Once the ceremonial exchange was complete and the aides dismissed, the great doors of the reception hall shut with a dull, echoing thud. Only the three of them remained now—President Aurelian, General Marcus, and Foreign Minister Elena Choi—seated around a smaller oval table at the far end of the chamber. The polished wood gleamed under the lamplight, the soft hum of the city beyond muffled by thick stone walls.
The President leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "All right, Elena. No formalities now. I want the truth—how did they take our refusal?"
Choi drew a slow breath. "Some were… less than diplomatic about it. The nobles—particularly Lord Merrow and Lord Brenwick—pushed aggressively for our so-called 'steel monsters' and flying machines. When denied, they hid their frustration behind pleasantries, but I could see the resentment. They are not used to being refused, especially by a power they can't intimidate."
Marcus's jaw tightened, his voice a low rumble. "Then they'll scheme. Men like that don't forget a slight, especially when they see a weapon they cannot match. We should prepare for the possibility of them seeking it by other means—trade infiltration, theft, even coercion."
"They also wanted to know more about our manufacturing processes," Choi added. "I gave them nothing. Instead, I redirected the talks to trade in non-strategic goods—things they could neither weaponize nor reverse-engineer. The King himself accepted those terms, but…" she hesitated, "his acceptance may not extend to all his subjects."
The President tapped the table once, sharply. "It won't matter. As long as our military edge remains untouchable, they can't move against us without crippling themselves. But we cannot ignore the undercurrent. If they sense weakness, they will exploit it."
Marcus's gaze moved to Choi. "Any allies within their court we can cultivate?"
Choi's lips curved faintly. "Princess Elenora. She is curious, intelligent, and far less bound by their old prejudices. If guided carefully, she could be a stabilizing influence. For now, she's an observer. In time, perhaps… more."
The President gave a slow nod. "Good. Keep her close, but discreetly. No overt ties they can accuse us of exploiting. I want eyes in Drachenhalm—trusted ones, not just soldiers. You'll have my approval to begin preparations."
"Understood," Choi replied.
Marcus glanced toward the sealed case still on the table. "This was a diplomatic victory, Elena. But it's also the first move in a longer game. And I suspect," his tone darkened, "the second move will come sooner than we expect."
---
The royal council chamber felt colder now that the foreign envoys had gone. The great banners of Drakensport hung still in the air, their rich crimson and gold doing little to lift the mood. The King had dismissed most of the court to avoid the appearance of dissent, yet a handful of nobles lingered under pretense of "final discussions."
Lord Brenwick paced near the hearth, his boots grinding against the tiled floor. "Steel monsters, flying beasts of iron, and they give us combs and glass baubles instead," he muttered bitterly. "They mock us in our own hall, and the King smiles as if he's been gifted a crown."
Lord Merrow sat back in his chair, eyes half-lidded but sharp. "It was not mockery, Brenwick—it was control. They fear what we might do with such power, and so they keep it locked away. A dog guarding its own meat."
Halvar Greystead, seated near the window, gave a quiet grunt. "Perhaps they are right to fear us, Merrow. The republic's weapons are beyond anything we have seen. Even if they gave us one of their machines, could we even command it? Or would we simply prove ourselves fools before the world?"
Brenwick turned on him. "We could learn. Our smiths have forged steel to rival any in these lands, our siege engines batter down walls like thunder. You think we could not tame a machine simply because it roars louder than our own?"
Merrow leaned forward, his voice dropping. "Taming is one thing. Acquiring… that is another. Their envoys are cautious, but no one guards forever. Sooner or later, they will bring their beasts again, and perhaps one will stray. Accidents happen. Roads are long."
Halvar's brow furrowed. "You speak of theft?"
"I speak," Merrow said smoothly, "of opportunity. If the King will not press for it openly, then others must act quietly. There are merchants in the marketplace who would risk their lives for a fortune. Let them be our hands. We can claim ignorance if they fail."
Brenwick smirked at that, his mood brightening. "And if they succeed… Drakensport will no longer have to beg for scraps."
From the far end of the table, Chamberlain Hadrien cleared his throat. "The King will not tolerate reckless plots, my lords. If you are caught—"
Brenwick cut him off. "If we are caught, we will be punished, yes. But if we succeed… we will be remembered as the ones who turned the tide. Choose your legacy, Chamberlain."
The crackle of the hearth filled the silence that followed, and outside the tall windows the spires of Drachenhalm loomed over the bustling streets. Somewhere beyond, in the shadowed corners of the marketplace, men with fewer morals and more ambition waited for just such an offer.
Halden Rusk sat in his usual corner of the Black Griffin tavern, the air thick with the smell of roasted boar and wet cloaks. His goblet of spiced wine sat untouched as he leaned forward, listening to the low conversation between two cloaked figures at the next table.
"…a single wheel from that beast would fetch more than ten years' worth of iron," one of them whispered.
Halden's lips curved slightly. He had heard enough in the past few days to know exactly what "beast" they meant. The Aurion machines—towering, armored, thundering like thunder itself—were already the talk of Drachenhalm's alleys and merchant stalls. He had been there when one rumbled past the castle gates, and the sight had burrowed into his mind like a gold fever.
He waited until the pair rose and left, then tossed a coin to the tavern boy and slipped out into the foggy street. The cobblestones glistened under the lanternlight, and somewhere in the distance, the watch bell tolled the hour.
By the time he reached the quieter northern quarter, Halden already knew where he was going. A narrow side door opened to him without a knock, revealing a dimly lit room lined with crates and barrels. Inside, Toric Velmar was hunched over a spread of parchment, his eyes lighting up when he saw Halden.
"You've heard, then," Toric said without preamble.
Halden stepped inside, brushing the damp from his cloak. "Enough to know that certain lords are growing impatient, and that coin will soon be flowing to those who can… shorten the wait."
Toric grinned. "The next time those beasts arrive, they'll be carrying more than diplomats. They'll be carrying our future. All we need is the right moment—and the right men."
Halden raised his goblet—this time to drink. "Then let us find them. But understand this, Toric: if we do this, we do it clean. No half measures, no loose tongues. Those Aurion guards look like they could kill a man before he even draws breath."
Toric nodded. "Aye. Which is why we'll let others do the dying for us."
The two men drank in silence, each already calculating the profit, the risk, and the glory that might come from laying hands on a piece of the "steel monsters."
---
Scene during the departation of the envoy
The bells of Drachenhalm tolled softly in the early light, their sound carrying over the mist-shrouded courtyards of the Royal Castle. Down in the outer bailey, the rumble of Aurion's armored beasts echoed against ancient stone walls, sending curious servants and wary guards to the ramparts. From the high balcony overlooking the castle gates, King Aldred IV stood wrapped in a heavy crimson cloak, his breath misting in the cool air. At his side was Princess Elenora, her gaze fixed on the strange procession below.
The convoy of black metal carriages moved with deliberate precision, each wheel turning as though guided by some invisible hand. They rolled through the cobbled avenue, flanked by those black-suited figures whose eyes missed nothing, their hands never far from the odd weapons slung at their sides. The air seemed charged with a quiet tension, the kind that clung to the city ever since the Aurions' arrival.
"They leave with what they came for," Aldred murmured, his tone a careful balance of relief and resignation. "No more, no less."
Elenora tilted her head slightly, following the convoy's progress until the APCs cleared the gates and the shadow of the great walls fell away. Beyond, in the open fields, two enormous winged machines waited — their rotors already whirling in a slow, thunderous churn. "And yet," she said softly, "they take something more than parchment and seals, Father. They take our measure."
The king's jaw tightened. "They have taken our measure since the moment they appeared in our skies, child. This—" he gestured toward the distant Chinooks, now lifting into the air with the Aurion envoys secured inside "—this is merely the formal end of their test."
The wind carried the low, vibrating thump of rotor blades up to the balcony. The princess watched as the flying machines rose higher, the sunlight flashing off their strange bodies before they banked northward. High above them, the needle-shaped silver hawks — the Aurion fighter craft — traced lazy circles like predators unwilling to stray too far from their prey.
"Will they return?" she asked, though she suspected the answer.
Aldred's eyes remained on the horizon. "They will. When it suits them. When it serves their purpose. And when they do, Drakensport will either stand as a friend… or kneel as a lesser."
From the courtyard below, a cluster of nobles — Lord Brenwick among them — muttered in low tones, their faces still colored with frustration over the previous day's refusal of military trade. Even now, Brenwick's gaze clung to the shrinking silhouettes of the Chinooks, his lips twisting as though calculating some private scheme.
Elenora noticed. "And while we wait for their return," she said quietly, "others will work to hasten it… or force it."
The king's only reply was a faint, grim smile. "Then it will fall to us, daughter, to ensure that when the Aurions come again, it is by invitation — not provocation."
The last of the Aurion craft vanished into the morning haze, leaving only the faint echo of their engines. In the stillness that followed, Drachenhalm felt just a little smaller, and the world beyond its walls a great deal larger.
The echo of the departing Aurion craft had scarcely faded when the king descended from the balcony to the council chamber. The long hall smelled faintly of oil lamps and parchment, its high stained-glass windows filtering pale morning light across the stone floor. Seated along the table's length, the kingdom's most influential lords, merchants, and officers awaited him.
Lord Brenwick rose first, the gold trim of his doublet catching the light. "Your Majesty," he began, bowing with the politeness of a man who had rehearsed his words, "it was… enlightening to host the Aurion delegation. Yet I cannot ignore the truth before our eyes. They will not share their engines of war willingly. That much is plain."
"They will not," Aldred confirmed, lowering himself into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. "And I have no interest in prying open the vault of a power we do not understand."
"Then we must learn to understand it," Lord Merrow interjected, his voice firm. "Their steel beasts — those armored carriages, those flying dragons — could change the balance of the continent in a fortnight. Are we to simply watch them parade such might through our streets and do nothing?"
Merchant Halden Rusk leaned forward, fingers tapping restlessly on the table. "With enough coin, enough hands, and a clever mind, I believe we could seize one… study it. The Aurions guard their secrets, yes, but no lock is unbreakable."
"Seize one?" scoffed Lord Halvar, his brow furrowing. "You speak as though they would sit idle while we dismantled their precious machines. Did you not see how their guards watched us? Their weapons ready at the slightest movement?"
Merchant Toric Velmar's lips curled into a smirk. "And yet, every guard sleeps eventually. Every convoy grows complacent. There are routes beyond their flying eyes, forests their machines cannot enter. If we act with precision, we could capture a single 'steel beast' without raising an alarm — until it's too late for them to reclaim it."
The chamber filled with a murmur of voices — some tempted, others cautious. Princess Elenora, seated quietly near her father, watched them with an expression caught between dismay and fascination.
King Aldred's hand came down hard upon the table, silencing the room. "You speak of theft as though it were a game, as though the Aurions would respond with nothing more than words. If you provoke them, they will not send more diplomats — they will send an army of those machines you covet, and Drakensport will burn before you have your prize."
Brenwick's voice lowered but did not lose its heat. "Then, Majesty, I urge you to consider — it is better to risk now, while they are still few, than to wait until they stand at our gates with hundreds of such weapons."
The king's gaze swept the table, lingering on each face. "You will do nothing without my command. If you attempt otherwise, know that you will not be defying me alone — you will be challenging a force unlike any our world has seen. And that, my lords… would be suicide."
The silence that followed was thick, but beneath it ran a current of unrest — and in that silence, the seeds of schemes began to take root.
---
Present time
Night had settled over Drachenhalm, the city's streets awash in the flicker of lanterns and the smell of cooling stone. In a private dining chamber of Lord Brenwick's manor, heavy curtains were drawn tight, shutting out any prying eyes. Around a low oak table sat the men who now styled themselves The Circle — Brenwick, Merrow, Halden Rusk, and Toric Velmar. A single candle burned in their midst, its flame bending under the faint draft from the hearth.
Laid across the table was a rough parchment map, drawn from memory and hearsay. Ink stains showed the hasty additions — jagged coastlines, mountains too sharply drawn, and in the center, a shaded peninsula marked with a single word: Aurion.
"This," Brenwick whispered, tapping the map with a ringed finger, "is the land of the steel beasts. The priest and the young knight claim it is cut off from the rest of our world by strange boundaries. Yet they also spoke of roads patrolled by their carriages of iron — few in number, but fast."
Halden Rusk leaned in, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Few patrols means opportunity. The priest said their forward outpost — Sierra-seventeen, they called it — stands as the nearest sentinel. Between it and their heartland lies country they trust too much. That is where we strike."
Lord Merrow traced a path along the coast on the map, his finger dragging through smudged ink. "The knights said the land beyond their gates is empty wilderness, but their machines must travel it to reach us. We find the narrow ground, fell a tree or two… they will stop. And in that moment, the beast becomes ours."
Toric Velmar gave a crooked grin. "We move it at night. Hide it in the old stone quarries. No one in Aurion will know where it has gone, and by the time they come searching, we will have pulled it apart and learned its secrets."
"And what of the danger?" Merrow asked, not with doubt but calculation. "Their guards carry weapons unlike any crossbow or ballista. They can strike at a hundred paces without warning."
"That," Brenwick said slowly, "is why we use men who are… replaceable. No banners. No crests. Hunters, mercenaries, and prisoners who seek freedom in exchange for service."
The room fell into a hush, the only sound the low crackle of the fire.
Velmar finally spoke, voice low but edged with excitement. "Once we have one of their beasts, the rest will follow. And when the king sees that Aurion bleeds like any foe… he will be forced to take the war we offer him."
Outside the manor, the city slept, unaware that in one darkened chamber, a plan was being set in motion that could ignite a fire from which neither Drakensport nor Aurion would escape unscathed.