Keldora, one of the last three bastions of the Lysandrian Reformation Council, was bathed in an anxious pallor. In the vast war room, marked with signs of intense strategizing, generals Aleron, Atrius, and Tyrn stood before a sprawling map displaying the land's territories. Lines, flags, and hurried notes gave evidence of the fierce struggle they faced. The very ambiance of the room spoke of battles lost and won, and the scent of the burning candles intermingled with the odor of fresh ink.
Atrius, his form showcasing fresh bandages from recent combat, reclined heavily into his chair. Every breath seemed a labor, a testimony to the recent brutality at Alloria. His once fierce eyes, now clouded with pain, remained determined.
Aleron, the youngest of the trio but with an age-worn face, began, "Alloria's fall has changed the landscape of our struggle. I've witnessed Clavis with my own eyes, seen the wonders and horrors. The magic technologies integrated into its every facet, the sheer energy... it's like nothing else. Lord Lucius, whoever or whatever he is, commands respect. His proposition may not be as absurd as we initially believed."
Tyrn, his fingers stroking his silver beard, voiced his concerns, "Our objective has been to free the Empire. Rid it off corrpution and rot. But the costs... it's not just about the battles, but the souls we lose every day, the morale that fades with each sunset. Can we truly deny any aid, especially from a force as formidable as Clavis?"
Atrius, pain evident in his voice but pride unwavering, retorted, "So we trade our principles for power? Place our dreams of a free Empire in the hands of an unknown entity? Recognize him as Emperor?"
Aleron's gaze turned steely, "Our dreams won't matter if we're all dead, Atrius. With you injured and our defenses weakened, we are vulnerable. We need that power, his power."
Tyrn, ever the mediator, softly said, "The question isn't about the purity of our cause but the survival of our people. If aligning with Lucius gives them a fighting chance, isn't it worth the gamble?"
The room seemed to close in on them, the weight of the impending decision pressing heavily on each general's shoulders. The hours felt like days as the trio delved deeper, each point of view clashing, blending, and reforming. The fate of the Lysandrian Reformation Council, its people, and the very essence of the Empire hung in the balance.
Atrius, with a deep sigh, whispered, "If this pact with Lucius is our chosen path, let it not be said that we abandoned our people. Let history remember that our choices, however questionable, were made for their survival."
Agreement reached, they quickly drafted a message for Clavis, indicating their acceptance of the terms set by Lucius.
In the heart of Clavis, Lucius perused the letter with an air of satisfaction. His intricate black robes seemed to drink the ambient light, exuding an aura of foreboding power. He addressed Veron without raising his eyes from the parchment, "Prepare two divisions. It seems the inhabitants of Keldora have at last grasped the futility of their resistance."
The gates of Clavis soon bore witness to an army that seemed to emerge from the very shadows. Rows upon rows of soldiers, armored in the darkest of ores, each breastplate embedded with a luminescent crystal, assembled in perfect formation. Their helmets, covering every facial feature, made them seem less human and more like faceless extensions of Lucius's will.