Summoning Earth [Hiatus]

Chapter 34: Ghost City

Morning – September 18, 1639 – Conference Room, Ragna, Capital of the Gra Valkas Empire

The skies above Ragna wept in silence, as if to mirror the mood behind the iron walls of the Imperial Palace. Rain glazed the steel-framed windows of the war council chamber, diffusing the gray light across a polished table crowded with men of rank and ambition. The city was quiet — too quiet — under the curtain of fog, as if the Empire itself was holding its breath.

Two months had passed since the Barbarossa had vanished beyond the edge of charted waters. A high-value fleet under the command of Grade Atlastar Barbarossa, one of the Empire's most lethal warships, had pursued fleeing Yulkonian remnants into a remote maritime zone. They had succeeded in intercepting and destroying the target — but what came after had turned into fog, both literally and strategically.

No communication. No wreckage. No return.

The Barbarossa was listed as MIA. No explanation. No official mourning.

A cold drizzle pattered against the windows of the war council chamber, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of overhead lighting and the rustle of uniforms. The room's air held the sharp scent of oil and steel — always slightly chilled, always sterile. Behind the thick doors of reinforced oak, the machinery of the Empire convened in full force.

The officers filed in with practiced discipline. No wasted motion, no idle chatter. Seating was arranged in strict order of precedence. Field Marshal Caesar Roland, high commander of the Imperial Army, took his place at the head of the table. To his left, Admiral Alkaid, the Navy's senior fleet strategist. To his right, Director Macina of the Imperial Air Corps. Around them, a ring of aides, attachés, and intelligence directors with folders stacked high in front of them.

The Emperor's dais remained unoccupied — only his personal seal sat at the head, etched into the polished blackwood plaque. Gralux had not attended in person for over six months. He no longer needed to. His war machine spoke for itself.

Caesar Roland leaned forward, one hand resting on a thick dossier stamped CLASSIFIED—NAVY LOSS POTENTIAL. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"The loss of contact with the Barbarossa remains... inconvenient," he began, tone clipped, eyes unmoved. "But not crippling. We have deeper waters to navigate."

There was no gasp. No outrage. Only the slight shuffling of reports, the tightening of lips, the nods from men used to writing off blood and steel as lines in a ledger.

Admiral Alkaid cleared his throat. "Confirmation of the ship's destruction?"

"None," answered an intelligence officer. "Last signal came seventy minutes after the skirmish with Yulkonian stragglers. They sent a single encrypted burst — coordinates and a brief reference to an unknown landmass. Then silence."

"Possible mechanical failure?" Macina asked, arms crossed, skeptical.

"No distress code. No emergency ping," the officer replied. "Not even garbled. Just... nothing."

Alkaid exhaled slowly. "The Barbarossa isn't a gunboat. It's a Grade Atlastar-class battleship. You don't just lose one of those."

"You do if it runs into something it wasn't meant to handle," Caesar Roland murmured.

That hung in the air for a beat too long.

Macina shifted in his seat. "With all due respect, Marshal, you're implying... what? A hidden enemy? A civilization we missed?"

Caesar Roland said nothing for a moment, then tapped the folder twice.

"I'm saying we don't waste fuel speculating on things we can't reach. Not yet."