The marble floor of the royal throne room gleamed under the filtered light of enchanted chandeliers. Banners bearing the sigil of the Aldemar Kingdom hung high, motionless despite the hum of tense energy that permeated the space. Nobles stood in hushed anticipation along the gallery, whispering conjectures and concerns while their eyes remained fixed on the obsidian double doors.
Those doors swung open, and silence reigned.
Elara Wyrmshade entered.
Her presence was as commanding as it was ethereal. She wore an elegant gown of midnight blue, its front slit revealing sculpted legs adorned in sparkling, strappy high-heeled sandals that clicked softly with every step. The long train of the dress flowed like smoke behind her, whispering secrets with each movement. The back of the dress was entirely open, revealing unblemished skin down to the small of her back, the slight shimmer of runes glowing faintly across her spine. Her fingers and toes gleamed with matching nail polish, each stroke a statement of subtle power. She was beauty given form, elegance sharpened into command.
At the base of the throne, King Aldemar stood to greet her personally. Beside him were Tolan, regal in his military robes, and Sylv, adorned in silver and violet. Both gave Elara nods of recognition. She returned them with a calm, deliberate gaze, then turned to the King.
"Your Majesty," she said.
"Elara. Thank you for coming on short notice. We have much to discuss."
The gathering began without preamble. The nobles were briefed on the confirmed alliances of the enemy with both the Elves and Dark Elves. The growing unrest along the southern coast. The strange sightings of cloaked figures weaving between towns. Rumors of ancient magics stirring.
"Diplomatic envoys must be sent," Tolan argued. "At the very least to determine what grievances they've interpreted against us."
Elara folded her arms. "The timing is suspicious. They remained neutral until our airships rewrote the rules of war. Now they arrive? It reeks of fear masked as aggression."
Before more could be said, a crystalline hum pulsed through the chamber. The central communication conduit flared to life, showing a live projection from the forward command post at the central fortress.
"Priority transmission," said the operator. "Incoming report from Commander Darius aboard the Aegis Dawn."
The image shifted, showing a grizzled officer standing at the helm of a battle-ready airship. "Your Majesty, Lady Elara. We have confirmation: elven battlemages have appeared at multiple front sectors. They're attempting long-range attacks against the fleet."
Gasps rippled through the room.
"Damage?" Aldemar asked sharply.
"Minimal. Their magic impacts our shield arrays, but not even one percent of the systems have been compromised. The reactive matrices are holding firm."
Elara exhaled slowly. "Their spells are powerful, but not calibrated for modern rune-deflection layering."
"Should we return fire?" Darius asked.
Aldemar looked to Elara, who nodded. "Only suppressive fire. Push them back, but don't escalate unnecessarily."
Moments later, the feed showed retaliatory blasts from the airships, precisely controlled rune-bolts directed at enemy positions. The elven units scattered, retreating into the woods. Some were caught in the blasts. Some didn't get back up.
"That wasn't as effective as I'd hoped," Darius muttered. "The elves absorbed most of the initial impact."
Elara turned to the court. "They're veterans of centuries. Their armor is likely enchanted with old-world wards. Our standard kinetic payloads will not suffice."
The transmission ended, leaving the chamber quiet. The king gave a solemn nod. "Then we prepare for a different kind of war."
Elara's lab in the capital became her sanctuary. Her newest project consumed her completely: the development of a functional logic-based rune computational matrix. Her vision was ambitious—an artificial mind constructed through magical runic gates and conditional layers, capable of simulating intelligent behavior and processing vast combinations of symbols.
For five months, she worked with unrelenting focus.
Runes, by their nature, were reactive and analog. They responded to intent, mana, and environmental influence. But Elara tamed them. She created binary-like logic gates—AND, OR, NOT—and layered them into switch matrices, memory runes, even primitive looping structures. Her first machine filled an entire chamber, its glowing runic crystal cores arranged in stacks, each humming with regulated mana pulses.
It could process millions of symbolic configurations in moments. With it, she began exploring the outer limits of runic design—trigger hierarchies, automated response algorithms, and advanced conditional spellcasting.
Meanwhile, the war dragged on.
Though the kingdom held the line, enemy tactics grew increasingly brutal.
The diplomatic envoys sent to the Elven lands never returned alive. Instead, their heads were delivered in enchanted crystal boxes—grim tokens of the Elves' refusal to negotiate. The message was clear: there would be no peace.
On the battlefield, the Dark Elves hunted like phantoms. Highly trained skirmishers ambushed supply lines, striking with supernatural precision and vanishing before reinforcements could arrive. Elara responded by updating her shielding runes for convoys—deploying dynamic field bubbles capable of detecting stealth-based mana distortions and auto-activating defense spells within milliseconds.
Supply lines stabilized. But the threat did not fade.
Worse still were the High Elves.
Masters of ancient magic, their battlemages struck from beyond visual range, hurling city-shattering spells from unseen ridgelines and forest shadows. They targeted infrastructure, central mana nodes, even medical stations. Each time allied forces attempted retaliation, the Elves slipped away, never casting from the same position twice.
Elara observed every skirmish report, studied every shattered fortress wall, every mana-burned hull of an airship. Their attacks were tactical—calculated. They were bleeding the kingdom slowly, forcing defensive expenditures and logistical chaos.
"They're not trying to win quickly," Sylv noted during one late-night council. "They want to exhaust us."
"And prove that they can outlast even progress," Tolan added. "Old pride dressed in new hatred."
Elara stared at her machine.
"Then it's time to move beyond reaction," she said. "We need prediction. We need foresight."
Her eyes glowed with determination.
"We need a final answer."