The grand strategy room of the Royal Palace had seen its fair share of desperate meetings, but the gathering Alvian assembled over the next two hours was entirely unprecedented. The pristine white coral walls were lined with the highest-ranking survivors of two completely different realities.
On one side of the massive holographic table stood the remnants of the Council of Tides: Master Magnus, looking like a living mountain of scarred grey stone; Lady Ola, the Guardian of Chains, her seaweed-like hair drifting in the localized anti-gravity field; and Sarkos, the Hammerhead King, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
On the other side, huddled together in an uncomfortable cluster of terrestrial uniforms and tactical gear, were the human leaders. General Winters stood at the front, flanked by a nervous-looking Prime Minister and a handful of high-level guild leaders who had managed to survive the Syndicate's initial purge.
