Two long years have passed now. Years on the salty rugged terrain of the Piaba archipelago islands. These are dark times for all, and each moment that passes the more convincing it is that this war is bringing no benefit to anyone.

The Hallowed War first began when the East and West encountered one another on Piaba. There has been no precedent of any interaction between an Eastern nation and a Western nation beforehand. Upon contact the situation had quickly become hostile. Arms were bared, blows delivered, shots fired, and bodies slashed. In the flesh garden we call the aftermath the salty ocean embraced the wounded in a misguided attempt at comfort. The perishing forms of the soldiers cried out the prelude to the agony from which arises our tale.

The Empire of Tsurina and the Empire of Albine are lands that thrive from conquest. They have each conquered many of the nations in their respective halves of the world, and those they could not conquer they allied with proceeding to control them by exploiting that territory's fear of their might. For geographical opposites it’s remarkably uncanny how similar they are to one another, yet in reality they could not be more different:

Tsurina, The Ascendant Empire enveloped in the sky’s embrace and favor. In their culture they believe in a method to madness, the preservation of honor, and mandates. They control themselves and their desires, presenting themselves with dignity at all times-- even in death. Their strategy was calculated and meditated, their attacks pointed and precise, with all decisions exactly as needed for the most optimal result.

"When one controls the self then the path will clear before their eyes. Temptation is unnecessary in the quest of finding true peace."

Throughout all the conflict they believed in preserving their code of honor despite all.

Albine, The Tempest of Heaven. The empire's cold is relentless and unpredictable, much like the citizens of this country. They are underhanded, disorderly, and disruptive. Their attacks and strategies are spontaneous that, more often than not, are entirely unplanned and lacking the numbers one would expect. In similar fashion the style of fighting they employed was random and brutal as well. Their greatest weapon is the element of surprise.

"Honor is not as important as one’s pride. It is desire that sets the world right; it is desire that is the essence of a person."

Over time, because of their power and their growing assets, they have developed excessive vanity. Both parties are aware that this battle must come to an end and yet they refuse to be the first to concede ignoring the pitiful state they are now in for the elation of the slim possibility of having another global power bow to them.

Perhaps it should have been predicted that two powerhouse empires would one day encounter one another and respond in such violent manner. Such an oversight has allowed for this inevitability to grow into a dreadful situation. Therefore it is only natural that the Order will come to step in.

“Strike a deal.” They were advised (and as this slang is unfamiliar to them it was translated.) “Surely we can work this out? There must be something… something…”

Without making it obvious the President bit the insides of his cheek in frustration. He’d kept his body hunched forward between the two ruling monarchs of the warring empires. It nearly took an arm and a leg to even get them in the same room–– something incredibly monumental–– and yet here he is bumbling like a fool. He didn't know how to start or, in the first place, what is there that could be done. The situation began to look hopeless.

What can be done for them to come into agreement?

His eyes wandered from the pair to the slightly ajar door. Last anyone checked it was shut tight, this sort of irresponsibility could lead to another major conflict and his credibility doesn't need to be put in question again. He clicked his tongue and rose to shut it noting that he ought to heavily reprimand the guards outside.

As he drew closer he realized how strange it all was: the door opening so subtly and the quietness outside. Perhaps by accident, or by will, maybe even fate, the door peeled open just enough to have a glimpse outside for a brief moment. From the opening he saw a flash of sunlight; he glimpsed into the cosmos. It left as soon as it came. That was the answer.

“... something you can both offer one another.” He finished his sentence.

At this the monarchs subtly startled to attention. The president smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“There is something, isn’t there, your royal highnesses? Something of equal value; something valuable enough for our world to become peaceful again.”

This is a risk. The President hasn’t established himself as of yet. While he has performed impressive feats, that in itself is hardly enough to break into high society considering the ages old traditions of monarchy, and so his words were heavy because of their implications rather than his reputation. Only so much of their trust could be offered. But their people are starving and exhausted, they're weary, they're losing faith, and their soldiers are dwindling. They have no options, this is an offer they can no longer resist:

An unprecedented union: the betrothal of their illegitimates to one another.

The solution to their growing issue is simple, and yet a great risk. Illegitimates are dangerous. Of course this is incredibly convenient and will bring an end to many of their pressing matters, still the answer to their problem is in itself a problem. How can they trust in this plan?

“What if you’ll be so blessed that it’ll bring glory to your names for centuries to come?”

The President’s reasoning was simple: heaven will be appeased seeing these false children experiencing the joys of union and hell will be fooled into thinking that their plan of corruption is in motion.

"It will be the greatest age for your empires. If the heavens themselves will be pleased then won’t you walk on the golden staircase to the skies? Think about it, your royal highnesses, you will be the emperors who appeased the sun!"

And so the deal was struck.

Within three eves, following their agreement, the royal families of each empire had set off for Peaceland. In their ceremonial garments they walked down the winding halls of The Pure House.

With straightened backs the Albinian royal family walked in assertive steps with their heavy adornments clinking against one another as a makeshift announcement of their presence. Their pace was swift yet the impression was lasting like the chill of a snowy day.

With bowed heads the Tsuri royal family walked obediently behind their emperor whose strides were graceful and practiced. Behind them their silks flowed like clouds shifting. They walked with the wind in their steps.

The doors clicked open. The meeting is in order.