The Vengeful One stood at the front of a vast assembly, her crimson cloak catching faint wisps of wind as it trailed behind her. Before her stretched the entirety of Ravenmoore's military force—thousands of soldiers, perfectly disciplined and standing in immaculate formations. The golden rays of the morning sun gleamed off their pristine armor, each piece forged to perfection by her smiths. Shields glinted like polished mirrors, swords and spears shimmered with razor edges, and bows rested against their owners' backs, their strings taut and ready.
Her crimson eyes swept across the ranks, drinking in the sight. These were no longer the ragtag remnants she had inherited upon claiming the city; these were warriors—an unstoppable force molded by her will. Her lips curled into a faint smirk, a grin that tugged at the corner of her mouth as pride surged within her.
"Look at you," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, though her voice carried just enough to be heard by the Grand Commandant Lian, who stood at her side in her polished plate. "My finest creation yet."
Lian glanced at her queen, her expression stoic but her eyes glinting with shared pride. "They are ready, my Lady. Every single one of them would lay down their life at your command."
The Vengeful One tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the front line—a mixture of seasoned veterans from the 53rd Battle Group and her 1st Dark Marine Battalion. Behind them stood the new recruits of Ravenmoore's military, their faces alight with determination and awe as they stood shoulder to shoulder with legends.
"This," she said, her voice rising, its edge sharp and commanding, "is what a military should look like. Steel and flesh bound by discipline, loyalty, and strength. No force in this dying world will stand against us."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with conviction. The soldiers in the front rows stiffened, their chests swelling with pride as they absorbed their queen's approval.
She took a step forward, her crimson eyes locking onto the face of a young recruit barely older than eighteen, his armor still bearing the faint marks of being freshly forged. His hands trembled slightly on the shaft of his spear, but his gaze didn't falter as she approached.
"What is your name, soldier?" she asked, her tone almost conversational, though it carried the weight of command.
"E-Erion, my Lady!" he replied, his voice cracking slightly before he swallowed hard, steadying himself. "Erion Kest, of the Ravenmoore 4th Division!"
Her smirk widened just a fraction as she nodded. "And what is your duty, Erion Kest?"
The young soldier hesitated for only a heartbeat before snapping to attention, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "To serve the Queen's Will!"
"And what is the Queen's Will?" she prompted, her gaze unrelenting.
"That we fight and die!" Erion shouted, his voice gaining strength with each word.
"And what is death?" she asked, her voice lowering slightly, her crimson eyes boring into his.
"It is our duty!" he bellowed, his trembling hands now steady as his voice echoed through the ranks.
The Vengeful One straightened, turning back to face the entire force. Her voice rose, carried by sheer will as she called out the creed once more, each line answered by the thunderous voices of thousands of soldiers in unison.
"What is your duty?"
"To serve the Queen's Will!"
"What is the Queen's Will?"
"That we fight and die!"
"What is death?"
"It is our duty!"
The words echoed off the stone walls of Ravenmoore, resonating like a battle cry that rippled through the city itself. Citizens lining the streets to watch the assembly looked on with awe, their faces a mixture of pride and reverence.
The Vengeful One returned to her place at the front, her smirk fading into a small, satisfied smile. "Marvelous," she murmured to herself before raising her voice one final time. "Today, you are no longer merely a military. Today, you are Ravenmoore's shield and sword! You are the force that will make the world tremble! Stand tall, my warriors, for your strength is the strength of this kingdom!"
The roar of the soldiers' cheers filled the square, a deafening sound that spoke of loyalty, pride, and unshakable determination. As she stood there, watching the force she had built from the ground up, the Vengeful One allowed herself a rare moment of satisfaction.
The Vengeful One sat upon her newly forged throne, a masterwork of dark iron and obsidian, its edges carved with intricate runes of power that glowed faintly in the dim light of her throne room. Crimson banners bearing her sigil draped the high walls, casting an imposing presence over the vast chamber. She rested her chin on her fist, her expression one of calm yet unmistakable authority as she looked over the reports scattered across the table beside her.
A sudden, booming laugh echoed through the room, resonating like thunder. The sound pulled her attention upward, her crimson eyes narrowing as a familiar golden light filled the chamber. The radiance pulsed as if it had a heartbeat, and from within stepped Kaelvar, God of War, his golden armor gleaming even in the dimly lit throne room.
"Who would have thought?" Kaelvar said, his deep voice laced with amusement as he gestured broadly. "After only a few months, you've done what most rulers could not accomplish in years. A military force revived, disciplined, and fearsome enough to make even the gods pause. Truly, you are something else, Dark Messiah."
She leaned back slightly in her throne, her crimson eyes studying him with faint amusement as she allowed herself a small smirk. "Flattery again, Kaelvar? You really should be careful. Someone might think you're developing a soft spot for me."
His booming laugh filled the room once more as he stepped closer, the light of his presence casting long shadows along the walls. "Soft spot? Hardly. Admiration, perhaps. You've earned it. Few mortals can claim to have taken my ideals and elevated them to such heights. Ravenmoore was a sleeping beast, and now, thanks to you, it roars once more."
"It's not just roaring," she corrected, leaning forward, her crimson eyes gleaming. "It's poised to strike. And when it does, the world will remember the power of Ravenmoore."
Kaelvar nodded, his golden eyes glinting with approval. "Exactly as it should be. And yet, I admit, even I didn't expect this level of progress. Not so quickly. Tell me, Dark Messiah—how does it feel to sit atop a throne with a force so mighty at your command?"
She chuckled softly, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of her throne. "It feels... fitting. But also temporary. Power is fleeting if you don't keep a firm grasp on it. My work isn't done, Kaelvar. I didn't build this force just to sit here and admire it. Ravenmoore will become the foundation of a kingdom so strong, none will dare challenge it. That's my goal."
Kaelvar grinned, his rugged features lighting up with approval. "Spoken like a true ruler. No complacency, only ambition. Good. You've learned quickly. But tell me, does this newfound might weigh on you? To hold so many lives in your hands, to command such loyalty? Do you feel it yet—the burden of leadership?"
She tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening. "Burden? Perhaps. But I don't see it that way. Their loyalty is my strength, just as my strength is theirs. We share the weight. That's why they follow me. That's why they fight for me. Because they know I'll fight for them just as fiercely."
Kaelvar's gaze softened slightly, a rare glimmer of respect crossing his features. "Well said. You've grasped something even many gods fail to understand. True leadership isn't about power—it's about trust. And you've forged that trust with iron and fire."
She rose from her throne then, stepping down from the dais to stand before him, her crimson cloak trailing behind her. "And yet, trust alone won't win battles. It's strength that will carve Ravenmoore's name into history. Strength, strategy, and unyielding resolve. And for that, Kaelvar, I'll need more than just admiration. I'll need your continued guidance."
His grin widened, his golden eyes blazing with approval. "You already have it, Dark Messiah. You've proven yourself worthy of my favor. But be warned—greatness comes with great trials. The stronger you grow, the more challenges will rise to meet you. Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"
She smirked, her confidence radiating as she crossed her arms. "Always. Let them come, Kaelvar. I've built a force that won't falter. Ravenmoore's strength is only just beginning to unfold."
Kaelvar nodded, his golden aura flaring briefly as if in response to her determination. "Then I look forward to watching your rise, Dark Messiah. Remember, the gods may guide, but it is you who must walk the path. Make your mark. Show the world what Ravenmoore is capable of."
With a final nod, he began to fade, his golden light retreating from the chamber. His booming voice lingered even as his form disappeared. "May your reign bring the world to its knees, Dark Messiah. The God of War stands with you."
As the light vanished, the Vengeful One turned back toward her throne, her smirk remaining as she settled back into her seat. "Oh, it will, Kaelvar. It will."
As the last glimmers of Kaelvar's golden light disappeared, the Vengeful One leaned back in her throne, her crimson eyes scanning the letter that had been lying forgotten on the table beside her. Her lips curled into a faint smirk as she read the first few lines, but by the time she finished, her laughter began to bubble up, soft at first, before growing louder, echoing throughout the chamber.
She tossed the letter onto the table, her head tilting back as her laughter became outright mirthful, her crimson eyes glowing faintly as if fueled by the sheer audacity of what she had just read. "Oh, Roderic, you poor fool," she muttered between chuckles, shaking her head. "You're actually planning something. How... adorable."
Her laughter tapered off, and her expression shifted, her smirk sharpening as the gears in her mind began to turn. She leaned forward, pressing a finger to the letter, tracing its edges idly as if contemplating her next move. Then, with a decisive snap of her fingers, she called out sharply, her voice cutting through the silence of the throne room.
"Guards! Summon the messengers. I have orders to send. Immediately."
Within moments, a trio of messengers entered the room, each bowing low as they awaited her commands. She rose from her throne, her crimson cloak billowing behind her as she descended the dais, her steps deliberate and commanding.
Turning to the first messenger, she spoke with clipped precision. "You will return to Celestafell. Spread the word to every sailor—every sailor—that they are to report to Ravenmoore without delay. Tell them their Queen demands their presence, and I do not tolerate tardiness."
The messenger nodded quickly, bowing once more before darting from the room.
Her attention shifted to the second messenger. "Go to the builders. Every last one of them. I want as many warships as they can construct, and I want them started yesterday. Supply them with whatever resources they need—timber, iron, gold, I don't care. Make it happen."
The second messenger bowed and hurried away, leaving her with the last one.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her tone softening but still carrying an edge of authority. "Send a message to the Grand Commander in Celestafell. I want every detail of Roderic's movements tracked, every whisper, every rumor. I don't care how insignificant it seems—I want to know what he had for breakfast if possible. Bring me his plans before he even finalizes them. Am I clear?"
The final messenger bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lady. It will be done."
As the room fell silent again, the Vengeful One allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. She turned back toward her throne, her smirk still firmly in place.
"Let's see what you're planning, Roderic," she murmured, settling back into her seat. "And let's see how quickly I can turn your schemes into your downfall."
Her laughter echoed softly once more as her mind whirled with possibilities. Roderic may have been planning something, but whatever it was, she would be ready—and she would ensure that his ambitions ended in humiliation and defeat.
The Vengeful One marched at the head of her column, her crimson cloak flowing behind her as the rhythmic clink of armor and boots echoed through the dense forest. Her Marines, their formations tight and disciplined, followed closely, their polished weapons gleaming in the midday sun that pierced through the canopy above. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the faint rustle of leaves accompanied by the occasional birdcall.
Lian rode beside her, her posture upright, ever the dutiful Grand Commandant. Behind them, the 1st Dark Marine Battalion moved with practiced precision, their steps synchronized as they navigated the winding forest paths toward Ashwynd. The journey had been smooth so far, but tension lingered in the air—whether from anticipation or the weight of their queen's silent, contemplative demeanor.
"My Lady," Lian ventured, breaking the silence. "What do you expect to find in Ashwynd? The reports from the stationed Marines there have been... minimal."
The Vengeful One's crimson eyes flicked to Lian, a faint smirk curling her lips. "Minimal can mean many things, Grand Commandant. It can mean all is well. Or it can mean they're hiding something. Either way, we'll know soon enough."
Lian nodded, though the faint crease of concern on her brow didn't fade. "And if there are... issues?"
"Then we address them," the queen said simply, her tone firm. "Ashwynd is a critical part of this kingdom's foundation. If the Marines there are faltering, I'll remind them of their purpose. If the city's civilians are struggling, we'll correct it. I won't allow any weakness to fester. Not here. Not anywhere."
The conversation fell silent again as they continued their march, the tension in the air giving way to a sense of readiness as the towering gates of Ashwynd came into view. The city's walls, sturdy and weathered, bore the scars of past battles, but they stood strong, a testament to the resilience of its people.
As they approached the gates, a group of Marines stationed atop the walls called out, their voices carrying over the distance. "The Queen approaches! Open the gates!"
The massive wooden gates creaked open, revealing the bustling city within. Ashwynd was a stark contrast to the wilderness they had traveled through. Its streets were lined with modest stone buildings, and the hum of activity filled the air as citizens moved about their daily routines. Despite the city's strength, there was an undercurrent of unease, subtle but present, visible in the cautious glances directed at the Marines.
The Vengeful One stepped into the city, her presence commanding immediate attention. Civilians paused in their tracks, some bowing their heads in reverence while others watched her warily. The stationed Marines, clad in their uniforms and armor, snapped to attention as she passed, their salutes sharp and precise.
She turned her gaze to one of the senior officers stationed near the gate, her voice carrying a weight of authority. "Report. How fares Ashwynd?"
The officer, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and saluted. "My Lady, Ashwynd holds steady. The citizens have adjusted well to the changes under Marine protection, and the fortifications remain secure. However, there have been... murmurs of dissent among some of the populace. Minor grumblings, nothing more."
Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly, her smirk fading into a thoughtful expression. "Murmurs can grow into roars if left unchecked. Have these concerns been addressed?"
The officer hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before he answered. "Not directly, my Lady. We've been focused on maintaining order and ensuring the defenses are optimal."
"Hmm," she murmured, her gaze sweeping over the city's streets and the faces of its people. "Lian, organize a detachment. I want the Marines here to connect with the people. If there are concerns, they will be heard. We are not conquerors here—we are protectors. Let's remind them of that."
Lian nodded sharply. "At once, my Lady. I'll see to it personally."
The Vengeful One's gaze returned to the officer. "And you, ensure your men and women are prepared for inspection. I'll be visiting the barracks shortly. I expect nothing less than excellence. Am I understood?"
The officer saluted again, his voice firm. "Yes, my Lady. We'll be ready."
As she moved deeper into the city, her Marines following in perfect formation, she allowed herself a faint smile.
The Vengeful One strolled through the streets of Ashwynd, her crimson cloak trailing behind her as she observed the daily lives of her citizens. Her crimson eyes flicked between the bustling market stalls and the occasional Marine standing guard, their presence a steady reminder of her rule. As she walked, her gaze landed on a young couple seated at a small table under a faded umbrella, their hands nervously entwined.
Their quiet conversation stopped as she approached, her armored boots clicking against the cobblestones. They hadn't noticed her at first, and the sudden realization of her presence made them jump. The man nearly spilled his drink, while the woman stiffened, her eyes wide as if caught doing something forbidden.
"Relax," the Vengeful One said, her tone firm but not unkind. She gestured with a gloved hand toward their untouched plates. "I'm not here to ruin your meal. I just want to ask you something."
The couple exchanged a nervous glance, unsure whether to speak.
"Well? Spit it out," she said with a small wave of her hand, her patience thinning at their hesitation. "If you could change anything in this city to make it better, what would it be? And don't tell me it's perfect—I've walked these streets. I know better."
The woman swallowed hard, glancing at the man before finally speaking, her voice trembling slightly. "M-my Lady, it's not that the city isn't safe or... or anything like that. But... we don't have clean public wells anymore. Not since the last collapse in the eastern district. People have to walk all the way across the city just to fetch water. It's... hard. Especially for families with small children."
The Vengeful One's brow arched slightly, the admission catching her off guard. She turned her gaze to the man, who hesitated but, under her expectant stare, finally added, "And... I know it might not seem important, but there's nowhere for us to take care of basic hygiene. Bathhouses are either too expensive or closed down. It's... embarrassing to admit, but a lot of people are struggling with keeping clean."
The Vengeful One blinked, momentarily silent as she processed their words. Of all the problems they could have brought up, these were not ones she had considered. Her initial instinct had been to dismiss them, but as she thought further, the implications began to settle in.
No clean public wells. Limited access to hygiene. These weren't trivial complaints—they were foundational issues that could undermine a city's stability if left unchecked. Disease, unrest, and dissatisfaction could all stem from such problems. Her surprise gave way to a small nod as she straightened up.
"Interesting," she said finally, her voice calm but contemplative. "I didn't expect such... practical concerns. But you're right. Water and hygiene are vital. Tell me, have these issues been brought up before?"
The woman nodded hesitantly. "Yes, my Lady, but... nothing's been done about it. People say the Marines are focused on bigger problems."
Her crimson eyes darkened slightly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "Well, those 'bigger problems' will have to wait. What you've shared with me is a real issue—and it will be solved. I'll see to it personally."
The couple exchanged stunned looks, clearly not expecting their concerns to be taken so seriously. "Th-thank you, my Lady," the man stammered, bowing his head.
The Vengeful One waved them off, already turning to leave. "Save your thanks. You'll see the results soon enough. Enjoy your date."
As she walked away, her thoughts churned. Clean water. Accessible hygiene. It was humbling in a way, realizing how such basic needs had been overlooked. But now that it was on her radar, she would ensure it was addressed—and not just for Ashwynd, but for every city under her reign.
"Great Sage," she murmured under her breath as she continued down the street, her tone sharp. "Start drafting plans for new wells and public bathhouses. This oversight won't stand."
The Vengeful One leaned against the edge of a stone fountain in the city square, her crimson cloak draped over one shoulder as her sharp eyes scanned the bustling streets of Ashwynd. Her left hand rested idly on her hip, but her right index fingernail was caught between her teeth, a rare show of contemplation as she mulled over the situation. Her mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, each vying for dominance.
Clean water. Hygiene. Basic necessities.
The words of the young couple echoed in her head, growing louder the longer she dwelled on them. She tapped her foot against the cobblestones, the steady rhythm doing little to alleviate her frustration.
"The Marines," she murmured under her breath, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "They're supposed to protect and maintain order. To enforce my will. How did they let something so fundamental slip through the cracks?"
But even as she thought it, the answer came to her unbidden. Because you never told them otherwise. She straightened up, her hand dropping from her mouth as she frowned, the realization cutting deeper than she cared to admit.
"It's not their fault," she muttered, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "I gave them one task—to fortify the city, secure it, and hold it at all costs. To them, that was the priority. And they did it. No matter how I slice it, this failure is mine."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she tilted her head back, crimson eyes tracing the sky. The faint whispers of guilt tried to take root, but she quashed them with a sharp exhale. Guilt wasn't productive. Action was.
"Great Sage," she said aloud, her voice cutting through the quiet of her thoughts.
The familiar, calming presence of Great Sage manifested in the corner of her vision. "Yes, my Lady?"
"Forget your plans for new wells and bathhouses. They're inadequate, short-term solutions at best. I want plumbing, Sage. Full-scale infrastructure. Running water in every home. Not just here—every city under my rule."
The silent pause that followed was only long enough for her to imagine Sage calculating the scope of the task. Then, its voice returned, even and measured as always. "Drafting plans for comprehensive plumbing systems for all cities in your domain. This will require a significant investment of resources, workforce, and time. Are you certain this is the route you wish to take?"
She nodded firmly, her crimson eyes glowing faintly. "Absolutely. I don't want to patch holes in a sinking ship—I want to rebuild the damn thing. This isn't just about fixing a problem, Sage. It's about showing the people that their queen values their lives, their comfort, and their dignity."
"Understood, my Lady. Drafting plans accordingly. May I suggest prioritizing Ashwynd as a proof-of-concept location?"
A small smirk tugged at her lips. "Of course, Sage. Let's make Ashwynd the model city. The people here deserve it after what they've endured. Once we've perfected it, we'll implement it everywhere else. Celestafell, Brightshade, Silvercrag, Ravenmoore, Ebonridge—all of them."
"Very well. Allocating resources and generating schedules for implementation. Estimated time to begin and finish construction in Ashwynd: two weeks. Completion for all cities: within two years."
She nodded, satisfied. "Good. Two years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Make it happen. And Sage—spare no expense. I want this to be flawless."
"As you command, my Lady."
The Vengeful One exhaled slowly, her hand dropping to her side as she straightened her posture. The frustration that had plagued her moments ago began to ease, replaced by a sense of determination. This was a mistake she wouldn't repeat—and when the people of her cities saw the changes she was bringing, they would know without a doubt that their queen was one who delivered not just strength, but prosperity.