—Year 397 before the Ascension of the Celestial Monarch—
Conspiracies were something terrifying in more than one sense, although at this point even a blind man could see that rebellions are simply gasps of a drowning man. The true kings or heroes are those who manage to repress them, while their ringleaders are juicy prizes for honor and glory.
Living and bloody medals.
In the middle of a table with seven seats and a throne sat she: Rahu, the Architect, Diabolus ex Machina.
"The Hegemony plans to invade the eastern continent in at least ten years; the hegemony's troops and armies will land in the south," said Mars giving a clear and concise report of the situation.
Besides her there was only one other person in the seven seats representing the seven powers.
"The Hegemony repressed the Gothic rebellions and has defeated multiple usurpers within the southern continent quickly; in less than ten years it has already stabilized a fragile hegemony, and is about to reconquer the territories of the western continent that had separated. The next obvious step would be to reunify the great dominion of the Hegemony in the eastern continent," added the second person in the room, Moon.
"Let's not forget the north, apparently our sources speak of the ascension of a winner in the internal conflict between the Lucerian factions," Mars quickly added as if it were a competition.
"Silence," she growled. Rahu, as well as the mistress of the seven powers, the Great Seer, had to command respect and not nonsense. For now the dominion of the Hegemony was not a danger to the eastern continent, but war was.
Spilled blood, spread death, would summon abominations and manifest ancient evils that were already thought forgotten.
It had to be avoided at all costs.
"My father, on paper, remains loyal to the Hegemony, but a false step by the Hegemon could turn him against him," Korelia growled as she sighed.
The eastern continent had four great areas of influence: Ulheim in the north, being a vast territory of tens of thousands of kilometers of snowy mountains, rivers, and lakes, and considerably the largest of the continent's provinces, currently being ruled by one of the rebellious Hegemon's brothers.
Tara, the central province of the eastern continent and the smallest, as well as the historical power center of the continent; currently under the dominion of the rebellious Hegemon himself, Prima Uncia Escya Betrica, as the seat of his government as well as the place that held most of the continent's cities.
Maeve, the westernmost province of the continent, being west of the province of Tara and south of Ulheim; one of the richest provinces of the continent, full of precious metal mines and spiritual stones fundamental for trade. The province was currently ruled by Korelia's own father, Garou Aime.
And finally the last province, but not least important: the province of Balor, the southernmost of the provinces, being the most coastal and open to landings in the entire continent due to its wide coasts and relatively calm waters, being ruled by a local lord.
Among the four provinces, at least two were totally rebellious, these being Ulheim and Tara, while Maeve and Balor were neutral rather than loyal.
"My lady, do not worry," said Mars with a somewhat strangely mysterious expression. "Calculations reflect that the probability of a large-scale conflict is twelve percent."
Korelia's eyes narrowed upon hearing those words.
"Too high," she growled. "What are the catalyzing factors? It is impossible for that old fossil from Balor to rebel."
"My lady, the cults are moving towards The Tempest."
And with those words Korelia completely understood what she had to do; unfortunately at this point there were few members of the lodge present, so she would have to move herself.
With a sigh, the hologram reflecting her figure on the throne disappeared.
And at the same time, in the bed of the central castle of the fortress city of Morgana, a young girl woke up.
...
Magic was chaos and chaos is order, magic is order.
"Nothing is true, everything is permitted," growled a female voice with difficulty as a man with straight black hair tied in a ponytail hit her on the cheek with a riding crop.
A trace of dry violet blood marked Labrainne's cheeks, while her naked body was humiliated by the dirty looks of the men torturing her.
"Do you seriously plan to continue with that farce? Death is a reward for you, but life is not," said her torturer, his identity was as mysterious as it was sinister in her mind, while the reasons why that was happening to her could easily be suspected.
After all, she was the eldest daughter of Garou Aime, Lord of Maeve; it wasn't strange that they wanted to harm her, but this time they had succeeded: multiple men had massacred her guards and kidnapped her, dragging her from the fortress city at sunset.
"Now I will ask you one more time: who taught you to do those tricks, witch?" growled the man as he looked coldly at the girl in front of him.
She had an extremely attractive appearance, she was young and not too tall, measuring around two meters twenty in height, being quite average.
She had pure white hair but its texture was more similar to small vegetable fibers than the ordinary hair of other Fey races; her eyes were crystalline and shone as if they were two luminescent marbles generating their own light, her two ears stood out for their length as they protruded from her hair, while her skin and body were pale white with strange runes moving across their surface; she had an already developed body as well as a well-formed waist, which already denoted her maturity as a woman.
Feys were divided into multiple races and clans, and even lineages among Feysir themselves were different, much less Feynir and Feyolg, so the longevity of most races was different although quite close in terms of maturation and life expectancy.
For a Fey reaching a century of life wasn't complicated and it wasn't rare to remain in the flower of youth; things changed in the second and third century where Feys' bodies began to degenerate and finally collapse from old age, with existences older than four centuries considered practically elderly.
Although there were obviously exceptions, it wasn't rare for the formerly great kings of Tara to live more than a millennium, remaining without notable physical or mental decreases.
The reason why they could live so long was quite simple as well as complex: magic.
Actually using the word magic as an excuse is quite stupid, but really there is no other word that can encompass this concept so broadly and simply at the same time, so normally it isn't rare to have that kind of explanation unironically.
But normally they didn't call it magic; the innate gifts of the Feynir or Feysir race received the name of spiritual root and dharmic runes respectively, while their strengthening depended on the individual.
Although that wasn't what the subject referred to when he said the word witchcraft.
"Slap"—another blow exploded on Labrainne's cheek, this time it was a slap; bloody phlegm emerged from her mouth as she felt her jaw hanging uselessly from her mouth, giving her indications that it was broken.
But even so she managed to say with difficulty with a broken voice while dirt and blood made her white hair stick to her face: "No...thing is truuu...e, eve....ry...thing, is... p....permitt....ed."
The man frowned with annoyance feeling he had gone too far, although really at this point it didn't matter: order would never defeat The Tempest; The Tempest would sweep everything away and transform everything.
...
Was she bleeding? She wondered curiously; at this point her mind was dwelling between consciousness and unconsciousness, or maybe even between life and death.
It really didn't matter anymore...
She remembered the mysterious words of the unknown woman who had taught her magic: "Magic, true magic is nothing more than the manifestation of will, breaking limits, piercing the veil of Agnos; once you pierce the veil you can see everything as it really is, or rather as you want it to be."
"Whatever," she asked the void, while silently repeating the mantra that woman, her teacher, had taught her, as if it were the only thing holding her fragile will.
"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
Reality was so fragile; in an instant she could be alive and in the other be dead, but what mattered was the will, only a strong will can cause order, change uncertainty for certainty.
That was order.
And her order was...
Fire.