As of April 22, 2022, this chapter has been rewritten

Gregorian Calendar XX/09/2021 (DD/MM/YYYY), Yasukuni Shrine, Tokyo, Japan, 19:00

Clap

The weak, dry sound of two hands coming together in a praying position echoes in the crisp, cold air of early autumn. The ripples of the clap mildly disturb the sheets of orange and brown falling from the trees. Before long, they land on the coarse stones of the pathway that trace a wide line of white through the earth, leading to the grand temple of natural brown and gleaming green–the haiden of Yasukuni. Standing underneath its imposing, wooden columns and white banners fluttering in the auspicious wind was a single man clad in formal black, his modest stature alone in the presence of the kami, Japan’s divine spirits.

Despite the knitted red scarf neatly wrapped around his neck, the man shivered from the September chill, his every breath condensing midair and his hands raised up in prayer, quivering. It may have been due to the cold, but it may have also been testimony to his rickety relationship with the shrine, for his father, a soldier under the former Imperial banner and one whom he never met, was listed among the dead that Yasukuni honors. Whether the man’s current visit was due to this loose sentiment or the fact that he lived close to the shrine, only he knew, but the unyielding glare of outside attention could have never assumed either.

“我が國は真の平和にあらんことを。” (May our country know true peace)

The man, Takamori Hideaki, whispered underneath his scarf.

To his friends and family, he was a man who believed in breaking the trend to become a trendsetter. His late aunt remembers him for his kind demeanor. His childhood friends remember him for ousting the incumbent student council president in an attempt to get the teachers to cease summer and winter homework. He was known for being frank to his colleagues at work, a no-nonsense man who detested being roundabout. However, to the rest of the world, he was a man who was recently elected to the office of the Prime Minister of Japan.

Having climbed up the political ladder that had eventually landed him in the National Diet and then later the president of the Liberal Democratic Party, he was only revered for his mostly acceptable stance on socio-political matters. Regarded as a man with thorns, he dived right into the crux of problems, which made him look rash and bold, but it landed him in hot water with countless people, even those whom he considered allies. Despite his frustrating lack of inability to read the atmosphere, everyone respected the man’s lack of regard for social norms–a departure from the typical politician that dared not upset the status quo. Still, his election to the office, while surprising, kept many on the edge of their seats. This hopelessly ballsy man was about to go toe-to-toe with the monolith that was the Japanese people, a monotonous population colorfully brimming with endless desires and hopes but held down by social expectations, dated beliefs, and values that border on self-destruction.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object: an imaginative scenario with answers bound to surprise and disappointment.

Nevertheless, the man was unmoved in his destiny.

“Well then...”

Finished in his prayer, he dropped his shivering hands down to his hips and looked up at the already pitch-black sky unfolding endlessly above his head. Tracing across the hopeless expanse of darkness were fireflies of red and green, the many airliners that populate the skies above the Tokyo metropolitan area, carrying in their tens or hundreds of people to lands far and wide, near and dear. Closing off the march of black, enclosing it in an eternal semi-sphere was the artificial skyline of Japan’s capital, the bright colors of the city’s famous skyscrapers towering above the trees that surround Yasukuni, their number and constant flickering denoting that the city was yet to sleep.

Savoring in his last view of the Tokyo early evening before his ascension to the office, a screenshot of the present to be saved in the recesses of his mind, Takamori sighed. His brown, anxious eyes, anticipating the responsibilities he would have to carry, turned to those of a man lost in forlorn sentiment. As if witnessing a dream that will inevitably fade from memory, he had a hunch deep in his heart that this may be the last time he’ll see such a sight.

It was peaceful.

But not because it was quiet; the incessant whirring of car engines and clanking of steely train wheels setting off according to schedule assumed their place in the background noise as the rustling of trees complemented the whistling of air in the foreground.

It was peaceful because Takamori stood there, spending the time loitering in the shrine grounds refusing to move forward with the flow of Chronos. To get it all done with, and move forward, he had to break the status quo–the peace. Hesitance and fear held him back, the spell of reluctance hung over him, but his spirit doggedly egged him on. If he were to take his place at the helm of a country that continues to advance, he himself must move too. Time gave him the last, decisive push, reminding him of the futility to resist–to remain unchanging.

Takamori finally submitted.

“Let’s go.”

He muttered in a volume that only he himself and the gods could hear.

Imperial Residence, 19:45

“Here.”

“My sincerest thanks.”

Takamori flatly replied as he kneeled down on the soft yet thin cushion that separated his folded legs from the clean tatami mats that comprised the surface of the room’s floor. Groaning softly as he settled into his position which despite the innumerable times he had done it, his increasing age has constantly made the movement ever so difficult for his body. The old man who was now newly appointed Prime Minister turned his face upwards and looked straight towards the man that had appointed him to the position: Emperor Reiwa.

The two men sat opposite one another at just a bit more than an arm’s length, with a brown, polished table separating them. While he had already been appointed by His Majesty to the office, Takamori had little clues in hand as to why the Emperor would summon him alone after the fact. Looking at His Majesty’s face, that of a man more than a decade younger than his person, he could not take any more clues from the poker face that stared back at him. Even if he was the only one summoned, it might not be for something important. However, the lack of any teapot or teacups on top of the table for him to serve the Emperor must have meant that they were going to do more talking than drinking.

After almost a minute of staggeringly vexing silence, Takamori faked a cough to break the ice.

“What have you summoned me for, Your Majesty?”

Delving straight to the point, Takamori looked at the Emperor and turned his head downwards, a measly response to his strong opening. His face reflected the worries of a man in a position central to Japanese society, but the anxieties that lay deep in his heart concerned something far more than the people of the island nation. Finally responding to the Prime Minister’s question, he asked another question, throwing the ball back to Takamori’s court.

“Have you met your father?”

The question, an unusual topic coming from the person he least expected, initially failed to register in Takamori’s head. Why was His Majesty, the Emperor, asking him a question that could not be anymore detached from context? His father was, but an ordinary man called to serve Emperor Showa in the war in China and the Pacific and was unceremoniously killed in some far-flung battlefield. He neither got recognition nor did he strive for it, both from his family back home and from the Army itself. As Takamori was born when his father was overseas, he had never met him, nor was his existence even acknowledged, as his father never wrote to him nor his mother. He was a man that was instrumental to Takamori’s existence, but when it comes to how his life played out, he was no different from a stranger.

Reeling from his surprise, a natural reaction, Takamori’s tongue began to move to produce a blank reply.

“Never.”

Equally, blank in his response, the Emperor’s expression neither brightened nor darkened. He only swiveled his left arm to reach in for something in his pocket.

“I see. Then it’s best that I start this conversation with...”

The Emperor took his hand, now clasped as it now contained something, out of his pocket. He purposefully finished his sentence incompletely, relying on what he was going to produce from his hand to deliver the message he wanted to convey. Hovering it over the empty table, he opened his hand, dropping something onto the hard, wooden surface. As the shadow of His Majesty’s hand retreated from the object, it was now in plain view for Takamori’s perplexed eyes to scrutinize. It was an elliptical, flat, metallic object. Its gray color gave way to the oranges and yellows of rust that had started to colonize its surfaces, but it wasn’t too far done to become impossible to recognize. On one side was a cylindrical shape that ran along the length of the ellipse, appearing to be a hinge that made Takamori assume that it was a–

“A locket?”

“You may open it.”

With the Emperor’s explicit permission, Takamori felt free in being able to use his hands to more liberally examine it. Taking into his hands the aged steel locket, still warm from the short time it spent being in the Emperor’s grasp, Takamori’s fingers naturally fiddled their way to where the locket could be opened. With nonexistent difficulty, his fingers pried the two halves of the locket apart, increasing the gap between them as he unfolded it.

Finally, after an untold amount of time spent folded, the innards of the locket have been revealed for human eyes to once again peer at what it has to offer. Takamori’s aged, brown eyes, still retaining their clarity and sharpness, widened in surprise at what was inside the locket. On the left side was a still pristine, upper body photo of a woman in common Japanese dress, the brown filter-like color of the photo reflecting the era it was taken in. Takamori’s eyes traced the contour of the woman’s face to her facial features–her jaws, nose, lips, and eyebrows–just as memories, long-buried underneath years’ worth of experiences, instantly resurfaced to him. Yes!, he thought as he recognized the woman.

“M-Mother...”

Despite their short time together, Takamori had fond memories of her, particularly in their time of struggle during and after the war. His familiarity of his mother, even if it were faint and on the cusp of being forgotten, paled in comparison with the man depicted in the picture on the locket’s right side. In spite of his mind’s efforts to dig up memories, both clear and obscure, to figure out whoever this man was, he was at a loss. However, clues laid out by the Emperor and the presence of his mother’s photo in the locket gave him enough information to at least come up with a guess.

“Could this perhaps be my father?”

Takamori asked. A question directed to no one in particular, delivered with a tone that had hints of uncertainty and mild sureness. The Emperor knew that he need not answer it, but he nevertheless did.

“It is as you say.”

In his almost eight decades on this earth, this was the first time Takamori had ever seen his father. From what he could see, he felt he resembled his old man in ways he couldn’t understand, but other than this unexplainable physical likeness, he did not feel drawn to his own father. When his mother passed away, he was taken in by his uncle, his mother’s brother-in-law. Whatever his uncle and his mother’s family knew about his father, even if it were insignificant, they never imparted to him, nor did he bother asking. While the question of his father’s identity lingered in his mind, there were more pressing questions that warranted answers.

“How did you get this? And why did you bring this up?”

From its appearance, Takamori surmised that the locket was a personal item from either his mother or father. The chance that it would end up in His Majesty’s possession was exceedingly low. His father was a lowly soldier of the former army who had died somewhere else, and his mother was not of any note either. If it had come from his mother, it would have more than likely ended up in his or his uncle’s possession, rather than being surrendered to an entity that would have given up to the Emperor. Either way, it was of little use to His Majesty, even now.

Seemingly satisfied with Takamori’s direct questions, His Majesty leaned in.

“I had hoped to bring your attention and curiosity with the mention of your father, for what I’m about to say may sound... far-fetched.”

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. Takamori’s curiosity was piqued, but so was his cautionary skepticism. Still, as a show of respect to His Majesty, he lent his ears to what the Emperor had to say.

“I had a dream. There, I saw an aged man, his face unfamiliar, but he was without a doubt Japanese. He spoke to me in our language and gave me a warning.”

The Emperor took out an expensive-looking pen from his breast pocket and produced a piece of paper he had prepared from underneath the table. Putting the empty, white sheet on top of the table, he held it down with his left hand as he used his right hand to write. After he was finished, he put away his pen and left Takamori to read the four kanji written in bright red on the background of white.

“八紘一轉”

Takamori tried to wrap his head around the four kanji, which were familiar and common, yet they were grouped together to produce an unsettling meaning: “The world in reversal.” As he tried to trace together the seemingly apocalyptic underlying message inscribed in the text, the Emperor continued his story about his dream.

“Without saying anything further, the man grasped my right hand with both of his before disappearing altogether. When I woke up, I felt like I was gripping on something with my right hand. When I looked at what it was...”

The Emperor then pointed to the locket to fill in the blank at the end of his statement. Takamori, still confused by what the message meant, felt a surge of cold air run down his perspiring back. Nevertheless, Takamori’s face produced an expression that reflected his difficulty accepting the Emperor’s statements. While there was little to back up the Emperor’s story, he couldn’t afford to disrespect His Majesty by saying that it was a fairytale. Still, it appears that the Emperor had caught on to his skepticism, and now he was on his way to crush it.

“I understand your doubt. However, I cannot help but tell you this.”

The Emperor then produced a set of papers from underneath the table, bringing them up on top and laying them out for Takamori to scrutinize individually. Scribbled in deep black ink on all of the white, empty papers were four distinct characters, 八紘一轉, accompanied by smaller characters off to the side–the names of those that had written them. While Takamori failed to recognize the names of these people, the Emperor pointed out who they were.

“These were written by the head priests of shrines all over the country, including the grand shrine at Ise. They had all sent these to me on the same day I had the dream, and all of them came with the message: “I was told in a dream to send this to His Majesty, Emperor Reiwa.””

The mystery of the message and the dream deepened. While he still struggled to believe and accept this story, a byproduct of his reluctance to buy into the superstition, he pushed himself to give His Majesty the benefit of the doubt. Why else would the Emperor tell him something this outlandish with a straight face? He understood that since it had the undertones of a prophecy telling of an apocalyptic event to come, the Emperor would impart the information to him, the Prime Minister of Japan. However, why him and only him? Why not include the other ministers?

“Why tell just me, Your Majesty?”

“I think that this is being addressed directly to you.”

“How so?”

The Emperor chuckled and scratched his head as he hesitated to answer.

“I myself don’t understand why, but the man was more direct in telling me, “Tomorrow, impart this to Hideaki after you give him your blessing.”

Remembering with vivid clarity how the man in his dream turned from being cryptic and indirect to explicitly telling him who to tell this message to, the Emperor smiled in comical amusement. Meanwhile, Takamori could not contain his confusion and surprise. The man in the dream referred to him by his given name, Hideaki. Even though it was a commonly given name, the other parts of the man’s message pointed to him since today that the Emperor will appoint him as a Prime Minister in a personal, eye-to-eye meeting. Then, there was the locket containing the pictures of his mother and father that were seemingly ‘given’ to the Emperor by the man in the dream. It was definitely a concerning flag that got his full attention. If it was indeed addressed to him, what was the message trying to say? What exactly was going to happen? Why is a message that seems to tell that the world will end addressed to him? His confused gaze was picked up by the Emperor, who unfortunately could only offer a face devoid of answers, having run out of clues to impart to him.

With that, their anxieties deepened, and while the two men parted ways not long after to retire for the night, the mystery of the message lingered in their heads even as they dozed off.

???

Somewhere in a point in time and space devoid of neither the passage of time nor the defining attributes of space was them. There was no light nor darkness, but they were ‘there’. There was no life nor the absence of it, but they are. There was neither everything nor nothing, and yet they are ‘there’.

There was no sound, no words, no language, no thoughts, and yet they ‘spoke’.

“Hm. What you did there was nice, but it isn't interesting enough.”

“True. This project of ours needs more... spazz. Yeah?”

“It’s just not as exciting. Too slow. Too predictable. What say you, Shamash?”

“Heh. Whatever. You tried. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“This is almost as interesting when the outsiders came and did a hissy fit. That was silly. I mean, they wanted to become like us? Hah! Funny. Still, I don’t want to skip to the point when they return. Too boring.”

“I just came back from riling them up. Annnd there! Done!”

“Whaaaat? Nothing changed! They’re still in their world!”

“Look closer, dimwit. There’s now another copy in this one.”

“Seriously? You just copy-pasted that shit? That was too safe and boring. The original world is still unchanged and unaffected. Boo!”

“Still more interesting than what you did with the other one. That was tasteless. Even if you brought them out from their world, nothing happened!”

There was no intention nor feeling, yet they wanted and wished. There was no energy, but they did, do, and will do.

In the realm of reality, where time passed, and space expanded, where the light shone and did not, where life thrived and shriveled, where there was everything and nothing, their actions, and desires too became real.

The next day, Prime Minister’s residence, Tokyo, Japan, 3:30

The telephone had been ringing for the past 20 seconds. Its annoying chime designed to catch attention has been incessantly echoing throughout the spacious, empty room of the Prime Minister’s quarters. The lightless, white-walled room mirrored the darkness of the early morning world outside the glass window. Rolling underneath his white, clean blanket was Takamori, who, after hours of sleepless limbo trying to piece out the message given to him by the Emperor, had only just succumbed to the temptations of sleep some two hours earlier. Still physically tired and mentally sore, he was forced awake by the third cycle of his telephone ringing. He reached out for it with disgruntled groaning, which continued on as he answered the phone to impart his displeasure with the caller.

“Yes?”

“Prime Minister! We have an emergency situation! We are still piecing together what has happened, but it requires your immediate presence!”

Still half-asleep and brimming with fury at his lack of rest, the Prime Minister lashed out and demanded an adequate reason to summon him with such haste.

“Cut the indirect shit and tell me what is going on, NOW!”

Whether it was due to the urgency of the situation or the Prime Minister’s intimidating howl, the man at the other end spilled the beans.

“I believe we are expecting an attack! All of our comm–”

“That’s all that you had to say, damn it! I’m coming!”

Slamming the phone back on the receiver, Takamori stood up from his bed, shrugging every single hint of drowsiness from his person as he went to dress appropriately. He had a couple of ideas of what this ‘attack’ was, but his mind drifted to the message he had received via the Emperor. However, if it were just any attack, then would it seriously be enough to “reverse” the entire world like what is said in the message? Devoid of information, Takamori could only brood as he washed his face with the frigid morning water from the sink.

Central Calendar 19/04/1639, Myhark, Principality of Qua-Toyne, 6:30

“Ugh...”

The wooden planks that made up a door creak as the door swiveled outwards on its side. Accompanying the succeeding thump of the door as it comes to an abrupt stop at the stone wall to which it was affixed was the hearty yawn of a woman dressed in a linen getup of all tones of green stretching her arms out as she basked in the bright rays of the early morning sun. The dark rings under her eyes of beautiful blue shine complemented her deep yawn, along with the dried-up drool that decorated, no, desecrated her otherwise slim, peach lips. The golden tint of her chocolate brown hair shines in the sunlight as it messily runs down her head. Feeling an itch somewhere behind the ungroomed tumbleweed mess that was her hair, she reached out with her slender yet rugged hands towards the area in question, past her elongated ears–the denoting point that she was an elf.

“Damned city. Should have sold my body for that kind of work instead of this one.”

Sprawling beneath her, past the stone ramparts from which her quarters were located, was a bewildering maze of pastel-colored buildings of various heights and dirt, sometimes even stone, pathways. The endless sea of colored stone and mortar was held in by the tall, mortifying embrace of a gray stone wall that encircled the maze of buildings. At the physical center of it all was a tower of yellow that stood out among the crowd of structures cowering beneath its height, and decorating all of its four sides were long banners of green and pastel yellow fluttering ever so slightly in the calm, sea breeze blowing in from the ocean nearby. This banner of the Principality of Qua-Toyne flew all across the various government buildings scattered about, draping down from even the numerous bastions that line the formidable wall that protected one of her premier cities, Myhark.

The woman, taking in the breathtaking view of the bustling trade city, sighed once more.

“May Astarte curse this dead-end job...”

The weight of the city’s troubles bore down on her slender, feminine shoulders as she leaned forwards on the ragged, rough stone that made up the ramparts. As the commander of the city’s garrison, the city’s troubles were her own. Despite being a bonafide part of the principality’s professional force, she was stuck with overseeing the non-professional garrison of the city and given the responsibility to maintain peace and order in the city. In practice, all she ever did was quell fights between haggling merchants, stop thieves in the market, oversee the maintenance of lookouts, and so on. This was her day-to-day reality, even in the face of a changing world.

“Why am I still here? The Lourians are literally at the border...”

She cried out, lamenting her situation and that of Qua-Toyne’s.

For as far as she could remember, in her almost 30 years of existence, a nascent human dynasty by the name of Louria had gone on a conquest spree, subjugating the disorganized territories of western Rodenius, a continent in which Qua-Toyne dominates the northeast. Once the last independent territory had been swallowed, the human kings of Louria had turned their gazes to the east, towards the Principality and the Kingdom of Quila, an economically docile yet military capable state that dominates the badlands of southeastern Rodenius. Under the pretext of continental unification under one state and race, the human race, the Lourians have been beating the drums of war against the multi-racial states of Qua-Toyne and Quila in an effort to get both to submit without a fight.

As the Lourians continue to sharpen their fangs for the inevitable, Qua-Toyne has seen a limited change to its internal status quo. From the ramparts, she witnesses life in her Qua-Toynian city continue unabated, with human and beastmen children playing in the dirt streets to the faint sound of music and cheering echoing from the city courtyard. Despite the threat of an invasion looming, everyone was eerily cheerful and happy-go-lucky, as if they were unaware of the greater scheme of things unfolding beyond the sanctuary of their robust stone walls. Rather, they may have already accepted the grim fate that awaited a successful invasion of a xenophobic army into their abode and thus was spending the remainder of their blissful days before the inevitable.

Still drowsy from her two-hour sleep, the elven woman rested her head along her arms, which laid crossed on the stone ramparts. Then, the annoying sound of her subordinate’s voice reached her eardrums.

“Commander Ine! You are needed at the station!”

Ine groaned deeply as her conscious self refused to rouse itself to duty.

“Sure...”

Her subordinate was smart, and he knew his commanding officer too well.

“Now, commander. You are needed now.”

Ine turned her head towards her subordinate with the speed and promptness expected of a Qua-Toynian officer and glared at him with the fury of a person running on two hours of sleep.

“Keith, you son of a whore, I will roast you down to the bone with a lightning spell!”

Despite her seemingly genuine threat, Keith chuckled with hilarity, further irking an already fuming Ine.

“We all know you can’t cast spells, commander. Okay, but please, we really do need you now, so let’s go!”

As Keith ran off from an Ine with arms stretched outward trying to cast a lightning spell, she cursed her lack of inherent mana due to her being half-human, which prevented her from casting spells off her own person. Then again, she doesn’t know the chant for the lightning spell, nor does she genuinely wish to kill off her subordinate. She then turned her focus back to the task at hand, and without even fixing her hair or wiping the dried drool from her cheeks, she ran off to the station.

Myhark garrison’s station was only just above her own quarters, which was also where she did her administrative work, thanks to a lack of facilities. Running up the short flight of stairs leading up to the station, she then arrived at the moderately spacious main room, which was predominantly occupied by massive clockwork instruments of wood and metal. These were the manacomms, an advanced method of communication by utilizing the workings of magic. These ones were bulky, but there are tales of more advanced and smaller manacomms elsewhere in the more developed side of this world. In any case, they still do their work, as evidenced by one of the human station personnel walking towards Ine’s direction with a worried look, one that says he has something to impart to her.

“Commander! Northeast Command has spotted a flying object of unknown origin traveling at high speeds. According to their trajectory, they appear bound for Myhark.”

Ine’s eyes widened as the last hints of drowsiness and desire to go back to bed vanished. The first question to shoot out from her mouth was what she deemed the most important.

“How long till it gets here?”

The station attendants were rife with impatience, his brow sweating with anxiety.

“Within five minutes, ma’am!”

Everyone was shocked. A hostile, airborne attack punching straight into their heartland in as little as five minutes was simply too fast–there was virtually no time to mount defenses, launch their own airborne units, or in Ine’s case, get dressed. They were at a loss on how to proceed which froze them in their places, yet time marched forward regardless. Ine knew that she had to protect her city, even from an unexpected attack from the air. Immediately, she went for what she could achieve in that tiny window of five minutes.

“Raise the attack flags and sound the bells!”

Without even waiting for a response from her subordinates, she dashed out of the station and down back into her quarters. Her armor and weaponry were at a separate station a few minutes away by running down the ramparts, so she only managed to put on leather boots and a cowl for her messy hair. Swiftly nestling her hair inside the cowl, she took off down the lengthy stone wall dividing two of Myhark’s districts and led directly to the other station. With careful, delicate footing on the uneven stone pathway, she closed the distance to the other station with modest speed. Already, she noticed her orders taking effect: Bells all over the Qua-Toynian city started ringing. The messy orchestra of off-tune notes gradually filled the air, invoking a feeling of tension, which then permeated throughout the entire city as if riding on the soundwaves of ringing bells.

Then, a buzz.

At first, it sounded like it was coming from an annoying fly harassing her, but unlike an insect’s buzz, it was loud. Even more still, it was getting louder.

Despite her speed, Ine was still a hundred paces from the other station. Initially, the buzzing wasn’t enough to bother her, but now its volume could no longer be ignored. Using her long, elven ears, she approximated the direction from where the sound was coming. They need not be exact, for her eyes would do the rest. At this point, the buzzing was loud enough to challenge the unabating symphony of bronze and iron bells dominating the city. Ceasing her run, she turned her head to the southeast.

Then, it appeared.

It came flying out from behind the treetops of the hills overshadowing Myhark to the east, and like an eagle that had taken off from the pinnacle of branches to strike its unsuspecting prey, it flew straight for the city–straight for her. it was unlike any bird nor wyvern, a rigid body of shining gray, its wings forever locked into position, and yet it flew with grace and speed. Underneath its eternally suspended wings were four windmills spinning at dizzying speeds. The buzzing got louder as it flew closer. It was probably its cry. At its head was a single, long black line, perhaps its eyes.

Ine stared right at it, like a feeble girl staring down the death-ridden eyes of the lion that was poised to pounce on her. In the face of such a terrifying, unprecedented predator, Ine, a proud officer of the Qua-Toynian military, was buckling from fear–fear of being taken away, of being killed. Tears formed in her eyes as the massive, gray predator swooped down towards her. This was it. She will no longer be Ine, the proud officer of the Qua-Toynian military. She was ultimately to become the feed for this predator, an unsightly end to such an unsightly life. Her legs froze in place, the first to accept her fate of being taken away. Then, the rest of her body, before finally, her heart.

I’m sorry mother...

She closed her eyes. Before long, she was to be nothing more than the predator’s breakfast. Maybe at least her life will have served some purpose if the predator were to like her flesh. Whatever, she thought. She waited as the incessant buzzing of the predator got ever louder.

However, in just a single second, the buzz peaked, then, as fast as the sound came, the volume suddenly reversed, and it got softer and softer.

Huh?

Feeling her limbs and body still intact, her feet still firmly on the uneven stone of the walls, Ine was at first dubious that she was spared, but the relief of being alive was greater than her suspicions. Opening her eyes, she was treated to an empty, blue southeastern sky, devoid of the shining gray predator. Even though she wanted to believe that it had been nothing but a mirage, the sound of its buzzing assured her that it existed and that it was still there. Turning around towards the direction where the sound was coming from, she spots its shining silhouette contrasting against the azure expanse of the sky. As it got smaller, Ine saw its shape change and, with it, its direction. It was now heading northeast, towards the empty ocean.

As the gray flying object maneuvered with frightening speed, Ine’s eyes, which were just moments ago tearing up from fear of death, had returned to that of a Qua-Toynian officer. Scanning the very contour of the object, its peculiarities, its attributes for any clues as to what it is or where it came from, Ine was at a loss.

“Commander!”

Running up to her was Keith, who had now donned his armor, expecting a fight. Due to the weight of the primitive steel and constriction of leather wrappings, he was tired from the sprint, reflected in him trying to catch his breath.

“I... have never seen such an object before.”

Ine commented as she continued to stare at the gray object that was rapidly disappearing from their sight, out towards the open sky to the northeast. Its shape was unlike any wyvern nor bird she had ever witnessed in her entire lifetime. She did hear of flying objects being used by the bigger nations to the west, where the great powers of the world resided, but she has never seen what they looked like. To her, Keith, and the rest of Myhark looking up at the thing, it was nothing short of alien.

As quickly and as unwelcome as the alien object’s arrival, it flew off into the clear morning skies to the north, back towards the ocean. Its eerie, almost mechanical-like buzzing had long faded away, but it remained to linger in their heads, forever imprinted by its horrifying appearance over the city. Its mysterious, gray body made of shining silver and rustless iron was striking, but it had already disappeared into the great blue.

A chill ran down Ine’s spine as she pondered on what were the ramifications of this unexpected, mortifying event.

“Dear Astarte...”

As the sun continued to rise on the 19th Day of the fourth divine month of Apfrolde of the year 1639 on the Central Calendar, a new era was set to begin in this world, brought about by divine intervention that had shifted one of the most powerful nations of another world to this one.