In an opulent study adorned with a large window overlooking snow-covered fields, Viscount Eremund Varnell sat behind an imposing oak desk. Before him, a communication crystal emitted a soft, pale-blue glow. The voice of Marquis Vandemar resonated from the crystal, clear despite the vast expanse of the Glynthar Mountains separating them.
"Have you received the report?" Marquis Vandemar's tone was firm.
Eremund sighed, his long fingers tapping the desk in a slow rhythm. "Unfortunately, the adventurers I sent have yet to return. I suspected something unusual about that place."
From the crystal, Vandemar sighed, his voice reflecting concern. "I thought as much. There have been rumors of a red dragon chasing a strange object in the skies over the Glynthar Mountains. It doesn't seem like a normal creature, but I can't confirm if the rumors are true."
Eremund leaned closer to the crystal, his brow furrowing. "Hmm, I see. So this isn't the red dragon's doing?"
"That's what I want to determine. I fear there may be a power shift in Dralven."
Eremund leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. "What do you mean?"
Marquis Vandemar paused for a moment, his voice growing more serious. "I'm beginning to think this might be the work of an organized group. Perhaps the dragon isn't the real threat, but something more deliberate. If there's a foreign power moving into Dralven, it could be the beginning of instability across the region."
Eremund interlaced his fingers, considering the possibility. "If that's the case, I need to prepare to bolster my defenses. After all, my territory lies just beyond the Glynthar Mountains. If they aim to expand, I'll be their next target."
"Exactly, Viscount," Vandemar replied. "But this isn't something we can handle alone. I'll report this to Duke Kritus. This movement must be reviewed by the court."
Eremund nodded, even though Vandemar couldn't see him. "Duke Redmond will understand the urgency. In the meantime, I'll deploy additional scouts along the mountains. I want every detail about what's happening in Dralven."
"Wise," Vandemar agreed. "I'll also instruct additional troops in my territory to prepare for any contingencies. But, Eremund, remember—if this is a new and dangerous faction, we may not just face a military threat. They might possess technology, tactics, or even magic we've never encountered before."
Eremund's brow furrowed. "New technology or magic? What are you implying?"
"I've heard reports from merchants who survived passing through the region. They spoke of 'iron ships' that do not sink and devices that produce light without fire. Such things have never existed in Delos."
Eremund's eyes widened. "Iron ships? That's absurd. Even the greatest kingdoms don't have such technology. Where do you think this comes from?"
"That's what I've yet to uncover," Vandemar replied. "But if such technology exists, the power wielding it could pose a significant threat to all of us—even to the kingdom itself."
Eremund rose from his chair, stepping toward the large window behind him. Snow fell gently, blanketing the fields below his castle. "Very well. I'll deploy additional forces to Glynthar. I'll also hire new adventurers to investigate Dralven. We need more information."
"A sound decision, Eremund. I'll ensure this report reaches the Duke promptly. If necessary, we may need to request royal troops to intervene."
Turning away from the window, Eremund's gaze was cold and resolute. "I only hope, Vandemar, that we're not facing an enemy greater than we can handle. If this faction is as powerful as you suggest, then war is no longer a matter of if—but when."
"Agreed, Viscount. We must prepare for all possibilities. I'll contact you again after I've spoken with the Duke."
With that, the blue glow of the communication crystal slowly faded, leaving Eremund in the silence of his study.
Eremund stood before his desk, his mind racing with increasingly complex scenarios. Iron ships? Unknown technology? A foreign faction controlling Dralven? All these signs pointed to something massive unfolding, and he doubted the kingdom was ready for what lay beyond the Glynthar Mountains.
"If this is the beginning of an invasion," he murmured to himself, "then I must ensure my lands do not become the frontlines of destruction."
He called for one of his guards, instructing them to summon his advisors immediately. There was no time to waste—every step had to be planned with precision.
In the grand meeting hall of Viscount Eremund Varnell's castle, a long dark-wood table dominated the center of the room. Surrounding it were the Viscount's trusted advisors, most of them older men with stern expressions lined by years of experience. However, the most striking presence was that of a young woman seated at one end of the table: Lady Mirielle Varnell, the Viscount's daughter and the celebrated beauty of the eastern provinces.
With her jet-black hair neatly tied up and sharp eyes brimming with analysis, Mirielle commanded respect—not merely for her beauty but for her proven intellect in previous discussions and strategies. She was her father's strongest ally at this table.
Eremund stood at the head of the table, his hands pressed against its surface as he addressed the room. "As I've said, though these are only rumors, I cannot afford to dismiss them. The situation in Dralven is too strange to leave unmonitored."
One senior advisor, Baron Haldric, nodded in agreement. "Of course, my Lord. But what course of action do you propose? We lack concrete information, relying only on merchants' tales and vague reports of a red dragon in the Glynthar Mountains."
Lady Mirielle, who had been silently listening, finally spoke. Her voice was soft yet commanding. "Father is right to be cautious. Even if these are merely rumors, the fact that we lack definitive information is a threat in itself."
She turned her gaze to Baron Haldric. "And the dragon isn't the only concern here, Baron. Reports of 'iron ships' and strange devices used in Dralven are far more alarming. If a new power is indeed rising there, they may possess technology or magic we have never encountered before."
Another advisor, Sir Edric, interjected with a skeptical tone. "But Lady Mirielle, we have no proof that these reports are more than mere tales spun by merchants. Should we truly expend resources chasing shadows?"
Mirielle shifted slightly, her cold gaze locking onto Sir Edric. "Neglecting to read the situation carefully can be fatal, Sir Edric. History has taught us that great upheavals often begin as overlooked whispers in the shadows."
Eremund allowed a faint smile to cross his face, proud of his daughter's sharp reasoning. "Mirielle is right," he said, supporting her statement. "Uncertainty is our enemy. I'd rather take preventative measures now than face regret later."
Baron Haldric spoke again, this time more cautiously. "Then, my Lord, what do you propose? Should we send more spies or attempt a diplomatic approach?"
Eremund straightened, his hands still resting on the table. "For now, we'll combine both. I'll send emissaries under neutral guises to Dralven to assess the situation firsthand. They'll pose as merchants or pilgrims, gathering intelligence about who truly controls the region."
Sir Edric nodded, though doubt still lingered on his face. "And if they uncover something?"
Eremund's gaze turned sharp. "Then we'll prepare for the next step, whether it's bolstering our defenses or considering military action."
Mirielle spoke again, her tone now more strategic. "However, Father, we mustn't ignore the possibility that the region has already fallen into foreign hands. If they possess technology as the reports suggest, we'll need to find ways to counter them without provoking a large-scale conflict."
Baron Haldric furrowed his brow in thought. "Foreign powers? Are you suggesting the Northern Empire?"
Mirielle shook her head. "No, this isn't their style. The Northern Empire relies too heavily on their traditional military strength. This is more likely the work of an independent faction, perhaps one unaligned with any established kingdom. That makes them more dangerous, as we know neither their origins nor their objectives."
Eremund regarded his daughter with admiration. "You speak like a general, Mirielle."
"That's why I'm here, Father," Mirielle replied with a faint smile.
Taking a deep breath, Eremund continued. "Very well. I want this plan set into motion immediately. Haldric, you'll organize the undercover emissaries. Ensure they're individuals we can trust. Sir Edric, prepare additional troops along the Glynthar border. I don't want any surprises from Dralven."
"As you command, my Lord," they replied in unison.
Eremund turned sharply toward his daughter. "And you, Mirielle. I want you to continue analyzing this situation. If there's anything we've missed, I want to hear it from you."
Mirielle, however, shook her head firmly, her face resolute and brimming with an unyielding determination. "No, Father. Assign me to the spy team."
"WHAT?!" Eremund's eyes widened, and he nearly leapt from his seat. The other advisors in the room exchanged stunned glances.
Mirielle remained calm despite their reactions. "Father, I'm serious," she said, her voice softer but unwavering. "It's better for someone like me to go into the field and observe the situation directly. Wouldn't that allow us to make faster decisions rather than waiting for reports that might arrive too late?"
Eremund raised his hand, signaling for his advisors to leave the room. "All of you, out," he ordered in a low but commanding voice.
The advisors hesitated briefly before rising from their seats and exiting. When the grand doors closed behind them, Eremund turned to Mirielle with a piercing gaze.