The cold wind that swept through Eastern Europe was no longer just weather—it was a whisper. A sign. Something was coming.
Inside Romania's newly fortified capital, Kael Vasil stood in the shadow of a steel war table, his eyes fixed on two projections: one showed Velora Drakovich's Poland—disciplined, efficient, silently expanding northward. The other was a blank, red-shadowed expanse: China.
No live feeds. No transmissions. Only reports from former countries now nothing more than statistics.
Jian Wu was a ghost.
And ghosts didn't announce themselves—they appeared when it was too late.
HALIX pulsed red.
"Alert: Alliance Proposal Received from Poland. Includes Terms of Resource Sharing, Border Recognition, and Coordinated Attack Timetables for Eastern Ukraine."
Kael nodded slowly. "She moves fast."
"Player #006 also included a personal note."
It blinked on the screen.
"Make your move, Kael. Or I'll assume you're not worth the effort."
He smirked. Arrogant, calculated—just how he liked his enemies and allies. Velora knew exactly how to push him: challenge his pride, question his worth, but never underestimate him.
He tapped the table. "Accept. But don't integrate the attack protocols."
"Why?"
"Because I want to see if she honors her word before she gets access to my borders."
—
Meanwhile, far from Romania's mountainous spine, something stirred beneath the surface of the game.
In a luxury vault below a Dubai skyscraper, members of The Arbiters' Circle—a private league of sponsors—watched in silence as Jian Wu's data feeds poured in.
"He doesn't use allies."
"He's ignoring economic treaties."
"He's playing as if he doesn't care about sponsor favor."
"Does he even want to win our game?"
The oldest among them leaned forward. "No. He's not here to win. He's here to erase the game entirely."
A vote passed.
Intervention Protocol: Triggered.
Targets: Kael Vasil (Player 143) – Velora Drakovich (Player 006) – Jian Wu (Player 001)
Each for different reasons. One for unpredictability. One for manipulation. One for domination.
—
Later that night, Kael met Velora face-to-face—for the first time.
The ruins of Chernivtsi, recently liberated from rogue Ukrainian militias, served as neutral ground. It was bitterly cold. Stillness settled over the half-frozen city like a blanket of regret.
Velora stepped from an armored vehicle, flanked by her guards. No makeup, no flair—just military uniform and her signature glare.
Kael approached with a single escort.
They didn't shake hands.
"You're late," she said.
"I like testing patience."
"Keep that up and we'll both be testing each other's graves."
A pause. Then she smiled faintly. "I admire your nerve."
They entered a bombed-out cathedral, their makeshift negotiation hall. No cameras. No AI surveillance. Just old-fashioned talk.
"What's Jian Wu to you?" Velora asked.
Kael didn't hesitate. "A shadow."
She nodded. "He doesn't build. He doesn't speak. And now the sponsors are meddling. I intercepted a cipher. They've released mercenary factions—unregistered units meant to destabilize us."
"They're scared," Kael said.
Velora's eyes narrowed. "They should be."
Then she did something unexpected—she pulled a silver crest from her coat, an ancient Eastern sigil. "My father used to say power only survives when it's shared wisely. I offer a pact."
Kael studied the crest.
"You sure you want to tie yourself to someone like me?"
Velora leaned in. "I don't trust you, Kael. I need you."
He nodded slowly, taking the crest.
A pact was made.
Not in friendship. Not in loyalty. But in survival.
—
Far to the east, in a fortress-city that had once been Beijing, Jian Wu stood alone on a balcony above legions of troops. His face unreadable, eyes hollow.
A single message blinked on his interface.
"Pact detected. Players 006 + 143 uniting."
He said nothing.
Just turned to his generals.
"Begin the Silence Campaign."