“Anything not saved will, inevitably, be lost.”
—Thelesis, 492 CE
22:47 WT, 6th of Memesa, 1995 (6th of February, 1639)
Embassy of the Chowese Federation (秋華聯邦), Loweheim District, Greater Wilding, Aialand, Neragon
Hon Meilam could say the past few days had been nothing but a nightmare. Being the ambassador to Neragon, the middle-aged woman had been thrust into a position that left a lot to be desired. She had only been transferred last year from her old position as a diplomat to Hoywako Horapon, and, while Horapon was a lot closer to her homeland, Neragon was a much better place, after all, there was a smaller chance she would be yelled racial slurs compared to her previous position in Kyuto.
And yet, she would rather be dealing with racists than what was happening now. When news of the "Great Displacement Crisis" – as it had come to be known – reached the public, hundreds, if not thousands of stranded Chowesemen and women had flocked to the embassy for help.
She was glad to be of assistance to her fellow citizens at first, but the embassy was quickly overwhelmed. And now, outside her office window in the courtyard below, makeshift tents and shelters had sprouted like mushrooms.
Hon Meilam placed her elbow on her desk, her fingers massaging her temples. Yet it did little to ease the feeling that someone was sliding a blade between her eyes and the sockets which housed them.
A knock at her office door interrupted her thoughts. "Come in."
Her assistant, Daat, entered the room. Usually, he was quite composed in front of her, but today, he seemed visibly flustered, with bags under his eyes.
"Madam Ambassador..." Daat trailed off with a half-hearted bow, she would have reprimanded him for the lack of formality, but considering the situation, she let it slide. "Sorry to disturb you, but umm... we have a situation outside."
Hon sighed. "Bad?"
"No, ma'am. But..." He hesitated. "The god Jukyung has arrived."
The ambassador's eyes went wide and she stood up. Eyeing her office, she made a quick decision. "Show him in, Daat."
As Daat left to fetch Jukyung, Hon Meilam quickly tidied up her desk. Moments later, the deity was ushered into her office by Daat.
Jukyung looked young, even more youthful than Daat – who was 27 years old – although he was in reality, around 1700 years of age and wasn't even that old compared to some of the other deities in the Kaoist pantheon. He had jet-black hair, which was wrapped into a bun at the back of his head which seemed to pull his face across his skull
"Ah, Ambassador Hon," he greeted with a broad smile and a bow. "I apologise for the intrusion, but the plight of our people troubles me deeply, and I felt compelled to visit."
Hon Meilam quickly bowed in respect. "It is an honour to have you here, Your Holiness."
The deity hummed in response. But his face turned serious when he regarded the chaos outside the embassy.
"I have a proposition to offer." He spoke. "With our homeland all but gone and our people in disarray, we need new leadership." Jukyung paused. "I have spoken with the stranded deities of other religions, Cathair, Ofukugawa Kutsumi, Cyamus Eumenius, Pythias, we even came into contact with an Apostle of Arsenine." He chuckled to himself. What in particular he found amusing was lost on Hon but she didn't dare question the deity's sense of humour.
"We have come to an… alliance, Ambassador Hon." The deity continued. "We have formed a council, a Council of Deities if you will. And we have concluded, that our people need guidance during these turbulent times. Therefore, we propose a new system, a united theocratic organisation, where our council will oversee and lead our people to a better future."
Hon Meilam listened to Jukyung's words. The idea of a theocracy led by a council of deities was unconventional, but given the extraordinary occasion they found themselves in, it wasn't entirely unthinkable.
"What of the other embassies? Your Holiness."
"Other deities are meeting with the ambassadors of their countries as we speak," Jukyung replied with a smile, clasping his hands.
The ambassador thought for a moment, before finally saying. “I-I will have to discuss this with my colleagues."
Jukyung nodded, smiling in what Hon thought was a condescending manner, though she couldn't be certain. "Of course, Ambassador. I understand. I'll be awaiting your answer in three days."
He bowed, and with that, Jukyung left Hon Meilam's office, leaving her with a multitude of thoughts.
14:17 WT, 7th of Memesa, 1995 (7th of February, 1639)
20 Tweige Street, Loweheim District, Greater Wilding, Aialand, Neragon
John Sonnenfeld stumbled into his office and collapsed into his chair.
Things were actually looking up for Neragon. Sonnenfeld had not really been expecting that.
Just a few days ago, the IWS Konigsland had made contact with a native civilisation from this new world, what was its name? Ah yes, Arem. The reports from the mission were promising. Initial interactions had been peaceful, and it seemed there was potential for cooperation between Neragon and this newly encountered society. And so, a meeting with diplomats from Arem – who arrived in Wilding this morning – had been scheduled for the following week.
The most surprising thing, however, was that their language closely resembled one back in the original world: Sissatic. It was jarring, to say the least, and Sonnenfeld wondered about the implications of such a linguistic similarity between two entirely different worlds. Could it be a mere coincidence, or was there a deeper connection yet to be uncovered?
He shook his head slightly.
And there was contact with the Milishial Empire, no, the Holy Milishial Empire. Although there was a small... hiccup in the initial contact, it had gradually smoothed out.
Because of Neragon's deficit of coal and declining agricultural production, the Holy Milishial Empire had expressed interest in establishing trade relations. Sonnenfeld was optimistic that this new partnership could help stabilise Neragon's economy.
Their language directly mirrors that of the Pylosans, so, a delegation was scheduled to be sent to the Holy Milishial Empire in three days.
At first, Sonnenfeld – and many others – believed the technology of the New World was somewhere between the 1900s to 1940s, if using world history as a reference point.
However, two days ago, their eastern overseas territories reported contact with natives possessing medieval technology, a strange contrast to the advanced societies found in Arem and the Holy Milishial Empire. it seemed colonialism or globalisation had not taken the same course in this world.
This was a huge boon to Neragon nevertheless. Their more advanced technology could potentially give them an edge in diplomatic negotiations, trade, and potential conflicts, especially over the backwater natives of the East.
Sonnenfeld leaned back in his chair and sighed, it seemed the last few days had finally caught up with him, and 3 days with little sleep wasn't exactly conducive to a body not in prime condition, especially a body which was now rapidly closing on fifty years of age.
A rap on his office door interrupted his thoughts. Startled, he opened his eyes and straightened up in his chair.
"Come in," he called.
It was his secretary, Amelia Hartley. "Sir, General Secretary Sim is at reception, and he has requested to see you."
Sonnenfeld nodded, his fatigue temporarily ignored. "Send him in."
"Yes sir." And she left.
Sonnenfeld flattened his suit, and took a deep breath. Sim Yejun was the General Secretary of the Union of Realms, an international organisation that played a crucial role in maintaining diplomacy and stability across the various nations of their original world. But since they were no longer in their original world, Sonnenfeld wondered what Sim wanted.
As the door opened to admit the General Secretary, Sonnenfeld rose from his chair and extended his hand in greeting.
"General Secretary Sim, it's a pleasure to see you."
Sim Yejun, a short elderly man with ghost-white hair shook Sonnenfeld's hand firmly. "Likewise, Prime Minister."
The Prime Minister gestured to the chair opposite him and Sim settled into it.
"So, Herr Sim," the Prime Minister began, pouring tea into two porcelain cups, "what brings you to Tweige Street today? This is quite an unexpected visit." He handed a cup to Sim, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.
Sim took a sip of the black tea before responding. "The Union of Realms is in a... interesting position, Prime Minister," he said. "As we have lost contact with all principal bodies except for the General Assembly, the VR is effectively dead. Representatives of... former member states and their embassies have begun asking for aid in regard to stranded tourists and citizens from their respective countries."
The Prime Minister placed his face in his hands.
The General Secretary – or was it former General Secretary? – continued. "And so, I have come personally, to ask that efforts are to be made to assist these stranded people and their emergency governments."
Sonnenfeld nodded slightly in his hand, but a phrase caught his attention. "What do you mean 'emergency governments?'"
Sim leaned forward, the corners of his mouth drawn tight. "With the sudden disappearance of the rest of the world and the chaos that ensued, some embassies have formed provisional governments so their people could have some semblance of authority."
Sonnenfeld fought the urge to sigh. The situation was becoming increasingly complex. "I understand the need for assistance – I really do – but we are faced with a multitude of challenges ourselves. The abrupt shift in our world has strained our resources, and we must also consider our own people's well-being and security."
"I am aware, Prime Minister. This is an interesting situation for all of us. However, a way to address the needs of these stranded people must be found."
"I know, General Secretary, maybe once we have secured a deal with the Holy Milishial Empire for much-needed resources, we can allocate some aid for these emergency governments and stranded citizens. But we must prioritize our own stability as well."
Sim leaned back in his chair, his expression sombre. "I understand your predicament, Prime Minister.”
8:35 WT, 4th of Memesa, 1995 (4th of February, 1639)
Auchblair Institute of Magic, Auchblair, Tirdeas, Tirnikt, Neragon
Saul Rodríguez's first clue that something was amiss at the Institute came when he noticed the lack of faculty when he entered the cafeteria for breakfast. Yet, the bustling hall, and the waving hand of one his friends, James, quickly pushed aside his concerns.
"Oi, Saul!" His friend called out, beckoning him to the table he was occupying.
Saul weaved through the crowded cafeteria until he reached the table.
"Morning James," Saul greeted.
"Morning," his friend replied, "I'll go get you a tray."
"Wait, you don't need—" But James interrupted him.
"Oh, it's fine, after all, I still haven't made it up to you for the fiasco last week." James said with a wink.
Saul chuckled, remembering the misadventure involving the botched potion experiment. The dorm had smelled of rotten cheese for days after the incident and he and James had gotten an earful from both their irate roommates and Professor Gallagher.
James returned with a tray of food after a while, plopping it in front of Saul.
"Thanks, mate." And he began to dig into his breakfast of fish and vegetables.
Saul was a brown-haired young man with a lanky build, a foreign exchange student from the Castelano Witches' Academy back in Paqueonia. Contrary to popular beliefs, witches weren't exclusively women, but are classified as magicians who draws magical energy from the environment, opposed to wizards, who are born with innate magical abilities.
His friend, speaking of which was a wizard. His sandy hair and freckles giving him a more youthful appearance.
As Saul enjoyed his breakfast, James took out his phone and began scrolling through it. It wasn't long before his expression shifted from casual to bewildered.
"Saul, I can't access any sites."
"What?" Saul did not look up from his breakfast.
James tapped on his phone screen. "Well, I mean, I can still access Omnipædia and Sofoon... but Iltoebaérs, Blackbook, Hairetsu... They just have 404 errors."
Saul paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing as he looked up at James. "That's strange."
James huffed but did not say anything.
Just then, a man strode into the cafeteria, drawing the attention of the students, it was the President of the Institute, Liam Klotz.
Saul and James exchanged glances. It was a rare occurrence to see him, let alone in the cafeteria during breakfast hours.
"Good morning, students," President Klotz boomed. The cafeteria suddenly fell into a muted silence. Klotz’s voice was jovial, but his smile did not seem to meet his eyes. "I apologise for this unscheduled interruption."’
Behind him, two professors accompanied him, both with stern expressions that didn't bode well.
"What I'm about to share with you might sound absolutely bizarre," President Klotz continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "But I assure you, it's not a joke. It appears that we are no longer in our world."
"This has got to be a joke." Saul heard James say. His eyes were wide as he stared at President Klotz.
"And for now, the government has declared a state of emergency."
Murmurs rippled through the cafeteria like wildfire.
Beside Saul, James had put his phone down, his earlier wide-eyed expression turning into guffawed disbelief.
Then, a thought struck Saul. He gripped the table and stood up. "Sir," he said quietly. "I'm a foreign exchange student."
A look of realisation seemed to dawn on President Klotz's face and he scanned the students in the cafeteria.
"To all who have family or loved ones abroad, please quiet yourselves, come to my office and we will try sort this out." Klotz's said in a calm tone that did not match his expression.
Saul just stared at Klotz, surely, he can’t be serious right? Neragon, transported into another world? He was half expecting the president to suddenly burst into laughter, revealing it was all an unfunny prank. But that didn’t happen, and the stern faces of the professors persisted.
"As I was saying," Klotz spoke. "The government has declared a state of emergency, and curfews will be in effect from 6 AM to 9 PM, I expect there to be more information when the news outlets begin broadcasting. We will provide updates as soon as they become available."
"Mad, just mad." Saul heard a student say, and he couldn't help but agree, this was just absurd, but clearly, it was no joke.
Saul then remembered the president's words and decided to get up from his seat, breakfast would have to wait.
Sofoon:
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