First Light of a New Age

Chapter 162: Greatest and Darkest Days of Humanity

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Third Civilization Zone, Western Part of the Continent, Earth Region, Eurasia, Russian Freedom Alliance, Moscow, Russian Freedom Alliance Headquarters, Government Restoration Chamber.

4th Year of God, Thursday, 1st Week, 8th Month of Solomon.

As the flames died down, the sky over Moscow was no longer darkened by clouds of black ash or stained blood-red skies by the sorcery of invading armies. 

But the city remained deep scars with its stark brutalist buildings pockmarked by explosions, gouged by the claws of magical beasts, and scorched by stray arcs of violent spellfire.

High above, reconstruction drones flew in the cold air, patching cracked walls and collapsed roofs with a strange sophisticated blend of nanotechnology and living elven-grown materials. 

In the streets below, children who had once cowered in metro bunkers now appeared hesitantly into the pale daylight, holding rationed loaves of bread while staring with wide unblinking eyes at the massive futuristic tanks and multi-legged walkers that rolled along the avenues, asserting a new kind of uneasy peace.

Inside what remained of the White Parliament Building, its grand halls reduced to cracked marble and flickering lights, the leadership council of the Russian Freedom Alliance gathered in their makeshift tactical-political chamber.

At the head of a heavy oak table, scarred by both age and war, was a tall man in a gray diplomatic trench coat adorned with gold-trimmed buttons and the sigil of the Austronesian People’s Empire stitched neatly onto his chest. 

His name was Ambassador Caleon Virel, a civilian diplomat by title, but a ruthless tactician with the cold precision of a battlefield general in the ruthless arena of politics.

His expression was calm with his silver-rimmed glasses glinting under the sterile light of the half-functional restoration lamps. As he stepped forward and lifted a hand for silence, the low tense murmuring faded to hushed anticipation.

“I come before you not just as a representative of the Austronesian People’s Empire,” he began smoothly, “but also as a friend to the Russian people. You have held your ground and bled to protect your homeland against threats you couldn’t have imagined such as monsters powered by magic, and kingdoms that look at humanity with nothing but contempt.”

He paused deliberately, letting his words sink in.

Field Marshal Anton Shelekhov, a broad-shouldered man with a bristling moustache, grunted in grudging acknowledgment. Beside him, Minister Yelena Komarov leaned in with her brows drawn tight in focus. Other council members like warlords, engineers, provincial governors watched Caleon with wary hungry eyes, desperate for hope but suspicious of cost.

Caleon went on. “The Austronesian Empire, along with our allied kingdoms in this world, has committed to rebuilding what was lost here in Moscow and beyond. Not just with infrastructure and materials, but with protection. We will station troops here, provide advanced technology, and help train a mana-resistant fighting force so you will not stand alone against these horrors again.”

Polite nods and cautious relief spread around the room.

“And most importantly… justice,” Caleon added as his tone darkened. “The attack on your cities was no accident. Our investigations with the help of local informants and interrogations of captured enemy soldiers have traced the attacks back to a minor kingdom in the Second Civilization Zone. A nation that, to this day, still has refused to normalize even basic diplomatic relations with us