Part 1
The noon sun bathed Tochago in a bright, almost merciless light, exposing the city's contradictions in sharp relief. Gleaming glass towers stretched skyward, testaments to its wealth and ambition. Yet in the shadow of these opulent spires lurked narrow alleyways, home to the forgotten and downtrodden. The faces of the passersby were equally divided—some possessed the cold confidence of privilege, while others bore the weight of deprivation, their expressions hardened by indifference or resignation.
Philip, Snow, and Galatea walked through Tochago's bustling streets, each reflecting a different kind of grace. Snow, draped in an ivory sheath dress that seemed timeless, moved with an ethereal elegance. Her long black hair was gathered in an understated knot, while her dark eyes, wide and brimming with curiosity, flitted about as though absorbing the world for the first time. She cut a striking figure in her Avalonian-inspired attire—a tailored cashmere dress with lace accents, complemented by low-heeled pumps and a sleek handbag. Every detail of her appearance whispered of refinement, yet beneath this polished exterior, she was a woman detached from the mundane realities of life.
Beside her, Galatea strode with a commanding presence. Her tall frame was wrapped in a crisp white blouse that exuded quiet authority, paired with a fitted black leather skirt that accentuated her long legs. Her golden hair cascaded in soft waves, catching the sunlight, and her large blue eyes seemed to draw attention from every corner of the street. She possessed a magnetism that could command a room without uttering a word, her effortless beauty underscored by a sharp intellect. Though her attire was casual, it did nothing to diminish the power she radiated, nor the ease with which she moved through the world. Tasked with guiding Snow while Dr. Sokraberg was away with the Osgorians, she carried out her duty with practiced grace.
"You really handled that boardroom like a pro," Philip said with a grin, still impressed by Galatea's account of the other day's events. He hadn't witnessed it firsthand, but the way she described her deft maneuvering of the elder directors made it clear she had won the day with ease.
Galatea flashed a knowing smile, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Just part of the job," she replied, her tone light but confident. "Besides," she added with a playful lilt, "I'm only keeping the seat warm until you're ready to take it."
Philip chuckled, though her words tugged at his lingering self-doubt. "I don't know about that," he said with a half-smile. "You make it look effortless."
Galatea paused, turning toward him with an expression softened by genuine warmth. "Don't sell yourself short, Philip," she said quietly. "You've got what it takes. When the time comes, you'll handle it."
Snow, who had been quietly observing the city around her, nodded in agreement. "If Galatea says it, it must be true. She's never wrong."
As they walked, their conversation shifted naturally. Snow's eyes brightened as she took in the architecture around her. She stopped before one of the older buildings, her voice thoughtful yet precise. "This one was built in 1914," she remarked, "just before the Great War."
Philip raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Well, look at you," he teased. "Someone's been brushing up on her history."
Snow beamed, clearly pleased by the acknowledgment. "Before the war, the Avalonian Empire accounted for 22% of the world's GDP, 24% of the landmass, and nearly a quarter of the population. It was regarded as the pinnacle of human civilization, its empire spreading across the globe. The elites believed it was an honor for any nation to be part of their dominion."
Philip grinned. "Quite the history buff, aren't you?"
Snow gave a small shrug, her modest smile unwavering. "The Avalonian Empire was grand, but their pride made them blind to the cracks beneath the surface. At the time, their traditional rival, the Verbanian Empire, was politically disintegrating. Though the Verbanian Empire controlled a significant portion of the world, real power had shifted across the ocean to its colonies in the Americas, reducing the empire to a loose alliance of states."
Galatea, her voice more contemplative, added, "It's remarkable how much can change in a century. Empires that once ruled vast territories are now little more than fading memories."
"And where do things stand now?" Philip asked, intrigued.
Snow's eyes sparkled as she continued. "The Verbanian Commonwealth, which rose from the remnants of the empire, is now the preeminent superpower of the world, controlling 27% of the world's GDP and 25.5% of its landmass. But it's now ruled from the western coast of North America, not Verbania. Meanwhile, Avalonia and Osgoria are mere shadows of their former selves."
Philip cast her a curious glance, still marveling at the contrast between her deep knowledge of history and her almost childlike innocence. It was as if she lived in a world of ideas, detached from the ordinary concerns of life.
As they approached a high-end café, they were greeted by humanoid robots with silicone skin that mimicked human flesh, though their expressions remained unnervingly vacant. The café was a testament to Tochago's technological aspirations, with polished floors and sleek, modern furniture.
"These robots," Galatea noted coolly, "are produced by one of Andromeda Industry Group's subsidiaries. It's becoming more common to see them in service roles—cheaper than hiring humans, more efficient, and they don't need rest."
"They also don't go on strike," Snow added with a soft, almost mischievous smile. "Robots have no rights. They simply follow orders."
Philip caught the hint of irony in her voice and glanced at her curiously. For someone so detached, she seemed to harbor quiet disapproval of the way technology was reshaping society.
"True enough," Galatea mused, her tone thoughtful. "Machines can withstand conditions that would be unbearable for human workers. And since they don't have opinions, they're far easier to control."
They found a table and settled into their chairs, their conversation drifting as a nearby exchange caught their attention. The café manager was on the phone, his voice rising slightly above the gentle hum of the café. "I need a new unit," he was saying. "The one we have is slowing down. Too many hours, I think."
The voice on the other end replied, "It's probably from overworking it without maintenance."
"I'm not complaining," the manager said dismissively. "It's just cheaper to replace it than fix it."
Snow's expression shifted, a shadow of sadness passing across her features. Philip, noticing her sudden change in mood, leaned in. "What's wrong, Snow?"
She hesitated before answering, her voice soft. "I'm just glad Max doesn't treat me like that. It's sad, how easily people discard these machines."
Philip blinked, momentarily puzzled by her remark. "But you're human, Snow," he replied gently. "You have thoughts and feelings. These robots don't."
Snow forced a smile, though her tone remained uncertain. "That's true… but with Max, you never know. He could cast any woman aside if he wished."
Philip felt an unexpected surge of empathy. Snow, like him, lived in the shadow of someone more powerful, bound by a dynamic she could not entirely control. It was a connection he hadn't anticipated, but now felt keenly.
Galatea, too, seemed troubled by the turn of the conversation. Her blue eyes darkened slightly as she spoke. "What if one day these machines do have thoughts and feelings? What if they become just like us?"
Philip was taken aback by the question. "Then we'd have to treat them as equals," he said after a moment. "But I hope it doesn't come to that—it would cause too much chaos."
"Why?" Snow asked, her curiosity piqued.
Philip leaned forward, his expression growing serious. "Sentient machines would surpass humans in almost every way. They'd be smarter, stronger, more beautiful. They wouldn't tire, wouldn't age. Eventually, they'd outcompete us in every field. People would resent them, and that would lead to conflict. They will drive humanity to extinction. Superior species tend to drive out inferior ones—it's just how nature works."
Snow absorbed his words thoughtfully. "That sounds rather bleak."
Philip shrugged. "Maybe. But it's not impossible. Sentient machines could be dangerous."
Snow furrowed her brow, considering this. "Perhaps… but perhaps not."
Silence fell over the trio as they mulled over the weight of the conversation. Then, suddenly, Snow's attention was drawn to a young couple passing by. She smiled sweetly at the man, who, clearly captivated, smiled back. His companion, however, was less amused, tugging him sharply away with a glare.
Galatea chuckled softly. "Snow, you've got to be careful with that smile—you're bound to get someone into trouble."
Snow looked genuinely perplexed. "Why would that cause trouble?"
Galatea laughed gently, shaking her head. "Not everyone likes it when their partner catches someone else's eye."
Snow frowned, still puzzled. "But Max gets glances from women all the time. Some even wink at him or blow kisses. I usually smile back at them."
Philip couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. "You smile back?"
"Of course," Snow replied innocently. "Why not?"
The image of it sent Philip into another fit of laughter, the absurdity of the situation fully sinking in.
Their mirth was interrupted by the arrival of their drinks, delivered by one of the café's robotic attendants. Its movements were smooth and precise, yet the lack of expression in its eyes lent it an eerie quality.
Snow watched it closely, her face inscrutable. Then, in a wistful tone, she murmured, "I'm glad Max isn't like that manager… I wonder what will happen when machines like these are everywhere. How will people treat them?"
Galatea glanced at her, her expression softening. "Let's hope by then we've learned how to treat them—and each other—with a little more respect."
Part 2
The late afternoon sun bathed Tochago in a warm, golden light as Philip, Snow, and Galatea continued their leisurely stroll through the city. The sharp contrast between the gleaming skyscrapers and the shadowy alleyways seemed even more pronounced in this light, accentuating the divide between wealth and poverty. In a city where fortunes rose and fell with alarming speed, the trio appeared slightly out of place, their composed demeanor standing in contrast to the restless energy of the streets.
As they turned onto a quieter avenue, the constant hum of traffic and chatter gradually faded, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves in the trees overhead. It was here, from the shadows, that a disheveled man emerged. His clothes hung loosely from his thin frame, tattered and stained, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. He staggered toward them, one hand outstretched, mumbling incoherently.
Snow, ever openhearted, stepped forward without hesitation. "I'm sorry, I don't carry cash," she said softly, her voice imbued with genuine warmth. "But I can buy you something to eat, if you'd like."
The man paused, meeting her gaze briefly before shaking his head and retreating back into the shadows without a word. Snow, visibly perplexed, turned to Galatea and Philip, her wide brown eyes filled with innocent confusion. "Why didn't he want food?" she asked, her tone gentle and earnest. "Surely, he must be hungry."
Philip sighed, his expression compassionate but tinged with a familiar sadness. "It's likely food wasn't what he was after," he explained quietly. "Judging by the look in his eyes, he's probably addicted to something… something that cash could buy, not a meal."
Snow's brows knit together as she tried to comprehend the reality Philip was describing, one so far removed from her own experience. "Addicted… to something?" she repeated softly, her voice uncertain.
Galatea stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on Snow's shoulder. Her tone was kind but pragmatic. "Not everyone is looking for the kind of help you'd like to offer, Snow. Cities like this… they teach you hard lessons."
Snow nodded slowly, the usual spark of curiosity in her eyes dimmed by the weight of this harsh truth. "I didn't realize things were like this here," she murmured, her gaze drifting back to where the man had disappeared, her thoughts clearly lingering on the encounter.
They continued walking, the city's rhythm carrying them along as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. Snow remained unusually quiet, her eyes now more often drawn to the shadows where others, just like the disheveled man, huddled in corners, their lives hidden from the bright facades of Tochago's prosperity.
As they re-entered a busier district, the city's vibrant energy once again enveloped them. Lights from bustling cafés and brightly lit storefronts glittered in the afternoon light, and the lively chatter of the crowd filled the air. Snow's spirits lifted slightly, her attention caught by a group of tourists nearby, chattering excitedly in rapid Dragon Tone as they admired the towering architecture around them.
One of the tourists, a young woman with sleek black hair, approached Snow hesitantly. In halting Norlandian, she asked, "Could you take a photo of us?"
Snow smiled kindly and nodded. "Of course," she said, accepting the camera. With a careful eye, she adjusted the angle, composing the shot with precision before snapping the photo. She handed the camera back with a polite smile, but before she could step away, the tourists began speaking to her in fluent Dragon Tone, assuming she was one of their own.
Snow, ever polite, responded in kind, her speech formal and precise, almost literary in its phrasing. The tourists exchanged amused glances, clearly impressed by her command of the language, though they couldn't help but chuckle at the overly elaborate expressions she used.
One of the other women, her eyes lingering on Snow's flawless complexion, leaned forward and asked admiringly, "Your skin is so beautiful—radiant! What products do you use?"
Snow blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh, I don't use any products," she answered with her characteristic candor. "I simply attend my scheduled monthly treatments."
The tourists looked baffled for a moment until Galatea stepped in with a graceful smile. "She means spa treatments," she clarified lightly. "It's all part of a routine."
The group chuckled, nodding in understanding now. One of the men smiled and asked, "May we take a photo with both of you?"
Galatea, ever gracious, agreed without hesitation. The tourists eagerly gathered around her and Snow for the picture, clearly captivated by their elegance and beauty. The men, particularly, seemed thrilled, though they were quickly nudged back into place by their female companions when they stood a little too close.
Philip, watching from a short distance, shook his head with a smile. "You two certainly have a knack for attracting attention," he teased.
After the impromptu photoshoot, Snow turned to Philip, her brow furrowed with genuine puzzlement. "Why do people take such an interest in us?" she asked earnestly.
Philip laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, beauty is always in short supply," he replied, his grin playful.
Galatea chuckled at his remark, but Snow tilted her head thoughtfully. "In short supply?" she echoed, clearly perplexed. "That seems strange. Max is always surrounded by beautiful people, from all walks of life."
Galatea raised an amused eyebrow, stifling a laugh as she watched Snow's innocent reasoning. Philip, meanwhile, was nearly doubled over with laughter, his amusement irrepressible. "Dr. Sokraberg lives in a different world," he managed between chuckles.
Snow nodded slowly, though she still didn't appear entirely convinced by their explanation. Just as the conversation began to shift, Philip's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glanced down at the screen. His expression quickly grew serious.
"It looks like Alyssia just issued a formal apology to Avalonia," he said, his voice filled with cautious optimism. "They've executed the general responsible for the downing of the Avalonian Imperial family. Maybe this means we can avoid war after all."
Galatea's face remained composed, though a flicker of doubt crossed her sharp blue eyes. "We can hope," she said steadily. "But it's best to stay prepared. We don't know how this will play out."
Snow, who had been quietly listening, suddenly spoke up. Her voice, calm as ever, carried a note of certainty that surprised both Philip and Galatea. "They didn't execute him for that," she said matter-of-factly. "The general died during a failed coup attempt."
Both Philip and Galatea turned toward her, their expressions shifting to one of startled curiosity. "How do you know that?" Philip asked, his tone edged with surprise.
Before Snow could respond, Galatea quickly placed a hand on her back, her touch gentle but firm. "It's just a hunch," she said smoothly, her voice taking on a casual tone but with an undercurrent of understanding. "You know, a woman's intuition."
Snow caught Galatea's subtle signal and nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes, just a feeling," she echoed softly.
Part 3
Bienna, the capital of Osgoria, gleamed beneath a darkening sky, its grand architecture a fusion of old-world grandeur and modern ambition. Broad avenues lined with neoclassical palaces stood in sharp contrast to the gleaming towers of glass and steel that pierced the skyline. It was a city steeped in history and power—where the old empire had risen and where the new Osgoria now forged its future. In the distance, the spires of the Cathedral of Saint Epherius loomed high above, casting long shadows over the shimmering facades of government buildings and military headquarters.
Inside one of these towering structures, Enrich Falconhyde sat across from General Peter Epichoven. The General was a commanding figure, his presence filling the high-ceilinged room with an intensity that was hard to ignore. Broad-shouldered, his bearing knightly, his stormy eyes sharp and penetrating, Epichoven exuded the quiet authority of a man who had seen both the battlefield and the corridors of power. The gleaming medals pinned to his immaculate uniform caught the warm light from the overhead lamps, adding to the sense of disciplined order that seemed to surround him.
"You've done well," General Epichoven said, his voice steady and authoritative, though there was a hint of something close to admiration in his tone. "Securing Lord Sokraberg's cooperation was no small feat. The man's mind… it's a gift from the gods, something that only graces this world once in a few centuries." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "It appears he anticipated this war long before any of us dared to acknowledge its possibility. His program—transforming used robotic nannies into light infantry units—is nothing short of astonishing."
Enrich inclined his head modestly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Lord Sokraberg's vision is boundless. It's as though he foresaw this conflict well before any of us even imagined it could come to pass."
Epichoven grunted in agreement, his gaze drifting toward the grand skyline of Bienna, where the city's lights began to flicker against the deepening twilight. "He's a true visionary, no doubt about it. But let's not forget—it was you, Enrich, who secured his full support for our cause. That alone is no small accomplishment." The General's stern expression softened slightly, a rare warmth entering his usually steely gaze. "You've earned your place among Osgoria's elite, make no mistake."
Enrich smiled, prepared to respond, but before he could, Epichoven's tone shifted to one of playful teasing. "And speaking of Osgoria's elite… word of your little dance with Lady Galatea has traveled through the elite circles of Bienna faster than wildfire. They say she's quite the beauty."
Enrich chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed ease. "Beauty is an understatement, General. Lady Galatea is… striking, in ways that mere words fail to capture."
Epichoven's grin widened, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. "So tell me, Enrich, have you fallen under her spell?"
Enrich laughed lightly, shaking his head with amusement. "I might have, General… had I not already been engaged."
The General let out a booming laugh, his amusement echoing through the grand room. "A wise man, indeed! Though from the sound of it, half of the young noblemen in Bienna would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Still," he added, his tone sobering as he paced back toward the window, "we've got more pressing matters than wooing beautiful women."
The mood in the room shifted, the air growing heavier as Epichoven's expression hardened once more. "Lord Sokraberg's foresight has bought us time, but we can't afford to become complacent. Genius though he may be, no single man can win this war on his own. It'll take the strength of an army to make his vision a reality."
Enrich moved silently to stand beside the General, his gaze sweeping over the shimmering expanse of Bienna. Beneath the vast night sky, the city glittered like a constellation of stars—a symbol of Osgoria's grandeur, yet fragile against the storm of war gathering on the horizon. A deep, unspoken tension hung in the air, their shared burden settling between them like an invisible weight.
"Sokraberg's genius has given us a fighting chance," Enrich murmured, his voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly might summon the full force of the unknown. "But we both know this is only the beginning. The battle ahead will demand far more than intellect. It will take unity, ruthless strategy, and perhaps... something beyond our control—fortune, or even fate itself."
The city below pulsed with a quiet energy, its tall towers casting long shadows, as if the very future lay hidden within their depths, waiting to be unearthed. For a long moment, the two men stood in silence, the atmosphere thick with anticipation, the magnitude of their decisions looming ever larger.
At last, General Epichoven broke the stillness, his voice deep and resonant, laced with the gravity of what was to come. "There is something I must share with you," he said, his tone carrying the weight of history itself. "Our great counteroffensive... the largest this generation has ever seen... it begins soon. We can no longer afford to delay."
He turned to face Enrich, his expression shadowed but intense, eyes burning with purpose. "This offensive, Enrich—what we're about to set into motion—will decide the future of Osgoria. It's bold, and it's risky. But it's the only way forward. We need to talk through the details. Every piece must be in place for this to work."