The wind blew strong across the beach, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant cries of seagulls. The sun, brilliant and relentless, cast its golden light over the waters, but it could not warm the uneasy hearts gathered at the port. Rows of Imperial soldiers stood in solemn silence, hailing from different provinces within the Imperium. Most wore variants of armor favored by The Imperial Legion, like the Lorica Squamata or Segmentata, while some of the elite donned Caorrani-style plate armor. Neankharii, Weiden, and Hussarians waited in stoic formation as an Imperial priestess and her attendants moved among them, gently spreading ash upon their foreheads.
“The Eternal Sun is our savior and our sword. The Eternal Sun is our burning wrath, the fire that purges all darkness. The Eternal Sun is our unyielding devotion, the fury in our hearts that cannot be quenched. The Eternal Sun is our lamentation for the weak, our war cry for the righteous. The Eternal Sun is our lord of light, the conqueror of all who dare stand against Him.
“The Eternal Sun is the vision of our victory. The Eternal Sun is the laurel upon our heads, the banner we raise in defiance of false gods. The Eternal Sun is our strength, our unbreakable shield, our fortress against the unholy. The Eternal Sun reigns supreme in Caelum; His dominion is unchallenged, His enemies are pretenders, false, and betrayers.
“For all gods are false but Him, for Sol alone is righteous. With Him, we fear nothing; in Him, we are the bearers of His holy light…”
The priestess' voice, steady and resolute, echoed along the shore as the soldiers bowed their heads facing the sun, receiving her blessing before their journey to war.
Decius Maecilius stood a few paces back, his gaze sweeping across the gathering of military might. The rough-hewn Hussarians laughed as they drank from large flasks, much to the amusement of their typically stoic and haughty Asrian counterparts. Decius smiled wryly, shaking his head. He turned to face the others as they boarded a ship where the important lords and generals of the Imperium gathered to finalize their plans. They surrounded a large, worn wooden table covered in maps and papers, scattered food mingling with piles of invasion schemes. All the while, soldiers and thralls loaded supplies onto the ships—foodstuffs, weapons, and other essentials for the war ahead.
“We are fortunate with the weather, at least,” Decius Maecilius muttered, breaking off a piece of bread as a servant handed him a tray. His eyes narrowed as he studied the map. “The sailors say the northern winds favor us. No storms like those that plagued the Hussarians on their way here.”
“As do the tides,” Radiantia Aeterna Caestria added calmly, her voice filled with determination. She glanced up from a parchment filled with intricate calculations of supplies and troop movements. “But the Rathgari, I fear, will likely put up a fierce fight.”
Agathe Rosenkihle grunted in agreement, her eyes shifting toward the horizon where Imperial warships blotted the skyline. “They’ve become emboldened ever since the fall of Maximara. Rathgari raids have pushed deep into Neankhar. A few weeks ago, the warlord Shan d'Etaiward marched three thousand Rathgari riders into our deserts, razing Ylaevis Oasis. Talking of some oaths broken by Senator Melisende Craïn.” Agathe shook her head, sipping a cup of wine before continuing. “Adherbal's mother gathered a hunting party, tracked Shan, and killed him. Rescued Senator Crain too.”
“Pah,” Gordianus scoffed, leaning forward to grab a few olives. “Emboldened by ignorance. They are but a wild beast, dangerous only when cornered.” He plucked a few olives into his mouth and spat the seeds into the ocean. “You attack one, you attack all. They claim neutrality, but it’s incestuous. Sooner or later, we’ll have to deal with the entire Rathgari peoples. They’re barbaros—uncivilized, impossible to trust.”
Przemyśl Rabczyński, standing beside Radiantia, tapped a finger on the map, showing the lands of Ohahar, Brauda, and Nova Palavia. “What of the pagan settlements? My father's forces will have no love lost for those who’ve taken our lands.”
“That depends on how we approach them,” Alexander Rainstar responded, his voice weighed with experience. “We can either cleanse them or let them stay. Offering them a choice could prevent us from further alienating the Rathgari. Besides, showing restraint while asserting our might could help the Imperium's current foreign policy.”
Before Gordianus could respond, Fiora Nienau, a Senator of the Imperii Faction, interjected. “There’s no time for moral debates. The orders are clear. Retake Asrian lands, liberate what we can, and avoid another quagmire like Hunter’s Hold.”
Decius nodded, though his attention was drawn to the banners fluttering above them. The golden sun of the Empire flew proudly beside the standards of Saint Esclarmonde, Saint Bellona, and Saint Lachlann. His gaze shifted to the Hussarians, still laughing and drinking among themselves, and a smile tugged at his lips once more.
“Let’s hope the Rathgari are as easily conquered as our Hussarian brothers are by their drink,” he mused aloud, earning a few chuckles from the group.
“Careful,” the voice of Flavia Aeterna Magna cut through the laughter as she entered the gathering, her gilded plate armor catching the sunlight. “The Rathgari are fierce, but they claim no interest beyond their wastes. As long as we don’t provoke them by permanently occupying Hunter’s Hold, we might avoid turning this into another quagmire.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Decius muttered, eyeing the map with concern. “The last thing we need is all of Rathgar at our throats.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of an Imperial envoy. The old mortal knelt and lifted an object above his head—a Lendan Stone, encased in metal runes. The latent natural magics of the stone soon poured into the runes, projecting the image of Imperator Aurelian Aeternus Avalon.
At once, everyone bowed, save for Flavia, who stood tall and unwavering. Aurelian’s face, stern and commanding, loomed over them, his voice filling the air.
“My loyal generals, vassals, and soldiers of the Imperium,” Aurelian began, his tone laced with pride and resolve. “Shall we allow our enemies to violate the territory of the Imperium? Will you permit the army that brought terror to your families to escape? You will not. March to meet them. Tear the laurels from their brows and teach the world that none may violate our August People without consequence. Our efforts will bring unclouded glory and a durable peace.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Decius felt the Imperator’s gaze settle upon them.
“Trust in your brothers and sisters. Push the Ardaling Tribes back into their desolate wastes. Remember, this war is not just to reclaim land—it is for the very souls of our people. Glory to the Empire!”
“Glory to the Empire!” the officers echoed in unison as Aurelian’s image faded.
Decius looked out over the sea. The ships were ready, the soldiers prepared. Soon, the waves would carry them to war.