Cent. Calendar 23/12/1639, Prime Minister’s Official Residence, Tokyo, Japan, 14:20

Darkness filled the conference room at the official residence of the Prime Minister as equally gloomy storm clouds gathered ominously over the blackout-stricken capital. The National Security Council, the highest committee in Japan responsible for the nation’s defense policies, was in session; but they were not going to discuss some vague, indeterminate policies for a far-flung future beyond their tenure in government, but rather something in recent memory that requires decisive action to be made in between now and yesterday. But where have they last seen such a grueling challenge to the bureaucratic megalith that is the Japanese government, and what exactly happened after they tackled such a problem? Unfortunately, the answers to such questions are known all too well by this cabinet, especially Prime Minister Takamori.

Bzzzzzzz...

But all was not darkness—at least, not inside the conference room where the council was currently convening. The room’s built-in projector cast an eerie white light from across the empty space and onto a flat, featureless wall on the other side, painting a moving picture of the gray ocean in grainy yet tolerable fidelity. A low, somewhat mechanical hum played from the hidden speakers playing surround sound—the powerful growl of turboprop engines of a Lockheed P-3C maritime patrol aircraft, muffled artificially by the device that had taken the footage.

The oceans in the footage, grainy as it may have been, visibly sloshed around back and forth, the lack of any discernible movement from the aircraft determinant of just how far it was from the scene taking place. Then, the camera swayed ever slowly to the upper left, before long revealing a singular feature that stood out from the rest of the unimaginative wave-splashing background: a warship painted in a lighter shade of gray than the surrounding sea steaming towards the direction just offset to the left of the camera. There was hardly any indication of its actual size—in fact, it appeared more like a remote-controlled vessel than an actual ship—but the slow speed at which it threw itself at the angry waves and the almost vexing rate at which its gun battery fore of the superstructure rotated to face the left side of the camera give the viewer a feeling of how life-like it was.

To most of the men present in the National Security Council, it was none other than some old pocket-like battleship, the closest vague image they could conjure in their heads was the legendary Mikasa battleship in Yokosuka; but to the more knowledgeable about the military who were present, it was resemblant of a late 19th-century ironclad that had more in common with the turn-of-the-century pre-dreadnoughts than the American Civil War-era monitor ships. Divided in their interpretations, the men were unanimously on the same side regarding one clear fact: this had happened in real life. As absurd as the circumstances of the transfer phenomenon may be, what they were witnessing did indeed take place; the blue and white battle ensign flying above the warship indicated she was fighting on behalf of the Kingdom of Altaras. Moments after her guns had stopped moving, a bright flash assailed the video footage for a split second: the guns had just fired, sending semi-opaque clouds of burnt powder all across the ship’s side and obscuring roughly a third of the ocean seen on the footage.

The camera then warped to a different focus: the ocean was still there, but this time it featured an ironclad warship of more conspicuous crude construction flying a battle ensign of red and gold—the Parpaldian Empire’s colors—with its guns facing the opposite direction to the Altaran warship’s. Mere moments after the camera adjusted its focus, pillars of water erupted at random places along the Parpaldian warship’s vicinity as it, in turn, unleashed its own volley of shots back at the direction of the Altaran warship.

The footage continued to play in silence, the hum of the aircraft’s engines having faded into the background tone of monotonous, uneventful stillness. More warships exchanging fire with one another were shown, but it was awfully clear that the Altaran side was outnumbered by their enemies. It didn’t take long for some meaningful developments to occur: direct hits were scored; fires broke out; catastrophic explosions rocked the ocean with their powerful shockwaves; ships began listing off to a side or their decks started to slip beneath the waves; and then finally, some of them disappeared underneath the ravenous maws of the ocean, never to see the light of day again. It was chaotic and tragic, yet watching it also gave them some mind-numbing sense of nothingness from the helpless frame of their apathetic camera lens, separated by an insurmountable boundary known as time. It was nothing like a movie or a documentary: there was no plotline, a clear-cut narrative, characters, or even a message to tell. Yet the council watching the footage felt aggravation, nausea, a sense of loss, and above all, disappointment, for they knew what they had seen was worse than a movie or documentary—it was real, and they knew they had a role to play in it.

As soon as the footage ended, the lights were turned back on, pulling the men of the council back into the urgency of the situation, yet the apprehensiveness from watching the footage never did go away. To get the meeting back to speed, Asada Taiji, the man appointed to be National Security Advisor, cleared his throat and proceeded to get things underway.

“That was the footage from the JMSDF of the altercation near Messina, Sios, now referred to as the ‘Battle of Messina’ by the international press, between the navies of the Parpaldian Empire and the Kingdom of Altaras. The respective authorities are yet to determine which side shot first, what circumstances led to this event, and whether or not there were miscommunications, but based on the footage, we can conclude—for now, at least—that it was the Parpaldians who fired first. Neither side has published a report on casualties, but based on the footage, we have estimated the death toll for the battle to be around 3,000 on the Parpaldian side and 4,000 on the Altaran side, totaling to around 7,000 deaths.”

The number of people dead, many of whom they’ve seen in the footage being either burned alive, being blown away by an explosion, or being outright eviscerated, sent a deathly chill down their spines. They were, however, puny in consequence to Asada’s first point: the two great regional powers of the Third Civilized Region, both of which are major industrialized nations with competent military forces and possessing a sizeable stake in the regional economy, have just bloodied each other in an act of war the clarity of which they’ve never seen before. All who were present in the room were either sweating buckets, looking down at the documents laid before them on the meeting table and avoiding eye contact or were loosening their ties in a futile attempt to relieve the tension they were feeling. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Agano Kenzo, who was about to speak, checked all three.

“At exactly 13:30, Altaras time, the Kingdom of Altaras formally declared war against the Parpaldian Empire.”

Silence. For a good minute, an uneasy hush hung over the council as everyone struggled to cope with the reality they were living in. In the straits, just a mere hundred kilometers from their westernmost islands in the Ryukyu island chain, a major war between the region’s most powerful nations—and it goes without saying that they’re also two of their bigger economic partners—had just broken out. Even worse still was the fact that there were more than a thousand Japanese citizens on either side of the strait, now undeniably subject to the horrors of war so far from home. Takamori, knowing that

“Well, first things first: we must get our citizens out of there, at once!”

Here goes Takamori again with his un-Japanese-politician characteristic of being decisive. The rest of the council stared back at him, although not with confused looks but with those asking for clarification: he didn’t exactly specify where “there” was. Nevertheless, they were not clueless—they knew exactly where he was pointing to—but such a clear answer was too problematic for them to specify personally in their own words.

“W-Where exactly is ‘there,’ prime minister?”

Both Altaras and Parpaldia, with their basic industrialized economies and potential for resource extraction and import-export markets, serve as a huge stepping stone for Japan on securing a path back to recovery towards a sense of pre-transfer normalcy, if even a fraction of it. Be that as it may regarding their hegemonic tendencies—as is the case for late 19th century imperialist behavior—and their lack of respect for one another, there exists a stable (yet comparatively primitive by Earth standards) international society for amicable peace, trade, and economic partnerships complete with powers enforcing a semblance of rule of law that Japan could utilize to forward its economic interests in the region without necessarily invoking the unpalatable force projection cards in its deck. As such, there has been some significant headway made on the economic front as economic links between Japan and Altaras and Parpaldia are realized; but then the usual bout of tit-for-tat that has been going on for years between the two suddenly devolved into all-out war within the extremely short span of a month. With untold destruction and loss of life undeniably on the horizon, Japan must obviously prioritize its citizens’ lives and get them out of the way, but then they face having to make a painful decision: with the war obviously going to afflict both sides of the straits, in the evacuation, should they cut their losses with Altaras or Parpaldia? Or perhaps both? It was one thing to prioritize their citizens, but with the policy of the administration—and by extension, Japan itself—having predicated its continued existence on economic recovery from the depression brought about by the transfer event, it was also imperative that they try and pursue big economic agreements with as many nations (industrialized, if possible) as they could. Altaras and Parpaldia going to war was something they could never have prevented (contrary to the peacemaker image they’ve been knowingly projecting to both outsiders and their own people).

Takamori already had an answer in mind, but before he could say something, Agano cut in to add to the discussion.

“If I may, prime minister: the United Realms and Dominions of Mu and the Holy Mirishial Empire have both already decided to pull their assets from Altaras and to issue an evacuation directive to their citizens there. They cite previous studies that conclude that Altaras will receive worse damage economically and in terms of human cost than Parpaldia should war break out between them. Perhaps their insight may serve us well in this decision too.”

Their insight goes without saying and the reality is that Japan has much more to lose with Altaras than with Parpaldia; hedging their bets in this case also won’t do them any good either, as they should at least do the bare minimum to keep to their commitments, especially to friendly nations that have gravitated to them to try and seek refuge from Parpaldian expansionism.

“In that case, we should draft and finalize an evacuation order for all Japanese citizens currently in Altaras. And while we’re on the topic, we must issue travel warnings to those currently in Parpaldia...”

Takamori scratched his head as he remembered yesterday’s reports of panic-stricken Japanese citizens trying to leave Esthirant and the ensuing altercations with embassy personnel and Parpaldian constabularies. The Parpaldians making the fatal decision to issue an ultimatum out of nowhere caught them in a bad spot since it was all so sudden. Back on topic, he turned his gaze to Okada Masako, Minister of Defense, who met him halfway with a nod as if already knowing what he was going to say.

“The Self-Defense Forces are on standby to assist in the evacuation, prime minister.”

“Good.”

With that part out of the way, he turned his attention back to the stiff-faced Agano to discuss another important issue that they have to deal with.

“Now... Regarding Parpaldia’s more-than-obvious position as the aggressor in this matter...”

“Ah, yes! We are already in the process of drafting a formal protest: ‘In response to the blatant disregard of the Parpaldian Empire for international norms espoused under the Charter, and the sanctity of Altaran sovereignty and the lives of its people, the government of the State of Japan condemns the empire for its unprovoked act of aggression against the Kingdom of Altaras.’”

“Excellent. And what does the MoD say about giving them a copy of the footage as a reminder that the ugly truth of their unmistakable role as the aggressor in this conflict is there for all to see?”

Takamori turned back to Okada, who promptly answered him with a well-rehearsed response.

“We are already working with our Muish counterparts on trying to convert the footage to a format that the Parpaldians have playback for.”

She put a clear and blunt emphasis on “trying,” understating the unimaginable difficulty of converting modern file formats to antiquated, even alien formats—hell, at this point, it was probably more imaginable for the Muish to film a showing of the footage from a screen than outright attempting a format conversion.

“Speaking of the Muish,” interjected Asada.

“They, along with the Mirishials, are currently discussing implementing an air and maritime exclusion zone around Altaras and the straits, in addition to a ‘safe passageway’ through the strait between Altaras and Rodenius. They’ve floated the idea of creating a multinational task force that includes us to ensure that non-belligerent states could steer clear of the exclusion zone.”

“Heh.”

A light chuckle uncharacteristic of the despondent mood hanging over the conference room came from Takamori, but given the context, one couldn’t blame him. The tense, sometimes bitter rivalry between Asherah’s biggest powers was so evident that even the Japanese understood the stakes at hand, despite their relatively surface-level understanding of Asheran geopolitics. Regardless, the fact that this idea was already being concretely discussed in an international setting meant that implementation was more or less at hand, necessitating them to take the matter seriously.

“What do you think?”

Unable to muster an informed response on whether to commit to the endeavor or not, Takamori tossed the question back to Asada.

“Unfortunately, prime minister, I don’t think this is feasible for us. We’ve yet to understand and grasp this world’s norms and procedures regarding multinational cooperative operations and what our participation entails when it comes to obligations. Furthermore, there’s the technological aspect: the dominant form of communication in this world appears to be magical in nature and if we’re to believe that that will be the primary method of coordination in the operation then we are wholly underequipped.”

“Then there’s the diplomatic aspect...”

Agano added to the discussion, signaling to the others his position on the matter.

“We’re yet to receive a response from the Holy Mirishial Empire on our request for diplomatic relations, which, if we’re to enter into this commitment with such a gaping hole in our communications, would put us at great risk of unwarranted misunderstanding.”

“And to add as well, the prospect of further overseas deployment of the Self Defense Forces isn’t really popular right now...”

Aoto Maeda, Minister of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries, mumbled. “Unpopular,” however, was an understatement: not only was the National Diet successful in raising awareness and almost passing a bill that could prevent the likes of the National Security Council’s actions leading up to Operation Zanzibar from happening again, but their recent attempts to rouse the nation in a collective spirit of nationality to galvanize the people in the midst of the aftermath of the transfer had backfired in the form of greater participation in radical political movements—there’s even a recent string of disconcerting incidents linked to some of these movements. In any case...

“Then that’s going to be a resounding no from us regarding participation in that multinational task force.”

Takamori said out loud in a flat and blunt tone, devoid of any ambiguity and equivocation. As aides tapped away on their half-charged laptops to take note of the meeting’s minutes, their meeting on policy regarding the emerging national security threats from external and internal factors continued on, but as it did, the prime minister couldn’t help but slouch back bit by bit against the worn leather of his chair. As he scratched away at the stubs of gray hair growing from his chin and jaw, one could tell that something was clawing away at his consciousness.

You may run wild for six months, Takamori! But eventually, things will come back to bite your ass!

Or so it went. He could clearly remember the impassioned face of Yukino, the opposition leader, and a Diet member, as he called him out during a Diet session after the details of Operation Zanzibar were made public all the way back in Sevsrune (Month 6), but he could no longer recall the exact words he hurled at him. It was a no-brainer that things have gotten worse since then, but the new war was definitely a crisis—one on top of an already existing one—that everyone, from their cautious Muish soon-to-be-trade partners to the increasingly agitated foreigner “refugees” currently on Japanese soil, was going to scrutinize him and his administration for. In any case, the mere fact that war had broken out despite their active efforts to prevent it was already a major blow to their public image and credibility—at least for some people. 

“Like hell, you’d do any better in my place, you bastard...”

Takamori mumbled to himself, his sharp words aimed toward his outspoken critic.

Imperial Palace, Esthirant, Parpaldia, 21:15

Meanwhile, further to the west, on the southernmost coast of the Philadean mainland, another high-level meeting was taking place within the dazzling golden walls of the Parpaldian Imperial Palace. Below the amber glow of incandescent light bulbs—imports from Mu that had long displaced their primitive wax counterparts—mounted on every arm of four gilded chandeliers was a long white table filled on all sides by men and women in aristocratic fabrics wearing medals made out of precious metals and pearls nabbed from exotic seaborne mussels. For these men and women of the highest strata of Parpaldian society, this was their finest moment, for a righteous war against the menace that was Altaras had just been declared. Fortunately for all, the war began overwhelmingly in their favor: seven Altaran warships, including two of their fearsome ironclad capital ships, and thousands of irreplaceable sailors now lay at the bottom of the straits. But instead of a jubilant atmosphere, apprehension gripped everyone, including His Highness Emperor Ludius, who was present.

The source of this apprehension came from the far end of the table (from Ludius’s perspective), beyond which a large blank white canvas stood. On it was projected in glorious, vivid color the footage of the battle off the coast near Messina, Sios, which was being shown through a motion picture projector on loan from the Muish embassy, which also gave them the film rolls on which the footage was on. The footage captured the heroic feats of the 1st Armee Corquexima, the Parpaldian Navy fleet involved in the battle, and how their men fought valiantly against the dreadsome Altaran iron behemoths. The Parpaldian officials watched countless instances of cannon fire and explosions in mesmerizing silence as warships and men from both sides disappeared from beneath the waves. All in all, their courageous sailors emerged victorious, sinking the entire Altaran task force at the cost of 11 ships lost and damaged.

They should have been proud, delighted, imbued with ardor and nationalism, and yet... they aren’t.

At the tail end of the footage, a single empty frame was left out. Inscribed on it in thick, blood-red letters were the words “The entire world will know of your transgression in starting this war” in the local Parpaldian script. Below it is signed by the author of the footage: the Japanese government.

As the Parpaldian officials pondered and brooded in silence about what the ramifications of this meant, Kaios, chair of the Third Foreign Affairs Department, recipient of the footage, started to speak. From the tone of his deeper-than-usual voice, anyone could tell that he was forcing it out.

“As of this moment, the Japanese government has released this same footage to international media networks. We are currently working with Interior Security to determine the specific media outlets that have been given this footage.”

The Japanese had captured the moment their warships initiated the war by opening fire on the fleeing Altaran task force, not only implicating them as the aggressor in this conflict but also making further light on the violation of their own ultimatum. If this raw information were to spread amongst the Parpaldian nation at this point in time, it might not only dissuade supporters of the war from participation but also embolden the anti-war and anti-imperialist factions, both of which currently comprise a negligible minority. As if that wasn’t bad enough...

“Prince Gaumer...”

Locking his hands together in a sign of restraint, Emperor Ludius turned to Prince Gaumer of the Principality of Frénau, a member of the Imperial House of Gallaire under a faction allied to Ludius, and whom he appointed the Chief of Staff of the Imperial Navy, as he uttered his name in a condescending tone. Being a natural non-confrontationist, he slightly cowered as his overbearing distant cousin mentioned him by name.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness...?”

“I did not hear any mention of a Japanese reconnaissance unit being present during the battle in any of the reports you’ve shared. Care to clarify?”

“I’m afraid there is nothing to clarify other than the reports did, in fact, not mention any Japanese unit being present or spotted during, before, and after the course of the battle, Your Highness...”

Shaking as though his hands may be, he still managed to be coherent in his speech. He then beckoned on an aide to hand him a bundle of papers, which he rapidly glanced over before turning his attention back to Ludius.

“Even the reports by the wyvern lord flight assigned to conduct reconnaissance before and after the battle is consistent with the detachment’s reports: they didn’t spot any other forces in the area.”

Ludius bit his lip. There was still much to analyze regarding the credibility of their reports, but the consistency of the details they had provided with the footage of the engagement issued by Japan painted a crystal clear picture of events. If they didn’t notice or detect the presence of a Japanese reconnaissance unit in the area, how in the world did they even manage to record the battle with such detail and comprehensiveness? The logic eluded him; based on the troubled looks of the other officials, it eluded them too. Of the few that had unclouded expressions, Ianos, the director of Interior Security, an internal counterintelligence organ that also doubles as Parpaldia’s intelligence bureau, was perhaps the most convinced of the Prince’s statement. Wishing to defog the situation for the others, he began to speak.

“If I may, Your Highness: I think there is logic to be found in the nature of the circumstances surrounding this ‘missing’ Japanese unit.”

Desperate for answers, Ludius motioned his hand to give Ianos the floor to speak.

“If you remember the incident in Jin-Hark and the nature of the Japanese action there, perhaps it would make more sense...”

As soon as the words “incident in Jin-Hark” reached the ears of all who were present, their eyes widened as if they had stumbled upon some epiphanic truth.

“Initial doubts were that the Japanese possessed some sort of air unit similar to the Imperial ‘aircraft,’ a suspicion we’ve since been able to confirm from our assets embedded in Louria, Altaras, Qua-Toyne, and so on. There is enough conclusive proof to say that the Japanese are in possession of a fleet of sophisticated, advanced aircraft of various designs. We do not know yet the definitive details of their capabilities, the nature of their mission, or even the degree of technological sophistication, but all accounts are telling. What I’m trying to say is that taking into account these things, being able to have the technology to fly far away—enough to be out of sight—while still being able to see the battle unfold so clearly is not impossible for them.”

There was some logic to Ianos’ statements, and the others didn’t have the necessary information or even the speculative capacity to try and say otherwise. In any case, this message was definitely a painful sting to the pride of everyone involved: a mind-numbing, humbling reminder of the threat the Japanese posed regardless of their otherwise meek self-presentation. It was tempting to sideline and disregard, especially true for the more outspoken nationalists in the room, in favor of what was essentially a successful opening battle in the war against Altaras.

“Hmph. Let’s leave the speculation aside for now...”

Believing that the crux of the problem lay not with how the Japanese captured the footage, Ludius moved the discussion back to the threat the footage posed to their war effort.

“I assume that this problem wouldn’t be too much for you to handle?”

His gaze went to a conspicuous, silver-haired woman sitting in between a couple of military uniforms. She wore an unassuming blank poker face on top of the layer of heavy makeup beautifying her already gorgeous face, all of which worked hand in hand to disturb the balance of libido (for the men) and envy (for the women) in the meeting. The chair she sat on was reserved for the director of the Imperial Communications Office, the government organ meant for directing how information must be shared throughout the empire—in other words, they were the imperial government’s propaganda arm. The director is, on paper, appointed by the senate committee, but the overarching nature of Parpaldian nepotism and power politics in the imperial house meant that the director is almost always aligned with the emperor. Today, the chair is occupied by none other than Remille, appointed to the position by a committee chaired by yes men loyal to Ludius.

“Why, of course! Needless to say that their propaganda efforts aren’t going to penetrate far into the people’s consciousness!”

She replied in a tone too haughty and unbothered for the meeting’s serious ambiance as she flicked her wrist as if to brush aside the problem.

“You do understand the gravity of the situation, woman?”

The uniformed man sitting next to her, a fellow aristocrat from a military family who’s subordinate to the Army Chief of Staff, spoke to her as if to chide her, placing emphasis on her being a woman. It was obvious from his wavering eyes and perspiring appearance that he wasn’t awfully comfortable with the presence of a woman in the meeting—and a bewitchingly attractive one at that.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t need you forcing yourself on me to know how important my duties are.”

“We’re getting off track.”

Knowing the man’s misogynistic attitude, Ludius deemed it best to intervene, letting out a stomach-turning growl underneath what otherwise sounded like a neutral warning to the two. With the unruly seatmates silenced and put back in their respective places, he continued.

“As I was saying: it is imperative that we get the mass media in line with our message—limit their accessibility to the communications network, sanctions to their economic operations, removal of their permit to operate, and perhaps even coerce them through the use of force. While it may already be next to impossible, you must also try to get the international media outlets to fall in line. In any case, we must get as many people as possible to believe in our message and for as few people as possible to be reminded of our... unfortunate ultimatum circumstances.”

“As you wish.”

Remille replied, restraining herself from doing actions that may earn more of Ludius’s ire. Seeing that that issue was seemingly resolved, Elto, having something to report for the meeting, spoke up.

“Your Highness, may I now speak?”

“Ah, yes. You may proceed.”

With Elto summoning her aides to hand her a handful of documents, the meeting returned back on track. While there was more to discuss, especially relating to policy moving forward with a fully-fledged war on their hands, the directive for their propaganda operation has been set with Remille and her office to oversee its implementation.

Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 21:40

As the Parpaldian leadership was recovering from the stun that was the Japanese “propaganda effort,” on the other side of the strait, the Altaran leadership was recovering from a different level of pain. While nationalistic rage surged through the streets of the cities of the kingdom as widespread demonstrations and protests erupted following the declaration of war and the news of the tragedy at Messina, little of the optimistic urge for retaliation was to be found among the group of ministers, officials, and the highest-ranking military officers present at a meeting hall at the royal castle. That was not to say that there wasn’t a desire for revenge and victory—there was plenty of that to go around—but the staggering loss of a squadron in the opening battle had undeniably set the disheartening tone for this war. That case is true for everyone—that is, except for one man.

“Finally! War! And the uptight assholes in Esthirant started it! Now the world knows who they are!”

Invigorated and full of spirit, King Taara XIV roared with exhilaration in the midst of the meeting, making it known to all his jubilant impression of what had just occurred. Naturally, everyone was skeptical—some were even offended—by the uncalled-for, insulting behavior of their king, but they all knew better than to put on full display their displeasure for him, for they all knew too well what awaited them if they did. The princesses, who stood next to the king, slightly lowered their heads, feigning ignorance to the matter in the eyes of their father but were really, consciously embarrassed by his abhorrent conduct.

“Lift your heads in dignity and pride, oh valiant sons and daughters of Altaras! Have you not seen the footage and how bravely our men fought against the imperialist bastards?”

He may be blinded by his own deluded interpretations of the matter, but he was at least conscious enough to see the disheartened faces of his people. However, instead of inspiring confidence and morale, his remarks instead irritated his officials. News of the squadron’s destruction at Messina spread slowly, but it was not until Japan released clear, unaltered footage of the battle from a bird’s eye perspective that they finally saw the full picture. They were initially doubtful of the footage given the unbelievable circumstances of how it was taken, but what it showed them was the final nail in the coffin for any lingering hope that their squadron survived. There was now only the disheartening tragedy that a squadron—a comparatively big formation given their navy’s minuscule scale—and thousands of Altaran sailors were now forever lost to them, yet the king had the gall to celebrate such an act. Still, they knew better than to show their resentment to him, so they raised their closed fists into the air instead and cried out, “For Land and King!”

“HAHAHAHA!!! That’s the spirit! The very earth trembles at the mere sight of your ironclad resolve!”

Satisfied with himself and the sight of his people ‘rallying’ to their national cause against the Parpaldian imperialist tide, Taara got down to business.

“I summoned you all here so that you may spread the word of the kingdom’s call to arms to the people across the land—a full-on mobilization!”

The officials and military officers all glanced at one another upon hearing this. There was technically nothing in the law that could stop the king from calling a mobilization, and given that they were in a state of war against an existential threat, this was nothing short of reasonable. And yet there was an aura of apprehension among the aristocratic, old men present, for all of them had disagreements with the war—the role they played in enabling it and the terrifying effect it will have on economic prosperity—in one form or another. Furthermore, while the nationalistic fervor in Le Brias, the uber-centralized power base of the kingdom, was undeniably powerful, the same cannot be said for many places outside of it; this was especially true for the more underdeveloped, mountainous south, where tense feelings of dissociation from the kingdom due to administrative neglect and corruption, coupled with an existing power base since this was where Taara dumps his political “undesirables,” might cause problems for Taara’s “full-on mobilization” desires.

Unfortunately for them, Taara was uninterested in hearing their side of the story—they were only here for the purpose of listening to what he wanted to say. In fact, the announcement of that policy wasn’t meant for them either.

“What do you think, General Kainarka?”

Taara turned to a gray-bearded man standing off to one side of the table. A fluffy cloud of gray hair strands obscured his eyes, which were, in turn, shadowed by a khaki cap that was too big for his bald head. He wore the minimalist uniform meant for those that occupied the upper brass of the Royal Army; braided along the length of his sleeves was a pattern that only the highest-ranking man in the kingdom would have. His complexion was darker than what would be expected from a noble favored by Taara, who generally spent most of his days cooped in opulent office spaces that could easily be mistaken for royal lounge rooms, but sun-tanned skin was not what got him to where he was...

“Splendid choice, Your Majesty!”

Kainarka, the old man Taara appointed his Army Chief of Staff, gladly affirmed his strategic decision.

To the more disillusioned of the king’s conduct and mental capacity, they were utterly disappointed in General Kainarka’s predisposition to accept his ideas all willy-nilly; yet they were the fools for failing to expect something so obvious. It was an open secret that much of the inner circle that surrounds Taara are handpicked individuals that are either like-minded in policy and implementation or are complicit in them—in other words, they were all yes-men. There definitely exists a couple of meat bodies with actual, functioning heads and a reasonable amount of empathy and wit among that circle, such as the Navy Chief of Staff and a couple of ministers, but the framework of power in the system that Taara had spent decades crafting to his advantage meant that they were eternally at fault in terms of actually fulfilling their obligations; at a flick of a finger, Taara could override or supplant their decisions or worse, take them out of office and plug them into the boonies for “re-education.” But unlike the Navy Chief of Staff, who was at least competent in his administration of the Navy, the Army wasn’t as fortunate—if anything, they got the shortest end of the stick. A man of an age beyond what was considered reasonable for retirement from public office, General Kainarka was a bonafide yes-man through and through. To make matters worse, he was malleable; he could not effectively manage the Army in his old age, enabling Taara to push his policies past (and through) him to be implemented by the Army and the other ministers. This fact, which had been in place for decades, has led to the decline of the Army’s effectiveness as a fighting force thanks to Taara’s appointment of cronies in its ranks, resulting in a highly centralized command structure centered around him—a byproduct of not only his obsession with control, but also his paranoia of so-called “Parpaldian insiders and traitors” trying to undermine said control.

Taara smiled at Kainarka’s almost giddy response, which was like music to his ears, as he clapped his hands in victory.

“I knew I could always count on the great General Kainarka! Now, how does... a million of our finest men mobilized in Le Brias sound?”

The ministers, officials, military officers, and even the princesses almost jumped from their heels at the sheer shock of hearing such a blatantly impossible figure. Why a million?! And of the finest men? At their current numbers, even if he could somehow bypass the logistical and command and coordination problems that this could entail, concentrating such a huge chunk of their force in the capital, which is located smack dab in the middle of the northern peninsula jutting out into the strait, is tantamount to kingdom-wide capitulation. Not to mention that they already have multiple permanent units, along with the capital’s dedicated defense garrison and air force, already stationed within the greater Le Brias area. They were itching to call Taara out on such a herculean and strategically stupid request—some were even itching to maul the madman then and there—but the mere fear of losing their positions and lives held their frustrations back. That wasn’t the case for the princesses, however.

“Father, with all due respect: that is simply unreasonable and goes against the basic rule of putting too many eggs into one basket!”

Lumies, the youngest of the princesses and yet the most outspoken, did not shy from protesting her father’s idea.

“I can agree with mobilization, for we are at war with Parpaldia, and we need every able-bodied man to man the guns and stock the wares, but I cannot fathom the strategic value of putting most of our army at the capital!”

She put up a valid counterpoint to Taara, but a lone voice from what he saw as his rebellious daughter was not going to sway him anytime soon. Just as he was about to rebuke her, another princess, Alila, traditionally the silent one but now emboldened by her little sister and having grown tired of their father’s ineptness, joined her.

“It doesn’t make sense, Father.  ...Think of the, uh... holes you’ll open in our defenses... by, uhh, redeploying crucial manpower to the capital. A Parpaldian landing at... say, uh, Saveh or Madibur, would push through should we leave them... unmanned? Is that the right term?”

“It’s ‘undermanned,’ dearest big sister Alila.”

Meanwhile, Semira, the eldest and the closest to Taara appeared as if she was going to join her sisters but for some reason had frozen on the spot. She agreed with their points wholesale, and she, too, thought that their father’s idea was ludicrous, but her predisposition to chime in as the devil’s advocate to them for their father got her hesitating. At the same time, she also didn’t wish to antagonize him, believing that this wasn’t the time nor the place to challenge him. 

As for Taara, for the first time in a long time, two of her daughters—one of which was typically mute to the conversation—were unanimous and outspoken in their stance against their own father. Seeing this, he flinched ever so slightly; he could easily overpower and corner one of them with rebuffs and threats of punishment, but there was little he could personally do against two of them. In a way, he was also proud of his daughters finally earning the gall to align with one another, but now was not the time for family moments. They’re at war; in a war, one must cleanse one’s nation of strife and disunity, for he believed coherence in command and control is the key to achieving strategic success. A house divided and caught in infighting will never set its differences aside to deal with an invader. With that said, it was clear where this conversation was going to go.

“No, no, no. Your ideas are fine and dandy, but this is no place for them. Actually, why did I even bring you here... This is a meeting between men and the big heads of Altaran policymaking! Go take your wishful thinking somewhere else, alright, dears?”

In a bout of confusing regression in how their father sees them, the daughters were pushed to the verge of throwing a fit.

“What?! How could you deny us this obligation to the kingdom, Father?!”

“Yeah... we’re not little kids anymore.”

Yet you still act like little, whining kids, you brats...

After lightly massaging his forehead as he felt the first signs of a migraine, he raised his hand high into the air and breathed out.

“Guards!”

Without further commands or cues, a squad of royal guardsmen on standby came to the two princesses and restrained them by the arms and shoulders with their strong, burly hands.

“Take them away! Let them play in the garden or have them pray at the mausoleum or something—I don’t know, just take them away from here!”

The guardsmen then proceeded to drag the two princesses by their arms out of the hall. They kicked, struggled, and screamed at their father to reconsider what he was doing, but he apathetically turned his back on them as two of his daughters disappeared behind the closing doors.

Semira, all the while, was still frozen, but now her hesitation had been replaced by regret—regret that she should’ve either stood up with her sisters or stopped their father and talked some sense to him. Just as she was silently mulling over her indecisiveness, Taara walked up to her with eyes devoid of empathy.

“And where do you stand in this matter, my dearest Semira?”

She looked straight into his eyes as he asked the question. His equally blank expression gave her little clues on what he really wanted to know—or rather hear—from her, but if she valued her standing and what was left of her father’s sanity, there was only really one answer.

“...With you, dearest Father.”

Hearing what he wanted to hear from her, Taara’s lips curved into a smile. He gave her a light pat on the shoulder for the sensible reply.

“Good.”

The sight was nothing short of perplexing to everyone else in the room—after all, no sane father would do something of the sort. But perhaps he was no ‘sane’ father; if anything, what he did was plainly frightening and disheartening. If the king could dismiss his own daughters’ opinions as easily as he did right now, what chances did they—a bunch of nobles and aristocrats, of which a sizable number have little to no empathetic connection to Taara—have in persuading him? The men bite their lips in frustration as they once again hold back their more violent tendencies. Nothing could convince them that they were destined for demise.