On a tiny little planet surrounded by eleven, slightly bigger yet somehow still small compared to the other heavenly bodies in the universe, planets, a continent, once a united landform under the banner of a massive empire, lies shattered both in form and spirit as it continued to wage war against itself for centuries.
Its inhabitants called it Xyperia, named after its founding empire and its vindictive colonial rule. The continent, once ruled by five provinces, now lie scattered about, scavenging and skirmishing over the quickly diminishing resources.
The province of Deepbloom is situated on the south of Xyperia where the republic of the Shadars, an endangered group of human species characterized by their elongated forked ears and general longevity, rules its ecocentrismic theocratic nation disguised as the People's Republic of Entlar. Much of their cities were built around ancient Akashik trees that were planted by their ancestors, and rarely, if ever, would they fight for conquest or land as they see will not develop a settlement unless an Akashik seed had been planted upon the ground for at least twenty years. Famed for their deep alchemical and biomechanical engineering, the Entlar Republic's aristocracy performs deep surgery on their young, attaching their most magnificent work of biomechanical machinery to the base of the child's spine. Not much is known regarding the specifics of Spinum Vitae, the biomechanical machine, but those who received such an implant achieved greater physical and mental improvements, even going as far as to develop strange yet beneficial mutations in its host's body. All smoke and mirrors, I assure you.
Trapped between the dangerous whirlpools of Matron's End and the utopian-like Bisonthian Archipelago lies the Casimirian Empire; ruled by the Armand Y Casimir Bloodline with an iron fist for over two hundred years. Although relatively younger than the other nations, their techno-mechanical and weapon engineering offered them both offensive and martial superiority, thus allowing them to hold most of their island colonies. Their magnum opus, La Serenidad, a feat of mechanical engineering, is a ten meters tall, hulking piece of piloted crafted metal with a sleek cylindrical form and round edges that, when mounted with their state-of-the-art Belgramo M9 Repeating Shot, could theoretically unload thousands and thousands of large caliber bullets in under a minute. A literal killing machine, though, it looks like a bird's egg.
To the West, past the Frigid Domain, strangled between the Shadars and the Crimson Covenant, lies the Heimschmiede State. This militant nation holds the continent's greatest military legion to have ever existed, merely the name of its army brings shudders to enemies and allies alike, although, most of its battalion were being used to skirmish with the remnants of Cloaked Rime Armada, so not much is to be feared of them at the moment. They also have great desserts for such a militaristic nation.
Last but certainly not least, north of the Phylantory, home of the High Pirated that scourged the Tidal Seas, sits, rather comfortably at that, a directorial aristocracy that holds its power using an assembly of both old gentry and new nobles alike. The United Prismic Republic. Although the name does not quite roll off the tongue, the state does run a somewhat effective governmental system with its bureaucratic hierarchies running on an almost clinical-level meritocracy and the newly established Commoner's House that holds council alongside the Prismatic Council.
Like most of its contemporaries, the Prismic Republic holds superiority over an aspect of maritime combat that allows them to hold most of their territories. The operative word being 'most' as their recent loss in their yearly skirmish with the Casimirian Empire had them losing a dozen inconsequential island colonies and a very much important island called Gilded Oasis. Seems important? Of course, it is, for the island is where the nation mined almost a quarter of their most important material in building their most prized possession: the Arkivial Engine.
I suppose that was why the Royal Naval Academy transported us here on King's Barrow, the nearest military fortress near the Gilded Oasis, in hopes of providing us with proper combat experience and the almost idealistic hope of one of us being aboard the ship that will retrieve the Gilded Oasis back to the Republic's possession. After all, the Cerulean Dragoons are taking over the whole operation.
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"I know all of that." Interrupted William, my good friend and, on that one training exercise on a winter island where we promised each other to never speak of again, the occasional platonic naked bed warmer, as he wiped the dust off the barrel he was sitting on. "I sat behind you in Geo-political history."
"I was merely setting the scene for our maiden voyage," I replied, a smile gracing my beautiful lips, as I too blew on the barrel and sat on it. "Besides, they might filter us to different ships or get stationed on different islands."
"Good." His reply only seems to amuse my bored senses, thus I pressed for more by visibly sighing and showing a longing look his way.
He tried very hard not to notice, leaning back to stare at the port warehouse instead.
"Oh, would you look at him, William? Sadness is unbefitting of such a strappy lad." Egged on Ryker, our resident meathead. By meathead, I meant that he once took a cleaver to the shoulder, bled a pint of red blood, and still knocked out five adult men with his sheer strength and occasional use of his bionic arms.
As soon as Ryker started, others too joined in as they murmured about William's ice-cold heart. Even the academy ladies, whose unrequited love for William was renowned in the academy, kept sending pouty moans at him.
William sighed before turning to me and with a begrudging look said: "I'll miss you too."
Laughter and coos echoed around the port, startling the surrounding shipwrights, coolies, and occasional town guards. Soon, though, the other left us to our conversation, having had their share of our antics.
"Dick."
"Now, now, child. I told did I not? Never say your favourite thing out loud. People might hear you." I sent a quizzical gaze his way. "Cheer up, don't be sad. I'm sure whenever I become first mate and eventually gain the respect of the Naval court, I'll send someone to transfer your still cadet ass to mine very own ship."
"Ineffable delusions, your bread and butter. You'll be to be fifty by the time you can get out of latrine duty." He retorted.
A laughter escaped my lips, dragging my hand across my short brown hair, yet a tinge of hesitation surge through my psyche and I could not help but ask of him: "Do you think they will like me?"
The heavy rays of the beating sun surge down towards our bodies as that feeling of apprehension and hesitation continued to wreak havoc amidst my hopeful disposition. "I do feel they will not like me."
An annoyed sigh was the reply to my question followed by: "What is not to like? You are quite chatty, cheery, nosy, and very easy to please. Like some dumb hick from buttfuck island."
"Is that sarcasm?"
"Yes. That is sarcasm."
"Thought so. Because, if you did not remember, we came from the same..." I trailed off, giving him a meaningful gaze.
"Yes, I know. Why are you annoying me, Roman?" William held a palm upon his face, knee-deep in calming himself.
"That I do not care to know. I mean, we have been standing at this pier for hours with no word nor sign of our commanders. If I was as paranoid as Silvi, I would think this would be part of our test." I reasoned out.
"First, dirt-spawn, I am not paranoid, merely obligated to mete out any and all possibilities lest I disgrace my family." Silvi retorted from within the shade of the nearby Acteon ship. Her salt-and-pepper hair, styled in a ponytail, swung wildly as she insulted me. "Second, if this be a test for aspiring Dragoons, why make us wait for half a day? By now, we would be disqualified for our lack of awareness and inability to discern information." Her voice grew quieter by the second as her eyes darted to and fro the King's Barrow Port. Her paranoia getting the better of her, so a win in my book, I must add.
"Do not engage the phlegm, Elena. Merely passing his boredom by annoying anyone else than his lowly sire." Interjected a brutish young man whose angled eyebrow is as sharp as his tone. "Do not deign to speak to the Colored, Colonial."
"Says he whose mouth tasted mine boots in battle... far too many times." Retorted William, defending me in honour. Well, he might be defending himself since he was included in the insult, but, still, it's the thought that counts... I think.
"Enough." A light voice flowed through our ears before we could even trade barbs. The Colored Nobles backed off the instance Sebastian Greythorne, their unofficial leader, partly for his undoubted skill and another for being second in line to the Greythorne Duchy, stated his stance. "Must you?" He pleaded of me, knowing full well my personality would endure such words, but I gave him this time for a distinct shadow on the edges of the port warehouse moved towards us.
"This time," I replied with a condescending tone, enraging the Colored once more.
Sebastian, too, seem to notice the shadow's impending arrival as he merely nodded.
"This is it, William. Can you feel it?" I ask quietly of my sire.
"Relax, Roman. Whatever happens, this will be the start of a new journey. One we've always dreamed of." He replied, taking an unusually hopeful tone.
I looked at him, noticing a slight smile on his face before gazing back to the shadow as hope, too, bloomed in my mind. "I hope so."