the man for a moment, his expression unreadable. The bridge was silent save for the low hum of the ship's systems.

  "You may remain," he said finally. "But be aware—this is a military vessel. I expect your detail to respect all protocols and refrain from wandering. Any breach of conduct will be taken seriously."

  "Understood," Officer Lucien replied, csping his hands behind his back. "You have my word. We'll wait patiently."

  And with that, the tension eased—if only slightly.

  A historic moment had just unfolded. For the first time since their arrival in this world, a successful, peaceful first contact had been established. There was no gunfire. No misunderstanding. No bloodshed.

  Now, two fleets—one forged in steel and driven by reactor cores, the other of wood and canvas, shaped by tradition and magic—drifted across the Eastern Sea, staring each other down across the waves. Neither hostile. Neither advancing. Just waiting.

  Waiting for a signal from their respective nations.

  Waiting for history to decide its next move.

  Sacred Capital - Heavenly Kingdom of Qua-ToyneHeavenly Halls of Emmisaria - Conference Room

  A low din of voices echoed across the grand marble chamber, where the flicker of crystalline chandeliers danced across the polished obsidian walls. The grand rectangur table was surrounded by a tempest of voices—representatives, ministers, and military officials from across the kingdom and its protectorates. Heavy footsteps echoed as attendants adjusted documents, and the rustle of silk and parchment mingled with the low murmur of heated side conversations. The table was adorned with the sigils of the Emissaries. Scrolls, glowing data tablets, and thick binders filled the space, creating an almost chaotic tapestry of power in motion. A muffled ticking of a rge wall-mounted clock cut through the murmuring.

  At the head of the chamber sat Prime Minister Kanata, cd in a deep green robe lined with silver—a mark of his station and his direct connection to Her Holiness. His sharp eyes scanned the room like a hawk over prey, and the mere lift of his hand was enough to silence the growing unrest.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, this session is now in order." his voice was calm—yet beneath it y the unmistakable edge of menace. All chatter ceased.

  "Let us begin with the deteriorating situation in the Quin Protectorates," his voice was calm, measured—yet carried the kind of authority that left no room for questions. He turned slightly, his eyes locking onto a pale, sharp-eared figure seated halfway down the table. "Overseer Vandil."

  Vandil stood slowly, robes trailing behind him like liquid ink. His face was pale, almost gaunt, eyes glowing faintly with Elven ancestry and stress alike.

  "Prime Minister, the Protectorate situation has escated beyond our initial forecasts. Discontent has risen 16% in the past quarter alone—multiple attacks on peacekeeper outposts, riots have erupted in three major districts, three supply caravans hijacked, and just st week, a supply convoy was ambushed—seven peacekeepers were burned alive inside their transport. In the outer districts of Barakesh, there was an attempted insurrection—put down, but barely."

  He unfurled a series of documents and projected a map of the Quin Protectorates unto the mana crystal, rge swathes of it now marked in ominous red. The highlighted zones pulsed slightly on the dispy—clear indicators of rising unrest, rebel activity, and regions slipping beyond direct control.

  "These are the current hotspots, Prime Minister," he said, his voice grim. "Each red zone represents either confirmed insurgent presence or areas where our peacekeepers have lost effective authority."

  "After st month's price hike on basic exports, their resentment boiled over. Fires, riots, coordinated resistance cells. Frankly, Prime Minister, our current garrison is overstretched. I must request an additional company of armed troops and authorization for expanded martial w protocols."

  The chamber was still, heavy with tension. Kanata's fingers drummed once against the wood, echoing softly.

  "Granted. Her Holiness would never allow these mongrel Quins to disrupt our divine mission westward."

  He leaned back as if contempting something deeper. Then his gaze shifted."Speaking of which, Foreign Minister Iras. Report on the Kingdom of Louria."

  A woman in a high-colred cloak with runic threads spoke, voice clipped and precise.

  "Prime Minister... negotiations have become increasingly delicate. Their government is undergoing democratization reforms—a sign of weakness if you ask me. They've requested an additional 3% increase in food imports, which we can technically provide, but..." she hesitated. "...the optics of feeding these savages from our sacred granaries are not... ideal."

  Kanata's eyes narrowed.

  "And the artifact? The one they discovered near their border two months ago?"

  "Yes, Prime Minister. I've liaised with the Emissarian Archives. Based on descriptions and the sketches obtained, it is highly likely to be the 'Ahtoh-míth Bahm', the legendary fme catalyst used during the Demonic Invasion to summon celestial firestorms."

  A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. Murmurs stirred across the table—one part awe, one part fear.

  Kanata stood slightly, casting a long shadow over the table and in a voice colder than before.

  "We must recover this artifact. Offer them anything within reason—but if negotiations stall, you are authorized to pursue military recmation. These relics do not belong in barbarian hands."

  Foreign Minister Iras bowed her head in silence. "Understood, Prime Minister."

  The room fell into tense quiet, save for the low hum of magical wards that buzzed faintly from the crystal inys across the floor—protective enchantments woven into the very foundation of the chamber, pulsing with quiet authority. A storm was brewing, and everyone present knew: this was only the beginning.

  "Her Holiness has an announcement to make," Kanata decred, rising slightly from his seat as murmurs quieted. "The Emissaries draw near. In preparation, our architects have begun constructing the first series of Emissarian Artifacts—divine instruments to aid us in the sacred mission of uniting this continent in the months to come."

  He surveyed the room, eyes hardening with purpose. "All of you are hereby ordered to commit every necessary resource to this cause. Begin covert operations, intensify diplomatic outreach, secure military logistics, and accelerate theological research into the Emissarian legacy. We must meet the Emissaries with reverence and strength."

  Just as he prepared to adjourn the session, the chamber doors swung open with urgency. An aide rushed in, face pale and voice tense.

  "Forgive the interruption, Prime Minister, but we've just received an urgent communiqué from Admiral Midori of the 1st Emissarian Fleet. It concerns the Eastern Sea—unusual activity confirmed."

  Foreign Minister Iras accepted the dispatch with furrowed brows, skimming the contents swiftly. "What does it say, Minister?" Kanata asked.

  "Earlier this morning, following local reports from fishermen of unknown sightings, the 16th Wyvern Squadron and the 1st Emissarian Fleet were dispatched to investigate," Iras began. "They encountered a fleet of unfamiliar, metallic warships—unlike anything in our naval registries."

  "Metal warships?" a military advisor muttered. "Parpaldian dreadnoughts, perhaps? Or one of the western superpowers?"

  "No," Iras said firmly. "The report crifies: these vessels unched a metallic flying beast—capable of human transport—which docked with Admiral Midori's fgship. The envoys identified themselves as representatives of the Imperial Federation of Alnania, ciming to come from the far eastern seas."

  A collective hush fell across the chamber.

  "The far east?" someone echoed in disbelief. "That stretch of ocean is a death trap. No known nation in the region has ever navigated through it and lived to tell the tale."

  "And yet, here they are," Kanata muttered, tapping a finger against the polished table. "What do they want?"

  "They request formal diplomatic discussions. They await our response."

  Kanata stood tall. "Inform them that we are willing to meet. Have their fleet anchor at Maihark. Their delegation is to be escorted to the Sacred Capital under armed guard and full ceremony."

  "Understood," Iras replied, signaling to the aide. "Rey our acceptance to Admiral Midori immediately. I will personally lead the diplomatic reception."

  "I'll accompany you," Kanata added. "Her Holiness will no doubt wish to hear firsthand what these outsiders have to say."

  "Very well," Iras nodded. "We'll begin preparations at once."

  Kanata gnced around the room, the weight of history heavy in the silence that followed. "This day has become far more eventful than expected."

  He paused one final time before striking his gavel."This session is adjourned."

  A meeting of two worlds has begun.

  Qua-Toyne 1st Emissarian FleetTES Herald of the Emissaries

  It had been nearly two and a half hours since Officer Lucien first set foot on the Emissarian fgship. While the tension had eased slightly, the atmosphere remained charged with anticipation. The once-busy decks had quieted, with most of the crew returning to routine tasks—some performing maintenance checks, others resting or eating—but Lucien and his security detail stood unwavering.

  Lucien, dressed in his bck and gold-trimmed uniform, remained composed, occasionally tapping through his sleek datapad, reviewing diplomatic protocols, encoded messages, and fleet positioning updates from the Imperial Federation's command network. His guards, armed and stoic, stood alert beside him, scanning the surroundings with a calcuted intensity born from decades of warfare, armed diplomacy and diplomatic incidents.

  Then came the sound of polished boots against the wooden deck.

  "Officer Lucien," Admiral Midori's voice called out as he approached with firm, deliberate steps. His expression was composed, but there was no mistaking the underlying caution in his tone. "I've just received an official reply from our capital."

  Lucien looked up from his datapad, his demeanor shifting to full attention. "And what is the response, Admiral?"

  "The government has agreed to your request. They have authorized diplomatic discussions," Midori replied, hands folded behind his back. "You and your delegation are to return to your fleet and follow us to the port city of Maihark, where you will be escorted to the Sacred Capital for formal talks."

  He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "However, I must make this absolutely clear: during the voyage, your fleet is to make no sudden movements or unannounced maneuvers. Any deviation may be interpreted as a threat. Do I make myself understood?"

  Lucien nodded respectfully. "Perfectly clear, Admiral. The Imperial Federation appreciates your willingness to engage in peaceful dialogue. You have our word—our fleet will follow in strict formation and observe full protocol until we are in your territorial custody."

  Midori gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. "Very well. Then may the Emissaries watch over both our peoples in what comes next."

  As the conversation ended, the low hum of approaching engines signaled the return of the Alnanian dropship. The sleek, angur metallic vessel hovered beside the Emissarian ship, its magnetic cmps ready for boarding. Lucien and his detail ascended the ramp with practiced precision.

  With a final salute, Lucien turned back toward Midori. "We'll see you in Maihark."

  The hatch sealed shut, and moments ter, the craft lifted off, cutting through the air with a high-pitched roar before vanishing into the horizon, streaking back toward the waiting 2nd Imperial Fleet.

  Down below, the decks buzzed once again, the crew moving into position as the Emissarian vessels shifted formation and began leading the way.

  Above the sea, the sky darkened ever so slightly, clouds forming a scattered veil across the te afternoon sun.

  In that moment, neither side could truly know what the coming days would bring—cooperation or confrontation, enlightenment or camity. But the pieces had been moved, and the first chapter of a new era had begun.

  Would this be the dawn of mutual understanding—or the opening act of a cataclysm yet to unfold?

  -------------

  Next Chapter:Silent Front

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  Notes:Hey everyone, Jod here!

  Quick heads-up—if the diplomacy, politics, or any of the "serious worldbuilding" stuff feels a bit off or not super accurate... yeah, that's on me. I'm not exactly deep-diving into textbooks for this; I'm mostly going with what feels right for the story and the world I'm building. So if something seems weird or unrealistic, just know it's all part of the fun—and definitely not me trying to write a UN simution or anything.

  This is a passion project, and I'm just doing my best to bance cool moments, dramatic tensions, and a story that's enjoyable to read without stressing too much over realism. I hope you're all still vibing with it!

  As always, thanks so much for reading, and I appreciate you sticking around. Comments and suggestions are always welcome—they help keep the motivation alive.

  'Til next time!