Dwargonia, Hearthguard Cairn
Levi's helicopter touched down on the Hearthguard Cairn airfield, its rotors stirring up clouds of coal-scented dust. Dwargonian "airports" were nothing like Murican runways—no long strips of concrete, no control towers shaped like soda cans. Instead, the dwarves carved gigantic docking caverns into cliffsides, creating hanging tunnel-bays where brass and steel zeppelins drifted in and out like metallic whales.
The SH-60 Seahawk—borrowed from the Murican navy—drew immediate attention. Dozens of dwarves gawked openly, pointing at the strange flying machine whose blades chopped the air rather than floating serenely like their blimps.
Waiting at the platform was Ambassador Mara, surrounded by several civilian-dressed Marine Security Guards.
"Welcome to Dwargonia, Mr. Minister," he greeted with a strained smile.
"Nice to see you too, Mara. And wow…" Levi replied, still watching the passing airships. "This place is incredible."
Levi's eyes sparkled as he watched brass airships glide past like airborne locomotives.
"The dwarves feel exactly the same about your helicopter," Mara replied. "But, sir, we should move quickly. Your arrival has already attracted too much attention."
"Right, right. And I assume the lack of a welcoming committee means they're… not thrilled with us."
"That would be accurate."
"They moved into the VIP elevator. The platform shuddered before descending—straight down for several kilometers. When the doors opened, a Dwargonian diplomatic car awaited them: an open-roof, four-seat luxury vehicle like a 1920s Earth antique, except covered in brass fittings and driven by a miniature locomotive engine complete with puffing chimney.
Levi and Mara boarded the middle car while MSGs filled the front and rear escorts.
"Oh my, this is a beautiful car," Levi exclaimed. "I want it."
Mara rubbed his temples. "Sir, please. Not the time. Even if they'd be flattered to hear one of the demon dukes admire their craftsmanship. I doubt that alone could soothe them."
"True, true. I should make them envy us, not the other way around." Levi tapped the chimney. "Though… this thing smokes like a demon with lung problems."
"Artificially enhance coal. Very efficient, very dirty. And strictly domestic-only."
"I see… and speaking of dirty, you look like you haven't slept or washed for ages."
"Not since their ship blew up. Angry calls. Angry meetings. Angry dwarves. Do you have any update from our side? "
"No. We're just as clueless as the dwarves about what caused the explosion."
Their convoy exited the tunnel, revealing Hearthguard Cairn in full splendor.
A vast underground metropolis lit by glowing crystals and steam lamps. Gothic towers fused with gears and steam vents defined the architecture. Brass pipes wrapped around stone walls while chimneys spewed smoke into the cavern's vaulted ceiling. Families in Victorian-style clothing bustled along the streets, while overhead, blimps drifted lazily like mechanical clouds.
Levi exhaled in awe. "I've seen pictures… but seeing Hearthguard Cairn in person… this is spectacular. I guess this is how other diplomats feel when they visit Murica."
"I was thinking the same when I first arrived here," Mara replied.
The convoy rolled toward the heart of the city.
Dwargonia Grand Fortress
At the city's center stood a massive fortress enclosed by thick, time-worn walls. Once built as Dwargonia's final bastion against ancient demon invasions. Now it housed their entire government.
Levi and Mara stood before its great door, guarded by soldiers in steam-powered armor.
"Sir," Mara leaned toward him, "a reminder: Clan leader Nelfilyn Bluespire will be present."
"And?"
"Her husband was the ambassador killed on the ship."
Levi whistled softly. "Right. Wonderful."
The towering doors creaked open, revealing a vaulted hall with five podiums arranged in a semicircle. The clan leaders waited with stony expressions.
Mara stepped forward. "Honored council members. As requested, I present the Murican Minister of Foreign Affairs, Leviathan."
Levi bowed politely.
Clan Leader Silverfist spoke first. "Have you discovered what happened to our ship? "
Levi inhaled. "Unfortunately, Council Member Silverfist, our investigations require more time to investigate."
SLAM
Dwordoug Axebreaker smashed his podium, shaking the hall.
"Demons! " he roared. "We trusted you with trade! We trusted you to escort the Atlas! And now she lies at the bottom of your waters—along with ninety-two of our kin! Including the husband of Nelfilyn Bluespire! "
Nelfilyn sat silently, jaw tight, eyes red.
"Tell us," Axebreaker growled, "why should we let you stay in our lands after such disgrace? "
"We regret the tragedy deeply," Mara said. "But we ask for more time—"
"MORE TIME!? " Axebreaker rose to his full (though modest) height. "Our people demand answers! "
"Axebreaker," Orroth Sandbeard urged, "compose yourself. But… Ambassador Mara, Axebreaker speaks truth. Our citizens will not accept delays."
"Especially if this was an attack…" added Calgirra Oakenbrew, "it would be the first against Dwargonia in three centuries. Our largest merchant ship sank. Ninety-one dead… including a clan leader's spouse."
A quiet, trembling sound came from the side.
Sniff… sniff…
Everyone turned.
It was Levi.
Tears streamed down his face.
"It is our fault…" Levi choked out. "Those lost souls believed in us."
Mara blinked. Oh boy, he's doing a performance.
Levi stepped forward. "They believed… in coexistence. In a world where every race could find harmony."
The council blinked. Even Axebreaker faltered.
"They boarded that ship to welcome us into that society… and tragedy struck them for it."
Axebreaker scowled again. "What are you—"
"Let him speak," Silverfist ordered.
Levi continued, voice trembling. "We Muricans grieve as well. For the ship. For the souls beneath the water. And to honor them, we offer full compensation—for the vessel, its cargo, and for each victim's family."
Axebreaker sputtered. "W-Wha-"
"No, no," Levi cut in, raising a hand desperately. "I know this may seem insulting. I know gold cannot weigh against a life. But we only wish to lighten the burden of grieving families. So please… grant us time. Let us find the truth behind the tragedy that extinguished the souls of ninety-one dwarves and ambassador…"
He paused.
Mara whispered, "Togar Bluespire."
Levi raised his voice. "TOGAR BLUESPIRE! "
The council wavered.
Then Levi lifted his hands. Ninety-two glowing, firefly-like orbs emerged from his palms, spreading through the hall like drifting stars.
"When I was a demon child in a land of war," Levi said quietly, "my mother taught me to do this whenever we lost someone dear."
The chamber watched in stunned silence. The orbs glowed warmly, filling the hall with a serene beauty.
Nelfilyn Bluespire watched as one firefly hovered inches from her face.
"Oh… Togar…" she whispered, tears falling.
The fireflies rose—gathered—merged into a single luminous orb.
Then-
Fwooom.
A gentle burst of sparkling light rained down, like a shower of tiny stars blessing the chamber.
"So please," Levi said softly, "let us honor the wishes of the departed… by preserving the friendship between our two nations."
Silence. Heavy. Moved.
The clan leaders exchanged hesitant glances. The performance had struck deep.
"I, Orroth Sandbeard, propose that Dwargonia grant Murica two weeks' time to present a proper answer. If you fail… our trade agreement and diplomatic ties end."
"Aye," Silverfist said.
"Aye," Oakenbrew added.
"Nay," Axebreaker spat.
"…Aye," Nelfilyn whispered.
"The ayes have it," Sandbeard declared. "And we expect you to return personally with the answer, Minister Leviathan."
"I shall," Levi replied with a deep bow.
Mara exhaled, finally relieved.
---
Their convoy rolled away from the fortress.
"I'm guessing Sir Mammon never approved compensations," Mara said dryly.
"Of course not. Improvised." Levi replies, "How'd you like the performance? "
"I've never seen that one before. New theme? "
"Inspiration struck after watching one of Belphy's movies—Grave of the Demon Fireflies."
Mara snorted. "The firefly lingering in front of Council Member Bluespire was a nice touch."
"Heh. Theatrics matter."
Dawn New Port
Megan stood at the edge of the dock, watching Murican salvage crews and ships circle the wreck site. She placed a cigarette between her lips—only to find no lighter.
A wrinkled fingers tapped the end of her cigarette. A small flame flickered to life.
"Ffuh… thanks, Archmage," she sighed, exhaling smoke. "Want one? "
Gregor shook his head. "Call me old-fashioned. I prefer my pipe."
He lit it with a small burst of magic. They smoked while watching a siren in a wetsuit and a demonfolk in scuba gear leapt from a RHIB and vanished beneath the waves.
"Hard to believe demons can dive like that," Gregor remarked.
"With those equipment, even humans can," Megan replied.
"Really? Fascinating. I've always wondered what the underwater world looks like."
"Heh. Definitely better than demon waters. Too many demon sharks."
They both chuckled.
"How was the hospital? " Megan continued.
"Your djinn extraction team finished retrieving memories from the survivors. But nothing useful—they were all on the wrong side of the ship."
"I see… then all that remains is the dead."
Behind them, rows of dwarven bodies lay zipped inside body bags. Three necromancers in BICH jackets opened body bags and placed glowing hands over dwarven foreheads.
"Your necromancy methods are… innovative," Gregor admitted.
"It's efficient. But exhausting. Thanks for the mana potions."
"No trouble. But many bodies are still underwater."
"Yeah. We'll wait for the divers."
SPLAAAASH.
A massive section of wreckage burst from the water, lifted by inflatables.
"Finally! " Megan grinned. "They got a big one."
Gregor puffed his pipe. "You weren't exaggerating when you said you'd return the ship to the surface."
Langley, BICH Headquarters
Unlike the Pentagon's chaotic vibe, Solo designed BICH HQ to mimic Earth's CIA: secure, subtle, mildly ominous. Filled with extremely competent people doing extremely questionable things.
Inside the analyst department, dozens of BICH analysts sat before their computers as software filtered every smartphone conversation in Ravendawn territory. Computers were banned abroad—but phones and TVs were allowed to be purchased abroad—because Mo considered them excellent intelligence devices.
And besides, good luck reverse-engineering a microchip without computers.
Janet walked between cubicles. "What do you mean it's strange? "
The analyst beside her led her to his station and opened a video file—just a black screen.
"He probably put his phone in his pocket," the analyst said. "But listen."
He pressed play.
"…Oh my goddess… they raised a ship from the seabed…" a man whispered.
Janet shrugged. "So? Everyone in Dawn reacts like that."
"Wait for it."
"…this is not good…"
Janet narrowed her eyes. "That's… not something a restaurant owner should say. Who is he? One of the foreign spies on our watchlist? "
"No, the phone is registered to a Dawn citizen, Alan Ridgewood. Forty-nine. Successful restaurant owner for twenty-two years. Impressive for some Ravendawn living under Vandoria occupation."
"Unless he has connections…" Janet muttered. "I'm reporting this to the old man. Send me the file. Dig deeper into this guy. Good work."
She strode away.
---
Mo hung up the phone with a thoughtful hum.
"…So. A restaurant owner worried about geopolitics."
A slow smirk curled across his face.
"Finally… I found your breadcrumb."