Part 1
The Supreme Oasis Hotel glittered like a gem against the darkening desert sky, its sail-shaped design rising above the sprawling cityscape. Inside the luxurious suite, the air was heavy with both opulence and tension. The soft glow of crystal chandeliers illuminated the room, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and gold accents that adorned every surface. The panoramic windows offered a stunning view of the Arabian Gulf, but Dr. Max Sokraberg's mind was far from the tranquility of the view.
Snow, standing by the window, had just ended her call with Galatea. The relief she felt washed over her delicate features, her usual bright smile returning. Galatea and Philip were safe—despite the chaos erupting across the world. More than that, Philip had finally confessed his love for Galatea, accepting her despite the emotional revelation of her infertility. Snow's eyes gleamed with joy as she approached Max, her steps light and graceful.
"Max," she began softly, her voice full of warmth, "I just spoke with Galatea."
Max, seated at his desk, turned toward her, his intense gaze immediately softening. "How is she?" he asked, the concern in his voice unmistakable.
Snow's smile widened; her dark eyes sparkling. "She's fine. And... Philip confessed his love to her."
Max froze for a moment, the news hitting him with a rush of emotion. "He did?" His voice was quiet, full of both hope and disbelief.
Snow nodded; her expression bright. "Yes. And even when Galatea told him about her infertility, he accepted her, Max. He told her it didn't matter."
A wave of relief and joy washed over Max. His hands, which had been gripping the edge of his desk, relaxed, and he let out a long, shaky breath. "It's happening," he murmured, almost in awe. "I've always wanted them to end up together. It was always meant to be."
Snow's smile grew as she watched him, understanding the significance of this moment. Max had long hoped that Philip, the son of his late best friend Alexander Graciasta, would one day find his way to Galatea. It was part of why Max had poured so much of himself into his research—perfecting the artificial womb project. The first artificially carried child, created from the DNA of the original Galatea, would be born in just a few months. His dream for their future, for them to have the family they deserved, was now within reach.
Max's eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. "It's all coming together," he said softly, more to himself than to Snow. "Everything we've worked for... it's happening."
"You've made this possible, Max," Snow said gently, her admiration clear in her voice. "And you've done it for them."
Max smiled at her, a flicker of gratitude in his gaze. "I couldn't have done it without you, Snow."
Snow's heart swelled at his words, her devotion to him evident in her warm expression. "I'm just happy to see you happy," she said sweetly.
But Max's thoughts soon turned back to the wider world, to the mounting crises unfolding. His joy, while real, was tempered by the heavy burden of responsibility he carried. He moved toward the window, staring out at the city lights twinkling far below, lost in thought.
"I need to make a call," he said abruptly, his voice now serious again.
Snow tilted her head slightly, sensing the shift in his tone. "To whom?"
Max hesitated for a moment before answering. "Catherine," he said quietly, dialing the number on his secure device.
The call connected quickly, and the voice on the other end greeted him. "Max," the woman said, her voice calm but with a note of warmth.
"Catherine," Max replied, his voice softening. "I just wanted to check in. Are you alright?"
"We're fine," she answered, her voice steady but with a hint of weariness. "The children and I are safe. My husband as well."
Max exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. "I'm glad to hear that."
There was a brief pause, the silence between them thick with unspoken memories and shared history. Max and Catherine had been close, bound together by their mutual connection to Alexander. But this wasn't the time to dwell on the past.
"Take care, Catherine," Max said quietly before ending the call.
Pocketing the phone, Max stood in silence for a moment longer, his mind swirling with thoughts. Catherine had always been a pillar of strength, and hearing that she and her family were safe was a small comfort in a world on the brink of chaos.
Snow watched him carefully, her dark eyes filled with understanding. "Everything will be alright, Max," she said softly.
Max gave her a small, appreciative smile, though the weight of the world still pressed heavily on his shoulders. "I hope so, Snow. I hope so."
He moved back to his desk, his hand hovering over the holographic screen as he pulled up another number. This time, it was to his chief aide at the Office of the Prince of Sokraberg, the official title Max held in the upper chamber of the Osgorian government. His political role, combined with his scientific influence, gave him immense power—but it also made him a key player in the nation's response to the ongoing crises.
The line connected, and the familiar voice of his chief aide answered. "Your Excellency," the man greeted him, his tone formal but with an edge of urgency.
Max's voice was firm, though his concern bled through. "What's the situation in Osgoria?"
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before the secretary spoke, his voice grim. "It's bad, Your Excellency. Very bad. The market is crashing, and there are growing fears that the unrest could spread. It would be great if you could return to Sokraberg as soon as possible."
Max's grip on the phone tightened, his eyes darkening as the implications set in. "I'll be on the first flight back," he said, his voice low and determined.
As the call ended, a heavy silence filled the room. Snow watched him, her face filled with quiet concern.
Max stood still for a moment, his mind racing with the gravity of the situation. The world was unraveling faster than even he had anticipated.
Part 2
The war room of the Imperial Command Center was suffused with tension, the soft glow of holographic displays casting elongated shadows over the faces of Avalonia's highest-ranking officials. At the head of the table sat First Minister Edgar Woodblade, his usual aura of calm and control weighed down by the gravity of the situation. The attack that had devastated several key cities in Avalonia was unlike anything they had encountered—coordinated, precise, and crippling. Yet what puzzled them most was the silence from Alyssia.
Despite the Avalonian Empire's recent declaration of war, there had been no direct communication from Alyssia—no response, no further action. There were no drone attacks, no military engagements—just an eerie silence. Yet, based on communications with Avalonia's allies and intelligence gathered from their own sources, all signs seemed to point toward Alyssia's involvement. Without definitive confirmation, however, the council was left wrestling with uncertainty.
"Do we even know for certain that it's Alyssia?" General Cedric Hardmore inquired, his gravelly voice resonating through the room. His frustration was evident as he gazed across the table. "We've suffered over a hundred thousand fatalities, yet we can't definitively identify the perpetrator."
Admiral William Rutherford shook his head, leaning forward as the holographic map of Avalonia's devastated cities flickered. "The evidence may be circumstantial, but all indications point toward Alyssia. Their technological capabilities and motives make them the prime suspect. And let us not forget that we are, technically, at war."
First Minister Woodblade, renowned for his calculated decisions, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His blue eyes scanned the assembled council members, absorbing their concern before he spoke. "We have heard nothing from Alyssia—not a claim of responsibility, not a denial—nothing. It's as if they refuse to acknowledge the attack."
His voice was calm, but an undercurrent of sharpness cut through the room. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "However, the intelligence we've gathered—both from our allies and our own sources—strongly suggests their involvement."
The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Woodblade. They all understood that Alyssia's silence was perilous. Inaction after such a devastating attack would portray the Avalonian Empire as weak, yet a retaliatory strike—especially against nuclear facilities—could ignite global repercussions. Although Alyssia had only one powerful ally, the Celestial Dragon Realm, the other two superpowers—the Verbanian Commonwealth and the Atlantean Republic—were staunchly opposed to any nuclear strikes or attacks on nuclear facilities by any nation. Such an action could plunge the world into a dangerous spiral of instability.
Lady Helena Ashford, the Minister of Trade, was the first to break the silence after Woodblade's remarks. "Even with circumstantial evidence, can we risk escalating this into a full-scale conflict? The Commonwealth and the Republic will condemn any attack on Alyssia's nuclear facilities, irrespective of our justification."
Rutherford, his expression steely, quickly countered. "And what message do we send if we fail to act? They've crippled our cities, targeted our civilians, and we've done nothing. The longer we hesitate, the bolder they become."
Empress Evelyne's holographic projection flickered at the far end of the table. She had remained silent until now, her gaze fixed on the unfolding discussions. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, imbued with unmistakable authority. "First Minister, Admiral, General," she acknowledged each in turn, "we cannot afford to act rashly. I understand the need to demonstrate strength, but if we strike Alyssia's nuclear infrastructure without definitive proof of their involvement, we risk alienating the Commonwealth and the Republic. Their opposition to nuclear strikes is unequivocal, and a misstep here could provoke global outrage."
She paused, her blue eyes piercing. "We need a response, but it must be measured."
Admiral Rutherford clenched his fists but held his tongue. Evelyne's words carried significant weight, especially given Avalonia's precarious position. The attack had blindsided them, but hastily initiating a nuclear strike could thrust them into a conflict with unpredictable consequences. Even though most of Alyssia's nuclear arsenal was vulnerable to Avalonia's space-based weapons, there was no guarantee that attacking their nuclear sites wouldn't trigger a larger, more dangerous chain of events.
"Your Majesty," Woodblade said, turning to Evelyne, "you are correct. We cannot disregard the global repercussions. If we attack their nuclear facilities, we risk inciting condemnation from the Commonwealth and the Republic, and it could provoke a full-scale nuclear retaliation from Alyssia—particularly if they were not, in fact, behind the attack."
Director Ellis Harkness, head of Avalonian Intelligence, leaned forward slightly. His cold, calculating voice pierced the tension. "Our intelligence implicates Alyssia, but it's not conclusive. If we respond with full force without concrete proof, we might be walking into a trap. It's possible that an unidentified extremist faction within the Alyssian Federation carried out the attack without the Judicator's knowledge or consent. However, inaction may weaken our position, both with our allies and on the global stage."
The room descended into silence once more, the council grappling with the reality that no path forward was without risk.
"Then what are our options?" Hardmore asked, his voice softening slightly, though frustration lingered. "If we can't target their nuclear facilities, how do we respond?"
Evelyne's image flickered, her voice firm. "We must devise a response that demonstrates our strength without igniting a global conflict. A precision strike—targeting a significant number of Alyssia's military command and control structures, as well as their armories from space—would send a clear message without crossing the nuclear threshold."
Rutherford leaned back, contemplating. "A military strike on their command centers... That would certainly show them we won't be pushed around."
Woodblade's fingers tapped on the table as he considered the potential consequences. "It would send a strong message and might compel Alyssia to respond diplomatically. But we must be prepared for their reaction—and for the global response."
Harkness nodded, his gaze unwavering. "We need to execute this flawlessly. Our forces are prepared, but we must ensure that any strike we launch is framed as a defensive measure. We cannot afford to lose the moral high ground."
"Agreed," Evelyne said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "We will respond, but we will do so with precision and restraint. Alyssia must understand that we will not be cowed by their actions, but we will not provoke global conflict either."
Woodblade stood, his decision finalized. "Very well. We will proceed with a limited strike on several dozen of Alyssia's military command and control centers, as well as ten major armories. We'll send a message—clear and strong—but we will not escalate this into a nuclear conflict unless absolutely necessary."
The room remained silent as the weight of the decision settled over the council. Everyone knew this was just the beginning, and that Alyssia's response would determine the next moves in a dangerous game of power and survival.