Chapter 14: The Calm Before the Storm
The four great nations of Varis Primus—Dravengarde, Xeran Thalor, Khal'Zir, and Norskar—had been waiting for word from their armies. Days passed, then weeks, yet no messengers returned. The battlefield had gone eerily silent, as though the very land had swallowed their forces whole.
In their minds, the war against Valtheris should have raged for months, exhausting the enemy before any real progress could be made. They had expected reports of Varthun's walls being breached, of Kael Atris' forces gradually falling back. Yet, none came. Not a single survivor had returned.
The rulers of the four nations began to suspect the worst.
Emperor Valcairn of Dravengarde, the most powerful nation in Varis Primus, sat upon his obsidian throne in Gor'Khazad, his fingers tapping the armrest. His piercing crimson eyes reflected the glow of his volcanic capital as he mulled over the impossible silence.
"Have our scouts reported anything new?" he asked, his voice echoing in the grand chamber.
"No, my Emperor," one of his warlords responded, kneeling before him. "No reports, no stragglers. It's as if our entire force was eradicated in a single night."
Valcairn's expression darkened. He had seen many wars, conquered many lands, and crushed countless enemies. But never had he lost an entire army without even a whisper of resistance. He leaned forward, his presence suffocating.
"Prepare our defenses. Something is coming."
Meanwhile, in Varthun, Kael Atris stood at the highest tower of his grand citadel, his gaze sweeping over his kingdom. The land, once barren and war-torn, had been transformed under his rule. Fields of golden crops swayed in the wind, rivers ran full, and mighty fortifications lined the city's edges. Valtheris had become an empire of prosperity and power, and he was its unchallenged ruler.
But he knew that peace was a fragile thing.
For the past three months, he had been preparing for war—the true war against Dravengarde. His internal realm, Solmara, had become a world of its own. A realm beyond time, where his forces grew at an impossible rate.
Every day, he created new four-winged heavenly soldiers. Every week, he birthed a six-winged celestial warrior, beings with power nearly rivaling his own. Inside Solmara's divine fields, his twin Divine Trees bore fruit, birthing two-winged warriors at an unrelenting pace.
In three months, his forces had grown to levels that defied comprehension.
2,000 Six-Winged Soldiers – beings of immense power, capable of wielding divine energy to subjugate enemies and absorb their essence.
34,000 Four-Winged Soldiers – warriors that could slaughter thousands in a single breath.
3,000,000 Two-Winged Soldiers – the relentless tide, sweeping across battlefields like an unstoppable storm.
His armada had also grown exponentially.
100 Aircraft Carrier Starships, each carrying 50 fighter jets, engines humming with divine energy.
400 Destroyer-Class Starships, their cannons primed for planetary bombardment.
300 Cruiser-Class Starships, the backbone of his fleet, capable of both war and occupation.
As Kael Atris surveyed his forces, his celestial heart pulsed with power. He had been granted boundless mana, allowing him to wield divine energy without limits. His presence alone could warp reality, his power bending the fabric of the world itself.
And now, it was time.
Dravengarde would fall.
Three months had passed in the outside world, but within Solmara, years had gone by. His soldiers had been trained beyond mortal limits, their techniques refined to perfection. Each one had mastered combat, strategy, and warfare under the watchful eye of Kael's celestial commanders.
Kael raised his hand, and the very air trembled. A portal shimmered before him, revealing the war-torn skies of Varis Primus. The time had come to step forth from his realm and march upon the tyrants of the world.
As his forces emerged from Solmara, the heavens above Valtheris darkened with the shadows of millions of wings. His soldiers stood at attention, their golden armor glistening, their eyes filled with unshakable loyalty.
Kael turned to his highest-ranking six-winged soldier, Ardentis, a warrior of unimaginable power.
"The time has come," Kael said, his voice echoing through the minds of every soldier. "Dravengarde stands at the peak of this world's power. They have ruled with an iron fist, crushing those beneath them, believing themselves invincible."
He clenched his fist, his divine energy radiating outwards. "We will show them what true power is."
A resounding cheer erupted from his soldiers, their voices shaking the heavens.
In Gor'Khazad, the people had begun to sense something unnatural in the air. The sky darkened, though no storm had been foretold. A whisper of unease spread through the city, a feeling of impending doom that no one could shake.
Emperor Valcairn stood upon his fortress walls, gazing towards the horizon. His generals stood beside him, their expressions grim.
Then, they saw it.
A great rift opened in the sky, a tear in reality itself. From within, an endless tide of celestial warriors emerged. Their golden wings shimmered like burning suns, their armor reflecting the light of destruction.
At their center, atop a floating throne of silver and gold, sat Kael Atris.
Valcairn's eyes narrowed. "So… he comes."
Dravengarde's forces scrambled into position. The great dragon riders of the empire took to the skies, their beasts roaring in defiance. Ballistae and artillery turned to the heavens, ready to meet the invader's fleet. Legions of war-hardened soldiers stood ready to defend their homeland.
The battle for Varis Primus was about to begin. And in the face of Kael Atris' divine wrath, the greatest empire in the world would soon learn the true meaning of fear.