*Some place deep into the capital city of Zerafhon.
"I present to you… Maw's Deep!" bellowed the officer, his voice echoing across the domed war chamber as he struck a hand across the center console.
*Beep!
A surge of energy pulsed from the platform, and suddenly, the lights dimmed.
Above the table, a brilliant three-dimensional projection materialized, glowing with ethereal clarity.
The chamber fell into silence as the hologram of an entire galactic region—the infamous Maw's Deep—lit up the room in swirls of blue and crimson.
Dozens of red markers dotted the vast expanse, each tagged with designations, dates, and strategic importance.
Countless stars, planets, and regions flickered into existence—each one rendered with mathematical precision.
With another tap of his hand, the officer expanded the map.
It zoomed out until the sheer scale of it swallowed the chamber whole.
Four distinct quadrants flared to life, each sector washing the room in hues of violet, green, amber, and sapphire.
The galaxy of Maw's Deep unfolded before them like a celestial battlefield, its immensity staggering.
Many planets—each represented by a single glimmering point—blinked across the display like stars in the night.
Each dot, no matter how small, was a world unto itself.
Each one a battleground.
The air buzzed faintly with the weight of it all.
"As previously reported," the officer continued, his voice calm and controlled, "we have completed over 92% control of the Virellian Verge."
*Beep!
The lower-left quadrant pulsed in a cool blue, signaling confirmation.
"It blinked several times, identifying full domination.
"With only scattered resistance remaining, that sector is now firmly under the control of the Empire of Zerafhon."
He pressed the console again.
*Beep!
Two more quadrants flared into prominence.
One glowed to the north of the Verge, and the other to its far east—now clearly labeled in stark, bold script:
Zepharian Fold
and the
Umbra Hollows
"These are our two potential fronts," the officer announced, taking a step back from the console.
"The Zepharian Fold—north. Or the Umbra Hollows—to the east."
His eyes scanned the gathered elite, the warlords of the Empire seated in grand chairs that encircled the table.
"The decision now falls to you. What shall be our next move?"
Silence settled briefly over the chamber—like the hush before a storm.
Then, one of the elders stood.
*creak...
A tall, weathered man whose armor bore the scars of dozens of past campaigns.
His hair was silver, but his eyes burned with the same intensity of a younger warrior.
"I say we push into the Umbra Hollows," he declared, jabbing a finger toward the eastern quadrant of the map.
"Strike while the Seraphim remain unaware."
He leaned forward, voice rising.
"It's uncharted—untouched by both us and them. That gives us the edge. We move first, and we claim it before anyone else lays a hand on it."
*cleak... *clack...
*hissssss!
A low mechanical hum filled the air as another warlord leaned forward.
His body was synthetic—gleaming black alloy stitched with crimson energy veins.
His voice, cold and distorted.
"That region will be infested with Eidra-beasts—pure forms. Untamed. Lethal."
He folded his arms.
"We require more slaves. More troops. More stability. If we venture there now… we risk everything."
"Nonsense!" barked the elder again.
"Hesitation is death!" His brow furrowed.
"We delay, and the Seraphim will get there first. Is that what you want?"
In the midst of the heated exchange, a figure seated near the edge of the table finally stirred.
Venedix.
Silent until now, her presence had been like a blade sheathed—dangerous, restrained, watching.
She leaned forward, the light from the projection catching the edge of her crimson pauldrons.
Her golden eyes cut across the chamber, slicing through the chaos with quiet, devastating calm.
"We must move north," she said, her voice even and unshaken. "The Zepharian Fold."
The old warlord scoffed, his lip curling with disdain.
"You don't get to speak here, battlemaster."
But before she could retort, the synthetic warlord turned his head sharply.
"You fool."
The cold voice hissed from his metallic throat.
"Venedix is no mere battlemaster. She is our empire's spearhead. The one who carved through eight worlds in a single campaign. The one who led the charge through the Red Rift."
He gestured toward her with respect.
"You would be wise to listen."
The old warlord sneered, brushing the words aside.
"Oh, I know of her." His voice dripped with mockery.
"The woman who let thousands of Rinari civilians live—who walked away with only seven slave children to show for it."
He chuckled darkly.
"Some 'champion' she is."
Venedix met his gaze without blinking, her arms folding across her chest.
"And the last I heard," she said smoothly, "your army was decimated by the Raksharri swarm—you barely made it out alive."
Her tone sharpened as she leaned forward.
"So tell me, old man—what authority do you have to question me, when I've achieved far more than you could even dream of?"
The synthetic warlord raised a mechanical hand to deescalate.
"Let her speak."
*Click.
Origron—the old warlord—clicked his tongue in frustration, eyes burning, but said nothing more.
An older woman seated beside Venedix tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing with sharp interest.
She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes.
Venedix began.
"As you all know," she said, "the Zepharian Fold is contested by two other factions—the Mechronax and the Varn Collective."
Her voice cut through the room like steel wrapped in silk.
"I propose we ally with the Mechronax temporarily. Use their obsession with the Fold to our advantage. Then we eliminate the Varn completely—removing their influence from the region and ensuring that the Seraphim do not get their hands on the artifact."
A scoff.
"And allow the Seraphim free access to the Hollows while we dither in politics with the synthetics?"
Origron slammed his palm against the table.
*SLAM!
"The relic will fall into their hands! Have you all lost your minds?!"
"Hahaha…" A soft, mocking laugh came from the woman beside Venedix.
Her tone was dry, almost amused.
"Relax, Origron," she said.
Then her gaze hardened.
"Think carefully. The Mechronax don't want the relic. They want the Fold. Why? To build their nexus and draw Eidra uninterrupted."
The synthetic warlord nodded slowly, as if understanding clicked into place.
"She's right. They've always prioritized nexus points… never artifacts."
Venedix rose, her posture proud and firm.
"They don't see us as enemies. And if we side with them, even temporarily, they will turn their gaze away from us."
She turned her gaze directly on Origron, her tone cold.
"I will lead the charge. As I always have."
"I agree," the woman beside her said, standing as well, her lips curled into a slight smile.
Origron growled but didn't respond.
He knew the room was against him.
*Tsk!
He clicked his tongue again, then leaned back in reluctant silence.
The synthetic warlord activated his datapad, tapping its glowing screen.
"House Nexx will stand with House Sorellia. We'll send the envoys."
"Perfect," the old woman declared, her tone final.
"Meeting adjourned."
"By your command warlord!" the soldier presenting the map saluted before continuing.
"We shall once again commence a meeting 6 weeks from now—to reassess our decisions."
*creaaaak! *creaaaak!
*clutter!
As chairs scraped and warlords began to rise, she leaned toward Venedix and asked in a low, curious voice,
"So, how fares your little apprentice, child?"
*creaaak!
Venedix didn't even look her way as she stood.
"Mhm. Zendrell is training him. After the second trial, I'll show him real swordsmanship."
The old woman chuckled, placing a soft hand on Venedix's shoulder.
"Zendrell? That brute?" she said, half amused, half concerned. "Very well. I look forward to meeting him."
Venedix didn't speak.
But she knew of the weight Jinn now bears upon his shoulder as multiple powerful officials are now eyeing on him.
And she also knew of how some would take advantage of this information, whether positively or negatively.
Only time would tell.
One by one, the warlords departed, their armor clinking and robes trailing as they filed out into the halls.
Venedix walked off as well, trailing just behind the warlords into the distant hallway.
Voices dropped into quiet discussion as they disappeared beyond the chamber doors.
The meeting was over.
But its consequences had just begun to unfold..