The Scion Order's designated office within the palace was already bustling when Arasha and Kane arrived.
Maps were spread across the great central table, markers showing troop positions and the locations of previous rift disturbances.
A few junior officers straightened sharply at their entrance, and without preamble, Arasha strode to the table.
"Messages to the Scion Hold—immediately," she ordered. "Inform Garran of the capital's decision and coordinate with the nearest cities along the rift lines we discussed. We can't afford delays."
Kane was already beside her, skimming the latest reports and drafting terse missives to relay via the Order's fastest riders and talisman relays.
His hand moved quickly but precisely, his mind already leaping three steps ahead.
The days blurred. A week of relentless work followed—barely any sleep, meals eaten on the move, minds straining to keep every thread in place.
Kane, Arasha, King Alight, and Linalee lived within arm's reach of the war table, their conversations terse but purposeful.
Every day was a gamble, every hour a silent prayer that the rifts would not open before the network was complete.
Fortune—if it could be called that—was with them. No rifts appeared that week, though reports of monster hordes trickled in from across the realm. They were fierce, but manageable; the kingdom kept the incidents quiet enough not to disrupt the main preparations.
Then, on the morning of the eighth day, a runner stumbled into the chamber, breathless, eyes wide with urgency.
"A major rift has opened—northwest quadrant!"
No one wasted a heartbeat. The network they had poured their lives into was immediately set into motion.
Orders flew, teleportation circles ignited, and allied forces mobilized with speed that would have been impossible only days before.
The system worked—mostly. Messages arrived, troops moved, and the front line was reinforced swiftly enough to prevent the disaster from spreading.
But cracks appeared: delays in secondary relays, overloaded transport circles, a few garbled missives. Not enough to cripple them, but enough to gnaw at anyone paying attention.
It was Kane who spotted the weaknesses first, his eyes sharp even in the chaos. And it was Arasha who, without hesitation, proposed countermeasures—streamlining relay protocols, setting up reserve transporters, and distributing emergency command authority to field captains.
By the time the rift was sealed, the kingdom stood uneasy, but no longer unready.
****
Two months later, the network pulsed like a living artery across the continent—teleportation circles humming in unison, messages flashing between command hubs in minutes instead of days.
Allied banners now marked outposts far beyond the kingdom's original borders, and the web of coordination grew by the week.
But the bigger the web, the more tangled it became.
On the surface, the nations stood united in their purpose—closing rifts and holding the monsters at bay.
Beneath that thin veneer, however, old rivalries simmered. Some leaders saw opportunity in crisis, maneuvering for territorial advantage or subtle economic gain.
King Alight and Linalee saw it all. They were immovable when it came to the rights of the people, equitable drafting, and preventing any single nation from monopolizing critical resources.
In closed-door sessions, their voices were calm but ironclad, a wall against the creeping greed that threatened the alliance's stability.
While the two battled on the diplomatic front, Kane and Arasha faced their own war in the military sphere.
For the rift response to work, forces from every allied nation had to fight as a single, seamless unit. That required an exchange of strategies, tactics, and even battle formations.
But some nations—proud of their long, illustrious military histories—met the idea with a wall of defiance. To them, adapting was an affront to tradition, a dilution of their honor.
Arasha approached each meeting with her usual measured composure, Kane with his keen insight and deft tongue. They worked tirelessly to craft solutions that respected each culture's martial heritage while ensuring battlefield effectiveness.
In some cases, they succeeded—earning wary nods from seasoned generals and begrudging agreements from traditionalists.
In others… some simply wanted to be trouble.
Meetings devolved into political sparring, accusations of favoritism, and thinly veiled threats of withdrawing support.
Kane and Arasha bore it with strained patience, knowing that a single diplomatic misstep could fracture the alliance they had bled to build.
And still, the rifts grew bolder, as if the world itself cared nothing for human pride.