17-5-1561 WC – Midnight
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The rain hadn’t stopped here either.
It pounded the shellstone roofs of Virehall Temple, deep in the western highlands of Vengal. Lightning flashed over the mountains, casting jagged shadows across the silver coral spires. Below, in the war chamber, Prince Sarul stood barefoot before the sacred pool, his reflection shivering in the ripples of water disturbed by the storm.
He didn’t look up when the old spy entered.
"Speak," Sarul said flatly.
The man bowed low. His cloak dripped, his beard soaked, eyes twitching from the run he’d made through the mountain trail. He didn’t waste words.
"A ship arrived at Stormhall. Bernard Empire"
Sarul’s hand clenched behind his back.
"Bernardians?"
"Yes, my prince. An envoy. Four crates. They t with Kaen in his main hall. I had a man inside—He saw everything."
"What did they bring?"
"Gold. Rifles. A demonstration."
The old spy paused.
"They blew a driftwood log in half from the keep’s window. One shot. It exploded like it’d been cursed."
Sarul turned then. Slow. Cold.
"A trick?"
"No, my prince. It wasn’t magic. It was tal. Real. Clean. Too clean."
The room felt heavier.
Sarul stepped to the side table, where a bone-handled knife lay next to a map of Vengal. His fingers traced the mountain passes, the reefs, the routes where his brother’s forces were moving.
"Did Kaen accept the deal?"
"He said he’d consider it. But the n around him were already celebrating. They’re not thinking about what it ans."
Sarul breathed in through his nose. Salt and incense filled the air.
"This is what I feared," he said. "He’s opening the gate. Once Bernard steps inside, they never leave."
The old spy nodded. "There’s more."
"Say it."
"The envoy—Marius Estellan. He told Kaen: ’They give him full support. And help to remove us.’"
Silence.
Then Sarul laughed.
But it wasn’t joy. It was rage wrapped in cloth.
"Remove ?" he said. "These bastards think we’re a province."
He walked past the spy, to the edge of the sacred pool. Rain hamred the stone outside like war drums.
"They don’t understand Vengal. They think we’re just another island. Another jungle."
He looked up. His eyes were fire and ocean.
"Kaen thinks he’s clever. That he can leash a lion and call it a pet."
The spy swallowed. "What do we do?"
Sarul didn’t speak for a mont.
He stared into the pool. Then, without turning, he gave his order:
"Call the ranite Speaker. I want the Deep Guard mobilized."
The spy’s eyes widened. "You an to move the sea legions?"
"They were trained for this. The southern trenches are ours. Kaen has rifles. Good. Let’s see how far those shoot when you drag a ship under from the fucking keel."
He turned fully now.
"And send word to our priests. It’s ti we awaken the old altars. If Bernard wants to test how deep our magic runs—they can drown trying."
The spy bowed.
"Yes, my prince."
The door slamd behind him.
Sarul stood alone again. Thunder cracked. The lights flickered. He looked once more at the map.
And then, almost gently, he took the knife and drove it through Stormhall on the cloth.
It split the map in half.
...
17-5-1561 WC – Late Night
Stormhall Keep – Prince Kaen’s Private Council Room
The storm hadn’t let up here too. Thunder rolled like distant cannons. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting long, nervous shadows on the stone walls.
Kaen stood at the head of a smaller round table, stripped of his ceremonial cloak.
Around him sat six n and won — his closest advisors.
Admiral Halvar lit his pipe with a shaky hand. "So. That’s it then. We take the gold, we take the guns, and we bend over."
Kaen didn’t answer right away. He looked at the crates, now sealed and stacked against the far wall.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
Lady Maele, the forr court scribe turned logistics chief, tapped her fingers on the table. "They’ll want their pound of flesh. No empire sends gold for free."
Tolvet leaned forward. "But did you see that shot? Spirits. That thing broke the log like it was glass. We’ve never had power like that."
"Because we’re not them," Halvar snapped. "We didn’t build our kingdom with toys. We fought the sea and the storms and the bloody reef beasts. These rifles won’t make us stronger. Just more like them."
Kaen raised a hand. The room quieted.
"I asked you here because I need your truths. Not flattery. Not fear. If we’re going to decide anything, it has to be tonight. If we wait, Sarul will act first."
Maele nodded. "He knows already."
Kaen’s brow twitched. "What?"
"One of our spies in the highlands report about it"
Halvar cursed under his breath. "Then we have a problem."
"No," Kaen said coldly. "We are the problem. For him."
He paced the chamber, boots echoing.
"Let speak plain," he said. "We don’t win this war with coral trires and blessing chants. Sarul will die defending the old Vengal — but if he wins, we go back to being barefoot fishern, ruled by ghosts and priesthoods."
He turned to the window. Rain slashed across the glass.
"We need change. And change ans choosing the lesser devil."
Tolvet spoke up. "Then you an to accept Bernard’s offer?"
Kaen turned. His voice dropped.
"I an to use it."
Maele’s eyes narrowed. "Use it how?"
"We take the gold. The rifles. The training. But we don’t sign shit yet. We bleed Sarul first. Win this civil war. Then, when we’re strong enough, we renegotiate—or cut the leash."
Halvar grunted. "That’s a dangerous ga."
Kaen stepped closer.
"So is war. So is surrender. I’m not giving Vengal to the Bernard Empire on a silver platter. But I’m not handing it to a barefoot zealot either."
Maele stared at the fire. "You think you can play them? Outthink them?"
"I don’t need to outthink them," Kaen said. "I just need to outlast them."
The storm growled beyond the walls.
Kaen’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"If we do nothing, we lose. If we bend, we lose later. But if we bite with borrowed teeth... maybe we win."
Silence.
Then Halvar stood, pipe clenched tight.
"I hate this plan."
Kaen t his gaze.
"So do I."
The admiral gave a bitter smile. "Then let’s make sure it works."
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