Devourer

Chapter 228: Averlon Summit

The heavy palace doors groaned as they swung open, and Montis stepped into the grand hall. The polished stone floors reflected the light pouring through the high arched windows, making the space feel even larger than it was. His boots echoed with each step, a steady rhythm that matched his focus. The annual summit was always a tedious affair, but he understood its importance.

Montis scanned the room out of habit, noting every exit and every cluster of nobles and guards. His armor felt heavier in the warm air of the palace, but he ignored it. He had worn this uniform for years, the white phoenix of the Empire etched into the breastplate. It was a reminder of what he represented: stability, safety, and order. He had faced little true conflict in his tenure in the Empire, but the responsibility of guarding the empire’s heartlands weighed heavily enough. His aides trailed behind him silently, their presence reassuring but not necessary. He did not need hand-holding here.

A subtle change in the room’s atmosphere made him glance toward the entrance. Ordias Derenge had arrived. The vampire’s presence was as predictable as it was unsettling. The air felt cooler, and the natural hum of conversation in the room grew quieter. Montis watched as the other general moved with his usual grace, his red cloak brushing the floor. Ordias’s pale face and crimson eyes carried an unnatural sharpness that always triggered something instinctive in Montis, though he trusted the man as much as anyone could trust a vampire.

Montis forced himself to focus. Ordias’s black armor, gleamed faintly under the chandelier light. The man looked like he belonged in the heat of battle, not in a council chamber. Their eyes met as Ordias crossed the hall toward him. A simple nod passed between them. It was brief, but it spoke volumes. They did not need words to acknowledge what they both carried on their shoulders, different burdens for the same empire.

Together, they climbed the wide staircase toward the council chamber, their footsteps a strange harmony of mortal strength and immortal elegance. Montis glanced sideways at Ordias once, wondering briefly how long the vampire could keep fighting the same battles, and how long he himself could keep waiting for a war that might never come. Then the doors ahead opened, and Montis straightened his shoulders. The summit awaited.

Montis glanced at Ordias as they walked side by side toward the council chamber. “You’re earlier than usual,” he said, his tone neutral but with a hint of curiosity.

Ordias smirked faintly. “Uncharacteristically peaceful day in the west, the elves must be plotting something.”

“Or licking their wounds, the Angels could make them stop but they don’t seem eager to give us any respite.” Montis countered.

Ordias chuckled softly, the sound low and dry. “Perhaps. Though they’re stubborn, I’ll give them that. I could say the same about your side. No demons yet?”

“Uneventful,” Ordias repeated, his crimson eyes glinting. “I envy you in some ways, Montis. Peace is a rare thing.”

Montis snorted lightly. “Easy to envy when you’re not living it. I’d trade for action sometimes, though I suppose I should count myself lucky.”

“Luck has little to do with it,” Ordias said, his voice quieter now. “Both our roles have their own costs.”

The two generals walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of their footsteps echoing in the vast hall. Finally, Montis spoke again. “Let’s hope this summit brings something worthwhile. I don’t think either of us enjoys sitting through politics.”

Ordias smiled faintly. “We agree on that, at least.”

As they reached the doors of the council chamber, Montis straightened his armor while Ordias adjusted his cloak. Without another word, they stepped inside to face the empress and the gathered members of the court

The council sat in a wide semicircle, their faces turned toward the generals as they entered. Montis’s eyes swept over the assembly, noting the diverse range of individuals. The Averlonian council was a reflection of the empire’s most fundamental belief: strength above all. Its members were chosen not for their lineage, but for the strength of their actions, intellect, and achievements. Some had come from noble families, others from the humblest beginnings as peasants or even whores. It was their ability to endure, to excel, and to lead that earned them their place here.

At the head of the chamber sat Empress Cecilia, the embodiment of the empire’s ideals. Her presence alone commanded respect. Crimson hair framed a face that radiated confidence and intelligence, and though her ruby gown was elegant, it hinted at an edge of practicality. She was not merely a ruler by title but a leader who had proven herself through the trials of governance and strategy. Her piercing gaze fell on the generals as they entered, her nod a simple but effective acknowledgment of their station.

Montis and Ordias moved to their seats, their every movement measured. They were here not as symbols but as instruments of the empire’s strength. The council chamber was silent as the empress began to speak, her voice steady and authoritative.

"The strength of this empire lies in its people, its leaders, and its unwavering resolve," she began, her words resonating with the core belief that united everyone in the room. "We gather here today not to rest on past victories but to forge ahead, to face challenges with the determination that has made us what we are."

Montis straightened in his chair, the empress’s words sharpening his focus. Every decision made here would ripple across the empire, testing its strength. Regardless of their origins, everyone in this room understood that they were here not by right but by the merit of their actions, their resilience, and their will to rise above challenges. Today would be no different.

The annual summit was one of the empire’s most crucial traditions, rooted in its core belief of strength through unity. The Averlonian Empire was vast, encompassing a diverse range of lands and peoples, each contributing to its strength. To the east lay the human lands, the heart of the empire, a region of fertile plains and thriving cities. Near the heartlands stood the Ironhammer Mountains, home to the Dwarves of Ironhammer, a stalwart people whose fortresses were carved deep into the rock. Their proximity to the central lands made them vital partners in the empire’s infrastructure and defense, their unmatched craftsmanship forming the backbone of many imperial projects.

Beyond the human lands and the Ironhammer Mountains stretched the Zarima Desert, a harsh and unforgiving expanse inhabited by the resourceful Lizardkin, whose survival skills and control of desert trade routes made them indispensable. Farther west, beyond the desert's edge, lay Necoronas, the Land of the Vampires, a realm of eternal twilight and shadowed forests, home to the empire’s most enigmatic and powerful citizens.

Despite the distances and contrasts between these regions, the empire thrived because no part acted in isolation. The purpose of the summit was simple yet vital: to ensure that every region and its leadership understood what the others were doing.

Each representative, from generals to administrators, gave a detailed briefing of their region’s situation its successes, challenges, and needs. The Dwarves of Ironhammer often discussed advancements in fortifications, weaponry, and engineering projects that bolstered the entire empire’s stability. The Lizardkin provided insights into trade and survival in hostile environments. The Vampires of Necoronas reported on their conflicts and arcane developments, while the humans offered the strategic and logistical strength of the central lands. This exchange of knowledge allowed the empire to act as a cohesive whole, adapting swiftly to threats and opportunities alike. Whether it was military campaigns, resource management, or diplomatic efforts, every aspect of the empire’s strength was laid bare in this chamber. No one, not even the lowest-ranking council member, could afford to be uninformed.

Montis and Ordias knew their turn would come soon enough. The generals of the Averlonian Empire were expected not just to protect their territories, but to provide clarity and strategy to the entire council. Montis would report on the stability of the eastern human lands and the vigilance maintained against potential demonic incursions, while Ordias would update on the vampire-led efforts in Necoronas and the skirmishes with the elves in the west. The Dwarves of Ironhammer would likely discuss the maintenance of the mountain defenses or the innovations that could shape the empire’s future.

This was as much a time to learn as to lead. The strength of the empire depended on understanding, and understanding required every voice in the room to be heard.

The annual summit began with the first speaker stepping forward. Montis sat straighter in his seat as Sarana, the empire’s spy master, moved to the center of the chamber. Draped in her dark cloak, she carried an air of calm authority, though her reports rarely brought comfort. Her intelligence network had been critical in monitoring the demonic incursions tearing through the Divonian Empire, a crisis that was already spilling into Averlonian territory.

“The situation in the east continues to evolve,” Sarana began, her voice steady and measured. “The Divonian Empire remains under siege from within, as demons infiltrate their ranks and exploit the chaos. Refugees continue to pour into the eastern human lands, fleeing both the demons and the angels’ increasingly desperate efforts to maintain order. However, I must report that, to date, there have been no confirmed attempts by demons to infiltrate our borders through these refugees.”

Montis felt a slight easing of the tension in his shoulders. “So far, the screenings have turned up nothing unusual,” he added, his voice calm but firm.

“The refugees are desperate, yes, but they’ve shown no signs of demonic corruption. We’ve established camps to keep them safe while ensuring thorough inspections, and they’ve complied willingly.” Montis said as he tapped his finger on his seat.

Sarana nodded. “It appears the demons remain focused on the Divonian Empire for now. Whether this is by design or simply a matter of priorities, we cannot say. However, we must remain vigilant. Even if they have not attempted to use the refugee crisis to their advantage yet, the possibility remains.”

Empress Cecilia leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. “Montis, are your forces managing the influx adequately?”

“For now, yes,” he replied. “The camps are well-guarded, and inspections are conducted regularly. The refugees have been cooperative, but the numbers are rising. If this continues, we’ll need additional resources to maintain both security and humanitarian efforts.”

Ordias, his tone as sharp as ever, interjected. “What happens if the Divonian Empire falls? Can your camps handle a flood ten times the current size?”

Montis’s jaw tightened. “That’s something we’re preparing for. I’ve already sent requests to fortify our border towns and expand capacity in key areas. If the flow increases, we’ll need help from the central reserves.”

Sarana spoke again. “My operatives are monitoring the situation closely. For now, the Divonian Empire remains the demons’ primary focus, but the angels are losing control. If the tide shifts, we’ll need to adapt quickly.”

The empress’s gaze swept across the chamber, her voice resolute. “Then we will prepare as necessary. Montis, ensure your forces remain vigilant and supported. Sarana, continue your intelligence efforts. I want updates on any changes, no matter how small.”

Sarana inclined her head and returned to her seat, her update complete. Montis remained thoughtful. The refugees had brought no demons with them, but their presence was a constant reminder of the chaos raging just beyond the empire’s borders. If the Divonian Empire collapsed, the Averlonian Empire would face a test of its own, one that went beyond swords and shields. For now, vigilance and preparation were their strongest weapons.

As Sarana returned to her seat, the empress gestured for Montis to continue. He rose, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his steady tone.

“In addition to managing the refugee flow into the eastern lands, we’ve established the Averlonian Security Zone in the capital of Divonia,” Montis began. “The zone is centered around our embassy, which has been reinforced as a secure hub for both military operations and humanitarian aid. From there, we’ve expanded outward, stabilising key districts and providing support to the local population.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the council. “The Security Zone serves multiple purposes. It ensures the safety of the civilians within the capital, many of whom have been abandoned by their own leadership. It provides a base of operations for our forces to monitor and contain demonic activity in the city. And most importantly, it radiates order in a region that has descended into chaos.”

Sarana added, her voice calm but precise, “My operatives embedded in the capital report that the zone has become a beacon of stability. Civilians flock to it, seeking protection and aid. The presence of Averlonian troops has discouraged both demonic infiltration and local unrest in the areas under our control. However, the demons are aware of the zone, and while they have yet to strike directly, their movements on the periphery are concerning.”

Ordias leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Better the fire burns away from home than at our doorstep,” he said, his tone sharp but casual. “Let Divonia bear the brunt of the demons’ wrath while we maintain control of the embers. The more resources they waste there, the less they’ll have to threaten us.”

Montis shot him a measured look. “And if that fire spreads unchecked, it will reach us regardless. The Security Zone isn’t just about Divonia; it’s about buying us time and leverage.”

“Time is valuable,” Ordias admitted with a nod. “And leverage more so. But you’re overlooking another advantage, Montis. The Security Zone isn’t only a defensive measure. It serves as an ideal staging point should we decide that a preemptive strike against the demons is necessary. If Divonia collapses entirely, having a stronghold within the capital will allow us to act swiftly and decisively.”

Montis frowned but did not argue. The thought had crossed his mind, though he had focused more on stabilizing the region than planning for an offensive. But then again, this was why both Montis and Ordias held the same rank. The more defensive oriented Montis was useful to counteract the offensive focused Ordias.

The empress raised a hand, her voice calm but firm. “Both of you make valid points. The Security Zone is necessary, but it is not without risk. Montis, ensure the zone remains a symbol of strength and order. We cannot allow it to become a quagmire.”

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on Montis. “There are reports that a slum has appeared on the outskirts of the zone. It is said to be crowded with those who cannot make it into the protected areas. While it is not completely infested with demons, the conditions there are deteriorating. Possessions, disease and hunger are spreading, and such a situation risks becoming a breeding ground for resentment.”

Montis inclined his head. “I’m aware of the situation, Your Majesty. We’ve begun dispatching supplies to the area, but the influx is overwhelming. Expanding the zone to include the slum would stretch our resources further than they already are. That is provided the Divonians even allow it.”

“Then find a way to control it,” the empress replied, her tone unyielding. “The zone’s stability will mean little if chaos festers just beyond its borders. Address the slum before it becomes more than a humanitarian crisis. I trust you to handle this with the same precision you’ve shown in managing the zone itself.”

Ordias leaned forward, his crimson eyes glinting. “And if that chaos spreads beyond the slum or the demons turn their attention to the zone, we will have the advantage. A fortified position in the heart of Divonia is not just a shield. It is a dagger poised to strike when the time comes. Let us not forget that.”

Montis nodded but remained cautious. “A preemptive strike is not off the table, but it must be weighed carefully. For now, our priority is stabilizing the situation and ensuring the zone doesn’t collapse under its own weight.”

The empress gave a brief nod. “Focus on maintaining order for now. But be prepared, should the situation demand a more decisive response. I will also be dispatching more resources for your use in the Security Zone as a precautionary measure.”

Montis returned to his seat, his mind racing with the challenges ahead. The Security Zone was a beacon of hope for some, a display of strength for others, and, as Ordias had pointed out, a potential sword to wield against the demons, Divonians and even the angels. Whether it would succeed or fail remained uncertain, but one thing was clear: the empire could not afford to falter.

As Montis returned to his seat, Empress Cecilia gestured toward the next speaker. Ordias rose from his chair with an almost languid grace, his crimson eyes sweeping over the room. Draped in his cloak, he exuded an air of calm confidence that commanded attention.

“My report concerns the ongoing situation on the borders of Necoronas,” Ordias began, his voice smooth and deliberate. “The Elves of the Wood of the Ancients persist in their attempts to disrupt our operations. Their attacks, however, are little more than nuisances. They strike at the periphery, targeting minor outposts and supply lines, but none of these actions have posed any real threat to our forces or our control of the region.”

He paused, his gaze briefly meeting the empress’s before moving to the rest of the council. “These skirmishes are the actions of a desperate people. The Elves view Necoronas as a trespass on their sacred groves. Their strikes lack coordination or significant effect, serving more to irritate than to harm. For every raid they launch, our forces respond swiftly and decisively. They have yet to achieve anything of consequence.”

Montis leaned forward slightly. “If their attacks are inconsequential, why do they persist?”

Ordias’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Pride and fear, Montis. To them, we are not merely enemies. We are an existential threat, a presence they see as unnatural and unacceptable. It doesn’t matter that we’ve held these lands for millenia; their actions are driven by symbolism, not strategy. They are long lived but so are we, as far as we are concerned the old grudges are still very pertinent.”

Sarana interjected, her tone measured. “Could they have outside support? Someone encouraging or aiding their efforts?”

Ordias’s expression darkened slightly as he considered her question. “The angels could be backing them, though I doubt the angels have resources to spare. Divonia’s collapse has stretched their forces thin, leaving them scrambling to contain their own problems. While it is not impossible, I find it unlikely that they could divert meaningful aid to the Elves, even if they wished to.”

Montis furrowed his brow. “And if the angels were involved?”

“They would be making a grave error,” Ordias said sharply. “Interfering in Necoronas would be a declaration of hostility. It would give us every justification to retaliate, something I suspect they are not eager to provoke.”

Empress Cecilia rested her chin on her hand, her crimson eyes blazing as they locked onto Ordias. “Are your forces sufficient to manage these skirmishes without straining your resources?”

“More than sufficient, Your Majesty,” Ordias replied with smooth confidence. “These raids are little more than training exercises for my border troops. We’ve suffered no significant losses, and morale remains high. However, if their persistence continues unchecked, it may become necessary to send a stronger message.”

Montis raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting a direct offensive?”

Ordias inclined his head slightly. “A series of calculated strikes into their territory would remind them that their provocations come at a price. It would not require a full campaign, merely a demonstration of our ability to strike at will.”

The empress tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair, her expression thoughtful. “For now, containment is sufficient. But if the Elves escalate their efforts, I will authorize more decisive action. In the meantime, Ordias, you are to draw up a full invasion battle plan as a contingency. If the time comes to strike, I want us prepared to end this conflict swiftly and decisively.”

She leaned forward, her crimson eyes glinting dangerously. “If the Elves wish to test the empire, they will learn the price of their folly. We will burn everything from the Necoronas border to the Sea of Ancients.”

Ordias inclined his head deeply, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. “As you command, Your Majesty. I will ensure the plan is thorough and ready for your approval.”

The empress straightened in her chair, her tone firm and commanding. “Continue your containment efforts and report any changes along the border immediately. We will not act rashly, but we must be ready for all possibilities.”

Returning to his seat, Ordias maintained his relaxed demeanor, though the intensity of the discussion lingered. The Elves’ attacks might be inconsequential now, but the empress’s words underscored the gravity of the situation. The empire would not tolerate threats, whether minor provocations or full-scale attacks, and it would respond with fire and steel if necessary.

As Ordias resumed his seat, Empress Cecilia gestured for the next speaker. The Duchess of Cathay rose gracefully, her composed demeanor reflecting her role as the empire’s chief diplomat in the east.

“Your Majesty, members of the council,” she began, her voice clear and steady, “I bring updates on our relations with the Naga clans and the Mugummans, both of whom are critical to the eastern trade routes.”

She turned first to the Naga. “The Naga have upheld their agreement not to raid Averlonian ships, a condition they continue to honor. However, they remain highly active in attacking the vessels of Divonia and the Merchant Princes. This has caused a surge in demand for Averlonian naval escorts along the eastern trade routes, making such services highly lucrative for the empire. While this situation benefits us for now, their unpredictable nature means we must continue to monitor them closely.”

Shifting to the Mugummans, the Duchess allowed a slight smile. “The Mugummans have increased trade significantly, granting us unprecedented access to the spoils of their jungle home. Exotic goods, medicinal plants, and rare materials now flow into Averlonian markets, strengthening our economy and bolstering our position as a dominant power in eastern trade. Despite their usual suspicion of outsiders, they have shown a surprising willingness to deepen this partnership.”

Before the Duchess could continue, Empress Cecilia raised her hand, her crimson eyes gleaming with quiet certainty. “The Naga and the Mugummans will honor their agreements. This is no simple accord based on mutual convenience. It is a pact born of necessity and sealed by forces far beyond their reach.”

Montis furrowed his brow slightly, curiosity flickering across his face. “Your Majesty, if I may ask, what gives you such certainty? Both the Naga and the Mugummans are known for their opportunistic nature.”

Cecilia’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. “Because they will not defy their dark mistress, Serchax. The pact is recent, forged between the Great Beast and the eternal serpent Serchax, who commands the loyalty of both the Naga and the Mugummans. This is no mere agreement of trade or strategy; it is a decree from their revered goddess. For them, to break the pact is unthinkable.”

The room fell into silence, her words carrying a gravity that none dared question. The Duchess inclined her head, acknowledging the empress’s assertion. “As you say, Your Majesty. For now, the arrangements remain stable and profitable for the empire.”

“Good,” the empress replied. “Maintain these relationships, but ensure that Averlon continues to honor its side of the pact. While Serchax’s will binds the Naga and Mugummans, we must ensure there is no reason for her favor to shift.”

As the Duchess returned to her seat, Montis found himself deep in thought. The empress’s certainty now made perfect sense. The Great Beast’s recent dealings with Serchax had created an alliance far beyond the reach of mortal negotiation. The Mugummans and Naga, deeply tied to their dark mistress, would not dare defy her will, no matter their personal ambitions.

Montis could not help but wonder how many other such deals had been struck in the shadows. He knew, though the knowledge was unspoken, that the Empress and the Great Beast had made many secret pacts across the world. These agreements, some likely ancient and others recent, served as unseen threads holding the empire together. Whether with gods, monsters, or entire civilizations, these arrangements ensured that Averlonia thrived where others faltered.

He kept his musings to himself, but as the council moved to the next speaker, the thought lingered. The empire’s strength was more than armies and fortresses; it was a web of alliances and bargains stretching far beyond what any single mortal could grasp.

As the Duchess of Cathay returned to her seat, Empress Cecilia gestured toward the next speaker. The Archmage of the Empire, a stoic figure cloaked in simple yet regal robes, rose with a measured nod. His demeanor was calm and professional, befitting his station as the empire’s master of the arcane.

“Your Majesty, members of the council,” he began, his voice steady and precise, “I am pleased to report that the empire’s arcane infrastructure remains largely stable. The protective wards surrounding our cities are holding at full strength, and the leyline network remains functional across the territories.”

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across the chamber. “As you all know, the Eternal Font is the center of all magic. It is a nexus where the raw essence of mana converges, and its unparalleled concentration of magical energy fuels much of the empire’s arcane might. However, such immense power comes at a cost. The Font’s immediate area is utterly inhospitable to all forms of life and even to constructs. The mana radiation there is so intense that it fries everything that enters, reducing even the most resilient constructs or magical projections to useless slag. No mortal or machine can approach it.”

The Archmage continued, his tone measured. “Because of this, we can only study the Font indirectly, by monitoring the surrounding leyline network from afar. Recently, we have observed significant fluctuations in the energy patterns, large dips that suggest something is draining the Font. These deviations are beyond the usual seasonal shifts and are without precedent. That said, they pose no immediate threat to the Font’s integrity or to the empire.”

Ordias raised an eyebrow, his voice sharp. “If you can’t inspect it directly, how can you be certain this isn’t some natural cycle of the Font?”

“That remains a possibility,” the Archmage admitted. “However, the scale and frequency of these energy dips suggest something far more deliberate or anomalous. Natural cycles of the Font tend to have gradual ebbs and flows, but these fluctuations are abrupt and erratic. Even so, the Font’s reserves are so vast that these dips, while curious, do not endanger its stability.”

Montis frowned. “And if this draining continues?”

“The Font’s energy reserves are beyond mortal comprehension,” the Archmage replied. “Even with these fluctuations, its core integrity remains at no risk what so ever. Furthermore, the leyline network around the Font is robust enough to absorb and distribute the variations without destabilizing our magical infrastructure.”

The empress, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. Her tone was calm and certain. “Continue your observations, Archmage, but do not trouble yourself unnecessarily. The Font’s stability is not in question, nor does it require our intervention.”

The Archmage inclined his head, though his expression betrayed a flicker of curiosity at her assured tone. “As you say, Your Majesty. I will ensure that my mages monitor the situation closely.”

Montis, observing the exchange, felt a nagging unease. The empress’s words carried an unmistakable air of certainty, as though she already knew the source of the fluctuations and had no reason to fear it. Her confidence was not born of ignorance, but of understanding, understanding she chose not to share.

As the Archmage returned to his seat, Empress Cecilia gestured toward the next speaker. The Minister of Trade, a portly man dressed in a finely tailored robe adorned with the insignia of Averlonia’s commerce guilds, stood with a confident smile. His jovial demeanor and sharp wit often masked the sharp mind that had secured the empire’s position as a dominant economic power.

“Your Majesty, esteemed members of the council,” he began, his voice rich and enthusiastic. “I am pleased to bring you good news. The empire’s economy is thriving, driven by both internal growth and our advantageous trade agreements.”

He raised a hand slightly, gesturing as he spoke. “First, let us look at the eastern trade routes. Our naval escorts for merchants traveling past the Naga waters have not only increased trade security but also generated significant revenues. The Naga’s raids on Divonian and Merchant Prince vessels have pushed traders to flock to our protection, and they are more than willing to pay the premium.”

He smiled broadly, his tone triumphant. “Meanwhile, the goods flowing from the Mugumman jungles exotic herbs, rare minerals, and unique crafts have invigorated our markets, creating a surge of demand across the Empire. These imports have not only increased merchant activity but also stimulated domestic industries eager to process and refine these resources for further trade.”

Pausing for effect, the Minister of Trade clasped his hands together. “Our agricultural output in the central lands has also exceeded expectations, with surpluses feeding not only our citizens but also creating a profitable export market. Our Lizardkin friends have been very appreciative of the cheap agricultural products that we offer.”

He glanced around the room, his tone growing slightly more serious. “Of course, success brings its challenges. The booming trade has led to congestion at major ports, particularly in the eastern provinces. To maintain this momentum, I propose an expansion of our dock facilities and the addition of new trade routes to relieve the bottlenecks. With your approval, these measures will ensure that the empire continues to prosper without interruption.”

The empress inclined her head slightly, her crimson eyes calm but attentive. “Your report is well received, Minister. The prosperity of the empire is paramount, and I will authorize the necessary resources to expand our infrastructure. See to it that this growth is managed wisely.”

The Minister of Trade bowed deeply, his face beaming. “It shall be done, Your Majesty.”

As he returned to his seat, the chamber seemed to relax slightly, buoyed by the good news. Montis, though ever vigilant, allowed himself a rare moment of appreciation. In a world fraught with conflicts and challenges, the booming economy was a reminder of the empire’s resilience and dominance. The wealth flowing through Averlonia’s veins was as much a source of strength as its armies or magic.

As the Minister of Trade returned to his seat, the empress gestured toward the next speakers. The following reports, while important, carried the air of routine.

The Lizardkin Ambassador from Zarima spoke of the desert’s dependence on Averlonian grain and the steady trade in rare minerals and alchemical components Zarima sends in return. His tone was respectful, and his requests for continued support were expected, reflecting the ongoing challenges of the arid region. There was little in his report to surprise the council and naturally the Empress gave all that he asked and more. Loyalty is rewarded in the empire, that much was clear.

Next came the Dwarven Delegate from Ironhammer, whose report focused mostly on the steady supply of mithril, their primary export. The dwarves’ mastery of forging the rare, magic-conductive metal had made Ironhammer an invaluable partner to the empire’s military and arcane industries. Mithril flowed in abundance, fueling the crafting of enchanted weaponry, armor, and intricate tools of war. While he mentioned minor concerns about resource strain, he assured the council that production would meet the empire’s demands without issue.

Finally, the Minister of Population Administration stood, her report methodical and predictable. Population growth was steady, supported by strong agricultural output and stable governance. She noted the refugee influx from Divonia but assured the council that settlement programs were managing the strain. Her recommendations for adjustments to taxation and resource allocation drew nods of acknowledgment but sparked no debate and easily passed.

The chamber buzzed quietly between speakers, the council absorbing the reports with little fanfare. For Montis, these updates, while valuable, were a reminder of the empire’s sheer complexity. Each speaker’s domain contributed to the larger whole, a machine of immense size and power that relied on the predictable, even mundane, operation of its many parts.

Empress Cecilia, ever composed, acknowledged each speaker with a nod. Her demeanor betrayed no impatience, only quiet authority. The reports were expected, the empire’s foundation strong. For now, all was as it should be and the empress passed her decrees freely, giving each member the resources they needed to succeed.

As the Minister of Population Administration resumed her seat, the empress gestured for the final speaker. A hush fell over the chamber as Legiana rose, her presence immediately commanding attention. Towering and regal, her sleek insectoid form radiated an air of alien elegance. Her brilliant white carapace gleamed faintly in the chamber’s light, smooth and polished, giving her a nearly statuesque appearance. Her domed head, smooth and eyeless, reflected the light like a moonlit stone, while a long, whip-like tail extended from the back of her head, swaying gently with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Her digitigrade legs, bent backward at the joint, added a feline grace to her movements, and every step seemed deliberate, poised.

When she spoke, her voice filled the chamber, calm yet unnerving, its perfect mimicry of human speech unsettling to those who listened. The cadence was flawless, too flawless, as if stripped of all the imperfections and nuances of true human communication. It was a voice that felt practiced, designed even, yet it carried a subtle dissonance, an uncanny edge that made the skin crawl.

“Your Majesty, members of the council,” she began, inclining her head slightly toward Empress Cecilia. “I bring the voice of the hive and the will of the Great Beast to this assembly. The hive stands ready, as always, to serve the empire.”

Her words were measured, her tone betraying nothing, but the raw, alien nature of her presence was inescapable. The Great Beast’s hive was the silent pillar upon which the Averlonian Empire stood. Its creatures vast, varied, and utterly loyal were woven into every facet of the empire. From laborers in the farmlands to engineers in the workshops, from advisors in the courts to the majority of the empire’s military strength, the hive was both its heart and its shield.

“Our efforts continue to bolster the empire in every capacity,” Legiana continued. “The agricultural zones are thriving under the care of our labor divisions. The production of mithril and other critical resources is supported by our excavation and transport capabilities. On the military front, our warriors remain ever vigilant, patrolling borders, securing strategic points, and responding to threats before they reach imperial soil.”

Her head tilted slightly, and her voice, still unnervingly perfect, grew more deliberate. “The hive has increased its presence in Divonia. Our deployments are focused on stabilizing the region and supporting Averlonian operations there. Additionally, as a precaution, hive divisions are marshalling along the borders with the Wood of the Ancients to counter the Elves’ continued provocations. While we do not anticipate immediate conflict, the hive is prepared to act decisively should the situation escalate.”

She paused, her voice lowering slightly but losing none of its eerie perfection. “And we have prepared for the angels. Though they are currently mired in their struggles within Divonia, their nature is to intervene, to meddle. Should they turn their misguided attention toward the empire, we are ready.”

Her voice sharpened, the calmness giving way to something primal, ancient, and raw. “They are fools, clinging to their fading light, unaware of the abyss that awaits them. If they dare to challenge the hive, we will devour them all.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The weight of Legiana’s words was suffocating, her declaration leaving no doubt that the hive would not merely defend the empire but utterly annihilate any who dared to stand against it. Her words were not a threat; they were a promise, delivered with the cold certainty of a predator confident in its hunt.

Montis shifted uneasily in his seat, the image of angels beings of light, power, and righteousness falling before the relentless, consuming tide of the hive burning into his mind. For all the empire’s strength, it was the hive that cast the longest shadow.

Legiana’s head tilted again, her featureless dome aimed toward the council. “The Great Beast remains ever watchful. His wisdom guides us, his strength empowers us. The hive exists to serve this empire, as we have since its founding. Together, we stand unshaken.”

Empress Cecilia inclined her head slightly, her crimson eyes meeting the featureless dome of Legiana’s head without a flicker of unease. Her voice, calm yet authoritative, carried a rare warmth. “Your words are as resolute as your service, Matriarch. The hive’s contributions are the cornerstone of our strength, and we shall continue to honor this bond. Convey my gratitude to the Great Beast.”

Legiana bowed deeply, her movements unnervingly fluid despite her imposing form. Her tail swayed gently as she resumed her seat, but the tension in the air lingered, a quiet reminder of the primal force that had just spoken. No matter how civilized she appeared, no one in the chamber could forget what Legiana represented, a connection to something ancient, savage, and older than any of them could imagine.

As Montis left the council chamber, he felt an unusual heaviness settle over him. The intensity of the discussions, particularly Legiana’s chilling declarations, left him feeling drained, as though he had just walked through a storm of raw power. And yet, there was an odd reassurance in the aftermath. The empire’s strength, fortified by the hive’s primal ferocity and unwavering loyalty, was undeniable. No matter the challenges angels, elves, or any other threat the Great Beast and his hive would ensure that Averlonia endured. Montis allowed himself a rare moment of solace. The empire was in terrifyingly capable hands.

And if it really came to all out war across the world?

Well…

At least the hive is on their side….