“You look at Harling’s Mirror—the Lighthouse itself—and you perceive it as either a threat or an offer of peace. What does choosing one or the other say about you?”

  Tampines Airport, Selatapura, Osean Federation — February 5, 2020

  “My god,” Brownie gasped, “are you seeing this? There’s an entire mushroom cloud rising from near the Central District!”

  “It’s visible from miles on end, Mage Two,” Sky Keeper replied, his voice visibly shaken even as he continued to direct the Lighthouse Division to the runway. “We don’t have any reports yet about what’s happening downtown, but it’s probably not good. Launch as soon as you can before the enemy comes back!”

  “Damn it…if we had actually managed to get our squadrons properly reorganised before all this happened, we wouldn’t even be in this situation!”

  “No use worrying about it now,” Wiseman sternly interrupted, glancing up at the skies where AA fire continued to arc towards the yet-unseen fighters. “Just get in formation once you’ve taken off and start engaging anything you see!”

  With the Lighthouse Division pulling in several squadrons from the conventional IUN forces, a massive overhaul of the current lineup of pilots was deemed necessary in order to prepare for integrating and modernising non-Osean air units to the task force. Mage Squadron in particular was marked down for further expansion, its unusually skilled rookie responsible for the OADF’s most significant successes in Elysia quickly promoted to flight lead and his former superior reassigned to training Elysian recruits to add to their numbers—yet these changes would likely take weeks if not months to fully develop, resulting in a significantly understaffed team of planes and pilots setting off to face the unknown enemy flying above them.

  “Take off in groups—Mage One and Two will go first, followed by Strider and Cyclops Squadrons. You’re cleared to engage as soon as you get into the air; clear out the airspace around this part of the AO so the rest of our fighters can deploy as well!”

  Two Raptors swiftly took to the skies, their radar systems immediately picking up a handful of unknown heat signatures on an intercept approach—

  “Enemy fighters inbound! Mage Two, on the defensive!”

  “Copy, Mage Two! Mage One, protect your wingman and eliminate those birds as soon as you can!”

  Trigger and Brownie hastily manoeuvred aside, narrowly avoiding a mid-air collision with the hostile fighters as they soared past—the latter quickly glanced back to get a glimpse at their opponents, eyes widening in recognition as she did so.

  “Su-27s! Sky Keeper, be advised, we have positive visual IDs on the enemy contacts—they look like Yuktobanian fighters!”

  “Mage Two, say again—Yuktobanian fighters?”

  “Let’s not jump to assumptions, Mage Two,” Wiseman hastily cut in. “We have planes that are visibly identical to Yuktobanian Su-27s and Su-37s, but their patterns and emblems don’t match any Yuke designs I’m familiar with—”

  “We’ll figure out the details later, Cyclops One,” Sky Keeper replied, quickly opting for immediate action over needless speculation. “All callsigns, shoot down the enemy fighters before they cause any more damage!”

  Even as the countless Oseans and Elysians continued scrambling to the shelters within the adjacent International Airport, many civilians caught in the crossfire began to look up in wonder as the Lighthouse Division began to dogfight with the unknown hostile aircraft. White contrails from missiles and black smoke from falling planes criss-crossed and dotted the sky as the Osean pilots unexpectedly found themselves relearning nearly-forgotten feats of aerial combat from the Old World, their foes giving as good as they got and even threatening to gain the upper hand at times—yet one singular Raptor remained supreme, its three-lined wings scoring kill after kill in a matter of minutes.

  Trigger swept back as the enemy fighters scrambled to reorganise, their pilots clearly recognising the current situation no longer being in their favour and moving to counter the Osean reinforcements with whatever magical weapons were in their arsenal. From their undersides, a plethora of missiles and masses of magic-based energy (not unlike those he struggled against at Gim not too long ago, Trigger realized) launched towards his aircraft, forcing him into a defensive stance even as a salvo of AAMs from his own weapons bay swiftly returned the favour. A stream of countermeasures drew the attention of several incoming munitions, resulting in a vivid and chaotic display of colours as magic and science clashed in colorful disunity—the Raptor similarly spun and wove through the madness, slicing through several fireballs and smoke before sweeping around and marking its targets in a matter of seconds.

  “Mage One, Fox Three!”

  Eight AAMs swiftly found their marks, all scoring direct hits on the hostile fighters—in one fell swoop, the entire surprise attack and their reinforcements were wiped out. Trigger looked back as the other fighters in the Lighthouse Division moved into formation behind him, their attention already focused towards the ominous explosions surrounding the Space Elevator itself in the distance.

  “All callsigns,” Sky Keeper announced, “HQ has been able to piece together what’s been happening all over Selatapura. The briefing is as follows, so listen carefully—”

  At approximately 1600 hours, a detonation of what we believe to be a low-yield core magic device took place near the River Valley District—estimates are still vague as to how many casualties were within the blast radius of the explosion, but are expected to be within the thousands. Immediately after the explosion, several radar outposts along the coastline detected over three dozen unknown air contacts headed towards Selatapura, prompting the Arsenal Bird Justice to begin immediately deploying its UAVs to protect the Lighthouse itself. These birds have since been marked as hostile and are now actively engaging Osean defenses as well as Gra Valkan aerial and naval units currently stationed at Pasir Panjang, but urgently require backup in order to successfully fend off the enemy.

  Their motivations are unknown, but their intention of dealing damage to the Osean Federation is clear: you must shoot them down at all costs before any more of our people are hurt!

  There are three main areas of operation within the AO, which must first be dealt with before anything else. First, we must intercept the remaining aircraft attempting to strafe Tampines Airport to allow our manned air units to take off without interference. Second, we must eliminate the air units around the Lighthouse in order to establish air superiority over central Selatapura—once this is achieved, the Arsenal Birds and their drone fleets can consolidate their numbers and establish an immediate defensive network around the Space Elevator and its surrounding assets. Third, we must relieve the Gra Valkan fleets currently at port to allow their ships to set off and assist us in the final objective—locating the origin point of these enemy units within the Pacific Ocean.

  Expedience is essential, but be wary—this is the first modern air combat mission that the Osean Federation has had to encounter since the Transference, and we have no idea as to what our unknown enemies are capable of throwing at us—

  A blinding flash enveloped the Lighthouse itself in light, its massive base disappearing in a violent eruption of fire as a shockwave rippled across Selatapura, shattering windows and rattling buildings for dozens of kilometres. Wiseman and Brownie both winced and glanced away from the blinding explosion as the pilots in the air struggled to maintain control of their aircraft—in the distance, Trigger’s Raptor rode through the blast with comparative ease, already soaring towards the scene of devastation.

  “Sky Keeper, what the hell was that?! Did the Space Elevator just get nuked?!”

  “Affirmative, Mage Two—I’m attempting to contact our forces on the ground to see what’s happening! Whatever it is that’s going on, it’s not over yet—continue with the mission and eliminate the remaining enemy birds before another nuclear attack goes off!”

  Wiseman nodded to himself. “Copy, Sky Keeper! Trigger, wait for us!”

  “Get the civilians into the underground tunnels! We still have enemy fighters in the skies, and they might fire another nuke into the Lighthouse!”

  Groggily rising back to his feet as the heat from the nuclear detonation above him began to slowly dissipate, Basilisk Two began stumbling towards the nearest entrance to the Space Elevator, gesturing at the other surviving IUN peacekeepers and civilians to follow him. Across the island that the Lighthouse rested upon, other survivors did likewise—with most of the nearby AA defenses out of action and reinforcements still en route, all that the Osean defenders could do at this point was take cover and hope that the foundations of the Elevator itself could take the brunt of the attack.

  “Basilisk Actual, do you copy? Does anyone hear me on this frequency?”

  Static greeted his query. Cursing to himself, the man shove his radio back into his pocket.

  “Damn EMPs…”

  “Hey, there’s an enemy fighter above us! It’s coming back for another shot at the Lighthouse!”

  Basilisk Two whirled around, his eyes bulging in horror as he saw what distinctly resembled a Yuktobanian Sukhoi with a strange device about to detach from its underside. “Shit, they’re going to nuke us again! Everyone, get inside now!”

  “My leg! I can’t run, someone help me!”

  “Get a Stinger and shoot that thing down! We still haven’t cleared the area of civilians!”

  “The electronics for all our weapons got fried! We don’t have anything to stop that thing!”

  “Get down! Find something for cover before that—”

  The Su-37 unexpectedly exploded, its flaming wreckage tumbling down from the skies before crashing harmlessly into the side of the Lighthouse itself—behind it, a Raptor with three strikes on its wings swept across and began firing at the downed fighter’s wingmen, four UAVs trailing not too far behind.

  “They’re here! Thank God, the Air Force is here!”

  Even as cheers erupted from the crowds around the Lighthouse, Basilisk Two kept his eyes out for what he suspected had been the WMD from the enemy fighter’s payload. Yet as a few moments passed, the soldier quickly realised that he had neither seen the device itself nor had been vaporised—he had the sneaking suspicion that the device wouldn’t be any more of a problem (let alone his problem) for the foreseeable future.

  “Alright, let’s get everyone back inside the Lighthouse! Move the civilians to the underground entrance—we’ll get the transports to take them out of here!”

  “Well done, Mage One,” Sky Keeper proudly remarked to the young pilot, “I think we might have just stopped a third explosion in the nick of time. Deal with the remaining fighters, and then go join Strider and Cyclops Teams over at Pasir Panjang—the Gra Valkans still need our support, even with the Arsenal Bird fleet already here.”

  “Sky Keeper,” Brownie observed, “I’m seeing a couple more fighters coming in from our south in the radar—I know Trigger’s more than capable of dealing with them on our own, but we’re going to need more help if we’re going to prevent the enemy from nuking the Space Elevator. Is there anyone we can ask for help?”

  “That’s a negative, Mage Two. Our Arsenal Bird fleets aside, other air units are still over fifteen minutes out. This engagement could easily be over by then—wait, hang on. I’ve been informed by HQ…wait, really? Huh, impressive.”

  From her cockpit, Brownie gave her flight lead a quick look of confusion. Trigger shrugged back as Sky Keeper’s voice returned to the radio.

  “HQ is transferring command of eight UAVs from the Arsenal Bird fleet to you and Trigger, Mage Two. The software for controlling their actions from your console should already be installed—and it should help with your relatively low numbers.”

  “Take four each,” Wiseman quickly calculated, “and you both should have the equivalent of a full squadron per pilot. Not the best of situations, to be relying on UAVs, but it’s better than nothing at this point.”

  “ETA of enemy fighters is thirty seconds,” Sky Keeper warned. “Get your wingmen in order and get ready to fight!”

  Eight MQ-101s seamlessly maneuvered to Trigger and Brownie’s flanks, quickly adopting the combat styles of their respective commanders—the latter had her UAVs form a defensive perimeter around her Raptor, shielding her from direct attacks by the enemy, while the former had his subordinates push ruthlessly forward to engage the enemy. A ferocious salvo of missiles erupted from the two impromptu squadrons, soaring towards the approaching fighters at breakneck speed.

  “Mage One, Fox Three! Mage Two, Fox Two!”

  Explosions dotted the skies of Selatapura as magic and science clashed in a desperate battle for victory—the thousands of people below watched in a perverse mixture of wonder and horror as weapons and device of means both known and unknown, with fallen UAVs and oddly familiar mechanical beasts of the sky descending to the ground and causing yet more death and destruction. Yet even as they watched, the would-be invaders were slowly pushed back by the rapidly-growing swarm of reinforcements from the Arsenal Birds themselves and their fiery payload—and from the distance, their dominating forms could already be seen rapidly approaching with alarming speed.

  On the ground, an MNN news crew that was already in the process of preparing to return to Runepolis (with the Conference having concluded merely days before) had hastily reconstructed their equipment and were now broadcasting live to the rest of Elysia the shocking turn of events—from millions of screens both magical and otherwise, the world watched as Osea—seemingly the most powerful nation in the world next to the Milishials—was caught off guard by an unexpected foe yet gave as good as it got in the heavens above them.

  “This is Alana Forlen of the Milishial News Network, reporting live from Selatapura in the Osean Federation! Here, the city where delegates and world leaders of Elysia had met just a few days ago, now lies in ruins in the aftermath of a series of catastrophic core magic explosions—we have yet to receive any details about civilian casualties in the two blasts we just witnessed, but the numbers are expected to be high. The situation is still developing as we speak, as the unknown faction responsible for this horrific catastrophe is still engaging Osean security forces in the skies above us—”

  “Hey, it’s the Arsenal Bird! Get the camera up at that thing!”

  The sky abruptly shifted into a bright blue as the Liberty’s laser cut through an enemy fighter making a pass at the drone carrier itself—the beam of death angled upwards in close pursuit of the slain plane’s wingmen, who desperately scrambled to evade but were ultimately caught and vaporised in a matter of seconds. Even as her jaw dropped in shock at the sight above her, Alana continuously gestured to her cameraman to keep his device trained at the superweapon itself—their footage would undoubtedly be useful for the Milishials in their efforts to replicate the Oseans’ technology.

  “The Lighthouse Division, it would seem, has arrived—the Oseans have sent their premier task force to protect the Space Elevator from further damage, and they appear to have the upper hand! The enemy fighters are retreating as we speak, but the Arsenal Birds themselves continue their advance—”

  From a room in Runepolis, Emperor Milishial sat on his throne as he watched the situation unfold through his viewer, his advisors discussing the implications of the event in the background. Hearing Minister Phiam approach him, the Emperor glanced expectantly at the official.

  “We’ve got copies of the footage being produced and sent to our embassy in Selatapura as we speak, Your Excellency. We also have several proposals as to how we can respond to this incident—pending your approval, of course.”

  Milishial nodded. “Very well. Prepare to present your ideas once we can confirm that the ongoing attack on Osea has ended.”

  Pasir Panjang, Selatapura, Osean Federation — February 5, 2020

  For the second time in as many months, the Gra Valkan fleet sent to Selatapura found itself fighting for its survival as the Grade Alastar and its naval and aerial escorts shot at the countless fighters dotting the skies. Confusion initially reigned amongst the sailors and diplomats as to whether the Oseans were responsible for the unexpected attack, but the two mushroom clouds emerging from the east quickly proved otherwise; having clued in to the realisation this was an unknown third party making its presence known, the Crown Prince and his retinue were hastily escorted deeper into the flagship while Antares fighters were deployed from the parked carriers to provide interference—it was still unknown as to whether a third nuclear strike could target the Gra Valkans themselves, but the fleet was in no hurry to find out.

  Captain Svaun banked his plane as he frantically sought to avoid getting caught by the unusual fighter on his rear—his radio crackled with noise as his wingmen were forced to bail out or burst into flames as the technologically superior enemy continued to pick away at their numbers. “Damn it, I can’t shake him! Can’t someone on the ground take out this guy?!”

  “Negative, the AA guns can’t move fast enough to take out the enemy planes at this speed!”

  “Alpha Three, bailing out! My plane’s dead—”

  “Shit! We should have gotten our own jet fighters ready before heading out of Ragna—then we’d at least have some kind of fighting chance! Where the hell are those Oseans?!”

  “Ask and you shall receive! This is the Osean AWACS, callsign Sky Keeper—two fighter squadrons from the Lighthouse Division are inbound! What’s the situation with the Gra Valkan fleet?”

  Fleet Admiral Caesar’s voice broke through Svaun’s headphones as he frantically responded to the Osean directing the incoming reinforcements. “Sky Keeper, this is Fleet Admiral Caesar of the Grade Alastar! We need your fighters to establish air superiority so our ships can leave harbour—we have the Crown Prince and our diplomatic staff onboard, and we’re not sticking around long enough to get hit by a nuclear bomb like the Lighthouse!”

  “Copy, Admiral! Strider and Cyclops Squadrons, eliminate any plane in the sky that doesn’t have an Osean IFF or a propeller! Check your shots—we have VIPs onboard the Gra Valkan flagship!”

  Ten Eagles sliced through the battlefield like knives through butter, with Antares fighters scrambling to move aside as the supersonic jets unleashed their payload of missiles and lasers at their magical counterparts. The effect was immediate—the enemy planes began to shift their focus away from the Gra Valkan vessels and planes and towards the newcomers, much to Svaun’s relief as his wingmen took the opportunity to see how many casualties they had taken.

  “Ymir be praised, we’re alive! Another few minutes, and we’d be all dead!”

  “Sky Keeper, please extend my deepest thanks to your pilots—oh, and the Crown Prince and our diplomatic staff also would like to express their own gratitude as well.”

  “I’ll relay your message to the Lighthouse Division. Oh, and HQ is requesting a communique with your officials onboard—their frequencies are being dispatched to you as I speak.”

  “Affirmative, Sky Keeper; please notify your superiors that we’ll contact them in about five minutes once we’re able to assess the full extent of our casualties.”

  “Roger. Sky Keeper out.”

  “Grade Alastar, I think that’s roughly two-thirds of us still in the air. Everyone else…well, either they had to bail or they got shot down.”

  “How many of the enemy fighters did we take down?”

  “Out of the fifteen confirmed contacts…” Svaun sighed. “I’d be surprised if we even took out more than one, Admiral.”

  “Damn it…alright. All planes that are damaged or running low on ammo or fuel, land and resupply as soon as you can. Everyone else, try and assist our Osean allies as much as you can—we cannot return to our homeland with nothing to show for our losses.”

  Bright Hill, Oured, Osean Federation — February 5, 2020

  President Bartlett strode into the emergency bunker beneath the Presidential Palace, his security team and military advisors not too far behind him as technicians and officers scrambled to their stations—with news of the ongoing attack at Selatapura having quickly reached Oured in a matter of minutes, all of Osea’s military defenses and assets were immediately mobilised and their highest-ranking officials hurriedly escorted to secure locations throughout the country. It would still take another quarter of an hour before every squadron between Sudentor and Sand Island could be launched in the air and placed on standby—and yet for Bartlett and Edwards, the two knew all too well that even such a seemingly short delay could potentially prove fatal for Osea as a whole…

  Reaching the command centre of the underground facility, Bartlett immediately glanced at the glowing holographic display detailing every single hotspot in Selatapura, wincing in horror as a second nuclear detonation appeared on the satellite feed at the very site of the Space Elevator itself. Even Edwards, who had already been giving commands inside the bunker as the reports of the first explosion began to trickle in, paused as the astronauts and scientists on the very top of the Lighthouse continued to relay their current status.

  “Edwards…the Elevator’s going to survive that explosion, right?”

  The Vice Chairman sighed, turning back towards his own console. “The Lighthouse was designed to take the full brunt of a Ulysses-sized asteroid, Mr. President. If the Elevator can’t survive a nuclear attack, then…”

  Nodding in acknowledgement, the President refocused his attention to the matter at hand. “We’ll just have to keep our hopes up, then. What assets do we have on standby to deal with the ongoing attack?”

  “The Lighthouse Division is already on task with establishing air superiority and locating the source of the enemy fighters, but they’re still highly disorganised due to the ongoing restructuring of their forces. UAVs from both Selatapura’s local National Guard and the Arsenal Bird Liberty are also holding their ground, but the Liberty itself won’t reach Ground Zero for another five minutes—”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Sirs!” Both men turned towards Clements, who was visibly disheveled from running across the underground facility even as he approached the two men. “We have confirmation from the Arkbird that they’ll be above Selatapura in about five minutes—the Gra Valkans have also contacted us to offer their services in repelling the ongoing attack in return for securing the safe extraction of the Crown Prince and Director Gesta.”

  Bartlett glanced at the Vice Chairman, considering the proposition offered by their counterparts. “Don’t they have the Grade Alastar and several destroyers docked at port?”

  “The Gra Valkans could help us in locating and destroying whatever it is that’s launching the fighters at us,” Edwards mused. “And at this point, any help we can get isn’t exactly something we should be simply ignoring—”

  “With technology from the Second Osean War? We’re potentially facing an enemy on par with the Yuktobanians prior to the Belkan War, and you want us to send the Gra Valkans with outdated vehicles and weapons?”

  “If we’re fighting who I think we’re fighting, they’re going to have to face these people again at some point, Mr. President,” the General countered. “The Gra Valkans intend to leave regardless of our actions to ensure the return of their diplomats to their homeland, and yet we know very little of what exactly we’re going up against—and by extension, what might be waiting for them once they leave our waters. If anything else, they’ll be learning alongside us what exactly these folks have to throw at us, and we’ll end up earning some brownie points with their government in the process.”

  “Wait, hang on a moment,” Bartlett interrupted as he raised his hands in the air. “What exactly are we going up against? We have enemy fighters, yet we haven’t seen any enemy carriers—naval or aerial—or refuelling vehicles on any of our conventional and magical sensors anywhere within the entirety of the Pacific Ocean—”

  “We think it might be some kind of submarine carrier,” Clements replied. “We still haven’t been able to reestablish our defensive measures against sea-based threats, especially with the presence of Elysian wildlife and potential Annorial sea monsters—we’re at a significant disadvantage on that front, and whoever attacked us could potentially be making use of that fact.”

  “Damn it. What options do we have, then? Can we find this hypothetical carrier and eliminate it?”

  “Most of our available anti-submarine assets nearby are still in the process of being prepared for launch, but the Gra Valkans do possess the means to directly detect and combat these kinds of enemies—and they’re ready to go if you give the order, Mr. President.”

  Seeing no point in needlessly delaying the inevitable, Bartlett decided to agree with Clements’ proposal. “Alright, give the Gra Valkans the go-ahead to pursue the enemy submarine—order the Arkbird to provide support once they reach the area of operations, and ensure that the Lighthouse Division and the Arsenal Bird fleet provides sufficient air cover for whatever else these people might throw at us!”

  As the last enemy fighter burst into flames, Trigger looked down towards Selatapura and the Lighthouse.

  Smoke still billowed from the devastation caused by the two nuclear detonations, but vessels from both the OMDF and the Gra Valkas fleet stationed nearby were already at work extinguishing the flames and searching for survivors. A mixture of Antares fighters and UAVs dotted the skies as the impromptu coalition kept their eyes out for any more attempts at destroying the Space Elevator and its surrounding settlements, but a sense of victory had already begun to permeate amongst the countless pilots in the air—and Sky Keeper’s voice soon confirmed his suspicions.

  “All callsigns, this is Sky Keeper. The initial attack has ended, but HQ believes that the origin of the fighters that assaulted the Space Elevator is still within the AO—HQ and the Gra Valkan fleet have agreed to conduct a joint operation to eliminate this threat and allow all parties to return safely to their respective homes. Stand by while we make the necessary arrangements for all available units in the mission area.”

  With a great roar, the Grade Alastar’s engines thundered as the vast battleship sailed out of harbor—with the enemy fighters having been cleared out of the skies, the Gra Valkans’ naval fleet swiftly set out to strike back at the unknown foes that had threatened their hosts and establish a window for Prince Cabal and his diplomatic retinue to evacuate the scene. Aboard the flagship, Fleet Admiral Caesar and Captain Luxtal remained in close communication with the arriving Osean forces as their planes flew in formation with the Lighthouse Division and the approaching UAVs.

  On the observation platform aboard the Grade Alastar, Gra Cabal glanced at the two mushroom clouds billowing from the Osean coastline once more, his face hardening as something within him came to a decision—a choice that would shape his actions as the Crown Prince and the future Emperor for decades to come.

  “Your Highness? I must ask you to join us in the safe room for the duration of the ongoing operation,” Gesta urged the Prince as he emerged from the adjacent bridge. “We will likely be in the middle of combat, and it would be remiss of me not to follow your father’s orders to ensure your safety—”

  “We still have so far to go, don’t we, Gesta?”

  The Director was briefly confused before he turned towards what Cabal was looking at—the mushroom clouds over Selatapura had long since dissipated, but the countless fires around the Space Elevator and the destroyed areas of the city itself were a no less imposing sight. Under different circumstances, it could have easily been Ragna itself to be set alight by the horrific power of the atom; without the Oseans, their desperate struggle for survival would have been for naught—and if even a mighty nation beyond their reach like Osea could bleed, what would such a blow do to Gra Valkas itself?

  “I believe our mission in Elysia may soon change in light of the recent turn of events, Your Highness,” Gesta admitted. “Conquest and domination may not be a viable course of action for the Empire until we can stand on our own strengths—so something like this may never happen to ourselves.”

  “Something we will need to change, Director, and fast.”

  15 kilometers south of Selatapura — February 5, 2020

  “All callsigns, this is Sky Keeper, Airborne Warning and Control System for the IUN Lighthouse Division. I’ll be relaying commands and updates between Osean and Gra Valkan forces on this net for the duration of the ongoing joint operation.”

  From the cockpits of their Antares fighters, Svaun and his wingmen looked out with no small amount of curiosity at the Osean aircraft directing the battle—even with its near-futuristic means of propulsion and a gargantuan circular device atop that the Captain suspected was the plane’s radar equipment, the pilot could already imagine Gra Valkas’s engineers potentially kitbashing a rough equivalent with a Guti Maun and perhaps even supersized versions of the long-rumoured Orsen jet engines for propulsion. Already he could see some opportunistic pilots grab photographs of the aircraft in question—no doubt such data would prove useful for the GVBI and whatever the Emperor’s engineers were cooking up for the future of the Empire’s military.

  “The Grade Alastar’s escorts have secured the western and eastern ends of the enemy submarine’s suspected location, and OMDF ships are moving to block off its expected escape route. Once the sonobuoys from our maritime patrol aircrafts have identified the exact location of the sub, the Arkbird will fire its orbital laser and force the vessel to resurface, where the Alastar and all air units will neutralise its defenses. Bright Hill’s requested us to capture the submarine if possible, but will not object to its destruction if deemed necessary, got it?”

  Svaun muttered to himself, “As if they’d surrender after all this…”

  Beside his plane, his wingman chuckled. “Five Reichsmarks says we get to shoot them?”

  “Oh, definitely. Ten says we sink the sub ourselves—how about that, Jon?”

  “You’re on!”

  Above the coalition’s air squadrons, five Osean cargo planes deployed a series of cylindrical objects into the ocean—their descent slowed by several parachutes opening in consecutive order, they splashed into the water before sinking below the surface. Aboard the Grade Alastar, Fleet Admiral Caesar had quickly understood the Oseans’ intentions—the Antares fighters had been assigned to drawing fire away from their more technologically advanced partners, while their torpedo bombers were prepared to deploy their payloads on the enemy submarine carrier if it resurfaced. As for the battleship and its remaining escorts, several depth charges were already prepared for immediate deployment should the Arkbird itself fail in its task of targeting the enemy vessel—not that anyone expected such an event to happen (or, if any of the Gra Valkans were being honest, wanted—why miss out on another opportunity to see the possible future of their Empire’s technology at work?).

  From his cockpit, Svaun watched as a singular Osean fighter—a Raptor, as he had learned it was called—moved out of formation, its unmanned escorts swiftly shifting their movements in unison. The Captain’s attention turned from the distinct three-line marking on its wings (apparently belonging to a notable pilot who had made a name for himself in the Parpaldia Incident) to the metallic constructs themselves—the fact that an entire machine of war ran almost entirely at its own accord with nothing more than an undoubtedly complex series of mathematical calculations that even the most skilled engineers of the Empire had only begun to crack was nothing short of astonishing, he thought. What would that mean for pilots such as himself, once the Empire came around to replacing their vaunted skills with numbers and figures?

  “Stand by, Mage One,” Sky Keeper announced, “we’re sending the transmission to you now…”

  Oh, well, Svaun reckoned, it was probably best to leave such matters to the future, once their continued existence in the present was more or less guaranteed. It was only a waiting game now while the Oseans searched for the supposed submarine that had plagued them and their guestsfor so long…

  Caesar and Luxtal glanced at the display as the Osean and Gra Valkan sonobuoys continued to transmit their findings to Mage One, listening carefully for the telltale audio that would reveal the location of their prey. The entire bridge had gone appropriately still , only the beeping of several consoles and the waves outside breaking the silence.

  “There,” Luxtal spoke up, glancing towards the windows. “Southwest, very faint, bearing 249.”

  “Roger,” Sky Keeper acknowledged. “Trigger, you’re getting close—move to the specified direction.”

  Another ping. Still faint, but distinctly louder than before. “West-Southwest, 255.”

  Caesar turned to the helmsman. “Prepare to move accordingly for our depth charges.”

  “They’re definitely making a beeline for the west…could they be…?”

  “Not a good idea to make wonton speculation until we know for certain,” Caesar interjected. “Direct west. They’re close to your fighter, Sky Keeper.”

  “Roger…roger…confirmed, we have a confirmed location of the enemy submarine! Sky Keeper to Arkbird, you’re cleared to fire on the submarine at the following coordinates: one, five, eight, two—”

  A new voice, beautiful and feminine yet sharp and authoritative, cut through the chatter on the radio. Svaun and his fellow pilots glanced at the device in surprise (some more visibly transfixed than confused) as the unknown woman addressed the Oseans and Gra Valkans present.

  “All callsigns, this is the Arkbird, callsign Edge. Evacuate from the following coordinates—we’ll be firing our orbital laser at thirty percent power in fifteen seconds.”

  “Say, who’s that woman in that spaceship? Is she some kind of angel or something?”

  “She’s one of the Demons of Razgriz,” an Osean pilot replied, himself audibly awestruck by her presence. “One of the most beautiful women in the Osean Air Force and a veteran of the last war before we ended up here—and married, too.”

  Jon swore. “Damn, lucky guy.”

  “Hey, from the heavens! Something’s coming down from—”

  A singular blue beam of light, more powerful than anything the Gra Valkans had witnessed before, struck the ocean with the force of an asteroid—the waters erupted into a massive geyser, showering the surrounding seas for hundreds of meters on every end. The shockwave arrived only seconds afterwards, knocking sailors off their feet and sending loose objects in the Grade Alastar’s bridge flying—Caesar and Luxtal hurriedly helped each other up, immediately turning to gawk at the astonishing display of space warfare before them while Svaun and their pilots struggled to regain control of their aircraft.

  “Schei?e, what the fuck was that?!”

  Caesar whirled to see the Crown Prince emerging from the panic room in confusion, his eyes turning towards the column of water still descending from the not-too-distant skies. “Your Highness?! I must ask you to return to the lower decks until the enemy has been neutralised! The situation is still precarious and we cannot have you at risk—”

  “Nowhere on this ship is safe until our attackers have been destroyed, Admiral! Better for me to assist your ship in our mutual survival than to do nothing below—”

  “I must apologise, but your Father would look poorly upon me and my men if we cannot ensure your safety until our safe return to Ragna. I insist, Your Highness—if we are struck again by a nuclear warhead or worse, the panic room will be your best chance at making out of the situation alive—”

  A sailor rushed into the bridge, having clearly rushed all the way from the lookout post. “Directly in front of us, sirs! The enemy submarine is emerging to the surface!”

  A large black object that nearly rivalled the Grade Alastar itself in sheer size rose from the waves where the explosion itself had taken place—smooth and curvilinear in sharp contrast to the industrial and mechanical appearance of the Gra Valkan ships in front of it

  Above the fleet, Brownie gasped. “My God…it’s just like the Yuktobanian submarine carriers!”

  “That’s something straight out of the Circum-Pacific War, like the Scinfaxi,” Wiseman mused. “Sky Keeper, do we have a plan on how we’re going to disable a vessel like that?”

  “Stand by while HQ determines the weak points on that submarine—in the meantime, you’re cleared to engage anything that looks important or is actively firing on you and the Gra Valkans!”

  “Pilots of the Empire,” Admiral Caesar announced on the radio, “you’re cleared to attack! Protect our Prince and avenge our fallen men! All ships: move hard to starboard and fire all batteries at that submarine!”

  The Lighthouse Division was first to attack the submarine, a salvo of missiles from their aircraft and their UAV escorts scoring direct hits on several AA defenses; the batteries of the Grade Alastar and its fellow destroyers were next, their barrels thundering across the ocean as dozens of shells exploded on the vessel's surface or rocked the surrounding waters with fiery detonations. Last but not least were the Antares fighters and Sirius dive bombers, the former swooping in to draw the attention of the remaining defenses while the latter climbed upwards before barrelling downwards in breakneck speed before releasing their payloads at the last second.

  Wincing as a nearby plane exploded, having fallen victim to a flak round, Svaun gritted his teeth and bellowed out commands to his wingmen. “Keep your heads down and your planes together! Don’t let the submarine’s defenses get a bead on you!”

  The skies around the submarine became dotted with explosions and fireballs as both sides took hits—yet even as the fighting continued, Luxtal quickly noticed several objects emerging from the enemy vessel: a pair of cylindrical objects resembling cannons rose from the otherwise featureless surface, while six circular openings also emerged along the sides. “That submarine’s doing something—Sky Keeper, do you know what those things are?”

  Looking at the features in question, Wiseman paled. “Shit! Sky Keeper, those are railguns and missile silos—they’re going to target the Gra Valkan fleet!”

  Brownie gasped. “Railgun technology?! How the hell do the Elysians have railgun technology?!”

  “All units,” Sky Keeper frantically instructed the pilots, “take out the silos and railguns before they can threaten the Grade Alastar! That ship won’t survive a direct hit from a projectile travelling at Mach 6!”

  “Mach 6?” a random Gra Valkan pilot blurted out. “Wait—six times the speed of sound?! Are you kidding?!”

  “Stop speculating, start shooting!” Svaun angrily barked out. “Our Crown Prince is onboard that ship—stop that thing before it kills him!”

  Trigger and his escorts fired a maelstrom of missiles at the ship, but their abilities were greatly limited by the armaments they had equipped before taking off—with no air-to-ground weaponry beyond the standard missiles, only a single railgun and three silos were taken out by the Osean fighters. A simultaneous wave of dive bombers either missed the vessel altogether or struck other parts rather than the weapons in question—in desperation, a singular battery aboard the Grade Alastar itself fired directly upon the final railgun, hoping against hope that they could prevent their destruction in time.

  The railgun disappeared in a series of explosions—thinking that they had saved their flagship, the Gra Valkans began to cheer—

  “That thing’s damaged, but it’s still operational! Ymir help us, it’s gonna fire—”

  The entire front half of the Grade Alastar was shredded by the railgun round, with several batteries immediately exploding upon impact and the very hull itself ripped apart like foil as the supersonic projectile passed through the battleship at supersonic speeds. For the briefest of moments, Svaun and his wingmen paled in horror, expecting the worst.

  “Grade Alastar, this is Alpha One! Do you copy?”

  Silence. The ship itself continued to move forward, a few batteries already firing back on their own accord in response to the slaughter of their comrades.

  “Grade Alastar! Your Highness, please respond!”

  “All units,” Sky Keeper warned, “the remaining missile silos are launching their payloads. These are burst missiles—designed to destroy all air units within an area surrounding them upon detonation. Climb to five thousand feet in the next fifteen seconds to avoid getting shot down!”

  “Damn it! All planes, climb!”

  Abandoning their attacks, the Antares and Sirius aircraft began a frantic effort to escape the destructive range of the approaching missiles—their Osean counterparts were quicker in reaching the safe altitude, but their own planes were more sluggish and struggled against the steep climb. It was all but certain, Svaun realised: some of his comrades would not survive what was about to happen.

  “Impact!”

  A dozen bright explosions dotted the skies, blinding everyone who was unfortunate enough to be looking at them—several Gra Valkan planes were caught in the blasts and were vaporised in seconds, others suffering catastrophic damage and falling from the clouds. Even a few UAVs from the Arsenal Birds themselves fell victim, their flaming wreckage splashing loudly into the waters around the submarine.

  The voice from the Arkbird returned, audibly angrier than before. “All units: stay clear of the submarine. The Arkbird will be firing its laser—now.”

  The Demon in the skies cast her deadly light upon the submarine, ripping into its hull and slicing through weapons and compartments alike—Svaun gawked in astonishment as the spaceship’s beam shifted from a pale blue to a bright shade of purple, its power clearly intensifying with each passing second as a large gaping wound opened up within the surface of the submarine itself.

  “The Arkbird has disabled the missile silos and the remaining railgun! It can no longer pose a threat to the Gra Valkan fleet!”

  As if sensing an opportunity, a pilot from one of the Sirius bombers called out, “That spaceship tore a hole leading into the heart of that submarine! Victory Squadron, with me—we’re sending our explosives into that thing and slaying the beast once and for all!”

  From five thousand feet, the dive bombers swept down, their pilots driven to a frenzy by the possibility of their Prince having been slain and the divine wrath dealt against their enemies. Svaun and the other pilots moved to support them, taking their flanks and absorbing flak and anti-aircraft fire as the planes soared towards the ground—

  “Go dance with the angels, you bastards!”

  The massed Gra Valkan aircraft swept up at the last second as their bombs found their targets, scoring catastrophic hits into vital components of the submarine—explosions began to dot the vessel itself, its once featureless hull now bursting from within as panels and entire segments began to fall off or detonate. From the center of the ship itself, a glowing object was suddenly exposed by a rupture in the hull—it crackled and shone with energy, its purpose clearly important and critical to the continued survival of the vessel. The Oseans and Gra Valkans alike clearly recognised this, their attention quickly moving towards the strange device as the distant thunder of the Grade Alastar’s cannons announced its return to action.

  “…all callsigns, this is the Crown Prince speaking. Fleet Admiral Caesar has been injured by the railgun strike but is now assisting our men below deck in repairing the damage to our ship and recovering survivors. Do me a favour and destroy that submarine, once and for all!”

  Buoyed up by their Prince’s survival and his unexpected words of encouragement, the men cheered. From Svaun’s side, an Osean aircraft unexpectedly swept past, the three strikes on its tail being the only identification the pilot recognised before the Raptor soared towards the enemy vessel in its death throes.

  “Mage One, destroy the enemy submarine! Bring the attack on the Osean Federation to an end!”

  From Trigger’s aircraft, a final missile shot out towards the glowing and crackling object, the pilot somehow flying into the gaping hole and shooting out just as the warhead reached its target—

  The skies of Selatapura flashed white one last time as the hostile submarine vanished in an earth-shattering explosion—a red ball of fire and energy expanded outwards in a blinding expulsion of core magic released from its prison in an instant, a final shockwave announcing to the world that the unknown enemy that had dealt untold damage to the Osean Federation itself was finally gone for good. Realising what had happened, the coalition of Gra Valkans and Oseans cheered as the final wreckage of their foes disappeared below the surface—the IUN would no doubt be scouring the seafloor for clues as to what the identities of their unexpected assailants were, but now the focus of both parties would be to search for survivors and recoup their losses.

  “All callsigns, this is Sky Keeper. The skies and seas are clear, and IUN naval assets are en route to secure the AO and keep an eye out for any more interlopers. Grade Alastar, are you in need of further assistance?”

  Fleet Admiral Caesar’s voice replied on the radio, “Negative, but Gra Valkas thanks you for your assistance in the protection of our Prince and our fleet. We will complete rescue operations for our downed pilots before heading back to our homeland—please notify us within the next hour if you have recovered any of our men as well, and we will make arrangements for the necessary repatriations to our Empire. Again, the Osean Federation has our gratitude, and we look forward to sharing the seas and skies with your people again soon.”

  “Roger that, Admiral. Sky Keeper out.”

  Switching back to standard frequencies, the Lighthouse Division sighed to themselves in both exhaustion and relief. Sky Keeper himself leaned back on his seat, the energy draining from him as the past hour of directing orders and communications between two entire fleets abruptly sank in.

  “Well, everyone, I believe we’ve successfully completed the primary objectives of our emergency deployment. RTB at once, and we’ll go over what exactly happened here today.”

  “Roger that!”

  As the remaining drones broke formation and returned to their corresponding Arsenal Birds, the twelve fighters passed over the Lighthouse—the fires had long since been extinguished and the blast zone was now swarming with helicopters and emergency services, but smoke still billowed from the devastated segments of Selatapura

  “That’s a lot of people who would have gotten hurt,” Huxian observed, “and so many lives lost…”

  “At least we managed to stop things before they got any worse—we could have ended up losing so much more,” Wiseman consoled his wingmen. “We can probably take some comfort in that.”

  “The question still remains,” Lanza quietly noted, his face frowning as he glanced towards the devastated city, “even with the current threat now gone—who would launch such a horrific attack like this? And what was the whole point of all this?”

  “Hang on,” Sky Keeper interrupted, “I’m receiving some kind of information from the ground about the first nuclear explosion in the—hang on.”

  Wiseman frowned. “What is it, Sky Keeper?”

  “Wait…what…oh my god…he’s…he’s dead?”

  “Sky Keeper,” Brownie said with growing concern in her voice, “what’s going on?”

  “All callsigns…the epicenter of that blast…HQ just managed to pinpoint it…it was—“

  Ground Zero, less than an hour ago

  Harling sighed to himself as his car entered the driveway to his house in downtown Selatapura, his thoughts still circling around the latest unpleasant developments in his field of work: complaints, queries, requests, petitions from dozens of kingdoms and nations all seeking favour with the Oseans—and this was without even taking the ugly slugfest that was the ongoing elections into consideration. The mission he had given himself many years ago seemed more critical to the survival of the nation he loved than ever, yet the final goal that he and Bartlett had always sought somehow always seemed to be creeping further away even with every major accomplishment—was this what it would be like for him, even with Osea in a new world with a clean slate?

  Burying his face into his hands as soon as he brought the vehicle to a halt, the Ambassador felt his age creeping on him—he was getting too old for this, the man realised. Small wonder a figure like Kumari seemed like someone who could be trusted to carry things forward once he and Bartlett were no longer around…

  Leaning along the wall of a neighbouring house on the other side of the street, a hooded figure watched as the diplomat emerged from his car—recognising his target, he stood up and began walking carefully across the road towards the famed figure in question.

  “Excuse me, are you Ambassador Vincent Harling?”

  “Sorry, someone’s coming. Call me when you can, alright?” Closing his phone, Harling turned towards the hooded individual, quickly recognising the person from his stance and accent as Elysian in origin. “Yes, that would be me. Can I help you?”

  The person smiled, although there was clearly no warmth in his expression. “Thank you, Ambassador, but that will not be necessary.”

  With a swift motion, his robe fell to the ground, revealing the two wings on his back and a glowing device strapped to his chest, the countless cables and monitors throbbing with powerful magic clearly hinting at its purpose. Recognising what was about to happen, Harling simply sighed in acknowledgment.

  “You’re from the Annorials, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed, Ambassador. My apologies, but you and your ideals have no place in a future where the Ancestors make their return—we shall see to it that the Osean Federation burns to the ground before your message of peace stops our plans.”

  The ambassador nodded resignedly, accepting his imminent fate. “Perhaps. Well, I wish you and your superiors the best of luck—I have a feeling that it will take more than my death or the destruction of my achievements to truly change everything that my successors will soon set in place.”

  “We shall see—in due time, we will deal with them, too. Glory to the Ravernal Empire, Ambassador Harling.”

  Vincent Harling closed his eyes, and saw the stars of the old world for one last time.