Photo by Christian Bass on Unsplash
The year 4426, counted from the first colonization of the continent of Promissia, was drawing to its close.
By this time, the Third Human Imperium had all but collapsed.
Its new capital in Tiberia, long envisioned as a safer seat beyond the reach of the warlike nomadic tribes of the Caladania grasslands, now lay in ruins. Its golden, bejeweled gardens had melted in the flames, their splendor fused into cracked marble and broken stone. Ironically, the old capital, Centuria, still endured, though only behind walls locked in near-constant siege.
For more than twelve hundred years, the Imperium had shielded human civilization from the marauding beastmen of the south. It had unified much of the known realm of men and brought peace and order beneath the guidance of the Ageless Emperor.
But with his death, that long age ended. And with it, the age he had built.
The vast dominion of the Imperium, already strained by rivalries, corruption, and ambition, swiftly fragmented. Nobles who had long bowed before the throne now raised banners against one another. Provinces turned upon provinces. Houses betrayed Houses.
Before long, the age of peace surrendered itself to an age of war.
Yet even before the capital burned, the signs had been plain. In the years leading to its fall, the three northern provinces were the first to break away, seized by Lord Gottfried in a swift and ruthless campaign. The proud northern host of Brigandia, which had long defied Imperial rule, declared itself under his banner. In the face of this crisis, the capital did little, too consumed by its own decay to care for troubles on the fringe. That neglect only emboldened the northern host, which was bent on vengeance against its oppressors.
Next to fall beneath their banners were the highlands of Arvena, marking the spread of chaos into the very heartland of the Imperium.
Before the crisis in Arvena could be contained, another calamity erupted in Nicopola. Years of continuous famine, worsened by an unaddressed refugee crisis pouring out from the provinces around Centuria, finally broke the region. Wars for food and survival spread everywhere. Slowly, Elandia, Lowlandia, and Tiberia were consumed by famine, unrest, and peasant riots.
Amid this spreading chaos, Midlandia, the strongest earldom in the east and long regarded as a bastion of order, was torn apart by a succession crisis that shattered the region from within.
As war engulfed the region, one unexpected name rose from the chaos.
Lord Lansius.
An unknown lord of foreign descent, only recently recognized as a baron in Lowlandia, he survived an assassination attempt and intervened against all odds. In a ruthless, lightning-fast war, he broke his enemies, seized the region, and laid claim to Midlandia as his own. In doing so, he united Lowlandia and Midlandia beneath one rule, forging a vast fief where none had thought such order possible.
It was an achievement almost without equal. And yet, in a world already sinking into madness, even this great feat was but a small island of sanity amid a darkening sea.
The new overlord was soon beset by a great rebellion, one he barely survived. Worse still, he was forced to lay siege to the Saint's Monastery, where hidden powers nearly unleashed the undead and the liches upon the world.
From that time onward, men began to fear the coming of night. For the Ageless Emperor was no more, and the dead were seen walking among the living.
In Arvena, despite failing to take the capital and leaving it to be consumed by peasant riots, Lord Gottfried proclaimed himself King of the Northern People. But like a curse laid upon his House, betrayal came from within. A plot claimed the life of his firstborn son, forcing him to abandon his conquests and return north to settle a blood feud.
Yet even that did not halt the ambition of his House.
His second son marched on, taking the province of Rhomelia in a bloody war that left both sides butchered almost in equal measure.
In Elandia, the armed refugees of Nicopola, who had troubled the region for two years, were finally brought to heel by an ousted seneschal, Lord Bengrieve, who claimed the region for himself. In short order, he gained renown, courted the daughter of the Duke, and brought a fragile measure of order to a region in near collapse.
In Nicopola, a new kingdom rose and died almost in the same breath. The false King Nico perished when Kapua Castle was consumed by flame. The Lord of Dawn, long loyal to the Imperium, proved that his allegiance had not wavered.
Yet all these calamities would soon be eclipsed. As the winter of 4426 approached, the Navalnian Empire invaded the Margravate of Edessa from the east, bringing with it the full host of the eastern kingdoms.
The remnants of the Imperium had reached their nadir. Without cooperation, they would soon face annihilation, for the host thrown against them was too vast for any one realm to withstand.
In this darkest hour, one ray of hope remained.
Though his reign had been brief, the foreign lord Lansius had begun to gather fame and loyalty. Through swift and valorous victories, he brought order to broken lands. His armies were capable and disciplined. His roads were secured against banditry. His inventions and restored public works gave life to regions long neglected. He chose competent talents over noble sons, and through these changes, he endeared himself to the common folk.
Hope began to spread. His Grand Alliance, called the Shogunate stood well poised to intervene against the Navalnian onslaught. Yet a curse, likely born from the lich he had defeated, took root within him. Before the first snowfall, Lord Lansius succumbed to a strange illness that cast him into a cursed sleep.
With their lord silenced, his young Shogunate struggled to survive the gaping void left by his fall. Ahead of them stood the Navalnian invasion against Edessa, a margravate still hostile to their cause. Yet before they could act, another crisis emerged.
Far away, in the mountainous region of the Five Peaks, a darker storm began to gather.
Spring of 4427 arrived. With it came the scent of blood roses among the wildflowers.
***
Clavieras, Five Peaks Area
When spring blossomed in other regions, snow still covered the damaged city of Clavieras.
The city in the mountains had proven difficult to take, but even harder to hold. Its streets were a near maze, its alleys narrow and winding, and its houses stood packed close together, with too many corners, stairways, and upper windows for any patrol to truly feel safe. The Shogunate forces held the gates, the towers, the armories, and the main squares, but they did not truly hold the city.
As feared, there were soon knives in the dark.
Patrolmen were frequently pelted with stones from rooftops or struck by arrows from alleys. Worse, drunken garrison men on leave were dragged away. When their bodies were found, the urge for blind revenge almost sparked a riot.
Farkas, now a full-fledged captain, worked hard with former Elder Antonius to keep the peace, but the mountain people were too proud for their own good. The only thing that kept them from open rebellion was the half-kin. Hardy as they were, the mountain people feared the half-kin’s sharp claws and fangs.
There were attempts to poison them, and more than one ambush was laid in the dark. But those attempts only ended in the perpetrators' blood.
But Captain Farkas’ forces were not fighting this alone. Before winter set in, in answer to his urgent request for reinforcements, Sir Arius, the administrator of Three Hills, had sent what men he could afford to spare. At best, Three Hills could provide a hundred men-at-arms, a dozen Crimson Knights with their squires and attendants, and another hundred recruits. But even that would not be enough.
The problem was only solved when the Shogunate Korelia Bank revealed its strength for the first time. With coin instead of bloodline, it raised an army.
Men who owed no oath to old lords took the Shogunate’s pay in newly minted silver coins and marched under its banner. What the nobles could not provide, the bank had bought into being.
Two hundred men-at-arms were raised from the surrounding area, and they marched into the jungle toward the underground passage now known as the Gallery Road. While the jungle and the lands east of the mountain saw no snowfall, they lay under heavy rain.
Despite the rain and the freezing wind, the reinforcements arrived and helped stabilize the Shogunate’s hold as snowfall covered Clavieras.
Now, three months later, with a garrison of seven hundred men, their conquest seemed as if it might endure. For a time, things improved. Breakthroughs were made. Deals were struck. Wounds began to mend, and new trust, fragile as it was, began to take root.
To the members of the Shogunate, Clavieras, the rich city in the mountains, remained a source of awe.
That such a city existed at all was already a wonder. The Lowlandians considered themselves locals to the region, yet none of them had expected to find a city this vast just ten days east of Three Hills. It had been well hidden, and the terrain around it was nearly inaccessible.
With winter loosening its grip, Captain Farkas began to think he could rotate some of his men home. Some of the old veterans had been fighting for more than half a year. It was time for them to return.
Yet the situation soon turned for the worse.
Their agents, working with the freed slaves who had slipped through the snow to reach their brethren in the villages and towns beyond the city, began to bring back troubling reports.
There were large movements toward Clavieras. The clans were gathering. They had smelled the weakness of the garrison, and they knew how rebellious the people within the city had become.
Captain Farkas cancelled all leave. Though their numbers had grown, two hundred men were needed to patrol the Gallery Road and guard the jungle fort, for it remained their lifeline. That left five hundred men, of whom a hundred were required to man the walls.
If it came to a siege, they could probably defend themselves. But his staff feared another possibility. They had gained access to the city through an underground passage. It was only natural to fear that there might be other passages beneath Clavieras, ones they did not know about.
"There are mines beneath the city," former Elder Antonius confirmed when Farkas asked in one of their meetings.
"Many were abandoned long ago. Some were sealed to keep smugglers out, though that only proves they once led somewhere useful. With enough digging, a few may still provide a way into the city."
"Do you have men who know these tunnels?" the young captain asked.
"They are rare. Few miners still live in Clavieras unless they have no choice," Antonius said. "But I believe I can find someone who might know. They will need some convincing..."
"Coins?"
"Silver and gold will not be enough. They will want guarantees."
"Guarantees?" Farkas asked.
"Protection. Safe escort to Korimor or Umberland. If they speak, they will likely want out of the city," the old man explained.
Farkas nodded. "That seems fair. Go and convince them. Remind them that we have not stripped this city bare. The Shogunate has behaved with honor, even toward those who have caused us so much grief."
Antonius lowered his gaze. "I will remind them."
As the advisor left the command chamber, the young captain looked out from the gatehouse toward the snow-covered fields beyond the city. Even here in the mountains, the thaw would soon come. Yet with the tunnels beneath Clavieras, they might face siege or rebellion even before the snow loosened its hold.
Even with five hundred men in the garrison and knights to provide valuable assistance, he still felt exposed and vulnerable.
With the Lord Shogun lying in such a state, and with Navalnia invading Edessa, he might yet be forced to abandon the city. If that day came, the question would be whether he should leave Clavieras intact or raze it to the ground.
Before he could settle fully into his thoughts, there came a knock at the door. One of the guards inside opened it, exchanged a few words with the men posted outside, then allowed the visitor in.
The man who stepped inside was older, broad in the shoulders, and weathered by campaign roads rather than noble courts. He was the commander who led the men raised by the Shogunate Korelia Bank, and his rank sat more easily with Farkas than most. Neither of them had been highborn, and because of that, their dealings had always been easy.
The older commander gave a brief salute. "Captain."
Farkas returned it with a nod. "How are the knights doing?"
"Impatient," the older man answered with a chuckle as he sat down. "Knights dislike waiting almost as much as they dislike being reminded why they must wait."
Farkas gave a tired smile. As expected, the only way to keep the knights pacified through winter had been to count the days as campaign service, paying them at campaign rate, and giving them posts worthy enough not to insult them. Rear gatehouse officers, training ground officers, cavalry commander of Clavieras.
"The Shogunate Council was mad to entrust this to me when they sent knights to bolster us," Farkas said. "How am I, a steppe hunter from the poor outskirts of Korelia, supposed to command these proud knights? And not just any knights. The Crimson Knights of Three Hills."
"Could be worse," the older commander said with a wry grin, reaching for the ale jug and pouring for them both. "Could be the Black Knights."
Farkas snorted, then conceded, "Indeed. It could be worse."
The Black Knights could only be reined in by someone like Sir Morton. They were among the bravest men in the Shogunate, but also among the hardest to command. They obeyed valor more readily than rank, and to outsiders, their sense of valor often looked dangerously close to recklessness.
The older commander drank his ale and let out a satisfied breath. Then his gaze returned to Farkas. "Is it true you asked Sir Arius to take over?"
Farkas did not answer at once. He turned his cup between his fingers, searching for the words before admitting, "Lord Lansius, bless him, favored merit over bloodline. But with him no longer standing before us, I fear the world he opened will return to the old ways."
The older commander’s eyes narrowed. "You fear the noble-born will take command again?"
"In their eyes, I am an uneducated fool," Farkas said. "They will never respect my command. Perhaps they did while Lord Lansius stood over us. But now...? I have no delusion that such respect will last."
"We still have the Lady," the older commander reminded him.
"The entire thing is held together by the Lady, blessed her, and her son," Farkas said.
The older commander raised his cup. "May she reign forever."
At that, the two men drank.
For a moment, neither spoke. The ale was fine and warm, further proof that Clavieras was wealthy beyond measure. Many would covet such a prize, even among their own ranks.
At length, the older commander set down his goblet. "For what it is worth, Captain, the men of coin will follow you."
The young captain showed a thin smile. "Can I hold you to those words?"
"We are all in this together. The nobles can't throw their weight around freely, not while we are here. We are going to make our mark, just as the Lord Shogun intended."
Only then did Farkas smile in earnest. "Not all nobles are troublesome. We have the Tedzeus heir for example."
"Ah," the older man remarked. "Poor lad. I have heard of him. What a misfortune."
Farkas inhaled, then nodded with bitterness and regret. During their attack on Clavieras, Ted of House Tedzeus had received his first command. He had been ordered to remain in the underground passage and lead the ambush from within. But when the clansmen refused to enter and instead sent cartloads of green miasma into the tunnel, the plan turned into disaster. Everyone had run to escape the horrendous pain of the miasma.
There had been no retreat, only a panicked stampede. Hundreds of men and freshly freed slaves died in the dark tunnels, poisoned by the miasma. Only scattered dozens were able to flee into the deeper passages and survive.
Ted survived in the dark only by following a small rodent and breathing through cracks in the stone. Of the sixteen who had followed him into that gap, only five survived. None of them returned unchanged.
"He should receive the best treatment in Canardia," Farkas said, his voice heavy. "May he recover fully."
"If that had happened to me, I would have nightmares until my last breath," the older commander said. "I pray he forgets some of it, at least."
"As do I. The Shogunate can use more level-headed nobles like him."
The older commander nodded.
The two men spoke for a while longer, as had become their routine. The older commander did not stay long, careful not to keep the young captain from his duties.
Once he left, Farkas sat alone in the gatehouse chamber that had become his office.
Their talk of the Tedzeus heir lingered with him. It was another reminder of the weight he carried. With the threat of a clansmen siege approaching, he alone would bear responsibility for the survival or death of the men under his command.
He breathed heavily and looked into his open palm. His wrist still bore scars from previous battles. His fingernails were cracked and darkened from years of fighting under the Blue and Bronze.
This was the same hand that had once hunted rabbits and steppe foxes for pelts around Korelia. Now it commanded a garrison of nearly a thousand men and held the fate of an entire city. Never in his youth had he dreamed of bearing such responsibility.
He wasn't born a noble. His education was lacking. Scrolls and records still made him feel like an impostor seated in another man’s chair. There were knights stationed in the city older than him, more educated men, wiser men, and men with more years beneath their belts.
Yet the Shogunate had placed its faith in him.
"What an absurd idea," the young captain muttered, yet a thin awkward smile touched his lips.
He remembered the words of his mentor, Sigmund the Skald, now administrator of Corinthia and South Hill.
Fear of responsibility makes a good commander.
Let fear guide you to prepare for the worst.
They were not empty words. His mentor, Sigmund the Skald, was now administrator of Corinthia and South Hill.
Farkas clenched his fist and felt some confidence return to him. He would defend Clavieras. There could be no retreat, no easy abandonment.
With the Lord Shogun fallen into cursed sleep and Navalnia pressing hard in Edessa, the Shogunate had little strength left to spare. If he failed here, the entire Five Peaks region would close against them. Clavieras would not merely be lost. It would become a hostile mountain stronghold at their back, a wound that would bleed the Shogunate for years to come.
And that, Farkas knew, was something they could not afford.
***
Lansius
Inside a small, dim chamber, much like a room in an inn, there was little more than a simple bed and a chair near the wall. What little light there was came pale and thin, enough to show the shape of the ceiling, the roughness of the wooden walls, and nothing more.
On the bed, Lansius’ eyes opened as easily as if from an ordinary sleep. He came awake without a gasp, without struggle or pain, and found himself strangely at peace.
Too much at peace. Enough that he instinctively knew things were not as they seemed.
Where am I?
He raised one arm and turned his hand before his eyes. The fingers looked older. The skin was rougher. He brought that hand to his face and felt a coarse beard beneath his palm.
"Mm..." he murmured.
The memory of the deep ocean returned to him, vast and dark.
Slowly, he removed the blanket covering him and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand still touching the coarse beard on his face, and muttered, "What has become of me...?"
"They’ll make statues of you," someone answered in a voice that was familiar, yet somehow wrong.
Lansius, now looking much older, turned toward the speaker and found a cloaked figure sitting carelessly on a chair, keeping a safe distance from the bed.
"Statues?"
“Streets, castles, even palaces will bear your name,” the figure replied, with a hint of dissatisfaction and mockery.
Finding his reaction odd, Lansius said, “Not a bad way to be remembered.”
The cloaked figure finally turned toward him, though the darkness and the hood revealed nothing to Lansius.
“You're dead. These future means nothing to you."
For the first time, Lansius felt his peace begin to chip away. Still, he answered, “To leave behind something worthy for the next generation to inherit is noble.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” the hooded man snapped. “There is no last day beneath the sun for you. There is no eternal hunt with the Ancients. There is no Valhalla, no Heaven. Not for you. You are not part of this world."
Despite the harsh words, Lansius managed a calm reply, “That is acceptable.”
“What is acceptable?” The response came loud and angry.
Lansius stared at the figure with a sharp gaze, pitying him, yet also filled with curiosity and some wounded pride.
“You were destined for far greater things," the figure rambled. "Not shackled by burdens in gods-know-where region. You achieved nothing. And now you’re in this kind of state!” His voice turned cold. “Don’t you want to see Tanya happy? Don’t you want to see your son grow?”
The remark cut deeper than Lansius wished to admit.
The figure’s tone turned even more provocative. “Do you want to see your wife remarry? How long do you think she’ll wait?”
That lit a blaze inside Lansius’ chest.
“Who do you think will marry her?” The figure chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he mocked him. “She’s still young, beautiful, and sitting on an empire. Another man will lay his fingers upon her delicate skin and taste those sweet lips. His lecherous eyes will feast upon her body. And your son? They will soon have designs against him, for another will be born from her fertile womb.”
“Enough!” Lansius sprang from his rest.
The hooded man laughed crudely. “Gilly will die, and your Shogunate can do nothing. Now you understand fear, O man from Bellandia. Your noble ideas mean nothing!”
Even in near darkness, Lansius lunged toward the figure and seized him by the throat.
“Good,” the figure said, undeterred, even satisfied, despite the force around his neck. “You speak the language of violence. For too long, you have been shackled.”
Lansius wanted to loosen his grip on the man’s throat, but he could not. He hated this figure too much.
And yet the figure kept speaking, provoking him further. “You strive so hard to become a righteous leader. A good man. But this is a world at war. Goodness is not a weapon, and honor is not a shield.”
“Lame words,” Lansius retorted.
“Think what you want. But look at you. Drowning, weighed down by your own moral standing. That is what burdens your shoulders. That is what makes you heavy. Indecisive. Slow.”
Lansius gritted his teeth and kept the pressure on the man’s throat. “To what purpose are you saying all this?”
The hooded man only laughed. “You’ll die a wandering ghost, knowing nothing. These people you trust, these people you loved, used you like a tool. To them, you are merely a role to fulfill. And when you are sick, they will gladly let you die.”
“Audrey would never—”
“She was the reason you came to be,” the figure cut in, his voice turning grave. “But nobody can save you but yourself. Not even your precious Shogunate.”
Lansius released his grip and took a step back.
The hooded man straightened and whispered, “If even your creation can't even help you, then what is the point?”
“I have had enough of this. Leave me be.”
“Consult yourself,” the man urged. “The Capital. You know it. You read about it. The answer lies there.”
Lansius furrowed his brow and turned toward the darkened space around them. “What are you talking about?”
“Imagine the wealth of artifacts and gifted mages still left in there. One of them may be able to cure you,” the figure said, trying hard to sound convincing.
“They’re in ruins. All I’d find there would be frauds."
“Better frauds than the certainty of death.” As he spoke the last words, the figure drew back his hood and revealed his face.
Lansius’ jaw went slack. He recognized the man as the one he had seen only in mirrors.
“Abandon everything and let me guide you."
“Who are you?” Lansius asked the figure who looked almost like his doppelganger.
“A foolish question. Our chances are slipping away. The purple flower is not enough—”
“You want me to betray everything I’ve worked so hard to build for everyone?” Lansius cut him off, incensed by the man’s absurd request. “You want me and my men to search for the elixir of immortality like some desperate tyrant? You’re beyond mad.”
For a moment, the figure only stared at him.
Then he chuckled. The sound was low and humorless, and with it, whatever kindness he had worn finally fell away.
“I am the one who keeps you alive,” the figure stated coldly. “The pleading ends here.”
Without warning, Lansius dropped to the floor. His knees gave out, his strength fled, and he struck the boards hard, chin and chest hitting first.
“Gah...” Lansius tried to move, but found nothing left in him.
“You had your warnings. Now you are no longer useful,” the figure said with a sneer. “I will do my part, as I should have done from the beginning.”
Lansius could do nothing but grunt.
“There is no reason for me to bow to you anymore,” the figure continued. “You cannot ignore me this time.”
As Lansius gasped on the floor, the man shed his cloak and walked toward the clothes chest. Calmly, almost lazily, he began putting on Lansius’ clothes. His tunic, his breeches, his doublet.
Even with no strength left, Lansius did not give up. He kept struggling on the floor.
The man glanced at him as he pulled on Lansius’ shoes. “Stop resisting. The noise is irritating.”
“You’re going to destroy everything...”
“I’m saving us.” He finished with the shoes, then began walking in a slow circle, getting used to them.
“No,” Lansius managed. “You're just a coward.”
The man who wore his face froze. “A coward?”
Lansius chuckled weakly. “All this. All your spouting nonsense. And all of it because you’re afraid to die.”
The man surged toward Lansius and seized him by the collar. “Take that back...”
Lansius only laughed.
The figure’s voice hardened as he shook Lansius by the collar, hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Take that back.”
With ragged breath, Lansius muttered, “You are a coward of the first rank.”
The man roared and drove his fist into Lansius’ face. “Imbecile. I’m going to destroy you.”
He fell upon Lansius in blind rage, striking his face, his ribs, his body. Lansius’ lips split. His nose bent crooked and spilled blood down into his beard. His face swelled until one eye nearly closed. Blood soaked the hair along his jaw and spread across the floor, dark against the boards.
At last, the man stopped, breathing hard. He leaned close, his face twisted with fury.
“Now, brother,” the figure said, almost gently. “Be nice. Take your words back.”
Yet all Lansius gave him was a mouthful of bloody spit across his face.
For a moment, the doppelganger figure did not move. He only stared, breathing through his nose. Then something in him snapped. He roared and fell upon Lansius again. There was no speech now. No mockery. No persuasion. Only fists.
He struck Lansius across the face, drove a knee into his ribs, then seized him by the hair and slammed him back to the floor. Even against a defenseless opponent, the man kept striking.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The blows echoed in the darkness.
Lansius’ body jerked under the assault, then weakened, then barely moved at all.
The sound of the ocean returned. It rolled through the chamber, deep and black, like waves breaking somewhere far beneath the floor. Startled, the figure stopped at once. The chamber shuddered around them, its walls seeming to breathe with the tide.
Still, he stood over the fallen Lansius, chest heaving, both hands wet with blood. Now, his face no longer resembled Lansius. It had become almost featureless, plain.
Lansius did not witness it. He lay broken on the floor, his breath thin and slow, like the last ember of a dying fire.
The figure wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, only smearing more blood across his face. Then, as if realizing his face no longer resembled Lansius, he knelt and studied his victim on the floor again.
"I must assume yours, then. Anything less would be inefficient."
Slowly, his face began to resemble his victim again. He said nothing else, rose, and walked toward the door. His steps were certain. He wore Lansius’ face. Lansius’ clothes. Lansius’ place in the world. All that remained was to open the door and step through.
He reached for the handle and put his strength into it.
It did not move.
The man frowned and tried again.
Nothing.
He pulled harder, then twisted the handle with both hands. The door did not budge.
“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.
He slammed his shoulder against it. The impact rang through the darkness, but the door did not yield.
“Cursed,” he muttered.
He threw himself against the door again, then again, until his body staggered from the force. Blood from his hands smeared across the wood, dark and slick.
But the door did not open.
Then the figure noticed something behind him.
He turned toward Lansius, only to find an old man in a bloodied gambeson kneeling beside Lansius, helping prop him up.
When the man noticed the figure’s gaze, he looked him in the eye.
Cold sweat beaded across the face of the figure wearing Lansius’ likeness. There should have been no one else inside the Corridor of Mind. Slowly, he drew his sword and demanded, "What are you?"
***
PS: Happy to be back to normal schedule!
I’m tanned, exhausted, but happy after the vacation.🌅
Just a note, my country is hit hard by fuel prices, so there have been random blackouts every week as the grid struggles to keep up with demand. With more EV cars around, I guess the grid is under even more stress.
I’m trying to shop for emergency batteries, but I’ll also need Starlink for internet. The thing is, I still need to find a technician who can install the cables properly, and they are hard to find.
So, it’s an ongoing process. Since the blackouts are still only a weekly affair, I’ll probably just ride out this crisis for now, because emergency batteries and Starlink are expensive here.
Anyway, I hope this big chapter was satisfying, despite the mysteries left at the end.
More about everything next chapter!🔥
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆