As celestial vessels gracefully docked alongside the King's party, one in particular caught King Ivane's attention, stirring a mixture of nerves and anticipation within him.
"Come, there's someone you should meet," he tells Theon, his voice carrying a hint of excitement as they make their way through the bustling docking bay, followed closely by a retinue of guards.
As they approach, a large, grey-haired man with a short beard emerges from the vessel, surrounded by Arathean soldiers clad in rich green and black military attire. His silver eyes sweep the bay with a keen observation, a smirk forming on his features as he spots the King.
"Had I known you would not allow me to retire, I would have gladly died in battle eighty years ago," the man laughs as he and the King embrace warmly.
Theon's eyes widen as he takes in the many patches of honour adorning the man's uniform. It takes him no time to realize that this is Sarakai Knulls, the legendary strategist who had taught his father in all matters of warfare and strategy.
"Vice General," King Ivane addresses him with respect. "I would have left you to your own means had I not felt the need for your gifts once more."
Sarakai's gaze shifts to Theon, and a warm smile spreads across his weathered face. "Your boy?" he asks, his voice gruff yet kind as he studies the young prince. "You look like your mother," he remarks, before turning to the King. "Eyes of your father, though."
He then jests about the King going soft, a playful banter that speaks of years of camaraderie and mutual respect. The King laughs, his arm slung casually around Sarakai's shoulder.
"How old are you now, old friend, six or is it seven hundred years?" King Ivane asks with a chuckle.
Sarakai's laughter rumbles through the air. "Five and a half, nearly," he replies with a twinkle in his eye, his hand resting firmly on Theon's shoulder. "But even at six, I would still fare better than your father," he teases, his words laced with affection. "Just shows how little youth has to do with the gift of warfare."
As the old friends share a moment of camaraderie, Theon can't help but feel a sense of awe at the bond between his father and the legendary Vice General, a bond forged in the fires of battle and tempered by years of shared wisdom and experience.
As Vice General Sarakai Knulls makes his presence known to Queen Reya, Darxon, Hunter, Darthal, and Darion, a hushed reverence falls over the room. Each member of King Ivane's inner circle regards him with a mixture of respect and honor, recognizing the weight of his reputation and the wisdom he brings.
With a commanding presence, Sarakai addresses the group, his voice carrying the weight of his words like a seasoned commander on the eve of battle. He delivers news—sixty companies, all from other royal houses, have mobilized from their respective worlds, totaling sixteen billion soldiers ready to join the unfolding conflict.
The King, ever the strategist, emphasizes the importance of negotiation from a position of strength, reminding his comrades that their goal is not merely to engage in war, but to secure their position and ensure the safety of their people.
Sarakai, however, listens to the King's words with a measured skepticism, his silver eyes betraying a depth of understanding honed through centuries of experience. "In this case, war is unavoidable," he states with a solemnity that sends a shiver down the spine of those present.
Yet, despite the grim prognosis, Sarakai's confidence remains unshaken. "But I'll make sure most of us make it back alive," he declares, his voice tinged with a quiet determination born of unwavering faith in his abilities and those of his comrades.
As the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, King Ivane and his inner circle exchange glances, a silent acknowledgment of the daunting task that lies ahead. In the presence of the legendary Vice General, they find strength and resolve, knowing that together, they will face whatever challenges the future may hold with courage and determination.
Arathea:
In the dimly lit grand bathing room of the great house, a young lady stood, her figure draped in a luxurious bathrobe – a towel in hand. The air was heavy with the scent of scented oils and the sound of water gently lapping against marble echoed through the expansive space. Three other ladies, clad in grey robes, hovered by a giant marble and oak tub filled with a shimmering white oil that exuded opulence and a hint of pulpy fragrance.
As the ladies exchanged subtle glances, the surface of the oil in the tub remained undisturbed save for a few bubbles. Suddenly, a slim figure emerged, the rich oil cascading down her body as she rose gracefully. Princess Anora, without uttering a word, extended her arms, and one of the ladies rushed forward to hand her a towel.
Anora delicately wiped the oil from her face, her gaze drifting over the attending ladies as her figure remained exposed. With a practiced ease, she stepped out of the tub, making her way to the other end of the room where a cold dip awaited. Unflinchingly, she immersed herself in the chilling water before stepping out once more.
A lady retrieved a showering head, adjusting the water to a warm setting before gently rinsing the oil from Anora's skin. Meanwhile, the other attendants began to apply scented oils, each stroke a gesture of care and reverence. One of them focused on Anora's hair, massaging oil into the strands with skilled hands.
The lady in charge of the robes presented a crimson garment, distinguished from the others by intricate golden embellishments depicting various animals and legends. Anora accepted it with a regal nod, her satisfaction evident as she donned the robe.
Once the attending ladies had completed their tasks, Anora signalled for them to depart, leaving her alone to tend to her sauna. Within the serene solitude of the bathing chamber, she allowed the heat to suffuse her body until her skin glowed with a healthy flush, a testament to the indulgent care befitting her station.
Moments after Anora had settled into the serene solitude of the sauna, her peace was disrupted by the arrival of a young court lady in training, her presence announced by the soft shuffle of footsteps. Anora's brows furrowed slightly as she turned her gaze towards the newcomer, a regal gown clutched in the girl's hands.