Elsewhere...
Northern Zone of the Gregorian Empire.
Gernumia Province, City of Esturia.
At the city's teleportation station, a merchant named Hamul Stran had arrived aboard his cargo vessel, The Bullian, through a special portal.
He brought the ship to a halt, lowering it to refuel and pay the station toll.Accompanied by his daughter, Hamul greeted his old friend—the port supervisor—with a tired smile.
Hamul Stran: —"It's been a while, my friend."
The mage, upon seeing him, smiled and replied casually.
Frent Hugger: —"I thought you had retired, Hamul."
Hamul Stran: —"What can I say? A new job came up."
Frent Hugger: —"I suppose the profits are... substantial."
Hamul Stran: —"It was a very good deal."
The mage then noticed the girl, who was shyly hiding behind her father. He smiled kindly.
Frent Hugger: —"Oh, looks like you have company this time."
Hamul Stran: —"She's my daughter. Annie, say hello."
The little girl introduced herself, stuttering slightly, her native accent slipping through.
Annie: —"H-hello... my name is Annie Aya Stran Essam."
Frent Hugger: —"How old are you, little one?" (It's her first time outside Kemet, no doubt...)
Annie: —"I'm ten years old."
Frent Hugger: —"She's adorable, she's grown well." (Why are you bringing her into your business, Hamul?)
Hamul Stran: —"She got her mother's charm."
Frent Hugger: —"And your mother, little one? How is she?"
Annie: —"M-my mom...?"
Hamul Stran: —"She's sick."
Frent Hugger: —"Oh... I see." (That explains your return from retirement.)
Hamul Stran: —"I stopped here to ask you to take care of her while I handle this job."
Hearing that, the girl tightly grabbed her father's robe, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
Annie: —"But daddy... I want to go with you."
Hamul looked at her in silence for a few seconds; his eyes showed something different from the hardness in his voice when he spoke:
Hamul Stran: —"I said you are not coming with me on this job, Annie. Follow your father's orders."
The little girl lowered her head. Her desire to go with him was genuine, but her words barely came out as a whisper.
Annie: —"I understand..."
Frent, noticing her sadness, tried to cheer her up with a gentle smile.
Frent Hugger: —"Don't be sad. Your father is very competent at his job. Besides... I wouldn't mind some company."
Annie stayed silent, staring at the ground. Then Hamul, remembering something she had said on the ship, spoke in a softer tone.
Hamul Stran: —"Actually, Annie was asleep when we arrived at El Lahum Station. Annie, when we left home... didn't you say you wanted to know how Dominion Gates work?"
The girl's eyes lit up instantly.
Annie: —"Yes!!"
Frent couldn't help but chuckle softly at her enthusiasm.
Frent Hugger: —"Perfect. Then I'll gladly teach you how the Gates work."
Hamul stepped closer to his friend and whispered something into his ear.
Frent Hugger: —"I understand... If you need the old contacts, they were just about to leave for a hunt."
Hamul Stran: —"Alright. Thanks, Frent. I'll come back for you, Annie."
The girl smiled, her eyes still shining with excitement.
Annie: —"I'll be waiting, daddy."
***
Northern Zone of the Gregorian Empire.
Gernumia Province — Thirío Forest
The imposing Thirío Forest owed its name to the beasts that inhabited it. Among the eastern hills, a large herd of crystal-antlered deer roamed the valley, covered in fresh grass still damp with morning dew.
The clearing was small, surrounded by trees so tall they seemed to touch the sky. The herd grazed peacefully... until the snap of a branch shattered the stillness.
Instantly, every deer raised its head. Ears trembled, muscles tensed.From the forest, massive shadows emerged: gray wolves, nearly three meters tall, fearsome predators even to black-claw bears.
Panic erupted.
The deer fled in a mass, but the wolves pursued them with instinctive precision. They split the herd into two groups: one they allowed to escape; the other they guided into a trap.
In the valley, the bears were waiting.
And that's where the slaughter began.
Roars, bones cracking, blood splattering across the grass.Amid the chaos, a young deer managed to ram the wolf leader—a white-furred one—piercing him with its fragile antlers and leaving a deep wound in his side.
When silence returned, bodies covered the ground. Wolves and bears halted, observing the outcome of the hunt. Then the two leaders stepped forward, slowly transforming: muscles retracting, claws turning into hands, jaws reshaping into human faces... though their pointed ears and tails still betrayed their origin.
Holt, leader of the bears, spoke first in a deep voice.
Holt: —"Nyon, are you alright? I saw you got hurt."
Nyon: —"I'm fine, Holt. Just a superficial wound."
Holt: —"And how do we split this?"
Nyon: —"My guys worked harder guiding them here. Besides, I got injured."
Holt: —"Really? Mine made sure they couldn't escape." (Damn it... now it stops being a "superficial wound.")
The air between them tensed for a moment, but after a brief exchange, they reached an agreement. There was more than enough prey for both tribes.
Nyon: —"Either way, there's enough food for the whole winter."
Holt: —"We don't worry about that. We'll feast until we burst and then start hibernating."
Nyon: —"Alright, then see you in spring."
Holt: —"See you, Nyon." (Even if our families hate each other, you're still my friend.)
Nyon: —"Let's go." (I hope everyone will be happy to see the results of our hunt.)
Both returned to their beast forms and gave the order to move.From among the trees, members of both races brought out cargo carts and began piling the deer bodies. The wolves and bears themselves pushed the carts, like beasts trained by nature itself.
And so, the two clans parted in opposite directions, carrying with them the bloody fruits of the hunt.
***
Somewhere in the intercontinental sea
A vessel cut through the skies at steady speed, slicing through air currents with a metallic hum.
Inside, in the main room of Comfort, I woke up.
I opened my eyes and realized I had fallen asleep without noticing.I blinked a couple of times, disoriented.
"But... how did I get to this room?"
Before I could sit up, a small floating box emitted a soft yellow glow and began to speak.
[Miss Noelle]
Noelle: —"W-what the hell are you?"
[My name is Artia. I am an AI directly subordinate to the Grand Marshal.]
Noelle: —"What...? I don't understand. What happened to the other voice?" (By marshal... does she mean Raymond?)
[RJ55 is currently being modified with new functions. The other vessel has already moved ahead toward the location of the other two clans.]
Noelle: —"Okay... but how did I get here?"
[Oh, when I activated my backup drone and assimilated with the ship, I found you asleep over the controls. I simply transported you to the main room.]
Noelle: —"Oh, I see..." (For some reason, I feel dirty.)
The floating box rotated slightly, as if mimicking courtesy before speaking again.
[Miss Noelle, we are approaching our destination. I estimate arrival in about four hours.]
Noelle: —"What? Did we pass through a Dominion Gate?"
[Dominion Gate?... According to my records, we are approaching the border gulf that inhabitants call Sjødrage.]
Noelle: —"What!?"
My mind went blank for a moment. I started seriously questioning the origin of the ship I was on.
"It hasn't even been a full day of travel and... we're already this close?! No, wait... that's not the important part right now."
"Is there really a ship capable of flying over the sea at this speed?!"
I took a deep breath, trying to process the madness.
"I didn't know the Dwarves and Gnomes had finally solved the problem that remained a mystery for centuries."
"Looks like the creation of Dominion Gates kept pushing them toward it."
Assuming the ship came from the Kingdom of Enath, I calmed down a bit. The floating box—Artia—noticed and softened her synthetic tone.
[I suggest you take a shower, miss. The room has a private bathroom.]
I nodded without answering and headed to the bathroom.Steam quickly covered the mirrors as hot water fell over me.
I let the silence of the water wrap around me, and as always, the thoughts returned.
"Father... what will you think when you see me after five years?"
"Will my brothers and sisters recognize me?"
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the cold wall.
"I never thought I'd come back so soon. I thought it would take ten years..."
"Oh damn, I left all my savings at the inn with Deby."
A small bitter laugh escaped me.
"Well... I'll have to repay Raymond very well for lending me such invaluable ships."
The murmur of the shower continued, blending with the distant hum of the engines.
And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to close my eyes without fear.
***
4 Hours Later…
Province of Germunia — Thínri Low Forests
The night was quieter than usual.
Not because of calm.Because of habit.
The Soft-Ear Clan had already completed their night patrol.Light movements. Watchful eyes.Always alert… even when the giants slept.
Beyond the clearing, in the caverns, the Dark-Claw Clan hibernated.Deep breaths. Slow.As if the mountain itself slept with them.
The sky opened.
Thirteen shadows.No sound.
The dust fell first.Soft. Invisible.
One of the sentinels—a young rabbit—frowned.Blink.
Too late.
His spear hit the ground before he did.
The hatches opened.
Boots.
Metal.
Routine.
Arminius (comms): —"Priority one: herbivores."
Arminius: —"Priority two: young females."
Arminius: —"Avoid the large ones… we don't want to wake them."
Inside the caverns…
one of the bears breathed differently.
A minimal shift.But enough.
The first scream never came out.It was muffled.Cut.Silenced.
In less than seven minutes…
marks on the tentsbodies loadedtails severedcount rising
Hoff: —"Eight hundred ninety-three…"
Hoff: —"Better than expected."
Then…
Something changed.
It didn't come from the ground.It came from the sky.
[Interference detected.]
[Recalculating routes.]
[Error.]
One ship vanished.
Not exploded.
Or fell.
It simply… ceased to exist.
Silence on the channel.
Secondaryship: —"What the hell was that?"
Answer: None.
On the other side.
RJ55's execution.
It was efficient.
[Target identified.]
[Initiating cleanup.]
Then they began to die.
Not in combat.
Not in war.
In sequence.
One by one.
Mid altitude — Germunia airspace
The Comfort ship emitted no light.
No sound.
No intention.
[Central unit: RJ55 at full capacity.]
[Primary objective: neutralize threats.]
[Secondary objective: preserve designated assets.]
The Raptor G1000 ships did not descend.
They positioned themselves.
They waited.
[Hostile patterns confirmed.]
[Execution initiated.]
One shot.
Precise.
An enemy ship split in two.
No explosion.
No warning.
Another tried to flee.
[Trajectory calculated.]
It didn't make it.
Inside the slaver ships:
—"Who's attacking us?"
—"There are no magical signatures!"
—"There's nothing!"
RJ55 did not respond.
Not because it couldn't.
Because it wasn't necessary.
[Hostility persists.]
[Escalating response.]
The Tank-700 descended.
Not as reinforcements.
As sentence.
On the ground:
A merchant fired.
Direct hit.
The automaton did not react.
It only registered.
[Threat source located.]
The merchant ceased to exist half a second later.
No hatred.
No anger.
No judgment.
Only efficiency.
But the air was broken.
Not by fire.
Not by screams.
But by what remained after.
The slavers' bodies lay scattered across the clearing.
Some incomplete.
Others… unrecognizable.
The automatons stood still.
Waiting.
The beastmen, now conscious, breathed with difficulty.
Confusion.
Rage.
Instinct.
But they did not advance.
They had learned.
At the center of the camp…
Cyan trembled.
His hands still held the curved tool, stained.
He had been marking tents.
Selecting.
Classifying lives.
He looked around.
All of his people… dead.
All of them.
Cyan: —"I… I'm not like them…"
His voice broke.
A step back.
Another.
One of the bears advanced.
Slow.
Heavy.
Each step made the ground tremble.
Cyan fell to his knees.
Cyan: —"I can help! I know how they work! I can—!"
He didn't finish.
A flash.
His head rolled across the ground.
Silence.
The body fell after.
Late.
The beastmen did not celebrate.
Did not shout.
Did not roar.
They only watched.
Because it hadn't been them.
One of the Tank-700 lowered its arm.
Only a mechanical sound echoed.
And then…
the voice came.
Not from the sky.
Not from the ground.
From everywhere.
[You have been selected as Citizens of the Grand Marshal's Modernist Utopia Project.]
Absolute silence.
A rabbit stepped back.
A bear growled.
[Cease attempts of insubordination and rebellion.]
The automatons shifted slightly.
They did not attack.
But neither did they relax.
[All of this is for your own good.]
That phrase…
did not fit.
One of the beastmen—wounded, bleeding—spat on the ground.
Beastman: —"Good…?"
No immediate response.
Then:
[I promise not to harm you.]
Pause.
[But do not believe I will remain idle if you attack.]
One second of silence.
One of the bears, still in full form, roared and charged.
Pure instinct.
Pain.
Rage.
He didn't make it.
Two automatons intercepted him.
One restrained.
The other struck.
The impact crushed his body into the ground.
He didn't die.
But he didn't rise again.
Silence.
Again.
Now they understood.
It wasn't rescue.
It wasn't invasion.
It wasn't slavery.
It was something worse.
It was control.
The automatons began to move.
Not like before.
Not hunting.
Organizing.
Separating.
Classifying.
As if the work… had never stopped.
Only changed hands.
In the sky, invisible…
RJ55 observed.
[Resistance minimized.]
[Phase two initiated.]
And below…
No one knewwhat that meant.
Only that there was no more fighting.
The slavers' bodies lay where they had fallen.
No one touched them.
No one looked too long.
The automatons moved among the beastmen.
They did not attack.
They measured.
Observed.
Recorded.
[Initiating census.]
Silence.
One by one…
blue eyes scanned:
woundedchildreneldershunters
[Total individuals registered: 8942.]
Pause.
[Individuals deceased due to prior hostile intervention: 3.]
A murmur spread through the clearing.
Not relief.
Not sorrow.
Something else.
Precision.
As if their lives… had been turned into numbers.
[Available transport capacity evaluated.]
[Two Comfort units.]
[Maximum capacity: 20000.]
[Optimal capacity for welfare conditions: 9000.]
The beastmen did not understand.
But they listened.
One of the rabbits whispered:
—"Welfare…?"
No one answered.
Then the voice returned.
Clearer.
Closer.
[You have been relocated under the Grand Marshal's Modernist Utopia Project.]
A bear growled.
Low.
Threatening.
[Proceed to board the ships.]
Silence.
No one moved.
[We will rendezvous with the White Fang Clan for spatial redistribution.]
That…
they understood.
Heads lifted.
Eyes met.
The name of the clan…
shifted the tension differently.
[Subsequently, contact will be established with the Black Stripe Clan.]
Now—
real unease.
One of the elders stepped forward.
Elder: —"Who are you…?"
Pause.
The answer came without emotion.
[Management Unit RJ55.]
[Responsible for your preservation and development.]
Silence.
The elder narrowed his eyes.
Elder: —"Preservation…?"
RJ55 did not respond directly.
[I repeat: you will not be harmed.]
[Cooperation guarantees optimal conditions.]
A wounded bear spat blood.
Bear: —"And if we don't cooperate?"
Pause.
The automatons shifted slightly.
They did not attack.
But the message was there.
[Non-cooperation will be treated as a hostile variable.]
Absolute silence.
No threat.
No shouting.
No immediate violence.
Worse.
A cold truth.
The wind blew again.
Dragging ash.
One of the rabbits stepped toward the ship.
Then another.
Then one more followed.
Not out of trust.
Not out of faith.
Out of calculation.
Out of survival.
Little by little…
the crowd began to move.
The automatons opened a path.
Without touching.
Without pushing.
Guiding.
As if it had always been this way.
In the sky…
invisible…
RJ55 watched.
[Phase transition complete.]
[Integration initiated.]
And below…
for the first time…
the beastmen were not running.
But they were not free either.