Wishe forest
Deep within the crimson heart of the autumn forest, on the borders of the Jarl of Wishe's domain, a council of grave importance was gathering. Eight months had passed since Oberon vanished. As expected, his absence hung over the town like a suffocating shroud, flattening the spirit of everyone who knew the young master was missing.
Viska felt the weight of it more than anyone. Restlessness had become her shadow. She tried her best to stifle her panic, clinging to the fragile comfort that her son was supposed to be safe under the protection of the Lunarians.
"The least he could do is send a letter," Viska muttered into the crisp autumn air. "I swear, I will punish him myself the moment he returns."
"My lady," Aelena murmured, riding tightly beside her. She could see the exhausting toll the last few months had taken on her mistress. Everyone knew why Viska's posture was so rigid.
"Yes, we are here," Viska said, her eyes tracking the gathered adjutants of the Wishe forest. Her husband had summoned them all. "It seems war is finally unavoidable."
As they dismounted and headed toward the meeting hall just a short distance from the Jarl's homestead, the ambient noise changed. Entering the room, Viska was met with the anxious, confused murmurs of her captains.
She walked straight past them toward her husband, Levos, who stood at the head of the long wooden table. He sensed her approach before she even reached him. Viska stepped into his space, offering a gentle embrace and a fleeting, soft kiss.
"Welcome back, Viska," Levos whispered, his smile offering a brief oasis of warmth.
Viska replied with a tight, affirming nod and took her seat at his right hand. The moment her chair slid into place, the room's nervous murmuring died instantly. A heavy, deadly silence enveloped the hall.
"War is coming," Levos began. His voice was steady, his expression wearing the unshakeable charisma of a true leader. "The King has issued his mandate; we, his subjects, must prepare. We will increase our weapon production and intensify our training. With the Empire's involvement, this war will not be fought by traditional means. We must expect magic weaponry. Furthermore, I have received troubling rumors regarding the Dwarves."
Levos shifted his gaze down the table toward one of his scouts.
A blonde-haired man stood up immediately. "My scouts intercepted intelligence from an unknown source. The Dwarves mean to stretch our troops thin by feigning an alliance, but their true motives are treacherous. My source provided... substantial evidence."
The room erupted into low, tense whispers.
"This source," a captain called out, "there must be a formidable reason my lord could trust them blindly?"
The elven scout hesitated, but when his eyes met the steady gaze of his Jarl, he spoke clearly: "An earth spirit manifested from the soil to deliver the warning."
Levos's eyebrow twitched. "I see. So they came to you, too. They have been appearing frequently of late, though they usually refuse to make contact. Now, they speak. It seems we have an unknown benefactor."
"Could they be sent by the Lunarians, my lord?" another asked. It was a natural assumption; spirits were deeply tied to the Lunarian people.
But Levos shook his head. "It is not the Lunarians. I have already confirmed as much with the King and the other Jarls. Our benefactor operates from the outside. The fact that they are stepping into the light means they know the enemy is closing in, and they wish to prevent us from thinning our resources."
A chorus of grim, understanding nods rippled through the room.
"Now," Levos turned his attention to his wife. "Viska, what is the status of the Fultone border?"
Viska stood up, her throat tight. "I do not know whether to feel relief or despair. There is a literal sea of refugees fleeing across the line." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat before continuing. "In truth, we no longer need to fear an invasion from Fultone. Their army is completely scattered, their power has collapsed, and the land itself has been utterly abandoned to rampaging monsters and lawless bandits. It has truly become the Abandoned Land."
"Thank you, Viska," Levos said softly.
Viska sank back into her seat, her expression heavy with grief for the neighboring kingdom.
"Then that is all for now," Levos addressed the room, his voice ringing with authority. "Make haste, and prepare everything."
"As you command!" the council chorused in unison. They stood, bowed deeply, and filed out of the room, leaving only Levos and Viska in the quiet hall.
The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut, Viska's stoic facade dropped. "How is our son?"
"He is training under the direct guidance of the Lunarians," Levos replied, stepping closer to her. "For how long, I cannot say. But Lady Sindarin has personally guaranteed his safety."
Viska didn't answer. She merely stared down at the table, her eyes hollow. Seeing her worries, Levos sighed, well aware of how fiercely she loved their boy.
"Oberon is fated to be the greatest among us, Viska. The world has been fracturing ever since the awakening of the One-eyed Black Dragon. Our son knows what is coming."
"Still..." Viska's voice cracked, barely a whisper. "He is still just a boy."
"Do you truly believe that?" Levos asked gently.
Viska's grip tightened on the edge of the table, but she remained silent. She knew her husband was right.
Levos walked behind her, placing his hands firmly yet tenderly on her shoulders. "Now, I think we finally understand how King Larval felt when his only daughter left his side," he said, offering a small, sad chuckle to break the tension. "All we can do now is trust our son, and fight with everything we have to protect our home so our son can still have homeland to comeback."
Viska pictured the Fultone refugees—starving, broken, wandering endlessly with no land to call their own. A spark of fierce resolve ignited in her chest.
She lifted her chin, reaching up to place her hand over her husband's. "I understand," she said, her voice ringing with newfound vigor.
Levos smiled, leaning down. "Good."
====x====
Orario
The heavy clatter of iron-shod hooves echoed against the cobblestones at the main gate of Orario.
Surrounded by an escort of soldiers clad in dark, oppressive armor, a single reinforced carriage rolled into the labyrinthine city. Fluttering above the vanguard was the crimson banner of the Ares Familia—a sight that immediately sent a cold ripple through the gathering crowd.
Although the gate guards were mostly drawn from the Phobos Familia, Ares hadn't even bothered to send his own divine children to escort them. To him, this was merely routine.
Inside the dim, velvet-lined carriage, the dark curtains swayed lightly with the motion.
"My lady... we have arrived," whispered a girl sitting opposite the velvet bench. She had long, raven-dark hair and sharp, vigilant eyes that never stopped monitoring her surroundings.
On the seat across from her, the goddess Phobos slowly stirred from a light, troubled sleep. She let out a weary sigh, stretching her delicate, frail frame before pulling back a corner of the heavy window curtain. Outside, unfamiliar limestone architecture towered over them, mixed with guards wearing the familiar crest of the city's peacekeepers.
"Ganesha's children..." Phobos murmured, her faint voice laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of dread. "So... we're finally here."
"Where to now, Phobos-sama?" Karen asked softly.
Phobos looked out at the sky as the golden orange of dusk began to bleed into dark purple. "To a manor near the city center. We need rest, Karen."
"Understood."
There was no rush. They had been granted a few weeks in the city—time Ares considered a minor distraction while he finalized his war preparations back home. So long as Phobos's children kept the furnaces burning and the weapons flowing from the smoldering armories of Rakia, the God of War cared little for what his fellow deity did in her spare time.
Outside, the mood among the onlookers turned sour. The sight of the Ares crest sparked instant hostility, particularly among the elves who already heard the rumor of incoming war with Rakia.
"That bastard..." an elf adventurer spat, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his rapier as he glared at the passing dark armor "What are his bloodthirsty children doing in Orario?"
"If it weren't for the Captain's strict orders," another elf hissed through gritted teeth, "I'd burn that carriage to ashes right where it stands!"
The suffocating tension rippled through the square. Standing on a terrace elevated slightly above the main thoroughfare, a goddess with fiery red hair and a dark leather eye-patch kept her single, sharp gaze locked on the passing carriage.
"Hephaestus-sama," whispered Tsubaki, her tall, tanned frame draped in Far Eastern garments, her hand resting casually on the massive sheath at her hip. "Should we approach them?"
"Not openly," Hephaestus replied, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low tone. "I just want to know what that muscle-brained idiot is up to this time."
Tsubaki caught the sharp edge of disdain laced in her deity's words. She knew of Hephaestus's past ties to the Kingdom of Rakia, and though the forge-goddess rarely spoke of it, the cold irritation flashing in her eye was all the confirmation Tsubaki needed.
"Phobos must have a damn good reason to come here in person," Hephaestus muttered, turning her back on the street and heading back toward her workshop. "Keep an eye on them from a distance."
The Rakia convoy moved directly toward a high-end estate situated just off the main avenue. Though far removed from the shadowed footprint of the Tower of Babel, the manor sat within visual range of both the Guild Headquarters and the Ganesha Familia barracks—a strategic placement designed to both honor important guests and keep them under constant surveillance.
Karen stepped out of the carriage first, her body tensed, eyes scanning every rooftop before she offered a hand to her goddess.
As Phobos stepped onto the cobblestones, her breath caught. To her left, stretching infinitely into the darkening sky, was the breathtaking pillar of Babel, piercing through the clouds like a spear of white stone.
"I AM GANESHAAAAAA!"
A booming, theatrical shout shattered the evening air, instantly breaking Phobos from her trance.
Standing at the gates of the estate was a towering, muscular god wearing an elaborate elephant mask that covered the upper half of his face. He stood in a grand pose, hands resting on his hips, a broad grin visible beneath the trunk.
"Welcome, visitors, to the center of the world!" Ganesha bellowed joyfully.
The absurdly cheerful outburst instantly diffused the oppressive tension hanging over the Rakia guards, leaving several of them blinking in utter confusion.
"Thank you, Lord Ganesha, for receiving us," Phobos said, bowing her head slightly.
"Gahaha! Think nothing of it, guest from Rakia!" Ganesha laughed, though his sharp eyes behind the mask flicked toward a stern-looking woman standing just behind him.
She wore the sharp, tailored uniform of the Guild. Phobos didn't need to be told—this was the official tasked with probing her for the true motive behind her sudden journey.
No time to rest after all, Phobos thought with a tired inner sigh.
"Lady Phobos," the female Guild official said crisply, gesturing toward the main doors. "If you would follow us inside, a private room has been prepared so we may begin our discussions."
Phobos gave a single, resigned nod.
The estate stood three stories high, surrounded by manicured grounds and enclosed by a seven-meter-tall gate made of cold, reinforced steel. The security alone made it clear: this sanctuary was reserved exclusively for foreign dignitaries or those with staggering wealth and high-level security clearance.
As they stepped through the threshold, Karen's white-knuckled grip on her posture relaxed just a fraction. The interior was magnificent—adorned with delicate tapestries, pristine marble, and polished mahogany furniture that radiated understated power.
The Guild representative led them down a quiet corridor on the ground floor, stopping before a set of heavy double doors at the northern wing. Ganesha pushed the doors open first, stepping aside to let Phobos and Karen enter.
Phobos stepped through the threshold—and froze.
Sitting quietly at a long mahogany tea table, illuminated by the dim firelight of the hearth, was a figure who should not have been there.
"Riveria..." Phobos breathed, her eyes widening.
Jade-green hair fell over noble shoulders, framing a countenance of breathtaking, immortal beauty. The High Elf Princess of the Elven Kingdom—and the Nine Hell of the Loki Familia—looked up, her pale eyes locking onto the goddess.
"Welcome, Goddess Phobos," Riveria spoke, her voice smooth, flat, and chillingly composed. She bowed her head with cold perfection. "Apologies for my unscheduled intrusion."
In a flash of instinct, Karen's hand snapped toward the hilt of her sword.
"Stop it, Karen," Phobos commanded instantly.
Karen hesitated, her pulse racing, but slowly drew her hand back from her weapon. She remained glued to Phobos's flank, every nerve in her body wired for a fight.
"Please, sit," Riveria said softly, gesturing with a delicate hand toward the chair directly opposite her.
Ganesha remained standing near the closed door, his usual bombastic demeanor completely gone, replaced by a quiet, watchful authority.
Phobos took her seat, while Karen stood like a stone guard behind her chair.
"Riveria," Ganesha spoke up, his deep voice unusually solemn. "I have granted your request as promised. I expect you to uphold your end of our arrangement."
"You have my gratitude, Lord Ganesha," Riveria replied softly, without elaborating on what that promise entailed.
A heavy silence settled over the room. A server entered silently, pouring two cups of piping hot, aromatic tea onto the table before bowing low and retreating, pulling the heavy doors shut behind her.
Riveria reached out, lifting the porcelain cup to her lips. She took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle her nerves before setting the cup back down with a tiny clink. When she raised her eyes back to Phobos, the atmosphere in the room turned to ice.
"I am well aware that to Ares, war is as vital as the air he breathes," Riveria began, her voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register. "Which brings me to my question, Goddess. Why is the Empire aiding Rakia so openly?"
Phobos's eyes flickered. Beside her, Karen stiffened.
"The Empire..." Phobos whispered softly.
"I do not know the full extent of their arrangement, Princess," Phobos confessed, looking down at her unblemished hands. "Though I have no doubt Ares made a devil's bargain behind closed doors."
Riveria stared at her, searching the goddess's face for any sign of deception. She didn't ask Phobos to betray her own Familia—she knew better.
"Then tell me this," Riveria demanded softly. "What is the real reason you came to Orario?"
"To purchase raw forged materials," Phobos answered flatly.
Riveria's eyes narrowed into sharp slits. "Materials for war, I presume?"
The air in the room plummeted in temperature. The magical pressure radiating faintly off the High Elf began to make the wooden frame of the room creak.
"Control yourself, Riveria," Ganesha warned, stepping forward, his voice heavy with real authority. "If this conversation turns hostile, I will be forced to intervene."
Riveria closed her eyes, taking a long, shuddering breath to suppress the rising storm inside her.
"I understand your rage, Princess Riveria," Phobos said softly, her voice filled with a profound, heartbreaking weariness. "In truth... I despise this war. I told Ares I came here to secure steel and iron for his armies. But that was a lie."
Phobos turned her gaze toward Ganesha, her dark eyes shining with desperation.
"I beg you both... keep what I am about to say an absolute secret. If Ares ever learns of this, he will cast me out and drag me back to Heaven in chains."
Ganesha slowly crossed his massive arms. "I am here solely as an impartial mediator, Goddess. Whatever is spoken in this room dies in this room."
Phobos nodded weakly, then turned back to face the elven princess.
"It happened only days after the One-Eyed Black Dragon raged across the north," Phobos said quietly. "An envoy from the Empire visited our camp. They knew Ares was eager to ignite another war, and they offered him unlimited resources under one condition..."
Phobos paused, her voice trembling.
"...The absolute annihilation of the High Forest. The total destruction of the Elven Kingdom."
Snap.
The arm of Riveria's wooden chair fractured under her grip. Her hands turned deathly pale as she fought to keep her breathing steady, her teeth gritted so tight her jaw shook.
"When?" Riveria asked. Her voice wasn't flat anymore—it vibrated with a terrifying, suppressed agony.
"When the winter snow melts at the foot of the Beol Mountains," Phobos answered gravely. "Eight months from today."
Riveria lowered her head, pressing her trembling palm against her forehead as if struck by a sudden, blinding migraine. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the hearth.
"Listen to me, Princess," Phobos urged, leaning forward across the table. "The Empire is supplying weapons and resources, but not their own soldiers. Ares is still the one marching. His blade is sharp, but his mind is foolish—his tactics are crude and predictable. I can assure you of that."
Riveria slowly raised her head. Her brilliant jade eyes flickered with a mix of shock, grief, and profound suspicion.
"Phobos-sama..." Riveria whispered, her throat dry. "Why are you telling me this? Why offer up your own side's doom so freely?"
A small, sad smile touched the goddess's lips.
"Because I know I will not survive the aftermath of this war regardless," Phobos murmured softly. "So, Princess... I will give you every piece of intelligence, every map, and every troop layout I possess. But in exchange..."
Phobos leaned closer, her eyes locking onto Riveria's with absolute desperation.
"...I need you to grant me a favor."
(END)
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