Smoke rose from a distant residential district of the conquered city of Vulcan. Some of her advisors had believed it was her wish to see the city in ruins, its valuables plundered and its people enslaved. They had relayed 'her' commands to the men she had put in charge of the vanguard and it wasn't until long after she herself had been able to join the battle when she learned of some of the crimes being committed under what was supposedly her orders.

It was hard to reinforce discipline in an army during the midst of battle, let alone when the soldiers were seduced by the promise of plunder. But she had tried her best. After leading the charge that had broken the defenders at Vulcan's lighthouse, she had spread both herself and her elite guard thin as they tried to mop up the remnants of resistance and stop widespread looting and violence. Long after the battle, she learned of the city's efforts to evacuate its citizens, and she found herself admiring their effort. Many had managed to flee before the attack began, and many more during the long hours where the battle had been a stalemate. But many civilians remained still, and they were the ones who had been subjected to the violence of her soldiers.

During her attempt to regain a semblance of order, she had been forced to kill one of her own men after he had somehow mistaken her for one of the terrified women that tried to flee before a Mistrali soldier caught her. By the time the man had realised his mistake, he was laying in a puddle of his own blood.

The incident left a sour taste in her mouth. She knew the reality of war better than most, having led many campaigns before this against the bandit tribes that plagued the outer marches of Mistral's territory. She knew what soldiers did to the women and children of the defeated. She did her best to mitigate it, oftentimes offering her enemies time to evacuate their vulnerable before a battle began, but that hadn't been possible in this instance. The city had chosen to resist the second they saw her fleet. It was brave, admirable but foolhardy, as by refusing to negotiate or surrender they automatically subjected themselves to the consequences of defeat.

Or so she had thought.

The soldier named Thomas, who had led his men valiantly and been the last to surrender, had unfortunately perished due to his wounds. It was a sad loss of a great warrior, and of a figurehead she could've installed to govern the city whilst she continued her campaign. His resistance would've brought him fame and popularity. Alas, she couldn't blame the Great One Herself for wanting such a brave soul in her hallowed halls high above. But it did leave her in a conundrum.

Despite his blood loss, his clear exhaustion, Thomas had been sound of mind when they had spoken. Slurred yes but sound. He hadn't been hallucinating. He hadn't been forgetting things. He hadn't been broken and left a wreck. Which meant that what he told her about the messenger was true. The city hadn't tried resisting automatically, they had tried to negotiate first. Someone had taken it upon themselves to spit in the face of this and as a consequence a bloody, costly assault had been launched. Now no one was the victor, for she had lost many men, her reputation was tarnished and far too many civilians were maimed, dead or worse.

The question was who? Who had been so foolhardy or so bloodthirsty as to do this? To directly challenge her prior orders to accept any attempt to surrender or negotiate one?

The question troubled her, yet no answer came to mind. Someone was undermining her war effort, and if she wished to complete her campaign and be remembered as the great conqueror she swore to go down in history as, then she would have to find out who.

But she had other, more immediate problems to attend to.

"Asking us to dismantle our walls is an outrage! Forgive me your majesty but we are already defeated and have no intention to resist your rule. We need those walls to protect ourselves from bandits and dragons and creatures of the wild!"

"Lord Lazuli." She replied calmly, feeling her hands itch for her spear. "I understand your concerns. However I cannot allow you to have strong defences unless I can be truly assured of your loyalty. I am not cruel however. The stone walls will be dismantled, but I swear to you on my honour as a warrior that I will aid you in building a wooden palisade to provide defences to Vulcan."

"But my Queen surely it would be better to allow us to keep our current defences? If you ever find yourself in need of a strongly fortified position then Vulcan could provide that with ease. Not to mention it would provide some sense of comfort to my people to have their old walls." The Alderman argued. Pyrrha could see some of his points. Stone walls were better to defend than wooden ones. If she ever lost the Great One's favour and found herself retreating, Vulcan would provide a solid base to rally her forces and decide whether to retreat or fortify until reinforcements arrived. Which was exactly why the city couldn't be allowed to have such strong defences. She couldn't afford to leave a strong garrison behind, not after the losses she had suffered taking the city. It would be all too easy for Vulcan to be technically under Mistrali control, but in reality to declare for and aid the Atlesians.

"My mind is set lord." Pyrrha interjected, cutting off the Alderman's prattling. "If you had actually led the defence of your city I may have given your words more weight, but you ran and now you have returned in the hope you may have a modicum of your former power. Your loyalty is dubious and unless you prove otherwise I will not trust you not to betray me. Be grateful I am allowing you some sort of external defence."

"Thank you your majesty." The Alderman replied stiffly, bowing low. She dismissed him and watched as he scuttled out of her tent. The man had no honour, and would have to be dealt with. If only she had Thomas. She could've installed him as leader and be done with it. Now she had to actually look for a substitute for the soon to be deceased Alderman.

She sighed and wished life could be more difficult. She turned her gaze back to the hazy smoke in the distance. After the battle, the few fires set by her army had been put out. A methodical search of every nook and cranny in Vulcan had been commenced, and before long a plethora of valuables laid in what had been the market square. She had distributed many to her cheering soldiers and had granted her commanders their choice of some of the spoils. The rest had been loaded onto the boats and were already on their way back to Mistral.

Shortly after, she began distributing some of the seized food and medicine amongst both her injured and that of the Atlesian defenders. Before long, the terrified civilians began trickling in back into the city, and were relieved to find their conquerors being more gentle than most. There had been a few incidents of brawls as some family members learned of what had happened to those they'd been either forced or accidentally left behind, but they were few and far in between as many of the rapists and murderers had already been hung near the docks. She may support the Mistrali tradition of slavery, but she did not support rape. Indentured servitude brought many protections and benefits to both parties. Rape and slaughter did not.

"Your Imperial Majesty!" A soldier prostrated himself behind her. She quickly recognised him as one of her own elite guardsmen and pulled him up to his feet. The sheer adoration and awe in his eyes alleviated the heavy feelings that had settled in her stomach and she couldn't help but smile.

"Stand soldier. I remember you from the battlefield. You fought well." She told him. In all honesty, she did not recognise him, but she did know he fought well. Her personal guard had been raised from childhood to be the ultimate protectors and warriors, and had been trained just as hard as her. They were the best of the best of Mistral's military forces.

"You honour me, Your Greatness! But I will never truly be worthy of your presence." The man spoke quickly, to stop her from saying otherwise. Her guards were well used to her by now, they knew her tells and demeanour. They were quick to give praise but rarely sought it. It saddened her slightly, but rather than address it she chose to simply feel mild amusement at how easy it was for her guards to read and distract her. "The family you ordered to be found, a messenger from the western outpost has claimed they arrived there."

The family of Thomas.

"Bring them to me." She ordered quickly. She wanted to see the people that had made an ordinary man fight like a lion. "Unharmed. If a single hair on any of their heads is harmed I want the perpetrator to lose a hand. Go!"

The guard raced off, and she turned back around to stare once more at Vulcan. Thomas had mentioned a son hadn't he? Perhaps he could fill the role she'd wanted his father to fill.

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Tired of standing in the brisk wind, Pyrrha retired to her tent. She had decided to camp outside the city limits, on the hills that overlooked Vulcan to its east. The city still smelled of death and battle, not to mention it would be far easier for her to be ambushed in the narrow streets. She had no desire to spill no more blood, at least, no more than necessary to fulfil her goals.

Her shelter was warmed by oil lamps and she greeted by the presence of two of her household slaves. She did not recognise them, but she could tell by their demeanour that they were new acquisitions, likely from Vulcan or one of the surrounding hamlets. She briefly wondered what had made them so desperate to sell their bodies and souls in a contract, but before she could ask another slave entered, one whom she recognised.

It was Lara, the matronly woman who was her major-domo and Pyrrha's very first slave. She had sold herself into slavery to avoid her husband's debtors and found herself working in the royal kitchens long before Pyrrha had been born. By the time Pyrrha was eight and old enough to own slaves of her own, Lara had become a trusted member of the royal household and had been made her major-domo and first slave.

"Your Imperial Majesty, Seventy-Seven is returning with the one of the people you requested!"

"That was fast."

"They were sent here by the guards who discovered them due to your decree Your Greatness."

Ah yes. She'd almost forgotten about that. Due to the fact she had no idea who they were and couldn't guarantee their safety, Pyrhha had issued her third to last Diátagma to make clear the family of Thomas was to be kept safe. This had made the men she'd posted at the gates to the city practically interrogate people in an attempt to discover the identity of those looking to return. Even if the loss of one more Diátagma weakened her options in the future when it came to making decisions and guaranteeing said decisions would be met, the fact she was able to fulfil the promise she had made was something that more than made up for it. Doubly so if the son of Thomas could be used in the same way she had wanted to use the man himself.

A tool. A figurehead. Something to placate the locals she did not have to fear rebellion when she moved on.

"Bring them in."

Lara bowed lowly and bustled out of the tent. Pyrrha gestured for her other slaves to do the same, not wanting them to eavesdrop whilst they were new and their loyalties remained questionable.

The guard she had sent off earlier, Seventy-Seven, entered and prostrated himself before her. A young man followed, somewhat nervous as he looked between her and Seventy-Seven, unsure of what to do. She watched, curious what he would do, and the silence dragged on until he followed Seventy-Seven's example and knelt on the floor.

She quickly gestured for them to rise, and was amused at the juxtaposition between the two. The boy was quick and eager to stand straight-backed once more, whilst Seventy-Seven seemed almost reluctant to stand.

"What is your name?" She asked the boy. If she remembered correctly, it was Richard or Henry.

"Richard." The boy replied, swallowing nervously as he was glared at by Seventy-Seven. "Y-Your Majesty?"

Pyrrha nodded then she turned to Seventy-Seven.

"You have my thanks for completing your orders so quickly. I grant you one boon once I am done here. In the meantime, make sure the soldiers at the gates receive their reward for fulfilling my Diátagma." Pyrrha ordered, and Seventy-Seven glanced briefly at Richard, the worry written on his face. "I'll be fine."

Seventy-Seven bowed then left, but not before shooting a poisonous, warning glare at Richard. Then the tent flap swung shut as he left. Pyrrha turned to Richard.

"I apologise for his rude manners. My guards are protective of me."

"It's fine." Richard replied quickly. "Understandable even."

"Is that so? Do you mean to do me harm?" She asked teasingly, enjoying the way his eyes widened. The boy was certainly his father's son, with coal black hair and long, broad-shoulders. He had small, curly bristles of facial hair and similar cheekbones. The main difference between father and son was the colour of their eyes and the fact one was old whilst the other was young. But did the boy have the father's bravery? The authority that had allowed him to rally a small group of men and embolden them to fight to the bitter end?

"N-No! I don't want to cause any trouble, you, uh, your majesty. I just meant it was understandable he wouldn't be comfortable leaving you behind with someone who's home you've attacked."

"Well that business is over now is it not? That is partially why I brought you here. The other part is…less pleasant. Have you heard any news about your father?"

The boy stared at her funnily, as if she'd sprouted a second head. Then again she was being unusually lax in regards to protocol with him, in part due to the privacy offered. Besides, she was the leader of the foreign conquerors. Perhaps he was expecting someone more bloodthirsty and violent?

"Some people are saying he surrendered the city. Others are saying he died in a last stand." Richard replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't really know what to make of it. Some say he's dead and some say he's alive. I just…I just want to know at this point."

"Well that I can do." Pyrrha told him, before gesturing to a table with two wooden chairs nearby. "Sit. I'll tell you what I can."

Richard did so, squirming for a moment before settling down. Pyrrha took that moment to watch him, curious at his mannerisms. This was the first person she'd met in a long time, and by that she meant the first person who wasn't a sycophant, schemer, or blindly loyal. The only person who came close was Lord Hector, who remained in Mistral governing in her name whilst she was away. It brought feelings akin to nervousness, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Was she making a good impression?

An awkward silence stretched out, sometime during which Pyrrha realised he was waiting for her to speak whilst she just sat and stared at him. Probably not a good first impression then.

"Ahem. Your father did not surrender the city to me. However, he was the leader of the last pocket of resistance in the city. Part of the reason you have been brought here is because one of the stipulations for his surrender was the guaranteed safety of his family. Which is you, your siblings and your mother." Pyrrha explained. He nodded to show he was following along, something that amused her. When she spoke, oftentimes the only responses she would receive was scrutiny, admiration or quiet disdain. Actively engaging was something that was somewhat new. "I…I must sadly inform you that your father has passed. He was wounded and bled to death before my medics could save him. I'm sorry."

Richard clenched his fists and stared at his hands. She could see tears well in his eyes, though they did not spill. It made her feel incredibly awful. She wanted to be a good queen, but how could she be that when all she did was bring misery?

"Thank you for being honest with me." Richard replied after a few deep, steadying breaths. "And I'm incredibly grateful to you for staying true to your word. My family were treated like we were practically royalty by your troops."

Pyrrha beamed. It was wrong to feel such joy after telling someone of the death of a loved one, but she couldn't help the pride she felt on behalf of her troops. She would never admit it, but the whole situation in Vulcan had shook her confidence in the ability of her troops. First the struggle to defeat an outnumbered, less trained and equipped foe and the numbers they'd lost doing so, then the widespread chaos that had followed afterwards. His words brought a comfort she hadn't known she'd needed.

"I'm glad you were treated well, and I hope you hold no ill will towards me for what happened to your father. If I could have saved him, I would have." She told him sincerely, and Richard smiled back at her.

"Strangely I believe you." He said but his smile quickly faded. "Was he buried?"

"One of your priests provided the funeral rites. He was buried near the harbour, alongside the other men who were identified as leaders of your city's defence. I can have a guard show you later…"

"That won't be necessary, but thank you. I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye yet. I…I just wanted to make sure."

"I know you must be going through a very hard time now." Pyrrha said, not truly sure of what she was doing. "But telling you what happened wasn't the only reason I wanted to see you."

"Huh?" The boy asked, face contorting into one of confusion.

"I wanted to see you because I wanted to see if you were like your father." Pyrrha explained quickly, cursing internally. "I only met him briefly, but he impressed me greatly. He was a valiant warrior who clearly cared about the wellbeing of the men who trusted him to lead them. He knew when to fight, and even more importantly, when to surrender."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"Because I wanted to see if you were similar to him. And I think you are. Perhaps just more earnest. Less confident maybe. But that doesn't matter." Pyrrha paused, taking the moment to breath and try not to blurt words out like an immature little girl. "I wanted your father to govern the city in my name. Would you be interested in doing so?"

There was a moment of silence. It seemed as if the world outside the tent itself had also fallen silent.

"Pardon?"

"I want you to govern the city in my name."

"I'm only seventeen!"

"So am I."

"I'm a peasant!"

"Which means you're accustomed to hard work and talking with ordinary folk. That will help allow you to keep law and order."

"I don't have any experience ruling anything!"

"You'll have your old council to aid you and I will provide some of my more experienced slaves who have aided me rule in the past. I don't want to throw you into the deep end and watch you flounder."

"But…but why?"

"Your father managed to make a favourable impression on me, a queen, and many of my men. That was after a brief conversation with the man. Whilst there will be those who try to belittle his memory due to the fact they are lesser men than him, many will remember him as the man who fought to the end. You are his son. After a few minutes of talking with you, I can see many of his traits in you. You share his greatness, his ability to be someone to look up to. I need that if I'm going to be able to hold onto this city without leaving behind a costly garrison."

"That's why your men are building stuff on the walls. It's not to improve it, it's to destroy it."

"That is correct. I won't leave Vulcan defenceless however. Before I continue my campaign my army will help construct a palisade so Vulcan has some defences."

"You say that as if you are trying to calm down someone, as if I was in charge of the city."

"You could be if you accept my offer."

"May I think about it? It's a lot to take in."

"Of course. But I cannot tarry here for too long. You have a week to respond to my offer."

"Thank you your majesty."

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Days flew by and they became shorter and the winds harsher. Her journey had been delayed by the wind, extending it so the end of summer was near. She would be able to campaign for a few weeks into the autumn, but after that the snows would settle and the cold would become even colder. It would take an artist at persuasion to convince men to march through the snows, and unless she managed to achieve her aims and fortified her position then she'd get bogged down and destroyed by the Atlesian army, already close to being fully mobilised from what her scouts told her.

Three different hosts were gathering nearby. Even together they wouldn't be strong enough to defeat her. But they could weaken her. Cripple her if they were lucky. Leave her unable to finish her campaign. And an even larger, more cohesive host was assembling further north.

If she was to win this war, she would have to complete the campaign she'd planned. Take the key ports along Atlas' southern coast, disrupt food supplies from Vale, and use the mountain passes to defend her gains from any Atlesian assault during the winter and build them up as a supply bases for her campaign against the rest of Atlas come the spring. By then the Atlesians would be weakened, too dependent on Vale for supplying itself with things the harsh environment of Solitas refused to yield, like food.

She had to move. Or else she would fail like her ancestors had.

But she refused to be idle. Vulcan's stone walls had been brought down. The stone had been sent back to Mistral to aid the rebuilding of Haven. A wooden palisade had been constructed and key hostages sent back to Mistral to ensure the compliance of key individuals. Amongst them were the daughters and wife of Thomas, the sisters and mother of Richard.

She'd been right about the man. His name was venerated by the citizens of Vulcan. He was their hero. Their martyr. And some of that feeling translated towards his son, who had helped lead the refugees and protected some from a band of bandits, who had seen the bands of elderly, children and woman and had seen a prime, easy target. Richard had been amongst the defenders of that group and his fame had been bolstered by the bravery of his late father.

But it wasn't all good feelings. Some were worried about his closeness to their conqueror. Some were jealous, feeling the family of blacksmiths were rising too far above their station. Key amongst them was the younger brother, Henry, who felt he was being side-lined whilst everyone sang his brother's praise. It would be interesting to see how that played out, as the boy was only young and Richard had become the patriarch of the family.

'Speak of the devil' Pyrrha thought, as she saw Richard walking towards her. She was stood on the same hill they had met a week earlier, and her guards let him pass easily. He had visited many times since his first visit, interested in learning Mistrali ways and how to govern and about her. It was funny. They were the same age, yet she felt like she was a mentor to him.

"Your Imperial Majesty." Thomas said stiffly, bowing lowly. His face was stony, likely out of his anger and worry for his family. She didn't blame him. Everyday she worried about the fate of Alexander, wondering whether he had been murdered as retriubution or had been taken hostage. Or if he had somehow escaped from the clutches of his likely former wife to be and was now lost in a foreign, hostile land.

"Richard." Pyrrha replied warmly, gesturing for him to rise. He did so. "I'm going to make this short. I'm marching from Vulcan today. Do you accept my offer?"

Richard was silent. But his face betrayed the conflict he was feeling. She watched silently. She really wanted him to accept, but she didn't want to pressurise him into something he didn't want to do. She had grown fond of him over the last week. He was one of the few Atlesians to treat her without hostility or fear she was going to kill them for looking at her the wrong way.

Then he relaxed and his eyes glinted with determination.

"I do, Your Majesty."

Pyrrha smiled.

"Good. I'm glad." She said honestly, smiling at him. He smiled back, somewhat nervous and tentative, but warm and genuine.

She hoped he'd be able to keep Vulcan pacified with the small garrison she was leaving. But she believed he could.

The first step in her conquest was complete. She was far from victory, but she was an inch closer, and that inch felt like a mile after the frustrating journey north and needless bloodshed in taking Vulcan.

The sun was high in the sky. The army of Mistral marched from Vulcan, heading west along the coast to the fertile lowlands and port cities that kept Atlas fed.