The grand throne room of the Eastern Imperial Palace, usually a place of vibrant pride and terrifying power, felt like a massive tomb.
Emperor Kaelus sat on his golden throne, his face as pale as marble. In his trembling hands, he held the glowing, magically bound parchment that Admiral Kaelen had just delivered.
Below the steps of the throne, Kaelen lay flat on his stomach, his extravagant silk robes stained with salt water, soot, and blood. He had crossed the Crimson Sea on a small, battered fishing sloop, carrying nothing but the horrific news of their absolute defeat and this single piece of paper.
"Four hundred ships... vaporized," the Emperor whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Six hundred galleons, the very pride of our naval supremacy, captured without a single sword crossing. And you tell me they did it with flying beasts and rocks?"
