Yuri considered himself surprised by his meeting with Shyme. He came in, expecting a tyrannical spoiled brat who would use him like a slave, while gloating about the conquest of his puny planet. Instead, he met with a stern girl who turned beet-red when discussing her crush.

She was even a good tour guide to the operation of tents and campfires taking place within this ruin.

“We are investigating the White Tower,” Shyme briefed him. “It is an archaeological ruin in Frisnia. The Tower is a mystical hotspot for ancient rituals. A few days ago, some mysterious space fluctuations were detected within this area and the Leyline has been behaving abnormally ever since.”

“Leyline?” Yuri asked. The term was familiar, but still strange to him.

“Think of it like a river of Mana, crisscrossing beneath the crust of Phantasia,” Shyme explained. “It is a prime-energy source. The White Tower is located right above the intersection of the two of those rivers — a Leynode.” Shyme then dropped her own theory. “According to a legend, the ancient kings of the Ancients sealed something inside the tower using Leynode's power.”

“The Ancients?” Yuri met another terminology he knew nothing about. “You mean the gods.”

“Not really,” Shyme replied. “They were the major players in Phantasia before the rise of the gods. Legend says their power surpassed even the present’s peak.” Shyme shrugged. “But for a reason lost to history, they vanished.”

As Yuri got his facts updated, he realized they were the center of attention. People around the tents were sneaking a quick glance at Shyme and began gossiping. He sensed two emotions from them: irregular glances of fear, or barely concealed stares of awe.

Being the receiver of Shyme’s celebrity aura, Yuri also suffered from attention, such as mocking snickers and jealous glares. The attention was mortifying for the young man, and he begged the cosmic force to help end his suffering.

Thankfully, a savior arrived.

“Shyme,” the maid—Charon—walked toward them with Shyme’s elderly butler in tow. “The two other leaders want to discuss this expedition with you.”

“Oh,” Shyme’s face felled, dreading another round of politics. “Yuri, I haven’t formally introduced her yet, but this is my maid, Charon Sol.” Shyme made a face like the name brought bitter memories. “Charon, please take care of him while I talk with those two.”

“No problem, Mistress Shyme,” Charon replied, as the wolf-girl left with her butler.

It was then Yuri realized he was alone with a girl in his strike-zone.

“Hello,” Charon greeted.

Yuri nodded and let the awkward silence hang in the air.

It took a while, but the young man found a subject to talk about.

“Can I call you Charon?” Yuri asked.

“I have no problem with that,” Charon said with a perfect maid’s smile.

“Okay,” Yuri said. “Why is Shyme so interested in Earth? Who is this guy she had a crush on?”

Charon made a face.

“Let us find a place to sit,” the maid resigned to tell the clueless boy a really long story. “Or else, your leg will be killing you by the time I finish.”

…

The two quickly found isolated piles of stones and a campfire as Charon told the story. The witching hours arrive as the tale unfolded.

It was the same old romantic tale of a knight rescuing the princess in the amazing deed of courage and valor. The story of good triumphing against the odds. Story parents told to their children to get those hyperactive hellspawns to the bed.

Except Charon’s version of Shyme’s ‘How-I-met-your-father’ was way bloodier.

“Her interest in Earth began when this ‘man,’” Charon quoted the air, “saved her during the Venistalis Incident.”

“Wait,” Yuri believed he knew that story. “Isn’t that the Incident where the Grand Empire’s capital city got annihilated six-months ago?”

The Grand Empire was the member of Seven Continental Alliance (SCA), which made its home in the southern part of the Aurora Continent. After a vast expansion campaign spanning centuries, its territory was equal to the combined size of China, Russia and India. Unlike Earth, the nation was steep in magical history worth a millennium. As one of the foremost members of the SCA, it possessed both impressive wealth and military power.

Then, one day, half a year ago, the Grand Empire’s capital — Venistalis — was attacked and nearly destroyed. Even now, the nation was still reeling from the aftermath of the ‘Venistalis Incident.’

“I don’t know the exact details,” Yuri began. “But isn’t Shyme the one who ended the Incident? She defeated the culprit, right?”

Charon snorted, “Yes, that is what the official story reports.” She paraphrased said propaganda. “The attack and occupation of Venistalis was perpetrated by, former member of the 33 Stars, Orwell Mehest and volunteers from the major terror-hub, the Willow Heart Street.” The maid added an extra sarcastic spice to her accent. “Thankfully, Royal Crybaby, Chamomile Elragorn, and Shyme of the Enma Clan ended the tragedy.” Charon made a dried laugh. “Hilarious. Even mistress Shyme can’t stop squirming at that blatant false reporting.”

Yuri gaped, “The official story is fake?”

“Yuri, right?” Charon repeated his name. “Let me tell you a story.” Shyme shed her polite personas and told the tale of tears. “Once upon a time, a sorcerer hatched a plot. He summoned a dark, grotesque god using the souls of the innocent, and through this mighty being, he cast a dome of darkness over the city.”

Charon dramatically conjured the campfire into an image of a robed mage towering on top of the tower, watching an army of monsters set the city in flames. Horrifying beasts flocked the skies, and a monstrous moon with a hundred-eyes hung over the hellscape like a manifestation of despair.

“The sorcerer sent an army — thousands of abominations and undead upon the helpless city,” Charon showed Yuri an image of skeleton-knights and horrific beasts made ‌of bones. “The resistance was crushed. The Royal Knight was decimated, safe for one Chamomile. The Royal Mages were massacred by two of their own, with only an amputated Vice Captain to pick up the piece.”

Charon looked into Yuri’s eyes as the air burned around them. Yuri must admit, if being maid didn’t work out, Charon could start a new story-telling career with her pyro moving-pictures.

“That is the Venistalis Incident in its first 24 hours,” the maid said. “You saw Shyme for yourself. Can you realistically say she and that crybaby, Chamomile, toppled Orwell-bloody-Mehest and his army of killing-machines at the height of his power?”

Yuri agreed ‌Shyme wasn’t the person to pull that kind of upset.

“But someone did it, right?” Yuri spoke the obvious. “Venistalis survived.”

“Yes,” Charon conjured a symbol of hope over the scene of despair. “Someone dragged Orwell from his throne and nailed the bastard to an obelisk.”

It was an image of the sun rising over the horizon, and below it were four silhouettes.

“We don’t know who they are?” Charon looked wistfully at the robed heroes. “They arrived at the bleakest moment and saved us all. Orwell had an army of abominations, and they faced off against that odds, without asking for a single reward.” Charon mused toward the symbol. “Shyme attempted to fight Orwell, lost and was saved by one of these mysterious men. She said he took on Orwell one-on-one and beat him. That man left when the incident was over.” She looked at the flames in anger. “The Grand Empire shamelessly stole their accomplishment without a single thank you.”

Yuri believed the Charon’s tale of heroes sounded too far-fetched to be true. It was more akin to a story from a pulp-hero comic rather than anything resembling reality. He lived in the real-world for too long to believe in pure heroism coming when all hope was lost.

Then there was the most impossible thing of all.

“Earth was integrated a year ago,” Yuri said. “Charon, I think Shyme is delusional. There is no way anyone can surpass you guys, defeat this Orwell Mehest, and rescue an entire magically advanced city with only six-months of training.” Yuri raised his voice. “Earth doesn’t have a single experience with Mana. How could someone like Shyme believe a land of zero could produce her uber hero? The logic isn’t making sense.”

“I know,” Charon agreed. “But Shyme is convinced.”

…

Shyme growled in the dark, dramatic tent. Must thank the Elf for her sense of drama.

The tent which the main meeting took place in was the very picture of melodramatic. The drama-queen even got a red carpet and a magical sand display of White Tower, glowing in the dark with help of a built-in lamp.

Shyme’s butler, Burgundy Waiter, gracefully poured the cup of tea for Shyme. The tea didn’t elevate her mood in the slightest.

Similarly, sat in a red stuffed-chair opposite Shyme, were the joint leaders of the expedition.

On her right was Serenade Asmodella of Northland — a pink-hair, pointy ears, ridiculously proportioned Elf in a graceful clothing fit for noble ladies. She was a famous Spirit Contractor and archer, member of the Asmodella Clan of Elves. Despite her haughty demeanor and sense of theatrics, Serenade was a seasoned combatant who already subjugated several of Willow Heart Street’s strongholds—one particular stronghold got its wall obliterated by her Spirit Arrow.

Shyme expected Serenade to be their strongest blow-torch. As a fight, she was above the elves in versatility, but Serenade won out in damage.

On her left was Sonovia Da Attra of Elypt — short brown hair, tanned skin and wearing desert clothing which showed her toned forearms, legs and belly. The girl was a warrior through and through. She possessed an unbreakable skin and monstrous strength, expected from the next guardian of the Elyptus Family.

And Sonovia — the tank of the operation — didn’t like Shyme at all.

“Why are we working with fraud?” Sonovia complaint.

Shyme refused to take it lying down, “Because the SCA owed me a favor for the Venistalis incident.”

Serenade joined the ‘kick-Shyme-brigade,’ “You say that a while your dog, the Demonic Continent, is upending the geopolitical balance?”

Shyme understood the charade. It was a blatantly obvious attempt to gate-keep her and rescue the SCA’s lost reputation. The Venistalis Incident and the current political turmoil of Tengen directly involved the Alliance, and her interference might cause a massive problem.

“Look,” Shyme tried to placate the two. “I know my Clan are—”

“Evil,” Sonovia said.

“Untrustworthy, greedy and opportunistic,” Serenade added. Her blatant gripes with the Enma Clan were clear.

“Understand all of that,” Shyme’s heart pang a little. She knew her family ruined lives, but they are still family. Shyme couldn’t betray them. “But I need to be here.”

“She is right,” said a robed woman, entering the tent. “While you three bicker, Frisnia’s inner court is in turmoil. We are already in a succession crisis with the consort fighting with each other. The court can’t afford to have the White Tower’s sudden abnormality be used as ammunition to increase the conflict. We request that you three join forces and deal with the abnormality.”

The robed messenger completed her statement and bowed to Shyme, “It is good to have you here, Lady Enma.”

Sonovia was outraged by the messenger’s action, “You are bowing to her. You are supposed to be a representative of SCA’s member nation!”

It was Serenade who explained the politics to her brasher counterpart.

“Sonovia, dear,” the Elf’s voice was like a mellowed caramel. “Frisnia is a member of the Tri-Coalition of Tengen. They are only a third of the member.”

“And they still have nerves to act against the Alliance,” Sonovia growled.

“This is the will of the Dowager Consort Ruho,” the messenger replied. “If the SCA dishonors us, then Frisnia will have no choice but to fly under the flag of the Enma Clan.”

Sonovia stood, “Are you—”

“Sonovia,” a burst of wind erupted from Serenade, putting pressure on the brash muscle-brain. “Stop and listen.” The Elf apologized to the messenger. “I am incredibly sorry for Sonovia Da Attra’s breach of etiquette. I can assure it will never happen again.”

Sonovia grumpily growled, while the messenger nodded and accepted the apology.

“Your dumb brain doesn’t get politic, so I will explain it,” the Elf glared at her partner. “The Tri-Coalition was on the verge of collapse. In the worst case, Frisnia had no choice but to go independent. They need protection, and it could either go to us,” Sonovia nodded toward Shyme. “Or we could act like an uncivilized bitch and let another state fall under Enma’s umbrella.”

Shyme knew the elf was right.

The Tri-Coalition of Tengen could no longer maintain its status as a member of Seven Continental Alliance. First, the revolution in a Coalition’s member, Starland, caused by the Heavenly Daughter of Steel, Tai Tianshang, weakened the Coalition. Following that, another Coalition’s member, Centuria, faced a civil war that saw its military decimated, and its final monarch Penelope the First abdicating from the entire mess, leaving the entire nation fractured.

With one member drowning in invasion and another gone, Frisnia was standing alone, its governing body embroiled in political strife. The fracturing of the Coalition was more or less inevitable.

The White Tower’s investigation was more than an expedition. It was a political compass to decide whether Frisnia would remain in the SCA or have its allegiance switched to Enma Clan.