The throne room was eerily quiet, save for the faint scratching of a quill as The Vengeful One made notes on the crumbling state of Brightshade. The dim light from the high windows cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the weight of her thoughts. Her crimson eyes scanned the parchment before her, but her focus was fractured.
The familiar hum of Great Sage buzzed softly in her mind, its calm, measured voice breaking the silence.
"My Lady, the process of rebuilding Brightshade requires strategic prioritization. Shall I present options for consideration?"
She leaned back in her throne, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. "As if I'd stop you. Speak. Let's hear your infallible wisdom."
"The primary concern should be the city's defenses. Brightshade, unlike Celestafell, lacks a cohesive military infrastructure. Its existing guard is fragmented and poorly equipped. Strengthening the city's military presence would provide immediate stability and deter external threats."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she considered this. "You suggest turning a broken city into a fortress? Interesting. But would that not alienate the people further? They already cower like cornered rats whenever I pass. Do you think they'd embrace my rule with soldiers on every corner?"
"The reaction of the populace is secondary. Without a strong defensive presence, Brightshade is vulnerable to bandits, raiders, and other opportunists. Fear is a temporary consequence; stability is a lasting solution."
She tapped her fingers against the armrest of her throne, her gaze distant as she mulled over Great Sage's reasoning. "Fair point. And I suppose arming the city would also send a message to neighboring territories—Rodric especially—that I'm not content to let this place rot."
"Precisely, my Lady. A militarized Brightshade not only secures the city but strengthens your position as a ruler. It demonstrates your ability to transform even the most decrepit of territories into strongholds of power."
Her smirk deepened, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "You're playing to my ego now, Sage. Dangerous territory. But fine. Let's say I agree with this course of action. Where do we start? Building an army isn't as simple as snapping my fingers."
"Brightshade's population includes individuals with military potential. Additionally, the resources available here, while diminished, can be leveraged to produce weapons and armor. The old smithies, for example, could be restored and repurposed."
She raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. "And what of the people? They barely trust me as it is. How do you propose I convince them to enlist? Threats? Promises? Or should I simply take the choice away from them?"
"Compulsion would yield immediate results but could foster resentment. A recruitment campaign offering incentives—such as food, shelter, and payment—would likely be more effective. Establishing a sense of purpose and unity among the populace could also improve morale."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "Purpose and unity. You make it sound so noble, Sage. What you really mean is I need to make them think it's their idea. Clever manipulation wrapped in false hope. I like it."
"Your interpretation is accurate, my Lady. The appearance of autonomy often encourages compliance."
Her grin faded slightly as her tone grew more serious. "And the timeline? How long before Brightshade could field a proper force capable of defending itself?"
"With efficient resource allocation and effective leadership, a functioning militia could be established within two months. However, training a disciplined army will require significantly more time. Temporary measures, such as fortifying key points in the city, would mitigate immediate threats."
She sighed, her fingers drumming against the armrest. "Two months to build a militia. Longer for an actual army. Meanwhile, I'll need to keep the city from falling apart and deal with whatever nonsense Rodric throws my way. Lovely. Anything else?"
"Yes, my Lady. Brightshade's current layout is poorly suited for defense. Expanding the city's walls and creating choke points would enhance its security. Additionally, establishing watchtowers at strategic locations would provide early warning against potential attacks."
She arched a brow, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "You really do think of everything, don't you? Fine, Sage. We'll begin with the military. Draft a list of resources we'll need to get started—smithies, personnel, materials. I want it by the end of the day."
"Understood, my Lady. Shall I prepare recommendations for potential commanders within the city?"
She nodded slowly. "Do that. But make it clear—I don't want anyone leading my forces who doesn't know what it means to bleed for their cause. This isn't Celestafell. Brightshade needs strength, not softness."
"Noted, my Lady. I will compile the necessary information. Would you like me to prepare a speech to motivate the populace?"
She chuckled darkly, her crimson eyes glinting with mischief. "No need, Sage. I know exactly what to say. These people will either rise with me or crumble beneath me. Either way, Brightshade will stand."
The grand hall of the throne room was filled with a tense quiet, interrupted only by the faint sound of rustling parchment and the deliberate tap of The Vengeful One's armored fingers against the armrest of her throne. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly as she stared down at a map spread across a stone table before her, the names of her conquered cities etched into its surface. Brightshade lay at the center, the focal point of her current attention, but her thoughts extended far beyond its crumbling walls.
She rose gracefully from her throne, her black cloak billowing faintly as she moved toward the map. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned her Grand Chamberlain, a wiry, efficient man named Jareth, who entered with a deep bow.
"My Lady, your will?" he asked, his voice steady despite the weight of her presence.
She gestured sharply toward the map. "Summon the fastest runners in the castle. I have orders for every city under my rule. They are to mimic Brightshade's approach—immediate militarization. Walls fortified, guard forces expanded, and recruitment efforts initiated. I want smithies operational and every able-bodied individual prepared to defend what is now mine."
Jareth bowed again, his voice calm and obedient. "As you command, my Lady. The runners will be summoned at once." He turned sharply, his boots clicking against the stone as he exited the hall.
Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the throne room as a small group of runners entered, each dressed in light armor suitable for rapid travel. They lined up before her, bowing deeply as she approached, her crimson eyes scanning each of them with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines.
"You've been summoned because I require efficiency, loyalty, and speed," she began, her voice cold and commanding. "You will carry my words to every city that bows under my banner. Failure is not an option. Am I understood?"
"Yes, my Lady!" they responded in unison, their voices firm despite the weight of her gaze.
She turned back to the map, pointing to each city in turn as she spoke. "To Ravenmoore, Silvercrag, and Ashwynd, as well as the capital city of Ebonridge—my orders are the same. They will fortify their defenses immediately. Their smithies will begin producing weapons and armor at full capacity. Recruitment efforts must prioritize strength and discipline, but desperation is no excuse for delay. These cities will become bastions of power, not crumbling relics of failure."
One of the runners, a young woman with a determined expression, stepped forward hesitantly. "My Lady, if I may… should the cities resist these orders? Some of the populations have been… reluctant to embrace your rule."
The Vengeful One turned her piercing gaze on the runner, her crimson eyes narrowing. "If they resist, remind them what happens to those who defy me. My will is not a suggestion; it is law. Should any city falter, they will answer to me personally. I trust you all to ensure that message is delivered clearly."
The runner nodded quickly, her face pale but resolute. "Understood, my Lady. It will be done."
Satisfied, The Vengeful One turned back to the group, her tone softening slightly but remaining firm. "You will rest briefly, replenish yourselves, and set out within the hour. Each of you will carry the weight of my will. Do not disappoint me."
The runners bowed deeply once more. "Yes, my Lady!"
As they left to prepare, Great Sage chimed softly in her mind, its calm voice cutting through the quiet.
"Your decisiveness ensures swift action, my Lady. However, some resistance may still arise in the outlying regions. Shall I prepare contingency plans?"
She smirked faintly, her crimson eyes glinting as she returned to her throne. "Contingency plans? No, Sage. Any resistance will be met with overwhelming force. Let the message be clear—this is not a negotiation. Brightshade will not stand alone. My empire grows stronger with every passing day. They'll either learn to embrace it… or crumble beneath it."
Settling back into her seat, she rested her chin on her fist, watching as the runners left the throne room to carry her orders. The foundation of her dominion was being laid, brick by brick, city by city—and nothing would stop it.
The throne room was cloaked in an oppressive silence as The Vengeful One sat on her blackened throne, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the cold armrest. The dim light filtering through the stained-glass windows created eerie patterns on the floor, highlighting her commanding presence. Before her stood Master Architect Renfeld, a middle-aged craftsman with a wiry frame, his hands calloused from years of work rebuilding and restoring structures across her domain.
Renfeld bowed deeply, his voice steady but uncertain. "My Lady, you summoned me?"
She inclined her head slightly, her crimson eyes fixing on him with an intensity that made him shift nervously. "Yes, Renfeld. Brightshade's spiritual neglect is as much a blight on this city as its crumbling walls. You will begin immediate restoration of every church within my domain. No exceptions."
Renfeld blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. "Every church, my Lady? Including the temples of the lesser gods? Surely, we should prioritize the restoration of the great cathedral dedicated to the true Goddess, Celestia, before diverting resources to—"
His words froze in his throat as her aura darkened, the oppressive weight of it bearing down on him like a suffocating fog. Her crimson eyes burned with a cold fury as she leaned forward, her tone dropping to a dangerous whisper that cut through the air like a blade.
"Celestia is no greater than any other deity, Renfeld. Nor is she lesser. All the Gods and Goddesses are equals, their power a reflection of one another. The moment you speak of superiority is the moment you insult not only them but me, for my powers are their gifts, intertwined and indivisible."
The dark aura intensified, and Renfeld's knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, trembling as the weight of her words and presence pressed him lower. His hands splayed against the cold stone floor as he dared not meet her gaze.
"My Lady, I… I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't mean to show disrespect?" she interrupted, her voice like a sharp edge, her lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Disrespect is what you've done, intentional or not. And I will tolerate none of it. Celestia, Elyndra, and Tharion, God of Justice—they all hold sway over this world. Their names will be honored equally, and their temples restored with the same care. Do you understand me, Renfeld?"
Renfeld swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he replied, "Yes, my Lady. I understand."
"Good. Because you will ensure this task is done to my exact specifications. Every church and temple will be restored, and they will stand as testaments to this city's rebirth. Any failure on your part will be seen as a failure to honor the Gods themselves. Are we clear?"
"Crystal clear, my Lady," he stammered, his forehead nearly touching the ground in his bow.
The oppressive weight of her aura eased slightly as she leaned back into her throne, her crimson eyes watching him with cold calculation. "Rise, Renfeld. You have much work to do. And remember this—respect is not optional in my domain. It is mandatory. For the Gods. For me. For this city. Now, go. Begin at once."
Renfeld scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply before retreating from the room. His movements were hurried, his face pale as he disappeared beyond the heavy doors.
Great Sage's calm voice resonated in her mind as the doors closed. "Your display has ensured compliance. Restoration efforts will proceed without delay."
She smirked faintly, her crimson eyes glinting as she glanced toward the faint light streaming through the windows. "Good. Let them see that faith is not to be wielded as a weapon of division. Brightshade will honor them all, or it will honor none."
The sun cast a golden glow over the newly established garrison in Brightshade, its warmth reflecting off the polished armor of the soldiers training within the grounds. The rhythmic clanging of weapons, the sharp commands of instructors, and the thud of boots striking the dirt created a symphony of discipline and progress. The Vengeful One walked amongst the ranks, her black cloak billowing softly in the breeze, her onyx horns glinting faintly in the light.
Her crimson eyes swept over her troops, watching as they sparred, marched, and honed their skills with increasing precision. Despite her dark and imposing appearance, the soldiers had grown accustomed to her presence. Instead of the fearful silence that once followed her, now there were waves, salutes, and even cheerful calls of greeting.
"Good day, my Lady!" a young Marine called out as she passed, his face flushed from exertion but bright with pride.
"Good day, Corporal," she replied with a slight nod, her voice calm but carrying an air of regal authority.
Another soldier, an older recruit in the infantry, straightened as she approached, his hand snapping to his chest in a crisp salute. "My Lady, the new recruits are shaping up nicely. A fine batch this time."
"I expect no less, Sergeant," she said with the faintest of smiles, her gaze flicking briefly to the sparring ring where two fresh recruits squared off under the watchful eye of an instructor. "Keep them sharp. Brightshade will need its strength soon enough."
"Yes, my Lady," the sergeant replied, his chest puffing slightly with pride as she moved on.
Finally, her eyes settled on a familiar figure standing near a group of training Marines. Grand Commandant Lian, clad in her dark Marine regalia, barked instructions to a small group of new recruits, her voice sharp and commanding. When she noticed her queen approaching, she snapped to attention, her expression softening into something more respectful but still tinged with pride.
"My Lady," Lian greeted, bowing her head slightly. "It's good to see you here. To what do I owe the honor?"
The Vengeful One gestured to the bustling training grounds around them. "I came to see the progress. The troops look strong—disciplined. It pleases me to see them growing into the warriors I envisioned. But tell me, Lian, how goes the recruitment effort? Are we finding what we need?"
Lian relaxed slightly, her tone turning thoughtful as she answered. "We've seen an influx of volunteers recently, my Lady. Some from Brightshade, but many from surrounding villages and towns. The promise of protection and purpose under your rule has drawn them in. That said… we've also had to turn some away. Not everyone is fit to serve."
The Vengeful One arched a brow, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "How many?"
Lian hesitated for a moment before answering. "Roughly one in four, my Lady. Most of those turned away lack the physical ability or the discipline to meet our standards. We've redirected some to labor positions—builders, blacksmith apprentices, and the like—but others… they've been less receptive."
The Vengeful One tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "And how are they handling their rejection? Complaints? Rumors of dissent?"
Lian shook her head firmly. "Nothing of note, my Lady. Those we've redirected to labor roles seem grateful enough for the chance to contribute. As for the others, they've been warned about what happens to those who sow discord under your rule. I doubt we'll hear much from them again."
A low chuckle escaped The Vengeful One's lips, her tone both amused and approving. "Good. Let them see that every role in this city is vital, whether they wield a blade or a hammer. And for those who cannot accept that… well, you know how to handle them."
Lian nodded, her expression resolute. "Yes, my Lady. I'll ensure the recruits and the redirected laborers understand their place. Brightshade's strength will not falter."
The Vengeful One rested a hand briefly on Lian's shoulder, her touch light but carrying a weight of trust. "You've done well, Grand Commandant. Continue shaping them into the force this city needs. I expect nothing but excellence from you and your Marines."
"Of course, my Lady. You have my word," Lian replied, her voice steady with conviction.
With that, The Vengeful One stepped back, her gaze once again sweeping over the training grounds. The sounds of drills and sparring filled the air as her troops pushed themselves harder, spurred on by the presence of their queen. A faint smile graced her lips as she turned to leave, satisfied with what she had seen.
The dim glow of candlelight flickered over the parchment as The Vengeful One sat at her desk in the private study of Brightshade's keep. The air was quiet, save for the faint scratching of her quill against paper and the occasional rustle of the missive she'd received earlier that evening. She glanced over it once more, her crimson eyes softening slightly as she read the words scrawled in Lucien's familiar hand:
My Dearest,
It feels like an eternity since I last saw you. How are you, my queen? I trust that Brightshade is coming along under your unparalleled guidance, but I admit, selfishly, that I miss you terribly. The castle feels emptier in your absence, and though the city thrives, it cannot replace the warmth of your presence.
I await the day when you will return, so I may once again bask in your radiance. Until then, know that my thoughts are with you always, and my love for you remains steadfast and true.
Yours eternally,
Lucien
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it carried the weight of her usual dark amusement. Setting the letter aside, she dipped her quill into the ink and began her reply, her elegant handwriting flowing smoothly across the page.
Lucien,
Your words reach me here in Brightshade, and I must confess, they bring a measure of warmth even to one such as myself. I appreciate your inquiry into my well-being, though you know as well as I do that I endure far beyond what this world might throw at me. Brightshade is progressing as I envisioned, its people slowly finding their place under my rule. The city may have been broken, but it will rise again—stronger, sharper, and utterly unyielding. Much like myself.
Still, I must admit, it is strange not having you by my side. I had grown used to our evenings, your infuriating jabs and endearing smiles. Your absence, though brief, is felt even amongst my constant duties. Perhaps this is what they call longing, though I would never say such a thing aloud. Imagine the chaos if word spread that I, The Vengeful One, missed someone.
You say you await my return, but you know as well as I do that this work must be completed first. Brightshade requires my presence, my attention, and my resolve. But rest assured, when I return, I will do so knowing that this city is a testament to my will and a gift to you—proof that even the broken can become unbreakable.
Until then, keep Celestafell strong in my absence. Ensure its people continue to thrive, and above all, do not grow complacent. You may be my love, but you are still bound by duty. I expect nothing less than perfection from you.
With all the dark devotion you've come to expect,
Yours eternally,
The Vengeful One
She set down the quill, allowing the ink to dry as she read over her words. The faintest of smiles graced her lips, though it quickly vanished as she folded the letter and sealed it with her mark—a coiled serpent encircling a crimson flame.
"Great Sage," she murmured aloud, her voice cutting through the silence of the room.
"Yes, my Lady?" came the calm, familiar response.
"Ensure this letter reaches him promptly. I'll not have him wondering whether he holds my favor."
"Understood, my Lady. It shall be delivered without delay."
Satisfied, she placed the letter aside, her thoughts briefly lingering on Lucien's words before she returned her attention to the myriad tasks awaiting her.