Three hours after Morvain had been reduced to ash, the remnants of the Brena army finally arrived.
The once-serene village beside Lake Sezia, nestled close to the mysterious Great Border, now stood in ruins. What had been a simple, beautiful place of wooden homes and quiet lives was blackened with smoke and corpses. The lake, once a mirror of the sky, reflected only fire and drifting ash.
From the south, the last strength of the Republic of Brena arrived—thirty thousand soldiers, accompanied by mercenary companies and outdated tanks. Their airships groaned with age, patched with salvaged metal, and trailing smoke even before the battle began. Their boots sank into the blood-muddied snow as they beheld what remained of Morvain.
At their head rode General Ceasar Heinis, the aging lion of the republic. His eyes scanned the broken landscape with quiet fury. He knew what had happened. And he knew it was too late.
Stella's army was already waiting. Polished, armored, and calm.
Near the village's shattered square, a man in black armor stood lighting a cigar, watching the incoming forces with amusement.
Kyle exhaled slowly, the smoke rising above his messy hair. He smirked as he turned to his comrades.
"That's what they sent? With those airships?" he scoffed. "Looks like a funeral parade."
His friend chuckled. "Hope they brought shovels."
Another soldier wiped a plasma rifle clean with a silk cloth. "I was hoping for a challenge."
Above them on a snow-covered ridge, a tall figure observed all with cold precision.
Marshal Revyn Halcross ofHouse Halcross, commander of the Stella Empire's expeditionary force, stood cloaked in white wolf fur, his pale eyes like still water. Known across the empire as the Ice Fang, Revyn said nothing as he raised his hand.
The sky howled.
Sleek black Stella airships descended like vultures, engines screaming. Massive mechs marched from the forest's edge, metal legs carving the earth. Their weapons glowed blue with quiet death.
The Republic soldiers rushed to form ranks. Tanks rolled forward. Orders rang out.
But it was hopeless.
The Empire moved like a machine. Pulse cannons lit the battlefield in white fire. Mechs tore through steel and flesh alike. The airships above unleashed plasma storms, turning the battlefield into molten ruin. Brena's outdated tanks were ripped apart. Their soldiers screamed. Their airships fell like broken bones from the sky.
General Ceasar, true to his legend, led the counterattack on foot, saber flashing. He cut through the snow, wounded but defiant—until a pulse shot cracked through his chest.
He fell to his knees, plasma sword in hand.
Captured. Beaten.
His end came weeks later in the republic's capital square—head raised, eyes unbroken, before the blade took him.
Back in Morvain, as the snow settled over the massacre, the Stella troops regrouped.
Children, the ones rounded up earlier, were dragged into rows. Before they were sealed in cargo units, each was strapped into a humming diagnostic machine. Metal arms surrounded them, scanning every nerve, testing blood, magic potential, neural responses. No explanations were given.
They were catalogued. Tagged.
Names were not used. Stella did not name captives.
They were assigned codes—stamped onto metal bands, later burned into their skin. Letters and numbers. A system beyond their understanding.
some of the children died from the burns.
The cargo units—black, reinforced, frozen—were sealed. Inside, children whimpered, cried, or sat in cold silence. Most were too shocked to scream. One boy, dark-haired and veiled in silence, sat among them. His pale skin and white hair mirrored the dead woman who once called him son. Blood still clung to his lashes.
Outside, Kyle watched the final unit being locked. He gave a light thump on the metal.
"Sleep tight," he muttered.
He turned to his friend, tossing the last of his cigar into the snow. "Let's move."
The two climbed aboard one of the now-emptied airships, joining the withdrawal unit headed back south to the imperial outpost.
The sky darkened as the airships that carried the cargo ignited their engines. The snow below turned to mist from the heat as they lifted into the skies.
Their speed: 850 kilometers per hour.
Their destination: Karnell
A forbidden land far to the north, deeper than any known outpost, carved into a freezing wasteland where snow never stopped falling. It was the northernmost point of the Stella Empire, perched on the very edge of the Great Border, where Earth and the magical realm of Elemor had once collided—and merged.
No maps marked it.
No man went there without the Emperor's seal.
The cargo cruised forward in silence.
Inside, the children slept—cold, hungry, and nameless.
The ruins of Morvain disappeared behind them.