A sleeping city of roughly one hundred and twenty-five thousand, Efielge continues from day to day, mostly oblivious of what goes on in the dark. Clouds clustered in the night sky, the moon can not be seen. The silence is briefly broken by multiple suppressed gunshots barely audible to any passerby.
Once again, the Casiem is targeted for another attempted break-in. Every time foiled by killers hiding in the shadows. Every night, a group of hoodlums is sent by various gangs originating from Egwater. Among the many gangs mentioned, the Bourkee Gang is the most prominent.
Footsteps echo throughout the street as a shady figure frantically runs away. Blood is trailing from behind, and he trips and falls. He rapidly inhales and exhales as he gets back on his feet and continues to run. He is running for his life. Never again would he ever consider taking a job against Ardai Industries. It would be a death sentence to try again. He has a better chance to weasel his way out of his gang and survive than he would trespassing Ardai.
Time passes by quickly, and the night remains silent throughout. No more attempts are made by any gang and instead are reserved for the next night with a new strategy. Sunlight breaks through the clouds above the horizon as a new day begins. The city awakes, never knowing a war rages right under their noses.
.
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Within the Egwater District, many local gangs' consistent failures to fulfill their contracts lead to slight turmoil. No one has succeeded in breaking into the Casiem or the Facility, but this only leads some to become more determined. The reward for doing so increases by the day. Members of gangs and independent criminals alike have attempted or think to attempt to claim the prize.
While all this goes on, the rest of the city goes on as if nothing happened. Egwater remains as depressing as it has been despite the increased activity. The clouds in the sky persist throughout the night and into the day as it begins to rain.
In one area of Egwater, someone else is dealing with their own problems. A seemingly poor young woman wearing worn and dirty linen trousers, tunic, and cloak runs through the color-deprived alleyways. Or rather, she is fleeing. Turning around corners through the alley towards the open streets, she ditches her cloak that restricts her movement to reveal her face. Her long waist-length platinum blonde hair would look dyed completely white if it wasn't for all the dirt accumulated. Her pale skin is no different, she has been living as a vagrant for years, and it is easy for many people to ignore her and categorize her as a lost cause.
Her name is Athela Hatheway, a twenty-year-old young woman who has lost everything in her life who now roams around searching for a way out of the endless void she has fallen into.
Once a member of a respectable noble family in the capital city of Scorrest years ago, her life took a turn for the absolute worst when the Kingdom fell into conflict. As the sole survivor, she fled from the city and has wandered aimlessly since then.
With no family, connections, or resources, she is in constant pursuit of survival. Unfortunately, no one ever helped and damned her instead. Over time, she eventually arrived at Efielge, but her luck never changed. No matter where she goes or what she does, she is constantly faced with the worst of humanity, treated like trash on the side of the road.
Today is no different. Unwelcomed by the rest of the city, she is damned to survive in Egwater. She runs and she runs from her pursuers trailing behind her as she runs for her freedom. If she is caught, her life will reach a new low under the threat of sex trafficking. That's the only reason those people would chase her or any other woman. To be trapped in a brothel or sold as a sex slave is equivalent to death. She resolves herself to avoid capture by all means, even if it meant putting herself at risk of death.
Her legs are in pain, and her clothes are soaked from the persistent rain, but it doesn't matter. She has to escape. Everywhere she runs, no one moves a finger to help. It is a common sight in those streets, and everyone can only imagine the horrors of her inevitable demise.
"Run faster! Don't let her get away!" she hears her pursuers yell.
Every passing minute, she becomes increasingly weary, and the gap between her and them closes.
She can't get away.
In a panic, she enters another alley, not knowing there are more on the other side. She sees the end of the alley and the street on the other side and hopes she can lose her pursuers. To her horror, more of them make their appearance known at the end of the alley. She stops and stares at them with fear. She turns to face the other side of the alley but sees that the pursuers behind her have closed off the exit. She is now trapped. Both exits are blocked by two men each.
A man laughs mockingly and says, "We finally got you cornered, little girly. There's no place to run now."
All four men laugh and smile as they eye Athela. They enjoy seeing the fear consume her.
"You sure took us for a run, didn't ya? Best to surrender now."
"This slut better fetch a high price for how much she made us chase her."
"Clean her up a little, and she'll do very well in the brothel. What do ya say, girly?"
As they mock her, Athela trembles and frantically tries to figure out a way to escape. If all fails, she would be sure she died in that alley instead of walking out in their custody. Suicide would be a last resort she hopes would never come. Slowly, the men start to approach her.
"I'm sure the boss won't mind if I get a little taste, don't ya think? Compensation for our troubles," he laughs.
Her breathing becomes heavy, and her body becomes stiff.
"Stay away from me!" she manages to shriek with a broken voice.
"No need to be rash. Come with us, and we promise not to hurt you," they say.
"I said stay away!"
"Quit making a fuss!" One of the men reaches out.
They firmly grab Athela's arm and pull her closer. This is it; she has to fight back. They aren't going to take her alive. Unknown to her captors, one of Athela's grandparents was an elf, and she is therefore lucky enough to inherit magic capabilities.
Since being under the control of the Venesians, Scorcia enforces laws against non-humans. Despite there being no laws or significant discrimination against interracial people, Athela never liked to showcase her power ever since a purge destroyed her life.
Now is an exception. She reaches within to awaken her powers to save her life. Her light grey eyes seem to emit a hardly noticeable glow as the air around her begins to cool down.
The kidnapper's wet clothes begin to get colder by the millisecond and soon notices something is wrong. Before anyone can act, the moisture on his hands freeze solid into ice and spreads up his arm to freeze half his body. Athela steps away from the half-frozen man and exhales. Condensed water becomes visible as she breathes in and out.
"She froze me! She can use magic!" the man yells out as his frozen limbs become numb.
"Restrain her, quick!" another yells.
As Athela looks at how she froze the man's arm, one of the men suddenly jumps and tackles her to the ground while she is distracted. They fall hard, and Athela gets the wind knocked out of her. Taking the opportunity, the man grabs hold of her neck and squeezes. Her airway is forcibly closed, and she began flailing around trying to get the man off of her. The other two men come to her side and try to hold down her arms and legs.
"Hold her down! We'll choke her out!"
She continues to struggle as they pin her down. She thinks today is the day that she would die. She can't breathe as they continue to choke her, and a tear runs down from her eye.
"Just fall unconscious already!" one of them yells impatiently.
While the three have her pinned, the fourth one is trying to break the ice off of himself to regain control of his body.
Thinking quick, Athela freezes her hands and legs and, by extent, the hands of those pinning her down.
"She's freezing the water again!"
Manipulating the moisture provided by the rain, she starts to freeze water into shards that grow into the arms of the two men pinning her arms and legs. At the same time, water around her neck begins freezing and expanding into the hands, choking her. The two others holler in pain as the shards dig into their arms, where blood starts oozing out.
"It's digging into my arms!"
"Why won't you go die already!"
Out of sheer pain, the two holding her arms and legs down try pulling their hands out. Noticing this, Athela melts the ice back into water. The two attackers, relieved from the ice, yank their arms out and fall, holding their damaged hands in pain.
"This bitch! Just kill her!"
Her hands and legs are free, but Athela begins losing consciousness as she is still being choked. Her eyes have become increasingly watery, and her face grew red. She shapes a shard around her hand in complete desperation and forcefully rams it into the attacker's abdomen.
"Argh! Damned witch!" he yells.
Athela continues to push her ice-enclosed hand into his abdomen. From the inside, ice shards and crystals grow onto his intestines. She is trying to kill him as quickly as she can before she loses consciousness. Stabbed with a large shard and frozen hands, the attacker remains determined to kill her. His eyes are bloodshot, and his clothes are stained with his blood.
His grip on her neck loosens, and his breathing becomes slower. His own vision is starting to fail him, and he begins feeling weak. His intestines are essentially destroyed and non-functional as ice spreads and pierces from within. Athela is also losing her vision. The lack of air and restricted blood flow begins shutting down her brain, and she loses strength in her arms.
Miraculously, the attacker goes completely limp, and Athela melts the ice right before she lost consciousness. Finally, her throat is free, and air can flow through. With her mouth wide open, she struggles for air. She starts to cough violently and pushes the now dead attacker off of her. She tries to get up but struggles and instead leans on the wall while she still coughs. Red hand marks are visible around her neck, and she tries to soothe the pain.
She turns to look at what she has just done. Her eyes are wide in shock as she stares at the lifeless body on the ground in a pool of blood. Her tunic has also been stained with blood. She is hyperventilating, and her mind races. The realization that she has just killed a person lags and hasn't yet hit her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees one of the other attackers swing his arm at her. Acting quickly, she lunges out the way as a dagger firmly strikes the wall where her head once is. She stumbles and falls to the ground before trying to pick herself back up. Arms and legs trembling, she feels like her body can give out any second.
"Wretched whore! We tried to play nice before. Now yer gonna die here!"
Now recovered, the remaining three men are determined to kill Athela. In no way would they allow her to escape. Each held out a dagger in their hands. Two of them have their hands covered in blood and are furious. Athela sees them as death coming to claim her life. She can't run anymore. She is too weak and too tired.
"No…" she whispers in fear. "Leave me alone…"
Her words reach deaf ears. The three men don't care what she says or what she does. She isn't going to live another minute if they have anything to do with it.
The three men quickly close in on her and lift their daggers, ready to slash and stab her. Fearing the worst, Athela closes her eyes. After years of survival, she would finally meet her end. Time slows down. All those years of endless suffering are to cease, and she will finally be free of her torment.
No, this isn't how it would end. Athela can't let it end like this. All the sacrifices she and her family have made would be wasted if she let herself get killed there. Those responsible for her family's extermination are still out there somewhere. She has to avenge them somehow. She just needs to survive long enough to figure out how.
The three men attack. With all their might, they swing their daggers at Athela, who just stands still. With a newfound resolve, Athela gathers up all the remaining energy she has left to defend herself. She opens her eyes, revealing a white glow to her pupils.
"No!" she shrieks as she lifts her arms.
In a final magic attack, Athela uses all her power to pull moisture and water from the surrounding area to manifest ice shards from the ground and the walls. A layer of ice races to cover and protect Athela's body milliseconds before the daggers make contact.
The area around them is consumed by ice shards, leaving the site without moisture. All the puddles disappear, the walls are stripped of moisture, and the rain stops momentarily around the area before it resumes.
Complete silence follows. No screaming, no yelling, no groaning, no growling. Nothing. Anyone close enough to have heard the conflict can only assume that whatever happened is finally over. Down the pothole-riddled stone roads, people continue about their day. Beggars are begging as usual, and the occasional children are running around or playing games with whatever they can find.
Over time as some of the ice begins to melt, puddles of water start accumulating on the ground. On all sides where water collects, a tint of red is visibly becoming more prominent.
.
.
Several hundred miles off the coast towards the east, many unmarked cargo ships sail east to an unknown location. With their masts up high and wind blowing into their sails, they travel across the peaceful waters. Out in the open seas, the clouds are slightly more sparse than those over the mainland. The sun constantly moves from open sky to behind the clouds as the wind pushes them along. Nothing but the sloshing of seawater around the hull of the ships is heard.
The peaceful scenery is unexpectedly broken by the sound of distant thunder. All the sailors look up into the sky and horizon, expecting a coming storm. Strangely, they see nothing. The distant roaring doesn't dissipate and instead sounds continuous. Some take it as a premonition and begin to get nervous. Thankfully, to the more religious sailors, the sound grows fainter and fainter. Perhaps it isn't a sign of impending doom after all.
Out of visual sight, high in the sky, a strange object breaks through the clouds emitting a continuous buzz. A blue camouflaged E-2C Hawkeye lowers altitude to several thousand feet above the surface of the water. It skims right below large stratocumulus clouds and heads towards Scorcia. With its radar dome spinning and scanning for unforeseen threats, it is making its last communication run with the Ringleader Team.
"Ringleader, this the ERS Robert McNamara. Do you copy? Over."
"This is Ringleader. We copy loud and clear. Over."
"What's the mission status? Over."
"Everything is proceeding smoothly. Electricity and steam power are around the corner, but we had a few speed bumps along the way. There's a suspected roadblock by the Venesian corporation. A few sabotage attempts by a yet unconfirmed source, but we got a pretty good idea who's behind it. We're currently resolving the issue. Over."
"Copy. Keep your eyes on that corporation. Developments in Weslec reveal they have their hands in everyone's pockets. The Hexagon got a hold of some valuable intel. They increased their presence in Scorcia for a very specific reason. What do you know of them? Over."
"Not much other than basics. They rule the market and seem to manage foreign trade for the Venesian Empire. What's going along the grapevine? Should I get a pencil ready? Over."
"New mission objective. Hexagon wants you to take a closer look at them. I'll send over the details. Get ready."
Ken and Reed are in Ken's office on the top floor of the Casiem, writing notes on various sheets of paper. Despite it being the middle of the day, they have to skip their duties as employees of Ardai to receive their new orders. Or, rather, amendments to their current mission.
It would be a strange thing for an outsider to see employees working within the lower floors utterly unaware of the activities of their boss. Ken has run countless scenarios in his head in which someone unexpectedly walks in on him, communicating with an otherworldly force of faraway lands. A spy would undoubtedly become his label, and any proof to the accusation can sentence anyone to death for treason. Not that the threat of imprisonment and suffering is a concern for Ken, instead it is the loss of all the progress he has attained so far.
Both Ken and Reed are looking through some papers while communicating through the radio. Unknown to them is that someone is just about to knock on the office door. A silhouette's shadow spreads across the door from the candles that light up the hallway. Their hand is in the air as if about to knock, but they never do. Instead, they lower their hand slowly as they briefly listen to the muffled voices originating from the other side of the door. Without a noise, the person turns around and walks away without so much as a reaction to what they heard.
"Roger, instructions received. Is there anything else? Over."
"Yeah, there is. The Air Force concluded final tests and worked out most kinks for Satcom. They've been approved for use in the field and should be available by next week. You'll now be able to communicate directly to the mainland. You just need to maintain a line of sight as always. Out."
"About time, isn't it?" Reed says as both are happy to hear that satellite communication is finally possible.
With more frequent communication, they won't feel so lonely in these foreign lands. They can only look up into the sky and wonder what could have delayed it so much. Satcom was supposed to be up and operational long ago to relieve the Navy from making constant trips to pass information through. Because Scorcia's location is at an intersection of three ocean channels, the carrier strike group has to travel far enough into the east channel to be within radio range with Ringleader team. With a continent to the north and south restricting where they can go, the Navy faces a constant risk of detection and has to rely heavily on the radar to avoid stumbling into any ships. Today, however, rough weather meant that the carrier strike group was forced to sail deeper into the channel than usual.
The carrier strike group sent is composed of seven ships total. The ERS Robert McNamara is at the center of the formation with its deck lined with F-14D Tomcats. This particular Nimitz-class carrier is the first ship of its class built by Entesia and named after the American Defense Secretary who pushed for Entesia's militarization during its infancy. Trailing behind the carrier is a Ticonderoga-class cruiser. An Arleigh Burke-class destroyer and a Sacramento-class supply ship on each side of the carrier. Leading in front of the formation is a modernized Iowa-class battleship to guard the group against close-range surface threats.
All ships and planes have a blue camouflage paint scheme to conceal them within visual range of other vessels.
As the radar operators carefully track all the maritime traffic with the help of airborne F-14Ds surveying the area, they are alarmed to find two surface contacts moving in their exact direction. The Captain is quickly informed.
"Captain, two ships are on a collision course with us. Bearing one-six-zero. Twenty-six nautical miles."
"Damn. We're cutting it too close in this area. We'll have to turn around prematurely. Get that E-2 back on the deck. Let's begin maneuvering the group."
Despite having the firepower to defend itself from any known threat so far, the strike group is under strict orders to remain undetected. As a result, they have no choice but to flee and hope no one noticed their presence.
Once the entire group is able to turn around and sail east, the radar operators scan the maritime traffic on the radar to spot any more ships in their way.
Frustratingly, the two ships from before are still a threat.
"Captain, the two ships are adjusting their course. They are heading straight for us again. They might know we're here."
A wave of concern washes over the Captain as he struggles to comprehend how they could have been detected. They are still outside visual range, and they should be the only ones with radar technology around these parts.
"What's their speed?"
"Approximately fifteen knots."
Good. Whoever they are, they are sailing too slow to catch up. The Captain is slightly relieved that they can outrun them and avoid possible conflict.
"Maintain course. We'll outrun them. Let's just hope that they think we're just some lost merchant ships or something."