Ras realized he was having a nightmare. A memory of a secluded forest, soaked in blood and death.
Harsh evening rain wet the surface of a sooty metal shell.
Far on the western edge of the continent of Danakil, close to where the land met the Orange Ocean, a steel giant slumped to its knees.
It was a Chasseur d’Acier—a gift to humanity that made it possible to take on the largest of fiends. It took the form of a mechanical humanoid and was approximately nine meters tall.
This unit, however, was heavily damaged, and circulatory fluid was leaking from the cracks, painting the frame crimson. Its chest had been ripped open, revealing the machine’s skeleton, as well as the pilot’s cockpit.
In the cockpit was a young aura knight, at most about seventeen or eighteen years old. The delicate features of youth accompanied the boy’s firm physique.
This young man was badly wounded, just like the Chasseur itself. He was still alive, barely, and hemorrhaging blood to the point that it was a miracle he was still conscious.
He crawled out of the cockpit and glared at the foe towering opposite him, a truly colossal fiend over twenty meters tall.
Its silica scales could stand up to cannon fire, and its teeth and claws were sharper than a steel blade. A pair of ferocious wings allowed for rapid flight despite the creature’s awesome size, while a single whip of its tail could breach a city wall.
It was the most terrifying creature to ever walk the earth. The undisputed king of beasts. A dragon. And a Greater Dragon at that.
However, this dragon, once mighty, was no more.
Lodged in its chest was an enormous, shattered sword of stone, the weapon of the boy’s own Chasseur. But while he had slain the beast, the vindictive dragon had not gone down without a final parting blow.
Under normal circumstances, it was preposterous to think that a single Chasseur could take down a Greater Dragon. It would require a whole battalion just to stand a chance of driving the fiend away.
Felling it solo was a heroic feat that would ensure one’s place alongside the legends of old, but the boy had no time to relish his hard-won victory.
“Fi…! Ngh…!”
He marched on, leaving his damaged unit behind. The clearing was littered with wreckage—Chasseur parts that had been torn off, not only by the dragon but by other machines. This arena had originally been the battleground for a fight between Chasseurs, but when the Greater Dragon showed up, it laid waste to friend and foe alike, right up until the boy’s unit dealt the killing blow.
“Where are you, Fi?! Answer me! Fiarca!”
He staggered between flattened trees, searching for something. A single Chasseur. And at last, amid the tragic scars of war, he found it.
It was close to where the fighting had been the harshest. Countless steel giants, allied and enemy alike, slumped unmoving in the vicinity, scattered like corpses.
The boy came upon a pair of them, one a violet hue and the other a sky blue. Their positions suggested that each had been trying to protect the other in death.
The violet one was damaged beyond all recognition, while the sky-blue one had suffered a deep impaling wound to the chest.
Despair crept across the young boy’s face. His legs began to tremble. The rain beat mercilessly down, clouding the tragic scene in mist.
And then he saw it.
Through the warped steel of the violet unit’s crushed cockpit, he glimpsed a few long strands of silver hair, drenched in a puddle of blood. Crushed beneath the weight of her own Chasseur was the mangled corpse of the boy’s lover.
✦ ✦ ✦
Like being dragged to the surface of a deep, dark lake, Ras awoke. His head was spinning. Every muscle in his body felt like solid lead. Fatigue and nausea assaulted his senses in waves. Ras recognized the aftereffects of an auramancy-induced coma. That was probably what had caused his unnerving dream, too.
As soon as he opened his eyes, Ras heard a voice.
“Are you awake, Sir Talion?”
The frigid, monotone voice belonged to the servant standing by his bedside. She was a petite girl, and Ras didn’t recognize her.
“Who are you?” he asked, sitting up in bed and scanning his surroundings. The room was small but finely made up. The sheets were clean, and tasteful, stylish furniture decorated the space. It all looked very expensive.
“My name is Shishka Klamina,” the girl said, giving a courteous bow. “I serve the crown prince in my capacity as an attendant of the imperial palace.”
“The imperial palace?!” Ras exclaimed. “I was in Prouss just last night! How did I get here?”
“Quite right you are, my lord. I was informed that Lady Kanalayka brought you back in her Chasseur.”
“All the way to the imperial city…”
Ras sighed. Prouss was the empire’s largest port. With trade and commerce the nation’s bedrock, it served as the heart of the empire’s economy. The capital city of Vif Arger was relatively small by comparison, but as it housed the emperor’s dwellings, it was more heavily fortified. Even an imperial guardswoman like Kanalayka would be prohibited from approaching the city walls in a Chasseur without the express permission of the crown, which meant Ras’s abduction could only have been sanctioned by the emperor himself.
“I apologize for not allowing you to rest longer, my lord,” said Shishka in a dispassionate tone, “but I have drawn you a bath and arranged a change of clothes. His Majesty is expecting you shortly.”
Ras looked up at the ceiling. He’d been kidnapped, brought to Vif Arger against his will, and now awaited an audience with the emperor. Even Ras couldn’t fight his way out of this one. He’d be accused of treason, or lèse-majesté at the very least, and thrown in prison or worse.
Shishka indicated one of the doors leading out of the bedchamber. It appeared to open into an adjoined private bathroom, the very height of luxury.
“Do you require assistance bathing?” she asked.
“No. Just show me how it all works.”
“Very well.”
Shishka propped open the bathroom door and swiftly set about filling the bathtub. The ease with which she carried out her duties made Ras think she must have been working there for a while. But even so, it struck him as odd—here he was, waiting to see the emperor, and only one maid attended to him. It was a little underwhelming, no matter how highly skilled she was.
“Are you the only one here?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord,” said Shishka. Now she looked a little embarrassed. “The other servants were afraid to come near you. They have returned to their posts.”
“Afraid of me? Why?”
“Because of your reputation as the Stallion, my lord. They feared if they were to touch you by accident, they would become with child immediately.”
“Really? People believe that nonsense?” remarked Ras, grimacing. It seemed the tales he inspired only grew more absurd the farther they spread. In the minds of the people here, Ras was practically a paranormal creature. So he wondered why Shishka was different.
“What about you, then?” he asked. “Are you not afraid?”
“I am the daughter of an impoverished house, my lord,” she explained with a wistful smile. “My parents would be only too happy to see me driven to death and shame, so they can receive the money His Majesty has promised as reparations.”
“I see. Well, aren’t you a brave one?”
Ras put on his most cynical grin and sighed, shaking his head. If this conversation was anything to go by, his troubles were only just beginning.