Despite the chaos raging across the continent, the sheer scale of the Hylian Continent meant that news often traveled slowly—if at all. The State of Viskov, separated from Pavo by thousands of kilometers of mountains, rivers, and wild lands, remained shrouded in its own routines and rhythms, untouched by the immediate shockwaves of recent events. The fall of Sovi and the dramatic Hylian advance into Pavo were still unknown in the shadowed valleys of Viskov; the distance was simply too great for messengers or rumors to bridge in time.
Yet, reports from the KIA—the intelligence agency of the State of Kylia—had reached Viskov, carrying urgent warnings: Hyrule had already attacked, and war was spreading like wildfire across the east. For Valord Viskov, this intelligence was enough. Even without knowing the full extent of the devastation in Sovi or the desperate battles in Pavo, it was clear that the western world had to act.
Far from the front lines, Viskov itself seemed untouched—at least for now. The city of Viskov sits nestled in a river valley surrounded by towering mountains, its streets winding and narrow, with quaint buildings made of dark volcanic stone lining either side. The city's skyline is dominated by the jagged silhouette of the volcano upstream, a constant reminder of both danger and the land's fierce vitality.
The air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of burning wood and sulfur from the volcano. Wisps of smoke curl from chimneys, mingling with the ever-present haze drifting down from the mountain. Along the riverbanks, fishermen haul in their morning catch, their voices rising in song above the burble of the water.
Viskov is bustling with activity. Merchants hawk wares from crowded stalls—spices, woven blankets, and ironwork glinting in the sunlight. Children weave through the crowds, chasing each other with sticks, while old men sit outside taverns, sipping hot drinks and trading stories. The sound of blacksmiths hammering metal rings through the alleys, blending with the chatter of townsfolk and the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestone.
In the town square, a festival atmosphere prevails despite the tension in the air. Musicians play lively tunes on flutes and drums, their melodies mingling with the laughter of children and the shouts of vendors. Banners in the colors of Viskov—deep crimson and ash-grey—flutter from every window. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of unease lingers. News of Hyrule's aggression has reached even the most remote corners of the city, and every conversation seems to circle back to the threat looming on the horizon.
At the heart of Viskov stands a majestic castle, its walls constructed from the same dark volcanic stone as the city below. The fortress rises above the rooftops, its towers capped with slate and banners snapping in the wind. Within its walls, soldiers drill in the courtyards, their armor polished to a mirror sheen. The clatter of swords and the barked orders of captains echo through the halls.
From the highest tower, Valord Viskov surveys his domain. His gaze sweeps over the city, down to the army assembled in the main square. Rows of soldiers stand at attention, their faces grim but determined. Banners ripple in the breeze, and the glint of spearheads catches the morning sun.
Valord Viskov steps forward, his cloak billowing behind him. His voice, deep and commanding, rings out across the square.
"My brave soldiers, I come to you today with a heavy heart, for I must ask you to join me in a war against Hyrule."
He pauses, letting the words settle over the crowd. The soldiers shift, exchanging uneasy glances.
"My brave soldiers, I come to you today with a heavy heart, for I must ask you to join me in a war against Hyrule."
"We cannot stand idly by while Hyrule continues its reign of terror."
"We must fight for our lives and for the lives of those who have been slaughtered by Hyrule's tyranny."
"I know that this will be a difficult and dangerous fight, but I believe in you."
"We are the strongest State in the western world, and we have never been defeated."
"We have fought and won many wars, and we will not be defeated now."
"I know that we will emerge victorious from this war, and we will be stronger than ever before."
"So I ask you, my brave soldiers, to join me in this fight."
"Let us show the Hylians that we will not be bullied or intimidated."
"Let us show them that we are the ones who will stand up to them and fight for our lives."
"Together, we will defeat the Hylians and bring peace back to the west."
Valord Viskov raised his fist, the gesture mirrored by thousands in the square below. "Death to the Hylians! For Viskov! For the West!" The soldiers roared, a wave of sound that reverberated off the volcanic stone walls and echoed up the mountain. Banners snapped crisply in the wind, the crimson and ash-grey a stark declaration against the pale morning sky. On this day, the State of Viskov officially announced its declaration of war against the Kingdom of Hyrule, plunging the West into the conflict already engulfing the East.
Meanwhile in Kylia City.
The morning sun bathed the Rosa River's grassy banks in golden light, transforming the land into a living tapestry of blue, silver, and green. The Kingdom of Kylia's sprawling capital was just visible on the horizon, its silhouette crowned by the distant outline of the Capital building—a symbol of unity and ambition. Here, on the river's edge and within sight of the city's bustling heart, the Blue Army's full strength—ten thousand soldiers—stood in immaculate formation, their uniforms crisp, their weapons gleaming.
Yet it was not only the soldiers who had gathered. Surrounding the mustering ground, filling every rise and riverside meadow, was a throng of civilians—ten thousand strong and more. Families had come from across the kingdom, some traveling for days. Children perched on their fathers' shoulders, waving blue and silver pennants. Merchants hawked pastries and roasted nuts, the air alive with the scents of sweet dough and coal smoke. Old men recounted tales of past wars, while young women watched the soldiers with pride and anxiety mingling in their eyes.
The Rosa River itself sparkled in the sun, its broad current reflecting the banners of six Sixth Rate Kylian ships moored along the far bank. Their hulls, freshly painted, were adorned with the Kylian Flag; their pennants snapped in the breeze, a promise that Kylia's reach extended across land and water alike. The ships' crews stood at attention on the decks, saluting their comrades on shore.
Above it all, the KAS Korona hovered—a behemoth of steel and fabric, the pride of Kylian engineering. Its hydrogen cells could be seen in the sunlight, its hull a fusion of late 19th-century design and 20th alloy science. The airship's deep hum resonated across the field, a sound both alien and exhilarating to those below.
On a raised platform near the riverbank, Queen Kylia stood with her generals: Odin of the Blue Army, Komada of the Air Force, Viysʹkovo of the Navy, and Morsʹkyy of the Marines. Each wore a uniform tailored to their branch, adorned with silver and gold insignia. Their presence was a living testament to Kylia's unity and military might.
But today, something new was being tested—a technology that promised to change how history itself was remembered. At the platform's edge stood a team of engineers from the Kylian Institute of Technology, clustered around a tripod-mounted device: a large, boxy camera, its brass fittings gleaming, a reel of film spooling through its heart. Beside it, a second, more complex contraption whirred softly—a prototype "video recorder," capable of capturing not just images, but motion. The engineers fussed over the controls, adjusting lenses and winding film, their excitement barely contained.
Queen Kylia raised her hand, and a hush fell over the crowd. Her voice rang out, clear and unwavering, amplified by the new electric loudspeaker set beside the platform.
"Citizens and soldiers of Kylia! Today, we stand at the edge of history. The fires of war sweep across the east, and Hyrule's ambition threatens every free state on this continent. Our neighbors have fallen, and the cries of the oppressed echo even here, across rivers and mountains. Now, the world looks to us."
She swept her gaze over the assembled troops, the river, the ships, and the sea of civilians.
"We have forged our strength from adversity. Our cities rise from the earth, our factories thunder with progress, and our armies stand ready—equipped with the finest weapons, the strongest steel, and the most determined hearts."
A ripple of pride passed through the ranks. The Kylian Army was not only numerous, but modern—its soldiers armed with repeating rifles and bolt-action carbines, artillery crews manning advanced field guns, cavalry mounted on sturdy warhorses with sabers at their sides. The navy boasted six newly built Sixth Rate ships, and the skies were guarded by the mighty Korona overhead.
"Hyrule's tyranny will not reach our borders. We will not wait for the storm to break upon us—we will ride out to meet it. You are the shield of the West, the sword of the Kingdom, the hope of every child who dreams of peace. Today, we answer Hyrule's aggression not with fear, but with resolve."
She raised her fist, and her generals mirrored the gesture.
"You are the Blue Army—modern, disciplined, and unbreakable. Today, we march not just for Kylia, but for every free people who look to us for hope."
"For The Kylian Empire! For the West! For Victory!"
The soldiers' response was thunderous, but this time, it was followed by a new, unified chant—one they had adopted as a mark of their spirit and resolve:
"OORAH! OORAH! OORAH!"
The cry surged through the formation like a living wave, boots striking the earth in perfect cadence. The sound echoed off the river and the hulls of the waiting ships, reverberating across the fields and into the city itself. Civilians gasped, then erupted into wild applause, swept up in the power and discipline of the chant. Children joined in, their high voices mingling with the soldiers' thunder.
The camera's shutter clicked, capturing the moment in still images, while the video recorder's reels spun, immortalizing the Queen's speech and the army's chant in moving pictures for the first time in Kylian history. The engineers grinned at one another, realizing they were witnessing—and recording—a turning point for their nation.
As the cheers faded, the drums began to beat—a slow, relentless rhythm. The Blue Army, with its rifles, artillery, the mighty Korona overhead, and the six Sixth Rate ships at the ready, prepared to march and sail into the storm of war.
Above, the Korona executed a slow, graceful arc, its reinforced gas cells gleaming. From the gondola beneath, a banner unfurled, emblazoned with the Kylian Flag—a stylized K-shaped horn encircled by twin wings. Pyrotechnic charges ignited, showering the field with blue and silver sparks. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices shaking the very foundations of the city.
Queen Kylia turned to the camera, her expression resolute. "Let this moment be remembered," she declared, "not just in our hearts, but in history. Today, Kylia stands united—ready to defend our freedom, our future, and our place in the world. Oorah!"
The soldiers echoed her cry, "OORAH!" and the crowd joined in, a single nation's voice rising above the river, the city, and the waiting sky.
As the drums rolled and the army prepared to move, the engineers carefully packed away the reels of film. They knew that, in years to come, these images and sounds would show future generations the day Kylia declared itself unbreakable—a nation forged in steel, spirit, and the promise of a new era.