Immersed within the somber and commanding milieu of the General-Minister's office, one could experience a vortex of history swirling fiercely. It was a tempestuous maelstrom, tumultuously tearing at the weave of time, stripping bare the layers of buried memories that had been suffocating beneath the guise of forgotten yesterdays. The revelation of these layers to the ethereal light that seeped into the room painted the air with an enigmatic hue. Within the envelope of this otherworldly glow, spectral echoes of lineages long past danced their cryptic ballet. Their translucent forms hovered precariously at the edge of the General-Minister's consciousness, elusively enchanting, evoking a sense of captivating nostalgia that was almost tangible.
The General-Minister held his esteemed court behind the imposing presence of his formidable desk. This monolithic edifice was a grand spectacle, painstakingly handcrafted from the choicest mahogany. The desk was not just a functional piece of furniture; it symbolized unyielding authority and iron-clad resolve. A bulwark against the chaos of the outside world, it provided him the comfort of a fortress in the eye of a storm. Its glossy surface, polished to perfection, gleamed like a mirror, throwing back reflections that encapsulated the enormity of his responsibilities and the solemnity of his position.
Within the cloistered sanctum of this room of authority, an object of profound significance held the General-Minister's gaze captive. This object bore the power to stir the dormant embers of his long-forgotten past, breathing life into them. It was a card, black as the unfathomable depths of an interstellar void. A black hole that consumed any light it encountered, confining it to its limitless depths. This card was adorned with an inscription, a mysterious depiction of eight incomplete wings, intricately etched with a finesse that hinted at the existence of arcane secrets and hidden wisdom.
The cryptic words on the card seemed to have a life of their own. They whispered, their syllables coalescing into a name that resonated deep within the General-Minister's core. Aniris Vel Voic. This was the name imprinted on the card, the name he had cast off like an old skin decades ago. Aniris Vel Voic was no longer a name known to the public; only the persona of General Minister Vaale Ave Eveander held their attention now. He had buried his true name with the ghosts of his past, yet now it seemed that the grave had been violated. The resurrection of his former identity sparked a torrent of emotions – fear, despair, nostalgia. The phantasm of a young boy's promise to a celestial creature with flapping wings returned to haunt him.
Aniris let out a deep sigh, his gaze locked onto the card once again. This artifact was a relic from his past, a testament to his buried truths, and a portent of a future that loomed ominously over him. A debt was pending, and he now found himself shackled to the relentless obligation of repaying it.
His fingers traced the etched wings with a familiarity that sent shivers down his spine. The being with eight wings... there was a time he'd almost managed to convince himself that it was a figment of a desperate imagination, a delusion spawned by hallucinations. But now, this specter had materialized, assuming a physical form, ready to collect its dues.
The card served as a stark reminder that every salvation comes with a cost. The General-Minister was no longer the vulnerable child who had once cowered in fear. He had evolved into a leader, a guardian, fortified and ready to wrestle with the
tendrils of his destiny, braced to confront the wrath of the winged entity.
"Or else," he affirmed aloud, his voice resonating with the strength of his resolution. "Or else indeed."
Just as he finished speaking, a bout of uproarious laughter echoed through Vaale's grand chambers. The figure, taken aback, dropped to his knees in reflexive submission, his head bowing low. The air in the room fluttered with an unseen ripple, as though invisible wings were stirring it, making the very atoms tremble in trepidation.
From the core of these spectral ripples, a voice emerged, carrying with it an essence of omnipotence.
"What is given," it intoned – as these words permeated Vaale's senses, he felt as if he had been flung into a turbulent maelstrom. A brutal onslaught of psychic contortions seized him, twisting his consciousness, tearing at his sanity. Despite his futile efforts to resist, he was rendered helpless in the face of the torrential power that these words commanded.
"Can be," the voice continued – Vaale found himself collapsing to the floor, caught in the grip of an agony so profound that it paralyzed him. The relentless pressure could have obliterated an average Aetherian with ease.
"Taken," the voice iterated – his energy fluxes detonated, his life force spiraled into chaotic disarray. He was reduced to a shattered shell of his former self. All that remained of him were three energy cores, maintaining the barest semblance of life within him. They were both the greatest gift and the most damning curse of Aetheria. He was thrust back into the memories of his days as Naelthirnir, his failed attempt to defy the entity, his pride crushed beneath its indomitable force. He had lost his sanity and his will, bound together by a fragile thread.
"Away," the voice finished.
As the final word echoed in the room, his afflictions evaporated. He was no longer crippled. The torment of his tortured organs receded. He felt rejuvenated, restored to the vitality of his prime. But— it was lost.
"The core of all that there is –"
He was no longer Vaale Ave Eveander. Vaale Ave Eveander was but a name now, devoid of a soul. What remained was an empty shell, a hollow vessel that harbored the fears of Naelthirnir.
"The price of being was paid – it was not being."
He was a marionette now, controlled by unseen hands – who knows, for he is a marionette—
The eerie flapping sound that filled the chambers gradually subsided. The dark figure rose from his kneeling position and tossed a tablet-like device onto the table.
"Deishifer of Statural Unification will assault your precious Confederated Alliance of Alvernia. Allow them to reach Yevora before retaliating; do not reclaim it prematurely. Assemble your troops under the guise of reclamation," the voice ordered. "The details are in the tablet."
"Yes," replied a voice that echoed through the room, devoid of life and the vitality of free will.
Meanwhile, far off in the opulent palace of the Thalassa Empire, the first prince was deftly navigating the maze-like corridors. Without warning, a spectral figure materialized behind him. His lower half concealed within swirling shadows, he strained to keep pace with the prince.
"The Union will attack the Federation ," the shadowy figure stated in a tone as cold as death, before vanishing as abruptly as he had appeared.
Much further away, in a place where no man dared to venture, was the second prince. He stood transfixed, captivated by the mesmerizing
beauty of the Pleroma codex. Towering shelves around him were home to secrets yet to be unearthed.
"This is where the journey begins, Vincent," the Luminary proclaimed.
Taken aback, the prince turned to look at the Luminary. Undeterred by his surprise, the Luminary continued, "I'll come back when you have read every single book in here."
And that was it, the prince realized. "The greatest teacher's method of teaching is ".
"Self-study –"
"What the fu—" he began, but the Luminary had already vanished.
"Well," Aurelius thought, "it's not like I actually wanted to learn from that foggy old man."
The concept of passing time was non-existent in Pleroma. The prince spent what seemed like an eternity there, reading every book he could lay his hands on, while the Luminary imparted all the knowledge he possessed. Eventually, there was nothing left to teach and nothing left to learn, except for one solitary book placed high up on the topmost column. This was the book that had turned the Luminary into who he was. However, the time to read it had not yet arrived. While the prince felt as though he had spent an eternity in Pleroma, only about ten days had passed in the empire. The seeds of conspiracy had been sown, and the time for the two princes to unite was nigh.
In shadows deep, secrets hath been weaved,
Oh luminary, what hast thou done?
A dance of darkness, plans hath been conceived,
Oh luminary, what hast thou done?
A blade once undulled, now gleams with dread,
He, lacking him, a sword unsheathed.
With every stroke, a soul to shred,
He, lacking him, a sword unsheathed.
Thou honed its edge, with wicked might,
Thou strengthened that blade, thy dark intent.
Now fate awaits, on this moonless night,
Oh luminary, what hast thou done?
Who shall bear the burden, pay the toll,
For the necks that shall roll, blood to spill?
In the realm of shadows, the truth shall unroll,
Oh luminary, what hast thou done?
As the echoes of the haunting verse dissipated into the air, an inexplicable chill took hold of the room. The atmosphere was permeated by an ominous sense of foreboding, as if reality itself held its breath in anticipation of the coming storm.
In the labyrinthine corridors of the Thalassa Empire, the first prince remained rooted in his tracks, the cryptic message from the spectral figure lingering in his mind. His face showed no change. How truly a magnificent Leader.
In the mystical realm of Pleroma, the second prince, Vincent, stood before the imposing column, his gaze fixated on the solitary book resting at the peak. The book, a symbol of all the knowledge he had yet to acquire, was tantalizingly close, yet frustratingly out of reach. The Luminary's words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the monumental task he was entrusted with.
Back in the General-Minister's office, the once formidable figure of Vaale Ave Eveander, now an empty shell, stood silent and unmoving. The tablet on the desk remained untouched, its enigmatic contents hidden behind a veil of darkness, much like the uncertain future that lay ahead. Suddenly, the empty shell that was once Vaale Ave Eveander stirred, his mechanical movements reflecting an eerie lack of will. Slowly, he reached for the tablet, and as his fingers made contact with the surface, a shocking arc of energy surged from the device.
Just as the air grew thick with tension, a sudden burst of noise erupted from the General-Minister's office.
"GUARDS", General Minister yelled
Without stopping he starting calling them with every mean possible.
As the guards came in the office, a single word reverberated through the silence, a word that would change everything - "War Council."
In that moment, the world as they knew it teetered on the precipice of chaos, awaiting the dawn of a new, uncertain era. As the echoes of the ominous command drifted into the ether, the question remained - what had just begun?
The stage was set, the players unknowingly drawn into the web of fate. The puppet master had made his move, setting the wheels of destiny in motion. The world held its breath, bracing for the inevitable impact as the plot hurtled towards its cataclysmic climax.
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Aurelius had returned from the Pleroma Codex. The eons he had spent there were unknown to everyone. But it was the time of the debutante, or as Aetherians call it, the investiture ceremony, which protects fluxes from the unhinged and corrupted Rucain of the world.
In the weeks leading up to the debutante ball, the empire bustled with unprecedented activity. The palace was alive with anticipation and resplendent with vibrant décor that complemented the grandeur of the upcoming event. Prince Aurelius found himself at the heart of these preparations, his days filled with fitting sessions, etiquette lessons, and tedious rehearsals for his grand entrance. His brother was hell-bent on making everything perfect to the dot.
The magnificent imperial palace of Thalassa Empire was a whirlwind of activity as it prepared for the upcoming debutante ball. From bustling kitchen maids to diligent gardeners, everyone was in a state of animated anticipation, adding finishing touches to ensure that the event was perfect.
Prince Aurelius, a crucial figure in the grand spectacle, was not an exception. Under the tutelage of his brother, the first prince, he had to learn the names and social standing of every attendee. The list was nothing short of at least 6000 VIPs. Prince Cassius made sure to make the task harder than it had to be, as he was not one to be caught off-guard. During Aurelius's lecture, there was a polite knock on the door.
"Come in," said Aurelius quickly, as if trying to escape the hell he had been put in.
The head seamstress entered the Aurelius pavilion with her army of assistants and aides. "Greetings to the Lord," she began, but Prince Cassius interrupted her, saying, "Ok, ok, thank you. Bye bye. Get to the point."
Disarrayed, the seamstress looked at the second prince, who waved his hand ever so gently, perhaps not even displacing the air. Signaling to skip the greetings, the seamstress continued, "I have brought your dress to be fitted," she said.
As she uttered those words, three servants gracefully approached, each carrying a resplendent gown. Witnessing this spectacle, the prince's instincts immediately made him aware that he was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he had chosen the latter. The skilled imperial seamstresses had truly outdone themselves, fashioning an awe-inspiring midnight-blue velvet ensemble adorned with intricate golden embroidery that mirrored the celestial expanse of both day and night skies. It took a staggering three hours to don the dress, during which Aurelius had to maintain a rigid T-pose stance. He endured discomfort in places he never knew could ache, a noteworthy feat for someone who had read the entirety of the Pleroma Codex. The attire he donned possessed a value that could rival an entire planet the size of Jupiter. To endure its weight, Aurelius needed the aid of Rucain.
Simultaneously, the palace was being transformed. The grand ballroom, the heart of the palace, was bedecked with opulent decorations, from cascading crystal chandeliers to exotic flowers in full bloom, their fragrance permeating the air. The grandeur of the empire was reflected in every nook and corner.
The Imperial Ballroom unfolded like a dream brought to life. The opulent space seemed to stretch endlessly, its high vaulted ceilings disappearing into a vast expanse of celestial blue adorned with twinkling crystal chandeliers. The air danced with a symphony of soft music and regality.
Murmured conversations, intermingling with the delicate fragrance of freshly cut flowers adorning every corner. On one side, moonlight filtered through towering stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors upon the polished marble floor below. On the other side, sunlight illuminated the guests below.
Gleaming under the glow of the crystal chandeliers, the ballroom walls were adorned with intricate golden filigree and meticulously painted murals, depicting scenes of romance, heroism, and myth. Each stroke of the artist's brush brought life to the characters, their expressions frozen in time, forever caught in a world of elegance and grace.
Lavishly adorned balconies, swathed in luxurious velvet, graced the periphery, providing a panoramic view of the splendid spectacle. From these elevated positions, the guests beheld the mesmerizing ebb and flow of the congregation below, akin to a meticulously choreographed ballet set against a tapestry of unparalleled grandeur. Among the distinguished occupants of the balconies were the most esteemed figures of society: emperors of vast empires, kings, princes, sovereigns, the Supreme Leader, governor-generals, arch mages, ambassadors, and esteemed commanders of war, to name but a few. The sound of laughter and tinkling glasses harmonized with the sweet melody played by the live orchestra, creating a symphony of celebration that resonated throughout the hall.
In the heart of the room, a magnificent stage ascended with regal grace, embellished by velvety crimson curtains that hinted at the forthcoming enchantment. Its commanding presence drew every eye, radiating an atmosphere thick with anticipation. The stage was meticulously arranged, a blank canvas yearning for a performance of unparalleled magnitude, whether it be an entrancing dance, a soul-stirring aria, or a grand proclamation. Hovering above, a chandelier of ancient origins dangled, its luminous glow bestowing protection upon the young princes and princesses below, shielding them from the grasp of Rucain. Whispers spoke of its origins as a sacred gift from the very first luminary, an ethereal artifact that had faithfully illuminated for countless eons, serving as one of the emblems of imperial prestige.
There were approximately 8000 guests present, yet it appeared as if the hall could accommodate more. Suddenly, the murmurs died down, as if even the sound present in the imperial hall respected the imperials.
A loud sound from the gatekeeper filled the room. "HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, THE PRINCE OF RADIANCE, AURELIUS MARINOS, ENTERS!" This announcement was followed by loud greetings from the nobles of Thalassa Empire: "GREETINGS TO AURELIUS MARINOS, SCION OF THE GREAT MARINOS DYNASTY, and WHOSE RADIANCE ILLUMINATES PATHS!"
All eyes turned toward the entrance, anticipation hanging in the air like a delicate wisp of fog. And then, in a grand entrance befitting his noble lineage, the prince made his presence known. With his blond hair cascading in waves, catching the light like spun gold, he emanated an aura of untamed allure. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of green with a thin golden rim, sparkled with a captivating intensity, capturing the attention of all who beheld him.
The prince's tall and commanding figure, chiseled and fit, exuded strength and grace. Every step he took across the marble floor seemed purposeful and confident, like a regal dance unfolding before their very eyes. The midnight-blue velvet suit he wore was a striking choice, its fabric velvety smooth against his skin, adorned with intricate golden embroidery that mirrored the celestial beauty of both the day and night sky. As he moved with effortless grace, whispers of admiration rippled through the crowd. The soft glow of the chandeliers seemed to intensify, casting an ethereal radiance upon his every movement, as if the very heavens themselves paid tribute to his presence. With each step, his midnight-blue velvet suit adorned with golden embroidery shimmered in the glow of the stage lights, reflecting the radiance of a thousand stars. The fabric hugged his athletic frame, emphasizing his regal bearing and captivating the audience with its impeccable craftsmanship.
As he reached the center of the stage, a hush fell over the crowd, their collective breath held in anticipation of the prince's next move. He stood tall and confident, a beacon of authority and charisma, his green eyes gleaming with a magnetic allure
With the soft cadence of his voice, the prince began, "Grace be to those who are," said the prince, ever so softly and gently that it could put a raging storm at peace. Near or afar, it matters naught." Without even raising a note in his voice, the hall became dead silent, everyone fully attentive.
"I stand as did my father, and his father before him, as I stand here, so shall those after me and those after," he continued, an extremely eloquent sentence that glorified the past of the Marinos family. It was like a slap to the nobles, reminding them that the Marinos family had been in power in the past despite all their efforts and would remain in power despite everything they had done.
"I see myself graced to be in the shadows of Thalassa Empire, whose radiance illuminates me, and whose radiance reaches you," the prince declared. Thalassa Empire had many independent sovereignties under them. Although they had their own ruling systems, due to political strife, they disliked the imperial culture. By establishing himself as the Prince of Radiance, Aurelius showed that those rebelling sovereignties had accepted him as a radiant prince, and his radiance was from Thalassa Empire. By extension, he silenced the sovereigns who desired to establish their own culture, reminding them that they could never escape Thalassa Empire, no matter how hard they tried.
"I wish for tranquil waters to be harmonious, I wish for raging winds to be serene and glorious," he added, a sarcastic comment aimed at his enemies who were internally boiling with rage. This comment acted as fuel to the fire, establishing Prince Aurelius as a force to be reckoned with. Yet, he continued, "What has to come will come, do not hasten it or try to outrun, for destiny's dance cannot be undone." This again was a warning to his enemies.
Traditionally, princes bowed their heads after a speech, but breaking the imperial tradition, the prince just presented a tursh. The whole hall filled with applause. In his hindsight, he could see Prince Cassius trying his best to hold back laughter, and the empress glaring holes at him.
As he stood under chandelier, he momentary felt as if it shook.
"May be continuous use of rucain is taking a toll on me" he shuddered his thoughts.
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