The streets of Leto slept under a pall of silver fog. The last echoes of the Eagle Parade had faded hours ago; the revelers had staggered home, leaving the banners drooping and the candles guttering in their cups. The air smelled faintly of spilled wine, rain, and the dying embers of festival torches.
Through that silence, Diana moved.
Her cloak trailed behind her like the ghost of a storm. Kallus and Benji flanked her, their armor muted by strips of cloth to dull the gleam. Behind them, a handful of Diana's best—soldiers who still bore the marks of the coast—followed in perfect silence.
They passed through alleys slick with rainwater and over stone bridges that gleamed like mirrors. The city guard was light tonight; half were still drunk from the festivities, the rest bribed to look the other way. Every step Diana took was measured, her senses stretched thin as silk threads. The wind whispered warnings to her—guards turning corners, the faint hum of aether lamps along the palace gates.
By the time the bell tower struck the third hour of the night, they were at the edge of the governor's compound.
The palace loomed above the district—a grand structure of white marble and black iron, its columns carved with scenes of triumph and divine favor. The Imperial Eagle spread its wings in gilded arrogance at its highest spire. To the city, it was a symbol of governance and grace. To Diana, it was a monument to rot.
Kallus glanced at her from the shadow of the gate. "No speeches, Captain?" he whispered.
Diana's reply was a whisper of wind: "None that he'll live to hear."
Then they struck.
The guards at the gate never saw it coming. A sudden gust swept through the courtyard, carrying dust and petals that blinded them for a heartbeat—and in that heartbeat, Kallus moved. His trident flashed once, twice, and two men dropped before they could cry out. Benji vaulted the low wall, his twin blades a blur in the dim light, cutting down another before the alarm cords could be pulled.
Diana followed, her spear in hand, her every motion precise, economical, lethal. She did not kill to revel—she killed to end.
The team surged forward, cutting through the outer defenses with frightening speed. Wind howled through the palace corridors as Diana called upon her Mystery, slamming open doors, scattering lamps, smothering shouts before they could rise.
By the time they reached the grand hall, the battle was already decided.
Governor Valcion was dragged from his bedchamber by two of her men, half-dressed, his silks torn, his hair disheveled. The smug smile that had charmed so many senators was gone, replaced by a thin line of terror.
"W-what is the meaning of this?" he sputtered as they threw him onto the marble floor. "I am the governor of this province!"
Diana stepped forward, her shadow cutting across his face. "Not anymore."
She crouched beside him, resting the butt of her spear on the floor with deliberate calm. Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of command—and judgment.
"You've been funding the Iron Guild's work," she said. "You've allowed them to enslave citizens under your rule. To use for a blasphemous purpose. And you've been trading in aethertech—a heretical action against the gods."
Valcion tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. "You have no proof."
Diana's hand slipped into her cloak, pulling out the ledger—his own seal gleaming faintly in the firelight. She dropped it beside him.
"Your handwriting. Your shipments. Your guards. Every name, every payment."
Diana's voice cut through the air like tempered steel. She leaned closer until her shadow fell over Valcion's trembling form, her tone dropping to a low, deliberate whisper.
"The Iron Guild is ash on the coast now, Valcion. I made sure of that myself." Her eyes burned with cold fire. "You're the last thread."
For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of his ragged breathing. Then, comprehension dawned—and his eyes widened in disbelief.
"You— you destroyed them?" he stammered.
"I did." She straightened slightly, letting the silence stretch, the words hanging like a drawn blade. "And now you're going to tell me everything there is to know."
Valcion broke.
The laughter came first—wild, manic, bubbling from his throat in a torrent that echoed off the marble walls. It was laughter without mirth, the sound of a man standing at the edge of ruin. Tears streaked down his face, cutting through the grime as he stumbled forward on his knees.
"Please…" he gasped, reaching for her boot. "It wasn't my fault… They—they ordered me to! I had no choice, I—"
Diana's expression did not change.
Her foot snapped forward, the kick sharp and merciless. Valcion's body struck the base of a marble column with a dull crack, collapsing in a heap. The echo of it filled the chamber, mingling with the flicker of torchlight.
She stood over him, breathing steady, eyes narrowing. The stench of spilled wine and incense clung to the air—reminders of his excess, his luxury bought with blood.
In her mind's eye, she saw the villagers of Perithia: the empty streets, the withered faces, the chains glinting in the darkness of the catacombs. She thought of the iron machinery humming beneath the coast while this man feasted in his marble hall.
"Take him," she said at last, voice low but venomous. "I'll handle the rest."
Her soldiers moved in without hesitation, lifting Valcion by his arms. He didn't resist now—only whimpered, the mad laughter long gone.
As they dragged him away, Diana turned from the sight, her jaw tightening. The air in the palace felt suffocating, rich with perfume but rotten underneath.
This is what corruption smells like, she thought. Sweet on the surface. Poison beneath.
She followed after them, her spear glinting faintly in the dim light. This was no longer about the villages. No longer about one province's greed. Whatever was behind the Iron Guild reached deeper—threaded through the Imperium itself. And she was done cutting around the edges.
The dungeon beneath the governor's palace was colder than the night above. Stone walls slick with condensation glistened in the flickering light of the braziers. The air smelled of iron and mold, of fear and damp rot. Somewhere deeper in the dark, water dripped at an irregular rhythm—a steady reminder of time's indifference.
Diana stood before the cell, her spear resting against the wall beside her. The torchlight drew long shadows across her face, sharpening the cold edges of her eyes.
Governor Valcion sat on the ground, his silken robes now torn and filthy. The arrogance that had once carried him through the halls of power had been stripped away. He looked like a man carved hollow—skin pale, hands trembling, eyes darting between her and the guards stationed by the door.
She had not tortured him—not yet. She hadn't needed to. Fear had already done the work for her.
Diana folded her arms, her voice calm, controlled. "Start again. From the beginning. Tell me who ordered you to fund the Iron Guild's operations in Kolma."
Valcion swallowed hard. "I was told… told to make sure the guild's work continued undisturbed." His voice cracked, rough from sleepless nights. "To ensure their shipments moved through the ports without interference—and to spread word that the Mare Thalassion were behind the disappearances."
"Spread rumors?" Diana asked quietly, though the venom in her tone made the words feel sharp.
"Yes," he breathed. "They—Senator Varro and his sons, the Varro family, they told me to. They said the Senate needed an external enemy, a reason to rally the people. The famine was already turning the citizens against the Imperium. They wanted… a scapegoat."
Her fingers tightened against her arm. "So you blamed the Pirates," she said. "You allowed entire villages to vanish so the Senate could shift guilt onto the coasts."
Valcion nodded weakly, tears streaking down his dirt-stained cheeks. "I had no choice! They threatened to strip my governorship—to ruin my family. The Varros control half of the Imperium's trade route through the Inner Sea. They control the Senate.... I had—"
Diana's palm struck the iron bars between them with a sound like thunder. Valcion flinched, curling in on himself.
"No choice?" she hissed. "You had every choice. You chose silence. You chose greed."
Her voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing against the stone until even the guards shifted uncomfortably. She took a slow breath. The memories of the Perithia villagers fueled her anger, the horrific images of their suspended bodies making her look at the governor with fury. It took a lot out of her to force her fury back into stillness.
"Tell me about the Iron Guild," she said finally. "Who do they serve?"
Valcion wiped his nose with a trembling hand. "They said they answered to the Solar Dominion of the West. I don't know who that is. I only know that they were powerful—beyond the Senate, beyond even the Imperial Court. They sent blueprints, machines, and orders sealed with the Imperial sigil itself. The Varros were the intermediaries. I was… I was only the courier."
Diana studied him for a long moment. "And the Aethertech?"
"The Varro said it was the future of the Imperium," he whispered, as if saying it aloud still frightened him. "A gift from the gods reborn. They called it the second coming of creation. The Iron Guild was to perfect it… to test it on those no one would miss."
Her stomach turned. "The villagers."
He nodded, sobbing now. "They were… convenient."
Diana turned away, pacing once across the chamber. Her boots echoed against the stones. The torchlight flickered behind her, throwing her shadow across the cell wall like a phantom of judgment. There was more to it than just perfecting the aethertech. From what she saw of the Hierophant of the Iron guild, the Aethertech he had was perfect, more than enough to equal her as a Mystique in battle. From the Aether crystal that she had interacted with, it seemed that the tests within the catacombs were for something more. Something more nefarious.
"Senator Varro…" she murmured, her jaw tightening. "So it all comes back to him."
She stopped and faced Valcion once more. "You'll write your confession. Every name, every order, every request you've received regarding the Iron guild. And when it's done, I'll decide if your life is still worth keeping."
Valcion nodded rapidly, relief and terror bleeding into each other.
As the guards stepped forward to drag him to a table, Diana moved toward the door. She paused for a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on the flickering torchlight that danced along the damp stone.
In the silence between drips of water, she could hear the faint murmur of the city above—music still playing, laughter still echoing from the dying festival. The people of Leto celebrated their prosperity while their leaders consorted with monsters.
She closed her eyes briefly. The corruption runs deeper than I thought. Solar Dominion. Whoever and whatever they were, they were dangerous. Then she stepped into the corridor, her voice a whisper of wind as she spoke to no one and everyone.
"Varro. It's time your threads were cut."
****
The Senate quarter of Arkanis Magna was silent at this hour, but the Varro estate was not. Behind tall bronze doors and marble pillars, the senator's study burned with light. Scrolls and sealed ledgers lay scattered across his desk, the wax on their seals still soft from the heat of the lamps. The scent of ink, sweat, and spiced wine hung thick in the air.
Senator Gaius Varro paced behind the desk like a caged animal. His usual calm—his practiced smile of a patrician who controlled half the Imperium power—had evaporated. He was bare-headed, his hair unbound and damp with perspiration.
"They captured him," he muttered, voice low and tight. "The fool let himself be taken."
His eldest son, Vincent, lingered near the window, fingers tapping nervously on the hilt of his sidearm. "Reports say she took the palace by storm. Half the guard defected before they even drew steel."
"Lady Diana?" Varro snapped. "That bastard child of Arkanis dares to humiliate us?" He slammed his palm onto the desk, scattering scrolls. "Do you have any idea what this means? If she's alive confronting Valcion, then the Hierophant failed in his mission to capture her..."
He broke off as the room's light dimmed.
A faint hum rose from the crystalline sphere embedded in the far wall. Blue light flickered across the polished marble floor, resolving into a tall, broad-shouldered figure formed of shimmering photons and shadowed armor. The projection's voice came before its face fully formed—deep, disciplined, scarred with iron grey hair cropped short, every syllable weighted with authority.
"Senator Varro."
Varro stiffened, color draining from his cheeks. "General Dravon," he said quickly, bowing his head. "Princeps Bellum of the Western Campaign—an honor, as always."
Marcus Dravon regarded him through the flicker of the holo-field. Even distorted by distance, his presence filled the chamber. He wore his battle armor—the black-and-gold plate of the Iron Phalanax—and the faint hum of aether reactors pulsed behind him like a restrained storm. His eyes, silver and sharp, studied the senator without emotion.
"I imagine you know why I'm calling. It seems the Hierophant has failed in his mission to capture Lady Diana. And now our influence in Ashkara has been purged."
Varro swallowed. "The situation in Ashkara is regrettable. Governor Valcion's incompetence—"
"His incompetence," Dravon interrupted, "was your command." The voice cut through the air, metallic and precise. "You placed him there. You funded the Iron Guild under his seal. And now the princess has him in chains."
Vincent started to speak, but the general's gaze turned briefly toward him, and the young man fell silent.
Varro forced a weak smile. "It is… regrettable. But it can be contained. The Senate will issue a formal censure, blame Valcion alone, and—"
"Containment is no longer possible," Dravon said flatly. "The Guild's facilities are gone. Their research—our research—is compromised. The prototypes she seized will expose everything we've built in the West. The Solar Dominion cannot be tied to failure."
Varro's knees nearly buckled. "Then—then what do you require of me?"
The general folded his arms behind his back. "Damage control. Eliminate Valcion before he reaches the capital. Remove all evidence linking the Guild to the Senate. We can not have any evidence of a tie between the Imperium Senate and a foreign entity. And silence Lady Diana Arkanis."
Varro stared at the projection, throat dry. "You want me to assassinate an Imperial princess?"
Dravon's hologram leaned forward slightly, the light crackling. "I want you to correct your mistake. Your initial mistake in capturing the bearer of the Thread Mystery. The Princeps Omnium's attention has turned eastward—he cannot afford any more fuck ups on your side. If the princess speaks, she endangers more than your career. She endangers our entire campaign."
Silence followed, broken only by the faint hum of the holo-projector.
At last, Dravon added, quieter but far colder, "Do not fail me again, Senator. The Dominion rewards loyalty. It erases liability."
The image flickered once—and vanished. The room plunged into stillness. Only the hiss of the lamps remained.
Vincent exhaled shakily. "Father… what will you do? Will you kill Lady Diana?"
"Are you cray? We still don't know if she has the Thread Mystery yet or not. The Solar Dominion will not forgive us if we kill her without confirming it first." Senator Varro spat at his son. Varro stared at the spot where the hologram had stood, his face a mask of fear twisted into resolve.
"I know what I must do," he said. "Summon the family agents. If Dravon wants silence, we'll give it to him."
He turned toward the window, where the first light of dawn touched the towers of the Capital of the Imperium, and muttered, almost to himself.
"She thinks she can cut threads? Let her try. The Varros weave the whole damn tapestry."
~
The sea was black and endless. Beneath its surface, something vast moved. A shadow that wasn't water. The Leviathan rose from the depths with the slow, deliberate grace of a god waking. Steel and obsidian plates slid apart, shedding rivulets of salt and silt. Its surface gleamed with bioluminescent veins of blue light that pulsed like arteries. Each beat hummed through the ocean, shaking the bones of the coral reefs below.
From afar, the submarine vessel looked alive—a creature wrought from the bones of a serpent and the mind of a war god. Waves rolled beneath a sky of steel, the horizon broken only by the monstrous silhouette of the Leviathan. The command ship of the Western Campaign drifted forward like a living fortress—its hull plated in dark aetherium, its flanks pulsing with gold-lit veins that throbbed in time with the ship's reactor core. It hummed with restrained power, the deep vibration carrying through the water like the heartbeat of a god long buried.
General Marcus Dravon stood at the forward deck, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection fractured in the stormglass that curved around the bridge. The faint light of dawn washed his armor in muted silver. Behind him, banners of the Solar Dominion hung from the vaulted ceiling, their golden sun emblems half-shrouded in shadow.
A junior officer approached, kneeling with head bowed. "My lord, the conquest of Pelagia is complete. Commander Valeria awaits you at the royal citadel."
Dravon didn't respond at once. His eyes were fixed on the world beyond—what had once been one of the proud kingdoms of the Thalassarchates. The sea around the coast still burned faintly where the bombardments had struck, the water slicked with oil and the pale shimmer of Aether residue.
The Leviathan drifted forward, its shadow swallowing the harbor ahead. The once-beautiful marble towers of the Pelagia Kingdom were blackened at their tips, smoke still curling upward from smoldering ruins. The domed temples of the Sea Court lay cracked and half-submerged, their mosaics shattered.
As they entered the bay, the first sight of the devastation came into view. Ships, elegant and pearl-white, now burned husks. Statues of Poseidon and the Nereids toppled into the surf. The scent of salt and charred wood mingled with something heavier—death.
The royal citadel stood alone atop the cliffs, its marble steps cracked, its banners torn, the palace destroyed from the various battles that had taken place.
Dravon arrived at the Royal Palace with his honor guard-the Iron Phalanx, the air warping faintly around his armor's aetherfield. He passed through the shattered gates, the courtyard cleared of any corpses, though there were still bloodstains, and into the throne hall of the Pelagian kings. The great mosaic of the sea god Okeanos lay fractured beneath his boots, its tiles scattered like the remnants of faith itself.
At the center of the hall stood Valeria Dravon Severina, Commander of the Praetoria Aetherion.
Her armor—polished silver and obsidian aetherplate—shone in the pale light filtering through the broken dome above. Gold and black filigree traced the shape of the Solar Dominion's sigil across the cape of her armor. Her hair, an obsidian color, fell loose against her shoulders, streaked with ash and salt.
Before her, at the foot of the throne, lay the body of King Acastus of Pelagia. His crown was gone from his head, resting on his hand, which lay atop his chest. The water that had once filled the hall from the city's tide channel now lay still and shallow, stained red.
Valeria looked up as Dravon approached. Her eyes, bright as the sun, met his with a soldier's composure.
"Pelagia has fallen," she said simply. "The Thalassarchates belong to the Dominion."
Dravon's gaze swept over the room—the shattered icons of Poseidon, the ruined mosaics, the lifeless body of a monarch who had once ruled the western seas. He gave a single nod.
"It's a shame about the Pelagia family," he said. His voice was low. Though there was an edge to it. Their mission to capture the royal family had not gone as planned.
Valeria turned her face to another body that lay on the floor across the throne room. The body of the one-eyed Nikolo, the Captain Pirate of the Thermora forces that had allied with Nova Roma. His mission had been to subjugate the kingdom with the Aethertech they had given them. His objective had been clear: take the Pelagia forces alive.
"It seems the King resisted to the end," she added quietly. "He would not surrender, nor did the Serpent Prince."
Dravon crouched, studying the dead king's face—pale, calm even in death, the eyes staring toward the vaulted dome where the last rays of light broke through.
"Yet the Pelagia bloodline still lives," he murmured. "While the mission wasn't as successful as the Deus Factus desired, we still managed to conquer the western force of the continent. The first strike belongs to us." He rose and turned back to Valeria. "You secured the Aetherforges?"
"All of them," she said. "The engineers are transferring the surviving relics to the Leviathan. We'll be ready for testing before we reach Erytheia's coast."
A faint, rare smile ghosted across Dravon's face. "Excellent. It's a shame we couldn't get the Trident relic series, but the remaining ones should prove valuable for research."
He walked to the shattered throne and placed his gauntleted hand upon its armrest. "Once, the Thalassarchates ruled the Inner Sea. Their fleets carried the laws of the gods to every shore. Now, their kingdom fuels ours. Tell me, Valeria—does that not sound like destiny?"
Valeria's expression didn't waver, though her gaze flickered briefly toward the sea. "Destiny," she said. "Or inheritance."
Dravon's eyes glinted. "Both."
He turned to his officers. "Inform the Dominion. Pelagia is ours. Prepare for full integration of the Aetherforges into the Western arsenal. The Emperor's storm is coming—and the sea itself will bow before it." The order carried through the hall, echoing against marble and ruin.
Outside, the waves crashed hard against the cliffs, as if in mourning—or defiance. And above the sea, the Leviathan roared back to life, its reactor-heart flaring gold against the darkened sky.