In the midst of their conversation, David — ever the captain of Zerefia's Western Empire — entered the main drawing room of the Portekwero Estate. He was to meet the Crown Prince of the North, Carlo. David and Johanes slipped into a guest chamber, where they found Carlo and Baron Mateo of Portekwero already seated on a long settee, a small table between them. David took a place opposite Mateo and Carlo. Johanes remained standing behind Carlo's right side, waiting for orders from his master.
"Greetings, Sir David. Thank you for accepting my invitation to speak privately with His Highness, the Crown Prince of the North." Mateo's voice was steady, his smile faint and controlled, though a thread of anxiety tugged at his features; he did not know whether this meeting might be the spark that would set the Western Empire and the North ablaze.
"Is this the Crown Prince of the North?" David scoffed, folding his arms, the mockery low in his tone. Carlo returned his stare with cold intensity. David was a man of about forty, brown hair, brown eyes and pale skin — the captain of the Western armies.
"I suggest you mind your tongue, Sir David. We are here to talk earnestly." Mateo scratched at his temple, unsure which way to turn as tension coiled between the Western captain and the northern prince.
"Do you know how outrageous this is to Emperor Harold? Are you disobeying the great emperor?" David jeered.
"What kind of disobedience, Sir David? Portekwero is on our territory — the Western Empire has no right to station troops here without our permission." Carlo's voice was ice.
"The Emperor has the right to do as he pleases. The Four Kingdoms belong to him; he may act as he wishes." David jabbed a finger at Carlo.
"Yes, he may. But this is our territory; this is an act of invasion. Even if the so-called Emperor of the Western Empire calls it 'security against the Blackthreads'." Carlo's tone remained unshaken.
"How dare you insult our emperor! You Northerners are ignorant — you don't know what you're doing. Claiming Portekwero as Northern territory hasn't been authorized by the Emperor, so Portekwero remains under his hand." David's arrogance dripped from every syllable.
"To correct you, Sir, Portekwero has never properly belonged to anyone. The Emperor himself never claimed us. Portekwero was born an independent land until the North decided to colonize it." Mateo explained.
"And you agreed to that?" David's brow furrowed in disbelief.
"We had no choice but to accept the North's rule — they promised us the support we required." Mateo's explanation only deepened David's irritation; he could not believe the North would claim Portekwero without the Emperor's knowledge.
"Do not tell me the North is trying to rebel against its emperor?" David sneered. Carlo's glare sharpened.
"You may judge us, but what I will say is this: the Western Empire cannot station its armies here in Portekwero, which lies under Northern jurisdiction."
"Insolence! Who are you to defy the orders of our Emperor? Are you asking for war against the Emperor?" David's voice rose; he mocked and insulted Carlo openly. Johanes and the other attendants reached for their swords, wishing to strike at the captain for his affront to the Crown Prince, but Carlo did not rise to the bait.
"Whether you like it or not, the North will no longer bow to emperors. If your Emperor wants war with us, then let him choose it — but remember this, David." Carlo leaned in suddenly. "The Blackthreads are coming. Would it not be folly for the Western Empire to wage war on the North first, rather than face the Blackthreads thereafter?" He smiled, the motion cold and deliberate.
David's composure wavered; Carlo's point carried weight. If the Western forces squandered themselves against the North first, victory would be far from certain.
"How dare you—" David began.
"I'll give you time to report to your master. Pitch your tents beyond Portekwero's borders. Whatever your master decides, we can discuss it then." Carlo spoke calmly.
Humiliated, David sprang to his feet; his fists clenched as he struggled to accept what he had heard.
"I swear the Emperor will not let this pass!" David cried, and strode for the door. Before he could cross the threshold, Carlo's warning halted him.
"If your master refuses to speak with us and instead declares war upon Portekwero…" Carlo fixed David with a burning, unyielding stare. "We will not hesitate to eliminate you all. Consider that a warning, not a threat." His violet eyes blazed with a dark intensity that left David ill at ease. David fell silent and left the room without another word.
"How has the North grown so strong?" David muttered beneath his breath as he made for the soldiers awaiting his master's command.
****
While Carlo and the others waited for the message from the Western Empire, the base of the Blackthreads remained quiet. Leon sat at his table, both feet crossed and resting upon it, his back leaning lazily against the chair. His gaze was fixed on the white tent above, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. In front of him, Havan stood, scrutinizing the map, yet his eyes couldn't help wandering to his master, pondering what thoughts might be occupying Leon's mind.
"I guess you're in a good mood," Havan remarked, not taking his eyes off the map as he traced the possible routes for their next move.
"Yeah… sure I am," Leon replied, the words tumbling out with the careless glee of a child who had just won a toy in the park, his smile mischievous and unrestrained.
"Wait… are your thoughts still on the mission, or have they already wandered to that girl?" Havan asked, his brow raised in a playful yet sharp arch, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone as he looked at Leon.
"You're so bitter, Havan… maybe you miss your wife already, eh? Ahahaha," Leon teased, mockery dancing in his voice. Though Havan was thirty and Leon twenty-nine, Havan already had a family within the Blackthreads. He and his wife were blessed with two children, yet duty had long separated him from them. For years, he had accompanied Leon on missions, commanded by the King of the Blackthreads—obedience leaving him no choice but to endure the separation.
"I swear, once this mission is over, I'll leave you here, Leon…" *Havan muttered, returning his attention to the map, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly.
"Thar'kan, Rahla ve'Lyra ek'seran."~Lord Commander, the Lady has arrived.~
One of Leon's soldiers announced this, prompting both Leon and Havan to step out of the tent. The Blackthreads' base was hidden within a quiet cove, invisible to any prying eyes. Their warships were anchored offshore, and only long boats ferried supplies from the larger vessels to the base.
It was then that Leon's gaze fell upon his beloved younger sister. She had just stepped onto the sand, disembarking from the long boat that had brought her to the tent station. She wore a black desert gown adorned with intricate gold detailing and a plunging neckline, paired with a white, patterned shawl that draped over her shoulders like a hooded cloak. Delicate jewellery glimmered subtly, marking her nobility among the Blackthreads. Her appearance mirrored her brother's: tan skin, golden eyes, and flowing black hair.
Leon wasted no time, striding forward to embrace his youngest sister. The warmth of their reunion was immediate.
"Lea… vey'thar unel."~Lea… it's been a long time.~
His sister returned the hug with equal fervor, pressing close as if to make up for all the lost time.
"Vey'thar unel, tharos."~Long time no see, brother.~
Her words were soft, yet filled with the same warmth and affection. Both Leon and Havan then escorted her to where they would share breakfast, a moment to settle and reconnect after her journey. Once they were seated, laughter and conversation filled the air, the bond between Leon and his sister renewed and strengthened that day, as if no time had passed at all.
The Blackthreads and the Northern Kingdom had reached a secret and unofficial decision, each side moving quietly in their own schemes. Meanwhile, the Western Empire was in turmoil. Harold was incandescent with fury at the news from Portekwero Land: Carlo had forbidden the Western armies from stationing within their territory.
"Damn it! Who in the North dares disobey my orders?" Harold bellowed, clenching his fists tightly against the polished table, the veins on his forearms taut as he leaned forward, his eyes blazing. Medeya stood slightly behind him, her hands kneading his tense shoulders, murmuring words of calm that seemed to barely reach him. Across from them, Maxon remained composed, though his posture subtly stiffened under the emperor's wrathful gaze.
"Maxon, have you heard about the North? How they suddenly have forces of their own?" Harold demanded, leaning back slightly, his chair creaking under the sudden shift of weight, his eyes narrowing as he sought the truth. To his knowledge, the North had no alliances, no power to expand their territory… yet here he was, confronted with intelligence that suggested otherwise.
"Your Majesty… it might have been unwise to deny the North the budget they requested, especially considering that we did not adjust their taxes while the late emperor was still alive," Maxon said, curling his right fingers thoughtfully against his chin, his brow furrowed in careful consideration.
"What? Are you blaming me, Maxon?" Harold snapped, glaring daggers at him, the anger in his voice slicing through the tension like a sword.
"No, Your Majesty. I am not blaming you," Maxon replied, raising a hand in placation, a calm smile forced across his face, attempting to temper the emperor's ire.
"Be careful with your words, Maxon," Medeya interjected gently from Harold's side, her voice soft yet firm, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder as though to anchor him amidst the storm of his temper.
"Well… I have intelligence indicating that the North has already expanded its territory, sufficient to rival ours," Maxon continued, leaning forward slightly, eyes intense with the weight of his knowledge. "I also hear they have obtained rare Black Gems capable of amplifying their mana."
"What!? Are you jesting, Maxon? That is mere myth! Only fools would believe such tales!" Harold snapped, slamming a hand against the table, the force causing a small tremor through the polished wood.
'Is this truly an emperor?' Maxon thought bitterly. 'He is far more foolish than my sister.' Yet he pressed on, forcing his explanation out despite Harold's rising ire, careful not to let frustration cloud the gravity of his report.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Some of it is true. They now wield considerable power, enough to challenge the Blackthreads—or even us. We are fortunate that the North has not moved against us yet," Maxon said, his voice steady but laced with urgency, his hands subtly gesturing to emphasize the threat.
"Ha… they only have Black Gems. I still command the Three Kingdoms," Harold boasted, rising slightly from his seat, chest puffed with arrogance, his words meant to reassure but instead only made Maxon uneasy. "No matter what they do, I will not allow the North to separate from the Three Kingdoms. My power still reigns supreme."
"Most importantly… have you heard any news regarding the late emperor's veterans, Your Majesty?" Maxon asked, leaning forward, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, eyes locked on Harold's.
"Yes… I have already dismissed them," Harold said carelessly, waving a hand as if the topic were trivial.
"Sad to say, Your Majesty… the North now holds them," Maxon revealed, his voice dropping, the weight of the truth pressing upon the room. Harold's eyes widened in disbelief, the blood draining from his face as the implications sank in. If the North possessed the late emperor's elite soldiers, their threat was far greater than previously imagined.
"Wait… the North is sponsoring them? But how?" Medeya gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in shock, eyes wide with concern.
"That is precisely what we must discover…" Maxon said, his voice firm, mind already racing through strategies and contingencies.
The three of them sat in tense contemplation, plotting new maneuvers and strategies, while Harold remained consumed by his fury, clenching and unclenching his fists as his mind struggled to contain the blunt reality of the North's growing power.