Panta stood before a cabinet off to the side of his office, holding the key he retrieved from his desk drawer. Unlocking and opening the doors, he grabbed the best bottle of wine from his personal collection, along with four glasses. Turning, he laid out the glasses and uncorked the bottle before pouring the liquid into them.

Setting down the bottle and picking up his glass, Panta spoke in a somber tone, raising his glass in a salute, "To the defenders of Basetown."

Two of the glasses were picked up right away, but the last one remained untouched as City Lord Fridgia stood watching Panta, his face emotionless. After close to a minute, something shifted behind his cold, hard eyes, and he moved forward, scooping up the glass cup. Lifting it high, the noble said, "To the defenders of Basetown and Southtown," before throwing back the liquid in one gulp.

Doing the same, Panta moved to refill the glasses before settling down behind his desk. "You didn't need to use a 1353 Honeysuckle for a toast for the dead," High Lord Fridgia commented in a rough voice, claiming a chair at the side of the room and swirling the wine under his nose.

"Yes, I did," Panta replied, a hint of morose guilt entering his voice. "We were understaffed, unprepared, and unequipped to face what has confronted us this spring… Considering all of that, it's a miracle we were able to save what we have. But I am still the Guardian of the North, and under my watch, two cities were razed, the combined casualties of my legionaries have to be somewhere north of two — probably three — entire legions, and the Eastern Forts are now unmanned. Using my best wine to acknowledge the loss of the legionaries and citizens under my control is the least I can do." Fridgia lifted his cup to Panta in silent acceptance and acknowledgment of the truth of his words.

"Or so I assume is the situation," Panta continued after a couple moments, more than enough time for all of them to ruminate on their own dark thoughts. "I still have no reliable word of anything happening east of here past fifty miles."

"Your assumptions are rooted in the truth," Fridgia said, his voice bitter. "Though before I tell you what occurred in Basetown, I request you tell me of what has transpired here. I fear the news circulating in Olimpia is not portraying the situation as accurately as I would wish."

"Hmm…" Panta hummed in thought before tilting his head forward in agreement, "Very well. Our current situation started when I ordered scouts into the Northern Forest…" While the Legatus of the 15th did not send Quineeta away to gather reports for a shot-for-shot recount of the events, he offered more than merely surface details as he described what he thought was a simple beastkin disturbance months ago and went from there.

Panta tried to make it as short as possible, only recounting key events and rough estimates of the numbers and losses involved, but he found that most of an hour had passed by the time he had finished. Taking another sip to wet his throat, they sat in silence, processing everything that had happened to them… which was a surprising amount when all laid out.

Finally, Fridgia straightened and dipped his head to Panta, "Your struggle was not at all what I was expecting."

"In what way?"

"The intensity and breath, for certain. But… everything, really." Fridgia said, frowning. "I received your warnings of a beastwave. I knew that you expected to be under siege, but nothing about the Kin being more than standard beastkins or their numbers, and definitely no warning of the… Letairry." Hatred twisted his voice, and the air around him shimmered as his power momentarily flared, affecting the world. Sighing in resignation, he continued, "None of the warnings I needed made it to me. Not that it would have mattered."

Now it was Panta's turn to perk up and lean forward, "I knew written communications between us were strained, but I made a note about everything on the Command Table."

A sneer of self-disgust appeared on Fridgia's face, "Oh, it activated, but it was distorted. The words were garbled, and so was the map… In hindsight, it was the first blatant indication that my city was already being attacked." In frustration, the man lifted his free hand to push back his black hair before speaking again, "I thought that the table was simply broken, and when I sent out a messenger and didn't get anything back for days… I thought nothing of it."

"They can prevent the table's communication?" Kellaport said in a tone somewhere between a question and a statement, with an unmistakable thread of fear at its heart.

"Apparently." Fridgia confirmed, "Though not without cost." When the attention of everyone in the room turned back to him, the noble continued, "It was only a few days after the tables activation that the dark elves made their move with the help of some traitors… If I'm being honest, it was a sloppy attempt on a high lord. They should have had every advantage, but the attempt was half baked at best, allowing me to escape with some loyal men to form a resistance."

"Traitors!" Kellaport hissed, his eyes burning with rage. Or maybe it was indignation. "That must have been why the last couple dozen shipments of supplies I received were always half gone or rotten! I tried to send centuries back to find out what was happening, but no one ever returned. When it was clear I was about to be attacked by an unknown force from the rear, I had no choice but to escape by using Operation Trident."

"A necessary — and, in my opinion, the correct — decision," the City Lord said, reassuring his legatus. "If my calls for aid hadn't reached you by then, they never would. While the Letairry took control of Basetown, it wasn't complete, as they were unwilling or unable to directly subdue its citizens, leaving the traitorous nobles in charge. But it appears that every messenger I sent outside the walls was on an impossible assignment, as nothing of what happened to Basetown has spread. Not even when the…"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Interrupting himself by letting out a short and sharp laugh, the noble's eyes clouded, and his free hand clenched into a tight fist, his voice seething with a quiet intensity. "The dark elves might have pushed me from power, but it was the beasts that butchered my city! They will pay for what they have done!"

"Yes." Panta agreed. "And from what I have been told, we are not the only ones who want to take our pound of flesh."

Fridgia's face twisted with fury as he suddenly shattered his cup in a shower of glass, blood, and wine. Seconds passed with Panta staring placidly into the storm raging within the man. When it finally began to reseed from the forefront of the other man's eyes, allowing his rational mind to reassert control, the city lord asked, "Can we trust the creatures? Are they worthy of it?"

"What have you heard of them?" Panta asked in return.

"Hmm. Going by what I've heard in the capital, the Kin are little more than the mindless creatures they originate from. Savages that don't know how to make wheels and have mediocre control of psy. But that isn't the truth, is it."

"Not even close," Panta said with a thoughtful frown. "From what I have seen, in some ways, their casting techniques are more developed than our own and far more versatile. As for their society… I would say having a civil war that results in the partial destruction of another nation without either of the sides being significantly weakened or conquered speaks for itself… but their war is still in its infancy, so we will see. Then there is their city we will soon have access to, which I suspect will be comparable to our own."

Smiling, City Lord Fridgia let out a dry chuckle, "So Olimpia has their collective heads shoved so far up each other's asses that they can't see the storm on the horizon?"

"A standard occurrence if there ever was one," Panta commented back, joining in on the dark humor. Getting up, Panta retrieved another glass and filled it, setting it within reach of the noble.

"Ha!" Barked out the city lord. "The nobles and politicians live in the delusions while the legions do the hard work that needs doing."

"As always, City Lord Fridgia. As always."

"Call me Augustas. Us old legion dogs are too few to remain formal. Otherwise, who would we drink with?"

"You will have to call me Valee then," Panta said with another rise of his glass. "Too long years of unappreciated work!" A cheers to which everyone in the room could raise their cup and call out their support.

After a few more light-hearted comments, the conversation turned to the bloody tale of the Crescent Moon attack on Basetown. After taking in the information, Panta finally pivoted the conversation to where he was always heading. "Augustas, we have to make some form of peace with the Kin." Holding up his hand to stall the flood of raw emotions, Panta continued, "I am not saying we have to work with the ones who butchered your city or that the peace will last, but right now, we need peace."

"You want to work with the monsters?" Augustas hissed, his face turning crimson. "You want to work with people who you yourself received reports about possessing the ability to rip out our souls to make themselves stronger? An ability they appear more than ready to use if what I saw is anything to go by."

"The Kin are the enemy at our gates," Panta stated, "But the Letairry are at our backs preparing to bury a knife into it when the time is convenient. Both of us have already experienced this. Besides, its different factions."

"Different factions of the same rotten plant!"

"So you are saying that the Republic and Imperium are the same?"

At that, the noble's mouth opened, but nothing came out until he closed it and tried to speak again. "That's different."

Shaking his head in rejection, Panta said, "Fundamentally, it is the same. The difference is that our separation was more than a thousand years ago, and theirs is weeks. You know this. It is why you are still here, despite knowing this topic would eventually arise."

"You presume to know my mind?"

"The mind of a noble? Never." Panta stated, a smile quirking his lips, "It's why I refused to become one when the opportunity appeared. But the mind of a legionary who worked his way up the ranks until he commanded a legion? Well, that man understands that nothing in war is bought without suffering and a heavy price."

"My wife may never forgive me." The man said, staring off to the side, a flicker of pain and regret coming over his face.

"She married a High Lord of the Northern Line. Tails of their countless sacrifices, personal or otherwise, aren't far from the tongue of any bard."

"Ha! Yeah, she knew it was a possibility… But a grieving mother is not the most rational."

"And yet?" Prompted Panta after the man sat in silence for a few seconds.

In response, the other man's eyes gray flashed like the drawing of a sword, "My forefathers have held our section of the Northern line for thirteen generations. I will not be the one to fail. I will reclaim my land and kill those who took it… but in the short term, I can make compromises."

"That is all I could ask," Panta said with a bow of his head in thanks. "And all I need."

"Do not thank me yet," Augustas said, his voice hard with resolve, "I may not intend to hinder you, but I will be taking my legion back to what is left of my people. Ironhold is within my lands, and I will have it properly defended."

Panta felt a flash of irritation that he was losing a legion just after gaining it, but he let the emotion go as he sighed. "That is… for the best."

"Why is that?" Quineeta asked.

"Technically," Panta said, a rhy smile on his lips, "I am in direct control of five legions. If I pressed the issue, I could keep them all here and even detain City Lord Fridgia for a time. It would be the first time the Guardian of the North had so much direct military power in… I don't know how many centuries."

Wrinkling her brow in confusion, Quineeta said, "But all six legions of the north are under your technical control."

Panta smiled, "Legions spread over thousands of miles. Not focused in a single place… with a direct line to Olimpia."

"…Oh!" Quineeta said, her eyes widening in realization and horror. "But half the legions are the Senatorial Guard. They would never allow such actions. Not to mention, we are at war!"

Panta shrugged, "Men are fickle, and when someone suddenly has a bunch of power thrust onto them… Ideas and events have a way of taking on a momentum of their own."

"I assume you want something from me for releasing my legion so easily?" Augustas asked, putting the conversation back on track, his eyes looking sharp as he prepared to make a deal.

"It's simple," Panta answered, "I will have to respond to the call for my presence by sending a representative." Nodding to Quineeta, he added, "And she will need some protection."

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