Empire Divided - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As the Xylos fleet descended, the sky filled with the deafening roar of engines. The first dropships pierced the clouds like spears of light.

Chapter 3

The Mercian command tent was a swirl of smoke, shadows, and rage.

"How do you lose an Empress?" Lady Sasha hissed, slamming her gauntleted fist onto the war table. The impact scattered strategy tokens across the map of Vesperia. "She was supposed to be captured by now. That was the entire point of the first strike."

Commander Rys of the Mercian Vanguard stood opposite her, unmoved by her fury. His armor bore the black sigil of House Varn, and his face—scarred and stern—was a mask of cold efficiency.

"We believe she escaped through one of the secret passages beneath the palace," he said, voice like gravel. "Our ground teams are combing every tunnel system. But the explosion caused multiple cave-ins. Several entry points are impassable."

Sasha narrowed her eyes. "I warned you about their escape routes. I gave you schematics. If they’ve gotten to the Vine, we’ll lose any chance of using her as leverage."

Rys stepped forward. "Your intelligence helped, but clearly, it was incomplete. If your palace informants had been more specific—"

"They risked everything to get me those maps!" Sasha snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "And you swore the palace perimeter would hold."

The two stared at each other across the table, neither blinking.

"Regardless," Rys said at last, turning back to the map, "the city is ours. The palace is burning. The council is scattered. The people will kneel soon enough."

Sasha's jaw clenched. "I don’t want them to kneel. I want them to see Aveline fall. I want the Empire to watch her broken."

Rys raised an eyebrow. "This isn’t about conquest to you. This is personal."

"Of course it’s personal," Sasha whispered. "She made it personal the day she chose a soldier over her own blood."

There was a long silence.

Then Sasha turned away, her cloak whipping behind her. "Double your search patrols. Use the seers. I don’t care if you have to burn every vineyard between here and the outer provinces—find her."

Rys bowed slightly. "As you command."

She stepped out into the cold night. The wind carried the scent of smoke and victory. But to Sasha, it still reeked of failure.

And she would not fail again.

The alley was a claustrophobic maze of shadows, the stench of refuse and decay a stark contrast to the fragrances of the palace they had just escaped. Aubrey leaned heavily on an older guard with a grizzled, bright red beard—Marcus. Blood flowed freely from a too-close graze of laser fire.

"Come on, Captain, we need to get you somewhere and get you treated," Marcus said. His voice, while laced with concern, held the steady authority that had guided them through the inferno of battle.

The small group of guards moved quickly, Marcus’ knowledge of the city’s underbelly proving invaluable as they navigated twisting alleyways, avoiding the panicked crowds fleeing the scene. Finally, they reached a hidden entrance to the underground tunnels, known only to a select few. Marcus knew they would be safe here. The route was used for discreet movements—a forgotten relic of a bygone era. It offered temporary sanctuary from the unfolding turmoil.

As they descended into the cool, damp darkness, Aubrey couldn’t shake the image of the chaos within the palace. The faces of their guards—some fighting valiantly, others inexplicably hesitant—flashed in their mind. Were the hesitant ones part of the attack? Had the enemy infiltrated the Imperial Guard? The thought was a poisoned arrow to the heart, more agonizing than the wound.

The passage led to a small fortified chamber, once a royal escape route. Among the supplies was an old communications array. Marcus laid Aubrey down and allowed the medic to work on the wound, then turned to the machine, toggling switches and checking connections to no avail.

A young guard approached. "Sir, I believe the power source has been completely drained."

Marcus squinted. "Who is that?"

The guard stepped closer and wiped his face. "It’s Paulo, sir."

Marcus recognized him immediately—a talented fixer. He stepped aside and let Paulo get to work. Paulo rummaged through his side pouch, visibly trembling. Marcus laid a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.

"We are safe here. Do what you can to get this thing running and send the distress signal on all channels."

Steeled by the veteran's calm, Paulo nodded and began.

Aubrey, now bandaged, sat silently, watching. The Empire, once secure, now teetered on the edge of collapse. The attack was no random assault. It was the result of a deeper conspiracy. Aubrey's anger simmered. Their new mission was clear: uncover the truth. A message had to be sent to Kila—the Empress could not return yet.

Time passed. Guards came and went with supplies and reports. The Mercians had not yet fully taken the capital, but both the city forces and Imperial Guard were stretched thin. They could not hold forever.

Then—light.

The communications array blinked to life. Paulo let out a whoop. "It’s working! Mayday, mayday, this is an all call to Imperial forces. Mercian soldiers are attacking the capital. We have held them to the east of the palace. Mayday—anyone receiving this, come back."

Silence. Static.

Everyone held their breath.

Then—faint crackling voices, one right after the other. "This is the perimeter leader. We hear you. Sending ships now."

Another voice followed. "Troop ship Silas reads you loud and clear. ETA ten minutes. Provide rally point."

More voices came in. Cheers broke out. Guards clasped arms, grinning. Aubrey stood slowly, chest tight but pride swelling.

"This is Admiral Aubrey of Her Majesty’s Imperial Guard. Rally point Hotel Alpha Zed Alpha Alpha. Do not despair, Xylossians—your Empress is alive and safe. Long live the Empire."

"Long live the Empire!" echoed in the chamber and across all channels.

Aubrey straightened. It was time.

"Men, we need to head to the rally point. We will be right behind you."

Marcus took the cue and ordered the others out. As the last soldier left, Aubrey recorded an encrypted message.

"Col. Kila, this is Captain Aubrey. Decryption code Foxtrot Alpha Foxtrot Oscar 5309867. I pray this message finds you and the Empress safe. Good news: the Army and the Fleet are gathering to retake the capital. The city guard and Imperial Guard have held what they can. Bad news: the palace is in ruins. Many are dead. And there is still no sign of your niece and heir, Sasha. This may be key to understanding how this happened. I’ve told the troops that you are alive and safe. Stay at the safe house until I uncover who is behind this. I will come for you myself when it is time for justice. Aubrey, signing off."

They shut off the transmission. It felt good to deliver hope with the truth.

As Aubrey stood, pain surged through their body. They coughed blood.

Marcus was at their side in an instant. "You need a hospital. Now."

Aubrey shook their head. "I’m going with my men." They growled through gritted teeth.

"You stubborn bastard! What good are you bleeding all over, barely able to stand?"

Aubrey stood tall, eyes hard. "I’m going with my men."

Marcus cursed under his breath but followed as Aubrey led them out.

Kila remained silent throughout the ride out of the capital, her focus locked on the mission. This was the most important assignment she had ever received, and she knew it. So absorbed was she that when the Empress addressed her—or tried to—her words barely registered.

The Empress halted her horse abruptly and dismounted. It took Kila only moments to realize she had lost her charge. Her heart leapt as she turned her horse and rode back to the Empress.

“My Empress, are you hurt? Why have you stopped?” Kila dismounted swiftly, her eyes scanning the Empress for any sign of injury.

“Perhaps, on this very secret journey, we might dispense with the formalities,” the Empress replied, her tone calm but firm. “You may call me Aveline.”

Kila blinked, momentarily thrown. She glanced around, as though expecting hidden eyes in the brush. “Yes, as you wish, my Qu... Aveline,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar name.

“Thank you. And what shall I call you?” Aveline asked, her gaze steady.

Kila’s mind faltered, the question catching her off guard. “Call me?” she echoed, her own name momentarily eluding her.

“Yes, I can't go around calling you Colonel,” Aveline said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Kila felt a flush creep up her neck. “Of course. You may call me Kila. I have no other name. I am an orphan.” She braced herself for the pity that usually followed such a revelation.

But Aveline didn’t falter. “Kila it is, then. We should also find some regular clothes. Your uniform and my dress may draw unwanted attention, don’t you think?”

Kila blinked again, her gaze dropping to her uniform before shifting to Aveline’s dress. It shimmered in the moonlight, elegant and entirely impractical for their covert journey. Why had she dressed so finely? Kila wondered. Then Aveline turned slightly, and Kila’s breath caught. The fabric wasn’t just shimmering—it was nearly translucent. She averted her gaze, her body betraying her with a surge of heat. Drawing on her training, she forced herself to focus.

“Follow me,” Kila said, leading them into the brush. They stopped just far enough from the road to remain hidden but close enough to keep watch. The moonlight filtered through the treetops, casting faint shadows. Kila rummaged through her saddlebags and pulled out a simple shirt and breeches.

“These should work for you until we find something more suitable. I’ll remove my armor and wear a tunic. I can pass as your servant.”

Aveline examined the clothes and nodded. Kila had expected resistance; after all, Aveline was accustomed to far finer attire. But she wasn’t like the haughty ladies Kila had known—those who looked down on her for her status and lack of wealth. The priestesses who had raised her often entertained such women, who came to pray for husbands with good fortune or to seek the goddess’s help with pregnancies—wanted or otherwise.

“Thank you, Kila. These will be perfect,” Aveline said, tossing the clothes onto her saddle. Without hesitation, she loosened the straps of her dress. The delicate fabric slipped to the ground, pooling around her feet. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and reached for the breeches.

Kila froze, her body aflame. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the road ahead. When Aveline finished dressing, she turned to Kila. “Everything alright?”

Aveline’s words pierced the fog in Kila’s mind. “Time is of the essence, is it not?” she said, snapping back to reality. “I require assistance with my armor, my lady.” She turned, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. “If you could undo the straps in the back, please.”

Kila braced herself for a refusal, but Aveline stepped forward without hesitation. She loosened the straps with surprising ease. Kila removed the chest piece and was about to explain how to handle the underpadding, but Aveline managed it effortlessly. Had she done this before? The thought flickered and vanished as Kila stepped away, her thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory.

Her palms damp, Kila retrieved her cloak and handed it to Aveline. Taking a steadying breath, she packed her belongings and secured them on her saddle. When she turned back, Aveline was already mounted, her shirt unfastened just enough to reveal the curve of her collarbone. Kila’s breath hitched.

“Pull your hood over your eyes,” Kila ordered, her tone brisk. “We don’t know who we might encounter on the road.” She mounted her horse, ready to move, but Aveline stopped her.

“Now, you will lead me to the nearest secure military outpost,” Aveline said, her voice resolute.

Kila blinked, stunned. “I’m sorry, where?” she asked, struggling to process the command.

“You heard me. I have no intention of hiding while my empire is under attack. Did you really think I would?” Aveline’s gaze was unyielding.

Kila stared, her mind racing. This was not how the day was supposed to go. Yet, a part of her was thrilled. She wouldn’t have to hide while others fought.

She pulled out her slate and brought up a map. She knew of a small outpost on the edge of the Vine, though its security was questionable. The soldiers stationed there were mostly older or considered troublemakers—those nearing retirement or assigned to posts with little responsibility. But the outpost had what they needed: speeders, weapons, and a functional communications array. It didn’t even have an official name—just Outpost 3. Kila showed Aveline the location. Aveline glanced at the map, then spurred her horse into a gallop. Kila followed.

They rode hard until they reached a stream. “We need to let the horses rest and drink,” Kila said, dismounting before Aveline could protest. She pulled a blanket from her saddle and set out bread and cheese near a large tree. Aveline dismounted but lingered by her horse, staring into the stream, her shoulders tense.

“Aveline, you won’t be able to fight if you’re starving,” Kila said, holding out a piece of cheese.

Aveline hesitated, then took the food, her exhaustion finally showing. She sat beside Kila on the blanket, and they ate in silence. Kila watched the horses drink, her thoughts drifting to the capital. She should be there, in the thick of it. Instead, she was here, watching over the Empress. She sighed, glancing at Aveline, who had fallen asleep. Her face was peaceful, her lips slightly parted. Kila’s gaze lingered, her thoughts turning dangerous.

Before she could stop herself, Kila reached out. Just as her fingers neared Aveline’s lips, the Empress stirred, turning toward her. Kila froze. Then Aveline screamed.

“No, no, no!” she cried, her voice raw with terror.

Kila shook her, trying to wake her. “Aveline, wake up! My Empress, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Aveline’s eyes flew open, wide with horror. “My people—they were burning, screaming. All of them suffering, and I could do nothing,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “It’s my duty to protect them.”

“This is not your fault,” Kila said firmly. “The Admiral will find those responsible, and you will see justice done. But first, you must survive. The traitors will not get away with this.”

Kila realized she was holding Aveline’s hands, squeezing them tightly. In that moment, beneath the moonlit sky, their shared resolve solidified. The fight was far from over.

Aubrey staggered backward, blood running down their cheek, breath ragged as they fought to shield the last defensive line. The Imperial Guard was down to a fraction of its strength, their formation fractured by relentless Mercian pressure. Plasma shot soured all around them. They had to watch their men fall one after the other. The troops will be there soon, they had to hold out until the fleet arrived and Aveline was safe—somewhere—but Aubrey couldn’t be sure for how much longer.

It was then—the sky split open.

In an electrifying moment, a fleet of colossal warships roared overhead, their immense silhouettes blotting out the twilight. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their arrival. Hatches opened in unison, one after another, wave after wave of Xylosian soldiers surged forth. Each warrior, clad in armor, weapons raised began their assault on the enemy.

An injured guard, his breath ragged and eyes wide with awe pointed at the incoming reinforcements, “It’s the entire fleet!” he cried, his voice cutting through the clatter of battle.

Aubrey straightened, with soot and blood momentarily forgotten, they yelled, “Hold the line! Our army is here!” A cheer erupted up and down the line coming from the battered defenders.

The Silas broke away from the formation and went straight for Aubrey’s location. It hovered and landed, troops jumped out and immediately began firing, the sergeant yelling, “Wounded, bring all the wounded!” Marcus heard the call and nearly had to drag Aubrey into the ship, luckily for Marcus Aubrey finally passed out due to blood loss.

General Chase stood behind the pilots of the lead troop ship, his arms crossed behind his back, boots braced wide against the subtle sway of the vessel. Through the panoramic viewport, the skyline of Vesperia burned.

Behind him, troop after troop ship stretched in formation—the full might of the Xylos army. He had launched the mobilization the moment the first distress signal crackled through. Timing had been everything.

He had escaped the capital just minutes before the Mercians sealed the city, using a back route known only to the High Command. The plan to regroup at the outer moons had worked—barely.

"Approaching drop point," one of the pilots announced.

Chase nodded. "Deploy the vanguard. Break their line."

Below, the city’s southern gate loomed. The Mercian flags hung from every tower, their soldiers clustered in the plazas, convinced their hold on the capital was secure.

They were wrong.

As the Xylos fleet descended, the sky filled with the deafening roar of engines. The first dropships pierced the clouds like spears of light. Tearing down the enemy as it descended.

Chase was pleased watching the progress his troops were making, but suddenly something exploded across the line, a shaft of green light shot into the sky.

“They are deploying plasma shields sir,” the pilot reported.

The parts of the city that were controlled by the invaders one by one were being covered by the large dome of a plasma shield. Chase cursed under his breath, he had heard whispers that such technology had made a breakthrough, but he had no idea they had come this far.