Within the cold, echoing, corridors of the second military base in Kaldaria, Mikaela moved like a wrath.
Her silver hair, unyielding as frost-kissed steel, cascaded down her back, catching the dim light from
sputtering lanterns. Her eyes, cerulean pools reflecting determination.
The uniform clung to her lithe frame, tailored with precision. The white military skirt, crisp and
unforgiving, brushed against her thighs as she walked. Its pleats whispered of discipline and duty, each crease a testament to the rigors of her training. The blazer, adorned with blue stripes, hugged her torso –the colour a stark contrast against the sterile grey surroundings. The stripes, like a ribbons of sky,
signified rank and valour. Mikaela wore them with pride, the promising soldier of Kaldaria was pure like
her uniform, and even a fly wouldn't dare to approach her.
Her boots –black leather, scuffed from countless drills –echoed against the floor. Each step resonated
with purpose, a metronome counting down to the next mission. The base hummed with hummed with
activity: soldiers in formation, officers barking orders, the metallic clang of armour being donned. Mikaela navigated this symphony of duty, her heart attuned to a different rhythm –one that whispered of loyalty tested and alliances frayed.
As she passed the war room, its oak doors imposing etched with battle maps, Mikaela glimpsed Vice
Commander Edrick Thorne. His grizzled face bore the scars of campaigns long past, and his eyes –grey
like storm clouds –held the weight of command. He nodded at her, a silent acknowledgement. Mikaela
wondered if he saw the girl beneath the uniform –the one who dreamt of peace, not conquest.
Onward she marched, her boots whispered against the cold floor as she approached Commander Ariana Darko's office –a sanctum where secrets traded like currency. The door bore the emblem of House Darko, etched in silver –a raven with swords for wings, much like Mikaela's resolve.
She squared her shoulders, adjusting the weight of her back. The blazer's blue stripes seemed to pulse, a heartbeat of duty and uncertainty. Mikaela raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open before
her knuckles met wood. Commander Darko stood there, framed by the room's single window –a
silhouette of authority and enigma. Her deep purple hair, almost black, cascaded over epaulets, and her
violet eyes –crystal like –held a thousand unspoken orders.
"Private Mikaela," the commander said, her voice a blade's edge.
"Enter"
Mikaela stepped inside, the room a tapestry of intrigue. Maps sprawled across the desk, marked with pins and cryptic symbols. The air smelled of ink and tension. Commander Darko gestured to the lone
chair, its cushion worn from countless strategizing sessions. Mikaela sat, spine straight, and met the
commander's gaze.
"Tell me what's on your mind," Darko commanded, her fingers tracing her cheek.
Mikaela recounted her encounter with Kael, and proposed her transference to the seventh base, where Kael was, to deal with her personal matters.
The commander listened, her expression unreadable. When Mikaela finished, Darko leaned back, steepling her fingers. "And then what will happen when you are done?"
Mikaela hesitated. "I will transfer back here-"
Ariana's gaze bore into her. "It doesn't work like that. We are a coalition but in the end, we are different
kingdoms. You cannot change citizenship on a whim, especially when there are spies everywhere. Do you want us to get accused of espionage, Mikaela?"
"No ma'am," Mikaela whispered.
"If you truly wish to deal with these issues, can it wait until the tournament? The ten nations will gather,
hopefully you will get to meet this person of yours."
Mikaela stood, saluting with her right fist on her chest "I understand, Commander."
As she left the office, the door closing behind her, Mikaela wondered which path waited her.
In Motherland, the ANTs Headquarters stood resolute. The environment was both harsh and soft to those residing there, a contradiction of power and peace, the two cannot coexist. Within its walls, Neith, the revered High Strategist, a captain of the Intel Unit, and the goddess of knowledge, pored over scrolls and parchments, her eyes sharp as the obsidian blade sheathed at her side.
The tournament loomed –a crucible where champions clashed, their powers tested, and destinies woven.
Ten kingdoms, each with their unique martial traditions, had sent forth their chosen candidates. Neith's task was to discern the hidden currents beneath their bravado, to unravel the tapestry of ambition, loyalty, and raw power that bound them.
As she scanned the list, her finger tracing the names, Neith's breath hitched. There, nestled among the expected contenders, was a name she thought she wouldn't see: Kael. The very same Kael who had levelled Ledya, and then hid behind the seventh base in Forgemire to protect his behind. To Neith, this was an insult but she did not have the power to remove Kael from the list even if she wanted to. Especially when Noelle was involved.
To Neith, Kael was an unknown life form that did not belong, an entity that deserved to be dissected to
increase their chances of winning the war of the races, but now, Forgemire had tamed that beast she had her eyes on.
"Nngh"
Her mind raced as the memories of her thousand lives flooded her head. Kael was in those memories, but it shouldn't be possible since he was eighteen years old.
She quickly got up and drank water. She had encountered doppelgangers in her past life, so to her, this wasn't any different. It was Kael's ancestor.
Tellus has sixteen kingdoms but only ten of them allied themselves and formed the A.N.Ts, six kingdoms were rogues and were unprotected, a perfect place for a group of criminals of all kind to live happily like kings, pigs fattened by greed and crime.
In Osoroshi, one of the six kingdoms, a storm cloud covered over the land, concealing the kingdom in
utter darkness. The leaders of the famed Dark Saints were gathering here to discuss their way forward
since Kael unexpectedly ruined their plans in Ledya.