The sun over Tortilla City had a personality of its own arrogant, overconfident, and far too generous. It spilled golden light over every marble wall and silver-tiled roof, painting the capital of the Tortillian Empire in a glow that was almost holy… if you ignored the smell of horse dung and politics.
It was the twelfth day of Solmark, year 3040, a Tuesday. And like every Tuesday, the empire pretended everything was perfect.
At the western edge of the Imperial Garden, a lone man stood among the flowers, staring down at a patch of white lilies with an expression usually reserved for battlefields.
That man was Captain Vector Breckenridge, Commander of the Imperial Vanguard, Hero of the Siege of Carden, and the man the soldiers called Stratamorph Cal'culus the God of War and Strategy.
He was also, at this particular moment, a desperate man.
Vector shifted from one leg to the other, glancing left and right. The garden was empty or at least it seemed so. His silver armor reflected the sun like a mirror, but he wasn't thinking about glory or honor. His entire tactical mind the same mind that could predict an enemy's next ten moves was now occupied by one primal thought:
"I really need to pee."
He took a step closer to the flower bed, eyes scanning for witnesses. None. The marble paths stretched quiet and serene. The fountains whispered lazily in the distance. Even the guards at the far gate had marched off for lunch.
"This," he muttered, "isn't cowardice. It's strategy."
He loosened his belt. Just as he began the first victorious sigh of relief, a voice sliced through the still air.
"Are you… relieving yourself on my mother's lilies?"
Vector froze.
The voice was calm, feminine, and utterly unimpressed.
He turned slowly, half-expecting a goddess or perhaps a vengeful gardener. Instead, he saw a young woman standing beneath an arch of golden ivy, sunlight crowning her hair, shadows tracing her cheekbones with deceptive gentleness.
She wore a sky-blue dress trimmed with imperial gold, her sleeves rolled up as if she'd been painting or exploring not attending royal duties. Her hazel eyes shimmered with curiosity and mild horror.
"...Your mother's lilies?" Vector said, his voice dropping into a register of immediate regret.
"Yes," she replied. "As in Lady Vallery Tortilla, founder of this city and the empire you serve. That makes these flowers..." she crossed her arms, "imperial property."
There was a long silence. The kind that made birds question their life choices.
Vector straightened, adjusting his armor belt with practiced composure. "Ah. Well, Captain's report: the lilies were in danger of dehydration. I merely took initiative."
Her mouth dropped open. "You were about to water them with yourself!"
Vector gave a thoughtful nod. "A soldier must adapt to available resources."
The woman blinked twice. "You're insane."
He smiled faintly. "Technically, I'm decorated."
Her hand went to her face, half to cover a grin, half to smother exasperation. "You… you must be Vector Breckenridge."
He gave a proud bow, his tone dripping with mock elegance. "At your service, though currently off-duty from heroics and battlefield bladder control."
"Off-duty?" she scoffed. "You're standing in the royal garden."
"Exactly," he said, gesturing around them. "A tactical location. Beautiful, quiet, and apparently well-guarded by flower enthusiasts."
Her laughter broke through before she could stop it a soft, melodic sound that didn't belong to war or politics. "I didn't expect the God of War and Strategy to be this… ridiculous."
"And I didn't expect the Princess of Tortilla to be this… judgmental."
Her brow furrowed. "You know who I am?"
"Your face is on half the coins in circulation," he said casually. "Plus, I've seen the portraits. Though I must say, they don't capture the… nose detail."
Trilla's cheeks turned pink. "Excuse me?"
He tilted his head slightly. "You were picking it, a few moments before entering."
Her eyes widened in horror. "I was not!"
Vector grinned. "A tactical scratch, then?"
"Strategic reflex!" she snapped, but there was a spark of laughter in her tone now. "You're impossible."
"And you're standing in the middle of the battlefield I almost conquered," he said, gesturing again to the flower bed.
She shook her head, still smiling despite herself. "You're lucky my father's not here. He'd have you polishing the palace floor with your toothbrush."
"Then let's hope he doesn't check the lilies for moisture."
That earned him another burst of laughter. Loud, unguarded, and bright. For a moment, the sun seemed to pause above them as if watching history begin with a joke.
As the laughter faded, a softer silence settled between them. Trilla's gaze lingered on him the scar at his jawline, the confidence in his posture, the faint sadness in his eyes that didn't belong to comedy.
"You know," she said quietly, "you don't look like the kind of man they call a god."
Vector raised an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"
"Surprised," she said. "You look… tired."
He looked past her, to the horizon where the city's towers reached for the sky. "Gods get tired too," he said. "They just don't admit it."
Before she could reply, the church bells tolled in the distance. Midday.
Trilla straightened her dress. "Well, Captain, you've left quite the impression."
"Good. That's what I do best."
She smirked. "And what exactly should I call you next time? Captain? God of War? Or perhaps…" she paused, eyes glinting with mischief, "the Flowerbed General?"
Vector chuckled. "If you use that title in public, Princess Nose-Diver, I'll declare war."
Trilla's jaw dropped again, half in mock outrage, half in delight. "Did you just...!"
But he was already walking away, armor clinking, one hand raised in a lazy salute. "Good day, Your Highness. May your nose stay vigilant."
Trilla stood there, speechless, watching him disappear down the garden path. And for the first time that day, she felt something stir amusement, curiosity, maybe even something she couldn't name yet.
Neither of them knew it then, but that Tuesday morning filled with flowers, foolishness, and forbidden laughter would mark the start of a story that would shake empires and rewrite destiny.
And somewhere behind the royal walls, rebellion was already whispering.
.... To be continued....