"Time is an illusion." - Albert Einstein.

--

Cabinet Office, 70 Whitehall, London

Forty eight hours ago, everybody knew the laws of physics.

Forty eight hours later, everybody was proven wrong.

The new Prime Minister Stewart Ferguson had returned to Whitehall as soon as his meeting with the Queen had concluded, his sleek black Jaguar XJ under military guard as it made the three quarters of a mile journey back to the rapidly palpating heart of the British government.

Forced to address a new potential crisis every fifteen minutes, he hadn't been able to leave the Cabinet Office since his return.

Said return having been twelve hours ago.

Although the civil disorder from the previous night had mostly died down, many of the participants either becoming bored, tired, or intimidated by the new military presence on the streets, the national supply chain, along with its communications infrastructure had been decimated by the country's abrupt teleportation.

Without satellites, GPS had become useless, and the finely tuned mathematics that kept modern civilization running smoothly had begun to fail at an alarming rate. 

Even predicting the weather had become a hassle. Though the Met Office was fortunate in that it could still rely on it's meteorological balloons and buoys in the absence of satellite data.

But the situation wasn't without optimism.

The Emergency Powers Act had given the government essentially limitless purview to restore some sense of normality to the nation.

Across the country, numerous ground based back-up systems had kicked into effect. Ensuring that the countless electronics Britons relied on for everyday life would be able to keep track of the time, remaining effective and functional.

British Telecom, the largest telecommunications company in the UK had been given the government's full support in whatever measures were needed to restore internet services, and to maintain telephone networks, which had been stressed to breaking point in the initial panic of yesterday. 

In Northern Ireland, the electric grid was in a state of disarray as it's connections to the Republic of Ireland, with whom it shared a single electricity market were cut. Blackouts patches had been reported in areas of Belfast and Lisburn, and the Army had deployed engineers to assist civilian authorities in repairing what damage had occurred.

In essence, what needed to be done was being done.

But would it be enough? 

It was the cause of no small amount of concern that even in the event they were able to tame the current domestic situation, their future was uncertain. Food in-particular was a topic of discussion that they had yet to even address in Whitehall.

The United Kingdom was not completely self-sufficient in it's food production.

The last time it had been was 1984.

It wasn't exactly a crisis, to be sure. The year previous, Britain had produced 86% of it's own meat and 55% of it's own vegetables. In grains, other staple foods and even milk and eggs, the UK actually produced more than it's population needed for their daily caloric intake.

 Admittedly, fruit was poor by comparison, with the UK only making 18% of it's own fruit.

But in the end, the food situation was entirely manageable, even if it meant the average person needing to adopt a more simplistic diet for the time being. Though, in all honesty, it had never been scarcity that the government was worried about.

It was the reaction of the public and the agricultural industry.

Stewart knew that sooner or later, they would need an import/export market.

But was that even possible in this new world? 

--

Ministry of Defence Main Building, Whitehall, London

"To our west and south, there appear to be two large continents." Major General McGrath spoke to the briefing room before him, he was a uniformed, middle-aged man from Yorkshire with a bushy Ron Swanson moustache that always seemed to draw the attention of others.

At the other end of the room's long table, furthest from McGrath but in the centre of his line of sight sat Alistair Redwood, the Minister of Defence, and Air Chief Marshal Callum Douglas.

Closer to the General, First Sea Lord Hotham was present, seated next to two Vice Admirals.

Behind McGrath was a large screen showing aerial images taken yesterday, from the Airseeker R1 planes sent to survey their country's new surroundings.

Over the past twenty four hours, in spite of the chaos occurring at home, the Royal Air Force had dispatched several dozen sorties in every direction. Airing everything from Reaper drones to Typhoons in their newly given mission to find out just where the hell they now found themselves.

"Images taken by No. 56 Squadron in-particular show antiquated urban areas concentrated along the coastline of the southern continent." 

The assistant to McGrath's right clicked the remote in his hand, changing the pictures shown on the screen behind to match what his superior was speaking about.

"Antiquated?" Alistair questioned, resting his hand on his face.

"Yes, sir. The cities we've seen all appear to be devoid of concrete, glass or metal. Instead being comprised of wood and stone for the most part." McGrath replied, firm but knowing how it must have sounded.

 Alistair leaned forward in his chair, curiosity aroused by the pictures ahead of him.

"And it isn't just the cities, sir." McGrath continued, but hesitated.

The Minister of Defence's focus remained solely on the pictures, keen green eyes skimming over the small wooden houses and stone watch towers that lined the cobblestone streets of this city.

"What else?" He finally asked, voice somewhat distant as his mind was caught up in the images still.

"No. 54 Squadron came into contact with some of the native population. A potential military force, the Captain reported."

Alistair nodded, attention returning more so to the General with each passing moment. He had heard about this, or been given a summarized version of the report anyway. For the past day his duties had largely been occupied by the domestic situation.

"Go on." The Minister insisted.

McGrath coughed, giving his assistant their cue to change the images once more. In place of the wooden coastal city, a much more intimate shot taken from the very cockpit of the aircraft.

Just to the side of the cameraman's perspective was an animal that should not have existed.

"What the hell is that?" Alistair questioned, almost flabbergasted at the sight. The Air Marshal beside him kept quiet, knowing his civilian superior needed time to process what he was seeing, he himself had been through the same experience only hours ago. 

"Is that a dragon?" Someone else in the room asked, a lower ranking member of the office staff who otherwise wouldn't have said a word the entire meeting.

"Technically it's a Wyvern. Dragons have four legs. This one only has two." McGrath replied. 

Multiple voices rose at that response, though Alistair was deaf to it all as he was again dragged into a world of his own. A Dragon? Or a Wyvern. Whatever it was.. Where were they? 

"Sir." First Sea Lord Hotham, who had yet to speak, returned the Minister to reality.

"Yes?" Alistair responded.

"I'd like to petition, with the support of the Fleet Admiral, that we dispatch the Joint Expeditionary Force to this southern continent." Hotham spoke, an underlying urgency notable.

"Ordinarily, this would have been relayed to the PM with haste.. But given the situation at home, its proven difficult to reach him." He continued, moving on with his request before Alistair had even the chance to reply.

Alistair's eyes returned to the Dragon--Wyvern on the screen at the front of the room.

"I'll speak with him about it."

The meeting continued, but with a more unsettling ambience.

--

Imperial Palace, Jin-Hark, Louria Kingdom

Sol had made way for Luna (though in this world neither were present), as day turned to night on the continent of Rodenius.

At the highest level of the Imperial Palace, itself the tallest and most visible structure in all of Jin-Hark, blue and orange light faded together in a wonderous gradient as natural moonlight poked through the gaps between the pillars of the palace balcony, battling with the manmade light of the torches that occupied the palace walls as it done so.

Within, King Hark Louria XXXIV was content. Swirling the fine foreign wine he had specially imported, before his attention was taken from the liquid, and wrangled to the doorway of his imperial bathhouse at the arrival of an expected visitor.

"Your Highness, you summoned me?" Calis Mol politely asked in greeting.

"I did. Speak." King Louria stated, sat at the edge of his spa where a harem of scantily-clad young women attended to his needs. Seemingly like always, he was nude.

Both men knew what their meeting was about, if the presence of Haron Myar, the armoured Knight-General of the Central Army, stood beside Calis, the King's chief advisor, hadn't already gave it away.

"All necessary preparations for our invasion of Qua-Toyne have been made, as per your request."

Calis Mol was a frail old man, and had served at the side of the present King's father and grandfather both. But there had always been a saying about old men in a profession where most died young..

"Our vanguard will seize the border city of Gim, which our main force will use as a forward base, and the Eastern Subjugation Army's commander assures me that his men are willing and able to depart at a moment's notice." General Myar said next.

The King's face quickly lit up, excited at the prospect of achieving his lifelong dream.

He stood up, forcing both men across from him to draw their attention away from his lower half as he triumphantly declared, "Excellent work! Annexing Qua-Toyne and ruling Rodenius.. My great ambition is finally within reach."

All Calis could think of was how he wished his King would hold meetings beyond the confines of his spa for once.

--

Lotus Garden, Qua-Toyne City, Qua-Toyne Principality

"Several of our Wyvern Squadrons, as well as countless citizens in my city say the same thing. How can you dismiss it as mere hysteria?" Hagama, Lord of Maihalk angrily protested.

"A flying iron dragon? One that's wings did not flap? One that could both outrun and fly higher than any Wyvern ever seen?" Rinsui, the Minister of Foreign Affairs replied before pausing.

"How is that anything other than some form of mass hysteria!" He continued incredulously, dashing his counterpart's hope for mutual agreement.

"Gentlemen, please!" The voice of Prime Minister Kanata, who until now had been content to watch the argument unfold before him, settled the affair.

The news of Maihalk's encounter with the iron dragon had spread quickly by Qua-Toyne standards. All throughout the country, taverns, inns and public squares were ablaze with rumours surrounding its myriad of apparent abilities.

Invincibility, the speed of ten Wyvern and a cry so powerful it made the ears of men bleed.

Rumors.

Rumours spread uncertainty, and uncertainty sparked fear.

With the recent border tensions between the Principality and Louria, fear was not something that could be allowed to fester.

"This meeting, if one can even call it such anymore, has already gone on long enough." Kanata went on.

Which was certainly the case as they all arrived at the Gardens over several hours prior, since then even the sun had finally went to rest. Yet, they were still having these futile disagreements.

"We must come to a conclusion. If we cannot agree such an event even occurred, what hope do we have to effectively respond to it?" 

The tension in both Rinsui and Hagama's expressions had lessened.

"War with Louria appears more likely with each passing moment and coincidence or not, it is in our homeland's best interests to discern just what the people of Maihalk saw yesterday."

Murmurs of consensus filled the silence around Kanata. He took it as a good sign, while Rinsui and Hagama had both returned to their seats, having been stood up during their argument, while Kanata, who had been seated, now stood at the head of the circular marble table.

"We know from the lands of the First and Second civilizations that such.. Peculiarities are not an impossibility. As such, simply dismissing this iron dragon's appearance is not a decision I am willing to make." 

Rinsui's brows raised, but before he could open his mouth Kanata spoke.

"In my authority as Prime Minister." He emphasised with intent, swiftly shutting his Foreign Minister down. "I hereby order the Second Fleet to depart Maihalk, and to leave for the direction this iron dragon approached from."   

Hoax, hysteria, or simple reconnaissance from one of the more advanced Civilization Areas, Kanata would not have been able to sleep well with the mystery surrounding this dragon.

Perhaps now they would acquire some answers.

A few minutes later and several hundred miles away, Admiral Narao of the Qua-Toyne Navy 2nd Fleet received his orders to leave immediately in a northward direction.

The meeting back in the capital would only go on for another half hour or so, before Prime Minister Kanata finally lost what little was left of his patience, and the session was settled for the night.

Perhaps now he could get some sleep.

--

PNS Victory, Qua-Toyne Navy 2nd Fleet, South Parpaldia Sea

"Keep her steady!" Admiral Narao ordered coolly, though his emotions were anything but.

Under the cover of night, the 2nd Fleet had been unexpectedly sent out into the cold dark winds of the South Parpaldia Sea, when all of the sailors would have otherwise been resting in their barracks back in Maihalk.

It was an unusual order to say the least.

For weeks now, tensions had been rising between the Principality and their neighbors in Louria. This wasn't irregular in of itself, given the latter's expansionist tendencies.

But what he'd seen over Maihalk yesterday most certainly had been.

Already the Admiral had heard a number of his sailors theorize about the origins of that iron dragon.

Some claimed it was sent from a God, others that it was undiscovered wildlife, and unfortunately more whom thought it was Lourian in origin.

Perhaps that last theory would have been laughed at if they weren't on the brink of war.

Now, all it served to be was worrying.

"Sir! Ships in the north!" A sailor from the main topgallant mast's observation post yelled.

Suddenly the theories surrounding that iron dragon became very real to the Admiral. Ripping a nearby telescope from the unsuspecting hands of another nearby sailor, Narao was at first perplexed as to how even a trained man of the Qua-Toyne Navy was able to see distant ships in such darkness.

His confusion was quickly swept aside with the sight he was presented with through the lenses of his telescope.

Northward, in the distance sat dozens of distinctly noticeable white and red lights. Dotted at seemingly random locations, they made it so that even without his telescope, Narao would have been able to determine the outline of the vessels they belonged to.

Those ships were massive.

But their sails were furled.

"They must have sighted our fleet! Take us in closer. Maybe they know something about the iron dragon." Narao ordered, a small feeling of confidence returning to him at those furled sails.

"Yes, sir!" A chorus of replies confirmed his order, before the ships of the mighty 2nd Fleet turned towards their new prey. 

--

HMS Albion, Joint Expeditionary Force, South Parpaldia Sea 

Laid down in 1998 and commissioned in 2003, the HMS Albion served boldly, faithfully and successfully, as per it's motto.

Flagship of the Joint Expeditionary Force (Maritime), the UK's rapid reaction force, it was a nineteen thousand tonne amphibious warfare vessel that had seen everywhere from North Carolina to the Indian Ocean.

And responsibility for it laid with Captain Jenson Hersey, a man who's naval career was almost as long as the ship he was serving on, though not quite.

Nine hours ago he had been assigned Commander Littoral Strike Group (COMLSG). 

Eight ships strong including the Albion, the JEF(M) had been deployed several hours ago from its homeport at Plymouth under a direct order from the Prime Minister.

Their mission: Travel south, do not engage unless engaged, and if approached in peace, be as hospitable as possible. 

(An emphasis had been placed on reporting all occurrences to command.)

Anxious to get underway and to understanding what it was that had happened, Captain Hersey had been dodging questions from his crew ever since they had left.

Mainly because he himself was still largely in the dark.

Information downflow from the top of the command chain had been slow since the quake, in-fact most of the expeditionary force had likely gotten much of it's information about the national shift in location from Sky News instead of their superiors.

Jenson had wondered frequently over the past few hours if even they knew what was going on.

"Captain, we've got a number of small ships on the horizon to our south." His Warfare Officer reported from his console, the young man's pale face illuminated by the green light of the screen below.

"Civilian or military?" Captain Hersey asked from his command seat.

"Unknown. They're sailing in formation, though." The Warfare Officer replied.

There was a definitive uncertainty that filled the air on the bridge. Everyone on-board knew what had happened to their country, that the rest of the world was no longer present.

And these ships weren't British, so who were they? 

"They're heading in our direction at 15 knots, Captain." The WO added onto his last report.

15 knots? Surely they had to be civilians. Yachts, or fishing boats, maybe.

Lifting his binoculars, Jenson wanted to see for himself just who exactly is was they had encountered. Though admittedly the sight swiftly surprised him. 

Still a large distance away, but close enough to establish visual contact, a large fleet of what looked like wooden vessels, antiquated sails and all, were pointed in their direction.

He swore he could even make-out oars jutting out from both sides of each ship, the sails of which all shared the same insignia.

It looked like a navy, even if one straight from the pages of a history textbook. 

"C.O. alert the fleet. Maintain readiness in the event our new neighbours aren't welcoming." Hersey ordered.

"Aye, Captain." His second-in-command confirmed, the bridge communications specialist sending the message out to the JEF(M)'s seven other vessels, as the CO rung a bell to alert the Albion's own crew.

Please be friends. Hersey hoped.

--

PNS Victory, Qua-Toyne Navy 2nd Fleet, South Parpaldia Sea

"What in the world are those things, Admiral?" The Lieutenant beside Narao asked aloud.

"They don't look like any ships I've ever seen." The helmsman added.

"More like floating castles." A third sailor, one Narao didn't even know, joined in with.

The Second Fleet had closed the gap between themselves and these strange new ships, although much of the Victory's crew had difficulty even describing them as such given how odd they looked. Narao himself wasn't sure what to call them.

Although there was no way they could be Lourian, something that provided solace.

Approaching the side of the ship nearest to them and ahead of the rest, the Admiral had to angle his head upward even before his own ship got within boarding distance.

The vessel was simply that tall. 

"It must be the size of ten, no twenty Victory-class ships!" A sailor behind him voiced.

It was grey, much like the flying iron dragon had been, yet that was where the similarities ended.

"No, thirty!" Another sailor disagreed in the background.

It was impossibly large and it was right before his very eyes. It was angular, made-up of box like structures and steep ninety degree angles.

Windows, tall metal spires and these peculiar domes adorned the various structures that looked as if they had simply been sat on-top of a ship beneath. It was unlike any vessel he'd ever heard of.

"Quiet now!" Narao barked, demanding his crew remain at ease even with what they could see.

What little was functioning of the Admiral's analytical mind, the rest distracted with the goliath ship before his own, was able to determine that if such a vessel were to exist, then it surely must have been connected to the iron dragon from yesterday.

Both were seemingly impossible, after all.

How could they even board this ship, it was too tall to mount and had no entrances from where he stood.

Almost as if in response to his internal wondering, a sudden and very grating sound approached from his left.

"Admiral, portside!" His Lieutenant called out. 

To the left of the Victory, a small black boat drew closer at a speed that was far too high for it's size.

The sound it made, though different, reminded him of that flying iron dragon.

But on-board were a number of humans, each wearing a uniform that was strange, yet served to indicate they were part of some organized service.

"Whoever's in charge needs to follow us!" One of the men on-board yelled from the boat.

As soon as he did, all eyes aboard the Victory turned to Narao.

...

Not long after, Narao along with a detachment of armoured sailors had embarked onto the large ship, which he had been informed by the men on the small black boat was called the Albion. 

Bizarrely, at the rear-end of the vessel there was a vast artificial bay (hangar), that served as an open entry to a significant portion of the ship, which itself seemed even larger on the inside, somehow. 

Why? 

"Admiral Narao. I'm Captain Jenson Hersey, Commander Littoral Strike Group of the Royal Navy." He was suddenly greeted by a dark-blue uniformed man and his entourage.

His own group was too busy looking in awe at the entirely metal container they now found themselves in.

"How did you know my name?" Narao questioned, he had only introduced himself to the men on the black boat moments prior.

"My men informed me." The Captain replied.

(They must have some advanced method of magicomm) Narao realized.

"Well.. Yes, I am Admiral Narao of the Qua-Toyne Principality's Second Fleet." 

He noticed that each of the men's uniforms were emblazoned with an unfamiliar flag, one that was an interesting convergence of red, white and blue lines. 

"Your vessels were near our territorial waters and due to a.. Tense situation at home, we had an obligation to investigate." The Admiral continued, explaining his rationale to the Captain.

"I understand, Admiral. On behalf of my superiors, I would like to apologize for our intrusion of your airspace yesterday." Captain Hersey said, placing his hand over his chest and appearing sincere enough.

Upon reporting the appearance of the fleet, the Captain had been informed by the MOD that the ships had departed from the same urban area the RAF had previously surveyed. 

(He hadn't been told that they spoke English.) 

"That was you?" Narao repeated, surprised even though he'd already had his suspicions. 

"It was, and we meant no hostility by it. Our aerial forces were simply exploring.. As ridiculous as it might sound, our nation-- the United Kingdom-- is not supposed to be here." 

Not supposed to...? No, it can't be.. Narao thought.

"You were transported here?" He hesitantly spoke his thoughts.

The look of surprise, yet acceptance on the Captain's face said all Narao needed to know.

"We were." Hersey confirmed.

Admiral Narao almost fainted that night aboard the Albion.

--

Author's Notes:

Hey, everyone! I was glad to see some pretty positive responses to the first chapter, that, combined with my own inspiration for the setting led me to following it up with this! 

So the multitude of domestic disasters are being taken care of in the UK (though the court of public opinion continues to haunt Mr. Ferguson) and the Royal Navy has made first contact with the Principality.

In Louria, our persistently nude king is preparing to invade his neighbour, and the RAF's less than subtle visit to Maihalk has sparked concern in Qua-Toyne (which should hopefully be resolved once proper diplomacy occurs!)

Next chapter we'll be focusing on the talks with Qua-Toyne, and the UK finding opportunity in re-establishing commercial trade. The chapter after that should be more diversified, though.