In another timeline, where the SAZ never happens, Britannia finds itself on its death throes.
The view of Tokyo Bay, now enveloped in the gentle embrace of the rising sun's soft hues, was a breathtaking spectacle. Its beauty might have been enough to steal one's breath away if it weren't for the harsh, relentless sounds of distant gunfire and an ominous, thunderous boom echoing from the western horizon. The scenery was a juxtaposition of serenity and violence, a canvas painted with contrasts that tore at the soul.
Euphemia, her violet eyes wide and shimmering with the turmoil of the chaotic scene around her, turned to General Darlton. She looked to this scarred and battle-hardened man, seeking reassurance or perhaps an escape from the nightmare unfolding before them. "Where is my sister, Darlton?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
General Darlton, whose fierce and scarred face had initially sent chills down Euphemia's spine years ago, looked at her with a calmness that defied the chaos. Despite his fearsome appearance, Darlton had proven himself to be one of the kindest and most humane officers in the Britannian military. "She is leading a counter-attack around Yokohama," he replied, his voice strong and steady as he pointed towards the distant, mist-covered end of Tokyo Bay. "She wants to ensure that the bay will be sufficiently secure for the evacuation." As if on cue, the words were underscored by the sudden, deafening roar of a Britannian jet cutting through the sky, drawing their attention to the clear blue above, tainted only by trails of smoke.
"It's far too beautiful a day for men to be dying," Euphemia murmured, her gaze lingering on the departing jet, a stark reminder of humanity's propensity for violence amidst nature's tranquility.
"It always is, Your Highness," Darlton replied, his voice tired.
Their walk back to the camp in Chiba was brief but heavy with unspoken thoughts. The city had been spared the worst of the Black Rebellion so far, thanks to a formidable military garrison that had quelled any would-be insurgents answering Zero's—or rather, Lelouch's—call to arms.
Despite the relative stability, the mood around the camp was palpable with tension, a thick and suffocating fog. Eleven citizens were viewed with mistrust, and the patrolling soldiers seemed to be on a razor's edge, their nerves frayed, jumping at the slightest sound or movement.
Euphemia's quarters were situated in the fortified heart of the camp, surrounded by a protective ring of barricades and guideposts, a constant sentinel of soldiers standing guard. As she walked back, her mind awhirl with thoughts and emotions, Darlton's presence a steadying force behind her, they were intercepted by a familiar, youthful face. Jean, a young man only a few years her senior, rushed towards them, his breath ragged, his face flushed with exertion, and his eyes wide and filled with a burning urgency that sent a jolt through Euphemia's heart.
"Sir!" Jean gasped, each breath a struggle. He straightened up, attempting to maintain decorum, and bowed respectfully. "Your highness! Prince Schneizel sends a message!"
"About Sendai?" Euphemia's voice broke, her heart pounding in fearful anticipation. Schneizel's presence had been a game-changer, his hastily assembled army group reinforcing the north and forcing the Black Knights to divide their focus. His campaign had drawn the attention of Zero, her very own Lelouch.
Her two older brothers locked in combat. That thought alone was a wound that refused to heal. She suppressed a sigh, feeling a heaviness in her chest. "I'm afraid it's bad news," Jean said, his voice a mere breath, his body tense as though bracing for a blow.
"Come boy, spill it out," Darlton commanded, his voice a steady rock amidst the swirling emotions, his eyes fixed on Jean, unflinching and calm, ready to face whatever news awaited them.
"The assault on Fukushima has failed," Jean admitted, his head bowed in defeat, his voice a mere whisper against the noise of the camp. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, and the distant sounds of artillery were a constant reminder of the reality they faced. "Not only that, but Schneizel is reporting that the main bulk of the Black Knights has all but disappeared."
"Does he still suspect it?" Darlton asked, his brow furrowing in concern. His eyes narrowed, reflecting the orange glow of the nearby fires. The news about the Black Knights' main force vanishing from the northern front had been a rumor last time; the news about the attack on Fukushima being a failure was new, and quite a blow.
"He is sure of it now," Jean confirmed with a crisp salute, the sound of his boots scraping against the ground breaking the silence. "A plane will be landing at the local airport shortly. The Prime Minister wishes for Her Royal Highness to be evacuated immediately."
"By plane?" Darlton's gaze shifted to the sky, his expression thoughtful as he studied the darkening clouds. The chill wind blew through the tent, causing it to rustle. The Britannians' control of the air had been slipping over the past few days. "Are you certain this is what Prince Schneizel wants?"
"Yes, sir. He was very clear—" Jean's words were cut off by another man, a gray-haired colonel Euphemia didn't recognize, who rushed into the room, his face pale with shock. The papers in his hand trembled.
"Sir! The Black Knights! The Black Knights are here!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with panic, his eyes wide and frantic.
"Here?" Darlton asked, standing up straight at the news. Euphemia herself couldn't contain the widening of her eyes. The cold touch of fear clawed at her heart.
The man shook his head, his breath ragged. "Pardon me, not in Chiba! But close! They are too close, they are in Yotsukaido."
Darlton's face was like a stone, his expression unreadable. The scent of fresh ink from a nearby map filled Euphemia's nostrils. She wondered if she could ever maintain her composure like him one day. "That is only thirty minutes away, is it not?" Euphemia asked, her voice trembling slightly. "How did they sneak past our scouts? And our garrison in Shisui?"
The colonel looked at Euphemia, then at Darlton, his face obviously shocked at the very news he was delivering. "I do not know. We do not know. Our scouts should have told us. But it is clear – the Guren is with them, this is their main force."
Euphemia couldn't comprehend how Darlton remained so composed! As if he had just heard a mundane fact! His eyes, cold and calculating, betrayed no emotion. "What are our options?" she asked, turning to face the pensive general. Darlton's lips mulled, and then he shook his head, his jaw set firm.
"You will be evacuated to the Tokyo Settlement; unless Clovis's supposed plane arrives soon."
"And you?" Euphemia asked, her brow furrowing in concern, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress.
"Johan," he said, his voice stern, "do not leave her side. I will contact you on what to do with her as I ascertain the situation."
"Darlton," she said again, her voice breaking. "What are you going to do?"
"There are few men who can hold a defensive line as well as me," Darlton said, a proud smile on his face as he stood at the exit of the tent. The flicker of torches outside cast a warm glow on his face. "Zero will pay with blood for every inch he wants to take. Until you are out of Chiba, I will hold as long as needed, Your Highness, so do not worry about me." With that, he left the tent, leaving Euphemia with a sense of dread, the flap of the tent swinging back and forth.
Not to worry about him? Talking about having other men pay with blood for every inch of ground they defended? Why would she not worry about him with such dramatic sayings? She felt a small puff of anger overwhelm her; she wished Suzaku was here, at her side, not in Tokyo, not helping Cornelia. With her! He was her knight, was he not? The emptiness beside her felt like a physical weight, and she missed the reassuring touch of Suzaku's hand.
"Jean," she began, her voice a soft murmur against the cacophony of the camp around them. Her eyes, a vivid shade of violet that mirrored the twilight sky, were filled with a quiet determination. "Where will you take me?" she asked. It was always men that took her, men that led her, their hands guiding her like a puppet on strings.
Jean, his face pale under the harsh sunlight, looked at her with a mixture of respect and concern. His uniform, a standard Britannian military attire, was slightly rumpled and stained with sweat and dust. The texture of his uniform was rough, and Euphemia could see the fatigue in his eyes. "To the bunker, for now at least. If the attack is major, we will move you out of the city with necessary haste," he said, managing a small, unsteady smile. His breath smelled of coffee, likely consumed in a desperate attempt to stay awake. "But do not fret, princess, Darlton will beat back the Elevens, I am certain of it."
His words did little to reassure her. A quick glance around the camp revealed a scene of controlled chaos. Soldiers were in a constant murmur, their faces etched with worry and fear. The camp was buzzing with rumors of Zero's imminent attack, his ace knight, the devilish Guren, leading a horde of Elevens seeking revenge on all things related to Britannia.
The city, from the few glimpses she caught of it, was in a state of panic. Vandalism and looting seemed rampant, only kept at bay by the Britannian guards at the camp. Homes were being abandoned en masse as civilians, Eleven and Britannian alike, fled to the countryside. That did not surprise her – civilians were always the first victims of war, as Cornelia had taught her. The scent of smoke and the distant cries of people filled the air.
What did surprise her was the Britannian army's reaction. On the way to the bunker, she saw faces filled with fear and shock. Small arguments escalated into heated fights, and she even caught sight of a soldier dropping his gun and attempting to slip away into the city. The sound of cursing and shouting reached her ears as two Britannian soldiers had dragged the deserter back at gunpoint, but even those two soldiers had a look of defeat etched on their faces. The feel of their cold, hard glares was unsettling.
"Will the bunker have a radio?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on the ground.
"A radio?" Jean asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. The sound of his boots against the ground, synchronized with the distant rhythm of the ongoing chaos, was a strange comfort.
"Yes, a radio. Or a telephone. Something to contact Darlton. I need to keep in contact with him," she lied, her voice steadier now. The fear in her heart was still present, but she couldn't let it rule her. She had to stay strong, just as Darlton had asked.
Jean nodded, his face grim. "No, it does not, Your Highness."
Euphemia's heels clicked sharply against the hard ground as she turned around, heading to the central tent. Her eyes swept across the faces of the soldiers in her path, analyzing every furrowed brow and downcast glance. The air was thick with the stench of fear and defeat, and she could almost taste the despair in the air. "We are going to lose," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. Her face was a mask of calm determination, neither frowning nor scowling. She stated it as a cold, hard fact as she made her way back to the center of the camp.
"Lose? Your Highness, with all due respect, your sister seems confident of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Once Prince Schneizel receives additional reinforcements—" Jean began, his voice filled with misplaced optimism. But Euphemia tuned him out, her mind racing. Was he blind? Was her sister blind? Was the very air they breathed filled with illusions? Darlton also believed that victory was possible, even as they prepared an evacuation of important personnel! Was it blindness, or some misguided sense of a warrior's duty, a belief that they must fight to the bitter end?
The central tent loomed before her, its fabric rippling in the cold breeze, a sentinel to the madness that had unfolded within its folds. As she entered, she was met with the hum of technology and the buzz of activity. But her target was the communications room, which was mostly empty, save for a middle-aged woman in a uniform that bore the insignia of the Britannian Encryption and Decryption branches.
The woman, her face lined with age and her eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses, looked up at her and Jean. Her hands, wrinkled and worn, were momentarily frozen over the controls. After a few blinks, she suddenly stood up and saluted, the sharp movement cutting through the silence. "Your Highness, what brings you here?" she asked, her voice filled with surprise, the smell of stale coffee lingering around her desk.
"This radio," Euphemia began, her voice as firm as she could muster, her hands gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. "How far will it reach?"
"If you wish to send a message to your brother or sister, that will take time," the woman began, her voice filled with a professional calm, her fingers dancing over the dials. "But if you want to broadcast a message to the city, or even the whole of Area 11, that will be impossible."
"How far will it reach?" Euphemia repeated, her voice steady and insistent, her eyes fixed on the device, cold and unyielding.
The woman's mouth remained open, her eyes scanning the table. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she replied, "Twenty, thirty kilometers depending on certain conditions," her voice filled with certainty, yet a hint of curiosity lingered in her tone.
"That will do," Euphemia said flatly, her voice betraying no emotion, "open a public channel."
"Your Highness?" Jean questioned, his voice filled with disbelief, his eyes wide. But the woman in charge of the communications devices simply did as she was told, her fingers moving with practiced ease.
Euphemia took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat of war. She wished Suzaku was with her now; she could do anything with Suzaku at her side. But she was alone now, and she would have to do this herself. Still, it did help to imagine Suzaku's reassuring touch, his warm eyes meeting hers.
"My name is Euphemia li Britannia," she declared with her mouth close to the microphone, her voice steady and clear, resonating through the tent like a ringing bell. "I am willing to negotiate terms of surrender of the city of Chiba to the Black Knights commander; but only if my conditions are met." Her voice echoed through the tent, calm and composed; satisfied that her voice was calm, unlike her rapidly beating heart.
"Your Highness!" Jean cried, his face flushed, but he did nothing to stop her, nor did the woman in charge of the communications.
The silence that followed was deafening, each second stretching on, heavy and oppressive. The scent of cold metal and the hum of the speaker filled the air as Euphemia repeated her name, her voice unwavering, her resolve unshaken. "I am willing to negotiate terms of surrender of the city of Chiba to the Black Knights commander; but only if my conditions are met."
Again, no response came. The silence seemed to grow louder, more insistent, filling the tent like an invisible force, pressing down on her. The weight of the words left unsaid bore down on her chest. Was she being a fool? Was she stepping out of line? She pushed her doubts down back her throat, and grabbed the microphone.
"Zero," she said this time, her voice filled with determination, her very soul laid bare. "I know you are there."
She was about to give up when a voice pulsed through the speaker, filtered through that masked helmet he wore when he wielded his persona of Zero. "Your Highness, to what do I owe the pleasure," Lelouch's voice echoed in the tent, a cruel mockery of politeness, tinged with a cold and sarcastic tone that sent a chill down her spine.
Euphemia's heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to breathe deeply, feeling the rough texture of the chair beneath her fingertips as she steadied herself. She could do this, she would do this. She had to do this.
"You heard me," she began, her voice slowed to maintain its composure, each word carefully chosen, each syllable a weapon. "I am willing to negotiate the city's surrender as long as my conditions are met."
Silence, once more. "Your highness!" Jean took the chance to talk, his voice filled with concern, "General Darlton will not be pleased!" he said in a rushed whisper.
"General Darlton can come voice his complaints himself," Euphemia said, her voice stern, the image of the general's disapproving face momentarily flashing before her eyes. But what would she do if he showed up, demanding that she stop? What would she do? No, no, she could not stop now.
"This seems rather pointless, your highness. My forces will crush your defenses with little effort, and the city will be Japan's once more," Zero's voice came in, his voice clear and loud, sounding…amused. Amused! People's lives were at stakes, and Lelouch was amused! She breathed, she could not let her mind be rattled.
"General Darlton leads our defenses, defenses that have been prepared for more than a month. We have two dozen knightmares, trenches, fifty artillery pieces, and twenty thousand men in the city. A city that is loyal to Britannia, a city that will fight to the bitter end. I fear that taking Chiba will not be as easy as you expect, Zero," she said her voice as fierce as she could make it.
After a second of silence, Lelouch spoke. "When one bluffs, Your Highness," he began, his voice laced with a hint of mockery that stung like a slap to the face, "one works from a believable point. Two dozen knightmares? I highly doubt that."
Euphemia felt her cheeks redden – but she replied immediately, anger flashing in her eyes. "A bluff? A princess does not bluff, Zero, something you will learn if you are to attack us recklessly," she breathed, her voice shaking with emotion, "Besides, it seems rude to ignore an offer without even hearing the conditions."
She did not know if the silence was good or not, but soon enough Lelouch answered. The crackling of the radio seemed to hang in the air as she waited, her heart pounding in her chest. "Tell me, then, what does her highness deign to ask?"
There was something different about Lelouch's voice, was that…hesitance? She breathed again, feeling the sweat on her brow. So many lives laid in her hands – Britannia, Japanese, military, citizens, how many would die if she failed here? The thought was a cold knife in her gut.
"You will give us twenty-four hours," she declared, her voice firm, "and you will allow the Britannian forces here to retreat to the Tokyo Settlement. Any member of the armed forces unable to retreat will surrender, along with the city. And I expect those prisoners to be treated well, as expected by international law."
"The same standards the Britannians ignore?" Lelouch answered back quickly, his voice sharp, cutting through her like a blade.
"I expect the Black Knights to lead by example, Zero, not by the standards set by its enemies," she replied just as quickly, her voice rising in challenge.
"Let us entertain this notion. Why should I allow your forces to consolidate along the Tokyo Settlement? That will make taking the city harder, if anything." he said, as if testing her.
"The Tokyo Settlement which you will have completely surrounded, and its bay closed off with control of Chiba?" she said, not quite sure if what she was implying was entirely correct, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "It seems to me this war is over, regardless of what my older sister thinks. Control of Chiba will put you one step closer to liberating Japan, and I offer it to you without bloodshed. But only as long as my conditions are kept."
Once more silenced lingered through the radio, the crackling noise echoing in the tent, but Lelouch's voice came alive once more. "You speak wisely, Your Highness. But why should I give the Britannians mercy? Why show leniency when the Britannians never showed such traits?"
"And you would simply continue that cycle of viciousness?" she answered quickly, her answer coming without even thinking, her voice filled with a passion that surprised even her. It was time to reveal how far she was willing to go to succeed: "And here I thought you were a smart man, Zero. Nay, it matters not what you think. If you do not meet my demand I will be forced to reveal something that regards your identity," she said, lowering her voice, the words a dark promise, "Zero."
It was a bluff. She did not want to endanger Lelouch, nor Nunnally. But she wanted to save the people of this city, to save lives if she could. Her words were a gamble, a high-stakes game of poker, and she was all-in.
And once more, silence lingered. But this time, she thought – no, she knew the silence was good. Lelouch's mind was spinning. Oh, God! She hoped it was!
"None of my men would believe any Britannian lies, Your Highness," Lelouch said; and she felt it. It was there in his voice, so small, so thin, but a string she followed, her mind honing in on the uncertainty.
"None of your men? None at all?" Euphemia emulated a small chuckle, the sound hollow in the silence. "When one bluffs, Zero," she said, "one works from a believable point."
Lelouch's silence only emboldened her, her confidence growing with each passing second.
"Euphemia!" she heard a voice call from outside, it was General Darlton, his voice filled with anger and authority.
"Jean," she said, oddly calm, her voice low and full of power, her words slow, "Please block the door, and don't let the general in," she said in a strict tone.
Jean's eyes widened, but he stood up, reluctant. "Yes, Your Highness." he said with a shaking voice.
She turned back to the microphone, her heart beating in her ears. "Well then, Zero, let us continue to talk," she said, oddly calm, the only sounds in the room then were Jean's whimper as he blocked the door, and Lelouch's eerie chuckle.
Euphemia emerged from the tent, her throat dry and aching after a grueling two-hours of negotiation. Sweat clung to her brow, and her palms were clammy with the weight of her choices. The taste of dust lingered in her mouth, and her wearied body ached for rest. Though she anticipated the usual throng of guards, with their clanging armor and the weighty presence that saturated the camp's core, she found it eerily desolate instead. The sun hung low, casting an orange-golden hue over the scene that seemed to mock the grave circumstance, a beautiful day if not for the war that raged over her head.
The only sign of life was General Darlton, standing tall and rigid, a statue against the morning dawn. Beside him stood a lone soldier, his eyes piercing hers with an unyielding intensity that sent a chill down her spine. His gaze was so penetrating that she had the sudden urge to shrink back, to avert her eyes and flee. But with a deeply drawn breath that filled her lungs with the dry, dusty air of the battlefield, she mustered the courage to approach the general, her footsteps crunching on the parched earth beneath her feet.
"Pray tell, what have you wrought, Your Highness?" Darlton inquired, his voice imbued with a grave seriousness that seemed to resonate through the still, heavy air. His eyes were narrowed, lips pressed tightly together, betraying his concealed frustration.
Euphemia's heart pounded in her chest as she cast a swift glance around the camp, her eyes taking in the soldiers and civilians, who were all bustling with activity. She noticed the way they were fervently packing and securing weaponry, provisions, and equipment. The scents of sweat, leather, and oil filled the air as the tents were being dismantled, the fabric rustling as they were torn down and folded. "I've only done what was essential, Darlton," she replied, her voice a mixture of determination and uncertainty, tinged with a note of defiance.
"Essential?" he returned, his tone sharp and his pace measured and respectful. But underneath it resonated an uncommon volume that the typically soft-spoken general rarely exhibited. His discontent was palpable, and she could feel it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his eyes narrowed even further. "We command a force of eighteen thousand men! We could have withstood a siege for weeks, long enough to receive reinforcements from your sister!" he thundered.
"Eighteen thousand ill-equipped, underfed men," Euphemia retorted, her voice rising to match his intensity. "And you, of all people, know that better than me, General. You also understand better than most that this war is all but lost. Yet, whether due to misplaced pride, or perhaps unwavering loyalty to my sister, you persist in this fruitless war, even if it spells doom for every single one of your soldiers." Her hand found its way to her chest, pressing against the fabric of her dress, her eyes closing momentarily as emotion welled within her. The weight of her decision, the gravity of the lives in her hands, bore down on her heavily. "My duty as a princess is to the realm, and the realm is its people. If you fail to protect your men, and yourself, it falls to me to ensure their safety and survival," she declared with a hand on her own chest, opening her eyes, again to survey the bustling camp. Her vision blurred slightly, she felt her eyes watering every so little. "Tell me, have you already commanded a retreat?" she asked.
Darlton's face tightened, and the lines around his mouth deepened. "Given that the negotiations were conducted in public view, halting a retreat would have proved difficult," he admitted, his expression drawn into a rare frown. She'd never seen him this visibly disgruntled, his strong jaw clenched with obvious irritation.
"I regret circumventing you, Darlton. But this decision was for the greater good," she said, surprising herself with her own composed tone. Her words were firm, resonating with a truth that she knew in the very marrow of her bones.
Darlton's arms crossed over his chest, his body language reflecting his reluctant acquiescence. "Princesses should not apologize, Your Highness. By gathering our forces in the Tokyo Settlement, we might hold out a little longer..." He released a heavy sigh, his arms falling to his sides as the tension seemed to leave his body. His eyes softened, and he bowed slightly, an unspoken admission of defeat.
"I apologize for my foul temper, Your Highness. But I believe it's time for your departure." His voice was softer now, filled with a mixture of resignation and sadness, but still firm with his underlying loyalty and respect.
As she embarked on her departure from the military camp, Euphemia carefully surveyed the soldiers' faces, scrutinizing their countenances. Uncertainty, discontent, but not despair tainted their expressions. A glint of admiration and respect in some eyes caught her attention, and she noticed several soldiers breaking ranks to salute her, a novelty that made her heart flutter with a feeling she had not previously experienced.
She clung to the hope that her recent decision had managed to spare at least a few lives. She knew many would be dispatched to fight in the battle-scarred ruins of Tokyo, where death loomed like a shadow, but perhaps, due to her intervention, they wouldn't waste their lives as they likely would have had they remained here. A sensible death. The thought almost made her laugh. Is a sensible death any better than an unsensible one? She tried to push the thought away as she looked at the aircraft in front of her.
"This is the plane?" she queried Darlton, her voice betraying a hint of apprehension.
"Indeed, Your Highness, this is the aircraft dispatched by your brother. It will convey you to Sendai, and from there, you will be transported to Britannia most likely," Darlton answered, his voice tired.
"What of Suzaku? I cannot endure such a distance from my knight," Euphemia protested, her eyebrows knitting into a worried frown.
Darlton cleared his throat, a complex mix of emotions crossing his face. "Indeed, Your Highness, you cannot. If you wish, I can arrange for Suzaku to be relocated to Sendai. He'll be closer to you there, and if it's your preference, you can bring him with you to Britannia."
Euphemia frowned, there was something about the way Darlton spoke that displeased her. Suzaku was not a mere pet to be moved at a wag of her finger. He had his own thoughts and desires, and she would consult him about his preferences. And yet, she said... "Have him transferred to Sendai with due hase," she said.
Darlton chuckled, a sound that was almost sorrowful, so surprising that she almost jumped. "Is something amiss?"
"Not at all, Your Highness," he reassured her with a weak smile. "I am confident Suzaku will follow your lead. And I am relieved that you'll be departing," he confessed with a weary sigh.
"I deeply regret any distress I've caused you, Darlton—"
The general raised a placating hand, his face softening. "It's quite alright. You acted in accordance with your convictions, and I've no right to object. You'll be much safer in Sendai," he assured her, gripping her shoulder in a supportive squeeze. "Though your sister might not approve of the surrender, once she hears how skillfully you parleyed with a notorious terrorist like Zero... I'm certain she will be proud." His words ignited a warm glow of pride within her, like a small flame dancing in her heart. "However, I must ask. You intimated that you had information about Zero's true identity. What exactly was it?"
Feigning a bright smile, Euphemia chose to remain evasive. Her mind raced, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "I had nothing substantial," she lied, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. "Merely a desperate bluff."
For a moment, Darlton scrutinized her, his eyes narrowing, and Euphemia wondered if he was doubting her veracity. But then, he erupted into hearty laughter. His jovial reaction was contagious, and she found herself hugging the general in a farewell embrace, knowing she would miss his wise counsel. His laughter reverberated in her ears, a sound she would carry with her as a cherished memory.
The private plane she was boarding was luxuriously furnished, its leather seats soft and inviting, the lighting gentle and soothing, but it was more compact than she was accustomed to. The faint scent of polished wood and leather filled her nostrils as she took in her surroundings. To her surprise, a familiar face emerged from the cockpit. Monica Krushevsky, the Knight of Twelve, was a statuesque figure, her amber hair elegantly styled, framing her strong face, enhancing her distinguished green-gold Knight of Round uniform. "Your Highness," Monica greeted her with a graceful bow as the plane prepared for takeoff, the engines roaring to life.
"Monica," Euphemia replied, her tone light, though her heart felt heavy at seeing a Knight of Round. "Did my brother send you to accompany me?"
"Indeed, as your escort to Pendragon, Your Highness," Monica confirmed, offering another respectful bow of her head.
"Pendragon?" Euphemia echoed, her surprise evident. She furrowed her brow, a chill running down her spine. "I was under the impression I was headed to Sendai."
"As was I initially. But Schneizel altered my directive just recently," Monica explained, her voice shakier than usual. "Something significant has transpired," the Knight of Rounds bit her lip, a rare sign of distress that made Euphemia blink, her face pondering her next words. Her eyes, usually sharp and alert, seemed clouded with concern. "The emperor has gone missing," she said with a grave voice, lowering her head, her words landing like a blow.
"Missing?" Euphemia echoed, shaking her head in disbelief. The word seemed to reverberate in her head, growing louder with each repetition. Where has father gone off to? She frowned, confusion and disbelief warring within her. "Surely this must be some jest, Monica," she said with a small smile, a smile that faltered as Monica stared back at her, unblinking, her eyes filled with uncharacteristic stress.
"I assure you, this is no jest," Monica replied, a heavy sigh escaping her. Her voice carried a weight that settled in Euphemia's stomach like a stone. "Neither I nor the Knight of One know His Majesty's whereabouts. There is widespread panic in Pendragon among the few who know, especially with the looming fear of losing Area 11," she added, her gaze drifting towards the plane window. The world outside seemed to blur, the familiar sights replaced with uncertainty and chaos. "And I'm afraid that is not all," the knight said, her voice weak and tired, her eyes filled with a weariness that spoke of pure physical exhaustion. Euphemia blinked again, her mind racing, her stomach dropping upon seeing Monica's usually stern face falter.
"To further compound the crisis, Crown Prince Odysseus is also missing," Monica revealed, doing her best to remain composed. Her face was a mask, her emotions carefully hidden, but her eyes betrayed a hint of fear, a shadow that lurked behind her controlled exterior.
The composed countenance Monica maintained was in stark contrast to Euphemia's reaction. She felt a vertiginous sensation, as though the ground had been pulled from beneath her feet, her world shifting on its axis, as if the plane was in free fall. "The both of them?" she stammered, her voice was scarce.
"Both, Your Highness," Monica confirmed, her voice steady, though her face paled, the gravity of the situation settling in. Her lips pressed into a tight line, her eyes distant, lost in thought. "Both the emperor and the crown prince have vanished without a trace."
The words seemed to hang in the air, each syllable heavy with meaning. Euphemia's mind was a whirlwind, a cacophony of thoughts, fears, and questions swirling in a never-ending spiral. Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white with tension. Her father and brother missing? The emperor and crown prince, the very foundations of the Britannian Empire, lost without a trace? It was unfathomable. Unthinkable. She felt her heart racing, her breath catching in her throat, a cold sweat prickling at her brow. And with Japan on the brink of failure…
"What will Schneizel do?" Euphemia's voice quivered as she uttered her first words, her mind still grappling with the reality of the situation. Her heart pounded in her chest, a relentless drum echoing the chaos of her thoughts.
Monica straightened herself, her eyes clear and focused, a mask of composure. "He will remain in Japan's north; he believes there is a chance he could push Zero back," she said, her voice steady, yet Euphemia could sense an underlying tremor, a hint of uncertainty.
"But," Euphemia stammered, her throat parched, her lips dry and cracked, "if my eldest brother and father are gone, the capital will be in chaos once the word gets out. He must return, at once, this instance," she said, her voice grave, the weight of her words settling heavily in the air.
Monica simply stared at her, her eyes wide and unblinking, the Knight of Twelve regaining her composure as Euphemia's broke. The room seemed to close in around them, the walls bearing down, the very air thick with tension. "He will not, Your Highness," Monica knelt, her voice firm, her eyes locked on Euphemia's. "He wishes for you to return to Pendragon, to keep your eyes and ears open, to play the game of prince and princesses at court, to help his allies keep order, lest chaos consumes the empire."
Euphemia only stared at the knight, her eyes wide, her mind reeling. Me? The word echoed in her head, a taunting whisper, a question without an answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out of her dry throat. Her hands trembled at her sides, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She could not do this. She was not a warrior like her sister, not a diplomat like Schneizel. She did not sit high in the line of succession like Odysseus. So why, why her? What could she do? The world continued to spin, a dizzying whirl of confusion, fear, and doubt, her breaths becoming hotter, heavier - and then it stopped.
Her mind cleared, a sudden calm settling over her like a gentle breeze. If her brother and father were truly gone, missing, or even worse, dead, the empire was bound to tear itself apart. The very fabric of her society, the order, the stability was at risk. How many would die if it came to that? How many lives would be shattered? How many dreams would be lost?
She looked down at the kneeling Monica, her eyes clear, her voice steady. "So be it," she said, her voice resonant with determination, "let us go home, Knight of Twelve."
Her words rang in the silence, a proclamation, a promise, a vow. She would do what she must. She would face the uncertainty, the fear, the challenges that awaited her. She would play the game, walk the tightrope, dance the dance of politics and power. She would be the voice of reason, the beacon of hope, the symbol of stability. She would be what her family, her empire, her people needed her to be.
She would go home.
A return back to her home that unknowingly would change her, for this was a path of blood and iron. A path that would change her forever, for the worse.
