War Room, Vrael Bastion, Stormguard Protectorate
The war room at the top of Vrael Bastion was quiet. No echoes. No idle chatter. Only breath, frost, and the weight of decision. The table was thick with scars. Scratches from old blades, burns from candles, and lines carved where borders had been drawn and redrawn through blood.
Markers of obsidian, carved bone, and blackened iron were set across the map's surface. Each one was more than a placeholder. Each was a forecast of corpses.
The envoys of the Gale Nation stood along the eastern flank of the room. Their cloaks were wind-torn, stitched with travel wear, their ceremonial beads clicking softly as they shifted in place. Kassan of the Zhaqarin stood among them, sun-scorched and silent, his sash marked with the runes of fallen leaders.
Governor Elbric of the Freedmen Realm waited opposite them. A former slave and battlefield commander, he had no need for words. His posture was restraint. His silence, deliberate. Beside him, Prime Minister Qui of the Free Cities League remained in full naval regalia, silver cords and sapphire pins undisturbed. His eyes never left the center of the map.
To Altan's left stood Ghoran, First Warchief of the Skarnulf Clans. He leaned forward with both arms on the table, silent as the furs and scale-plated armor he wore. On the other side of him, Queen Velarath of the Virak'tai stood motionless. Her figure was half-swallowed in shadow-silk. Her veil was drawn. Eyes unreadable.
Stormwake stood at Altan's right. Masked. Still. Watching.
Altan's hand moved across the map.
"Velarath. Ghoran. Take your full formations and move to Khaldoran Gate. Make your presence known. Raise your banners high. Beat the war drums. Let the scouts see it. Let them believe we are massing for an eastern assault."
He glanced to the west. "Two Stormguard legions and the Warden will remain to anchor the illusion. The Dazhum need to believe the hammer will fall at the Gate."
He looked up. "How many legions have you raised in the last six months?"
Velarath answered first. "One legion of Stormguard-trained Virak'tai. Three more legions trained under Stormguard instructors. All combat ready."
Ghoran followed. "One legion of Ironwall Stormguards. Four more drilled, equipped, and blooded under your command. Holding them until you call."
Altan nodded once. "Good. Send half to Khaldoran Gate. Hold the rest back, hidden inland. Let the north stay open. Let them think we've neglected it."
He tapped the southern portion of the map.
"If the Dazhum commit south, we hit the western flank. When they move, you cross the Khaldoran Strait and march west. But hold your blade. Do not act until you have my message."
He straightened, turning to the table's southern edge.
"The Stormguard legions here in Vrael will remain to defend the coastal cities. Units will deploy to the Free Cities League to assist in recruitment and training. They will operate jointly with the Free Cities League's regular army."
He looked toward Prime Minister Qui, then added, "Coordination will go through Deputy Prime Minister Cyras, because Lord Qui will be in Jadeheaven to lead the mobilization of the Stormguard naval marines."
Stormwake stepped forward, recording every detail. The message would be relayed north by nightfall.
Altan's voice hardened. "The march west serves multiple ends."
He turned to Queen Velarath."The Virak'tai have fought the highborn elves for centuries. Those same highborn now stand with the Dazhum Empire. When we strike west, we break them. Their cities fall. You take the land."
Then to Ghoran."The Skarnulf have always lived for battle. Glory will come by fire and steel. The land taken is yours to hold. The Stormguard does not make hollow promises."
He faced Prime Minister Qui."The Free Cities League stands to gain what it lost. Security. Borders. Control over the western trade lines. Your levies fight under Stormguard command. Your garrisons remain intact. When the route is secure, trade resumes under your flag."
Lastly, he addressed Kassan and the Gale envoys."If your tribes send fighters, they will be trained and housed. Survivors will receive land. While they serve, their families will receive a monthly stipend. Be honest with them. This war has no guarantees. Not all will return. But the Stormguard will care for those left behind. Even after the war. Even after death."
He moved back, eyes sweeping the room.
"This alliance only works if we move as one. No fragmented fronts. No second agendas."
Kassan gave a short nod. "We'll relay it."
One of the Gale envoys murmured, "That's enough."
Altan gave a final glance to each envoy."No deployments without Stormguard oversight. No early movements. They train under our banner. That's final."
Silence followed. There was no farewell. No ceremony. The envoys turned and left one by one.
Only Stormwake remained.
Altan walked to the frost-covered window. Beyond the glass, the frozen sea was still and black. Ice stretched to the horizon. Beneath that cold expanse, a hundred warpaths waited to be carved.
Altan didn't turn from the window. He stood motionless, eyes fixed on the frost-covered horizon beyond the western sea.
Behind him, Stormwake remained in place.
Altan didn't move. "Nivak?"
"Yes," Stormwake replied. "There's an update."
Stormwake stepped forward. "Blind-drop message. Arrived this morning by War-Moth courier. Retrieved by the Veilguard."
Altan said nothing.
Stormwake read the note aloud.
"Pursue me and the Dazhum agents. Apply just enough pressure to keep the illusion. From the Freedmen coast, we sail across the Embergale Isles, then land deep in southern Dazhum lands."
A long pause.
Altan's voice came low, steady.
"Let it run."