Amidral: No Promises Exist

Yapón

There was a small town on the other side of Nartai, well before the border with the central region in the mountains, nestled in a small valley where all four seasons converged just a few kilometers apart. Adults frequented its streets to enjoy the food, festivals, and games of chance. Who would have thought that such a calm and beautiful place could be so terribly shaken if you couldn't keep your emotions in check?

It was a night of celebration during the town's annual six days of snow. The cold gave a special flavor to the peaches before they were harvested and distilled to produce the most famous liquor from the region. At least that was the official reason, but in truth, the festival had been moved up this year by order of the town's noble ruler, Duchess Vikha. Losing contact with Namag had been a far more painful blow than the rest of the country had realized. However, rumors of war were still so infrequent that the towns far to the east still enjoyed an apparent peace. But as an aristocrat, the duchess knew better.

Admiring the cheerful festival preparations lifted her spirits a little, though she never acted for her own sake. Those who knew her understood that she was wise in making decisions that favored her people; however, taking care of herself had always been a self-destructive struggle. After her third husband, she decided to stop looking for another, but gambling and poor choices remained part of her life. Her rank and fortune, which had slowly dwindled, didn't matter. Losing all her shares in her own casinos had become routine, just like liquor and loneliness. Yet, she still held her title. The citizens of Yapon had no reason to oust her. The town was prosperous and luxurious thanks to her management, so dealing with her drunken escapades at a local establishment from time to time seemed a small price to pay, and the owners didn't mind. Her image wasn't important, and they didn't try to hide it. After all, the town's reputation was no less scandalous. They called it the Red Town, despite the peach trees, and you'd never see a child there. It wasn't a place where people came to start a family but rather to make their fortune with liquor, casinos, and fine entertainment from the best artists, who often also served as "good company."

It had been a quiet morning. The peach blossoms were just beginning to fall, making way for the fruit and the liquor that would follow. At this time of year, there was little activity, and many citizens weren't even in town. The truth was that several people migrated solely for the harvest, followed by the festival and the nine most laborious and exhausting weeks of the year. Creatures from all over the country visited Yapon more intensely during this season than in the other ten months.

There were still two months to go until the festival when the duchess distributed pamphlets with an emergency notice: "The Peach Festival will be moved up by two weeks this year." The announcement spread quickly by mail across the country. Owners from outside had to return, and visitors had to adjust their vacation plans. Preparations began.

The truth was that at dawn that day, Vikha had felt her magic acting strangely. As a cecaelia, she was more sensitive to the state of the water, and when the river running through the town seemed to scream in pain, she called for an emergency meeting with an old friend.

Her body remained in Yapon, but her mind had traveled thousands of kilometers to a fortress above the clouds. She had projected herself onto the balcony of the main hall within seconds after asking for permission. It wasn't an easy task, and this was one of the reasons why she was a noble.

"I didn't think you'd come here," said a man in a very dark green hood. Only a strand of his white hair and his gray eyes were visible. He seemed to be wearing armor beneath his robes. He also held a staff of twisted roots with a floating blue gem, connecting the two parts where the staff split. His expression was severe. He wasn't pleased.

"Kham, I need to know what's happening," she pleaded.

Khamgaalagch averted his gaze and let out a sigh before responding. "You're not the first to notice," he said, beginning to form magical shapes in the palm of his left hand. "Atenesia, the leader of the ghouls, was here two days ago. Kandor fled from the west seeking refuge, and... the princess herself sent a letter."

"A letter!? What did it say!?"

The man in green grew frustrated at first. Vikha had to press impatiently, given his expression. He would tell her anyway, but the reality was so overwhelming that even saying it out loud made it hard for Khamgaalagch to absorb it.

"An apology. The princess will take action given the country's deterioration, but that means she will declare war on the west and anyone who stands in her way."

"That's a massacre!" the duchess shrieked.

"I know... and she's aware of it. But she asked me to deliver the following message to all the rulers of the three regions: 'If I fail, I will relinquish my title and execute myself, but if I succeed, the country's deterioration will stop, and I will be crowned as their queen.'"

They sat in silence for a while as the duchess sat on the steps leading into the fortress.

"Why does she want the crown?! It's suicide, and genocide too," she said after a while.

"But if she doesn't act, the entire country will be reduced to ashes," the guard replied.

"What do you mean?"

"The water you felt wasn't because of the princess. She hasn't taken action yet; she's still in the preparations. What you felt in the river was the korrupa."

Hearing that had robbed her of sleep. She also learned that the princess had requested support from Atenesia and Ruc Kandor, both powerful rulers, to join her ranks. However, others like Tash Fraiser, Rika Goblin, and Vikha Naimaalj, among others, were tasked with preparing their communities for what was to come. That was when she gave the order to move the festival up.

It didn't seem coherent, but where could they flee? It was almost time for everything to erupt, but there was still enough time for her people to enjoy one last celebration. That was something only she knew. There had been much preparation and work, but in the end, there they were... celebrating the Peach Festival.

Vikha couldn't involve herself as usual.

The small stream running through the center of the town was adorned with several bridges connecting both banks. On one of them, leaning against the railing, the duchess was taking a breath. She wore a black kimono with pink details and gold edges. Her hair was tied in a high bun, exposing her neck, which bore an emerald necklace matching her eyes. She held a pipe that was smoking while keeping her hand on her cheek, watching her blurred reflection in the water as if trying to read it. But since that dawn, her magic had gone deaf. Even though laughter surrounded her, that last night of revelry would end soon, and she would have to order the town to evacuate to Moch.

"I've never seen you behave this well on a night like this," a man with light brown hair and green armor startled her from behind. Yet, he never lost his elegance.

"There's not much left for me to lose in those damn games," she replied, returning her gaze to the water.

"Maybe not now, but I understand that at the beginning of the night, you did."

"Are you spying on me, eh... Marco?"

"No... but it's my job to observe."

"Not officially here. Come up with a better excuse."

And it was true. As a captain of the army, he should have been at the barracks preparing his men, but his presence in Yapon was common despite never enjoying the town's services, only to visit a certain lady. The armored man approached her and looked in her direction. There was her blurred reflection in the current, but he could still distinguish her sad face.

"You know it's true," she said after a pause. "It won't be the same as before."

"Maybe, but if there is an after, you'll be able to rebuild it."

"I don't think I have the strength to get up."

She turned halfway on her feet. The festival and its colors were still there, with people going back and forth.

"Not again."

"You did it before."

"Three times, Marco. Three times. I was a foreign widow, a trophy with included entertainment, and a concubine for paperwork. I don't want to fight anymore..."