Tears of Blood and Fire

[Ardreas]

Tears of Blood and Fire

Set during the War of Skyfire (6:64-6:68 Cloud by the Ardrean calendar. Circa Anno 14-18 Conflictus by the Invictian calendar.) {about 125 years ago from the modern narrative}, this story is about two young men from different corners of the world who come together and become the closest of friends. Enduring the hardship of war and a clash of personal values, they eventually form a bond greater than almost any. But along the way they are split by a terrible divide: the love of the same woman. Friction builds between the two friends, and they are almost to the point of breaking when the woman’s village is destroyed by a fire bombing. Now the young men must race against time to find where their lover has gone. As the battle lines close in and the land is overrun by war, the two friends must decide where their true loyalties lie. Do they bug out with the rest of their squad? Or do they risk it all by going behind enemy lines to find the only person they both love with all their hearts?

Tears of Blood and Fire is an epic saga spanning four years during the bloodiest war Aedes has yet known. It is a tale of love and loss, of friendship and struggle, and it will leave your heart in turmoil as it makes you confront the most important question: When the whole world goes to hell around you, what is the one thing you won’t let go of?

(Note to moderators: This roleplay belongs here, in the Character Stories section, because it focuses on the lives of these two men. The events surrounding them are the background to their character development. This roleplay is not so much about our nations as it is about the people involved.)

(Note to other roleplayers: This is a closed roleplay between myself and Invictus. We have a story line set out with detailed information that we have been working on together. That being said, however, if you are really really interested in this story and believe you have something worthwhile to contribute, feel free to private message me, and we might be willing to consider letting you join. But do not just jump in. There is no room in this story for random, unexpected entries that pop in without warning.)

(Note to readers: It is my hope that you enjoy reading this unfolding story as much as I have enjoyed coming up with it. Stories are a passion of mine, and my partner Invictus shares a love for them as well. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that I hope this becomes an enjoyable reading experience for anyone passing by. And if you would like more information, please visit either of our nations over on nationstates and read up on our histories and culture. We have tried to bring our nations to life with lots of detail, and I think we have succeeded. So without anything further, please enjoy!)

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Tears of Blood and Fire
Chapter One: Blood Rain

Darkness. Pain.
The sun was veiled in shadow
And we sought its light in vain.

Scarlet. Stain.
The clouds turned red like crimson
As we witnessed the Blood Rain.

Revered Mother Lydia came to with a start and looked around to see if anyone had noticed her nod off. But she was alone. The eastern balcony of the Grand Cathedral was always empty this time of the morning, which was part of why she enjoyed coming here. She could get in a couple hours of private meditation without feeling the eyes of the other sisters watching her every move. At 31 years of age she was the youngest woman ever raised to the position of Revered Mother, and there were whispers among the Chantry that she had bought the position. Of course that was ridiculous! Lydia knew she had done no such thing. The Divine had seen something in her, she knew not what, and had made the decision to elevate her completely out of the blue. But try telling that to the jealous cloister of aspiring sisters that called the Cathedral home.

She sighed, rising to her feet and walking over to the balcony rail to look out over the city. This was the other reason she enjoyed coming here each day. The view was incredible! On a clear day she could see all the way to the Lion Bridge spanning the eastern river branch. But today the view would be different. Today the Academy had predicted an eclipse, and the Revered Mother wanted a good view to see it. But as the morning had worn on, she must have dozed off, and what was that dream? She frowned, the alien verse ringing in her mind like a warning bell. The sun was veiled in shadow… was that a reference to the eclipse? And where had she even read that? It certainly wasn’t a part of the Chant of Light, neither was it a passage out of Ariel’s Diary. No, this was something else, something… pagan.

Lydia shuddered. If the other sisters learned she’d been dreaming about pagan prophecies she’d be finished for sure! And yet she couldn’t get the words out of her head. But where had she heard them? And why dream about it now? Taking a deep breath she tried to calm her heart and tell herself that it was just a little nervousness in anticipation of the eclipse. There was nothing to worry about…

* * * *

Across the market district at the Grand Central Rail Station, a young man from Abaline was disembarking the train. Anthony Rawlings was tall and muscular with an unkempt head of sandy hair that he never bothered to comb. At 19 years of age he was the image of Ardrean youth and vitality… He was also nervous as hell. This was the first time he’d been to the capital, and indeed the first time he’d ventured so far from home on his own. For a moment, as he stood taking in the sights and sounds of the big city, he felt a pang of homesickness; but only for a moment. There was no going back and he knew it. The rift was too wide now, the bridges burned. If he was to have any future, it lay in Arrellia.

Shouldering his pack, the tall country boy made his way through the crowd and out onto the street. But if he was expecting the crowds to clear once he left the station, he was sorely disappointed. Arrellia was the beating heart of the Imperial Republic, and here there was no such thing as an empty street. There were people everywhere, from all corners of the nation. And for the first time in his life, Anthony felt completely overwhelmed.

Suddenly a high-pitched beep caught his ear and he turned to look. There in the street, amid the horse-drawn carriages, was one peculiar contraption: a carriage that seemed to be pulling itself! Anthony couldn’t help but stare as the four-wheeled machine rambled by, parting crowds and startling horses as it went. He’d heard about such things, using an experimental engine that burned some kind of liquid fuel imported from Invictus. But this was the first he’d seen up close. Truly Arrellia was an amazing place! And as he continued on down the street, his head filled with wonder, Anthony Rawlings thought there was no better place to start a new life…

* * * *

It was 11 o’clock when the sun began to darken as the eclipse started. At first it was barely noticeable, a number of scattered clouds having drifted overhead casting random shadows everywhere. In fact, the slow dimming of the sun seemed like nothing more than the veiling of its light by one such errant cloud. But as noon approached, the darkness became more pronounced. Traffic in the streets began to slow as curious carriage drivers paused to look up. The days were long past since eclipses were feared as omens. Now, in this age of science and industry, they were seen as opportunities to view the wonders of nature.

Some astronomers from Aristhines Academy had set up telescopes at vantage points around the city and invited students from the various schools to come out and observe the event. And, as the eclipse became total, activities across the capital ground to a halt as all eyes turned skyward.

Lydia stood on the balcony, gazing out at the gathering darkness with feelings mixed between excitement and uneasiness. The words from her dream refused to leave her head, and somehow she had a sense of anticipation. But despite her concerns, which she tried to dismiss as nonsense, the eclipse was fascinating to watch, and it held her full attention.

Suddenly something wet struck her cheek and she jumped. Was it starting to rain? She thought to herself, instinctively reaching up a hand to feel the spot. Her fingers brushed at something sticky and she frowned, pulling the hand away to gaze at her extended fingers. They were red. Is this blood? Her mind screamed the question as her eyes refused to believe what she was looking at. Just then another drop struck her, then another. And suddenly the air was filled with a cascade of red droplets. Lydia stared up in horror, transfixed by the sight of blood falling from the sky in a deluge of putrid rain. The sun was almost completely blotted out now, its faint light casting an eerie glow upon the horrific downpour. But the worst part for Lydia was that from this angle, looking straight up, it appeared that the sun itself was bleeding.

As she stood staring, a terrible wail rose up from the streets below as the massive crowds that had gathered to watch the eclipse were suddenly showered in falling blood. She wanted to call out to them, offer some comfort or tell them to find shelter, but she couldn’t bring herself to move, let alone find voice enough to reach the streets. The shock was too great. It was literally raining blood, just as she had dreamed. What does it mean?

* * * *

Anthony Rawlings cursed and sputtered as he took shelter under the canvas awning of a food stand in the market. All around people were shouting in confusion and chaos. Across the square a group of horses got spooked by the smell of blood and all the noise. Their drivers lost control of them, and suddenly the animals bolted, stampeding through the market in a wild gallop. Many people were trampled and soon the confusion had turned into a general panic. It was all the country boy could do to hold onto his place of shelter and not get carried away by the frantic crowd.

He closed his eyes, gripping the frame of the vendor’s stand until his knuckles turned white. He’d never been particularly religious, but he figured if there was ever a day that warranted a prayer to the Maker, it was today.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anthony noticed the sounds of the crowd were dying down. Opening his eyes he peered out at the market, but soon wished he hadn’t. The sight before him was revolting. The ground was stained red with blood. Several vendor stalls were overturned, and he could make out the shapes of a few bodies lying motionless. But at least the blood rain had stopped. Where did that even come from? His mind demanded, and he stepped out from under the awning to gaze up at the dark sky.

The eclipse was still under way, though it seemed to be waning now. Even as he watched a ray of sunlight shot forth and lit up the air, reflecting on something white and shimmering. He squinted, trying to get a better look. The white things were fluttering straight overhead, near a large cloud, looking like a flock of seagulls flying in a tight bunch. But as he watched they got closer, and he could see they weren’t birds at all but pieces of… paper?

He stared in wonder. First blood and now paper? What is this? His mind reeled. One of the sheets fluttered to the ground nearby and he stooped to pick it up. There was something written on it, in large-typed Arrellis. Clearing his throat he read the message.

Justice for the murdered souls of Enh-Morang. Life for life. Blood for blood. Your emperor’s sins are upon your heads!

“What the hell?” Anthony sputtered, glancing back up at the sky. “Is this some kind of twisted political message? What kind of sicko would even write this, let alone shower a city with blood!?” He asked, his eyes scanning the clouds for any sign of the perpetrator.

There was nothing at first, but after a moment, as the sunlight began to return, his eyes caught sight of a shape emerging from behind a cloud. He stared, trying to make sense of what exactly he was seeing. It was long and sleek with some kind of attachment underneath. As it slid out of the cloud and came into focus he realized that it was an airship, and a huge one at that. He marveled at how such a vessel could have remained hidden over the city for such a long time; then he understood the significance of the timing. “The eclipse!” He shouted in realization. “They were using it as cover… those clever bastards!” Then, more quietly he added, “But who are you?”

Whether by deliberation action or because of contrary winds the airship seemed to emerge from the cloud with tantalizing slowness. Its movement was like a dancer, merciless in her teasing, never quite revealing what she had to hide. Anthony balled his fists. “Come on you cowards, show your flag!” He shouted up at the mystery vessel. Nearby a chorus of grunts and murmuring joined him as others began to notice the craft high above and wonder the same thing, who are these people? Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the aft end of the airship emerged from the clouds, and just at that moment a burst of wind caught its ensign, unfurling it in a ray of sunlight for all Arrellia to see: the flag of the Dominion of Aengmir…

* * * *

A raging howl rose from across the city. The voices of a million furious Ardreans, humiliated in their own capital by a nation already despised. The noise reverberated off the walls and shook the windows even as high as the balcony where Revered Mother Lydia stood, aghast. She had seen it all, and she finally understood the reference to the blood rain. It was a passage she remembered from long ago, an excerpt from the writings of an Aengmiran expatriate living in exile here in Arrellia. She wracked her brain, trying to remember the man’s name. “Han-Lokar!” She exclaimed as the memory came flooding back to her. Ignored by many as a raving lunatic, Lokar had isolated himself away in his house on the outskirts of the city, continually writing ever more bizarre books as he continued on the descent into madness. Lydia had actually had the opportunity to meet him once, back when she was still a Chantry sister. The old man, she recalled, seemed to take a peculiar delight in reading excerpts from his books to her. Most of that meeting was a blur, but for some reason that one particular passage had stood out in her mind. And now she wondered if he somehow had known that this event was coming.

Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced through the din. The city’s call-to-arms siren was going off. Based on amplified industrial designs, the alarm system consisted of a half-dozen tall steam whistles mounted on towers around the city. Lydia had heard them go off once before during a test. But this time, with an Aengmiran airship looming overhead and the streets drenched in blood, it felt very different. It felt… real.

A searchlight activated on a tower across the square, then another and another. Soon the vessel was lit from stem to stern by powerful lights from the ground. The sun was nearly all the way out from behind the moon now, and its beams shone done adding to the growing glare. Lydia held her hands up to shade against the light and try to see what was going on. But she didn’t need to. A sudden boom followed by the whistling howl of something moving fast through the air told her that the Cloudburst Cannons had begun firing. Three more booms echoed in rapid succession just as the first shot impacted the Aengmiran vessel. And as she watched, the powerful, vicious shells struck the hapless craft over and over, splintering the hull and blowing holes in the hydrogen balloon. Suddenly the balloon burst into flames, and with the heat and power of the explosions, the hydrogen fueled the fire into a raging inferno, great enough to overwhelm the sun itself. It was a sight both horrifying and exhilarating, to watch that instrument of terror be blown from the sky.

A cheer went up from the masses below in the city. Thousands upon thousands cried out in vengeful triumph as the vessel of their torment was incinerated. But Lydia knew, this was not the end. Whatever had been the cause of this action today, it certainly was not over. In fact, this would only be the beginning…

[Invictus]

The Solarium, Outside of Spero, Anno Conflictus 14

“LAUDE SOL, ES MERCE
CON VE FORTI E PACE.”

The hypnotic and melodic chant continued endlessly as the Emanations of Sol converged in their circle and attempted to appeal to their heavenly Divine. Adorned in their classical white and gold robes, they shielded themselves and cast their eyes downward, refusing to face the angered sky.

The concerned residents of Spero looked onward, both at the distant ceremony on the hilltop, and the darkened sky above. It was an eclipse; a terrible omen in Solist theology, and therefore psychologically ingrained in most Invictians. The priests, who voluntarily dedicated their lives to the maintenance of nature and worship of Sol, sought to appease Him by such a ritual. These men believed, and history had shown, that horrific events occurred on these dreadful days. It was supposedly on such an eclipse when the ancestors of the Invictians fled from captivity in Daegi, and it was destroyed utterly. It was supposedly such a day when Robert Slatus carved his way through the Cartaal Forest, butchering countless native Czu tribesmen and leaving in its wake rivers of blood. Lightbearer Simus broke his meditation briefly in the center of the gathered priest to entertain a thought: What tragedy would Sol’s absence grant us today?

A few minutes passed before Zumi, the only Solist of Czu descent, awoke from his meditation and uttered a single word: "Balraya." Blood rain.

At last, with the ritual done, the priests began to converse among themselves about the cryptic premonition.

“Without Sol’s light, there is darkness. This world, in these times, is a very darkened place. The Ardreans, for example… they refuse to see! They worship a false god of steel and steam, and not the one of light and love,” spoke Roric, a junior member of the priesthood.

Upon hearing this, the elder priest’s thoughts turned to his son. In a strange way, the same scenario that the young priest had presented had applied to his spawn. His lip twinged slightly in sadness, before it was able to bring itself back into composure. Simus raised his graying head to address the younger man’s accusations.

“No. They are not without Sol…our Father has many aspects. They merely see Him in a different way. When Sol came to us all those ages ago, we needed his light. Illumination was necessary in order to guide us from the murder, death, and slavery of our fathers. The Ardreans… they feel his fire. It is true, they do not have all of His parts, but neither do we. Do not write them off as lost; they are young in spirit and must grow, as are many of our own. They have ability and are in need of tempered wisdom similar to how we have light and are in need of fire.”

Deep within the Cartaal Rainforest, Night of the Eclipse, A.C. 14

“FIRE!”

With that shout, the 21-year-old sprung to life from the confines of his amenable rainforest cabin, pushing aside his mid-length dark locks and rubbing his eyes as he peered out of the window. Surely enough, a growing blaze of vibrant orange illuminated the blackened sky of midnight. A fire it was, indeed.

“Sh*t,” he groaned, as nearly kicked down the door to his quarters and descended the ladder to the forest floor. He quickly scanned around him, squinting his eyes in an attempt to find anyone of use. There, in the distance, a man in his latter-twenties stood near the blaze, frantically throwing a small bucket of water on the roaring flame. If the fire could have, it would have laughed at the miserable attempt, as it forced its attacker further backwards.

Nathaniel. Not even half as smart as a Central Altian high on mango powder. His position was entirely granted to him by his father Regius Buold; one of the first oil prospectors in the country, with millions of equitas earned on the black market. Like Titus himself, he set out as a young man away from Invictian society and norms in order to make his fortune. Although the man was a complete sociopath, Titus had to admit that his rags-to-riches story was admirable at least.

“Nathaniel, you can’t-”

“Help! Do something!” he cried angrily, pushing one of his migrant Quorlastian aides to the ground in frustration.

Titus quickly analyzed the situation. The inferno was rapidly approaching the site of the well that had recently began to be created. If the flames continued to spread down into the massive pit, half the country’s surrounding rainforest could be burned down by morning. Time was of the essence.

What to do? What to use? Water? Not enough. Sand? Not enough.

Again, the young enterprising man turned his attention to Nathaniel, surrounded by his Central Altian workers.

Hmm...
Central Altians…

At last, the idea struck him as he darted past those dancing around the fire. Along the way, he dragged alongside him many dazed and bewildered workers to the Altian Camp. Once they had arrived at the clearing, he then gave his order.

“Ghet Fibers! From the Ghet fruit! Get as many as you can carry and toss them onto the flames!” It was really his only hope. 200,000 equitas were on the line from this operation after all.

At this point, the migrants seemed even more concerned. The Ghet was the staple of their diets and their main source of nutrition. Disposing of their supply would likely bring the operation to a temporary close, but yet, they had no choice. Titus and the migrants panted as they hurled crate after great of the heavy fibrous fruit onto the flames. Hundreds of the oblong objects rolled onto the scene, seemingly stifling the monster before them as it emitted white smoke into the air around them. The fruits began to disintegrate as they smothered the fire, sending their putrid stench all around the camp. Many fell to their knees in a fit of coughing and gagging before returning to their sense. The fire was over.

Titus wiped the swept and soot from his face as he observed the damage.

“...Ghet fibers… How many times… have I told you,” he scolded his partner as he gasped for air.

“...Not how it works… I’m the one who gives the orders here, not you, boy.”

Taking offense, he stared the golden-haired heir down.

“Your daddy told you that, sure. But he knows who’s really the capable one.”

“F*ck off. My father’s had men killed for speaking like that!”

“Ha! Your father wouldn’t dare! I practically run everything here! He knows it! Just accept the fact that you’re inept!”

Noticeably angry, Nathaniel stood to his feet and took an offensive pose.

“Really? Our well just nearly went up in flames and you want to fight over an insult? You’re pathetic, Nathaniel,” he smirked as he removed a Lima leaf cigar from his pocket. Calming, cool, expensive; his kind of smoke. He stood to his feet and began to walk away from the disastrous scene.

As soon as Titus turned his gaze to the surrounding property, he suffered a crippling blow to his left cheek, sending him plunging into the scorched earth.

“You think you’re big in this business, but you’re not. You were hired as help, and you’re lucky you’ve proven yourself in previous operations to even get here. But not anymore. You’re fired! I’m contacting my father as soon as I sort this out. That 30,000 equita deposit we gave you? We’ll be taking that back. Your idea of hiring those worthless jungle ape Altians? Back to the animal kingdom for them. Your career will be over before you even know what hits-”

Nathaniel went sprawling face first into the blackened ground himself, landing with heavy thud.
Titus stood, saying nothing in his state of panic. Coming to his senses, the wealthy prospector looked up in shock at Titus.

“Sh*t.”

In a fury, Nathaniel stood to his feet and tackled the bewildered Titus to the ground, the roasting earth scathing his back after the initial impact. Mercilessly, he swung again and again; Titus’s cheeks taking the brunt of the impact in an alternating rhythm. This was it. Nathaniel would murder his competitor in his state of rage. He knew from experience. It was time to fight back.

Titus screamed as he hurled his fist at the other man’s face, sending him staggering backward. Just enough time for him to rise from his vulnerable position and pin his enemy down. He launched forward, managing to grapple his foe and send him face first into the ground. Nathaniel countered as he contorted his legs free from the trap, placing a well placed kick in the younger man’s chest with his long legs. The tides had turned once more; Nathaniel had the upper hand. Try as he might, Titus was pinned again as scarlet blood poured down his enemy’s nose and onto Titus’s battered face. His arms were trapped, but he continued the struggle. Nathaniel had a reputation. If given the opportunity, he wouldn’t think twice before removing his better from existence on Aedes. To complicate matters, the ground didn’t seem any cooler on his roasting back; if anything, it seemed hotter.

With one quick maneuver, the stronger combatant managed to completely pin his enemy’s arms. Titus was now completely at the mercy of this beast of a man, nearly gagging on the blood and spit now forming in his throat as a result of sustained injuries. Nathaniel proceeded to slam his heavy arm down upon Titus’s throat, cutting off all circulation. The air in his chest cried out. His thoughts became muddled. The light around him seemed… brighter?

With a look of true fear, Nathaniel turned his attention from Titus and onto the rekindled fire behind him. It was all the time that Titus needed.

“GAH!” Nathaniel cried out, as his grip relented on Titus’s throat. He turned his gaze from the flame and to his chest, only to find a well-placed and ancient dagger buried in its center. A direct stab to the heart.

“Daegis take-” the millionaire was dead before finishing the sentence, collapsing on top of his hated acquaintance, only forcing the dagger deeper inside of his corpse.

“Sol...save me!” cried the traumatized Titus as he managed to push the body off him and shake off the river of blood that had been poured atop him.

The fire. It had sprouted all over again, rising from the dead as if it had never even been extinguished the first time. He looked to his feet: his cigar. He had spat it from his mouth after receiving that destined blow from Nathaniel. The flames grew and spread into the ground near the well. The oil drillers and workers had fled into the forest, abandoning this source of chaos without question. There was now but one thought in his mind as he reclaimed his family heirloom from Nathaniel’s body: run.

He managed to dart into the trees as he heard the explosive sound behind him: fire danced into the air, celebrating its conquest over the earth on this ill-fated night. Not only had the expensive operation been a total failure; one of the most influential criminals in Invictus had lost his son at Titus’s very hands. This was a death sentence. The prophecies of the Solists had proven true once more; an eclipse was the domain of the Red Eye, bringing destruction upon the profane. There was but one place safe to return to. One place to seek solace and help: home.

[Ardreas]

Anthony Rawlings pulled his head back out of the water for the hundredth time, running his fingers through his shaggy hair and shaking like a wet dog. He'd been here for the past hour, trying desperately to get all the blood washed off his body. Finally it seemed like the last of the sticky substance was out of his hair, but his clothes were another story. Aside from his underpants, the rest of his clothing lay in a soaking wet pile on the river bank. The shirt was stained beyond hope, though the blue denim of the pants seemed to have absorbed some of the color. Perhaps they might be salvageable, he mused. Then he sighed. Who am I kidding? I can't start a new job like this. But at least he wasn't alone in his suffering. Both banks of the river were crowded with people come to wash off after the blood rain, and the murmuring of their angry voices filled the air. The water now ran red as if the river itself had turned to blood.

Anthony shuddered. Now that he was at least somewhat clean he wanted nothing more than to get away from this horrific sight and find a warm, dry bed to fall into. The trip to the city had been tiring enough, but the events during the eclipse were just insane. And this crowd looked like it was about ready to snap. He pulled on his pants, then stopped at the shirt, deciding to leave the bloody rag where it lay. He'd buy a new shirt. Picking up his satchel of belongings he gave one last shake of his hair and then headed back toward the market square. There were a number of inns and hotels between the water front and the down town section. It didn't take the country boy long to find one with a vacancy and make his way inside to rent a room. If the innkeeper noticed anything out of place about a shirtless man still dripping wet, he didn't say anything. Anthony imagined the man had seen plenty of people like this already since noon, and for once he was glad not to be noticed.

His room was small, but cozy. He tossed his belongings on the floor by the bed, then went down to the kitchen to find something to eat. Half an hour later with a full stomach and a new shirt he'd bought off the cook, he stumbled back into the room and crashed onto the bed. It's soft sheets gave a warm embrace to the exhausted traveler, and before he knew it he was out...

* * * *

Revered Mother Lydia stood with the others of her station in the Hall of Penance on the western wing of the Grand Cathedral. The sun was going down, and its orange rays cast eerie shadows through the open windows. There was restless whispering among the other women of the Chantry as they waited. The Divine had summoned them here to receive an announcement at sundown, but what it would be they could only guess. Lydia knew her Eminence had been at the palace all afternoon, and she couldn't help wonder what the Emperor had to say about the events of the day. Like so many others in the city, the Revered Mother had read the cryptic message on one of the papers that had fallen from the sky. That last line about the Emperor's sins being upon the people's heads, that disturbed her more than she could say. Diosthines was not known for his peaceful disposition. Lydia knew from her history that he had come to power at the head of an army, having overthrown the previous emperor, the usurper Herculian. And in front of everyone he'd executed him at the top of the palace steps. But all that had been 40 years ago. Diosthines was an old man now. Whatever sins this message was talking about had to be long dead, hadn't they?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud clang at the end of the hall. The great door to the main auditorium swung open, and in strode the Divine. She wore a purple robe and a simple silver diadem, the traditional outfit for visits to the palace. But more striking than her clothes was the expression she wore on her weathered face. It was an expression of fearful resolve.

"Ladies," she said, her voice oddly quavering, and Lydia knew something dreadful had taken place. "I have grave news for you all. I've just come from conference with the Emperor." She stopped and took a breath, and Lydia noticed something glistening on her cheeks. Are those tears? she wondered. It must be grave news indeed! I've never seen the Divine shed a tear in all my years with the Chantry!

"He has determined," she went on, "that the blood used in today's... atrocity, came from our own people. The kidnapping victims of Fairhaven."

An audible gasp arose from the gathered Chantry sisters, and even Lydia felt her heart nearly stop at the news. This was worse than she'd even imagined! About four years ago a mysterious string of kidnappings had occurred on the island of Fairhaven. Over the course of a year around 30 people disappeared. No one had ever found out what happened to them, and the Chantry had been given the unpleasant duty of trying to comfort the families of those who had lost loved ones. But never in her wildest nightmares had Lydia imagined that the people were kidnapped to be used for something outrageous like this!

"W-w-what do we know about... um, that is about how the people died? Or how we know it was them?" Asked one of the other sisters.

The Divine turned to her and replied, "Emperor Diosthines received a report from an agent in the field some weeks ago that tracked the missing people to the Aengmiran mainland. The agent finally managed to locate the camp where they'd been kept, but when he got there the place was empty. Then last week the emperor received an update from the agent who reported finding a mass gravesite. But when he dug up the bodies to confirm their identities he found something ghastly. They had all been completely drained of their blood. Every single one of them, dried out like raisins. The poor man had no idea what to make of it all, but I guess now we know."

Anger filled Lydia's heart as her face flushed at the news. And before she could stop herself she blurted out, "And what's the emperor going to do about it!?"

The Divine turned her sad eyes upon her and nodded slowly. "He's already made his move. As of right now, Ardreas is at war."

* * * *

Morning dawned bright and early over the capital, but Anthony was already awake. He was dressed and downstairs waiting when the groggy cook dragged himself into the kitchen to begin making breakfast. A hot meal later, and the young country boy was out in the street and making his was back toward the square. He intended to find a job today, and the best way to make that happen was to get a good and early start.

But he'd only just arrived in the market square when a loud bell was rung in the center of the plaza. A man in black stood there, a scroll in one hand and a hammer in the other. As people stopped to look at him he cried out, "Stand by for an announcement from the Emperor this morning at 8 o'clock! His majesty will address the people in regards to recent events!"

Recent events? thought Anthony, I guess that's one way to put it. He glanced up at the tower clock which read 7:45. Well, looks like we won't have long to wait at least. Shouldering his pack he made his way south to the palace district. It wasn't far. Arrellia was built on a large island between the two branches of the Veles River where it split into a delta before flowing into the sea. The market square was in the center of the island. To the northwest was the Grand Cathedral, and to the south, built on the ruins of an ancient Azurite fort, was the Imperial Palace. As Anthony got closer he could smell the salt breeze blowing in from the sea, and he could hear the distant cries of seagulls. This was the first time the country boy had been this close to the ocean, and if it weren't for the events of the previous day he would have been enjoying the experience immensely. As it was, he waited eagerly with the growing crowd to hear what the Emperor had to say.

As the clock struck 8, the massive palace doors were pulled open by a team of guards. And out into the morning sunlight strode the white-haired emperor, Diosthines. A hush fell over the crowd as the nation's leader took his place at the top of the steps. But despite his age and apparent frailty, when he spoke he had no difficulty being heard. The acoustics of the palace courtyard amplified his voice to the assembled mass, but he spoke with a certain strength that probably would have been enough even without the acoustic assistance.

"People of Ardreas," he began, his voice ringing off the stone and capturing everyone's attention. "Yesterday we faced a horrendous atrocity. Our old foe, the Dominion of Aengmir, saw fit to humiliate us in our own capital by raining blood upon us!" There was a murmur of angry consent from the crowd, and the emperor went on. "But what you do not know is that this blood was that of our own people! They took innocent civilians from the island of Fairhaven, drained them dry and threw away their bodies like husks! This is what they used to fuel their hate-filled attack upon our city!" Angry shouts arose from the crowd at this revelation. The whole nation had heard about the mysterious kidnappings of a few years back, and now to find out what really happened to those people...

"The Senate and military leaders met with me yesterday," continued the emperor, "and we decided that this atrocity must not go unanswered. Those people deserved better than to be murdered like this! The Dominion of Aengmir went too far this time! And while in the past we have found ways around our differences, this time I must stand for my people and say 'no more!' This time Aengmir will feel the wrath of our vengeance, for as of last night we are at war!"

The crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, and Anthony was stunned. He'd expected some kind of harsh response from the emperor, sure. But to hear that the blood was actually from a bunch of innocent people on an island? That was outrageous! And now the nation was at war? So much for starting a new life and getting a good job... he thought sullenly. But there was no time for regrets. As the crowd began to chant with nationalistic fervor, Anthony began to feel something stir in his heart. There was a righteous anger building there, indignation at the attack of yesterday, and rage over the slaughter of innocents. He began to feel, with the crowd, that the best response to this atrocity should be delivered via closed fist. And so it was that, even as his mind whirled with a blur of raw emotions, he found his feet carrying him eastward toward Fort Summergale, the Ardrean military's main post in the capital. Many others had apparently had similar ideas for already there was a crowd gathering here. And as they surged forward, the young country boy pushed his way toward the head of the line at the nearest recruiting kiosk.

The sergeant on duty looked up as he approached, taking in his muscular frame with a satisfied expression. "What'll it be?" He asked with a grim smile.

"The air corps," Anthony replied, surprising both the sergeant and himself. But his mouth pressed on before his mind could change it. "I want to learn to fly, and to one day take an airship to Kar-Anthris and return the favor to those bloody sons of b*tches!"

A roar of approval shook the walls around him as the gathered crowd shouted in agreement. The sergeant looked stunned, but he quickly nodded, handing the country boy a sheet of paper and gesturing toward the door to his left. As Anthony went inside he knew one thing: his life would never be the same.

[Invictus]

Spero, Invictus, A.C. 14

The sun began its slow ascent over the horizon as Titus emerged from the tall tropical trees. He squinted at the light, before briefly losing his composure and falling to the ground. He had been running nonstop for seemingly hours, and he could hardly keep control over his aching appendages. He stood once more, looking down at the landscape from the hilltop on which he stood; home. Stretching out before him was the city of Spero; the mass of building and architecture the only thing between himself and the great ocean to the east.

He stared at the early morning sky for a time, thankful at last for the good omen of the sun’s return.The dagger he tried desperately to conceal glinted its stained sanguine hue in the revealing light. That certainly wouldn’t do.

Titus removed the knife, pouring the last bit of water he had taken from a nearby tributary onto it as he wiped the blood-stained weapon on the tall grass. There. Now the evidence was mostly gone, although some stubborn spots remained. He examined his own reflection on the brightly-polished obsidian blade. His cheeks were an unsightly blue from the altercation but mere hours ago, showing obvious signs of a recent trauma. His clothes were still dirty, although he had tried his best to clean them of the bright blood near the River Argumentum while simultaneously trying not to drown as he forded the great silvery-white rapids.

Quickly. Titus knew he had to move indoors before the citizens of Spero rose to leave for their commutes to work. Being seen in public so obviously bruised and beaten would certainly draw attention from the compassionate religious types; attention that the wanted man did not need given the situation. Sighing after trying his hardest to clean his face and comb his hair, he took of in a sprint down the hill and towards the community.

*******

Slowly, Titus opened the old wooden door, trying as he might to make as little noise as possible as he made his escape. Adorned in a traditional hood, conservative shirt, new slacks and a pocket full of equitas, he slowly took his first step into the rising sun just as an older man cleared his throat from behind him. Realizing that he had been revealed, the ashamed man hung his head low as he slowly stepped back inside, shutting the door behind him.

“.... I’m so sorry,” is all he could muster.

Caring as always, his father only moved forward to embrace him, a tear slowly dripping down his hairy cheek.

“... I… You know I-”

“Shh,” calmly whispered the old man in Titus’s ear. “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. What’s done is done.”

As Lightbearer of the Solists, Simus was one of the foremost authorities of the religion, and one of the most respected and compassionate figures in all of Invictus. At times, even the more secular Invictian Council would contact him to hear his opinions. This position was a famed and sacred one in Invictian culture, and extended all the way back to the nation’s founding. The first Invictian, Iliman Tuquere was considered its spiritual founder, with every Lightbearer since channeling the wisdom of Sol. Like his predecessors, he was renowned for his peaceful temperament and endless compassion. This moment was no exception to his father’s demeanor.

“Words can’t explain how ashamed I am. How much pain and shame I’ve brought you. Sol forgive me, for everything I’ve done to you, father,” Titus said as he lost his composure, nearly going limp in his fathers aging arms. Seeing his son’s obvious trauma, the priest attempted to calm him even further.

“Don’t exert yourself, boy. You’re weak. Sit for a moment,” Simus ordered as he left for the kitchen, bringing back with him a fresh cup of calming sol lily tea. Reluctantly, the boy drank as he sat on the floor near the fire. As a Solist, his father was a minimalist, and did not possess much in regards to material comfort in his home. Regardless, Titus had lived this way since childhood, and found the hard floor next to the fire oddly comfortable as he drank his tea, contemplating his next course of action as his father sat down across from him.

“Father, I’m sorry, but I must go. Something terrible has happened, and I fear that powerful men will want me dead. I would explain-”

“I know,” the calm voice said, slowly reaching for the concealed weapon tucked in his son’s loose shirt.

Titus closed his eyes in further shame as Simus withdrew the blade and examined the bits of coagulated blood in the firelight.

“This weapon,” he spoke slowly, “was not given to us for killing, but given to us as a reminder. You know the story, son. Take it to heart for once.”

Indeed; it was a story he had been told many times. This accursed dagger held before him was the legendary Red Dagger, named so not for its color, but for its patron. In legend, the perfectly crafted obsidian blade had been used in ancient times as a sacrificial tool for the Cult of Daegi, from which his ancestors had suffered and slaved under. This weapon in particular was reserved for only the most special sacrifices in the hour of the Red Eye, where the sun had been completely overtaken by the fiery red star. In Solism, the razor-sharp knife had been gifted to Iliman Tuquere by Sol as a reminder of what was and what could become. In his error of judgement, Titus’s well-meaning father had gifted the holy dagger to his delinquent of a son, only for it to be used to tarnish his family name. Shameful.

Regardless of his feelings, Simus could not take the weapon back; in Solist tradition, once the Red Dagger had been gifted, it could never be received again. Mournfully, he carefully placed the dagger in its sheath, and back into his son’s shirt.

“Some strange men arrived earlier this morning before you came,” Simus admitted.

“W-wha?” how could Buold have known so soon? The incident did not even occur but six hours ago.

“Thuggish men. Mercenaries, by the looks of them. They were searching for you, so they came to me. They claimed to have seen flames rising high into the air in the night. They believed that something had gone terribly wrong, so they came looking for answers.”

Not only had he risked his own life, but his father’s.

“They didn’t hurt you did they, father? They didn’t threaten you, surely,” Titus asked, concernedly.

“No, son. I am fine. I fear for you, however.”

Titus sighed, looking away in disgust of himself. “So do I,” he admitted, putting down the cup and slowly standing to his feet. “That’s why I must go, father. I’m a dead man if I stay here. Regius Buold will be out for blood when he discovers the fate of his son… They won’t hurt you so long as I’m gone and you don’t harbor me. They’re snakes, but they’re still Invictians; they won’t hurt the Lightbearer so long as they don’t need to.”

Titus hung his head, expecting to hear his father’s contradiction. He was surprised at the response, however.

“Yes. You’re right.”

“...What?” Titus asked in a puzzled state, looking at his father.

“You are correct on all counts. One: they are snakes. Two: they will not kill me if they do not have to. Three: you must go.”

Unexpectedly, he felt hurt by father’s agreement. It is true, he had brought pain to his father in so many ways over the years, but was he truly unwanted?

“If you remain, they will seek to kill you for your crime. Your entire life here has been marked by disappointment and sadness; for that I am sincerely sorry. You must leave and embrace Sol’s rays all over Aedes, wherever they may reach. You have a chance at life; a chance to start anew away from this: this is the future Sol has granted you. In fact, I myself had already prepared for this before you arrived.”

Puzzled, Titus sought to ask the meaning of his father’s cryptic words as three quick knocks pounded on the door behind him. Startled, he jumped as his father nodded for him to answer the door. He opened it only to find a visibly nervous businessman before him; Calo Rovven himself.

“C-calo? What are you doing here?” Titus asked the familiar fat face before him, expecting a quick bullet between is eyes.

“We’re leaving. Now. Rather, you’re leaving, and I respect your father enough to risk my life to aid you,” the middle-aged entrepreneur stated in his even more exacerbated than normal sarcastic and irritated voice.

Calo had been his saving grace many times before. It was Calo who saw Titus’s aptitude when no one else did. It was Calo that took a chance and allowed the poor boy a chance at the great dream of wealth. It was Calo that taught Titus all about money, finance, investment, and oil prospecting. It was Calo that taught him how to avoid the arm of the law and escape in tight situations. Without so much gracious teaching, Titus would have likely been dead in a ditch long ago, and for this he was thankful.

Nodding, the saddened young man turned to embrace his father one last time, who did so gladly in return as tears streamed down his face.

“No matter what you do and no matter where you go, you are my son. I’m proud of you.”

Tears welling in his own eyes, the rough-exteriored man broke contact with gray-bearded elder and kissed him on the forehead in the traditional Solist way as he opened his eyes to the sunlight outside of his father’s home.

“Go! Go shine Sol’s light in your own way!” Simus shouted enthusiastically as he shut the door behind his son.

******

Titus and Calo made their way to the road down the path only to find a strange arrangement of metal in the street; blocking the way for other traffic.

“Whoa… is that… a new model autovector? One of those mechanical carriages of Ardrean make? Incredible…” Titus awed at the machine in front of him. He had seen them before, but never one so exquisite and new. A shame, truly. If the situation back at the drilling site had sustained itself for but a few more months, perhaps Titus could have made enough of a fortune to purchase one of Sol’s chariots himself.

“There’s no time to marvel. Get in!” Calo ordered, obviously furious for the failed operation but a few hours ago.

Calo made strange movements to the foreign dials as the manmade lion roared to life under him. Titus had only wished that he had more time to marvel at the work of ingenuity before his sweaty companion interrupted his thoughts.

“Three. Hundred. Thousand. Equitas.” The car began to move onto the paved main roadway on its own as it barrelled its way northward; citizens gathered on the sidewalks looking on in amazement.

“I know, Calo.I’m sorry. I had no ch-”

“You had no choice?!” the red faced fat man asked in amazement, removing his attention from the street. “You certainly did have a choice! You knew you’d be working with Buold’s son! You knew Nathaniel was like a liondog on powder! All i asked was that you swallow your d**ned pride until our work was done. We could have both been living large in Civitas; now we’ll likely both be swimming with the fishes!” Calo paused to get a breath and recover from his anger fit. “Now, where is Buold’s boy? I’m assuming he abandoned you after your little fight?”

“Nathaniel’s dead.”

Upon hearing the words, Rovven nearly swerved off of the road and into a nearby building.

“DEAD?! You killed him?! Sol save us; Daegis will have us tonight!” He paused again, seemingly breathless.

“He tried to kill me first,” Titus attempted.

“Well you should have let him! You signed a death warrant by killing him anyway… Now what am I to do? Buold’s men came to me earlier concerned about the flames, but I didn’t know what do. Now? I’m not even sure what to think.”

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again, apparently winded with worry.

“Open that compartment in the front there.”

As Titus reached inside, his eyes lit up with pleasure. Equitas. Equitas stacked to the brim.

“That was your deposit that Buold forwarded to me. WAS your deposit. Months of work and planning, and now its all going back to him.”

“Curse Buold. I’m leaving and taking the cash with me.”

“Like hell you’re not!” Calo retorted. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going with your father’s plan after all rather than handing you over to the big man.”

Titus hoped that idea was a joke.

“You get 1,000 of your equitas and not decimal more. The other 29,000 will be returned to Buold in good faith when I act furious that you fled in order to appease him.You’re going on a vacation. A permanent one. You’ll be boarding the Auris; one of those Ardrean-made flying-air things that every seems so fascinated about. Lucky you; one of the first commercial ones in Invictus departs in but a few hours time, when I last checked this morning. You’ll be purchasing yourself a ticket and making your way out east to Ardreas; to the sparkling city of Sentinel, in fact.”

Ardreas. The great continent to the east. He had only truly read about it in storybooks, but from the little he knew, it was a fascinating place. In getting into the oil business, he was well aware that the booming economy to the east was the largest procurer of the black gold; it was Ardrean demand that was to make the young Invictian fabulously wealthy… before last night, that was.

At last, as the attention-grabbing car left the shadows of the tall skyscrapers, a distant blip on the outskirts came into view.

“There it is. The airship.”

Woah. His father was right, the Ardreans truly had harnessed the fire of Sol.

At last, Calo brought his well-crafted machination to a halt as they approached the airship. She was quite massive, the Auris; particularly in comparison to Calo’s cramped carriage. 500 equitas in hand and 500 in his pockets, Titus exited the shiny black vehicle and sought to join the long line of enthusiastic Invictians waiting to purchase their tickets and begin their journeys.

With a thankful nod and slight smile, Titus turned his attention from the well-fed driver and towards the strange exodus that awaited him. Although Calo was understandably angry and quite callous, Titus knew that the moneygrabber meant well for him.

“Hey kid… just don’t die, okay?” was the last thing he heard before motor sped off in the direction it came.

[Ardreas]

The shadows were long and numerous by the time Anthony Rawlings collapsed onto the bunk bed he'd been assigned. It had been one hell of a day, and he felt more tired now than any day working on the ranch back home. He'd spent the morning being poked and prodded by all kinds of unpleasant medical instruments that the country boy was sure would be more at home in a torturer's dungeon. But when the physician finally pronounced him fit and ready, he found that the ordeal had only just begun. After a hurried lunch in the fort's mess hall, he and a dozen other new recruits had been taken to a gymnasium to go through physical testing. Thanks to his rough upbringing, Anthony managed to do well on the various exercises, coming in first among the cadets. But if the sergeant in charge was impressed he didn't let on. Instead the scowling man simply threw a pack at the sweating sandy-haired boy and told him to form up the rest of the rabble when they came in after finishing the course. This he did, ordering the other recruits into a line next to him, surprising himself by the ease he felt at taking command. Somehow, it seemed natural.

After a few minutes, when everyone was assembled, the sergeant walked up to Anthony and handed him a sheet of paper. On it was a list of names for each of the men standing beside him. Attached to the paper was an envelop with a dozen tickets inside, train tickets. "Cadet!" Barked the sergeant, snapping the country boy's attention back up to his scowling face. "Take these recruits to the station and get them aboard the 3:30 train for Velengard. It will be your responsibility to make sure they make it to the Fort Lukarinas training base. As of right now they are your squad until you stand relieved at the base. Is that clear!?"

"Y-yes sir!" squeaked Anthony, suddenly nervous as hell. He never would have imagined being given a responsibility like this on his very first day, before even being given any actual training. His mind instantly filled with images of disaster, like if the train went off its tracks and everyone died, or if he got lost and failed to make it on time and missed the departure.

But the sergeant had absolutely no sympathy. He sneered at the nervous recruit, "I didn't hear you, boy. What was that response?"

"I said yes sir!" Anthony replied as loud as he could, his voice cracking a little under the strain.

The sergeant simply rolled his eyes and then gestured for the men to move out. Picking up the sack, Anthony waved for the others to follow, not trusting himself to speak again just yet. But luckily the rest of the squad was just as nervous as he was, and they fell in line immediately, following their sandy-haired captain north to the train station. They must have been quite a site, jogging through the market square in a single-file line as they hurried to catch their ride. But Anthony had no time to worry about appearances, his thoughts were still swimming with what he was doing. He'd come to the city to find a job, and find one he had. It just wasn't what he'd expected. None of this was what he had expected when he left home. And yet it felt right. As he ran, his feet bouncing off the pavement in regular intervals, he knew that his future lay before him and that it was right...

* * * *

High above the market square, Revered Mother Lydia stood on the eastern balcony of the Grand Cathedral watching the afternoon activities. It had been a hectic day for her and the Chantry since the Emperor's announcement and she'd missed her normal morning time of meditation. But finally she had found some time to get away, and now she stood gazing out over the city. It truly was a beautiful sight, and she said a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker for his gifts of light and beauty. Just then, as she looked out, a sudden movement caught her eye in the market. A line of young men was jogging northward toward the train station. "Recruits," she whispered. "So it has begun. The military is already sucking in a new crop of young men to go out and fight. Maker watch over them..."

Her eyes fell on the one leading the line of recruits, his dusty blonde hair standing out in the glimmering sunlight. He's from the northwest territory, she thought. I wonder what brings a boy like that to the capital? But despite his appearance out of place, the young man seemed to be confident in the way he led the others. He knew where he was going, and the rest followed him without wavering. "This is a man that will one day lead others into battle," she noted. "I pray when such a day comes that he will have the sense to take care of his flock, as the Maker has tasked all of us in leadership with doing."

* * * *

Somehow, despite all fears and doubts to the contrary, Anthony and his squad of recruits made it to the Grand Central Rail Station by 3:30 and boarded their train without incident. Only then did the country boy allow himself a moment to relax and breathe. And as the train slipped out of the station and began heading north out of the city, he allowed his head to roll to the side and gaze out the window. The city buildings were beginning to thin by the time they reached the river and crossed the trestle bridge out into the countryside. Soon the sprawling capital was behind them and the ground gave way to rolling hills and open farmland. They were traveling up the eastern bank of the Veles river now, right through the heart of the Imperial Republic. This was some of the oldest inhabited land in Ardreas, and as the train cars rocked and the metal wheels carried on their rhythmic clickity-clacking, Anthony felt his eyes drooping shut. His mind began to wander, and he thought back to what he'd read in school about the War of Exile, how all the people of Ardreas had to flee up this very river so many centuries ago. How the Azurite armies had laid waste to the old city on the coast and driven its inhabitants northward as a scourge drives cattle. And here he was, leading a group of recruits along the same path to a military base named for the legendary father of the nation himself, Lukarinas. The man who had rallied the Ardrean refugees so long ago and led them to safety in the far north, who had given them strength and trained them to fight, and who had brought them back again to the south to kick out the Azurites and regain their homeland. Now that was a man people followed into battle! Anthony thought, but what could that sergeant have possibly seen in me?

A few hours later, as the sun was dipping near the western hills, the train carrying this band of recruits came rumbling into the station at Velengard. Anthony jumped to his feet, grabbed the sack, and gathered the rest of his troop. As soon as the doors were open he led the way out onto the platform. And that's where he stopped. Velengard, while not nearly as large a city as Arrellia, was also not laid out the same way. Arrellia was logical, laid out like a giant wheel on the island between the river branches. But Velengard was wild and sprawling, a city that had grown up over centuries without any consistent guideline for its development. The country boy had never been here before, but from the train platform he could see that the city seemed to reach out in all directions like a child trying to grab everything within reach. Sighing, he glanced around for some kind of map.

"Hey boss," one of the other recruits suddenly called out, causing Anthony to turn around. "If yer lookin' fer the fort, it's over there," said a black-haired young man with a wiry mustache, pointing northward along the river. The country boy followed his outstretched hand to where a large, dark stone structure could be seen looming at the far side of town.

"Great," he muttered in reply. "Another long jog." Then glancing at his sheet of names and back up to the helpful cadet he said, "Thanks... Rorick?"

"That's me," replied the dark-haired young man with a grin.

"Not a very traditional Ardrean name," commented Anthony with a raised eyebrow.

"That's cause I come from Andover descent," said the recruit with a shrug. "Or maybe you missed the hair color?" He asked, reaching up a hand and twisting a long strand of the black substance sprouting from his head.

"I... ok." Replied Anthony, not sure how to respond to that. He'd never met many Andover people growing up, and he didn't know whether to acknowledge their difference or ignore it. Politics was never something he understood, and now especially, not wanting to offend on his first assignment, he simply nodded. After a moment, when silence had fallen back over them all he shouldered the pack and led the group off at a jog toward the distant fort.

It was past supper by the time the group, weary and sweating, arrived at the gates of Fort Lukarinas on the northern edge of town. The men at arms let them in once Anthony showed them his papers, and they were ushered into what looked like some kind of assembly hall. There, finally, an ensign showed up and relieved Anthony of the responsibility for the recruits. After signing them in he sent them to get some supper and showers. The sun was going down by the time Anthony made his way to the quarters and found a bunk with his name on it. Crashing face-first into the pillow he lay there, thinking that sleep had never been such a beautiful concept. And within moments he lost himself to its sweet embrace...

* * * *

The next two days were a blur for the young country boy. He woke up bright and early, usually a few minutes before the revelry sounded, and had just enough time to get dressed before the door burst open and the drill sergeant thundered in like a hurricane, blasting cadets out of their bunks and calling for everyone to assemble. Anthony was quick on his feet and was usually out the door before anyone else even had their shoes on. This earned him some respect among the trainers, but also got him quite a few dirty looks from the other recruits, who hated being shown up. Regardless, the training routines took everyone's attention off any feelings other than endurance. The exercises were rigorous, the lessons complex, and there was no time to socialize or do anything other than train. But the harshness, known among the military as the Week of Hell paid off. Fort Lukarinas had a reputation for being the hardest training post in the Imperial Republic, but it also had a reputation for producing the best soldiers in the Legion. Those who made it through the intense training here would go on to have distinguished careers in the military, and it was the thought of that future that kept Anthony Rawlings going each day. As his feet screamed in protest at another march, as his arms burned like hellfire when he lifted another weight, he thought about what might be and how he was here to serve his country. One day, he vowed, he would put this training to good use and make the Aengmirans pay for their attack upon his country. One day, he would make his people proud.

[Invictus]

Aboard the Aurea, Above the Ocean, En route to Sentinel

Corvus Slatus leaned over the railing of the airship, looking down at the endless, rhythmic blue waves below. The transport had left mainland Invictus but a couple of days ago, and was well on its way to the glorious Ardrean homeland; that vast continent that had produced so many heroes and histories that it boggled the mind. Still in a sense of awe, he looked above him to view the massive balloon carrying the crew of the Aurea gently across the sea; its mercy alone keeping its passengers from the thrashing currents many meters below.

From his pocket, the man now in his early forties removed a flask; moving it up to his mustached lips. Emberkiss whiskey; truly a luxury item to have when on a monotonous glide halfway across Aedes itself. The dark-haired man closed his eyes as he cringed at the burn. The drink was one of the finest and purest spirits produced in Invictus and had proven worthy of its name time and time again. A bit of the purple fermented alcohol ran down his goatee as he as last recovered from the deep swig. He recognized that it probably wasn’t the best policy to consume intoxicants near the far ledge of the ship, but as he began to turn away, a spot of green far in the distance piqued his interest. He leaned forward across the railing, slowly and gently as he peered in for a better look at the distant mass illuminated by the evening sun.

To his horror, he felt great pressure in his back, forcing him forward. He struggled, attempting to push back desperately as alcohol erupted from his panicking mouth; precipitating down to the untamed waters below.

“Deo Sol, pace!” he cried to the figure behind him. “P-please! My allegiance has changed!” he attempted.

Much to his surprise, the voice gripping him was calm… and somewhat familiar.

“Buold? Franci? Who sent you?” the young voice asked.

“I-I don’t know… wait… is it..?”

“Answer the question. Now,” it ordered, using his knee to force the helpless Corvus even further.

“...T-titus? Is this the voice of Titus Tuquere?”

At first, Titus considered pushing his old acquaintance overboard, but at last rationalized that although no other passengers were nearby, the screams were sure to draw attention. Besides, if the half-drunken man had come to assassinate him, he was sure doing a pathetic job.

Titus relented as he thought momentarily. Angrily, he pulled Corvus back inside the ship to find a look of true fright upon his face. The frightened features almost faded into a certain warm familiarity, but the older man’s apprehension could certainly be noticed as he clung to the railing for dear life.

“Ave Sol… Titus Tuquere. What on Aedes are you doing here, boy? And what happened to your face?” Corvus asked, regaining his composure.

“It’s no concern of yours, Corvus.You should explain your purpose here. Now.”

Corvus stood to his feet, a bit calmer that he had not been outright murdered mere seconds ago.

“My business is my own. Just know that I am no threat to you or your family. I’ll just turn around and head to the stern of this ship. You will never see me again,” he attempted, but was stopped by Titus outstretched arm. Quickly, he took advantage of the distraction; reaching inside of the old warrior’s undershirt to find a golden medallion in the shape of the Divine Sun. A pendant only belonging in the hands of a brother of the Solisthine Order of the Aubade.

“Still serving the Aubade and simultaneously drinking alcohol, hypocrite?” the young man asked angrily as he snatched the flask from Corvus.

“No… I don’t serve the Order anymore… I’m trying to escape. To start anew,” the aging soldier said resignedly.

That explained Corvus’s fear. Once one had joined the religious order of Solisthines, one had joined for life. The secretive cabal had always killed off its deserters; always. Its ranks included professional soldiers, tacticians, and assassins. Although the once prominent order had truly fallen from grace over time, even Titus still feared the extent of its long arm. The Order had been deemed as heretical and outlawed by the Solists since its early founding in early Anno Sugere, but it stopped neither its secretive works or growth of membership. It was founded by the disgraced former Solist, Robertus Slatus, the close friend and successor of Titus’s earliest Invictian ancestor: Iliman Tuquere. Coincidentally, Corvus himself was a Slatus; it seemed the rivalry between the two families would never end.

“Pah,” chuckled Titus, “You’re a dead man walking. It serves you right for the sins you’ve committed against Sol’s people.”

“As if you’re any better,” spat Corvus.

Corvus nervously plucked his black facial hair and wiped the sweat from his slightly-tanned skin. He had always denied his Quorlastian ancestry it in the past, but his features were just slightly too alien to deny it. According to legend, Robertus Slatus himself founded the order when he joined a group of desert mystics; heavily influencing the Order’s theology.

“We’re not evil, you know. Were our methods questionable for a pure Solist? Absolutely. You’re quick to forget just how many times we’ve saved our nation, however. We are the ones who remove corruption from Sol’s lands while men like your father sit on their asses. We were the ones who held back the Quorlastian invasions. We are the ones who at least try to keep peace, even if it requires blood. Besides, you’re no one to judge, given your history,” Corvus replied angrily as he quickly snagged his flash back.

“Theology aside, old friend, you’re a deserter and therefore dead if Franci has his way.”

Visibly defeated, the strong man chugged his drink before convulsing in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Ahh,” he moaned as he gulped his beverage. “So… I could ask you the same question as you asked me. What are you doing here? Escaping as well, I wager? From what?”

There was no point in hiding it. If Corvus didn’t already know, he was a master at reconnaissance and would discover the reason eventually.

“My job prospects took a turn for the worst, you could say,” Titus half grinned.

“Troublemaker, as always,” Corvus laughed, both happy to see his former friend and still upset regarding his current situation.

“Yeah. Drilling operation. Place burned to the ground. My associate… died. Regius Buold is not exactly happy.”

“So you managed to upset one of the biggest oil barons in the world?... Congratulations,” the rogue said, not even sarcastically. “That takes a bit of skill, drawing the right attention. It looks like my training actually rubbed off on you a bit after all. Now, if you could only learn to avoid and counter punches to the face…” Corvus grinned, observing the slowly-healing bruises on his protege’s face. Titus grinned a bit as well, staring into the stressed and aging wrinkles on Corvus’s face. The young Invictian’s emotions were mixed; did he want to hug or hang the man in front of him? He couldn’t decide. He settled on neither.

As the sun set back in the direction of the Invictian homeland, a booming voice called out seemingly from an authority on the ship, ordering the passengers of the majestic Aurea back into their cabins below deck.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Titus implored. Ardreas was but a day or so away. There was much planning that needed to be done.

[Ardreas]

Anthony Rawlings lay awake all night, listening to the steady drumbeat of rain on the barracks roof. He knew it was just normal rain, but every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, his mind filled with images of the Blood Rain. He could even smell the bitter stench of death that had fallen over the capital that day. It was still too recent, too real. Despite his best efforts to put on his brave face each day and rise to the challenge, every night the memories returned, and the boy from Abaline knew it was not a trauma he would leave behind so soon.

Morning finally came, a pale greying of the cloudy sky. Unable to stay in bed any longer with the thoughts that plagued him, he threw back the covers and hurried to get dressed. By the time the morning revelry sounded, he was already standing by the window staring out at the bleak dawn. Grey clouds over stone walls, the place felt as desolate as his soul. And for a brief moment he actually missed his brother and the ranch. But the call of the trumpet broke through his thoughts, and he gritted his teeth. He would train, he would get stronger, and he would take the future for a new life, the past be dam**d.

As usual Anthony was the first person out the door and was already warming up when the rest of the cadets came staggering out. One of them had the misfortune of possessing a mouth that moved faster than his brain, and he asked if they still had to run in the rain. To which the drill sergeant, a hideously tough looking man named Tyrannus, replied with a twisted grin, "You're gonna run so hard today cadet, that you'll be glad of the rain 'cause it'll hide the tears comin' outta your pansy-ass eyes!" And with that he led them off at a brisk jog, out of the fort and through the north gate out of town. As they ran he turned and waved Anthony over to him.

"Yes sir?" the country boy gulped in surprise.

"You seem awfully eager to prove something," grunted Tyrannus, his feet splashing mud out of the grass as they jogged. "Every day you're up and chompin' at the bit before we even start."

Anthony was silent, partly due to lack of breath with the effort of running, but also from sheer surprise at the observation. He'd never pegged the sergeant as a particularly observant man, yet here he was noticing things that the young recruit wasn't even sure he understood himself. But his reply was not necessary, as Tyrannus went on, "I don't care what you're runnin' from kid, so long as you get to my destination on time and don't step on any of your fellow cadets to get there." He turned his steely grey eyes on Anthony and added, "sometimes how you achieve a goal or defeat a hurdle is just as important as the end itself."

While the country boy was pondering this, suddenly the sergeant turned and bellowed with a voice that seemed to shake the ground, "COMPANY HALT!"

Everyone skidded to a stop, and Anthony was surprised to see that they'd made it all the way to the river's edge on the north side of town. The rain was making it hard to see very far, already the city walls were invisible behind them. "Now listen up!" barked Tyrannus at the wheezing recruits who stood, many with their hands on their knees, trying to catch their breaths. "You may have heard stories about today from those who have gone before," he continued, "as it is your first hurdle of the week. Today is Endurance Day!" A chorus of groans rose from the group causing Anthony to frown and wonder just what was in store for them. "For every class we do it different," the sergeant was saying. "It just so happens that this time you soggy bastards get to run... around the city!" He flashed them a toothy grin that looked anything but friendly as more groans erupted from the cadets. "Now take these," he shouted, dumping a pile of empty canteens out of his pack. "Don't let the rain fool you ladies, you can get dehydrated even if your skin is wet."

"Uh, these are empty," came a voice from the troop.

"Of course they are moron!" growled Tyrannus. "You think I'd lug fifty pounds of water up here for you when there's a perfectly good river right there!?" He jerked a hand west at the Veles River that flowed nearby, its far shore lost in the mist of the rain. "Now fill up and get moving! You are going to make one complete lap around the city, staying outside the walls at all times. Anyone who enters the city at any time, for any reason, will fail this hurdle and be expelled from training! Go whichever direction you like, and end at the north gate of the fort that we came out of earlier. Anyone who doesn't make it back before noon will also fail the hurdle. Any questions?"

"There's no bridge here," pointed out one of the cadets. "Are we supposed to swim across?"

"What do you expect, royal treatment!?" roared the sergeant. "I suppose you'll want me to massage your feet tonight too?" He stared around at the group which had grown suddenly silent. "Now listen up and listen good 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. I know you're all training to go into the Air Corps and fly high over the battlefields, but war is hell, people. There's a good chance you might get shot down some day, and when you're over there fighting a bunch of fanatical zealots who only want to see you dead you may find this sort of endurance training'll save your sorry lives. If you think being in the Air Corps will be a life of comfort, think again. You're still Imperial Legionnaires, your battlefield is the sky, but its still a battlefield. You'll find your greatest strength through adversity. NOW GO!" he bellowed, "time's ticking!"

* * * *

Anthony's head spun as he swam across the cold, deep river. All around him the splashes of the other cadets stirred up the water, but in his mind the only thing he heard was the echo of that cryptic remark Tyrannus had made to him earlier. What did he mean, 'sometimes how you achieve a goal or defeat a hurdle is just as important as the end itself.'? The country boy wondered as he scrambled out of the river and up the muddy bank on the west side. Is there more to today's endurance test than just... well, endurance?

* * * *

Three hours later, his sides aching and every breath feeling like swallowing fire, Anthony found himself once again scrambling out of the river, this time on the east bank south of town. The morning had been a complete blur. But he found himself grateful for the rain, its cool touch washed the sweat from his body and kept him from passing out. But it was getting rough. They were only just over half way back, and he was beginning to worry that he wouldn't make it. Just then he saw a shape up ahead, a blur in the mist of another runner. "Hey," he gasped, and the figure turned.

"Oh hey boss," the cadet said, struggling for breath himself. His short black hair was glistening in the rain, and Anthony squinted, trying to make out the man's identity. Something about his voice seemed familiar.

"Forgot my name already?" he asked, then winced as the extra breathing caused his lungs to protest.

"Wait," grunted the country boy, "You were with me on the train... Rorick, right? You cut your hair," he observed.

"Heh, yeah," replied the Andover cadet glumly. "You holding up?" He asked as they resumed jogging.

"I'll live," said Anthony, though he wasn't so sure.

They fell into silence for a time running together through the rain, the kicking up of mud from their feet the only sound. Then suddenly the wall disappeared, and Anthony wavered, glancing around. "Did we miss a turn?" he gasped.

Rorick turned and stared through the rain. "Naw, I think that was the southeastern edge of the wall. We're on the home stretch now." And he turned to run north, but as he did his foot slipped in the slick grass and he went down. Amid the splatter of falling rain there was an audible snap followed by a shriek of agony that made Anthony's skin crawl.

"Uh, w-what happened? Rorick? Talk to me man!" He shouted, running over to his fallen comrade. But the Andover cadet wasn't moving. He lay in the grass, one leg bent at a sickening angle under his body. Trembling with fear and adrenaline, Anthony reached out and felt for a pulse. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt a faint throbbing on Rorick's neck. "You're alive!" He breathed, but his relief was short-lived. They were alone out here, still more than a mile from the fort, and no other cadets were in sight. For a moment Anthony considered running back to the fort to get help, but he knew if he did he might not be able to find Rorick again, at least not until the rain stopped. And the Andover man might not live that long. A puddle of blood was forming under his leg, and Anthony knew he had to get him to help. So with a desperate prayer to the Maker, he bent down and heaved the unconscious recruit up and began to drag him northward.

Time dragged on, the pouring of rain a steady drumbeat on the country boy's face. Step. I'm not going to make it back by noon. Step. I might as well take Rorick inside the city for treatment somewhere. Step. Who am I kidding? I don't know where anything is in this blasted city. Step. I've got to get him to the fort. Step. How much farther can it be? Step. This guy weighs a ton! Step. Step. Step...

* * * *

It was supper hour by the time a beaten, bruised, and exhausted Anthony Rawlings staggered through the north gate of Fort Lukarinas, dragging a limp Rorick behind him. The courtyard was empty, but the rain had finally stopped. Anthony's vision, however, was swimming and he couldn't see more than a few feet anyway. He was half way across the courtyard when he felt a hand take hold of his shoulder. Turning, through bleary eyes he saw sergeant Tyrannus standing there staring at him. He tried to form words to say what had happened, but he had no spit. Instead his mouth just twitched in vain. But the sergeant didn't say anything. Instead he simply pried the country boy's hands free from Rorick's limp body and took the injured recruit up in his arms, carrying him off to the medical wing. Anythony watched him go for a moment, then turned and staggered back to the barracks.

How he found his way back to his own bunk he had no idea. But the next morning found the Abaline cadet sprawled limp on his bed, dead to the world. For the first time since arriving he slept without dreams. He even slept through the morning revelry. At half past six the door burst open and in strode sergeant Tyrannus. "Rise and shine sleeping beauty!" He bellowed, startling the last of the drowsiness from Anthony, who sat up with a start.

"Sir! W-what...?" he blinked, trying to sort his thoughts out of the daze that had claimed his brain.

"Congratulations cadet," grunted the sergeant. "You not only missed the noon mark, but you managed to make it back to the fort dead last. I didn't think you had it in you."

Anthony's mind reeled. "Sir I... I mean I had to!" He tried to find the right words, but his vocabulary was fleeing him like rats deserting a sinking ship.

"You had to miss the deadline and come in dead last? You didn't have a choice?" Prodded Tyrannus, giving the young man a stern look.

"No... no sir," replied Anthony, the argument going out of him as he hung his head and resigned himself to the consequences.

"No indeed. There's always a choice young man. Whether in war or peace, on the battlefield or at home, there are always choices. You could have run ahead and proven yourself to be the toughest and the fastest. But you didn't. You chose to give up your own future to make sure a fellow soldier made it home." His voice had grown quiet and Anthony glanced up in surprise. "I'll be dam**d if I let a soldier like you get kicked out for that. You have a fierce kind of loyalty to your fellows that is rare these days. I'd take a dozen men like you over a whole Century of self-important rabble."

Anthony stared at him, his mouth falling open. Tyrannus saw it and rolled his eyes. "Oh don't be like that, you're a soldier of the Imperial Republic, not some sappy school kid. Get to your feet!" The country boy obeyed, though his feet screamed in protest as his weight burst the blisters that had formed during the night. "For exemplary conduct in training," the sergeant was saying as he produced a shiny bronze pin in the shape of a man holding a weight in one hand and a gun in the other, "I hereby award you the Endurance Day pin." Sticking it into Anthony's collar, he then stepped back and snapped a quick salute to the stunned cadet.

Only one cadet out of a hundred ever won an Endurance Day pin. They were said to be extremely hard to achieve. And Anthony found himself once more remembering the words Tyrannus had spoken to him yesterday, 'sometimes how you achieve a goal or defeat a hurdle is just as important as the end itself.' And he wondered if the gruff sergeant had known something might happen? He shook his head, that was crazy thinking. It was just another test, and Anthony had just done what he knew was right when the situation came up. Don't over think it, he cautioned himself as he returned the sergeant's salute.

Tyrannus nodded and stepped back toward the door. Then pausing with one hand on the handle he glanced back. "Now hit the showers boy, you smell like a dead horse."

[Invictus]

The Ocean, Approaching New Corinth, Ardreas

“Landfall! Inbound to New Corinth by the hour!” cried the announcer as he entered the dining hall.

“You ever been to New Corinth?” Titus asked the man seated across from him at the table as he slurped the porridge in his bowl.

“A time or two, perhaps,” said Corvus, intentionally vague.

“Well? What’s it like?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself. Lot’s of nice women, though.”he said raising his thick eyebrows implying innuendo.

Solisthines were bound to oaths of celibacy. This was Corvus after all, however. Why even contest it.

“What about money? Any gambling dens we can blow some time in?I have nothing to my name but 50 equitas. I can’t even get a room in Sentinel with that.”

“Not sure. Maybe you can find some old friends from your oil days here?”

“Right!” Titus chuckled. “Let me just walk right into the hands of Regius Buold. Who knows, it might just be easier to face the music that way.”

“Nah, there’s lots of opportunities. New Corinth is a trade city. Lots of opportunities for a young charismatic Invictian to make it. You did learn from the best, after all,” the older man said, stroking his goatee in vanity.



All the passengers aboard the Aurea made their way to the deck, bringing to an end their nearly week long journey. Everyone stood on their tip-toes or lined against the railing to watch as the port city of New Corinth came into view on the crisp dawning morning. Ships and boats of all kinds spread across the surrounding ocean, as tiny ant-like shapes scurried throughout the streets. But then they stopped; looking up and pointing.... they weren’t celebrating. Some of them even looked a bit fearful, if Titus could gauge their distant facial expressions. Perhaps they too had never seen many airships before. Excited at their own arrival, many aboard the descending balloon ship shouted and waved at the gathered masses below. At last, the largely Ardrean populace seemed to relax.

“WELCOME TO NEW CORINTH, ARDREAS!” shouted the captain to the many passengers on the deck as the behemoth slowly crashed into the waters in the port below. “We will have a brief layover as we restock the Aurea! Everyone feel free to stretch their legs and explore, but be sure to return to deck by 16:00 New Corinth local time. We will be departing and we will not wait!” At last, the gang plank was placed, and the passengers slowly filed off of the hull to embrace the foreign land.

Immediately upon leaving the Aurea, Titus immediately noticed one thing: the weather.
It was cold. At least less warm than back home in Spero. Certainly more cold than in the Cartaal Rainforest. The boy found himself crossing his arms a bit at the thought.

“Ha. Someone forgot to tell you about the climate change. This isn’t Sol’s land, boy. You’ll need another layer over that thin shirt if you wish to acclimate yourself.” With that, Corvus gracefully slipped a handful or equitas into the boy’s pocket. “Go to the market and find one. We’ll meet at a place called The Drunken Empress; big tavern in the city center. You can’t miss it. You’re smart, Titus, you’ll do fine.” With that, Corvus slipped away into the crowd, leaving the young man alone in the foreign crowd.

Brushing his hair aside, the Invictian followed the crowd from the boardwalks and into the city itself. Although many aspects of home were the same, there was a distinctly foreign feel to the city. Titus stumbled through the roaming crowds as voices of merchants and traders rang out a around him. Unsure of his direction, he continued on for a time, mostly following familiar faces from the Aurea and gazing to the scenery around him. He was hit from behind as man carrying a crate full of sea critters from the wharfs shoved his way through the busy streets. This was quite different from the relaxed atmosphere of Spero indeed. This must have been what the capital back home was like these days.

At last, Titus made his way into what he believed to be the market; or at least one of them. As he passed through, eager sellers waved all sorts of items at him, which he was forced to decline. Halfway through the stands, a sudden warmth came over his body. Startled, he turned around and took an offensive martial position. A smiling Ardrean stood in front of him, his hands outstretched. Looking down, Titus noticed a sweater/long sleeved-type shirt of Ardrean make placed over him. If anything, Titus had to admit that this situation had been convenient.

“How much?” he asked reluctantly, ensuring that the shirt fit appropriately.

“Thirty equitas!”

“Ha,” Titus scoffed. “Ten,” he offered.

The smiling faced turned to one of anger and desperation. “You insult me, sir! This shirt is handmade and of fine quality!”

“Wrong,” Titus spat boldly, examing the quality further. “Mass produced. I can give you eight equitas for it.”

“How dare you, boy! This is an insult of-”

“Fine. Fifteen. It would be a shame if I had to tell the other tourists of this racket of scams you have going on.”

With a begrudging harumph, the merchant nodded, accepting the paper bills and turning his attention to other would-be buyers. As Titus walked away, he slipped five equitas into his pocket. The fool had been distracted, and Corvus has taught him the art of pickpocketing long ago. Besides, he needed the money for his travels, he justified in his mind.


By mid afternoon, Titus came across the massive tavern near the city’s center. The Empress was a large, multi-leveled and popular destination, with many tourists drinking the foreign ale merrily. He boy squeezed through the revelling crowds and made his way to one of the servers. MAny tried the Ardrean selections, but Titus himself preferred the Cartaal rum, an import to New Corinth which had been forbidden to him by the Solists back home. A moderate beverage, but with a fruitful kick; much like the boy himself. Reluctantly, he kissed a few more equitas goodbye as the maid filled him a glass.

"That air ship coming in... mad me gasp for a bit!" one patron said a few chairs away.

"Too soon after the blood rain to see another one of those so close without much warning," another answered.

Curious, Titus turned his ear towards the conversation for the next few minutes to hear of the almost mythical event that had occurred in the nation only days before. The 'blood rain' they called it. Invictus itself had experienced a blood rain of its own, according to legend. When the vengeful Robertus Slatus led a campaign against the Czu natives, it was described by Czu witnesses as 'Bal Rayya'. While excavating for oil sources, Titus himself had happened upon these sites along the River Argentum. This blood rain, however, was by no means figurative, according to the Ardreans. The nation of Aengmir to the southeast had watered Ardreas with its own blood, and it seemed that war loomed on the horizon. Just as he concluded his thoughts, a voice whispered into his ear.

“Drinking, boy? The son of a Lightbearer shouldn’t consume this taint,” Corvus teased as he downed a mug of his own.

“At least I don’t claim to serve Sol, unlike yourself. What would the Order do if they found out?”

“LIkely roast me upon a pyre alive,” he said nonchalantly. “But I don’t subscribe to the current generation’s dogma. The Solisthines of old didn’t fear a decent brew.”

“So you deceive your own superiors?” Titus inquired.

“Deception is our game,” the agent replied, finishing his mug.

Suddenly, a different bar maid approached Corvus, quietly whispering into his ear. At first, she appeared to be propositioning him, but Titus had learned from the very best how to see through lies. This situation had been planned in advance by both; it was not genuine.

Corvus raised his brows in arousal at the woman’s words, before standing as she started dragging him away to the inn upstairs.

“Titus, boy. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you back on the deck tonight when the day is half done!” He winked at Titus before disappearing into a darkened door in the corner.

Now that was suspicious. Something had been different above Corvus since he had been rediscovered aboard the Aurea. To be fair, Corvus had always been a different sort of man, but now Titus wondered if he had been deceived by his mentor yet again.


The day had continued, and the sun was beginning to descend upon the horizon. A booming horn from the Aurea on the bay rung out across the city. With the currency he had remaining, Titus had managed to fill his belly with a strange Ardrean soup and pick up a book on the Arellian language. Although the current city largely spoke Altan, as a western trade city, he figured that it was in his best interests to understand the strange runes on at least a conversational basis. As he lined up along side the others passengers for the ticket inspection, he scanned the faces near him for a sign of Corvus Slatus. Nothing. Perhaps he had already boarded. Had to be the case.

At last, Titus picked up his feet and half-heartedly lept onto the deck. He searched among the last few passengers for his old friend only to find nothing. Resignedly, he leaned against the rails and stared out onto the calm sea as the booming horn rang once more, and the ship ascended into the sky above.

As he last looked out into the city itself, he spotted a familiar bearded face in the gathered crowd observing the departure. It winked just once, sporting a twitching smile. If Titus didn’t know better, he would have figured it was almost a look of sadness upon Corvus’s face. Titus himself returned a similar look to the man who had been somewhat of a father to him.

The bastard. He’d left again. What more could Titus have expected.

Before he disappeared from view, Corvus pointed at his own pocket and then at Titus. Following this instruction, Titus reached into his left pocket to find fifty more equitas and small note within them. It read:

“I lied again. Have duties. Good luck. Sorry.
C.”

Figured.

[Ardreas]

The next three days were a blur for Anthony as he trained and sweated with the other men at Fort Lukarinas. He only saw Rorick once, lying in the hospital wing with his leg in a cast. The Andover man wouldn't be completing the Week of Hell training with them, and thus wouldn't make it into the Air Corps. But Sergeant Tyrannus assured Anthony his friend would still have the opportunity to serve his country. The Imperial Republic would need every able-bodied man it could get for the conflict to come. Rorick would be sent somewhere he could be useful, eventually.

The final day of training came at last, and all the remaining recruits were eager to pass the last hurdle and earn their commission. It was a long and grueling day that started way before sunrise and continued through sweat and stamina until every single man thought he'd collapse from the rigor. But by mid afternoon Anthony saw the end approaching. He knew he had run his course and stayed true. And it was with a surprising lightness to his step that he landed at the base of the obstacle course and let out a long breath, surveying the courtyard with a stubborn grin trying to worm its way onto his face. Just then his eyes lighted on Tyrannus striding across the grass toward him, a scowl on his face unlike any the country boy had ever seen before. Suddenly the good feeling at having endured the week began to fade and he wondered just what had happened.

"Company line up!" bellowed the sergeant as the cadets scrambled out of the obstacles as best they could, some stumbling and falling at his feet like parishioners. But instead of his usual snide comments, Tyrannus seemed to barely even see them. Instead his attention was focused on a scrap of paper he held in his large, calloused hands. "Men," he said as Anthony stared. "I have just received a telegram from Legion Headquarters at Fort Summergale in the capital. It seems the first battle of the war has been fought."

Hushed gasps erupted from the men, most still recovering their breaths from the workout and unable to articulate a better response. Anthony just swallowed and tried to calm his nerve which had suddenly jumped with anticipation. Clenching his jaw, he forced his focus onto the sergeant and nodded, waiting for the report.

"The battle was engaged four leagues east of Fairhaven island. Three Ardrean light cruisers met an Aengmiran expeditionary force of four interceptors. Battle lasted for half an hour. Two Aengmiran vessels were sunk... as were all three of ours." Tyrannus lowered the message and looked out at the men, his face a hardened mask as the news sank in. Then a flash of lightning shone in those steely eyes as he continued. "Those men have just given their lives for our country," the sergeant went on, his voice strained. "They could have retreated or surrendered, but they stood their ground." His gaze swept across the hushed assembly. Many of these young men would end up just like them and be dead in a year, he knew, but many more would not. And if this training did its job he hoped they'd send more of the enemy to the Maker than of themselves. "I know this war isn't real for you yet, it's all just training and news on paper so far. But today your training is over. Tomorrow you'll be receiving your assignment orders, and believe me, sh*t's gonna get real very soon. Before you know it you're gonna be getting shot at, and some of you won't make it. But you are all men of Ardreas! You will not cower in the face of danger, you will not run before the enemy!" He held up an Ardrean flag. "Because these colors do not retreat! Make your Emperor proud wherever you end up!"

As one the assembled cadets struck their chests in the Ardrean salute and bellowed, "Long live the Emperor!" News of the first battle, and defeat, was a stinging slap in the face. But it was something that only stirred up more anger at the enemy that had dared to attack them. Now they were as hornets, furious and ready to sting back. Anthony glanced around him at eyes filled with hatred, and he felt a curious mixture of dread and pride. Pride at the national zeal that his fellow countrymen showed for their homeland and those that had died to protect it. And dread at the thought that this war could very well end up costing innumerable people their lives. He shook his head. That was not his call or his concern. He was a soldier of the Imperial Republic now, sworn to live and die to protect his home. The rest of that stuff was for the politicians and the Chantry. He would go where he was sent, for he could do no other.

* * * *

That evening after supper Anthony found himself doing something unexpected. Sitting down with pen and paper he wrote a letter to his brother back in Abaline, explaining the events in the capital as he had seen them and telling how he'd enlisted in the Air Corps. He didn't know if his brother would read it or just throw it out, but he figured with deployment imminent and death a real possibility, his only living family member ought to at least know what was going on. And so with the care of a man throwing all his dice into the roll, he signed and sealed the letter and gave it to the fort's mail clerk. Now, at peace for the first time since leaving the ranch, he could set his eyes on tomorrow and go where the wind took him.

[Ardreas]

Sights of Ardreas

A typical civilian airship over downtown Cerus, circa 6:64 Cloud

*Artwork found on google, original artist unknown.

[Invictus]

The Aurea, Flying Over Ardreas

Titus sat near the railing of the ship gently rocking to and fro, a slight coastal breeze caressing his face. A bit of a chill for a boy used to the tropics of the Cartaal, but he was slightly adjusting to the new climate of the strange land. He gazed intently at the book on the Arellian language in his hands, ignoring the brilliant sunrise view on the opposite side of the deck.

Sorry Sol, but you'll just have to be ignored by me today. Maybe I'll acknowledge your ascent if only you'd provide me with the ability to learned these blasted Ardrean runes.

Titus hated studying the new language. It made his head hurt. Hate didn't factor into the equation, though; he'd need to learn to speak the language of the locals in order to get anywhere. Corvus had abandoned him and left him nearly resourceless. His masterful command of Arellis and understanding of the continent would no longer be able to assist the stranded youth.

"Tea, sir?" asked a serving girl, a brilliant smile illuminated by the sun behind her. It was enough to easily break the boy's attention from his studies. A welcome distraction.

"Yes, please," he smiled back gently as she poured the Ardrean tea into the porcelain cup. He felt saddened for some reason as he accepted the drink and the girl departed; he could not discern why. A few moments passed, and at last he understood.

The green eyes. The smile. It was that of his mother's in the photograph his father had given him. The photograph that he had lost in the scuffle with Buold back at the drilling site. It was the only thing he had ever known of his mother, that smile. His father had never spoken of her otherwise. Breaking his mind away from such miserable thoughts, he took a sip of the tea. It was decent, but lacked the flavor of Invictian brew. Already he was longing for home despite the fact that he had wanted to run his whole life. Such a nuisance, emotions were.

After returning to his studies for the remainder of the morning, an announcement was made to the passengers on deck.

"If you'll turn your attention to the port side of the Aurea you will see below the ancient city of Daegis! The city is the second oldest in all of Ardreas and boasts a very rich history," the voice with the voice of the captain explained, amplified by the horn in his hand.

...Daegis? They named a city after the fallen sun?

The Invictians regarded this as a bad omen. Titus couldn't imagine it to be a popular site to most of his countrymen. Many began to gather around Titus and fill in the formerly empty space. Out of respect, he stood to allow others to flock to the railing as well. The city was indeed massive, and many of its structures looked quite aged and ancient in comparison to many of the newer outlying buildings around them. One gem caught his eye, however. At the center of the city, upon a slight hill existed a massive circular coliseum which humbled the other less-intimidating structures around it. Domed at its top, from this angle high above, it almost appeared to look like a giant eye overlooking its domain.

The voice continued, "At the center of the city you will note the ancient Temple of Daegis, once a celebrated and renowned place of worship for the pre-Ardrean peoples."

The Temple of Daegis? Titus recoiled a it. A temple, no, a city dedicated to the Evil One in modern Ardreas? Frightening. Without drawing the attention of those marveling around him, Titus reached for the dagger concealed in his side, gazing quickly at the blade. It's ancient aesthetic complimented the temple below perfectly. Perhaps the dark sun had been behind the events that brought him to this point in his journey; Sol had not intervened in the maelstrom that was his past, after all. If such was the case, the devil would have his due in time. For now, he had some reading to do.

[Ardreas]

The next morning was Saturday, and with the Week of Hell training complete, Anthony was able to sleep in for the first time since enlisting. But he didn't stay in bed for long. There was a charge of excitement in the air, a sense of anticipation at the commissioning ceremony that would take place later in the day. Oaths would be sworn, ranks would be assigned, and deployments would be given. With all that in mind, staying in bed was nearly impossible for the young soldier from Abaline. It was barely after sunrise when he rolled out of bed, donned his exercise gear, and headed out to the courtyard. He thought about getting breakfast, but his stomach was way too nervous to accept food just yet. So instead he made his way up to a secluded section of the fort's wall and stood gazing out at the river and the city beyond. His mind wandered over the events of the past week, the training, the endurance day run around the city, the accident with Rorick, and the imminent deployment to an uncertain future...

He was deep in thought, his mind far away over unknown horizons, when a sudden rustle of movement behind him caught his ear and jerked him back to the present. Whirling around the country boy found himself face to face with the last thing in the world he would have expected: a woman. And this was no ordinary woman either. She couldn't have been much more than 30, but her regal composure demanded a certain respect. She was tall and dressed in a set of simple but elegant travel robes, and despite himself Anthony couldn't help but gape.

"Excuse me, I didn't mean to startle you," she said, her voice soothing and motherly. "You looked like you were a thousand miles away."

Anthony frowned. Who is this woman? his thoughts demanded. She certainly wasn't in the army. "Did you... need something?" He asked, mentally kicking himself for not having something better to say.

But the woman simply chuckled, a friendly and disarming sort of laugh that began to put the young soldier at ease. "No my child," she replied. "I just came for the view. The morning sunlight reflecting off the water of the river helps me meditate, and it reminds me that we are all flowing down the river of life. Sometimes illuminated, sometimes in darkness, but the river always flows on." She smiled, and Anthony had a sudden realization that she was a member of the Chantry. For who else would talk like that? He was about to say something to that effect when the woman suddenly tilted her head and gazed intently at him. "Have I seen you before?" She asked, taking the country boy by surprise.

"Uh... my name's Anthony," he started to reply, quite unsure of the answer. He'd never been a particularly religious man by Ardrean standards. Sure he went to services fairly regularly, but who didn't? And he wasn't very active beyond that, so where she might have seen him he had no idea.

"Oh now I remember," she announced, cutting into his jumbled thoughts. "Weren't you in the capital on the day..." he voice trailed off as her eyes took on a pained look.

"The day of the blood rain?" he asked, the gentleness of his own voice surprising him.

She nodded.

"Yeah, I was there. Just arrived on the train from Abaline to look for work and start a new life for myself. Then out of nowhere... that." He jerked his thumb skyward as if indicating the rain that they both could picture full well in their memories. "Made me rethink things," he went on. "And the next morning when the Emperor gave that little speech I knew signing up was the right thing to do."

The woman was silent for a moment, her eyes far off. When she replied her voice was a whisper, "Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Anthony didn't have to be a monk to realize she was quoting from the Chant of Light. One of the Benedictions, probably. After a moment he cleared his throat and asked, "so are you here for the ceremony today?"

She nodded. "Yes my child, I will be giving the blessing as the class is sworn in."

Anthony couldn't help but smile as she said 'my child'. It sounded so weird coming from someone barely ten years older than himself. But it was tradition, and this woman's bearing indicated she fully meant it. Age was irrelevant here. Respect was due her, and he would give it.

They stood in silence for another minute, then Anthony turned to leave, his stomach finally beginning to agree that some food would be welcome. As he started toward the stairs the woman's voice called out behind him. "Walk in the Maker's path, Anthony. And remember, in this war justice will need a champion. There will be many more atrocities in the days to come, I fear. Hatred is a powerful thing, and if you're not careful it will consume you from within. But the Chant tells us that true justice walks hand in hand with being a keeper of peace. Stand strong against evil, but do not give in to hate. For if you do, what then will separate you from the Aengmirans?"

* * * *

At 11 o'clock sharp the trumpets sounded in the courtyard of Fort Lukarinas as drums beat the call to formation. All the cadets that had passed the Week of Hell training lined up in their new dress uniforms and stood at attention as Sergeant Tyrannus called them to order. Then stepping aside himself, the sergeant gave way to the Cornicularius in command of the fort, a hawk-faced man who's name Anthony had yet to learn. He proceeded to make a brief speech about the honored traditions of the Ardrean Imperial Legion and to congratulate them all on completing their training. He then turned the proceedings back over to Tyrannus who began to call roll for the men to come receive their commissions. And as the alphabet would have it, Anthony's name was at the top of the list.

"Anthony Rawlings!" the sergeant bellowed, and after a week of training the country boy's feet were already in motion before his brain even registered that the name belonged to him.

"For exemplary conduct during training, you are hereby awarded the rank of Decanus and commissioned to four years service in the Imperial Air Corps." Tyrannus held out a red brass pin in one hand and a scroll of paper in the other. "Do you accept this commission?" he asked.

Anthony nodded. "Yes sir!"

"Then by the authority granted me, I stand ready to receive your oath before the Maker and these witnesses."

"Upon my honor and that of my family, in the sight of the Maker and these witnesses, I Anthony Rawlings do hereby swear my service and loyalty to the Legion of this great country, the Imperial Republic of Ardreas. My life do I offer to defend her honor, and my blood do I give to protect her shores. In life and death I stand before her dread sovereign, Emperor Diosthines, to obey without hesitation the officers above me, and to guard with honor the lives of those below me. So do I swear."

As he finished these words a feeling of surprising calm came to rest on his shoulders. And as Sergeant Tyrannus pinned the rank insignia on his collar, Anthony felt himself smiling. He'd done it. He had passed the tests and challenges and received his commission. Now it was up to fate to send him wherever it would. And to that end he eagerly reached for the scroll bearing his orders. Unrolling it with anticipation he read:

15th Aestus, 6:64 Cloud

Decanus,

You are hereby ordered to report to the Laredo Bay naval base in Sentinel to be joined to the crew of the Skyship Tessonic. There you will receive further training in the art of aerial navigation and shyship operations. You will have the option to specialize in one of several departments and earn further commissions as they become available. We anticipate your arrival by the 17th of this month.

* * * *

The rest of the commissioning ceremony went on, and then the woman from earlier got up to give the blessing after all the cadets had received their orders. Her name, as the Cornicularius called it, was Revered Mothere Lydia.

"Men of Ardreas," she began, her voice ringing out across the courtyard with a surprising strength. "As we face a new and deadly war, I thought it fitting to deliver the blessing today from the Canticle of Trials*. Let these words sustain you, let them be your prayer as you set out for an uncertain future. For no matter how far the winds may take you, you are children of Ardreas, and the light will always guide you home.

Maker, my enemies are abundant.
Many are those who rise up against me.
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,
Should they set themselves against me.

Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.

Though all before me is shadow,
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.

The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal,
But know that the sun always rises.

* * * *

As Anthony strode toward the gate of the fort, duffel bag over his shoulder, he paused to glance back. It had only been a week, but this place would forever be etched in his memory. It had taken a raw country boy and fashioned him into a weapon ready to fight in the name of his nation. That was something indeed. And as he looked across the still crowded courtyard, his eyes met those of Sergeant Tyrannus. The gruff older man stared back at him, then raised a hand to his chest in the Ardrean salute. Anthony returned the gesture, then spun on his hill and marched under the gate. His future lay before him. Glory or death, but it was his time to answer the call. The train at the station would take him to Sentinel, and from there to wherever the winds would blow...

* Chant of Light verses taken from Bioware's Dragon Age series and can be found publicly available here: dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Chant_of_Light_verses

[Invictus]

The Aurea, Arriving in Sentinel, Ardreas

The 16th of Aestus 6:64 Cloud, Titus heard from an Ardrean passenger he had managed to converse with on the most elementary level. What an odd caldenar, he thought. Why not simply ignore the age and focus only on the year until enlightened elders declared the end of an age? It seemed much less complicated to him. Still, satisfied at what he had learned from the helpful native so far, Titus bid the woman farewell and left the dining hall seat, only to hear a bit of chuckling beyond him. Were the Ardreans simply mocking his attempts or focusing their attention on something else all together?

"And a good dog to you as well, friend," the Ardrean retorted in Invicti.

d**n. He had to admit, the mistake was at least a bit humorous. It was time to study vocabulary again, it seemed.

***************

"ATTENTION!" the captain cried from his contraption on the deck of the ship. " We will be making landfall in Sentinel on the hour! Prepare yourselves for departure!"

At last, his days of respite among the gentle winds of the Ardrean sky were over. He was soon to be broke, lost, and stranded in a new world.

The moustached captain continued:
"Friendly reminder that the Imperial nation of Ardreas has declared war upon the traitorous nation of Aengmir. Citizens and visitors alike should be cautious when traveling near the Ardrean border and international waters. As a result of this recent international crisis, the Wafting Watercraft Traveling Firm will be suspending operations in eastern Ardreas and mainland western Altus until further notice!"

Fantastic. The only route home by air would now be unavailable in the event of an emergency. And full blown war? Titus had not heard of this news since his admittedly-brief layover in New Corinth. This would be a time of great challenge and change for the Ardrean nation. A perfect place for a young man to lose himself among the chaos...

**************

With a great release of air pressure from the suspended balloon, the Aurea descended slowly down to sea for the last time in the bay of the fantastic city of Sentinel. With a bit of sadness in his heart, Titus departed from the grand ship for the last time, his balance slowly coming back to him after walking on solid earth for the first time in several days. He took a moment to collect himeself and count his things before taking a deep breath and following the crowd of departees to Sol knew where...

This city was quite different from Invictus. It had very little feel of Invictian influence at all, unlike the trade city of New Corinth. All of the signs were written in Arellis and all of the buildings with unique Ardrean style. What a strange and amazing place... what a cold place, he thought. A shiver ran up his spine from the weather, even though it was early summer.

*THUD* Titus heard as his body collided into that of another pedestrian's, sending the cargo he was carrying crashing to the ground. Angered, the older man began to shout in Arellis to the young foreigner, before giving him a small shove and collecting his sullied goods from the ground. Time to pay attention on what we're doing. Quickly attempting to recall what had just transpired, he managed to recognize a few words in the man's tirade: 'foreigner', 'time', and 'war.' Whatever it was the man had said, it had certainly not been kind.

Titus continued to explore for some time, taking note of key places and landmarks. A restaurant here, a hostel there. A great fountain marked a location where he could turn to
if he suddenly became lost. He circled parts of the large modern city for nearly an hour before returning to the area where he had begun.

As the bewildered young man continued to stumble around in the bustling streets, looking for a place to fill his stomach or lay his head, he heard a sound in the distance coming from the south and illuminated by the setting sun. It was much like the thud of the cargo minutes ago, but much louder, its sound waves echoing and reverberating across the entire city. It was so disturbing, it seemed as if everyone in the city had immediately frozen in place and turned to find the source of the horrible noise in the distance. Following in suit, Titus did as well. What he saw sent a rush of adrenaline all throughout his fatigued body.

In the distance, Titus could see what appeared to be a fireball slowly falling from the darkening sky many kilometers out into international waters. A meteorite? Falling to earth? He was unaware that such small astronomical bodies made such nose when entering the atmosphere. He squinted a bit more, focusing his vision intently on the object as he heard the terrified cries of panicking Ardreans all around him. Screaming: the universal language.

It was no meteorite illuminating the sky, he quickly discovered. Himself begin to panic, he urgently turned his gaze to the harbor, internally crossing his fingers and hoping to find an airship at rest among the gentle waves. It was to no avail. The Aurea had left the bay around an hour ago. It seemed, however, it would be returning to sea quite soon.

Before he could think, Titus found himself on the cold ground as panicking citizens and visitors stampeded all around him. Herd mentality had prevailed, and it was essential that he remove himself from the deadly situation before being reduced to a pile of bloody goop. In a frenzy, he threw his arms into the air and managed to grab a hold of a tall man's coat, which he held onto for dear life in sheer hope. As if flying on the wings of an angel, Titus managed to be lifted into the air as the fleeing man was capable of briefly sustaining the dead weight. Pulling himself to his feet, Titus relented his grip and managed to flee for himself. People were being trampled all around, and the ruthless pack of humans only continued in their mad frenzy. Fortunately, he had learned a lot from Corvus on how to react in such situations and how avoid becoming one with the herd. As many other continued to run northward, Titus made a dash to the west down a smaller street, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Not for long it seemed.

Many others in the crowd took notice of the Invictian's escape route, and began to flood the street themselves. By Sol, can I catch a break just for once?

In his search for the Sun's protection, Titus managed to see a balcony not far above his head. A small jump and a quick maneuvering of the arms ought to do the trick, just like old Corvus taught him. He promptly attempted it. As he pulled himself up to safety, the raging crowd swept past his dangling feet, continuing further down the street.

He was exhausted: mentally, physically, and now, emotionally. As he sat for a moment in contemplation, he began to think of the beautiful young attendant aboard the Aurea, the one who looked like his mother when she had smiled at him; the one so young and full of life. She was now nothing; burnt alive and sent to the bottom of the ocean because of a game between two nations. Unexpectedly, the young man began to cry; a rare occasion indeed. Why? He had survived thus far. None of his friends or family members had been harmed.

Then he recognized it. He had lost his mother three times; in childbirth, her picture in the oil fire, and aboard the ship today. Death seemed to follow in his wake everywhere he set foot. The dagger on his side was laughing at him; his only remaining companion a curse from a dead god. Fire had consumed him at the drilling operation. Fire had followed him to Ardreas. Now fire awoke within him the innate noble Tuquerean desire within his heart to actually do something of worth. To be the son of a Lightbearer.

Finishing his contemplation, he laid his head on the balcony, letting his tears and the quieting sounds of distant panic lull him to sleep

[Ardreas]

The train ride from Velengard to Sentinel was long and tiring for the newly commissioned Decanus Anthony Rawlings. He'd managed to sleep some as the train barreled on through the night, its rhythmic clickity-clacking and gentle swaying the perfect combination for encouraging rest. But the hard-backed seat didn't help and had left the young man stiff when his bladder finally woke him the next morning.

After relieving himself the young soldier spent an hour pacing the corridor to stretch his legs before returning to his seat to order breakfast. It was Sunday the 16th now, and this was already the longest train ride he'd ever been on. He felt like tearing his hair out at the prospect of spending the rest of the day cooped up in this metal cage. But as he was expected at the base tomorrow to report for duty, he had little room for delay.

Gazing out the window Anthony noticed that they must have crossed the Aurum river some time during the night, for the train was already passing through the Amaranthine lake region north of Daegis. He had to admit that the view was actually quite nice. Stunning even. This particular rail line was one of the newer ones, and rather than swing southward to the coast this one went northeast through the heartland, crossed the river near Teletec', and then straight east through the lake country before meeting up with the coastal rail lines north of Azure City. From there it was one final stretch eastward to Sentinel and the journey's end... if he could make it that long. Sighing, he turned his back to the window and let his mind wander, trying to pass the time with daydreams. But you'd be surprised just how hard daydreams are to summon when they know you're looking for them. They can be as stubborn as snowshoe rabbits in winter, invisible whenever a hunter is near.

Despite it all, however, the rest of the day did pass, and by the time the sun was lengthening its shadows in the west, the conductor was announcing the train's final stop fast approaching. Pressing his face against the window, Anthony tried to get a glimpse of Sentinel as the train crested a low hill. At first he could see only the trees along side the track, but then suddenly there it was! The city glimmered between him and the coast, lit up in the light of the sinking sun like a white sparkling quartz. The stone of the city's walls and ancient homes practically shone in the reflected light, and it was enough to take the country boy's breath away. Truly this was a beautiful city! He'd heard stories about it from his grandfather, but he'd never been here himself or even seen any photographs of it. But even if he had, something told the young soldier that none of it would have prepared him for this moment.

It was of course a different kind of beauty from the capital. Arrellia, by every right, was the most spectacular city in the Imperial Republic. But it was also such a huge and busy city, that Anthony had felt too lost and overwhelmed to really be able to appreciate it. Plus the sudden attack on the same day he arrived had kind of thrown everything out of whack and completely banished any thoughts of awe at the sights around him. But now, with all that behind him, Anthony was able to enjoy the quiet, elegant beauty of Sentinel as the train rolled into the city...



(artwork "A Classical Perspective" by Carl Laubin)

* * * *

Disembarking at the station, Anthony wished he had time for a little sight-seeing, but the sun was already almost gone and if he had any hope of finding lodging before nightfall he knew he needed to find an inn quick. And that was to say nothing of finding the naval base, which he only knew was somewhere on the east side of town. But he could do that in the morning. Right now the young soldier wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a large bed to spread out on.

Suddenly shouting up ahead broke into his thoughts and jerked his attention to the movement around him. Something was going on. Frowning, the country boy pulled his backpack up tight and looked around. A crowd seemed to be surging away from the water front, and there was an air of general panic in the city. A chill ran down his spine, and his eyes immediately darted skyward for any signs of an airship. But there was nothing. This was no blood rain like what had happened at the capital. But something was definitely going on, and he intended to find out what it was.

Letting his military training take over, Anthony took a deep breath and then strode forward into the edge of the crowd. Wasting no time on pleasantries, he reached out a strong hand and unceremoniously grabbed a skinny middle-aged man as he attempted to run past. Hauling the trembling merchant to his feet, for that's what he appeared to be, the young Decanus put his face right up into that of the frightened man, much like he'd seen sergeant Tyrannus do many times during training. "What in the Maker's name is going on here!?" he bellowed, perhaps a bit too harshly. But if the city was in danger he needed to know.

"A...attack!" the man sputtered, his eyes wide with shock and terror. "There was an ex... explosion at sea!" He gestured wildly at the coast. "It's got to be that Aengmiran fleet we've been hearing about. The news criers say our eastern fleet is sunk and the city's wide open to invasion! They say we've already lost Fairhaven island and that we're next!" The man's eyes gleamed with a rabid expression of fear as he spoke, and Anthony was compelled to let him go and step back, half afraid that the man might try to bite him. But the merchant seemed more concerned with getting away from the coast than anything else. And as he staggered away, disappearing back into the crowd, Anthony felt a strange sense of dread fall over him. Could things really be that bad? he asked himself. It's only been a week since the Blood Rain! There's no way Aengmir could have mounted such a powerful invasion already... is there?

As his mind whirled, the young soldier's feet carried him forward through the market plaza and toward the shore. He could see no signs of any battle taking place, nor were there any warships in sight, friendly or otherwise. There was a column of smoke on the horizon, however, as if something big had caught fire out to sea. He wondered if it had been an Ardrean vessel, and if that meant that Dominion forces were really that close. The thought was not a pleasant one, but he would find out soon enough. Suppressing a shudder, Anthony turned away from the sight and let his eyes roam over the city. He still had to find a place to sleep, enemy war fleet or not. Tomorrow he would make his way to the base and find out what the hell was really going on, but right now he needed rest.

Most of the crowds had thinned as the young soldier made his way to a side street to begin looking for an inn. But suddenly movement up ahead caught his eye. Glancing up he was just in time to see a shadowy figure sitting down on the edge of a balcony on the side of the street. He was wearing dusty boots and it looked like he must have climbed up from the road. Is that a burglar!? At a time like this? How low can a person get!? The man was wearing a typical Ardrean sweater but had a strange looking haircut and a distinctly foreign look to his face, though it was hard to catch any details through the gathering darkness. Suddenly a dreadful thought struck him, and Anthony wondered if this might be an Aengmiran infiltrator. But why would an enemy spy sit down and rest on someone's balcony? Shouldn't they be after more important targets? He sighed. First day in town and he was already getting jumpy and seeing spies where they probably didn't exist. "Real smooth Decanus," Anthony muttered to himself. "The guy probably lives there, don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." Then shooting one last glance at the curious figure who now appeared to be fast asleep on the balcony, he turned and continued on down the road.

After another block he finally found an inn and rented himself a room for the night. Then tearing off his sweaty clothes the young soldier collapsed onto the bed and let the distant sound of seagulls mixed with occasional shouts lull him to sleep.

* * * *

Sunlight burst through the eastern window the next window, filling Anthony's room with golden light as he rolled over and slowly came to. For a moment he just lay there, relaxing like a cat basking in the sun. But then his stomach growled, reminding the country boy that in all the excitement of last night he'd quite forgotten to get supper. So after a quick sponge bath to wash off the stink, he dressed and went down to the common room for a bite to eat. Sitting around the parlor were a number of elderly patrons, and as Anthony sat down to join them one was speaking about the events of the previous night.

"... it's a d**n shame really. The Aurea was a fine airship from what I hear. Only two years in service, too."

"Forget the blasted ship!" replied one of the other men, his grey mustache trembling with rage. "The people aboard were civilians! And those d**n Aengmirans had no business shooting down a civilian airship like that! What the bloody hell is this world coming to when innocent people can get shot down for no reason at all!?"

"Indeed, and I hear Legate Demetrius even had his house broken into last night during the riots," replied the first man. "It seems tensions are high and the people are afraid. Anything could happen, and it's a small step from this to total anarchy!"

"All the more reason for us to act!" cut in a third man. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and held a pipe clenched between his yellow teeth. "His Imperial Majesty has promised reinforcements are on the way, and it's only a matter of time before the fleet from Arrellia arrives to push the enemy back. But until then, like it or not, we are vulnerable here!" The other men grunted in assent as he went on. "Now need I remind you that you were all once Legionnaires? You all served your country with valor, and each of us chose to settle here when our service was done. This city is our home, and despite our age we can still fight! I say we arm ourselves and assist the magistrates with organizing a martial defense force in case the worst should happen."

The men went on talking as Anthony listened in amazement. Here he was about to embark on his own military career, and these retired servicemen were talking about how even they could still do their part. It was inspiring. Finally, as time was stubbornly moving on, Anthony dismissed himself and headed out into the street to go find the naval base. Perhaps one day, if he was lucky, he might find himself in a parlor like those men, old and distinguished, and arguing about politics or other issues. Or he might end up dead on some forgotten shore far from home. Either way, his future lay at the base, and the sooner he found it the sooner he could begin the greatest journey of his life.

[Invictus]

Home of Legate Armandreos Demetrius; Sentinel, Ardreas; Night of the Attack on the Aurea

"I'll give you one chance to explain yourself, boy, before I spill your pathetic innards all over my fine Quorlastian rug! Answer incorrectly and you'll soon find a ball of lead ripping your brains apart!"
Titus lay faced-down and completely still on the ground of the aging man's parlor; his hands clearly visible as the imposing man stood over him.
But moments ago the graying age-worn man had emerged from his manor to investigate the source of the sonic boom across the city, only to find a foreign invader laying at his doorstep. He did not gently awaken the Invictian refugee nor offer him tea; he treated Titus exactly as you would expect an ex-military leader would to a foreign invader.

Shit.

Hopefully he had learned enough Arellis to adequately profess his innocence.

"Please!...No... Aengmir!" he managed to spit out, nervously twitching his eyes as the weapon-wielding warrior pulled back the projectile launcher's hammer.
"What? Speak again. Speak clearly," he demanded.

"I am...no... was...aboard... passenger... on the Aurea. Air...ship. I am Invicitan!" Titus only prayed that the enraged Ardrean understood.

The strong man hesitated for a moment before slowly lowing his weapon to his side and took a few steps back.
"Hmm... Yes, you do look a bit different from an Aengmirian. You may stand... slowly," the general said in fluent Invicti to the Titus's surprise.
Very carefully, Titus stood to his feet, ensuring to reveal his hands the entire time.

"You... you speak Invicit? Thank Sol, I am not an enemy!" the young man said, his tangled black hair dangling over his partially-scared face.

The mustached-man continued to look upon his captive in apprehension. It took several seconds for him to answer.
"You sure look beat, boy. You're saying you had nothing to do with that airship sinking? It seems awfully convenient for a foreigner like you to show up on my property at such a late hour immediately following an attack!"

"I'm aware, sir. I was aboard the Aurea! I've just arrived from my homeland. I narrowly escaped death myself!"

"Yes... I heard you mention something like that in your god awful attempt at Arellis, son."

Well, that was encouraging.

"Still... why are you here on my balcony? How can I ensure you're not a foreign agent working for Aengmir? I'm not a man to make a silly mistake like that, you know. You weren't sent to kill me, were you?"

"No, sir. I... I'm not sure how I can prove my legitimacy. My name is Titus. I am from Spero. I climbed your balcony to avoid the fleeing crowds. I was almost trampled."

The general hesitated, contemplating the young man's account.
"That's quite a feat for someone to move like that. Almost as if you've had some form of military training. Where did you learn that skill?"

"In a sense, I guess. A friend taught me how to climb back home. I was not trained by any military. I was only trying to-"

"DON'T MOVE, BOY!" the angered old man cried out again, slowly approaching the Invictian's captive body.

"What's that on your side?" he asked, slowly removing the dagger on his leg.

Oh boy.

The Ardrean slowly removed the weapon from its sheath, allowing it to truly glow in the moonlight shining in through the balcony doors; casting shadows over the ornate sitting couch and coffee table in the center of the white tiled floor.
"By the Maker... is this-"

"It's nothing, sir. I just carry it for protection, I-"

"The Red Dagger... the Dagger of Daegis. I thought it was only a thing of myth... who are you, boy?"

How in the world would the Ardrean know of such a thing?

Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable or find himself shot out of suspicion, Titus relented.
"My name is Titus Tuquere. I am the son of Lightbearer Simus of Spero. I have fled my country as a result of personal complications. I had no future, I had no purpose, but I just witnessed dozens of innocent people be immolated above my head that didn't deserve it. I want to help your people, sir. I believe I was brought here."

"The son of the Lightbearer himself? Here? Please, do stand boy," the old man relented as his voice softened. Apparently the renown of his father had credibility even in this land.
Titus followed the instructions of the authoritative man, only now noticing that he was adorned in his nightwear and slippers. The buff figure then carefully handed back the weapon to its proper owner.

"That's some story, young man. Even if you made it up, it was successful on me. Or maybe I’m just too tired to care. I ask you, son, why do you want to help Ardreas?"

"I don't," Titus admitted bluntly. "I just want to fight the Aenmirians."

"For what purpose, may I ask? A future Lightbearer is not meant to serve in any military position, if I am correct."

"I will not be a Lightbearer. It's untraditional, I'm aware, but I was called to other things. Thus far, neither the will of Sol nor that of Daegis has brought my life to an end. Perhaps I'll test my luck here."

The inquisitive and serious man stroke his goatee, unamused. "That still doesn't give you a motivation to assist us. You're not exactly mercenary material, I don't think."
"My mother died aboard that ship. I want to fight back, sir. I don't mean you nor any other Ardrean any harm. If you'll just let me leave I'll find somewhere else to stay. Please forgive me for all of this confusion."

"You damn well won't be on your way! Can’t risk it at this point."

Great. A night of sleep in a prison cell didn't sound all that bad in comparison to another hour of interrogation at gunpoint.

Surprisingly, the man reacted differently than expected. "I am Legate Armandreos Demetrius. I have served in the Ardrean Legion for nearly the entirety of my life, as did my father and my father's father. I'd like to make you a candidate in the Ardrean Foreign Legion, boy. Judging by your acrobatic and martial skills at work here today, I think you'd fit perfectly. In all honesty, I don't care if you have any love for the Imperial Republic; we'll take all the capable help we can get, for the moment."

The Legate paused for a moment, relaxing his stature as he retreated to the coffee table, removing from it kettle and a cup. He quickly poured the tea into the receptacle before handing it off to Titus.
"Drink. You look dehydrated, boy. You can stay here tonight. I figure if you wanted to have killed me, you would have tried to do so by now. If you still do, and manage it, then congratulations and shame on me and my charity! In the morning, I'll personally take you meet the other recruits. In truth, foreigners aren't exactly being looked upon favorably at the moment, so it should be a perfect place to show your worth to the nation."

Titus expired, relaxing his composure and thanking the Legate for his hospitality.
"Thank you, sir. You won't regret it," the young man said enthusiastically.

"Hmph. Yes yes. Off to bed now."

[Ardreas]

Eastern Sentinel, Ardreas, on the morning of the 17th

Scattered clouds were rolling overhead, driven by a cool sea breeze as Anthony Rawlings topped a hill and gazed out across the city toward the bay. In the distance he could make out the shape of a large warship tied to a pier with several cranes and other strange attachments. The vessel seemed to be listing to one side, though from this distance the young soldier couldn't be sure if it really was or if the light was just playing tricks on him. Beyond the pier, though, Anthony could make out the sharp, angular buildings of a naval yard, and he could only assume that it was Laredo Bay. It's not like there's any other naval bases around here for me to find... he thought to himself as he let his feet carry him onward, down the road and toward the southeast.

An hour later, a footsore Anthony was much relieved to find himself standing before the massive wrought iron gate that was the city entrance to the naval base. Walking on the hard stone city streets was a lot different from the soft, dusty earth of the ranch back home, or even the grassy terrain around Fort Lukarinas. It produced a kind of stiffness the country boy was unaccustomed to, and he paused to thank the Maker he wasn't joining the infantry. After a moment he noticed movement inside the gate, and soon a tall, muscular guard appeared, a rifle cradled in his arms as he gazed through the bars at the newcomer. "Business?" He asked abruptly.

Anthony blinked, then remembered his training and quickly reached for his orders, producing them from his pants pocket and holding them up for the guard to see. "Decanus Anthony Rawlings reporting for duty." He said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Apparently he succeeded, for the guard's expression changed immediately. "Very good sir," he replied, lowering his weapon and reaching up to unlatch the gate so it could swing open. "If you'll proceed across the yard to that big building with the granite steps," he indicated with his rifle toward the far side of the compound, "you will find the base commander's office. Present your orders to his lieutenant at the front desk, and they'll get you situated." With that the guard struck his chest in a salute and stood back to let the young soldier pass.

The naval yard was a busy place as Anthony made his way quickly across toward the command building. He could hear shouts coming from the water front, and up ahead a gang of men trotted by carrying a long steel beam. There was the distant clanging of metal, as if some machine of industry was at work producing parts for who-knows what. And he wondered for a moment where the military could find space to include an airfield in a crowded place like this. But then he saw it! Beyond the bustle of activity, far from the hulking metal behemoth that lay at anchor by the pier, half-hidden behind a cluster of buildings was a patch of green. As he approached the command center he caught glimpses of the open grassy field on the other side, and the giant, yet elegant shape that lay resting on it like an eagle in its nest. Is that the Tessonic? he wondered and had to fight the urge to simply run over and get a look at it. Like a giddy schoolboy seeing a beautiful new girl across the playground, he felt his heart quicken at the sight of what might be his future. First thing's first Anthony, he chided himself. Get signed in, then look around. And so he forced his feet to continue. Up the steps and into the command center he went, though his eyes never left the airfield...

The lieutenant at the desk was much less impressed with Anthony's orders than the guard at the gate had been. But he stamped his receipt on them and showed the young soldier where to go to stow his gear and then get set with orientation. He was informed that he would be part of Baker Group, and that his formal training and integration with them would begin the next day.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur as Anthony was whisked around the facility, shown classrooms and specialty training areas, given yet another medical exam, and assigned a barracks room. Finally, as he sat down to eat lunch in the massive cafeteria, he was able to breathe and think over all he'd taken in. The warship in the harbor, he'd learned, was the Imperial Ironclad Cruiser Murellian, named of course after the seventh emperor. It had been damaged in battle near the besieged island of Fairhaven, trying to keep Aengmiran forces from making landfall. But in the end it had been forced to retreat in order to get word back to command of the situation, and enemy reinforcements were approaching. The last the crew saw was that the island was surrounded and the fort was under heavy bombardment. There was a great deal of discouragement on their faces, Anthony noticed, as they sat alone at a table in the corner. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that had to have been like, to be ordered to leave a fight, knowing that the people left behind were almost certain to be killed. A sudden chill ran down his spine and he shuddered. People said war was hell, but he had no idea...

The Imperial Ironclad Warship Murellian*

* * * *

That afternoon Anthony was finally taken to the airfield and got to see what he'd been eager to see since first arriving: the Skyship Tessonic. It lay like an enormous bird of prey upon the grass of the field. It's hull made of fine lightweight timber, carved in ferocious animal designs. The sides were carved in what resembled feathers, like great wings spread upward to catch the air. The bow was cut into the shape of a beak, and several hatches along the edges opened to reveal cannons peaking out. Suddenly he realized that this vessel was made for both bombing and aerial combat! The ship itself was 120 feet long, which was one of the largest designs yet in Ardreas. But the dirigible balloon suspended overhead was more than 700 feet long with a diameter of nearly 100 feet. Anthony couldn't help but gape in awe at the size of such a monstrosity. The lieutenant leading the tour read off a list of specs, but the country boy was so amazed that he missed most of them. He did catch the top speed announcement though, an impressive 44 knots! If those numbers were right, that would make this thing the fastest man-made object on Aedes! The country boy couldn't help but grin as he thought of the possibilities of what such a craft could do. Why, they could be over Fairhaven in just a few hours, they could make minced meat out of the enemy fleet! They could fly all the way to Aengmir itself and bomb them flat!

"...which is where the next session of your training will take place tomorrow at 07:00." The lieutenant was saying, and Anthony snapped his attention back to the present, hoping he didn't look like his mind had been wandering. Crap, I'll have to ask someone what he said about that location, he thought. "We will go over Dominion air power and a list of their known designs to prepare you for what you will be facing in the field." the lieutenant continued, "and you would all be well advised to memorize the sketches and information provided. In battle, you won't have time to dig through books to figure things out. What's up here," he tapped the side of his head, "can save your life."

He went on for a while, and by the time he was finished Anthony had a lot more to think about. One thing in particular stood out. Aengmir has airpower too, he thought. Perhaps it won't be as easy as just bombing them flat. But what could they have that could possibly be a match for this!? He sighed. Joining the Air Corps had opened up so many doors to new opportunities never before seen by his people. But apparently there was also more risk than at first it might seem. That evening, as he sat on his cot in the tiny room assigned to him, the young Decanus considered long and hard the path before him. It would be the adventure of a lifetime, to soar among the clouds and fight for his country, but it could also make that lifetime very short... very short indeed.

*Actual image taken from public archive, 1862 ironclad vessel Galena

[Invictus]

Sentinel, Ardreas, On the Morning of the 17th

It had seemed but only a few seconds of rest before golden rays poured throgh the glass door leading to Demetrius' balcony, reminding him of his duty for the day. It was but a few moments after opening his eyes when he heard the loud footsteps of the big-bodied military man. Fully dressed in spotless military attire, the legate practically forced Titus out of bed. After a quick biscuit of some variety and a morning brew, the two were already out the door and walking the sunlit streets of the beautiful city of Sentinel; a beauty that the young man had not been able to appreciate the day before.

"You're in the old military quarter. Lots of estates belonging to decorated families here, as you can see. One of the oldest parts of the city."

Titus nodded, appreciating the contrast of the bright white and other soft pastel colors that decorated many of these foundations. He had to admit, this city was much more beautiful than that of Spero simply for the sheer architecture of the place. Traditionally, his home city had been a simple and quiet port city; ostentation was frowned upon by the religious outside of the Solarium itself. It had only been in recent years that visionary artists had built traditional Invicitian structures and design in the city; giving it a sense of direction and identity.

Titus remained quiet, not only not knowing what to say but afraid of annoying his new Ardrean patron who appeared to be a serious man due to his rough and worn exterior. He had obviously seen combat before, and, despite his age, didn't seem to be afraid of it again.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you learn to speak Invici so well, sir?" he braved.

"Ah. Yes, you noticed, I see. The legion encourages that you learn a foreign language. No doubt you will be learning Arellis; it will be essential for you. Besides that, I served in Invictus for a few years as a consultant and adviser for both Ardrean military men and potential foreign recruits. We can't be fighting ALL the time,"the man seemed to chuckle.

"My government couldn't have been so supportive of that, could they?"

"Ha. Your 'Federal Council' no, but this was the heyday of Paetrarch Caspianus. He's getting up there in age, isn't he? Like me... He wasn't so short-sighted and passive like the weak councilors and sanctors. He saw the need for military prowess. He commissioned me and a few others to train Invictian troops. This wasn't exactly made very public, boy, but the intent was good. Your country may have been steamrolled by the Quorlastians, otherwise. You see, it can be a great thing to have 'Peace and Prosperity,' but these things can sometimes only be achieved by means not so peaceful nor prosperous. Your paetrarch understood this principle we Ardreans have held for centuries. Sometimes, it just takes a strong leader to take the reigns and subdue the animal under you."

The message struck Titus like a dagger to his heart. Sheltered by the Solists his entire life, he had always understood this practical truth internally. He had experienced it with his time with the Solists. He had experienced it during his oil excavation days. If one was to sustain a nation, action had to be taken. Perhaps that's why the Solists have remained apolitical...

"You understand this, boy? You soon will..."

The two continued their walk, heading east through the somewhat quiet city center. The people were on edge, Titus could tell. Living in a constant state of fear of bombardment must be a horrible thing. The sound of the giant and ornate fountain in the city center and the birdsong in the scattered trees was quite calming and gave the illusion of lasting peace. Titus was adjusting quite well to the climate here. The lack of humid forests was difficult to adjust himself to, but he found that he enjoyed the cooler climate. The city was the perfect mix between bustling and friendly. Unlike Spero, the city was bigger and full of life. Unlike Civitas, it was calmer and friendlier. The perfect mix, according to the young man's tastes.

At last, the two entered an area that appeared more military-like in nature. Soldiers patrolled the street adorned in Ardrean military dress. Officials moved to and fro, delivering orders, materials, and people where they needed to go.

"We're approaching the Foreign Legion headquarters. From there, I'll be sure to put in a good word of recommendation and they'll handle you from there."

Titus nodded. Although grateful, he felt disappointed at his soon-to-be lack of freedom once more. He had just left ruin at home to face combat in a foreign land. He had just jumped from the frying plan and, in accordance with his luck, landed into the fire. Or perhaps soon the firing line, more aptly put.

As the two rounded a corner, the bay was at last visible, and with it the military docks came into view. A leviathan sat on the water, drawing every gazing eye close by.

By Sol, what in the world is that?

As if reading his mind, Demetrius answered. "That, boy, is the Murellian. It's taken a bit of hull damage in combat, but she's held together. The navy boys were afraid we might lose her, but I told em they had nothing to fear."

If these were the types of war machines that would face each other, Titus feared the result. Industrial creations of flame and steel hurling projectiles of flame and steel, all wreaking chaos and destruction on an massive scale. The result: blood and fire.

At last, the legate led Titus into a compound that apparently belonged to the foreign legion; his new home. He was led inside a great hall and made to face a man in fatigues behind a desk as the legate approached. Showing due deference, the official quickly stood and saluted the imposing figure.

"At ease, officer. I've come to bring a potential recruit. The kid is obviously strong and capable, as I've seen from experience. He's got a certain... fire burning within. I think he might fit in here."

The official then returned to his seated position, proceeding to stare the young Invictian down as the legate went on. This was a test. A test he had taken before, fortunately. The key: do not back down. Do not be afraid. Titus remained standing tall and stoical, refusing to twitch or move his gaze. It seemed as if he didn't even blink for a minute or so before the legate finished his monologue.

At last, the Ardrean desk official nodded and stood. "What's your name, boy?"

"Titus, sir. Titus Solius," It was here where he took a risk, putting his deceptive skills to use. The legate seemed confused for a moment, but let it go, fortunately. Perhaps he understood the pressure and attention that would be given not only to a Lightbearer's son, but to a wanted fugitive.

The questions continued as the man at the desk began to fill out a paper with the information given. At last, there was just one question remaining.

"Do you swear allegiance to the Imperial Republic of Ardreas? Will you serve its emperor and people to the best of your ability? Will you stand unwaveringly in face of this nation's enemies, regardless of who they may be? Are you prepared to face death itself in order to secure that?"

At last, the gravity of the situation hit the young man. He may very well face a fiery death like those aboard the Aurea in service of a nation he had only known about because of his oil days. Was he truly prepared? Did he even have a choice?

"I swear," he spoke, raising his hand and pledging his military service.

"Very good. You're officially a recruit, Solius. Follow me, I'll take you to the barracks. You'll report to drillmaster Dereos and he'll take care of it from there. Welcome aboard."

As Titus took a breath and began to follow his leader, Legate Demetrius stopped him, leaning in for his ear.

"Ah, I forgot, boy. That dagger. They're going to confiscate everything you have on you. You'll want to make sure and hide that dagger. Not even a legate can help you there. Good luck, son. It'll be hell, but if you can make it make it, by the Maker, maybe I'll see you out there."

With that, the two said their goodbyes as Titus discreetly moved the dagger down his leg, proceeding from the daylight sun into the long and darkened hall. It was a new page of a most dangerous chapter, and the young foreigner couldn't shake his sense of foreboding danger.

[Ardreas]

Laredo Bay Naval Base, Eastern Sentinel, 18th of Aestus

Anthony Rawlings hit the ground hard, his mouth filling with mud as he sputtered and cursed through bleeding lips. A ringing had taken up residency in his ears, and his vision blurred through the stinging tears that he fought to defeat. A loud thud on the ground told him that his tormentor had just landed, and with a force of will the country boy threw himself to the side as something whooshed past his head. Then shoving himself off the ground with all his might he scrambled to his feet and whirled around to face his foe. If there was one thing he learned growing up with his brother on that ranch, it was to never retreat from a fight, or you'll be taken advantage of forever. And today was no exception. Before him stood the hulking figure of the man who had decided to be the first to test the mettle of the new Decanus-in-training. He was tall, a good two inches taller than Anthony, and with broad shoulders and a heavy-set jaw. His dirty blonde hair had been cropped short to meet Legion standards, but he still managed to maintain a devil-may-care appearance as he stood there, fists raised. Julianos Marcanders: native of Arcturus, the legendary city of Exile in the far north, and general thorn in the side.

Anthony snorted, took a sharp breath, then dove in low. He knew he couldn't take on this nordic behemoth in height. His only chance was to get under his adversary's swings and throw him to the ground, and this is what he did. Julianos saw it coming and brought down both hands to block, but the Abaline navite was too fast. He slammed into the taller man with all his might and together they went sprawling in the mud, this time with Anthony on top. He struck hard and fast, smashing the irritating grin off his opponent's face. But Julianos was already moving, even as Anthony's fists connected. In a blur of movement, they had twisted around and the country boy was soon fighting to keep from getting pinned. He could hear distant shouts, and through the chaos of movement it looked as if a crowd was gathering. But he had no time to worry about such things. The big northerner was tensing up to deliver another nasty blow, and Anthony had only one thing he could do. Closing his eyes and tensing his own muscles, he threw everything into a sudden jab with his forehead, thrusting in to connect with Julianos' jaw. The big man grunted at the impact and loosened his grip, which Anthony used immediately to twist free. He didn't waste energy this time, trying to get to his feet. Instead he simply rolled to the side, then brought his legs around, kicking out hard at the muddy figure. His left foot connected with the other man's side, and he heard the satisfying gasp as the wind left those nordic lungs.

Suddenly strong hands were clasping his shoulders, and Anthony struggled for a moment before the words being said registered in his mind.

"That's enough cadet!" Barked the sergeant in command of the training group.

Anthony blinked, trying to clear the mud and tears from his eyes so he could see what was going on. Nearly the entire training class was present, standing around in a circle with expressions of mixed awe and horror. A few feet away a pair of MPs were hauling the big northerner to his feet. Blood was running down his face, and Anthony felt a moment of pride knowing that he'd beaten this behemoth in front of everyone. But that feeling quickly melted away as the sergeant spun him around to face him.

"What kind of back-water, hell-inspired, barbarism is this!?" He demanded, his eyes bright with rage. "I ought to tear your arms off and make you wear them as a hat! In case you've already forgotten, we have a WAR on!! If you want to bite and devour each other," he shouted, turning his attention to both men, "you'll save the Aengmirans the trouble!"

Anthony swallowed, dropping his eyes to the ground. It was a foolish thing to have done, he chided himself. Only his second day at the base and he'd allowed that stupid man's taunts to get him into a fight. The Legion was a very different place from back home. There was a line to walk between defending one's honor and following the rules. And he admitted to himself that he might have just crossed that line.

"Stand at attention when I address you!" Bellowed the sergeant, snapping Anthony's attention back to him. He quickly complied, stretching himself up to his full height, despite the protesting of his wounded muscles. Beside him, Julianos struggled to comply as well, but only managing a hunched approximation of attention, which made the young Decanus fight to keep from smiling. "As punishment for your total lack of discipline, the two of you will be dumping bilge water tonight!" He flashed them a humorless grin and gestured toward the bay where the hulking form of the Murellian lay at anchor. "She's taken on a lot of water, more than the onboard pumps can handle until the big ones on the dock can get connected. So to keep her from sinking any lower before morning, and to teach you two how to work together, I'm assigning you to the yard master to run the manual system!"

The two men groaned, at once dreading the long night that lay ahead of them. But there was no way out of this. They'd signed their own warrants with this one and they knew it. As the sergeant returned his attention to the rest of the class, barking at them to stop gawking and return to their lesson, Anthony glanced sideways at the big northerner. Julianos had a defiant look on his face, but somewhere in those grey eyes there was also a new look: respect. Anthony stared at him, then realized that despite the way things had gone in the end and the punishment they were about to endure, he had earned the respect of this tough scrapper. And perhaps, he thought, that would make this worth it...

* * * *

That night Anthony discovered something else, something that would stick with him for a long time to come: He hated seagulls. Hated them with a passion as deep as his anger toward Aengmir. Those filthy, noisy birds with their constant squawking and pooping and flapping all night long. As he and Julianos struggled to run the manual pumping system those d**n birds flew overhead nonstop swooping and crying and making both men want to run up and load a cannon and start firing at the blasted creatures! But such things would have to wait. The yard master had assigned a team of seamen to work the other systems on the warship, and the two Air Corps disciplinees were certainly being watched.

But as the long hours of the night finally came to a close and the eastern sky began to grow light with the approaching sun, Anthony and Julianos found themselves at peace. They'd worked out their animosity through the fight and the long, exhausting hours of pumping water. Now as day approached they felt nothing but a sense of camaraderie. The coming days of training and assignment might be much better...

* * * *

At noon on the 19th, after having been given a few hours to sleep after getting cleaned up, Anthony and Julianos made their way to the mess hall for lunch before beginning their afternoon classes. The other cadets gave them both a wide berth with looks that said they knew what had happened and didn't want to cross these two tough fighters. Apparently the whole base had heard the story, and Anthony chuckled. "I wonder how they told it?" He asked the big northerner as they entered the facility and joined the line to get their meals.

"Probably a combination of horror and mock-disgust," replied Julainos, thumbing his nose.

"Oh come now, these are soldiers, not merchants or nobles. They know a good fight when they see one!" He said, taking a tray and utensils from the rack.

"Most of them, sure. But some of these boys are city kids from Arrellia or Cerus and know nothing of what struggle is. Just look," he pointed across the mess hall to where a table of soft-skinned young men sat eating lunch with napkins in their laps and plates arranged in perfect order. "That bunch arrived last week, all with recommendations from Aristhines Academy to enter the Air Corps' intelligence program or some such nonsense. I don't doubt they've got intelligence, but I'll drink bilge if they know anything about fighting."

Anthony chuckled. He'd seen their types before, though not often. Privileged kids who knew nothing of what the real world was like. Then a sudden feeling of regret washed over him and he sighed. Most of those kids could very well be dead by the end of the year, and that was a sobering thought.

After getting their food the two made their way across to a table by a big window looking out over the compound. They chatted for a while, but Anthony's gaze kept wandering to the window and the buildings beyond. There was still so much of this place he didn't know yet. So many areas he hadn't seen or knew anything about. Finally, he interrupted Julianos to ask, "What's that big building over there?" He gestured with his fork at a large stone structure on the far end of the base. It seemed to stand apart from the rest, almost like it didn't quite belong.

"Oh that?" the big northerner replied with his mouth full of potatoes. "That's the foreign legion building. It's where all the foreign sorts get their training in Ardrean history and customs before being allowed to join the rest of us." He grinned. "I hear they gotta teach them how to talk too, cause all they know is gibberish when they arrive."

Anthony thought about that for a moment, and he couldn't help wonder what might compel someone from a foreign land to come here and fight for the Imperial Republic. He raised his eyebrows, "They must be decent people, if they want to help us."

Julianos snorted. "Maybe, sure. But that doesn't mean they're as good as us. Never forget that."

And as they ate the words of Revered Mother Lydia suddenly recalled themselves to Anthony's mind. "Hatred is a powerful thing, and if you're not careful it will consume you from within... Stand strong against evil, but do not give in to hate. For if you do, what then will separate you from the Aengmirans?"

What indeed?

[Invictus]

Laredo Bay Naval Base, Foreign Legion Yard, 19th Aestus

The soil. It was different here. Not rich and dark like the soil near the Cartaal. No, this dirt was ...harder. Fertile, sure, but it had a certain quality that you just couldn't put your finger on. The land here in the yard had been compressed by the feet of thousands of hardy men over the years, giving it a unyielding and strong quality; much like many of the foreign legionaries themselves.

"UP!" the voice boomed as a well-placed boot struck Titus in his side.

The push-ups had apparently proven themselves to be too much of a task. As quickly as possible, the Invictian moved his shaking arms to elevate his face off the ground, a stream of sweat pouring down onto it below as he attempted to stabilize himself.

"You think you can help the Imperial Republic with those string bean arms? They sure do make em weak back in Invictus, eh?"

Ignoring the obvious bait, the boy looked once more to the soil below. Calm. Hard. Stoical. Yes, stoical. That was the word he had been searching for.

Once more, he descended back down with his upper body, lowering himself but to an inch or so above the ground and back up again.

"More!"

Sol, how many had he done already? 100? His appendages were shaking to the point of collapse. The troop had just completed a running drill that seemed to be a marathon. One poor Fulgarian boy collapsed and hurt himself so bad he had to be shipped home. How much more could the officers expect from recruits? Titus knew that the intent was to weed out the weak, but the Ardreans seemed to relish in the punishment of cheap foreign recruits, most of whom were from less than privileged backgrounds.

Once more, Titus began to raise and lower himself in synch with maybe 100 or so others present in the training yard. At least if he had to suffer, he could suffer alongside young men just as confused and lost as he was. That was strangely comforting.

"Who was the first Emperor of the Imperial Republic?!" the drill sergeant in front of the foreigners demanded; seeming to play some demented knowledge reinforcement activity.

"Emperor Tyroq, sir!" all the men cried out, some obviously in pain.

This particular seargeant, one Uriel Pontus, approached one of the young men in order to humiliate and admonish him.

"Tyroq, boy! Don't defile the name of our first emperor! Can you say Ty-roq? TY-ROQ?"

"Tyroq! Tyroq!" the heavily accented man in his early twenties screamed while doing his exercises. The instructor had seemed to take a personal hatred of this one in particular. Titus had come to learn from conversation that he had been the product of an encounter between an Ardrean military man and a Aengmirian wh*re some years ago. He had been raised in the nation of Aengmir, but had returned to Ardreas in his teens. Denied by his father, the bastard had no credible claim to citizenship, but it was obvious that the anonymous soldier had at least put in a good word for him to be allowed in. Poor guy. It just went to show that the hate had obviously ran deep on both sides of the conflict.

Pontus continued with his random questions regarding Ardrean history, culture, and other general military-related questions for some time; topics which had been examined in the classroom but hours ago. Perhaps this form of negative-reinforcement would help the foreigners remember? It certainly had helped Titus himself, to a degree. A simple mistaken word of 'raft' instead of 'battleship' had earned him another two kilometers of running. Consequently, he had been picking up the language quite quickly since.

"STOP!" Pontus barked. Sighing in relief, many brought their exhausted bodies to rest. Today's torture had a last come to an end.

"Now we're running the course again. Don't slip up. If you can't make it over the wall in 10 seconds, I will personally make sure you go over the other side in less than 1!"

***********

The sun was at last coming to settle on the horizon, the seabirds chirping suddenly becoming much more noticeable now that things had settled down.

The men had gathered in the yard once more; some obviously barely able to support their bodies with their legs. Titus himself was barely holding it together. If he had to so much as raise his arm once more he felt as if he would die. Finally, the head torturer himself and select other military officials, including Legate Demetrius began to assemble in front of the troop, which stood to attention to the best that their physically-compromised bodies would allow.

"Congratulations, recruits. You have based basic training and have officially become foreign legionaries of the Imperial Republic. You'll begin to focus on an area of expertise in the coming days, giving you the choice of army, navy, or the newly-formed air force. You'll be taking an aptitude examination and then be given a chance to finally prove your worth to the imperial republic. You are now honorary Ardreans. Welcome to hell, boys," Demetrius addressed. Proudly, or perhaps fearfully, the boys stood and saluted.

***********

Back in the barracks that evening, many of the recruits had simply collapsed into their beds. Perhaps 40 or so of the initial group of hopefuls had survived the day's rigorous challenges. Titus silently thanked the trials of Sol as a youth, which had forced him to run for kilometers in the Cartaal. If it weren't for such a natural upbringing, there would be no way the Invictian would have had the fitness to pass such a demanding initiation. Managing to smuggle the last of his rations in from the mess hall, Titus shoved the bread down his throat, mostly unconcerned for his food or water intake. Only one thing was on the mind; rest. And rest he did.

[Ardreas]

Laredo Bay Naval Base, Eastern Sentinel, 25th of Aestus

The week of training and specialization had been long and grueling, but not so bad as the Week of Hell, at least from Anthony's perspective. The men had trained hard and fast every day, both in physical exercises and mental studies. But this was no grunt school. No, the Laredo Bay Naval Base was for men who'd passed the gauntlet of enlistment and made it to the point of commission. And as such, these men were here not to be weeded out, but to be directed. They were weapons, swords being sharpened for the fight, and it was up to their trainers to send them where they would be needed most.

Julianos, the big northerner that had quickly become friends with Anthony after their first fight, had certainly shown an aptitude for hand-to-hand combat. As such he wasted no time in volunteering for the Skyship Marines. He would become a ship defender in the event of boarding, and an attacker should his captain decide to try and take an enemy airship. And Anthony had to agree, he seemed perfect for that task. He himself, however, had chosen to follow the command path and specialize in ship operations and helm control. He would be putting his Decanus commission to good use, getting a head start on the crew. But more importantly he would learn to fly! And that was something he'd dreamed of doing for years. That was part of why he chose the Air Corps in the first place. He who'd spent his life riding on the range under fair blue skies, gazing up at the drifting white clouds and wondering what it must be like. He would soon be among them for the first time ever, for today was the first trial launch of their new assignment: the S.S. Tessonic.

As they approached the craft, its long elegant wooden keel floating a few feet above the grassy field, Anthony and Julianos couldn't help but stare up at this wondrous monstrosity that Ardrean industry had created. "I can't wait to be up there, sailing the heavens," commented Anthony, the excitement barely controlled in his voice.

"Sailing the heavens?" parroted back Julianos. "Maker, you sound like one of those soft Academy boys! Me, I can't wait to get to our first battle! I want to rip into those bloody Aengmirans and tear them apart!"

"You may just get your chance at that," cut in a voice just then that made both of them jump. Whirling around they found themselves facing the startlingly regal figure of a man in a white dress shirt and polished boots. He had a ring of thin, greying hair around a bald patch in his head. But despite his age, the man's eyes were sharp and alert, and he carried himself with dignity and a certain sense of command.

Anthony's roving eyes suddenly caught a glint of light and fixated in on the tiny golden emblem on the man's collar. It was a laurel wreath. "Senator!" the young Decanus exclaimed, snapping a salute, which was quickly imitated by Julianos.

The man chuckled. "You have a sharp eye, soldier. That will serve you well. Yes, I am Senator Cornelius, representative of the Sentinel district to Arrellia. This city is my home, and as such I am here to watch the launching ceremony of this fine new airship. We're going to need it..."

He said that last bit under his breath, more like an after thought. But Anthony heard him and wondered just how bad things were out there. The trainers had kept the recruits in the dark for the most part about news of the war. They wanted them to focus on their studies and not spend their time fretting or gossiping about the war. But Anthony knew it wasn't going well. The Murellian had left the dock two days ago at full steam, heading back out toward Fairhaven. They hadn't even fully completed repairs, just enough to get the hull to stop leaking and get the guns all working again, and then they were off. And last night, while the rest of the base was sleeping, restless country boy had gotten up to get a drink. And as he was heading back to bed he could have sworn he heard distant cannon fire.

Senator Cornelius spoke again, bringing Anthony's attention back to the present. He wished the boys well, then turned and strode off toward the command HQ building. They watched him go, and Anthony noticed the firm, disciplined stride and the rigidness of his back. This man had served in the military at one time, he realized. Of course that wasn't much of a surprise, given the overwhelming military demographic of the city. But still, he hadn't really thought of that before, that a politician might be a veteran. It gave him a new respect for the man.

* * * *

That afternoon the troops assembled in the main airfield around the Tessonic. 54 of them in total had made the selection for this assignment. They would comprise the first crew of this new vessel of the skies. Anthony looked around and recognized several faces of men he'd trained with. He also saw several foreign faces that he did not recognize. Poking Julianos in the side he whispered, "who are they?"

"The foreigners?" the big northern grunted in reply. "They're those foreign legion types I told you about. Some of them are from Fulgaria, one or two from Invictus, and I hear there's even an Aengmiran bastard in the mix! Though thank the Maker he didn't get selected to join our crew."

"Really?" asked Anthony in amazement. But as he thought about it, it made sense. Ardreas had developed strong ties to Fulgaria and Invictus over the years. Even though their ideologies differed, he could see why some from those places might want to come and help.

Just then the Lieutenant in charge called the men to attention. As they turned as one to look at the podium, two other men walked up to it. Anthony recognized the one as Senator Cornelius. The other he knew only by his uniform as their new commanding officer: Captain Alexander Rowe. Now that was a man around whom there was a lot of gossip! Soldiers in training weren't big on gossip, but this fellow was something of a mystery, and Anthony had listened carefully to every scrap of information he could get. Apparently, Captain Rowe was a 20 year veteran of the Air Corps, having joined soon after it was formed. He had more flying time under his belt than just about anyone. But more importantly, he was also the only man to have flown in a mission over Aengmiran territory before. According to the rumors, the captain had been part of a secret operation back in '58 to fly a squad of Seraphim out to rendezvous with someone in the Kol-Ruash marshlands along the northwestern coast of Aengmir. Of course that mission officially never happened, so the young Decanus couldn't get anything to confirm it. But if it was true, that would make the captain something of an expert on the territory they would be going to. And that could only be an advantage!

Of course, some of the other rumors were even more wild. Some claimed that the captain was descended from the infamous Karl Rowe, and that he would lead them into glorious battle like his legendary ancestor of old. But Anthony didn't put any stock in such things. Even if true, he believed that a man's success in life was based on himself and his own abilities, not whatever his ancestors might have done.

At any rate, the captain and the senator took turns giving brief speeches commemorating the event, then they cast a bottle of wine against the hull, christening the vessel officially the Skyship Tessonic. Afterward the men were dismissed to grab their gear and board the ship that would be their home for the foreseeable future. Anthony paused in the yard, his duffel bag over his shoulder, to take one last look at the base. Somehow, in his gut, he had the feeling that he'd never see this place like this again. He didn't know why, it was just a feeling. But it gave him the chills. Turning then, he walked over to the gangplank that led up to the airship's port hatch. As he did, he found himself face to face with a foreigner about his own age. The man had somewhat darker skin and a certain fire in his eyes. Is this one of the Invictians? he wondered. He wanted to introduce himself, but he wasn't sure how much Arrellis the man even spoke. Just then Julianos came running up, his own duffel bag hanging loosely in one hand. He flashed a grin at Anthony as he bolted up the steps, letting the bag bump the Invictian back out of the way as he did so. Anthony started to say something, but the whistle sounded then, the final call for boarding, and he too had to dash up the plank to be in position on time for the launch.

Taking up his station by the helm after stowing his bag under his bunk below, Decanus Anthony Rawlings stood in awe as the great airship detached from the mooring lines and slowly lifted skyward. The wind picked up as they cleared the compound, and an enormous grin began to spread across his face. They were finally doing it, finally flying! And he was right there at the helm as they took to the skies. Truly, this was the most incredible experience of his young life!

[Invictus]

Laredo Bay Naval Base, Eastern Sentinel, 25th of Aestus

This was it. The big day. The past several weeks of training in the Laredo Bay Naval Base alongside the natives had been quite difficult. Upon many hours of quiet contemplation, Titus had come to the conclusion that air core both suited him best and aroused his excitement. This had apparently been true for many masses of other recruits, who had also attempted to join the new core but failed. Hazing from the natives aside, the young Invictian had to cram his mind with basic engineering-related concepts, the use of ballistic weapons, emergency repairs, melee combat and scouting; he had joined the Skyship Marines. He had trained even trained and taken his examination under the observation of the officers of the S.S. Tessonic, the vessel to which he had been assigned. He had been exhilarated at the news; both in a good way and a bad way. These vessels, and particularly their tactics in war, were quite new and there was a good chance that things could go awry in their initial implementation. Regardless, the boy figured if he had to die, it was best to go out in burning glory in the skies, like the young woman from the Aurea. Redemption of a sort.

At last the crew had assembled; mostly Ardrean but notably a few Fulgarians and even a fellow Invictian; Marcus Amius whom he had trained beside and briefly was acquainted with from the foreign legion.

“Amius! It’s good to have a fellow Solite aboard! We’ll show these Ardreans how the children of the sun fight, eh?” he said jokingly, punching his fellow’s arm.

“Solius! Good to see you,” he answered. Solius. His false name. It had still surprised him when he heard hit and had a difficult time associating with it. He’d need to correct that quickly.

It was quite obvious afterward that not all among the group had taken it as a joke; a tall brutish man stared the two Invictians down, obviously in disapproval. He had noted that the man, one Julianos, also had a proclivity for hand-to-hand combat; so much so that he prayed that he would never have to cross the giant.
Suddenly, the men had been called to attention, and they assembled likewise in a semi-orderly fashion. The Ardreans obviously had some degree of reverence for the man, who he soon afterwards discovered was Senator Cornelius of Arrellia. Please, give us some news… anything, thought Titus internally. His wish was mostly denied.

“Have you heard anything about back home?” he asked Amius.

“Not much. With tensions on the rise and demand for oil shooting up, they say Caspianus is militarizing the nation, but I’m not sure. I guess someone has to keep home safe, eh?”

“Yeah…yeah. A-any news about the Lightbearer or the Solists or anything?” Titus asked tentatively.

“Not a word, brother. I do wonder how they’re responding to all this chaos, though.”

“Same.” He murmured disappointedly.

**********

At last, the time had come. The massive leviathan gently resting in the swaying grasses of the field was prepared to be boarded. The crew of 54 diverse men had assembled, united in a joint cause to fight or die against the insidious Dominion of Aengmir, and all for different reasons. Some for vengeance, some for glory, some for money, but all ready to set fire to the great unknown in the sky. With that, they entered, kissing the peace and stability of solid land goodbye.

[Ardreas]

The Eastern Sea, Departing Ardrean Mainland from Sentinel, 25th of Aestus

The warm salty breeze coming up from the sea below filled Anthony’s nose and made him smile as they flew over the coast and left the city of Sentinel behind. It was the scent of freedom and adventure! Never had the country boy from Abaline been so thrilled with excitement as in that moment, when the great airship bore them skyward and their journey truly began. And never had his eyes been so wide with anticipation as the horizon dropped lower and lower, revealing a vast ocean that seemed to rise and encompass the entire horizon as if it would fill the world! Slowly the enormous vessel rose up on the winds to embrace the heavens, and in that moment Anthony knew he could never walk the ground again with quite the same contentment as a man who had never ridden the skies.

Standing near the helm as a junior bridge officer, Anthony had an excellent view of the entire proceedings, and he took in every sight and sound with riveted attention. The captain had gone below deck to his cabin after the takeoff was complete and they were underway, leaving the bridge crew to maintain course and speed. Anthony was standing as support to the primary helmsman, a middle-aged man from the Amaranthine lakes region named Quintus. He was a spry fellow, and the young Decanus felt a liking toward him. Something about those eyes, the way the older man stared out at the horizon almost as if he could see beyond it, gave Anthony a feeling of reassurance that they would not run into danger unawares. Of course this was probably nonsense, he told himself, but still. He felt oddly comfortable as the shoreline faded into the distance behind them, and for the first time in his life the Ardrean native saw his homeland disappear from sight. And by the time the sun began to drop toward the western horizon, reflecting off the sea and making it shimmer like crystal, they were completely out of sight of the mainland, alone in the sky, the sole representatives of the Imperial Republic amidst an endless expanse.

* * * *

That night Anthony enjoyed his first meal that he’d ever eaten while not on solid ground. It was an odd sensation, feeling the slight sway of the deck beneath his feet and noticing the little ripples in his cup as the drink reacted to the vibrations of the Claudia engine spinning the massive turbine that propelled them through the sky. All told, it had been very smooth sailing so far, much more so than if they had been on an actual ship clipping through the waves far below. But still, they were in for some startling and violent shakes from time to time. Right as they were leaving the shore, the vessel had been struck as if by the invisible hand of the Maker, causing it to shudder violently and suddenly drop several feet in altitude. But as quickly as it had come, the shaking ceased and it had been smooth sailing ever since. Some of the crew were worried, attributing the shaking to divine displeasure at their arrogance to dare sailing the skies like gods. But the captain had just shaken his head dismissively at their talk, saying the startling phenomenon was something called “turbulence” and that he’d felt it before. This had shut up the superstitious crewmen for a while, but after he had retired to his cabin, they had begun arguing about it again and whether they were incurring divine wrath or not.

At any rate, as the young Decanus sat down to supper in the mess room with his fellow junior bridge officers, he smiled at their chatter regarding the day’s events, but it wasn’t long before his gaze drifted to the nearby porthole and he let his mind wander out over that vast ocean. Somewhere up ahead lay the Fairhaven island colony, if it still stood. And somewhere out there, brave men were fighting and dying to defend Ardrean sovereignty. He closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer to the Maker for their safety and wondered when he would come upon them…

* * * *

As it turned out, he didn’t have to wonder for long. That night, shortly after the ship’s bell announced 3 am, there was a sudden commotion up on deck. The steam whistle on the bridge let out a long wailing cry: the call to battle stations! Rolling out of his hammock and scrambling to pull on his shoes, Anthony’s mind whirled with confusion amid the din as every man was called to stations. There wasn’t time to put on his uniform, as speed was the key in this situation. As soon as his shoes were on, he grabbed his hat (that bore his rank insignia), jamming it onto his head as he sprinted up the nearest steps to the main deck. Finding his way to the bridge he took a deep breath to control his breathing, then asked what was going on.

Quintus stood nearby, his sharp eyes staring out at something ahead. “There!” he announced, pointing with a leathery finger toward something below and off the starboard bow.

Anthony and the other bridge officers hurried over to the railing and peered down at the dark waters below. They were cruising at about 500 feet altitude, at least according to the barometric gauge near the helm, and Anthony worried that in the darkness of the night he wouldn’t be able to see what the older man’s sharp eyes picked out in that blackness so far beneath them. But whatever concerns he had were immediately evaporated when he saw what Quintus had been pointing at. Down in the water a light was flickering like a candle in the darkness. He squinted, furrowing his brow as he wondered what it could be. Then suddenly he noticed another one further up toward the horizon. They were bobbing up and down in the waves and were clearly flames. His first thought was that they were camp fires, but he immediately dismissed that as ludicrous. After all, Who’d be lighting camp fires out here in the middle of the ocean? He asked himself. And where’d they even find enough wood to burn without trees? …his thoughts trailed off as he suddenly realized what he might be seeing. And in his mind the distant echoing of cannon fire that he'd heard the night before came rushing back. "Could it be...?" he whispered.

It was the captain who confirmed his fears. “Bring us down,” he ordered the Altimatrist, and with a clang of the ship’s bell to indicate descent, the large vents to the Claudia induction chamber that fed heat up into the balloon slid shut. Slowly the vessel began to drop from its perch in the heavens.

“What is it, captain?” One of the other bridge officers asked quietly.

“Wreckage,” he replied, his voice grim.

“Ours, or Aengmir’s?”

“Won’t know until we get closer,” he replied. “Mackerson,” he said, turning to the sergeant in charge of the Marines. “Have your men stand ready to repel boarders if the targets below are hostile. And turn on the searchlights!” He bellowed, gesturing toward a set of swivel-mounted spotlights near the bow.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness as the great airship slowly descended toward the black waters. Tensions on deck were high as everyone waited to see who it was adrift in the wreckage below. But as the searchlights came to bear, the scene they revealed was more grisly than anything they’d imagined. In the water floated not just a small piece of wreckage, but an entire field of debris! Splintered wood and tattered bits of cloth bobbed up and down on the waves, and men clung like insects to whatever was floating. Others, less fortunate, floated face-down in the sea. These would never set foot on land again, whichever continent they hailed from. It was the first time Anthony had seen dead men in this war, and despite the distance he felt a sudden twist in his gut at the sight.

They were still out of earshot, though the crew could hear faint cries rising up to greet them. But all of a sudden there was a violent curse from the rail as one of the marines spotted something in the water. Anthony turned his head to look. It was Julianos. The big northerner was pointing with his rifle and trying to get a searchlight turned toward what he’d seen. As the beam fell on that patch of water suddenly everyone else saw what had so excited him. It was a ripped piece of cloth… the remains of an Ardrean flag.

As one a cacophony of curses arose from the crew as they realized this was one of their own ships that had been sunk. But they quieted down when the captain ordered preparations for rescue as the vessel set down in the water. Slowly, with a splash the enormous skyship came to rest in the sea, its wooden hull embracing the waves like a lover long parted. A flurry of activity took over then as the men got ready to carry out the rescue mission. Ropes were thrown overboard and sergeant Mackerson bellowed out a call for the most able-bodied swimmers to get into the water and help bring the wounded aboard. Several marines still stood with weapons ready in case there were enemies among those in the sea. But soon it became evident that they would not be needed. The men in the water were indeed Ardreans… the crew of none other than the Murellian.

* * * *

It took two hours to bring everyone aboard and another hour to get the Tessonic back into the air again. By then the sun was cresting the eastern horizon and its light was showing just how much wreckage there was floating in the waves below. Apparently there had been quite a battle here. The survivors of the Murellian reported that they’d been ambushed by Aengmiran raiders the night before while enroute to the besieged colony of Fairhaven. They had managed to sink two of the raiders but the others proved too much for the lone ironclad to handle. They were fast and maneuverable, something the armored behemoth lacked. And within an hour they had worn down the defenses of the metal giant, crippling its engines, and eventually peppering its hull with too many holes to plug. The Murellian sank with most hands, including her captain. All told a dozen men survived in the wreckage to be rescued by the Tessonic. Some of them were wounded, but none fatally. And as they began to get underway again, the uninjured survivors went with Captain Alex Rowe and sergeant Mackerson into the war room to discuss the situation and strategize their next move...

[Invictus]

The Eastern Sea, Departing Ardrean Mainland from Sentinel, 25th of Aestus

"Ahhh!" gasped Titus he emerged from the more frigid waters off the Ardrean coasts, filling his lungs with air. He and a few other more agile marines had volunteered to enter the wreckage of the once-great ironclad filled with the bodies of the struggling and fallen. It had been several minutes already, and most of the screams amid the water had been responded to.

"Find any more in there?" called down an Ardrean behemoth near the searchlight above.

"No! Think we've got them all! I'll swim out a bit further, though!" Titus replied.

Sol, it was chilly. Not like the warm tropics back home. How could these men have survived so long on the open waters?

The search beam moved along with the Invictian as he dared to swim further out than most of the other marines, who were ending their rescue operation. Titus figured if there was any time to prove his dedication to the Ardreans, now was the time. He slowly continued his breast stroke forwards, gazing up to the myriad of beautiful stars in the nighttime cosmos over the ocean. It would have been a much more beautiful moment if only he wasn't so exhausted and brushing up against the mortifying bodies of fallen seamen. At last, he glinted in the distance; a sailor remained with his eyes wide and floating upright.

"I think I've got one, Julianos!"

With that, he hastened his swim, intent on saving the shaken survivor.

"Don't worry, you're safe n-"

The corpse immediately fell backwards upon touch and drifted away; its haunting blue eyes and pale face staring at the young Invictian as if it were death incarnate.

"P-please!" croaked a voice as it grabbed Titus' recoiling arm.

"SOL!" he cried, genuinely haunted by the sight of the distant corpse and startled by the unseen survivor next to him.

As if the corpse's face wasn't haunting enough, the survivor's face bore an even more desperate gaze and quivering lip upon his blood-drained face. Titus had not seen such a genuine form of fear and desperation before this moment; it was as if the survivor were permeating his very soul with such a look.

"I-I've got one!" Titus hollered as he attempted to comfort the traumatized sailor and lead him back to the safety of the skyship.

"Maker please! T-the raiders! Killed us all! Sunk us!" the poor survivor continued to ramble in his unfit state of mind as Titus continued to drag him along back to the ship, leaving behind the remains of the supposedly unsinkable behemoth to be swallowed by the impartial sea.

At last on board, Titus, along with the fellow swimmers and survivors, was given a change of clothes and a hot cup of tea. After a few moments, he himself left the company of the survivors after one young man, certainly no older than 16 years of age by his appearance, would not cease his frantic wailing.

What a traumatizing nightmare the early morning had been, and the Invictian had not even seen battle as of yet. He wondered how horrific not only the battle of the Murellian had been for those present, but wondered how the hours of being stranded on the open sea must have felt for the survivors. Perhaps that younger man had been forced to watch his comrades struggle in the dark for hours until at last the waves had conquered them. Maybe he was forced to simply float and listen to the last labored breaths and screams of his comrades in arms for an eternity. A titanic vessel and invigorated crew but days before had been completely destroyed and reduced to insanity within mere hours by raiders. Incredible.

Although it seemed as if it had only been a few seconds spent looking down on the wreckage from the deck, it had apparently been quite a bit longer. The as the sun was beginning to dawn to the east. He felt a strong hand clasp down upon his shoulder; that of Julianos, who simply nodded approvingly at him, still maintaining his cold glare. The airship picked itself up into the sky again, circling the area a few more times for anything worth saving. Roll call was accounted for, with all crew members still aboard plus eleven fortunate crewmen from the Murellian. Titus had gained an entirely new respect for the ocean and humility in war in but a few hours.

[Ardreas]

The Eastern Sea, Approaching Fairhaven, 26th of Aestus

“Seven hours!” spat Julianos, fury evident on his rugged face. “Seven Maker-d**ned hours!” he repeated, vehemently kicking a stool across the tiny room. It clattered into the wall and fell over, one of the legs snapping off. Taking a long, deep breath, the big northerner stood there, his shoulders trembling with barely contained rage. “That’s how long we spent that night, pumping bilge out of that… that…” his voice trailed off into a string of muttered curses.

Anthony nodded. He understood. That was the night he and Julianos had become friends, barely a week ago. As punishment for their brawl they’d been assigned to bilge pumping duty all night long while the Murellian was in port. And they had watched with pride as the big ironclad had steamed off a few days later to resume the fight. And now that very ship lay at the bottom of the ocean, a rusting heap of wreckage that would never again sail the seas under the banner of the Imperial Republic. It all seemed so useless now. I wish there was something I could say, he thought to himself. But he knew his friend just needed time to vent his frustration. Julianos was a volcano of a man, and one thing he’d never learned was how to keep his feelings under control. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get a better commission? wondered Anthony. Then he shrugged, it didn’t matter. The war would provide plenty of opportunities for a passionate man like the Arcturus native to prove his valor and earn promotions. So Anthony simply reached out a hand and clasped his friend on the shoulder, and together they stood in silence for a moment, honoring the dead in the sea below.

It was mid morning now, and Anthony had come down to the skyship marines’ rec room to visit his friend. They were both off duty after such a long night and frantic morning, but neither one could sleep. They were still wound up from the rescue operation and in anticipation of what was coming next. The Tessonic had been under way for a couple hours, making full speed toward Fairhaven island. The Captain hadn’t said much after emerging from his ward room with the survivors, other than to give the order to make flank speed toward the colony. And the young Decanus didn’t have to be an Empath to know what he had in mind. He was hoping to reach the island and help break the siege before Aengmir could take the colony. That had been the Murellian’s mission, but she’d been sunk. Now who stood to relieve the battered defenders other than the Tessonic? And perhaps, if they got lucky, they’d run across those bastard raiders on their way and send them to a watery grave!

Movement across the room caught Anthony’s eye and he glanced over. A young man with tanned skin and dark hair was sitting down by the far wall. Briefly their eyes met and he recognized the face. This was the same foreigner he’d seen on the gangplank the day they boarded the airship to set off. He noted by the man’s uniform emblem that he was part of the skyship marines, which meant he was working with Julianos. But his calm demeanor couldn’t have been any more opposite than the big Ardrean’s. I wonder if he feels as angry about the sinking of our ship as we do? he wondered to himself. Or even if he can? Since it wasn’t his kinsmen that perished… Opening his mouth to speak, he was about to introduce himself to the man when a clatter of footsteps sounded on the stairs behind. A young crewman hurried into the room, his eyes quickly lighting on his target.

“Decanus!” he exclaimed, his squeaking voice betraying his youth. “You’re needed on the bridge.”

Sighing, Anthony nodded in acknowledgment, then turned back to his friend. “I guess I’ll talk to you more later,” he said, and clasped the big northerner’s arm one last time. Then turning on his heel he followed the boy up the stairs and to the bridge…

* * * *

“Decanus!” a voice called out as he crested the stairs and stepped out onto the bridge. Glancing toward its source his eyes fell on the older man at the helm.

“Quintus,” he said in return, nodding to the chief helmsman. “Were you the one that called for me?”

“d**n straight boy, take a look at that,” he said, pointing with a leathery finger toward the eastern horizon.

Anthony smiled. The older man could be a bit crotchety sometimes, but he knew his stuff, and the country boy from Abaline was happy to learn from him. “What have we got?” he asked, turning to look in the direction the helmsman was pointing. But immediately his smile vanished as he saw it: a line of dark clouds filled the sky, like an ominous wall blocking their path. Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said simply.

The older man chuckled wryly. “See the problem? I wonder if a storm at sea is any different for an airship than for an ocean ship?” Turning his weathered face toward the young officer he raised a bushy eyebrow and asked, “your thoughts?”

“Well,” Anthony started slowly, “on the one hand we wouldn’t have the waves to worry about.” Quintus nodded in agreement as he said this. “But on the other hand we would still have the wind and the rain, and I don’t know if the ropes lashing us to the gas chamber are strong enough to withstand that level of stress.” He pointed upward with his thumb as he said this, directing the helmsman’s attention toward the giant balloon suspended above them.

“Humph!” muttered the older man with a frown. “But I suppose you’re right. We’d better not risk the Imperial Republic’s finest weapon to nature’s wrath. Go get the captain, let him know what we’re facing.”

Anthony nodded and hurried off. Technically he and Quintus were the same rank, even though the older man wasn’t addressed as such because he was bound to the helm and not part of the regular command structure. It was a bit of an oddity in the newly formed Air Corps, having specialized stations where people could be assigned and thus drop out of the rank structure, becoming, as it were, a part of the ship itself. But regardless, Quintus was the chief helmsman after all, so whatever he was called, that earned him some respect, plus Anthony hadn’t had a chance to see the captain’s quarters yet, and they would certainly need his approval before changing course, especially given the urgency of their mission. Arriving at the light, birch wood door, he knocked quickly and waited. After a moment a voice answered from inside, “Enter.” Taking a breath to calm his nerves, Anthony reached out and turned the handle.

Inside was a small, but elegant room, and the only one on the entire ship that housed an actual bed. It wasn’t that beds were so scarce in Ardreas, but quite simply: they were heavy. And an airship needed as little weight as possible, so hammocks were the norm for the crew. But the captain, it seemed, warranted a little special treatment, and Anthony couldn’t blame him. “What is it, Decanus?” asked a voice from somewhere among the shadows then, snapping his attention back to the reason he’d come.

“Sir! Quintus sent me to tell you we are approaching a line of heavy storms. He wants to know if you intend to fly through them or change course.”

“I see,” replied the captain, still invisible somewhere in that dark room. After a moment that seemed to stretch on to an uncomfortable level there was movement and the captain stepped into view. Immediately Anthony regretted intruding, as he saw the commanding officer was wiping the remnants of shaving cream off his face. But whatever he felt was not given time to develop as the captain briskly strode through the door. “Let’s go then,” he said simply, and Anthony fell into step behind him.

By the time they’d arrived back on the bridge, several other junior officers had also gathered and were gazing and pointing at the dark clouds growing ever closer. “Attention on deck!” shouted Quintus as the captain stepped forward. Immediately everyone turned and jumped to attention, striking their right arms across their chests in a salute.

“At ease people,” said the captain, taking up a position next to Quintus at the helm and gazing out at the horizon. Then under his breath he muttered so only the helmsman and Anthony could hear, “That does look dark.” The two men exchanged glances, but didn’t say anything. Alex Rowe had flown over these waters before. If anyone knew what an airship could handle it was him. “Range?” he asked suddenly, picking up a shiny brass instrument as he did so.

“Estimate about 12 nautical miles,” replied Quintus as the captain adjusted the two-pronged instrument and held it up to his eyes. It had a sight in the middle, and each prong was marked by degrees around a central, 360 degree compass. A slider on the side indicated distance, and as he adjusted the sight to line up with the clouds the slider moved back to a higher and higher number.

“Well we’re not going around that,” he said after a moment. Putting down instrument he nodded to the helmsman. “That storm is over a hundred miles long from end to end, and we don’t have that kind of time. Altimetrist!” he shouted, startling the young officer who stood by the heat induction valve control. “Take us up, we’re going to try going over that thing.”

Suddenly there was a shout from the forward observation deck. A young lookout was pointing frantically at something in the water ahead. “Steam low!” he was shouting, and the bridge officers ran to the side railing to look. Sure enough narrow tendrils of steam were rising from three tiny shapes in the water between them and the storm.

“Well,” muttered Quintus, “looks like we found our raiders.”

Anthony nodded. The tiny Aengmiran vessels were hardly moving, evidently eyeing the storm and trying to decide if they dared go into it or not. If they had seen the approaching airship they weren’t giving any indication of it yet.

“Orders captain?” asked Anthony. The storm was fast approaching, and he knew any diversion to go after the raiders would put them in danger of being caught by nature’s wrath. But at the same time, these were the ships that had sunk the ironclad! They couldn’t just let them get away…

Pulling out a pipe from his jacket pocket, Captain Rowe clenched it in his teeth and frowned thoughtfully, evidently thinking through the same things. Then, proceeding to pour a little tobacco in and grind it down he went about lighting it. Finally, taking a long breath inhaling the smoke, he let it out through his nose and sighed. “They’re trapped,” he said as a faint smile played across his mouth. “And they seem focused on the storm, I doubt they’re even looking this direction. Very well,” he sighed, coming to his decision. “It’s now or never…” taking out his pipe with one hand, he raised the other to the ship’s bell and gave it three sharp rings. “Battlestations!” he bellowed.

Immediately the ship’s steam whistle sounded the long, mournful cry to stations and the crew erupted into a flurry of activity. Cannons were armed, lines secured, the bomb chamber below deck was manned, and everyone stood ready to fight. “Altimetrist,” the captain said, quieter this time. “Take us down to 600 feet. Helm!” he said, turning to Quintus. “Make your course 075 degrees.” The older man obeyed, turning the great wheel with practiced hands, and the vessel swayed slightly as the air rudders slide to the side, bringing them over to their new heading. “For the Murellian,” the captain whispered, and only Anthony heard him.

The minutes ticked by, and Anthony stood in a kind of trance, watching the shapes in the water grow larger as the approached. But still they didn’t move. The airship descended to optimal bombing range, and still they didn’t move. They couldn’t be more than a mile off now, and the young Decanus could make out the shapes of their frames and the individual smokestacks on each one. But still they didn’t move.

Then suddenly, as the Tessonic was less than a quarter mile away there was an eruption of frantic activity on the decks of those ships. Anthony could see tiny shapes moving around quickly on the decks, and the vessels began to churn up water, scattering in different directions. Several bridge officers cursed aloud, but the captain stood calm. Tapping Quintus on the shoulder he pointed with his pipe to one of the vessels heading off to the right. “Follow that one,” he said, and the helmsman obeyed, the airship swaying once more as it turned.

Try as it might, the Aengmiran raider could not outrun the Ardrean skyship. Within minutes the Tessonic was looming over its prey, like a great hawk about to swoop in for the kill. “Decanus,” said the captain, “get down to the bomb bay and tell the engineer to release as soon as we’re over their main stack. I want them to swallow this right to their engine room.”

Anthony nodded and hurried off. His heart raced as his feet pounded down the steps and carried him below deck. In no time he found himself in the large chamber that housed the airship’s arsenal. A pair of wooden doors in the deck were hanging open, revealing a long drop down to the ocean below. Suspended by a chain above that opening was a large, cylindrical bomb. Off to the side a man with goggles stood by a lever, waiting ready to release his deadly cargo. Anthony approached him. “Captain says to release as soon as we’re over their main smoke stack.”

The man nodded, not looking up. He was concentrating on the target below as the great airship settled in over the raider. The seconds ticked by and Anthony’s heart slowed until he could feel every single beat. Then, as if in the blink of an eye, the engineer yanked on the lever. The chain released, and the bomb fell. Anthony stared, watching it fall, such a lonely little thing, falling so far toward the vessel below. Could such a hunk of metal really be that deadly? His mind asked. Somehow he doubted it. But he couldn’t help but stare, waiting to see what would happen.

“Back! shouted the engineer, brushing past him and throwing another lever up. As he did so there was a metallic clatter and several gears turned, bringing up the wooden trap doors to a close. Anthony stared at him.

“I was going to watch and see what happened,” he commented, rather taken aback.

The engineer only held up a hand. Suddenly there was a rumbling boom and the hull shook around them, causing Anthony to stumble and flail out with his hands for something to grab onto. When he steadied himself he glanced over at the goggled man in surprise.

“Yeah,” the engineer replied. “Explosives are a nasty mistress.” He grinned. “They can be real cranky like that.”

Anthony just stared. This guy is nuts, he thought. Finally shaking himself off he nodded once more at the odd fellow who seemed to live down here, and then turned and made his way back up the steps to the main deck. As he emerged back into the sunlight he saw every hand on deck staring overboard as the vessel banked slowly to make a turn to the left. Hurrying over to the railing he looked down with the rest, and what he saw took his breath away.

In the water below, where the raider had been, was a smoldering hunk of burning metal surrounded by a field of debris bobbing up and down in the water. The bomb had evidently hit square on its target and obliterated most of the craft on impact. Several men on deck were cheering, but just then Anthony’s eye caught sight of several tiny figures in the water splashing around, and he instantly thought back to the night before and the survivors taken aboard from the Murellian. Realizing that the same fate (or perhaps an even worse one) awaited these men he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. A quivering spasm built up in his legs until he could barely control himself, then he was pitching forward toward the rail, heaving his stomach contents out with gusto. The world spun around him and his vision blurred, and the last thing he felt was the world turning upside down as he hit the railing and toppled overboard…

[Invictus]

The Eastern Sea, Approaching Fairhaven, 26th of Aestus

Electricity, heroes, innovation, and religion. Titus turned page after page of one of the Ardrean books he had brought aboard with him from Sentinel. The long and rhythmic motions of the swaying airship downtime in the rec room could have killed its victims with boredom and its hypnotic, soft rocking if one didn't have an activity to occupy oneself with. So there Titus sat, attempting to distract himself from the events of the night before to little avail. He turned page after page, attemping to escape the conversations around him as well as the demons in his own mind.

Titus recoiled as the beastly marine on the opposite end of the room broke a stool seemingly effortlessly in his fit of rage. Again he was reminded of what an incredible ally or mortal foe his fellow soldier could be. He had avoided the fair barbarian thus far, but had remembered how the two had worked together the night before. It was together that they worked to save the desperate and dying, and it was during moments such as these that he hoped that the relationship between them remained in such a way. The more composed officer next to the marine seemed to gently console the giant during his tantrum, and it almost seemed to work after a minute or so. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with the fair-haired officer, but quickly broke such contact and returned to his book. The less attention he could call to himself as a foreigner, the better. Suddenly, another soul entered the rec room, a young cabin boy, who beckoned the young officer to follow him.

At last, with the rec room mostly empty, Titus figured that he would take the chance to improve relations with his comrade-in-arms. Standing slowly, he casually approached the soldier, who sat alone with his head in his hand.

"H-hello there, again," he managed to say as he nervously took a seat opposite of the Ardrean at a small table.

The Ardrean raised his head to address the instigator, eventually greeting his fellow in like suit.

"I just wanted to say thank you... for helping out with the rescue last night. You and I helped save a few men, you know?"

The beast then looked away and sighed in a depressed tone. "Not enough," he replied.

Titus, nodded. "I agree. But we did everything that we could in that situation and I just wanted to say thank you."

The Ardrean seemed to accept the offer of thanks, but then addressed the biggest issue that concerned the foreigner.

"Where are you from? Not from Ardreas..."

Oh boy.

"Invictus. I am an Invictian by birth... My name is Titus, and I'm with the Foreign Legion."

"Hmph... Well, you speak Arellis pretty good. I'm Julianos"

"Thank you, Julianos" Titus said in surprise, suspecting harsher treatment. "I've been... uh... trying to improve a lot recently. I spoke none of your language when I first arrived here."

"And why did you come?" the apprehensive northerner asked.

Oh no. Think of a story that would work for him. Quickly.

Commander Despos, commander of the skyship marines suddenly burst into the rec room, thereby sparing the foreigner from lying to someone who could squish him with one arm.

"Marines at attention!" he shouted to the lazy lounging soldiers. At once, they sprang to life in unison and gathered in organized lines in front of their commander, including both Titus and Julianos.

"Raider ships have been spotted a few leagues out to the south. We believe them to be the same raiders that sank the Murellian. Captain Rowe has decided to engage them; they shouldn't have time to respond. There's a serious storm brewing between here and Fairhaven, so I want you all braced for anything. We don't intend on being boarded, but I want my men ready to show these effeminate sailor hands how marines prepare for battle. So... are you ready to sink us some d**ned sea pirates?"

"Aye, sir!" the group shouted in unison.

"Good... then get your gear and head up deck. And for the Maker's sake, watch your d**ned footing when the combat starts! I won't have my boys thrown overboard by some cursed rainwater..."

With that said, the marines hastily gathered their gear. Titus adjusted his standard breeches before applying his belt and placing in it his issued naval sword. He had been fortunate enough to have received a small flintlock pistol ( a true marvel of Ardrean make) which he placed in its holster on his right, as he had practiced so many times before. In proper gear, and as mentally prepared as he could be, Titus joined his fellow marines as they began their ascent upwards...

On deck, there were already hands present gathering around as if preparing to watch a great spectacle. What could await to draw such a crowd of eager onlookers?

"To your stations, marines!" called the commander in the distance. As ordered, the marines fanned out from one another, spreading almost equidistantly across the rails of both sides of the vessel. Near the railing on the port side of the ship Titus himself peered over to see the massive shadow of the Tessonic looming over the Aengmirian butchers like a shadow of death. At last, the aware raiders seemed to scramble around like ants in a fury. As the shadow grew bigger an bigger, the anticipation grew more and more, until at last a voice cried out, "Steady yourselves! Brace for the explosion!"

Explosion?

BOOOOOOOOOOM

The ship rocked from the impact below, sending some stumbling and others to grasp steady objects within reach.

Sol Deo. Titus peered overboard again to one of the vessels decimated by the impact of an Ardrean bomb raining down right on top of it as if sent from a vengeful god above. Fire geysered upwards as chemistry clashed with metal; fire fought with water. The vessel's inhabitants, if they survived the explosion, were sent scattering into the water to thrash about in sheer panic. What a brilliantly horrible sight it was to see one's enemies destroyed in such a manner.

At once, nearly everyone aboard let out a celebratory cheer, including Titus. The two surviving vessels almost seemingly attempted to move full speed ahead in a vain attempt at outrunning the ferocious eagle of Ardreas above, hoping that the coming storm might be their saving grace. Was it better to be sunken by a ship or swallowed by a storm? In their panic, the raiders seemed to choose the latter.

As the morale-raising cheers continued to ring out, the ship veered left, positioning itself above its two remaining foes. As this occurred, Titus glanced to his left; out of the corner of his eye, one soldier was not celebrating, but pale and shaking. Fear? Sea-sickness? Yet, not even a few seconds later, Titus spotted the officer's legs give out as his grip on the railing loosened. If someone didn't act quickly, the poor Ardrean would be joining his hated foe below, following his prematurely-departed lunch. With great effort, Titus dived for the military man, managing to grab his right leg to which he held for dear life while pushing back on the rails. The rest of the Ardrean's substance dangled over the mass of tangled bodies and steel many meters below, as if sympathetic enough to join them. But not today.

Using all his strength, the Invictian tugged at his ally's limb, shouting for assistance in the meantime, and drowned out by the victory shouts. Slowly, his grip loosened and his strength relented; the Ardrean slowly slid overboard more bit by bit. Despite his luck and success so far in his 21st year, it seemed as if Titus would be unable to save a man soon to be overboard. It filled him with an impotent fury.

As if sent by Sol above himself overseeing the day-time battle, Julianos appeared and gave his assistance by reaching over the railing to grab the unconscious teen's other leg. The two managed to drag their puke-covered comrade back on deck, much to their relief. With a mutual nod of respect, Titus began to lift his debtor up, slightly carrying and dragging him away from the rails.

"Take him below deck, Solius! Don't need him near the rails!" ordered the marine commander to the the Invictian. Removed from the battle, Titus heaved his way below decks, the lifeless sick boy along with him. As he placed the body on his empty hammock, he at last recognized the face. This had been the young tamer of Julianos. He had carried with him a certain 'groundedness' early, although that hardly seemed to be the case now. The two lounged in the abandoned rec room together for a time. One conscious, the other sleeping. One eager, the other apprehensive. One Invictian, one Ardrean. Both brought together by fate in the foreboding emptiness of the sky vessel as the sounds of explosions, storms, and death rang out all around them.

[Ardreas]

The Eastern Sea, Exact Location Unknown, 26th of Aestus

Swaying. Gentle swaying and the distant rumble of thunder. These were the first things Anthony Rawlings noticed as his senses returned to him. He was lying on his back in... a hammock? What am I doing in a hammock? He wondered as his mind tried to recall the events that had brought him here. The last thing he remembered was talking to an eccentric man in the bomb chamber, then going upstairs as an explosion had rocked the ship... Oh! his mind's voice exclaimed as he suddenly recalled the horror he'd felt on deck at seeing the carnage below. But how did he get from there to here? And where was here? His eyes fluttered open and he looked around to find that he was back in the Skyship Marines rec room, and he wasn't alone.

A shadowy figure sat nearby, his features half-hidden by the flickering lamp light. The room was unusually dark, and Anthony noticed the window on the far wall was closed. The electric lights were also off, leaving only the gas lamp on the wall to light the large empty room.

"H-hello?" he croaked at the mysterious figure, blinking several times to clear the bleariness from his eyes. As if responding to his greeting, the stranger sat forward and his face came into view. Immediately the young Ardrean recognized it. This was the man he'd seen earlier, the foreigner who'd sat by the wall reading. Then suddenly catching the faint lingering smell of stomach acid, Anthony frowned and looked down at his shirt front, which was slightly stained. "Ugh..." he muttered, then asked, "What happened?"

[Invictus]

The Eastern Sea, Exact Location Unknown, 26th of Aestus

"Ah, you're back with us! Good. You lost your lunch during the battle awhile back and ended up blacking out. I shouldn't really joke though; you nearly went overboard. You can think your friend Julianos for saving you... although I haven't seem him since the battle..."

With that, the marine stepped forward into the small light, revealing his full self to the confused soldier.

"Here," he said, extending his arm to offer the sweating young man a cup of water, which he gratefully drank. "You're safe. We're all safe... At least until the god of storms decides to strike is down. We sank a couple of those d**ned Aengmirians, but had to pull off because of the storm. Let's just ride this out together," he said, awkwardly smiling in an attempt to calm the startled Ardrean.

"But where are my manners? My name is Titus Solius. It's good to meet you."

[Ardreas]

The Eastern Sea, Exact Location Unknown, 26th of Aestus

"Titus Solius..." Anthony repeated blankly, staring at the kindly foreigner for a moment. Then he blinked, as if pulling himself out of a daze and nodded. "It's good to properly meet you too," he replied, mustering a smile. "I'm Anthony Rawlings. I've seen you around before, but never quite had the opportunity to say hello it seems..." his voice trailed off as the floor briefly shook and thunder rumbled outside. "Thank you, for saving me out there. I don't know what came over me. I'm not squeamish or anything, it's just... I guess the sight of so much destruction right after seeing one of our own done in like that..." he sighed, letting his eyes fall to the floor. And they sat in silence for a moment.

Suddenly the door leading out to the main deck burst open and a clatter of heavy feet thundered down the steps as if the storm itself had taken on a body and decided to invade! Startled, Anthony whirled his head around to see who it was. A huge, hulking figure stood there, drenched in water which poured off his clothes like a fountain. It was Julianos. "Maker's balls, Anthony!" the big northerner exclaimed, his eyes wild with excitement. "You gave me quite the scare up there, almost going over like that! I thought you would have got your sky legs by now! But I guess even the best of us take some time getting used to this new type of travel, eh?" He grinned, jabbing his friend in the shoulder with a soaked fist. "It's just a good thing this Invictian here saw you start to fall," he said, flashing an approving look at Titus. "He's got nerve, and quick reflexes. I like that."

Thunder rumbled again outside, much louder this time, and the room shook. Anthony's eyes darted toward the door that led out to the deck. "What's going on out there? Are we inside the storm?"

"Hah!" barked Julianos with a devilish grin. "You bet your commission we are! It came on us like a wildfire, swift and strong. We had to leave the last two Aengmiran bastards to try and gain some altitude. But I can tell you that I had the immense satisfaction of watching them get swallowed by an angry wave as we were pulling away! I think the Maker himself sent those infidels to the depths!" He grinned, showing his broad white teeth in the flickering lamp light, and Anthony had to suppress a shudder. This man that he called a friend certainly had a dangerous side. And as he thought about this, the words of the Revered Mother echoed back in his mind from the day of his commissioning: "Walk in the Maker's path, Anthony. And remember, in this war justice will need a champion. There will be many more atrocities in the days to come, I fear. Hatred is a powerful thing, and if you're not careful it will consume you from within. But the Chant tells us that true justice walks hand in hand with being a keeper of peace. Stand strong against evil, but do not give in to hate. For if you do, what then will separate you from the Aengmirans?"

Silence stretched on for a moment as he pondered these words. And when he looked up the Invictian had gone. Blinking in surprise, he asked Julianos: "Where'd he go?"

The big northerner shrugged. "No idea, but hey now that you're up we should probably get you dressed and back up to the bridge. I'm sure your fellow officers are wondering about you." He turned to look around, his eyes roaming the room for Anthony's uniform coat and shoes. Just then the door at the far end of the room leading to the marines' quarters creaked open and Titus stepped through. In his arms were Anthony's coat and boots. Both Ardreans must have had looks of comical surprise on their faces, because the Invictian seemed to smile for the first time as he deposited the clothes by the bed. Anthony noted that the boots had been relaced, and as he slipped them on he found the knot came easier and tighter. Blinking in surprise he glanced up at the foreigner, wondering if this was some Invictian style he didn't know about. But if Titus had done anything, he didn't say. He just maintained a quiet smile, and something about that expression made Anthony feel like this man knew a lot more than he let on. There was a certain air of mystery about him that the young Decanus couldn't put his finger on, but he would certainly be keeping his eye on this one...

"Ready to go?" asked Julianos, cutting into his thoughts.

"Yeah," he replied. Then glancing at Titus one more time he nodded to the Invictian. "Thanks, for everything." Then pulling his hat down on his head, he turned and followed the big marine up the steps and out into the storm...

[Invictus]

The Eastern Sea, Exact Location Unknown, 26th of Aestus

The day was at last coming to an end, and with it, the storm. At least it seemed to be in Titus' mind. His senses dulled after the nerve-wracking day of facing off against both the relentless fury of the sea and sky, he had retired to his bunk along with the other skyship marines. Still, he lie awake, unable to yet adapt to the somewhat noisy sway of the ship and the assault of rain on the deck above his head. But was it truly the foreign sounds that prevented his slumber, or something else? Perhaps it was the pungent smell of sweat, body odor, and Sol knew what else a military man at sea must endure. Perhaps it was his growling stomach, unsatiated by the evening's rations allotted to him. No...

It was fear. Fear like he had never felt before despite his brief life of chaos and death. It was the fear of watching men struggle helplessly against gravity, against fire, against the beckoning of the earth's bowels. A slow death. No mercy, no reprieve, no hope. Perhaps such a fate awaited the crew of the Ardrean craft...

The Ardrean officer... what was his name? Yes... Anthony. What was truly the reason that he took the younger man below decks and remained with him throughout the rest of the battle? Kindness? No. Fear. Fear of watching men be drowned by both the relentless fury of the sea and the sky at once. Fear of truly looking hopelessness in the eye. Fear of showing fear. Fear of being afraid.

Aggravated, he threw his body to the other side of the uncomfortable bed, facing the wall. He thought, and thought, and thought some more. The Solisthines had taught him the value of total awareness during his sacrilegious misadventures. He understood for one to be aware, one also had to acknowledge uncomfortable truths and personal weaknesses. At last, he turned his thoughts to home again. Was it truly so bad back there after all? He recalled the serenity of the breezes caressing the flowing hills outside of the city. He felt the silver streams of the River Argentum cooling his skin. He heard The peaceful chants of the smiling Solists adorned in their robes. Would he ever be able to return after his crimes? Maybe. Maybe not.

At last, his thoughts turned to the kind face of his father, and with those thoughts, the words he remembered most from him:

"The boy must die so that the man may live" he would say when stirred to aggravation by his son.

Wise words. Words that he needed to hear but had never heeded before. Words that initiated one in his becoming of one chosen by the sun.

Meditating on these words, he gently passed into sleep.

[Ardreas]

The Eastern Sea, Approaching Fairhaven Island, 27th of Aestus

The cool morning breeze caressed Anthony's face as the eastern sky began to glow with the pre-dawn sunrise. During the night they had finally managed to get up above the clouds, and for the past few hours they'd been cruising in relative calm while a sea of cloud churned below them. Stars above, grey, roiling waves beneath, and beneath those... fire and hail and death. It was a mind-boggling sensation, to stand at the rail and look down, seeing what appeared to be the surface just a few hundred feet below, and yet knowing that it was not the surface at all but merely clouds and that beneath it was a vast empty expanse before one came to the real surface. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as he thought about that. No, no that isn't the real surface either! he corrected himself. The ocean is itself just another layer, and the ground itself is further still beneath it! In fact, this world seems to be layers upon layers! Each built upon another! The realization of that nearly staggered the young Ardrean to his knees, but he kept his balance and soon let out a laugh. The world is incredible! he thought as a smile began to spread across his face. Layers upon layers! The Maker must be an absolute genius! He laughed again, turning from the rail and starting to wander back toward the aft of the bridge. Just then his eyes met Quintus's. The old man was staring at him from the helm, a curious frown on his weathered face. And suddenly Anthony felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. The chief helmsman must think he was going mad, laughing to himself for no apparent reason! But Quintus just shook his head at Anthony's expression and turned his attention back to the helm. Sighing, the country boy quickened his pace and went to inspect the ensign box. It would be time to raise the flag soon, once the sun peaked over the horizon. And he had to make sure all was ready...

* * * *

Two hours later, as Anthony was just finishing breakfast in the officer's mess, there was a sudden clang of the ship's bell. The steam whistle hadn't gone off, so it wasn't a call to battle stations, but the young Decanus knew in an instant that something was up. Hurriedly scooping the last of his grits into his mouth, Anthony scrambled up from his seat and bolted up the stairs to the bridge. Arriving, he found the young crewman Eric Jornheim at the helm. Evidently Quintus had to sleep some time, so he must have left the kid at the wheel. Anthony was a bit put off that the old man hadn't asked him. He'd been itching for some real piloting time since they took off. But he suppressed those thoughts as his sense of duty quickly took over. "What's going on, crewman?" He asked the wide-eyed kid at the helm.

"Sir!" Eric squeaked, pointing at the horizon ahead.

Anthony's eyes followed the young man's outstretched hand toward a spot where the clouds broke. Beneath the rift in the grey sea of cloud he saw a spot of blue, glistening in the sunlight. It was the ocean! The storm was passed and the sky was clearing up. But as he looked, another color came into view. A large spot of green and brown became visible as the clouds parted. Was that.... land? he asked himself, shaking his head in surprise. They'd only been above the clouds for a single night and was he already forgetting what land looked like!? As he kept watching, more clouds broke apart and soon he had a clear view of what lay before them. And as the distinctive shape of the landmass appeared, Anthony knew what it was: Fairhaven island. They were here.

Reaching for the rope to the ship's bell, he gave it two quick tugs, then a pause, then two more. Crying out, "Land-ho!" as he did. The moment stretched on in silence as the ringing of the bell echoed in his ears. Then suddenly a flurry of activity billowed out across the deck. Doors opened and crew members came swarming out. Officers ran for the bridge, and marines made for the rails. In no time at all Quintus was back at his post, brushing aside the young crewman that had held it. Right on his heels the captain showed up, his face a shadow of mystery as he gazed out at the approaching island. After a moment, he instructed the Altimetrist, "take us down."

If the approach to the raiders the day before had seemed slow to the young Ardrean, today's descent toward the island was an agonizing eternity! The horizon seemed to well up with ever so slow determination, as if stretching out time itself while attempting to devour the airship that had for two days now defied it. But as the island finally got closer, all eyes were captivated by the sight of it. Several columns of smoke were visible, rising from the settlement against the brightness of the morning sun. And numerous dark shapes were floating in the harbor. Squinting against the distance, Anthony tried to make out any details he could. Then suddenly something cold and metallic was pressed into his hand. "Use your brains kid," said a gruff old voice, which he recognized immediately as Quitnus's. Glancing down in surprise, the young Decanus found himself holding a small telescope. Where it had come from he had no idea. There were only two such devices aboard, to his knowledge. One was in the keeping of the forward lookout, and the other was the captain's. But regardless, he quickly placed the incredible tool against his eye and aimed it at the island.

An audible gasp escaped his lips as the lens brought into focus what he had feared might be the case. Half a dozen Aengmiran warships were anchored in the harbor, and the colony was on fire. It was hard to make out details from this distance, even with the telescope, but he saw flashes of light darting back and forth between the warships and the fort. Evidently a battle was in progress. And the defenders appeared to be significantly outnumbered. It seems they had arrived just in time...

The Captain must have been thinking the same thing because suddenly his voice rang out. "Sound battlestations!"

Almost immediately the steam whistle sounded, and the crew rushed to prepare the weapons and munitions for combat. Meanwhile the captain ordered speed increased to flank, and Anthony felt the deck tilt as the powerful Claudia engines whirred to their maximum rated speed, causing the ship to vibrate as they were propelled faster through the sky. The island was coming up quick now, and Anthony had to fight not to hold his breath in anticipation. Now as they neared their destination, the devastation from the battle was quickly becoming visible to everyone. Fires were burning throughout the colony and many buildings had collapsed. The fort itself was still standing, but there were numerous holes in the walls, and dozens of tiny boats were streaming from the Aengmiran fleet toward the shore. If they weren't able to turn the battle soon, the defenders would be overrun!

"Helm," ordered the captain, "make your course 060 degrees, take us down directly over the lead Aengmiran warship and then over the waters between them and the shore. Decanus!" he barked, turning to Anthony. "Have the bomb engineer prepare two separate drops. I want the first to strike that warship, but hold the second until we're over the landing parties." He grinned, a fierce and predatory grin that made Anthony shudder. "Let's see if they can swim."

"Aye sir," he replied, heading quickly down toward the bomb bay. This time he was more prepared for what awaited him, and the eccentric engineer that seemed to live down there was not so bizarre to the young officer. Smoothly he relayed the captain's orders, and then stepped back to watch as the odd little man scurried about, hoisting the deadly explosives up on their chains and positioning them over the bay doors. When all was set and ready, he gave Anthony the thumbs up and took position by the aiming lens. With a creak the wide doors swung open, revealing the shimmering waters below. Anthony reckoned they must be only about 2,000 feet up now, but they were still moving awfully fast. And he couldn't help but wonder if the engineer would be able to actually hit a target at this speed, even one as big as a warship. The engineer must have sensed the challenge, because he began to adjust the aiming lens, angling it forward several degrees. He must have been doing calculations in his head, because Anthony saw his lips moving, but he never said anything. Suddenly, after an inestimable amount of time the man yanked the release mechanism and the first bomb fell away.

"What?" Asked Anthony, blinking in surprise. The water below was still clear! He hadn't seen a ship yet... just then it came into view, and the country boy was shocked at how fast they flew over it and it was behind them. He knew the vessel was supposed to be able to fly at speeds of up to 44 knots, but he'd never imagined just how fast that actually was. And the first battle they had been in, if you could call bombing helpless targets a battle, had been much slower than this. But here things were different. Here time was of the essence. They had to break the siege or the colony would be lost!

BOOOOM! the explosion echoed behind them, shaking the vessel, and causing Anthony to reach out and grab a beam for support. But unlike the previous day, this time the engineer had not closed the doors, for they were already fast approaching their next target. Anthony's heart beat fast in excitement as the seconds counted down to the next release of death from above.

Suddenly the deck rocked and pitched upward at a steep angle! Anthony was thrown back against the aft wall of the compartment, and the engineer nearly lost his grip on the focusing lens. "What in hell's blazes was that?" Exclaimed the country boy as the airship started to gain altitude again. The engineer was at a loss and shrugged at him as they found themselves changing course. "I better get up and find out what's going on," said Anthony as the engineer nodded and cranked shut the bomb bay doors.

Scrambling up the stairs to the main deck, Anthony's eyes scanned back and forth to try and determine just what was happening. They were flying at an odd angle, rapidly ascending and turning to the left as they did. His eyes caught sight of a squad of marines, holding rifles at the far railing, Julianos among them. The big, imposing northerner was aiming at something Anthony couldn't see due to the pitch of the deck. Then he fired. Anthony blinked. What on Aedes is he shooting at? He wondered as his feet carried him up toward the bridge. Mounting the steps to the command station the young Decanus finally caught sight of what was upon them...

Two Aengmiran airships were fast approaching from starboard. And they had a slight advantage of altitude over the Ardreans. Flashes lit up the enemy decks as several gunshots were fired toward the Tessonic. Quintus was frantically turning the wheel, trying to twist the enormous craft out from the pincer movement the Aengmirans were trying to make, even as they rapidly gained altitude. But it was like trying to push a boulder up hill. Gravity and their own momentum were fighting against them, and the enemy had a distinct advantage. Then suddenly grappling hooks filled the air as the first enemy vessel came along side. And Anthony watched in horror as Aengmiran marines flung themselves through the air toward the Tessonic's deck. The acrid smell of gunsmoke filled the air, and the country boy blinked away stinging tears as it got in his face. And in the distance he heard the bellowing cries of men charging into battle. At one point he thought he recognized the voice of Julianos shouting curses and at the enemy. But he couldn't divert his attention to search for his friend. The captain was calling to him, and he had to heed his own station. If they survived this mess, he would find his friend later, and maybe that Invictian too. They were certain to have stories to tell about this one...