From the journal of an Alcian field medic during the Avian War - Entry #125

Tomorrow's dawn signals the seventh year. Seven years wasted on this non-sensical war. How many more good men and women have to die for the King of Skies to be satisfied? When will the blood of our people be enough?

Today a soldier died in my arms. He was sixteen, ran away from his home in Telessia to join the army. It was his first mission. His platoon was discovered by Avian scouts and decimated by their noxious magic. When they brought him into our tent, I couldn't even recognize his face.

Voices say this is all for a lost princess. I swear to the Goddess... if I ever happen to find her, I will strangle her with my own hands.

Right now, we are under our light mage's Lighthouse. The last time those damned birds attacked us during the Fog. How inhuman! May they all burn in the Abyss- (ink smeared on the page)

(The text resumes at the bottom of the crumpled-up page, obviously written with trembling hands)

Oh, Goddess! The arcane alarm just went off. If someone finds this journal, please tell my little Anne that I love h-

***

The great city of Telessia, Capital of the Kingdom of Alcia, shimmered under the golden light of an enormous Lighthouse. Tall walls of solid stone and metalwork stood steadfast along the perimeter of the city. Ten towers rose from the corners of the wall, brilliant alchemical circles engraved around the top to amplify the power of the light mages within.

Inside the walls, two perpendicular avenues crossed the city from one side to the other, branching out in every direction like arteries and capillaries. In the center was the heart of the kingdom - the fortified Citadel of Telessia and the majestic royal palace within. Looking at it, it was clear that the current king cared more about practicality and defensive capability than appearances and extravagance.

Just south the Citadel was Saint Lucius Cathedral, the headquarters of the Church of Light where High Priestess Celestia Paragonis III conducted her daily prayers to the Goddess. The legend said that Saint Lucius himself, the first worshipper of the Goddess of Light, had chosen that exact spot to lay down the Cathedral's foundations. The first settlement had thus grown around the Church and its light mages. Over the centuries many wars of conquest and pillaging threatened the existence of the cathedral, but it was always too useful to maintain. It was only Only for that reason had the seat of the High Priestess remained in Telessia.

Opposite the Cathedral was the Obsidian Tower of Hamamelis, a sixty-six-floors structure under the control of the Ivory Council, the most influential magic organization in the North. Inside the tower, newly-born arcane sorcerers would learn to harness their abilities to become part of the kingdom's Mage Corps or researchers for the Council.

Around those sites of secular and ecclesiastic and arcane power, the rest of Telessia formed into several districts. In most cases, the further one walked from the court, the smaller the buildings they would see and the poorer the people they would meet. Still, those who lived in the Capital were decently content. While the differences between members of different socio-economic classes were easy to discern, the Alcian Kingdom promoted the development of talented individuals and actively aided them in their climb towards higher society and better living conditions. Officials tested the aptitudes of young boys and girls yearly to discover potential geniuses of internal or external energy manipulation and bring them into the fold of either the Knight's Corp or the Mage Corp. All in all, it was as fair as a society as one could find on the Continent's surface.

Today, however, a heavy atmosphere lingered around the Capital's street. Those who had to traverse such streets did it as quickly and discreetly as they could. Where there would be children playing, there was gloomy stillness instead.

At the same time, the Citadel was in chaos. Attendants hurriedly ran around the court, each bringing orders, maps, or documents. A varlet wearing the red and white colors of the Knight's Corps was elegantly wiggling through the turmoil. Every confident step he took was calculated and precise, as well as completely silent. His blue skin and long silver hair were enough to recognize him as a Krin, a race of people indigenous to the Alcian region. They were known for their extraordinary physical abilities, as well as their innate agility and feline-like dexterity. For that reason, many Krin had climbed through the kingdom's military hierarchy and currently sat within the highest echelons.

He quickly traversed the courtyard, taking note of the tired wrinkles on the faces of the kingdom's officials. Whatever meeting was currently ongoing, it had clearly been running for a while. The young Krin clutched the scroll in his hand. His mission was simple but intimidating nonetheless.

He arrived at the open gates of the palace, and his stride was so quick that the guards did not even notice him slip in. Walking straight forward, he dodged a couple of almost-running maids with empty trays on each of their hands. And there it was, the door to the throne room. Now that he was this close, he could hear the vehement discussions behind those gates. He was about to barge in onto some of the most influential people in the North. With one hand he fixed his uniform and the chain mail hidden inside, both too large for his slim frame. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed his heart. He felt the energy within his body, let it course through every muscle as he experienced the tingling sensations that it produced.

Ten seconds later, his hands fell on the heavy double-doored gate and gave a firm push. The door opened without a creak as it slowly gave way to a giant chamber. From the pavement to the ceiling, the whole structure was made of humble grey stone. Two rows of massive columns held the heavy stone roof effortlessly, at the same time framing two rows of arched windows that kept the chamber illuminated at all hours of the day. On every column was a different banner, one for each of the noble families of those who had served the Kingdom with loyalty and sacrifice. An intricate fresco decorated the ceiling, recounting the story of the foundation of the Alcian Kingdom and the heroic feats of the first king. The floor was draped in a luxurious purple carpet, which ran from the monumental gate to a spot on the other side of the chamber elevated by four steps up. There stood the throne, its frame golden and elegantly draped in purple cushions. Behind the seat was the largest banner in the room, which featured a golden mountain goat climbing towards a purple sky. It was the emblem of the Gothric Family whence the king's dynasty hailed.

As the young Krin entered, he noticed five people turning towards him with a plethora of expressions.

On his right was a slim but well-built blonde man in his forties. On his face were several scars of different shapes, telling the story of someone who had participated in many fights and was still standing. His eyes burned with intensity as he aggressively turned towards the Krin. For a moment, it felt like he was about to unsheath the greatsword that rested behind his back. He was the Vice-captain of the Kight Corps, William Von Kruitz.

Standing to the right of the knight was another man. He was old, with almost no air left on the top of his head and wrinkles all over his face. He had a cane in his left hand, which he used to keep his trembling knees from finally conceding to gravity. However, his gaze held a power that could only come from decades of unimaginably tough decisions. He was still standing, which meant he had usually been correct in his choices. He was Lieutenant-General Bianco Von Revolt.

Opposite to the Vice-captain and the old General were a thirty-year-old man and a much younger girl. Both had black hair and black eyes, and fair skins and noble bearing. They both wore purple, a color that only the royal family could wear. The girl had an aloof aura about her like she did not actually care for the contents of the meeting and was waiting for it to be over. Instead, the man was sweating and slightly heaving, clearly more invested in the talks. If looks could cause harm, he and Vice-Captain Von Kruitz would have already killed each other. They were Princess Serena and Crown Prince Kaveat of the Gothric House.

In the middle, sitting on the throne and overlooking the room from his elevated position, was the most powerful man in the Alcian region.

King Bartholomew Gothric II was a giant of a man. Even in his sixties, muscles bulged around his large frame. His grey hair was cleanly cut in a way that was more military than nobility. On his rugged and chiseled face were a large nose, two small black eyes, and a well-kept grey beard. His hand rose solemnly, and all the noise in the throne room ceased.

The young Krin did his best to ignore the annoyed looks from the prince Kaveat and his Corp's vice-captain, as he advanced steadily towards the throne.

"Squire of the Knight's Corp, Edwin Ghen," the Krin shouted while kneeling with his head down.

"You may rise," said the king with a gentle tone. "To what do we owe the pleasure, young Edwin?"

"I bring urgent news from the front, Your Highness," he answered. When he said those words, the young Krin felt all the eyes in the room falling on him. He discreetly took a deep breath, then lifted his gaze to meet the king's.

"Eight hours ago, the third Regiment was attacked through the Fog and decimated by the Avian forces. The Pass of Gruht is lost."

"What?!" Shouted prince Kaveat before any other in the room could react to the news. When the Crown Prince's exclamation stopped rumbling through the mostly empty room, a deafening silence took its place. Edwin stood still. He had accomplished his mission, but he was yet to be dismissed.

This time, it was William Von Kruitz who took the initiative. "Was there any survivor?"

Edwin turned to his Vice-captain, a man he had never met in person and only heard stories about. They said it was a ruthless man, cruel against his enemies but caring towards the men and women under his command. "Only one, a young medic from the Third. The Avians cut both her arms and her tongue and sent her to run to our closest camp with a vial of poison tied between her teeth and a message around her neck. She is receiving treatment as we speak."

The faces in the room darkened, even the princess' who had acted so detached up to this point. "What did the message say?"

Edwin unrolled the scroll in his hands and read through its contents to make sure his memory was correct. "It said: 'You have ten days to surrender Princess Tui, or the sky will fall on your measly nation.'"