ARESIA: Fall of an empire

CHAPTER THREE: UNEXPECTED VISIT

Emperor Dante, with the barbarian messenger following closely, made their way through the palace hallways, heading toward his study. The atmosphere was tense, the silence of the halls occasionally broken by the clinking of armor and the steady rhythm of their footsteps on the stone floors. As they walked, Dante's mind was racing, weighing the implications of this unexpected visit.

Cyrus, ever watchful, followed closely behind Dante and the barbarian messenger. His eyes were fixed on the stranger, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword in a subtle, yet vigilant gesture. The tension in the air was palpable, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the halls.

As they approached the grand oak door, Dante, the barbarian messenger, and Cyrus were greeted by the palace guards stationed outside. The guards respectfully bowed and opened the door, allowing the trio to enter the dimly lit study.

Dante, followed by the barbarian messenger and Cyrus, entered the study. The heavy oak door closed quietly behind them, sealing them in the sanctum of knowledge. The room was sparsely furnished, with books lining the stone walls and a large, oaken table dominating the center. A single window in the back let in a soft, warm beam of afternoon light.Dante, noticing the rising tension, gestured for Cyrus to compose himself. "Calm," he said, his tone steady and commanding, signaling for his aide to withdraw.

Cyrus, though visibly frustrated, reluctantly lowered his weapon, still glaring at the barbarian messenger.

Dante, with a controlled gesture, indicated for the barbarian messenger to take a seat. Cyrus, ever vigilant, remained standing behind Dante, his body positioned between the stranger and his liege. The barbarian messenger, understanding the nonverbal command, took a seat opposite Dante, facing him across the table.

Dante broke the silence, clearing his throat as he addressed the barbarian messenger. "Do you need anything? Wine, perhaps? I'm sure you've come a long way."

He offered the proposition with a sense of hospitality, his eyes fixed on the stranger before him. Cyrus remained silently watchful in the background, his gaze never leaving the man.

The barbarian messenger, his voice firm and unyielding, responded firmly to Dante's offer, "I've not come here to dine with you, Dante."

His refusal was direct and deliberate, a clear indication that the purpose of his visit extended beyond mere hospitality. The tension in the room heightened with his words, the air growing thick with anticipation.

Cyrus, his voice laden with offense, swiftly unsheathed his sword, his glare fixed on the barbarian messenger. "How dare you call him by his name?" he said, his tone brimming with protective anger.

Dante, noticing the rising tension, gestured for Cyrus to compose himself. "Calm," he said, his tone steady and commanding, signaling for his aide to withdraw.

Cyrus, though visibly frustrated, reluctantly lowered his weapon, still glaring at the barbarian messenger.

The barbarian messenger's words hung heavily in the air, his tone solemn yet resolute. "I've come to relay a message from our Lord, Kang," he declared. "He says he has waited too long, but you've kept him in silence for six years. He wants war. In two days, be ready for war at Desert Kadul."

His voice paused, as if allowing the weight of his words to settle. "If you aren't at Desert Kadul the day of war...our 700,000 troops will bring the war

to you."

The study fell into a shocked silence as the messenger's words sunk in. The air seemed to vibrate with the threat of impending war. Dante's face was set in a stoic expression, his mind racing to process the magnitude of the situation.

Cyrus, still poised with his sword drawn, struggled to contain the rage boiling within him. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his eyes locked on the barbarian messenger, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Cyrus's voice rang out, his words sharp and harsh. "How dare you threaten us in our own palace? I'll have your head impaled at the city gates!"

He took a step forward, his grip on his sword tightening, his eyes blazing with fury.

The barbarian messenger, seemingly unperturbed by Cyrus's fury, taunted him in response. "There, there, restless dog," he mocked, his words dripping with condescension.

Cyrus's anger reached its boiling point. His grip on the sword tightened further, his eyes narrowing with intense fury.

Dante, his voice resonating through the room, called out, "Enough!"

His commanding tone cut through the growing tension, silencing both the barbarian messenger and Cyrus. Both men turned their gaze towards Dante, awaiting his next words,

Dante, releasing a heavy sigh, the tension leaving his body with the exhalation.

He leaned back in his chair, surveying the two men before him. His gaze lingered on the barbarian messenger, seeking answers.

Dante's voice was firm and resolute, "You want war? Tell Kang I'll be dead before he takes northern territory."

There was an air of finality in his words, a promise that seemed etched in stone.

The barbarian messenger, his smirk almost sinister, stood up and carried out a mocking bow, accompanied by an equally malevolent grin. "Very well then...my lord," he said mockingly, before exiting the study, leaving Dante and Cyrus in the silent room, the weight of the situation still heavy in the air.

Cyrus, with anger still coursing through him, yelled out, his veins popping with rage. "If you had given me the order, I would've slit his throat and fed him to the vultures!" The intensity of his words and the look in his eyes made it clear that it wasn't an idle threat.

Dante, still sitting back in his chair, looked at his loyal aide with a mixture of understanding and restraint. "I wish I could have given you the order," he said, his voice measured. "But we need to think strategically, not act impulsively. There will be a time for bloodshed soon enough."

Dante, maintaining his composure, called out to one of the guards stationed outside the study. "Guard!"

The guard, hearing his lord's voice, immediately acknowledged the call and appeared at the door.

The guard bowed respectfully and entered the study, standing at attention. "Yes, My Lord?" he inquired, awaiting further instructions.

Dante, with a decisive tone, gave his order. "Get me Commander Elgin."

The guard, understanding the command, nodded and quickly departed to fetch Commander Elgin, the king's chief military commander.

Cyrus, still visibly frustrated, expressed his skeptical opinion. "700,000 troops? They've got to be bluffing!"

His voice dripped with disbelief, questioning the validity of such a claim.

Dante, his expression serious and unwavering, responded to Cyrus's skepticism with a firm assertion. "They aren't."

There was a gravity to his words, an underlying certainty that left no room for doubt.

Cyrus's eyes widened slightly, recognizing the seriousness in Dante's tone. The weight of the situation sunk in, the possibility of such a massive force not a matter to take lightly.

Commander Elgin, a seasoned military man with years of experience etched into his weathered face, strode into the study, his footsteps determined. The heavy oak doors creaked open, revealing the commander's formidable presence.

"Lord Dante," he began, his voice calm yet commanding. "You summoned me?"

Dante, his gaze on the commander, recounted the events of the recent visitation. "A barbarian messenger was here earlier," he informed, his tone serious and measured. "He delivered a message from Lord Kang, threatening war."

Commander Elgin reacted with surprise and concern upon hearing the news. "What!! Was that why he was here?" he repeated, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

Dante nodded in affirmation, confirming the reason for the messenger's visit. "Yes, that's precisely why he was here. Lord Kang has issued a threat of war, and he wants us to be prepared for a battle at Desert Kadul in two days' time."

Cyrus, interjecting into the conversation, added, "He's right. You haven't even heard the shocking part."

The tension in the room heightened, anticipation hanging heavily in the air as they waited for Commander Elgin's reaction.

Dante, meeting Commander Elgin's gaze directly, dropped the bombshell. "We're facing a troop of 700,000," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The weight of the revelation hung heavily in the air, the staggering number leaving the room's occupants momentarily stunned into silence.

Commander Elgin, the shock of the revelation evident on his face, collapsed onto the nearest chair, his knees giving way beneath him. The weight of 700,000 troops had struck him like a physical blow, the magnitude of the threat knocking the air from his lungs.

Elgin, his voice tinged with desperation, voiced the grim reality of their situation. "We only have 360,000 soldiers in our base. How can we possibly hope to match their numbers?"

The words hung in the air, the stark disparity between their two forces laid bare. It was a daunting challenge, one that filled the room with a sense of unease and foreboding.

Dante spoke, his voice steady and resolute. "We'll fight. You heard what the messenger said. If we don't fight, they'll bring the fight to us."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders. It became clear that they had no choice but to face the impending battle. Commander Elgin, still seated, nodded, his expression determined and grim.

His tone resolute, declared his decision. "I'll be fighting too," he stated, leaving no room for argument or doubt.

Cyrus, taken aback, responded with a combination of disbelief and concern. "My Lord, you must be joking. You can't possibly intend to fight."

Commander Elgin, joining in, also voiced his agreement. "Cyrus is right, my lord. It's important that you remain safe."

Dante's tone was firm, brooking no rebuttal. "No debates. It's final," he said, his voice leaving no room for further discussion.

Dante, changing subjects, turned his attention to Commander Elgin. "What formation do you think is best, Commander?"

Commander Elgin, still processing the reality of the situation, quickly composed himself and replied, "Given the circumstances, I'd suggest a phalanx formation."

Cyrus, his thoughts in conflict with Commander Elgin's suggestion, voiced his disagreement. "I'd suggest a different formation, something with more maneuvering capability. We need to be able to move and adapt on the battlefield."

Commander Elgin, engaging with Cyrus's suggestion, inquired, "What would it be, then?"

Cyrus, feeling the weight of the decision, responded with confidence. "My suggestion would be a more flexible and agile formation, perhaps a pike and shot formation, blending both infantry and ranged support."

Dante, interjecting with his own idea, suggested, "We use tortoise formation. It offers strong defense and gives us a chance to counter-attack effectively."

Commander Elgin and Cyrus exchanged glances, weighing the merits of the proposed formation, a mix of concern and hope in their eyes.

Dante, looking at the two men for approval, asked expectantly, "All good? We're in agreement on the formation, right?"

Commander Elgin, his mind focused and his resolve strengthened, nodded firmly. "Yes, My Lord. It's a sound strategy."

Cyrus, despite his earlier reservations, couldn't deny the practical wisdom in adopting the tortoise formation. He, too, nodded in agreement, albeit a tad reluctantly.

Dante, dismissing the two men, instructed them, "All right, you two leave me. I need some time to think."

Commander Elgin and Cyrus exchanged a brief glance, a mixture of concern and respect in their eyes. Without a word, they both bowed and quietly exited the study, closing the door behind them.

Dante, left alone in the quiet of his study, leaned back in his chair and began to ponder the situation, his mind buzzing with thoughts and strategies. He closed his eyes and dove deep into his thoughts, the burden of the decision weighing heavy on his shoulders. He envisioned the battlefield, the vast desert plains that would soon become a stage for an epic clash of armies. He pictured the formation of his own troops, arranged in a tortoise configuration, their strength and might ready to be unleashed.

Dante, immersed in his thoughts, pondered the motivations behind Lord Kang's actions. Why was he pushing for war after years of silence? Was he seeking something more than just the northern territory? His mind flicked through various possibilities, weighing the risks and potential gains. What could Lord Kang want that was worth risking the lives of countless soldiers and the stability of the realm?

Dante, seeking a moment of distraction, rose from his chair and moved to the window that overlooked the palace gardens. The evening breeze gently rustled the leaves outside, offering a brief respite from the weight of his thoughts.

Dante, his gaze now fixed on the royal garden below, noticed his wife Iris and their young son phílos, both immersed in their evening stroll through the gardens. He couldn't help but smile a little, the sight of his loved ones providing a small spark of comfort amidst the overwhelming thoughts weighing heavily on his mind.

Iris, guiding phílos through the blooms in the garden, pointed out a cluster of vibrant flowers, her voice warm with contentment. "Here, Phílos, look at these. Aren't they beautiful?"

Phílos, his eyes wide with curiosity, reached out to touch the colorful blooms, his tiny fingers gently brushing against the delicate petals.

"Yes, they are very pretty," Phílos agreed, his voice filled with innocent delight.

Iris, watching her son explore the world around him, felt a surge of maternal love and pride. "You're right, Phílos. These flowers truly are beautiful."

Iris, her voice soft and gentle, shared her knowledge with Phílos. "They're called rose flowers, my dear."

Phílos, curious to know more about the blooms, looked up at his mother with wide, inquisitive eyes. "Rose flowers? What do they mean?"

Iris, her expression now one of tenderness, explained the symbolism of the flower. "Yes, rose flowers they're a symbol of love. You give them to the people you love."

Phílos, absorbing the information, repeated the words in a childlike innocence. "Symbol of love... People you love..."

Phílos, his small hand carefully plucking a rose flower from the bush, held it out to his mother with a innocent grin. "Here, Mama," he said, his voice filled with innocent sincerity. "For you."

Iris, touched by Phílos's gesture, beamed with gratitude. "Oh, thank you, Phílos," she said, taking the rose flower gently. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Phílos, still curious about the world around him, wanted to know something more about his mother. "What's your favorite flower, Mama?" he asked, his little face filled with innocent curiosity.

Iris, her voice warm with nostalgia, indicated a cluster of small blue flowers nearby. "My favorite flower is the forget-me-not," she said. "Look over there, Phílos. Aren't they lovely?"

Phílos, his eyes following his mother's gesture, admired the delicate blue blooms of the forget-me-nots. "They're tiny!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with fascination.

Iris, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, nodded in agreement. "Yes, they're quite small, but they hold a powerful meaning."

Phílos, curious about the name of the flowers, asked his mother, "Why are they called forget-me-nots?"

Iris, her voice tinged with the knowledge of ancient lore, explained the origin of the flower's name. "That name refers to the shape of the leaves. According to a Greek myth, Zeus thought he had named all the plants, when suddenly a small blue flower called out ' vergessen mich nicht,' which means 'forget-me-not' in their language. The supreme god, feeling lazy, decided to simply give the flower that name."

Phílos, wide-eyed and amazed, reacted to his mother's story with a childlike curiosity. "Wow!"

Iris chuckled softly at her son's enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Yes, it's a fascinating story, isn't it, my darling?"

Phílos, his little face lighting up with excitement, enthusiastically agreed. "Yes, yes!"

Iris laughed gently at her son's eagerness, her heart filled with warmth. "Gosh, you're eager, aren't you, my little one?"

Iris, gently guiding Phílos alongside her, suggested, "Come, let's head inside."

Phílos, still enchanted by the flowers and tales, nodded in agreement, his small hand clutching her mother's with childish delight.

Dante, who had been covertly observing Iris and Phílos from the window, returned to his chair, his eyes slightly softer at the sight of his family. The moment of peace and love in the garden had temporarily soothed the weight on his shoulders.

Dante, still grappling with the burden of his responsibilities, returned to his thoughts once more. This time, his resolve strengthened. He knew he had no choice but to fight, not for power or glory, but for the sake of his family. He would do whatever it took to protect them and guarantee their safety in the treacherous days ahead.

Dante's deep thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the study door. He blinked, pulled back to the present moment, and called out, "Come in."

The maid, having received the invitation to enter the study, bowed respectfully upon entering. "Forgive me for disturbing you, My Lord," she said, her voice soft and deferential.

The maid, her eyes lowered respectfully, continued, "Dinner is ready, and the Grand Empress requests your presence at the table."

Dante, taken out of his thoughts, nodded in response. "Thank you. I will be there shortly," he replied, his tone steady.

The maid bowed again, acknowledging his reply, and exited the study, closing the door behind her. Left once more in silence, Dante took a deep breath, pushing aside his concerns for the moment. It was time to share a meal with his family

He stood up from his chair, adjusted his clothes, and squared his shoulders. With a determined expression, he walked out of the study and made his way towards the dining room where his family awaited.

Cyrus, ever loyal, stood up as Dante entered the dining room, bowing respectfully. "Lord Dante," he acknowledged, his voice steady. He then swiftly adjusted a seat for Dante, gesturing for him to take his place.

Dante nodded in gratitude, his mind still preoccupied, and settled into the chair that Cyrus had prepared for him.

Iris, her perceptive eyes fixed on Dante, could sense the weight on his shoulders. As he began to eat, his mind clearly elsewhere, her concern grew. She watched him quietly for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

"You're quiet tonight, Dante," she said gently. "What's on your mind?"

Dante, still lost in thought, didn't immediately respond to his wife's question. He continued to eat but seemed to be miles away, his mind consumed by worries.

The silence stretched in the dining room, the weight of Dante's unspoken thoughts hanging heavy in the air. Iris exchanged a brief glance with Cyrus, her concern growing at Dante's stoic demeanor.

Iris, her voice gentle and caring, reached out and placed her hand on Dante's. "My love," she said softly, her thumb gently rubbing his skin. "Is everything alright?"

Cyrus, seeing the concern in Iris' eyes and perceiving Dante's inner turmoil, couldn't suppress a heavy sigh. The atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken tension.

Dante spoke, his voice strained with uncertainty. "Yes... everything is alright," he said vaguely, his eyes avoiding Iris. Cyrus, aware of the situation, shook his head slightly, knowing that Dante's response was far from the truth.

Dante, trying to conceal his true emotions, forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about," he insisted, his voice tight. "Everything is fine."

He looked toward Phílos, who was silently eating and not meeting his gaze. "Phílos, son," Dante called out, his voice laced with concern. Yet, Phílos remained focused on his meal, unresponsive to his father's words, his silence echoing through the room.

Dante, his voice tinged with a glimmer of hope, attempted to engage his son once again. "Are you still angry at your old man?" he asked.

Yet, Phílos continued his silence, his small head remaining bowed over his plate, refusing to respond to his father's attempt at reconciliation.

Grand Empress, who had been quietly observing the tense exchange, couldn't hold back any longer. "Phílos!" she called out, her voice stern. "Your father is speaking to you! Raise your head and answer him!"

Calliope, her tone filled with irritation, retorted to her mother. "Jesus Christ, Mother, there's no need to shout. He can hear you just fine."

The tension in the room grew as Calliope's words hung in the air. She glanced over at Phílos, who was still stubbornly refusing to respond to his father.

As tears streamed down Phílos' face, Dante couldn't bear to see his son in such distress. Without hesitation, he rose from his seat and approached his son.

"Phílos," Dante said, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at me, son..."

Phílos, looking up at his father, sniffled between sobs. Dante, his face etched with concern, knelt down next to his son.

"What's the matter?" Dante asked gently, his voice low and caring.

As Phílos wept, Dante offered a gentle promise. "Alright, if you promise to stop crying," he said, his voice filled with empathy, "I'll ensure River joins you tomorrow to play here at the palace."

With a glimmer of hope in his eyes, Phílos blinked through his tears. "Really?" he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Dante nodded, a soft smile on his face. "Yes, really," he replied, his voice sincere. "But you must promise to calm down, alright?"

Phílos, his tears gradually subsiding as a smile appeared on his face. "Okay," he said, his voice still tinged with lingering sniffles.

Dante, his heart lifted by Phílos' smile, returned to his seat, a genuine smile of his own on his face. "That's my prince," he said affectionately, his voice filled with pride.

As the atmosphere in the dining room began to lighten, the grand empress, still agitated by the previous exchange, finally spoke. "That's enough... let's all finish our meals in peace," she said, her tone firm but calmer than before. Iris, relieved to see the tension ease, agreed and nodded. "Yes, let's all finish our meals and clear our minds."

Everyone resumed eating, the conversation moving to lighter topics as they tried to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst the lingering tension and unspoken concerns.

When the dinner was over everyone went to their chambers, Iris and Dante stood side-by-side in their grand chambers, their bodies slowly undressing. Iris removed her royal gown, revealing the soft fabric of her night robe, while Dante disrobed from his regal attire. The sounds of rustling fabric and quiet breaths filled the room as they prepared for the evening.

Iris, her voice soft but with a hint of exhaustion, spoke, "What a day it was, wasn't it?"

Dante, his hands still engaged in removing his clothes, responded with a heavy sigh. "Hmm, yes," he agreed, his voice tinged with both weariness and a touch of resignation. "It was quite a day."

Iris, her eyes now fixed on Phílos' sleeping form on the bed, brought up the topic of his moving to his own chamber. "You know," she said softly, her voice laced with a hint of sadness and practicality, "he'll eventually have to move into his own chamber. He's no longer a child."

Dante, still deep in thought, responded with a pensive nod. "Hmm," he said, his mind contemplating the changes that come with growth. "Yes, you're right. He'll have to transition to his own chamber soon."

Iris, sensing the weight on Dante's mind, moved closer to him. She placed a comforting hand on his chest and spoke softly, her voice gentle and tinged with concern. "What's wrong, my love?"

Dante, his response brief as if trying to brush off the concern, continued putting on his robe. "Nothing," he said, a hint of dismissal in his voice, his words barely reaching above a murmur.

Iris, her voice insistent and firm, refused to accept Dante's vague response. "No, no, no," she asserted. "Don't tell me it's nothing. I'm your wife, the empress. I know something is going on."

Dante paused, his hands still holding the robe, her words leaving him unable to dismiss her concern any further.

As Iris locked eyes with Dante, her whispered question hung in the air. "You've been like this since the barbarian came. What's going on?" Dante felt the weight of her gaze, the concern etched on her face.

His shoulders slumped slightly, the facade of nonchalance slipping away. The reality of his burden and worries were revealed, etched deep into his expression.

Dante, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, sat on the bed, Iris joining him and taking his hands in her own. The silence in the room spoke volumes as Dante's weary eyes met hers.

Dante's voice, tinged with resignation, broke the silence. "The barbarians want war," he stated, his words hanging heavy in the air.

Iris, her concern deepening, gently squeezed his hands, offering silent support.

Iris, her voice tinged with confusion and a hint of dread, voiced her question. "War? Why?"

Dante's expression was a mixture of determination and reluctance, as if he wished he had a choice in the matter.

Dante finally shared the truth of the matter, his voice holding a mixture of frustration and resignation. "They want our northern territory," he explained. "They wanted it six years ago. I received the message from them."

Iris' eyes widened in surprise and confusion, a blend of concern and disbelief etched into her features.

Iris, shocked by the revelation, asked the lingering question that had been on her mind for the last six years. Her voice echoed concern and confusion, "Six years ago? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Dante's shoulders slumped, the weight of guilt and the past decisions he had made bearing down on him.

Dante, his voice tinged with the weight of his actions, confessed, "I told Cyrus, and we chose to remain silent."

Iris' surprise gave way to a mix of anger and confusion, her eyes searching his for an explanation.

Iris, her voice filled with frustrated disbelief, raised her voice, her words sharp and biting. "Silent? Seriously? Look where it has brought us, Dante!"

Dante, taken aback by her outburst, winced at the sting of her words.

Iris, her questions still tinged with anger, demanded an explanation. "You didn't tell the council? Your mother? Why not?"

Dante's face contorted with guilt, his voice softer now, as if trying to justify his actions. "I thought it best to keep it quiet, to avoid needless panic and conflict. I did what I believed was best for the realm."

Iris, her voice trembling with an almost hysterical anger, shouted in disbelief. "Best?! You call this best?"

Dante, taken aback by her reaction, could only sit there, his words lost under the weight of his choices.

Phílos, stirring from his sleep on the bed, mumbled with drowsy eyes. "Mom, what's wrong?"

Iris, her frustration transforming into concern for her son, immediately softened her tone and responded gently, "Nothing, my dear. Go back to sleep."

Phílos, hearing his mother's assurance, nodded sleepily and snuggled back into the bed.

Iris, her frustration giving way to practicality, took a deep breath and got back to the matter at hand. "How many barbarian troops are we talking about here?" she asked, her tone now more composed and measured.

Dante, his voice carrying the weight of the revelation, answered her question. "Seven hundred thousand," he said, his voice tinged with the reality of the situation.

Iris, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief, climbed into bed and closed her eyes, her voice tinged with confusion. "Seven hundred thousand? I can't believe it."

Dante, watching her retreat into silence, felt a pang of guilt and helplessness.

Dante, his own worries weighing heavy on his mind, settled on the other side of the bed with Phílos between them. Despite his attempts to reach out to Iris, she remained silent and distant, her eyes shut tightly as if shutting out the world.

The silence in the room was broken only by the soft breaths of Phílos between them, an innocent and oblivious presence in the midst of their unspoken tension.

Dante, his exhaustion finally getting the better of him, eventually allowed himself to close his eyes and drift off into a fitful sleep.

The night wore on as the room remained still, the only sounds the occasional soft snores of Phílos and the rhythmic breathing of the adults.