Weeks after the transference
The first month after the Aurion Republic was torn from Earth had been a blur of confusion and fear.
When the skies cleared and the satellites found nothing familiar—no continents, no oceans, no recognizable stars—the truth became undeniable. They were no longer on Earth.
In Solaira City, streets once filled with commuters and students now swarmed with panicked citizens. Grocery stores were stripped bare in hours, gas stations clogged with frantic lines of cars, and rumors spread faster than the government could contain them.
"Have you heard? The oceans are gone—they say we're in space!"
"No, we're in another dimension! It's the end times!"
"Forget that—stock up on water, everything is going to collapse!"
Hospitals overflowed with injuries from riots and looting. Banks were stormed by desperate people trying to withdraw cash that had suddenly become meaningless. In rural towns, frightened communities armed themselves, fearing the collapse of law and order.
Inside the Presidential Emergency Operations Center, President Edrian Velez stared at the latest situation reports with weary eyes. Civil unrest was erupting in every major city. The people no longer trusted the government's statements, and conspiracy theories spread like wildfire. Fuel reserves were limited. With global oil shipments gone, refineries could only last as long as the crude already stored in depots. Without new sources, transport and power would falter within months.
Food posed the greatest crisis. Supply chains had been severed overnight, and experts warned that reserves would not feed the entire population for more than half a year.
General Marcus Delos stood at the table, calm but firm. "We are containing the riots with curfews and martial law where necessary. The military remains loyal. But we cannot maintain order forever if panic continues to spread unchecked."
Defense Minister Takahiro Sato added quietly, "If fear festers too long, loyalty will fade. A desperate people are unpredictable."
The President closed his eyes briefly, then said, "Then we must do two things at once—keep the people alive, and keep them believing there is a future."
That same night, emergency broadcasts filled every screen and radio.
"People of Aurion…" President Velez's voice echoed across the nation. "We face a challenge unlike any before. We are far from home, but we are alive. We are not under attack. Our farms still grow, our factories still run, and our soldiers still stand ready to defend you. We will survive this. And together, we will build a new home."
Behind the scenes, the military and civil agencies moved rapidly. The army secured major infrastructure—roads, power plants, water facilities, and ports all fell under military guard to prevent sabotage and looting. A nationwide rationing system was established, where food and water were distributed using identification cards to prevent hoarding. Martial law was declared in the worst-hit cities. Armed patrols enforced curfews while drones circled silently overhead. State-run broadcasts flooded televisions with stories of heroism and resilience, of soldiers helping the elderly and volunteers ensuring the hungry were fed.
For a time, the measures worked. Riots quieted. Food lines grew orderly. The sight of soldiers patrolling the streets, rifles slung and eyes alert, became both a comfort and a grim reminder of reality.
Yet beneath the surface, anxiety still simmered. Families whispered of dwindling supplies. Conspiracy theorists claimed the government had caused the event on purpose. Religious sects called it divine punishment, gathering followers by the thousands in abandoned stadiums and public squares.
Criminal syndicates thrived in the shadows. Hoarded goods were sold at obscene prices, and scammers promised "passages back to Earth" to the desperate, taking their wealth and vanishing into the chaos.
In a late-night briefing, General Delos summarized it best. "We have bought time, Mr. President. But time is all we have. Sooner or later, the people will demand answers we don't have—and solutions we cannot yet give."
President Velez remained silent for a long moment. His gaze shifted to the map of the new world, dotted with unknown settlements and kingdoms. "Then we find those answers," he said finally. "And when we do… we will decide what kind of nation Aurion will become in this world."
The morning sun cast a pale light over Solaira City, but the streets looked nothing like they once had. The usual rush of commuters and children on their way to school was gone. Soldiers in combat gear stood at checkpoints, rifles slung across their chests, scanning every pedestrian who passed.
Jonas, a factory worker, shuffled in line outside a ration distribution center. His stomach ached with hunger; the meager portions weren't enough for a man who spent ten hours a day on his feet. Behind him, a mother clutched her young daughter, whispering softly to calm her tears.
A soldier at the front of the line barked out, "Next! ID ready!"
Jonas stepped forward, holding out his identification card. The soldier scanned it with a handheld device, then handed him a small bag—rice, canned meat, and a few nutrient bars. Jonas nodded in thanks, though the soldier barely acknowledged him.
He turned to leave but overheard two men whispering nearby.
"They say the government caused this," one said. "Experimented with weapons they weren't supposed to. That's why we're here now."
"That's a lie," the other muttered. "I heard we're being punished. The priests say the gods cast us out for our sins."
Jonas walked past them silently, clutching his bag tighter. He didn't know what to believe anymore.
---
Elsewhere in the city, a group of teenagers sat on the roof of an abandoned café, staring up at the alien sky.
"I heard my uncle say they're gonna draft more people soon," one boy said, his voice trembling slightly. "The army's planning for a war against whatever lives out there."
A girl beside him snorted. "War? We don't even know who lives here. Maybe they'll come and help us."
"Or kill us," another muttered bitterly.
No one replied. The silence hung heavy as they all stared at the twin moons glowing faintly above.
---
In a cramped apartment, an old woman knelt before a shrine of candles and photographs. Her arthritic hands trembled as she prayed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Please… bring us home."
Her grandson watched from the doorway, confused and frightened. He wanted to ask when things would go back to normal, but deep down, he already knew the answer.
Nothing would ever be normal again.
---
Months after the transference
The city looked orderly on the surface. The streets were quiet, the curfews enforced. But beneath it all, fear was still everywhere—fear of hunger, fear of the unknown, fear of a future that no one could imagine.
And yet life continued, in small ways. A baker handed out leftover bread to hungry children. A soldier on patrol stopped to help an elderly man carry water. Neighbors shared what little food they had, clinging to a fragile sense of community.
Months slowly passed, and the raw panic that once consumed the Aurion Republic began to fade. Order returned—not as it had been before, but in a new, fragile form.
The streets of Solaira City no longer echoed with riots or the sound of gunfire. Checkpoints were dismantled, and the once-empty shelves in grocery stores were restocked with food grown on hastily expanded farms. Engineers had diverted rivers and cleared fertile lands to grow crops, and fishermen ventured into the alien seas, discovering that much of the marine life was edible.
Rationing ended quietly. Families could finally eat without counting every grain of rice.
But fuel remained scarce. Gasoline was now a luxury, restricted to government vehicles, military convoys, and essential transport. Private cars became useless relics lining the streets. The government launched campaigns urging people to use bicycles, animal-drawn carts, or their own feet to move around. Bright posters filled the city walls: "Pedal for the Future!" and "A Nation That Moves Together, Survives Together!"
Martial law was lifted, and the curfews disappeared. Yet soldiers still patrolled public areas, their presence a quiet reminder that safety depended on discipline. Citizens were free again, but they knew eyes were always watching.
In rural towns, life adapted more quickly. Farmers thrived as agriculture regained importance, trading their surplus food for tools, clothes, or protection. Small communities learned to rely on their own hands more than the government.
In Solaira City, bicycles became a common sight. Streets once filled with honking cars now rang with the steady rhythm of pedaling wheels. Children laughed as they rode alongside their parents. For many, it felt almost peaceful, as though the chaos of the old world had been replaced with something simpler.
But beneath the surface of this calm, people still whispered. Some claimed the government was hiding secrets about the new world. Others feared that the strange kingdoms and settlements seen from afar would one day march on Aurion.
Still, for the first time since the Event, the people were not starving, not rioting, not hopeless.
Aurion had survived the first test.
Yet the world around them remained silent—and unknown.
And in that silence, the question of what came next hung heavier than ever.
---
The royal court of Drachenhalm gathered once more, this time to discuss matters beyond the constant disputes of nobles. King Aldred sat upon his throne as Lord Merrow presented an idea that had been whispered among the ambitious.
"The lands beyond our borders remain untamed," Merrow said, his voice carrying through the hall. "Barbarians roam freely, ignorant of the king's justice and the blessings of the gods. They pay no tribute, follow no law. We should bring order to them—through faith and through the sword if necessary."
Several lords nodded in agreement. Lord Brenwick leaned forward. "Barbarian lands hold resources that we squander by leaving them be. If they submit, they become subjects. If they resist, their deaths serve as an example."
Lady Arlenne frowned. "Preaching peace with one hand and raising the sword with the other… is that what we call spreading civilization?"
Merrow smirked. "If they refuse the light, my lady, then they choose darkness."
King Aldred remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Send priests and knights to the frontier. Let them preach first. But if these savages defy us, then they will learn that refusal has a price."
---
Weeks later
The column of knights and priests moved deeper into the frontier, their banners swaying in the cold wind. Villages were scattered across the wilds—some were little more than wooden huts clustered around a fire pit, while others had crude palisades and watchtowers built from rough timber.
At each settlement, the priests approached first. They spoke of the gods of Drakensport, of the blessings of civilization, of the security that came under King Aldred's rule.
In some villages, the people listened. They accepted gifts—salt, cloth, metal tools. Chieftains agreed to kneel in a baptismal ritual by the river, more interested in trade than faith. The priests proclaimed these moments as signs of success, scribes carefully recording the names of each new convert to be sent to the capital as proof of progress.
But in other places, the preaching was met with scorn. One such encounter happened in a village of hardened warriors, where the chieftain spat at the priests' feet.
"Your gods are weak," he snarled. "Your king is a coward hiding behind armor. Leave our lands, or we will feed your tongues to the crows."
The priests stepped back in fear, but the knights did not.
Sir Edric Varlen stepped forward, his sword still sheathed but his voice cold. "You were offered peace. You have chosen defiance. The king's justice does not forgive rebellion."
At dawn the next day, the knights returned with weapons drawn. The barbarians fought fiercely, their axes and spears clashing against steel, but they were no match for trained soldiers in plate and mail. The clash was swift and bloody.
Flames devoured the wooden huts as the knights advanced through the village, cutting down those who resisted. Screams filled the air—some warriors were cut down as they tried to protect their families, others struck from behind as they fled.
When the battle ended, bodies lay strewn across the dirt. Survivors—mostly women and children—were shackled and placed under guard.
Father Alric stood silently among the corpses, clutching his staff so tightly his knuckles turned white. "We were meant to bring faith," he muttered.
Ser Aldwin, his armor spattered with blood, looked at him. "Faith without power is meaningless. This is the king's way."
The priests recorded the village as "pacified."
Word of Drakensport's mission began to spread among the frontier tribes. Some feared and submitted. Others sharpened their weapons and prepared for war.