Ashes swirled through the night sky, mixing with the relentless rain. The city's streets were choked with the debris of battle—blood and ashes mingling in a grim testament to the violence that had unfolded. The once-proud capital was now a shadow of its former self, its buildings ablaze and the cries of its people echoing through the smoky air. Wyverns roared above, their cries punctuating the scene of devastation as they dropped burning sacks onto the wooden structures below.
Atop a hill, within a massive fortified castle, the king sat alone in his throne room, his posture slumped in resignation. The city's inferno cast an eerie light through the windows, flickering shadows across the chamber's opulent décor. The king, stunned by the rapid advance of the humans, was bewildered by how swiftly they had conquered his allies and now his own kingdom. He had underestimated their resolve, and now the price of that mistake was laid bare before him.
"Three kingdoms down, four more to go!" he mumbled, his voice thick with disbelief and despair. The defeat he faced was profound, and he could hardly bear the weight of his own failure. The anguished cries of his people seemed to pierce through his despair, and he covered his ears, trying to drown out the haunting sounds.
Exhausted royal knights, their armor dented and their faces weary, gathered around their king, forming a desperate protective barrier. The sounds of pounding on the throne room door jolted them into action. They swiftly assumed defensive positions, raising their spears and shields, prepared for a final stand.
"Till the last man! Don't let them take your majesty!" the commanding officer shouted, his voice resolute despite the dire circumstances. The knights echoed his command, their grip on their weapons tightening as they braced for the inevitable clash.
The pounding on the door intensified, each thud resonating with the threat of what lay beyond. As the door finally creaked open, a surge of movement and panic erupted from the soldiers. They scrambled to see what or who was on the other side, their weapons ready.
"HALT! STOP! It's the princess!" the officer cried out, his voice cutting through the confusion. The soldiers, initially poised for combat, froze in shock and disbelief as the figure of Princess Murray Falledor emerged from the darkness, her face streaked with dirt and despair.
Behind the door stood Princess Murray Falledor, flanked by her escorts. The sight of the royal heir, accompanied by her guards, brought a sudden halt to the defensive preparations of the royal guards. The soldiers, stunned by her unexpected appearance, quickly fell back to their previous positions, their eyes shifting between the princess and the throne.
"What are you doing?!" Murray's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, causing the guards to pause in their movements. Her eyes locked onto her father, the king, who sat despondent on his throne. The sight of him, broken and defeated, struck her deeply.
Murray rushed to her father's side, her hands trembling as she tried to comfort him. Her attempts to shake him into awareness were met with a chilling silence. Her heart raced as she grew increasingly worried, her voice rising in desperation.
"Father! Please respond! Those damn humans are coming to the palace! I had an escort assembled for this. We need to leave at once!"
Her cries fell on deaf ears. The king remained still, his silence a heavy weight on her shoulders. She shook him again, her frustration mounting. "Please. Don't act like this! This isn't the time for this, Father! We need to leave!"
Her repeated pleas seemed only to fuel the king's agitation. He began to groan and twitch, a low growl escaping him as he reacted to his daughter's persistent cries. Murray, taken aback by his response, recoiled in shock. Anger flared within her, and she stepped back, her voice rising in exasperation.
"FATHER! The humans are coming! Stop acting like this!"
The king, now visibly agitated by his daughter's insistent voice, snapped. His face twisted in anger as he looked at her with a fierce glare.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he roared, his voice echoing through the throne room. The harshness of his words struck Murray like a physical blow, leaving her stunned and in tears. She had expected comfort, but instead, she faced her father's fury.
Overwhelmed, Murray's tears fell freely. She tried to understand why her father was so unresponsive, why he refused to offer any reassurance or apology for his harshness. Anger and frustration mingled with her sorrow, and she stood up, her voice trembling with emotion.
"FATHER! What is wrong with you?! The capital is now under enemy control, and we must flee at once. We will head towards the kingdom of Elijah and ask for aid to retake our kingdom! Why are you acting like this? You are not helping the situation!"
The king, still staring out at the burning city, seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the urgency of his daughter's pleas. The desperation in Murray's voice grew as she confronted him, hoping that her words would finally penetrate his despair.
"That's because I'm not!" The king mumbled, his voice heavy with defeat. "Murray, look around you. Our kingdom has fallen to the enemy, and despite our best efforts, it's clear that no matter how many we fight, these humans will just come with greater force."
"But that doesn't matter if we leave the city! We can inform the other kingdoms and—"
"THERE'S NO POINT!" he shouted, his frustration boiling over. "Elijah will never help us! No matter how many times we ask them, they will not send their forces. We've asked them before and they refused. The reason we're in this mess is that coward Galadriel, who never sent troops after our defeat at Kalimdor!"
"I know she doesn't like having an alliance with us due to our long-standing disputes and her stubbornness over the islands near her country, but—"
"Forget about Galadriel!" the king snapped. "She never liked me, and except for you, I wouldn't even consider asking Elijah for help. At least the impures might lend us aid in this losing battle!"
"But do you hate them so much, Father? Isn't there a way to—"
"It's because of that bitch Galadriel!" he roared. "I've despised her since she took control of her country. Her constant annoyance over the Limerick islands and her secrecy about what goes on in her grand chambers—"
"But you don't understand, Father! This isn't politics; it's war! She will send troops if we ask her directly. We just need to approach her in person!"
The king scoffed, his irritation evident. He stared at his daughter with a disgruntled look, tapping his fingers rapidly. His frustration with her stubbornness was palpable.
"Murray… for sixty years I've ruled this kingdom. It's my responsibility to accept defeat and face the fact that fleeing is an admission of cowardice. I've done what I could. My people can leave, but I will not. I must prove that I'm not a coward."
"Surviving as a coward is better than dying with honor!" Murray's voice quivered with anger and desperation. "Our lives are in danger, and we need to leave this forsaken palace. If you hate Galadriel so much, I don't understand why you're acting like this. Earlier, you were confident the humans were weak, and now look at us—a burning city and the enemy marching toward our palace! In my humble opinion, Father, we should escape!"
"I'D RATHER DIE THAN LIVE AS A COWARD!" the king roared back.
"If you want to live, then leave! Stop asking me, Murray. I will not leave!" The king's voice was final, his decision unwavering.
Immediately, the guards around the king drew their blades, positioning them defensively toward the princess. Shocked and heartbroken by her father's stubbornness, Murray looked at her escorts and stomped out of the throne room. She glanced back one last time.
"FINE! I'll go to Elijah myself. We'll see what happens then!"
With a determined stride, the princess exited with her escorts, leaving her father alone amidst the chaos. As the echoes of her departure faded, the king was left with the sounds of screams and the crackle of burning buildings filling the silence. The weight of his decision settled heavily upon him. Guilt and sorrow began to creep into his heart as he watched his nation crumble and his only daughter flee to seek help from their last potential ally.
He turned to his remaining royal knights, his face hardened by resolve.
"Show them no mercy!" he commanded, a grim determination in his voice.
------------------------------------
August 13th, 2021.
San Francisco, United States of America.
The news reports blared with increasing tension as the President of the United States agreed to supply more weapons to Taiwan, despite China's stern demands to cease the exports. The news coverage cast a shadow over the city, while the roar of a jet engine echoed overhead as a Boeing aircraft cut through the sky.
It was a sweltering day, and the bustling city of San Francisco was alive with activity. I strolled with my dog along the quieter side streets, away from the noisy traffic. Dressed casually in civilian clothes, it was my first day off after leaving the Marines. With my dog at my side, I made my way toward the Golden Gate Bridge. It was almost a month since my discharge, with just two weeks left until my independence was official. The city was adorned with Fourth of July decorations, ranging from impressive to underwhelming. I noted the banners and signs as I walked, my dog trotting quietly beside me.
Despite the sunny weather and the freedom of civilian life, San Francisco held more than just leisure for me. A sudden headache struck, making me wince. I scanned the area for a place to sit and found a table cluttered with trash. With a resigned sigh, I walked over and sat down, hoping to ease my pounding head. I pulled out my phone, checking for messages and emails, seeking a distraction from the pain.
One message caught my eye, different from the usual updates. I clicked on it, my heart sinking as I read the contents:
"Dear James Liam,
We regret to inform you that at 23:00 hours, Oliver Stone passed away due to complications related to his health. Despite our medical staff's best efforts, we could not save him. We invite you to visit us to honor your loved one."
The news hit hard. It was a painful reminder of my recent breakup and my father's death. The guilt of not spending more time with him after my parents' divorce haunted me. I had been just seven when it happened, and the absence of a father figure had left a void. I muttered, "I'm sorry," over and over as I walked, the words echoing in my mind. I made my way toward the Golden Gate Bridge, hoping the familiar sight would provide some solace.
I had hoped to find a new direction in life after leaving the Marines, where my sense of purpose had once been clear. Joining the military had been a path chosen after college, despite my mother's opposition in New Mexico. My younger brother supported my decision, though my sister was less enthusiastic. After leaving New Mexico, I was deployed to Afghanistan in 2007. Three tours there provided me with invaluable experience, but they also took their toll. Now, as I walked through the city, I reflected on the path that had brought me here and what lay ahead.
The Golden Gate Bridge stood in the distance, a symbol of both my past and the uncertain future that awaited me.
James's leisurely walk to the Golden Gate Bridge had stretched from what he anticipated would be a 40-minute stroll into a three-hour journey. As he finally reached the hill overlooking the iconic structure, he took a moment to appreciate the view with his dog sitting patiently beside him.
"A nice view," he murmured, pulling out his phone to capture the scene. With a few quick snaps, he settled onto a nearby bench. The sun had been shining brightly, but now, as he glanced at his phone, the sky was beginning to darken. The once clear weather was quickly deteriorating, replaced by ominous, grey clouds.
Alarmed by the sudden shift, James checked the weather reports, which had predicted a sunny day. He stood up, sensing a change in the atmosphere, and moved closer to the fenced cliff. The clouds seemed to gather more densely around the bridge, forming a strange and unfamiliar pattern.
James instinctively began recording, aiming his phone at the swirling clouds above. His eyes widened as dark thunderheads coalesced, and with a dramatic crack, lightning bolts shot down onto the bridge. The bolts were larger and more intense than anything he had ever seen, sending shockwaves through the structure.
"What the hell?" he muttered under his breath. The relentless lightning caused cars on the bridge to swerve and collide in a chaotic dance of metal and sparks. The unexpected crashes were swift and severe, the scene unfolding in a matter of moments.
Rain began to pelt down, adding to the chaos. James struggled to make sense of the surreal scene before him. The weather had turned into a maelstrom, with constant lightning strikes and torrential rain contradicting the previously calm day. His dog, reacting to the storm, began to bark frantically, tugging at the leash as if trying to flee the area.
James's mind raced, trying to comprehend the bizarre and dangerous situation. The storm seemed to defy all natural explanation, and as the chaos continued to unfold, he felt a growing sense of unease, both about the storm and the ominous portents it might signal.
"Pablo! Fucking sit!" James shouted, struggling to control his dog as it barked wildly at the storm. The sky had darkened rapidly, and the rain was now coming down in torrential sheets, turning the previously calm day into a tempestuous nightmare. His dog, seeking shelter, bolted for the drier part of the cliff, leaving James alone in the storm.
Despite being drenched, James kept his phone out, recording the chaotic scene. His wet phone barely managed to capture the unfolding phenomenon. Through the curtain of rain, he caught a glimpse of something strange under the bridge—a sudden flash of light and a powerful surge of water.
Without warning, the bridge erupted in a blinding explosion of light. James's eyes widened as two massive pillars emerged from the waters beneath, pulsing with eerie blue light. The storm seemed to intensify, lightning flashing violently around the pillars. As the pillars continued to glow, a swirling vortex began to form between them, growing stronger with each passing second.
James watched in awe and horror as the storm raged and the waves surged violently. The vortex widened, and out of it emerged a colossal wooden ship, its dark silhouette cutting through the storm-tossed waters. The ship, ancient and imposing, appeared as though it had sailed straight out of a different world. As it settled into the water, James stumbled backward, his mouth agape in disbelief.
The storm's fury seemed to increase as the ship fully emerged, its sails billowing and its deck lined with figures shrouded in dark robes. One of these figures, a mage, stood prominently at the bow, rain pouring down her face as she surveyed the scene.
"We have come to America!" the mage declared, her voice carrying through the storm.