The biting wind was a cruel whip, lashing Viskov's purple wings as he descended from fifty meters high. It was mid-winter, a brutal -5 degrees Celsius, and the air tasted like frost and the promise of snow. He braced himself, feeling the immense pressure build as his feet finally touched the ground just outside Kylia City's walls. For ordinary mortals, a fifty-meter drop was a deadly challenge. But for a Valor like him, it was just a slight, wing-aching inconvenience.
He stretched, the familiar ache easing from his wings, and inhaled deeply. The air here, despite the chill, was clean and invigorating. Before him, Kylia City sprawled, a living testament to the ingenuity of his sister's people. He spotted three railway lines snaking through the city, disappearing into the distance. Smoke billowed from chimneys, and buildings of brick and steel soared higher than anything he'd ever seen in the Valor States. He'd heard whispers about Kylia's "prosperity," but actually seeing it was breathtaking. He also heard news of Kylia's military might after defeating multiple enemy city-states and sister Rosa 2 years ago with minimal to almost no casualties.
Viskov adjusted his simple, dull-colored clothes, feeling a sudden pang of inadequacy. Next to the city, he felt almost feral, barbaric even. He imagined the refined elegance that awaited him within those walls. His clothes were basic, stitched together from fabrics his people could make, utterly unsuited to represent even a fraction of who he was.
He walked towards the gates, guarded by soldiers in crisp, blue uniforms. Their bolt-action rifles gleamed faintly under the weak winter sun.
"State of Viskov," he announced, his voice roughened by the wind. "Viskov, here to see Queen Kylia."
The guards exchanged glances. The name "Viskov" clearly held weight; the State was known as the most powerful Valor dominion. One of the guards snapped to attention and hurried inside. The short wait that followed felt like an eternity. Finally, the guard returned.
"The Queen will see you, Lord Viskov. Please follow me."
Viskov followed the guard into the city, his senses reeling.
The streets roared with a cacophony of sounds completely foreign to him. The rhythmic clatter of horse-drawn carriages mixed with the shrill whistles of steam engines. Hawkers cried out, trying to draw attention above the rumble of iron-wheeled carts.
He walked on cobblestones, worn smooth by countless feet. The scent of coal smoke, roasted nuts, and something vaguely floral – perfume, perhaps – hung heavy in the air. People rushed past, bundled in fur coats and woolen shawls, their faces etched with a mixture of determination and weariness. They barely glanced at him, their lives dictated by a rhythm he didn't yet understand. He saw children chasing hoops down the street, vendors selling steaming pies from carts, and elegantly dressed women window-shopping at stores overflowing with goods he couldn't even name. It was a whirlwind of activity, a stark contrast to the impoverished, agrarian life of the Valor States.
The guard led Viskov toward what loomed in the distance – the Kylian Capital Building. Even from afar, it radiated an aura of power and permanence. As they drew closer, its scale became almost overwhelming. Built entirely of shimmering white and grey marble, quarried from the Kylian Mines, the building seemed to defy gravity. From above, he knew, the sprawling structure resembled a sideways "K," a bold statement of Kylian power and progress. Twenty years of construction, he recalled hearing.
He followed the guard through imposing bronze doors, the weight of them adding to the already palpable atmosphere of importance. The interior was just as breathtaking. Gleaming marble floors reflected the soft light filtering through stained-glass windows, depicting 20 years of Kylian history and prosperity. He was ushered through hushed hallways, lined with portraits of important leaders and dignitaries.
Finally, they arrived at a pair of double doors, modesty carved with a chiseled modern cut. The guard knocked crisply, and a voice, weary yet firm, called out, "Enter."
The guard opened the doors, and Viskov stepped into Kylia's office. It was a spacious room, dominated by a large desk piled high with documents. Behind it, stood Kylia.
He hadn't seen her in years, not since she had left the State of Viskov 25 years ago to become the Valord of Kylia. Her features were sharper, more defined than he remembered, her eyes holding a certain steeliness that hadn't been there before. She wore a tailored, dark-blue uniform, adorned with subtle silver and black embroidery.
And she was taller too. He remembered a scrawny girl picking wildflowers with him in the fields of Viskov with their parents. But his memories were clearly outdated. He, at 2.05 meters, while nowhere as near as tall as his dad's 3 meters, considered himself to be of immense build for his age of 123, yet she was nearly up to his shoulders, standing at a very respectable 1.84 meters. He'd always been the taller one, the older brother. Seeing her now, towering with authority, made him feel a strange mixture of pride and insignificance.
Kylia watched Viskov enter, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Viskov," she said, her voice also lower than what Viskov remembered. "Welcome to Kylia City. It's been too long."
She gestured to a plush velvet chair opposite her desk. "Please, sit. You must be chilled to the bone. Can I offer you tea? Something stronger, perhaps? We have a rather potent vodka from the north that I acquired in…questionable circumstances."
"Kylia," he replied, bowing slightly. "It's… impressive. The city, the building, everything." He gestured vaguely, feeling awkward and out of place.
Kylia smiled, a genuine smile that momentarily banished the regal facade. "Thank you. It has been my life's work. But please, sit. Let's talk."
Viskov cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns woven into the rug beneath his feet. "The Hylians," he finally said, his voice low and grave. "They are amassing troops on our border. Rosa has already told you, right?"
Kylia nodded slowly, cutting to the point. "The Hylians are becoming increasingly aggressive. Massing troops south of Sovi and north of Pavo."
Viskov looked up, relief flickering across his face. "Then you know. We're... ill-prepared, to say the least. Our armies are small and our weapons outdated compared to the Hylians. If the Hylians invade, let alone holding them off, we would be overrun in two years. We need your help."
"Of course, Viskov," Kylia answered, her voice measured. "I had already dispatched three of our intelligence officers to the border after receiving the news from sister Rosa. As soon as the war starts, I will lend the Blue Army to help the defense of the Valor states and dedicate 4% of the Kylian budget per year to aid."
Viskov's face lit up with relief then looked at Kylia perplexed. "Thank you, but…?"
Kylia held up a hand, halting his words of gratitude. "Don't thank me yet. There are conditions."
Viskov frowned, the hope in his eyes dimming slightly. "Conditions?"
"Yes," Kylia said, her gaze unwavering. "I am prepared to commit the Blue Army to defend the Valor States against the Hylian aggression. But not before the first shot is fired. We can't bear the cost of deploying our troops to the border, and it may provoke the Hylians into attacking."
Viskov swallowed hard, absorbing her words. "But the Hylians are already massing on the border. They could in the next 4 years!"
"I am aware of the risks," Kylia said, her voice firm. "But the Kingdom of Kylia has its own priorities. As you know, the War of the Coalition ended not too long ago. The recent annexation of the northern and eastern regions has stretched our government resources to its limit. Countless cities require rebuilding and our economy is only beginning to stabilize. During the Rosa and Coalition wars the Kingdom mobilized 10% of its total population towards the war. With the new yet devastated territories, I'm afraid even a simple 3% mobilization would trigger a collapse. I cannot risk jeopardizing our progress by prematurely engaging in another conflict."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "Once the war begins Kylian troops will be fully committed to the defense of the Valor States, I will also devote 4% of my kingdom's budget towards sending physical aid to the Valor States."
"Understood," Viskov said, nodding slowly. "We will prepare as best we can, and hope for the best. Thank you, Kylia. For everything." He rose to his feet, ready to depart and bring the news back to the Valor States.
As he was about to excuse himself, Kylia leaned forward. "Before you go, Viskov... there's something else I need to tell you about."
Viskov paused, turning back to face her. "What is it?"
A mischievous smirk formed on Kylia's lips. "I bested older sister Rosa in a one-on-one battle."
Viskov stared at Kylia, his jaw slack. "You... you beat Rosa? In a fight?" he stammered, disbelief etched across his face. It wasn't just that Rosa was physically larger and possessed the honed instincts of a seasoned warrior; she was practically legendary. Fifty years Viskov's junior, yet thirty years Kylia's senior, Rosa was the epitome of a Valor warrior. The notion that Kylia, so young, could overcome her was… inconceivable. He initially assumed she'd exploited a weakness, outmaneuvered her with some arcane fighting technique, like a child defeating a brute with precisely placed pressure points.
Seeing the confusion swirling in Viskov's eyes, Kylia shook her head, a touch of playful arrogance dancing in her gaze. "No…I suppressed her using my strength and speed alone. In fact, it was Rosa who surpassed me in combat experience and fighting techniques." She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Think of it this way, Viskov. The battle was more like a child, boasting adult strength. No finesse, just raw power and overwhelming speed brutally beating on the adult."
Viskov blinked, looking at Kylia if she was some sort of exotic flower. His surprise slowly morphed into a familiar, brotherly competitive spirit.
"No," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "No, I don't believe it. I, first brother and Valord of Viskov, challenge you, Kylia of Kylia, to a friendly spar!
"Oh? You dare challenge me? I am not weakling myself! Are you afraid your position as first brother would be compromised?" Kylia rose from her desk, her posture radiating confidence. "Very well, Viskov. I accept your challenge. But don't expect me to pull any punches. Be prepared, brother, for I have ascended to your level!"
Guards: At least do your fighting somewhere else! \(>_<#)/
Kylia and Viskov: … /(//-_-)\