I. Aurum
Grand Auditor Rhett Levin rode into Aurum, the northern coastal capital of the Trazarch Union. He had expected to return to a sanctuary. Instead, he rode into a cage.
The coastal fog clinging to the gold-capped spires smelled of sulfur and stagnation. The Grand Market, usually a riot of commerce, was eerie. Stalls stood empty. The merchants who remained weren't shouting prices; they were whispering rumors.
Levin passed a patrol of City Guard. They were gaunt, their gilded armor tarnished. They watched him pass with hollow, predatory eyes—the look of men who hadn't been paid in weeks.
He entered the Gold Tower. The halls were quiet. The usual swarm of scribes and runners was gone. He pushed open the heavy doors to the High Council Chamber.
High Minister Kaelen sat at the head of the obsidian table. To his right sat General Harker. They looked aged, their skin grey in the flickering light of failing Manore lamps.
"Levin," Kaelen said, his voice dry. "You return without the tax revenue. And without the Southern surplus."
Levin threw his rod of office onto the table. It clattered loudly in the silence.
"There is no surplus, Minister," Levin said. "And the South is dead. Voluptas is a hive. The Malum has taken it."
II. The Ledger of Lost Souls
The room went deathly silent. Voluptas—the City of Desire—was the playground of the elite. Its loss was a staggering blow to the Union's morale, but Levin had worse news.
"Fifteen thousand souls, liquidated by nightmares," Levin continued ruthlessly. "But the dead are the lucky ones. The survivors... they didn't just run, Minister. They defected."
Levin slammed a sheaf of intercepted reports onto the table.
"Seventeen thousand, five hundred citizens crossed the border into the Raven Lord's domain three days ago. They weren't turned away. They were absorbed."
General Harker scoffed, pouring himself wine with a shaking hand. "Refugees. Mouths to feed. Let the Raven Lord choke on them. He will be bankrupt in a month trying to feed that rabble."
"No," Levin corrected sharply, leaning over the table. "You are not listening. He is feeding them magic. And in return, they are building his empire."
Levin pointed a shaking finger at the manifest.
"Look at the demographics, General! We didn't just lose peasants. We lost the Brewers' Guild of Voluptas. We lost the Alchemists who distilled our potions. We lost the Enchanters who maintained the pleasure domes. We lost the masons, the tanners, the smiths."
Levin's voice rose to a shout.
"They are now in Obsidios Iubeo, brewing ale and enchanting armor for the Raven Legion. And the able-bodied men? Thousands of them have joined his ranks. Corvin Nyx just gained three regiments of heavy infantry and a skilled industrial base without spending a single copper coin."
Kaelen wiped sweat from his brow. The realization hit him like a physical blow. The Union wasn't just shrinking; it was actively arming its enemy with its own population.
"He is drinking us dry," Kaelen whispered. "If we do not stop the bleeding, there will be no one left to tax."
III. The Zealot's Demand
The doors to the chamber swung open.
High Inquisitor Kroll of Brightwind swept in. He was a terrifying figure clad in white iron armor inscribed with scriptures of purity. He did not bow to the Ministers; he looked at them with the disgust of a fanatic looking at a sinner.
"The Theocracy grows impatient, Minister," Kroll rasped. "You promised us the Abominations. The Demi-Humans polluting your northern cities. We have paid the purification bounty in silver."
"A momentary logistical issue," Kaelen stammered. "The roads..."
"You have the stock," Kroll interrupted, pointing out the window toward the Northern Slave Pens of Aurum. "Fox-kin. Wolf-kin. The unnatural births you keep in cages. Deliver them to the Southern Border within the week, or we reclaim our gold and burn your ports for heresy."
Kaelen looked at the Treasurer. The Union was insolvent. The Arcaneum Dominion in the North had frozen their accounts until the war debt was serviced. Brightwind in the South was their only remaining source of liquid wealth.
IV. The Coastal Gambit
"We cannot move them South," General Harker warned. "The Great Fork is blocked. The Raven Lord holds Observa Divisio. If we march five thousand Demi-Humans through his toll gate, he will seize them and add them to his army like he did the others."
"We do not use the inland road," Kaelen snapped. His eyes were manic, desperate. "We use the Old Coastal Road."
He traced the thin blue line on the western edge of the map—the narrow, treacherous track squeezed between the raging ocean cliffs and the 110-mile circumference of Corvin's central domain.
"It connects Aurum to the Southern Border without entering the Raven Lord's territory," Kaelen reasoned. "It is narrow. It is dangerous. But it is the only path to get the stock to the Zealots."
"It's a choke point," Levin warned. "If Corvin sees them..."
"He is busy integrating his new citizens," Kaelen lied to himself. "He is building orphanages and schools. He won't be looking at the sea."
Kaelen stamped the order with the Ministry Seal.
"Mobilize the Iron Legion escort. March the Northern Stock South along the coast. Deliver them to Brightwind. We need that silver to hire an army that can actually fight."
V. The Whisper in the Wind
That night, in the rookery of the Gold Tower, a single black bird sat on the sill. It watched the orders being stamped.
Target: Northern Demi-Human Stock.Payload: 5,000 Units.Route: North-to-South via Coastal Road.Destination: Brightwind (Execution).
The raven croaked softly and took flight, banking East toward the violet glow on the horizon.
VI. The Strategic Web (Obsidios Iubeo)
In the Sanctum of Obsidios Iubeo, Corvin Nyx stood before the map table. Obsius landed on his shoulder, his talons gripping the fabric of his tunic.
Corvin's eyes shifted, the violet light swirling as he accepted the visual feed from Umbra, who was circling high above the coast.
"They are moving the Northern Stock," Corvin said, his voice vibrating with the density of the Second Circle. "Five thousand lives. Including Kyra's kin. Sold to the fire."
Garrus Vane looked at the coastal route. "They are trying to slip past our western flank while we are busy settling the refugees."
"They think we are distracted by compassion," Corvin said coldly. "They think building a home makes us soft."
He turned to a younger officer—a man whose armor was heavier, spiked, and built for the saddle. Centurion Kael, commander of the new heavy cavalry unit.
"Mobilize the Obsidian Asturias," Corvin commanded. "And the Second Legion's fast cohorts. We do not wait. We intercept."
He looked at Veridian Vex.
"We cut the chain. We take the people. And then... we build the Fourth Anchor on that coast. Obsidios Marus. We take the sea."