Chapter 9: The Royal Decree

Rael placed her palm against the earth, her Shadow Viper marks pulsing with faint green light. Grain watched, curious despite his frustration with the slowness of earth magic. Unlike the aggressive red-gold of his Bear marks or the bright yellow of Kiro's Eagle, Rael's manifestation was subtle—like phosphorescence in deep water.

"Don't force it," Elder Vasha instructed, her voice patient as her Turtle spirit. "The Viper teaches precision. Find one point. One specific place where the earth wants to respond. Then ask."

The soil beneath Rael's hand shifted slightly. A tiny crack appeared, perfectly straight, no wider than a blade of grass. It extended maybe six inches before stopping.

"Good," Vasha said, genuine approval warming her weathered face. "That's control. Most beginners try to move mountains on their first attempt. You asked the earth to show you one small truth, and it answered."

Rael looked up, surprised and a bit disappointed. "That's all? Just a crack?"

"That crack is perfectly straight," Torrent observed, his Bison spirit making him naturally attuned to earth work. He knelt beside Rael's hand, examining the fissure closely. "You couldn't draw a line that perfect with a ruler. And look—" He pointed to where the crack ended. "It followed the grain of the bedrock below. She didn't just crack the soil. She found where the stone wanted to separate and asked it to show her."

"Exactly," Vasha confirmed, her eyes lighting up with the pleasure of a teacher seeing understanding dawn. "This is the foundation. Once you understand how to ask, how to listen, the earth will show you remarkable things. But you must be patient. The earth moves on its own time, not ours."

She gestured for another student to try. "Torrent, your turn. Your Bison gives you natural connection to the earth—stability, endurance. Use that. Don't think about moving the earth. Think about becoming part of it."

Torrent's massive hands pressed flat against the ground. His marks—thick, blocky patterns like hide armor—began to glow with a deep brown light. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the earth beneath his palms began to compact, slowly pressing down and down, leaving two perfect handprints pressed an inch deep into the soil.

"Good," Vasha said. "You're not moving earth, you're asking it to remember being pressed. To remember density. That's the key—earth remembers everything that's ever touched it. Every footstep, every root, every drop of rain. If you can connect to those memories—"

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

The drums cut through the afternoon quiet like a blade. Not the frantic alarm pattern that meant danger, but something that made Grain's blood run colder. The formal announcement rhythm. Three beats, pause, two beats, pause, one beat.

Official visitors.

The pattern repeated three times, echoing through the jungle canopy. Birds scattered from the trees. Small animals went silent. Even the insects seemed to quiet, as if the jungle itself was holding its breath.

Grain's stomach dropped. He knew that pattern. Everyone in the Earth territories knew that pattern.

Ornix.

Elder Vasha's face went pale. She struggled to her feet with more speed than Grain had ever seen from her, her Turtle spirit making her movements usually slow and deliberate. But now urgency drove her.

"Children," she said, her voice tight. "Go home. Now. All of you. Stay inside your huts. Do not come out unless your parents explicitly call for you."

"But Elder Vasha—" Kiro started, his Eagle marks flickering with agitation.

"NOW!" The elderly woman's voice cracked like a whip, surprising them all. She'd never raised her voice before, not in all the years Grain had known her. "And you—" She grabbed Grain's arm as he started to move, her grip surprisingly strong. Her eyes locked onto his, and he saw something in them he'd never seen before.

Fear.

"Especially you, Grain," she said quietly, urgently. "Commander Igo's son. With early manifestation marks. Stay hidden. Stay quiet. Don't let them see you. When Ornix comes, children of prominent families are... noticed. And children with your potential are taken."

She released him and began moving toward the village center as fast as her legs would carry her, her staff tapping urgently against the packed earth.

Grain stood frozen for a heartbeat, processing her words. Then Rael's voice cut through his paralysis.

"We need to go," she said, her face white as chalk. Chief Torun's daughter would be another target—prominent family, strong Viper manifestation already visible. "Now. Before they see us out here."

They scattered like startled birds. Grain ran through the village, Terra's name on his lips as he searched for his sister. Around him, the village was transforming with practiced speed that spoke of having done this too many times before.

Warriors donning ceremonial armor. Elders gathering near the fallen Guardian Tree. Mothers shepherding children inside with desperate efficiency.

Grain spotted Terra near the river and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward home without explanation.

They burst into their hut to find Mother Igo already strapping on her ceremonial armor, her face pale but composed despite the healing injury from the Wall's collapse.

"Terra," Mother Igo said, her voice sharp with command. "Come here. Quickly."

She knelt to eye level with Terra. "My brave girl, I need you to be very quiet today. Very still. Can you do that for me?"

Terra nodded, reading the seriousness in their mother's face.

Mother Igo turned to Grain, her eyes sweeping over his visible spirit marks. "Your spirit is manifesting early. That makes you... visible. Valuable to them. If they notice you—" She stopped, her jaw clenching. "Hide against the back wall. Control your marks. Don't let your Bear show, no matter what happens. Promise me."

"I promise."

She pulled them both into a desperate embrace. "Remember: we are Kusanti. We will survive this."

Then she was gone, striding out to join the warriors assembling in the village center.

Grain pulled Terra to the back wall where gaps in the weaving allowed them to see out. Through those gaps, they watched as the Ornix knights entered the village.

Twelve Drake-mounted knights in obsidian armor that seemed to drink the afternoon sunlight. The Drakes themselves were massive war-beasts—eight feet at the shoulder, scales ranging from crimson to volcanic black, smoke curling from their nostrils.

At the formation's head rode a man whose armor crackled with actual lightning—faint blue electricity pulsing along etched patterns. His face was sharp and cruel, his eyes holding nothing but contempt.

Even at twelve, Grain knew that face. Ser Victus Ornix. The Lightning of the South. The man who had burned Three Rivers village to ash three years ago.

Behind him rode another knight with a crimson sash and cruel intelligence in his eyes, holding a scroll case with the Emperor's seal.

Ser Marius.

"PEOPLE OF KUSANTI!" Victus's voice boomed, amplified by wind magic. "KNEEL BEFORE THE EMPEROR'S AUTHORITY!"

The villagers dropped to their knees. Even the warriors. Even Chief Torun. Even Mother Igo, though Grain could see how much it cost her.

Only Mother Estriel remained standing, as was her right as spiritual leader, though she bowed her head in acknowledgment.

Grain felt his Bear surge—DEFEND—but he pressed his palm against the wall, forcing it down. His spirit marks began to glow beneath his tunic.

Terra noticed. "Grain, your marks—"

"I know. I'm trying."

Victus surveyed the kneeling villagers, then his eyes fell on the fallen Guardian Tree. His lip curled.

"Ah," he said, false sympathy dripping from every word. "The great Guardian Tree of Kusanti. Fallen. How... tragic."

He dismounted and walked to the ancient trunk, placing one hand on it. Lightning crackled briefly around his fingers, making the wood smoke.

"Five hundred years this tree stood. And it fell in one afternoon. Crushed by forces you don't understand." His smile widened. "I suppose that's what happens when you put your faith in wood instead of steel. In spirits instead of power. In tradition instead of the Empire."

No one responded. The anger from the villagers was palpable.

Victus noticed and smiled wider. "You're angry. I can see it. You want to tell me your tree matters more than all the steel in the Empire." He paused. "You're welcome to try. Any one of you. Stand up right now, and I promise I won't kill you for it."

No one moved. Everyone knew it was a trap.

"No one? How disappointing." Victus turned to Marius. "Read it. I'm bored already."

Marius dismounted with theatrical flair, his Drake's claws scoring the earth. He unrolled the scroll with a sharp crack.

"By decree of His Imperial Majesty, Pernus Kane—Emperor of Flame! Lord of the Scorched Lands! Protector of the Burning Throne! Guardian of the Eternal Flame! Master of the Earth Territories by Right of Conquest—"

Grain felt Mother Igo stiffen at that last title.

"—be it known that a threat of unprecedented magnitude has emerged to imperil our glorious Empire."

Marius began to pace, stepping close to kneeling villagers.

"Seven days past, the ancient Barrier known as the Wall did fall. Shattered. Destroyed. From beyond this fallen Barrier have emerged creatures that defy all natural law. Demons that disrupt the very flow of mana itself, that strike from distances beyond sight with weapons we cannot comprehend."

He stopped at the center of the plaza.

"These abominations have attacked Imperial territories in the eastern regions of the Land of Flame. They have killed our warriors with weapons that burn without flame. They have destroyed our villages with fire that does not behave as fire should. Seventeen villages have reported encounters. Three full Drake-mounted patrols—sixty elite warriors—have been annihilated."

A murmur ran through the villagers.

"Our most powerful mages report that their magic fails near these creatures. Warriors describe weapons that strike like lightning but leave no mark. Structures that move through the sky like great metal birds. And worst of all—they move with coordination. With strategy. With intelligence."

His voice rose back to full volume.

"Therefore, to ensure the survival of our Empire—a Grand Conscription is hereby declared. All males between the ages of ten and sixteen years, from all territories sworn to the Emperor, are hereby requisitioned for immediate military service."

The words fell like a death sentence. Terra's hand found Grain's, gripping tight.

"They will be transported to Camp Infernus in the Ornix Kingdom for intensive training. The conscription is mandatory. Immediate. Absolute. Refusal to comply will be considered high treason against the Empire."

He paused, his eyes sweeping across every kneeling face.

"The penalty for treason is death. Not merely of the guilty party, but of the entire village. Every man, woman, and child. We will burn your homes to the foundation. We will salt your fields. We will erase your names from history."

The threat hung like smoke.

"However—those who comply will be honored. Your sons will serve with glory. They will become true warriors. Should they distinguish themselves, they will earn status far beyond what any Earth-born could normally achieve. This is not merely conscription. This is opportunity."

The lie was transparent and insulting.

Victus stepped forward, his voice conversational.

"I know what you're thinking. 'But our village has already suffered. We need our young men to rebuild.' And you know what? I understand. It must be difficult." He gestured to the fallen tree. "Losing your precious timber. How devastating. My heart breaks."

The sarcasm was acid.

"But here's the thing—I. Don't. Care. Your problems are not the Empire's concern. Your fallen tree is firewood. These demons won't stop to listen to your prayers. They will come here and kill everyone unless the Empire's armies stop them."

Lightning crackled around his hands.

"So yes. We're taking your boys. And you're going to let us. Death now, or possible survival later. Choose quickly. I have three other villages to visit today."

Inside the hut, Grain's Bear went wild. His marks blazed through his tunic, casting red-gold light.

Mother Igo's hand clamped on his shoulder from behind. "No," she whispered fiercely. "If you fight, they'll kill Terra first. They'll kill everyone. You survive by submitting."

Grain pressed his palm against the earth, using every meditation technique he knew. Not because I'm weak. Because I'm protecting them.

Slowly, the Bear receded. His marks dimmed.

Mother Igo rose, stepping forward carefully, keeping her movements non-threatening.

"Ser Victus," she said, her voice steady. "With respect to His Majesty's decree—our village has already sent our warriors to the Conference. Our Guardian Tree has fallen. We have seventeen dead. If you take our sons, how do you expect us to survive?"

Victus regarded her like an interesting insect. "And you are?"

"Mother Igo. Warrior of the Bear Clan. Wife of Commander Igo."

"Ah. The Commander's wife. How convenient. Did he teach you to question Imperial decrees?"

"He taught me to protect our people."

"How noble." Victus made it sound like an insult. "But you misunderstand. This village exists at the Emperor's pleasure. You defend it for the Empire, not for yourselves."

His eyes glittered cruelly.

"As for your survival—I'll be frank. I don't expect your village to survive. You're small, remote, of minimal value. If you die out, someone more grateful will take this land."

He said it casually, as if hundreds of deaths were inconsequential.

"But that's your choice. Comply or die immediately." Lightning crackled brighter. "Your boys are coming with us. The only question is whether you'll be alive to possibly see them again."

Mother Igo's face paled but her voice remained steady. "How many villages are you stripping of their young men? Who will sustain the Empire you're protecting?"

Victus laughed—cold and humorless. "Do you know what the Emperor asked me? 'Who will till the fields?' And I told him: The demons will. After they've killed everyone. Because if we don't stop them, there won't be any fields. We're not planning for next season. We're planning for whether our civilization exists at all next week."

He stepped closer. "You're thinking three seasons ahead. The Emperor is thinking three days ahead. That's the difference."

His hand moved to his sword hilt. "Now. Are you done questioning, or shall we continue this in a way that ends with your children watching you burn?"

Elder Kanu struggled to his feet. "You cannot take our children! The Earth Clan has already—"

The lightning strike was instantaneous—hitting the ground three inches from his feet. The thunder was deafening. The mud turned to smoking black glass.

Elder Kanu stumbled backward into Bantu's arms.

"I didn't give you permission to speak, old man," Victus said pleasantly. "The decree has been read. You will comply."

He turned to Marius. "Time them. Thirty seconds."

Marius pulled out a pocket watch. "Thirty seconds."

The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence.

"Twenty seconds."

"Fifteen."

Chief Torun rose slowly, his face carved from bitter acceptance. "We will comply with the Emperor's decree. The Kusanti village will provide the required males. We ask only that they be treated with honor. That they be trained properly."

"How generous," Victus said, his smile widening. "To ask for what you have no power to demand. But yes, they'll be trained. Equipped. Given every opportunity to serve."

He didn't promise they'd survive.

Victus turned away from the villagers as if they'd ceased to exist. "Marius. Separate them. Males aged ten to sixteen. Anyone who resists gets the whip. Anyone who runs gets the Drake."

He paused. "And make it entertaining."

The knights moved with brutal efficiency, dismounting and spreading through the crowd. The plaza dissolved into chaos—children screaming, mothers wailing, the heavy breathing of Drakes and harsh laughter from knights.

Marius strode through the crowd, grabbing boys by their arms, hair, tunics. Other knights did the same, shoving fathers back at spearpoint when they tried to intervene.

Inside the hut, Grain watched a knight heading straight for their entrance—massive, his helmet shaped like a snarling wolf.

"He's coming," Terra squeaked, burying her face in Grain's chest.

Through the gap, Grain saw Mother Igo start to run toward them, but Marius cut her off with his Drake, the beast snapping near her face.

"Stay back, woman!" Marius laughed. "Unless you want to feed the beast!"

Grain made a choice.

Protection isn't always fighting, he thought, remembering Elder Vasha's lesson. Sometimes it's directing the flow.

"Terra," he whispered, prying her fingers from his tunic. "Stay here. Stay hidden. Count to one hundred."

"No—"

"Do it!"

Grain stood. He forced the Bear down and stepped out of the hut just as the knight reached it.

He didn't run. He didn't cower. He stood tall, mimicking his father's stance.

The knight stopped, surprised.

"I am Grain," he said, his voice shaking only slightly. "Son of Commander Igo. I am of age. I will go."

Mother Igo froze across the plaza. Their eyes met. He saw heartbreak there, but also understanding—he was protecting Terra by drawing attention away. She gave him a tiny, imperceptible nod.

Victus turned his Drake, looking down at Grain. "Commander Igo's son. The one with early manifestation. I can smell the earth mana on you, boy. It smells like... mud."

The knights laughed.

"Get in the wagon," Victus ordered, dismissing him. "Try not to cry. The ride is long."

Grain didn't look at Victus. He looked at his mother one last time, engraving her face into his memory.

Then he climbed into the nearest wagon, his Bear settling into sullen, heavy endurance.

First, we survive, the spirit rumbled.

And the chaos of conscription continued around him as more boys were taken from their homes, their families, their lives.

End of Chapter 9