“General Sherman, the Aristocracy has waged a counteroffensive in the north, pushing our forces back to the first defensive line. The reports that I have gained were that the 31st Order, Franolgno Brigaton with an unknown Unity unit laid a trap for 1st BN/1stIBCT/5th ID with a new device called a portal (see attachment).

  I was forced to deploy the deploy the rest of the Brigade to prevent a complete engulfment of the Battalion, and we successfully withdrew our forces. However, my recon units discovered that the enemy are rebuilding the entrenchments that we destroyed.

  I know you will want to know what happened, so I have already waged an investigation into the matter. I am receiving mixed reports, Lieutenant Colonel Conrad that the Minutemen team, Comanche withheld critical information on the enemy capabilities before the assault. His second-in-command, Major McKee, has provided an alternative perspective, so it will require further details.

  I am requesting the Japanese 22nd Rapid Deployment Regiment, 6th Division, for aid.” – Major General Avary Horton

  May 10th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

  Ryder’s Insula, Salva, the former Confederacy of Daru'uie

  Nevali Region, Aldrida, Alagore

  *****

  Matthew Ryder leaned back in his chair, smiling as his daughter placed a Patriot Eagle beer bottle on the tablecloth.

  "Thank you," he said.

  She returned his smile with a bright one of her own, bowed with theatrical flair, then darted around the table, handing out drinks. Rommel King and Gregory Barrett received the same beer as Ryder, while Natilite and Fraeya Holiadon sipped from glasses of mulsum—sweet Lat honey wine. Once everyone was served and gave their thanks, the Princess, dressed in a red-and-white maid outfit, rushed back to the kitchen to assist Ceka with dinner.

  "Cute kid," Barrett remarked.

  "Yes, she is," Ryder agreed.

  Barrett raised a brow. "Want to trade?"

  "Sorry, Boss," he added quickly, "I don’t need to start an Ibuprofen addiction."

  Rommel and Barrett laughed, confusing Fraeya. The elf tilted her head. "Why is trading the Princess humorous? And why would the Captain give her away after adopting her?"

  That only made the Americans laugh harder. Natilite placed a reassuring hand on Fraeya’s shoulder, gently explaining that it was just human humor. Everyone else chimed in with a collective yes.

  "Sorry, Boss," Barrett repeated. "I enjoy having a savings account. And not fighting the entire world."

  "To be fair," King added, "if someone tries to court her, you get to kill them with a shotgun."

  "Is that true?" Fraeya asked innocently.

  Natilite took a long drink from her wine, nearly finishing it. The elf stared at her, even more confused.

  "Yes," Ryder replied with a deadpan expression. "We have a Constitutional Amendment. If a father has a daughter under thirty, he gets one free assassination attempt pre-date."

  Fraeya’s ears twitched in alarm. "You humans are crazy."

  The men laughed again before assuring her it was a joke. Natilite rolled her eyes, muttering something about men being hopeless.

  "Don’t overthink it, Fraeya," Ryder said. "We legally can’t do that. Not on Earth."

  "Even though it’s not a bad idea," King added with a smirk.

  "So…" Fraeya paused. "You’re not trading her?"

  "Of course not," Ryder replied. "Even though two months after adopting her, I became an evil bureaucrat, had to stop a kidnapping, drained most of my savings buying this place… What else?"

  "Money can be replaced," Natilite said. "A home is forever."

  "Most women respond 'ever,'" King muttered.

  "Because I am," Natilite replied, unfazed. "And I will never apologize for it. Men forget the moment of things."

  "Enough," Barrett said, cracking his knuckles. "I came to play."

  "Yeah!" Fraeya stood and began shuffling the fifteen-tile domino sets in the middle of the table.

  With the Ryder family in the midst of refurbishing their new insula—a Roman-style condo—Ryder had taken the chance to bond with his team outside of the battlefield. This included introducing his alien allies and teammates to a family favorite: Mexican Train.

  The game was simple in theory but layered in strategy—players tried to outmaneuver each other by playing tiles matching numbers, planning ahead, and blocking others when needed. Each person took fifteen dominoes. Every round began with the same starting number. The first to play all their tiles—or end with the lowest point total—won.

  Once the rules were explained and the game began, personalities came through. Fraeya beamed with excitement at every play, her eyes wide and eager, practically bouncing in her seat when a match worked. Assiaya smiled through it all, happy just to be included. She barely paid attention to strategy, placing whatever tile made her smile.

  Ryder’s daughter darted back from the kitchen and sat beside him. He helped her find a matching tile and place it. Her joy was palpable, but she was up again soon, refilling drinks like a whirlwind.

  “Someone has a lot of energy,” King said. On his turn, he played a double-three, then a follow-up. “Speaking of savings, I bet this place set you back.”

  Ryder exhaled slowly. “It did—but not in the way you’d think.”

  “How so?” Natilite asked.

  “With the economy tanked,” Ryder said, gesturing to his toolbox nearby, “I got it cheap. But no one lived here in years. It needed a full remodel.”

  “You mean Altaerrie tech?” Fraeya asked.

  “That’s half of it,” Ryder explained. He outlined the crumbling walls, old wiring, window replacements, safety fixes. He also mentioned setting up a HomeStream—his personal media network for Earth movies, music, and shows, since internet bandwidth was reserved for the military. It was one step closer to making this medieval place home.

  “You mean those screens I saw on Earth?” Fraeya asked.

  “Exactly,” Ryder nodded, guiding her play. He taught her to take advantage of Barrett’s public train. Then he tousled her hair, making her groan.

  “Gonna corrupt the kid with brain rot. Cultural exchange.”

  “You mean watching work all day?” Fraeya asked. "I prefer thaumink stories."

  It took Ryder a second to realize—her time on Earth was all official footage. No culture, no entertainment. From what he understood from his visit to Vagahm, thaumink is similar to old 2D hand-drawn animations, which made him wonder if the Elf Girl would enjoy the classics.

  “I’ll show you real motion pictures once it’s set up,” he said. “I think you’ll love them. Especially the anime.”

  Her ears perked up with anticipation. She then requested details from Ford.

  Natilite wandered toward the window while Assiaya came out with a tray, swapped empty glasses for full ones, then stepped onto the balcony to water the plants. One of them—a Soul Tree—sparkled with floating white and orange bugs.

  “I see you planted a Soul Tree,” Natilite said.

  “Yes," Ryder replied. "It’s the one from the plateau. Assiaya loves them.”

  “I’m surprised they let you,” she said, arms crossed. “Remember what I told you? Spirits bring luck. Pixies bring bad luck.”

  Ryder leaned into his chair, remembering their time on the city Palace roof. A Pixie flew past, causing him to miss his mouth and spill over his uniform. While he understood the cultural baggage surrounding the soul tree, there was a part of him that expected there was something more, recalling the time he had hidden behind one when being chased by an Akuma. Then again, his daughter was hiding under one after being taken by Kallem.

  There was something more to the trees and glowing bugs, especially his daughter's obsession with them. And noticing the strange conversations she had with herself in her room, plus the slight glows, he wanted to see how things played out. "It’s just a tree, Natilite. It makes her happy,”—the lights in the house flickered ominously as he defended the glowing bugs.

  Everyone froze. When the crystal lights stopped flickering, Ryder instantly noticed the Valkyrie staring at him intently, with the I told you so stare. "It is the crappy wiring. I have been having to replace them."

  Ford, lounging near the entry, muttered, “This is how everyone dies in a horror movie.”

  "If we are going to die," Barrett said. "Let's at least die on a full belly."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Laughter broke the tension, and the game resumed. On Ryder’s next turn, he drew the double blank. His face went sore with the massive setback. “Family rule—fifty points,” he grumbled.

  “I’ve gotten lectures,” Ryder said. “Ceka was one of them. But a small tree felt like a good compromise. And besides—I’m the Duke. If I want a tree, I’ll have one.”

  “If you say so,” Natilite replied. “I’ll be ready to say I told you so.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” King said. “What about your house Stateside?”

  “Wait!” Natilite turned. “You didn’t tell me you had a home on Earth.”

  Ryder chuckled. “No biggie. Put it up through MRP. With troop transfers to Fort Carson, I’m hoping it sells fast.”

  Natilite explained the military real estate procedures, then asked, “Are you committing to this?”

  “It appears so,” Barrett answered.

  The Captain leaned back, soaking in the fire’s warmth. The space was made for gathering and banter—half reserved for games, the other for television.

  Since adopting Assiaya, Ryder had spent many sleepless nights over his decision. But after four months in Alagore, with everything he’d built and promised, returning to Earth no longer tugged at him. This was home now, maybe for good.

  They kept playing. Ryder watched with joy as everyone immersed themselves in the game. Fraeya was ecstatic with every play. Assiaya hummed between turns, just enjoying that war and politics were an afterthought.

  He thought about Carol. Missions had always pulled him away. Moments like this—he hadn’t had enough.

  Eventually, Ceka emerged from the kitchen.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  Assiaya shot up to help. When the table was cleared, she returned to assign everyone their seat, then ran back to help carry food.

  “So cute,” Natilite said. “She’s so much more open now.”

  “You think?” Ryder asked.

  “Absolutely,” King added. “She used to be so guarded.”

  “Having a home does that,” Fraeya said quietly.

  “Why do you say it like that?” Barrett asked.

  “I never had one,” she replied. “We moved constantly in Aldrida. Either with my mother or chasing artifacts with my father. I never had a real place.”

  “Then I hope you find one here,” Ryder said.

  Dinner was simple but rich: rotisserie chicken, steamed seaweed, bowls of berries, biscuits, and herb-roasted beetle-like creatures. It wasn’t a feast by Earth standards, but after the siege, it was more than welcome.

  Once everyone sat, Ryder noticed Ceka retreating.

  “Where are you going?”

  “My Lord,” she said, clearly anticipating it, “It’s not appropriate with guests.”

  “Grab your plate,” Ryder said. “Family sits together.”

  “Please,” Assiaya added.

  Though hesitant, Ceka obeyed. Ryder understood—servants didn’t often sit with their masters. But he never saw her that way.

  When they were all seated, they offered prayers. The girls spoke their words aloud. Ryder prayed silently. King stayed respectfully quiet.

  “I noticed you didn’t pray,” Natilite said to King.

  “He thinks gods and goddesses are farts,” Assiaya said.

  “Assiaya,” Ryder warned.

  “It’s okay,” King chuckled. “I like the honesty.”

  “What about Matt?” Fraeya asked.

  “Father prefers to pray quietly,” Assiaya explained.

  “I don’t believe in forcing faith,” Ryder said. “It should stay between you and it.”

  “And that’s why I tolerate him,” King joked. “Catholic school trauma. Everything I liked was ‘demonic.’”

  “I’m sorry,” Natilite said.

  “Don’t be,” King waved it off. “So, Boss… when are we liberating Mendarium?”

  Ryder chewed slowly before answering. “We’re not.”

  Everyone paused.

  “I don’t understand,” King said.

  “They pledged loyalty,” Natilite added. “Are we abandoning them?”

  “No. Two Minutemen teams are going in. 5th ID is handling the highway.”

  “All thanks to that rassragr of a leader,” Natilite grumbled.

  Ryder didn’t ask for a translation. He got the gist.

  “He doesn’t represent the Army,” Ryder said. “He just couldn’t put aside his ego.”

  “There’s always one,” King muttered.

  “Anyway,” Ryder said. “Comanche has a new mission.”

  “You’re kidding,” King said.

  “You’ll like this one. Including you, kid.”

  “Me?” Assiaya asked.

  “Yes. We’ve been invited to a summit—Congress, the White House, VII Corps. Colorado Springs. Hackett’s giving us R&R.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “I do!” Fraeya leapt up. “We’re going to Altaerrie!”

  Ryder smiled. “That’s right. We leave tomorrow.”

  May 11th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

  Colorado Springs, Colorado, United States

  North America, Earth

  *****

  As Assiaya pressed her hands against the limousine window, the Princess stared with wide-eyed excitement. The bright sun glinted off the freshly snowcapped Colorado Rockies, casting a shimmering glow across the skyline and bringing the Earthborn world to vibrant life.

  It was considered a medium-sized American city, filled with dozens of tall structures rising between stretches of red-brick buildings. The layout felt strange to her. Unlike Cornt, the capital of the Verliance Aristocracy, with its gray concrete uniformity and precisely gridded windows, this city held no universal design. Some buildings bore angled black rooftops, others looked boxy and sleek, and many seemed to sprawl outward rather than upward. To her surprise, the only unifying feature was the generous space between buildings—no defensive walls, no perimeter battlements like in Salva or the Vampire realm.

  There was a clear architectural divide between old and new. Ambassador West explained that the city had expanded rapidly in recent decades, thanks to the booming space economy, which was anchored by military installations and the corporations orbiting them.

  "I thought Earth only had humans," Fraeya said, squinting at the sidewalk.

  "Where?!" Assiaya jumped to the opposite window, pressing close.

  Three young women strolled past a storefront, each holding bulging shopping bags. Atop their heads were fuzzy feline ears.

  Assiaya gasped, "Cat people?!"

  "That’s not a Neko," Ryder said, barely looking. “Just fashion.”

  "Wait," Natilite leaned forward. “You’re saying human females dress up as other species… for fun?”

  “I…” Ryder faltered, struggling.

  “If you think that’s strange,” West added, “wait until you see an anime convention. It’s part of the pop culture—those ears are just headphones or costume accessories.”

  Assiaya stared at the Ambassador, who only chuckled and returned to her phone. Confused, she turned to her father—only to find him silently grimacing. She shrugged and returned to Fraeya’s side.

  "I was not expecting this," Rosanhi said quietly.

  “If I had a dollar…” Ryder muttered.

  Fraeya tilted her head. “You have a dollar? What will you do with it?”

  Ryder blinked. “It’s… just a saying.”

  The Ambassador laughed. “Figure of speech.”

  The limousine turned a corner. Ahead, hundreds of police and National Guard soldiers stood in firm formations. On both sides of the street, thousands of protestors lined the sidewalks—some waving pro-war banners with slogans like Expand the Empire or Crush the Marxist Utopians. Assiaya didn’t recognize the context, but one display caught her eye: a towering digital billboard showing her. The hand-sewn flag she’d helped design flapped beside images of humans and aliens, fists raised together under the word “FIGHT.”

  Other screens broadcast slogans connecting American cities to Salva. Narratives about Freedom, Liberty, and Manifest Destiny filled the air, framing the Utopians as a galactic threat to civilization.

  "I do not understand the humans’ obsession with the comic sea," the voice murmured in her mind.

  "Perhaps they are trying to reach the Cosmic God?" Assiaya replied, amused.

  “I have some confusion regarding your propaganda,” Rosanhi said aloud.

  “What do you mean?” West asked.

  “Not the war ones,” Rosanhi said, nodding out the window. A large brick wall displayed a colorful mural: a family in anime-style, the father teaching his son at a shop, the mother with a baby in arms, and a daughter assisting. They all smiled brightly beneath the slogan Children Equal Future. “I’ve seen at least three family posters now.”

  West grimaced and glanced at her phone. “Government propaganda to increase the birth rate. Boost the tax base.”

  Assiaya exchanged looks with Fraeya. The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Kallem had never used family-building in his messaging. She couldn’t remember a single state campaign centered on children.

  Her father explained Earth’s more profound crisis: a dwindling population. For over a century, nations had prioritized short-term economic gain over family growth and development. The result was an aging world with an insufficient number of young people. Civil unrest, collapse, and stagnation followed. Now, Americans were desperately promoting family values—trying to reverse a demographic collapse already consuming places like Germany and China. Where people had once been expendable, they were now Earth’s most precious resource.

  She’d heard whispers of this before—during late-night talks with her father—but never understood its full implications. Now, watching the signs, the crowds, the curated imagery… it all made sense. Earth needed Alagore not just for strategy—but for survival.

  "You allowed your merchant class that much power?" Rosanhi said, astonished. "No Alagorean society would be so short-sighted. Without children, you have no taxes, no soldiers."

  “In the Aristocracy,” Assiaya said, “family was the foundation of every House. It was never in question.”

  “It’s more complicated,” West said defensively. “They feared overpopulation, so they tried to control human growth. But… I don’t expect two twelve-year-olds to understand.”

  "Ambassador," Ryder said sharply, shooting her a glare.

  “I am twenty-seven,” Rosanhi stated plainly.

  West and Ryder both froze.

  “You’re an adult?” Ryder asked. “You look like a teenager.”

  “She’s not human,” Natilite explained. “You can’t judge us by your lifespan. Especially an elf."

  “We elves live up to five hundred years,” Fraeya explained. “I’m only one hundred and seven—still young among my kind. Our childhoods stretch longer than yours.”

  She described their biology—how maturity came slowly, and how their cultures accounted for that difference. Fraeya considered a young adult among her people—but still halfway through her full childhood span.

  Assiaya glanced at her, both amused and a bit embarrassed. The Altaerrie knew so little about her people—basic truths taken for granted atop the mountain were mysteries down here. She realized how cultural instincts differed—on Alagore, children were assumed, legacy was sacred. On Earth, even the obvious had to be sold.

  “I am concerned the Altaerrie will not be able to bring stability to our region,” Rosanhi whispered. “They know so little, yet believe they can govern.”

  “I think that’s why they supported me as Princess,” Assiaya replied. "At least they are trying."

  Their convoy rolled into the hotel parking lot, the Wordton. Hundreds of protesters and security surrounded the entrance. Some held signs marked X ALAGORE, while others cried out in support for the Princess. English slogans blared from all directions.

  To Assiaya’s surprise, both sides expressed deep hostility toward her world—just for different reasons.

  West explained that some feared losing Earth’s dominance. Others simply feared the unknown. There had already been riots. Vehicles torched. Buildings damaged. The President’s announcement had split the nation.

  “This is related to the trial,” West muttered.

  “Trial?” Assiaya asked.

  “From the siege,” Ryder said. “Some captured prisoners are facing charges. The first defendant is a J’avais.”

  “Why would that cause unrest?” Fraeya asked.

  “Because it plays perfectly into what the Administration wants,” West said. “The idiot ranted for an hour about racial supremacy online. It’s viral propaganda now. He’s done more to sell this war than we ever could.”

  “What about the flag I made?” Assiaya asked.

  “Feeling left out?” West grinned. “Look out the window.”

  The Princess peered out. There it was—her homemade flag waving above a kiosk terminal, with digital images of humans and aliens united beneath the word Fight.

  “I see,” Natilite said. “You’re using the trials as emotional leverage.”

  “Correct,” West said. “They slaughtered our people in Salva. This is justice—and motivation.”

  “But it might backfire,” Ryder warned. “If people can’t distinguish between enemy and ally, our friends on Alagore might suffer.”

  “And that’s your job,” West said. “You and the Princess.”

  “Can this vehicle move faster?” Natilite asked. “No offense—I just want to see your world.”

  “You’ll have that chance,” West replied. “The mall. Maybe a museum. Outside those scheduled stops, you remain at the hotel.”

  “Why?” Fraeya asked. “We came to see Earth.”

  West gestured at the crowds.

  The message was clear—too dangerous.

  “This trip is starting to feel less like diplomacy and more like a prison,” Natilite muttered. “I hoped to enjoy your world. Not be locked in it.”

  “It has to be this way,” West said. “Bridge travel will become routine someday. But for now… It’s too volatile. One mistake could destroy everything.”

  “So,” Natilite said. “You spoon-feed your people? We had no riots when you arrived. Your world seems… fragile.”

  "Natilite is right," the voice said. "I was expecting royalty—not confinement."

  "It’s their world," Assiaya answered. "We must follow their rules. Even the stupid ones."

  “Fragile?” West snapped. “Didn’t your people come begging us for help?”

  They locked eyes—neither flinching.

  “To be fair,” Ryder said, breaking the tension. “You prepared emotionally for contact. We didn’t.”

  “This is diplomacy,” West said. “This is how it has to be. You can move freely inside the hotel. But you cannot step outside without clearance.”

  Assiaya sighed. “And I thought House politics had too many rules.”

  She looked out one final time, watching the protest lines, the armed guards, and the flickering advertisements. A moment later, the world vanished as the limousine passed into the underground parking entrance.