The city was already awake when a rider reached the gates of the capital. His horse was covered in dust, its breath heavy from the long ride across the plains. Guards moved aside as they see the flag of the royal messenger corp.
He didn't stop to rest. From the gate to the palace, he pushed through narrow streets lined with merchants setting up stalls and townsfolk sweeping their doors.
Most only looked up for a second, couriers rode through often in the capital, but the red wax seal on his satchel made some whisper.
By the time he reached the palace steps, his cloak was streaked with dirt and sweat. A steward came out to meet him, startled by how fast he'd arrived.
"Message from Lord Calis," the rider said, handing over the sealed scroll catching his breath before adding.
"For the royal council."
The steward nodded, taking it with both hands before hurrying inside.
The corridors were quiet, the sound of his boots echoing against the marble floor. In the council chamber, several advisors were already gathered — old men with tired faces, half-eaten bread still on their plates.
The steward placed the scroll on the table.
"From Lord Calis, my lords. From the looks of it it's urgent."
The oldest among them broke the seal. His eyes moved quickly across the parchment, his face tightening. When he looked up, the room had gone still.
"Ships," he said at last. "Great metal ships. No sails, no oars. They move faster than the wind."
Another advisor frowned. "Nonsense. Nothing floats without timber or sails."
"Then what do you call this?" the first man replied, tapping the letter.
"Calis has seen them with his own eyes. They came from beyond the horizon."
The table fell silent.
"We need to bring this to His Majesty," one of them said quietly. "Now."
The steward bowed and left at once.
Outside, the rider waited in the hall, catching his breath. He didn't know what was written in that letter — but judging by the faces that had read it, it was something the kingdom had never seen before.
The palace bell rang three times the sound that meant only one thing: an emergency council meeting.
Servants moved quickly through the corridors, calling for the high lords, admirals, and ministers. Some were still at breakfast; others came already dressed and in armor, expecting bad news.
By the time the sun was high, the council hall was filled. The long table ran down the center of the room, banners of the kingdom hanging still above it.
No one spoke at first. The scrape of chairs and the quiet rustle of paper were the only sounds you can hear.
King Aldren had not yet arrived. His steward stood near the door, giving short answers to every question thrown his way.
"What's this about?" one lord demanded.
"The bell hasn't rung like that since the border raids."
"It was a report from the western fleet my lord," the steward replied.
"Admiral Calis sent a word. It's… unusual."
That word unusual caught everyone's attention.
At the far end, a young noble leaned forward. "Unusual how? Is it the pirates again?"
Before the steward could answer, the heavy doors opened again. More lords entered, some out of breath, others with the calm of men used to sudden summons. Their attendants took seats along the walls, with their quills ready.
Within minutes, the hall grew crowded. Gold-trimmed cloaks mixed with worn naval uniforms, and the smell of ink and steel filled the air.
"It must be another border skirmish," muttered a young noble, half eager, half anxious. "Perhaps the southern raider again."
"Don't be foolish," said an older lord beside him. "Calis wouldn't call a council over some raider."
The steward cleared his throat. "Please, my lords. His Majesty will join us shortly. Until then, remain seated."
He spoke firmly but without authority; the tension in the room made even his voice waver.
The younger nobles traded whispers, talk of battle, reward, and glory. They leaned forward, hungry for details. Across the table, the older ones sat back in silence, measuring the mood before speaking.
A high admiral from the royal fleet finally stood." If Calis has sent his word, it's serious. He's not a man for exaggeration."
A few nodded in agreement.
One merchant lord, rich, loud, and skeptical scoffed.
"Serious or not, this panic wastes the king's time. I sailed those waters last season. The only thing out there is sand and fish."
"You'd do well to listen before speaking," the admiral replied coldly.
The noble's face tightened, but he said nothing.
The noise in the room rose again — boots scraping, low arguments building. The air grew thick with impatience. Every man wanted to know what was in that message, yet none dared open their mouth too far before the king arrived.
At last, the steward spoke again. "His Majesty has ordered the council to proceed. The report from Admiral Calis will be read aloud."
The murmurs faded. All eyes turned toward the center table where the sealed scroll lay waiting.
The steward stepped forward, and unrolled the parchment with both hands.
The rustle of the paper was the only sound left in the hall.
And as he began to read, the room fell into absolute silence.
Finally the steward spoke. "The report concerns about a foreign fleet sighted in the western sea."
Every noble leaned forward. Even the older lords, who had pretended calm, now listened closely.
"The admiral confirms that the ships were like nothing known by the kingdom it was forged entirely of metal, vast in size, moving without sail or an oar."
A low murmur spread.
"Aho are they?" someone asked.
The steward hesitated.
"Unknown, my lord. But the admiral writes of a craft that rose from one of their decks — a machine made of iron. It flew through the air and landed upon the island "
Gasps and whispers filled the chamber.
"Flew?" Lord Renald said, disbelieving. "A ship that sails the sky now?"
"Admiral Calis describes it as shaped like a bird, wings spinning with impossible speed," the steward said.
"It carried men within it."
Several nobles exchanged uneasy looks. A few made the sign of protection.
"And their behavior?" asked the high admiral.
"Peaceful," came the reply.
"The admiral held position and sent a landing party under truce and offer them to stay in the island to keep an eye. He awaits further instruction."
The steward lowered the parchment. Silence followed — heavy and uncertain.
Some faces showed awe.
Others, fear.
But in every man's eyes lingered the same thought: if such power truly exists, then the balance of the world had just shifted
The silence broke as soon as the steward rolled up the parchment.
"That's impossible," one noble said sharply.
"A ship made of iron cannot float, much less fly."
"It's written in the admiral's own hand," replied the high admiral.
"Calis is not a man to chase ghosts."
"A trick, then," snapped Lord Renald.
"Foreigners testing our borders. Or sorcery."
Across the table, an older lord leaned forward.
"Sorcery does not form fleets, Renald. Whoever they are, they command machines we can't even imagine."
The room stirred. Voices rose and overlapped. Some nobles called for calm; others demanded action.
"They sent scouts toward our waters!" shouted a younger noble in blue armor.
"We should not wait for them to strike first. Arm the fleets show them were not afraid."
Several younger lords nodded in agreement. The war faction had found its voice.
"They could be traders," another countered, his tone even.
"Or explorers from lands beyond our maps. To strike first would invite a war we do not understand."
"That's the talk of cowards," came a sneer from across the table.
The diplomatic faction pushed back hard.
"We are not cowards, we are cautious,"
said Lord Marius, his voice steady.
"If what Calis saw is true, a single one of their ships could level a city. If we move without knowing their intent, we might doom ourselves."
The neutral nobles sat quiet, weighing each side.
"What if this report is false?" one murmured.
"What if the admiral was deceived?"
"Would you accuse Calis of lying?" barked the admiral.
The argument deepened. The air in the hall grew hot with words and pride.
"Then what would you have us do?" shouted one of the younger lords.
"Wait until their flying beasts hover above our capital?"
The steward tried to restore order, but his voice was drowned out. The sound of boots and fists against the table filled the hall as each man tried to outshout the next.
Finally, the chamber doors opened.
Every voice stopped at once.
The king had arrived.
The doors opened wide, and every voice fell silent.
King Aldren entered with slow, deliberate steps. He wore no crown, only a plain cloak over his armor. Behind him walked two guards and the royal steward. The nobles stood at once.
"Sit," the king said simply.
They obeyed.
Aldren walked to the head of the table and looked over the faces before him. Some stared down, others met his eyes — proud, worried, or defiant.
"I have heard enough shouting from the corridor," he said.
"Now let us hear sense."
The steward handed him the sealed parchment. The king scanned it quietly, his expression unreadable. When he finished, he placed it flat on the table.
"So," he said,
"our western fleet meets ships of iron, flying banners unknown to any nation we know. Machines that move without wind."
No one spoke.
The king's gaze swept across the hall.
"You argue of war and peace as if this is a border raid. It is not. This is something we have never seen. Perhaps never meant to see."
Lord Renald stood. "Your Majesty, if these foreigners reach our shores, we will be defenseless. We must act first—"
"Act with what, Renald?" Aldren cut him off.
"You would throw wood and sail against iron? You would send men to die for pride?"
Renald fell silent.
The king continued. "Admiral Calis wrote of restraint. These strangers did not fire. They signaled. That means they seek words before war."
He turned to the admiral seated near the center.
"How long would it take to prepare a diplomatic vessel?"
"At day, Your Majesty," the admiral replied.
"A small escort, nothing more."
"Good. Then that is what we will send."
The decision settled over the room like a weight. Some nobles nodded in approval, others exchanged uneasy looks.
"So we talk to them?" a younger noble asked quietly.
"We listen first," Aldren said.
"If they come in peace, we find their intent. If not, we will know our enemy before we draw swords."
The king rose from his seat. "Lord Marius," he said, looking toward the quiet noble who had urged caution earlier,
"you will lead the envoy. i trust that you will do it well"
Marius stood, startled. "Your Majesty… I will do my duty."
"You will take one of the royal galleons and a small guard. No banners of war. Only the royal seal."
"Yes, sire."
Aldren nodded once. "Prepare to leave at dawn."
The order was clear. And the debate was over.
The nobles began to stand, murmuring to one another. Some still argued under their breath — about risk, about pride, about whether the king had chosen wisely.
The admiral leaned toward the steward.
"If these strangers mean harm, we'll need to know what they carry beneath those decks."
"You'll know soon enough," the steward replied. "If Marius returns."
As the council slowly dispersed, Marius remained where he stood. The parchment lay still on the table, its ink smudged from hands and sweat.
He stared at it for a moment before turning away.
Outside the hall, the corridors buzzed with quiet movement. Messengers hurried with sealed letters. Armor was loaded, provisions tallied. The capital moved like a waking giant.
From the upper balcony, King Aldren watched the harbor below. Ships rocked in the tide, their masts lined like a forest of wood and canvas. Somewhere beyond that horizon, those iron ships waited.
The steward stepped beside him. "Do you believe they'll talk, Your Majesty?"
The king didn't answer at first. His eyes stayed on the distant sea.
"I believe they already did," Aldren said finally. "We just have to listen before we lose the chance."
He turned and walked back inside, leaving the steward alone with the view.