The End of an Era

Chapter One

The Veskral is Dead

Scene 1

0334 Hours

Imperial Medical Certification Report

Subject: His Imperial Majesty, Veskral Oleg (IV) Medvedev

Age: 70 years

Sex: Male

Location: Sovaotram Palace, Imperial Bedchamber

Date/Time Recorded: 03:34 Hours, 1 January, 2026

Certifying Authority: Imperial Medical Directorate

Preliminary Cause of Death: Complications arising from an ischemic stroke

At 03:05 Hours, the subject exhibited acute cardiopulmonary instability consistent with terminal systemic decline.

Continuous monitoring indicated progressive reduction in cardiac output and oxygen saturation despite ongoing palliative intervention.

At 03:29 Hours, spontaneous respiratory activity became irregular and significantly diminished.

At 03:31 Hours, cardiac rhythm entered sustained arrhythmia unresponsive to intervention.

At 03:34 Hours, cardiac electrical activity ceased.

Pupillary response was absent. No spontaneous respiration was observed. No final words were recorded.

Death was formally certified at 03:34 Hours following a continuous observation period of three (3) minutes confirming irreversible cessation of circulatory and neurological function.

End of Report

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Scene 2

Grief

Sovaotram Palace, Imperial City of Otramsk, Karsenic Empire

0340 Hours

The room was quiet and the air was still, the only noise that could be heard was the light patter of sleet and the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The clouds hung a low over Otromsk, as if the sky itself anticipated the inevitable.

Karlich-Prima Svetlana Zvorina stood at the center of the room, eyes fixed on the door to her father’s room. She had not moved in several minutes. Just behind her stood her husband, Arkral Consort Sviatoslav Zvorin. His gaze never left her, ready to step in if the moment demanded it.

Her aunt, Irina Medvedeva sat on the couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture composed, almost unnaturally still.

Miroslav Medvedev was looking out the window, his gaze drifting from the sleet outside and the floor. The cold dark outside clashed faintly with the warmth of the room.

Nadia sat at the desk, just a few paces away, unmoving, as if any movement might disturb the fragile balance of the room. Besides her stood her husband, Eion. Despite being raised Catohlic, he remained at her side without complaint, willing to endure the Rodverist rites for her sake, and for the weight of what was about to be spoken in this room.The faint scent of burning resin hung in the air, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

Their cousins were off to the left side of the room. Marshal of the Royal Guard, Vseslav Arsenyev, remained by the doorway to the hall. His posture rigged and controlled. Yet there were cracks in it, small, fleeting betrayals in his expression that revealed emotions he was neither willing nor able to fully conceal. His eyes flicked, just once, toward the candles, before settling again.

Kneeling nearby, High Volkhva Lyubava Arsenyeva, bowed her head in prayer. Before her, a shallow dish of ash held five thin candles, their flames steady despite the draft at the door. Her voice was barely audible, a low murmur beneath her breath as her fingers traced a slow, deliberate pattern over her chest and brow. She prayed that her uncle would survive… or, if the inevitable came, that he would pass peacefully into Navira.

Despite the New Year celebrations outside, now fading into the early hours, they had taken no part in them. They had been in this room for what felt like forever. They remembered the doctors flooding in at half past three, their faces already telling them what no one had yet said.its been ten minutes since the, and nobody has entered or exited the room. The only sound was the quiet ticking of the clock and sleet banging against the window.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Even the air itself seemed to hang, heavy and unmoving, as if the very room itself held its breath.

Lyubava’s voice, once a steady murmur, had fallen silent. “May the gods bless us, and guide him gently to Navira.” She said, finishing her prayer.

No one answered. Plunging the room back into silence.

Nadia was about to turn to sift down when she heard footsteps beyond the door. Slow, measured, deliberate. Then, they stopped.

“I can’t do this, doctor,” a woman’s voice said softly, barely above a whisper, as if trying not to be heard.

A second set of footsteps followed, approaching the door.

“It’s alright. I’ll do it,” a man replied, quiet and controlled.

A moment later, the doorknob turned. Everyone looked up at the door, concern etched on all their faces. As the door opened, a doctor stepped inside. His glasses slightly askew, his coat creased from long hours, and a faint shadow of exhaustion beneath his eyes. He paused just inside the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle, as if steadying himself.

His gaze moved across the room, but never settled on anyone for long.

“Your majesties… we did everything we could.” He exhaled slowly, his eyes lowing to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

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Scene 3

Directive No. 04-83

IMPERIAL ARMED FORCES OF THE BASILIYA

OFFICE OF THE GRAND MARSHAL

DIRECTIVE No. 04-83

CLASSIFICATION: INTERNAL / RESTRICTED

ISSUED UNDER EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES

IMPERIAL CAPITAL, OTRAMSK

01/01/2026, 0600 Hours

By order of Grand Marshal Zvenimir Vlastenko

Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces

SUBJECT: IMPLEMENTATION OF TEMPORARY STABILIZATION AND SECURITY PROTOCOLS

In light of recent developments and in the interest of maintaining public order, continuity of governance, and the security of the Basiliya, the following measures are to be enacted immediately.

I. IMPERIAL CAPITAL & PALACE SECURITY

  1. The Imperial Capital is to enter a state of Controlled Access effective immediately.

  2. All entry into and exit from the Capital is subject to authorization by designated security command.

  3. Civilian movement within administrative districts may be restricted as required.

  4. Transportation hubs are to operate under security supervision.

  5. Sovaotram Palace is placed under full access restriction.

  6. The Imperial Guard is to assume primary security control of the Palace and central administrative zones.

II. ZONI ČERVNY MILITARY ZONES

  1. The Sarban Krez and Korvania Krez are placed under Controlled Movement Status.

  2. All civilian transit is subject to verification and authorization.

  3. Checkpoints are to be established along all primary and secondary routes.

  4. Regional military command is authorized to enforce compliance under Imperial security law.

III. ARMED FORCES AND INTERNAL SECURITY

  1. All branches of the Imperial Armed Forces are to assume heightened operational readiness.

  2. Internal Security and Intelligence Directorates are to increase monitoring of civil activity and communications.

  3. Rapid Response Units are to remain on immediate standby for deployment if required.

IV. BORDER SECURITY & INTERNATIONAL MOVEMENT

  1. 1. Outbound civilian travel is subject to temporary authorization procedures.

  2. 2. Entry of foreign nationals is to be restricted under revised security protocols.

  3. 3. Border control units are to operate under elevated alert conditions.

These measures are to remain in effect until further directive.

All regional and sector commands are expected to ensure full and immediate compliance.

Failure to comply will be treated as dereliction of duty under Imperial military law.

Order is to be maintained.

Stability is to be preserved.

Continuity is to be ensured.

Grand Marshal Zvenimir Vlastenko

Commander of the Imperial Armed Forces

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Scene 4

“Temporary Measures”

Northern Otromsk, Imperial City of Otromsk, Karsenic Empire

0645 Hours

The sleet has stopped sometime before five, leaving a thin layer of ice everywhere. What had been wet asphalt two hours ago was now a thin, glassy crust that cracked under the weight of service trucks as they moved through their routes. Salt was already being laid down in pale streaks, scattering across intersections in mechanical precision.

Mila Karsenka stepped out of her apartment building and paused long enough for the cold to find her. It wasn’t the kind cold, it was the harsh kind that caused frostbite if you weren’t careful. She pulled her scarf up over her face and started walking to work. Then, Mila noticed uniforms. Imperial soldiers stood at major intersections in pairs. Mila slowed as she approached the crossing, adjusting her scarf. She looked down the boulevard, about five blocks down there was what seemed to be a checkpoint. The soldiers didn’t look at her for long, just enough to register movement, then back to the street beyond. No urgency. No shouting. Just placement. At the checkpoint, vehicles were being waved through one at a time. She watched for a moment, then adjusted her scarf and continued forward. As she crossed the street, she saw three capital police officers at the end of the crosswalk.

“Excuse me,” she said as she walked up to them, one of them turned to look at her. “May I ask, what’s happening?”

A pause, his face was half covered with a scarf so Mila couldn’t read his expression. “Temporary measures.” He said. No further explanation followed.

Mila hesitated, then nodded once. “Okay… well, you all stay warm.”

One of them gave a quiet chuckle, “We’ll try. You stay safe and out of trouble.”

Mila stepped back into the foot traffic. “I will.”

She began to walk to work again. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

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Scene 5

Breaking News

Vukov’s Mini-Mart, Malenka, Solngorod Oblast, Karsenic Empire

1159 Hours

“That’s all, Ivan?” Branomir said, scanning the last item before putting it in a bag.

“That’s it.” Ivan nodded, already reaching into his coat pocket.

The register beeped once more before falling quiet. Branomir tapped a few keys, glanced at the total, then looked back up.

“Sixteen even.” Barnomir said, looking up from the register.

“Damn this recession. I remember when all this used to be only eight Zola.” Ivan muttered, putting a couple bills on the counter.

Branomir shrugged as he counted the bills.“Yeah. Everything is going up. While pay is not.”

Ivan let out a dry breath. “Figures.” He looked up at the tv mounted to the ceiling in the corner. “What’s the news saying? They’re saying something about the recession, right? Turn it up.”

Branomir reached for the remote on the shelf behind him and tapped the volume button. The murmur now becoming a clear voice.

“…economic pressures continue across the Basiliya. Rising cost affecting–” The anchor paused, just for a few seconds. “–however, attention has shifted to the capital.” A red banner flashed across the screen.

BREAKING NEWS.

“That’s not about the recession.” Ivan said, his expression tightening into a mix of confusion and concern. Branomir turned and looked up at the TV.

Another news anchor appeared on screen. His expression, one of sadness and professionalism. “We are receiving reports from Sovaotrom Palace.” The anchor paused, briefly looking down at his desk, as if gathering himself. Branomir shifted on his feet. The anchor looked back up. “His imperial majesty, Veskral Oleg the fourth, passed away early this morning. Again, his imperial majesty, Oleg the fourth, has passed away.”

Silence filled the shop. The hum of the freezer seemed louder now. Neither Ivan or Branomir moved. The bag sat untouched on the counter. Outside, the wind picked back up, pressing against the windows as the sleet returned.

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FUN FACTS!

Did you know?

In Karsenia, funeral rites vary between the ethnic-regional traditions of the individual. But in traditional Karsenic (Nasic) regions, a two-week period of mourning precedes an individual’s death. After this mourning period, a celebration of life occurs. This celebration occurs until the day after burial or cremation.

Funeral Rites typically involve the preparation and viewing of the body, communal prayers or reflections, and a formal burial or cremation. This is to be attended by both the family and wider community to show respect to the deceased. Candles are often lit during this time, symbolising the spirit of the deceased and their passage beyond the living world.

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Etymology:

Veskral (noun, imperial title):

The male sovereign ruler of the Karsenic Empire, holding supreme executive, ceremonial, and constitutional authority over the state. The Veskral serves as head of state and ultimate guarantor of imperial continuity, commanding the loyalty of the armed forces, nobility, and administrative apparatus.

Ischemic stroke (medical term):

A cerebrovascular event caused by the obstruction of blood flow to a region of the brain, typically due to thrombosis or embolism. The resulting oxygen deprivation leads to rapid neurological impairment and, if untreated, permanent brain damage or death. Ischemic strokes are one of the most common forms of stroke and often present with sudden loss of motor control, speech impairment, or loss of consciousness.

Kralich-Prima (noun, female title):

A senior imperial dynastic title granted to the principal female heir or highest-ranking princess within the ruling Veskral household. The Kralich-Prima holds precedence over other royal family members in matters of ceremony, succession representation, and dynastic continuity.

Arkral Consort (noun, male title):

A formal dynastic title granted to the male spouse of a reigning Kralich-Prima or female sovereign within the imperial family. The Arkral Consort holds ceremonial rank within the royal household and may be assigned military or administrative duties, but does not possess independent succession rights. The role is primarily supportive, reinforcing dynastic legitimacy and continuity through marriage alliance.

Rodverist (noun / adjective):

A practitioner of Rodverism, the traditional polytheistic and ancestral belief system of Karsenia. Rodverism is centered on the interconnection between life, death, divine order, and lineage, viewing existence as a continuous cycle in which the living, the dead, and the divine remain in constant relationship.

High Volkhv(a) (noun, ecclesiastical title):

A senior clerical office within Rodverism, functioning as the highest-ranking regional and doctrinal authority below the upper temple hierarchy. The High Volkhv(a) oversees major rites, supervises provincial temple networks, and interprets established Rodverist doctrine within their assigned jurisdiction.

Navira (noun)

In Rodverist belief, the spiritual realm of the dead; the world where souls travel to after death and exist beyond mortal life. In traditional Karsenic Rodverism, Navira is not viewed as a place of punishment or reward, but as a continuation of existence in altered form.

Basiliya (noun)

The sovereign state or imperial realm ruled under the authority of the Veskral; the formal designation of the Karsenic Empire in state, legal, and ceremonial contexts.

Zoni Červny (noun, administrative/military region)

A designated high-security administrative and military zone within the Karsenic Empire, encompassing heavily regulated territories subject to elevated military authority, restricted civilian movement, and expanded internal security jurisdiction. Zoni Červny regions are typically established in areas of instability, post-conflict reconstruction, or strategic containment.

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Scene 6

The Day After

Sovaotrom Palace, Otramsk Imperial City, Karsenic Empire

2, January 2026

1200 Hours

The old clock brought Svetlana back to her senses, she had been sitting on her bed staring at the wall for what felt like hours. The curtains were half-drawn, and beyond them the winter light pressed coldly against the glass, grey, thin, unwilling to become a full day. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear her children playing. Svetlana exhaled once, slowly, testing whether the world would respond. It did not. The door opened a fraction, then stopped, as if whomever was on the other side had not yet decided to enter. A moment passed before it moved again, slow and deliberate.

She knew who it was before he spoke. “How have you been holding up?” Sviatoslav asked, his voice low. He hesitated just inside the doorway. “You’ve been in here all morning.”

Svetlana didn’t respond right away, still lost in her mind. “Couldn’t be better…” she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Sviatoslav didn’t respond, he stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind him. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze steadfast on his wife. Somewhere down the hall, the children laughed, to them, it was just another day.

His jaw tightened, just slightly. “How are we going to tell them?” He said, walking toward the bed to sit next to his wife.

Svetlana turned and looked at him, her eyes red and hollow. “I don’t know.” She said softly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “Not yet… We need to think of a way to tell them gently.” She hesitated for a moment. Her gaze drifting towards the door. “They’re still so young. Yaromir’s five. Zoryana’s only three.” She added quietly.

Sviatoslav sat there for a moment, taking the answer in. “Alright.” He said slowly. “What do you have in mind?”

Before she could answer, there was a careful knock at the door. A small voice followed. “Mommy? Daddy? Can I come in?”

Svetlana fixed her composure, wiping her eyes once more. “Yes honey, you can come in.” She said softly.

The door opened slowly, revealing a small boy with dark brown hair. Yaromir lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, as if checking whether it was truly alright.

Sviatoslav’s expression softened immediately.“Come here, little one,” he said gently. “What’s on your mind?”

“When is lunchtime? I’m hungry.” Yaromir asked. He paused, his small hands curling into fist. “And… when is deda coming back? I miss him.”

Svetlana’s hand tightened against the fabric of her dress, saying nothing. Sviatoslav hesitated for a moment, glancing at Svetlana. “Deda is… away right now, little one.” He said gently, leaning forward. “He can’t come back just yet.”

“Oh… ok.” Yaromir said sadly, looking at the floor. After a few moments, he looked back up at his parents. “What about lunch?”

Sviatoslav’s expression softened, a small, careful smile returning. “Oh, little one, it’s almost time. You won’t have to wait too much longer.”

Yaromir still looking uncertain, but comforted enough to accept it. He lingered for a moment, then turned toward the door.“Okay…” he said quietly. “Can I go play after lunch?”

“Of course,” Sviatoslav replied. “Go on now.”

Yaromir slipped out of the room, softly closeting the door.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The laughter in the hallway returning. Svetlana let out a breath she hadn’t recognized she was holding. Her shoulders dropped slightly, as if something finally stopped pressing down on her. And then, quietly, she leaned forward, covering her face with her hands as she began to cry.

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Scene 7

Anomalous Activity

Sarban Mountains, Sarban Krez, Karsenic Empire

8, January 2026

1231 Hours

“This just in, three new fungal species have been discovered in the Red Zone.” The radio crackled through the patrol vehicle’s cabin. A brief moment of static followed. “Researchers say the organisms appear to absorb and metabolize radiation, marking the first confirmed cases of radiation-metabolizing fungi in the region.”

The driver reached up and turned the volume down a notch.

“ORNA’s excited again.” Someone muttered in the back, glancing out the rear window. A pair of grey vehicles marked with the seal of the Office for Radiological and Anomalous Research followed at a distance.

“Yeah,” another scoffed, adjusting his gloves. “Give them some glowing mold, hell, let alone an anomaly, they’ll lock down half the mountain.”

The cabin erupted with chuckling. “Oh yeah, did you boys hear?” Igor said from the driver’s seat. “We have a Unionist with us today. One of SEA’s people.”

A few soldiers laughed at that.

Ivan glanced back through the gap between the cabin and the troop compartment in the lead transport truck. “Yaropolk,” he called out. “What are the readings?”

For a moment there was only the hum of the tires over the packed snow and the distant rattle of the convoy behind them.

Then, Yaropolk’s voice reverberated through the transport. “Radiological readings are elevated, nothing unusual for this area.” He said. “Chemical baseline is low…”

He paused, the device emoted a sharp, rising tone. “Anomalous readings are spiking.”

The SEA representative looked up from his tablet with statistics and data, a look of worry etched on his face. “Spiking how much?” He said in broken Karsenic.

Yaropolk didn’t answer right away. The scanner screamed. Outside, the world changed. The snow ahead of the convoy was lifted off the ground in thin sheets. Not blown by wind, but pulled upward. Small stones began to rise from the road side, trembling midair.

Igor grabbed the radio, “Stop the convoy. I repeat, stop the convoy. Anomalous activity.”

Then, a low unnatural sound rolled through the valley. Not thunder. Not wind. Not machinery. It was as if someone was dragging metal against a chalkboard. The sound grew louder, the windows began vibrating violently. Loose equipment rattled across the dashboard. The SEA representative shouted something, but his words vanished beneath the noise. Then came the light. It was blinding white and illuminated the entire valley. Igor threw his arm over his face to block out the light.

For one impossible moment, the truck felt weightless, and then gravity tore sideways. Flipping the truck onto its right side. Outside, one of the trucks behind them was lifted three meters into the air, hanging there suspended in the air for a moment before rapidly jolting downward. The truck plunged into the ground, half submerged into the road. Another was flipped and landed on its roof, nearly flattening the truck into a sheet of metal. The ORNA truck fell from somewhere above the fog, landing nose first, completely flattening the cabin. The last truck rolled onto its side before being dragged across the road, metal screeching against the ice and asphalt until it slammed into the treeline. Tearing it to shreds.

The blinding light vanished and the valley fell silent. Not silence, but close enough to make Ivan’s ears ring. Steam hissed from the ruptured engines, somewhere nearby, metal cracked under its own weight.

Ivan groaned, one arm trembling as he forced himself upright against the cabin’s side. “Is… everyone… okay?” Ivan groaned.

Pain hit him a second later, sharp, wrong, immediate. He couldn’t move his right arm. It hung at an angle that didn’t make sense.

Ivan swallowed hard, trying not to vomit. “Is… everyone okay?” He tried again, but his voice came out weak and thin.

Someone answered from the back, the words muffled, as if Ivan couldn’t process them. Ivan blinked, the world tilted slightly, even though he was already lying on his side. It wasn’t right. His vision blurred at the edges, he looked at his arm again, just to check if what he saw earlier was correct. Ivan exhaled, uneven and slow. Then, everything faded to black.

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Scene 8

Aftermath

Sarban Mountains, Sarban Krez, Karsenic Empire

8, January 2026

1257 Hours

The valley had begun to settle. Floating debris had long since fallen back to the earth, what was left was smoke, the dead, and twisted metal scattered across the road. Commander Vitomir Kovač stood near the edge of the treeline, his winter coat shifted in the wind. He raised his radio up to his face. “Any survivors?” He asked coldly, “We need those researchers and their data for our plans.”

Static crackled briefly through the speaker before a voice answered. “Six ORNA personnel confirmed alive, two critically wounded. Three unconscious. One conscious but delirious. We are securing them now.”

Vitomir didn’t respond right away. It was less than they were expecting. One of the trucks still stood half-buried in the road Kovač’s gaze drifted towards the wreckage below the ridge line. “Leave the two wounded,” Kovač said after a couple moments. “In fact, put them out of their misery. We can’t afford to carry dead weight.”

A brief silence followed over the radio. “Understood.”

Kovač lowered the radio, his expression hardened as he looked down at the convoy. Snow drifted lazily through the air, settling across the valley and the wreckage below.

For a moment, Kovač thought he heard something from his radio. Not static. A voice. Too faint to understand.

Kovač immediately raised the radio again. “Repeat that.”

A brief pause followed.

“Commander?” A voice on the other end replied. “We didn’t say anything.”

Kovač’s expression didn’t change. Snow continued to drift through the valley, as if the earlier event never occurred.

“…Nothing.” He said flatly. “Interference from the anomaly.”

The wind moved through the trees again, carrying powdered snow across the treeline. Somewhere down the road, one of his men shouted for a medic. Then came the static. A faint burst from the radio still resting in his hand. Short. Weak. Probably interference from the anomaly event. Kovač kept his thumb on the transmitter button.the static came again, this time, it sounded almost rhythmic. He looked at the radio, his eyes narrowing slightly. Staring at the radio a second longer than he should.

“…Commander?” A voice came from behind him.

Kovač looked up sharply, turning to see who was there. One of the younger members stood three meters behind him, breathing heavily from the climb up the ridge.

“We found another body in the lead vehicle, Seylosian.”

Kovač’s expression changed for the first time since the anomaly. What business did the Unionists have in Sarbania?

“We have confirmed that he is alive.” The fighter continued cautiously. “Unconscious, but breathing.”

A brief burst of static crackled from the radio once more. Kovač glanced at it instinctively.

“What do you want us to do with him, sir?” The fighter asked.

Kovač turned to look back at the wreckage of the convoy below. Then towards the mountains in the distance. “Leave him.” He said coldly. “We can’t afford for the Unionist to intervene.”

The fighter hesitated briefly before nodding.

Kovač looked back towards him. “Tell the men to hurry it up. The Černvers will send out a search team to find the convoy soon enough.”

“Yes, commander.”

The fighter turned and disappeared aback down the ridge line. Kovač remained where he was. The wind moved softly through the treats around him. Somewhere below, muffled voices echoed between the wreckage while the snow continued to fall throughout the valley. The radio hissed again. Kovač slowly looked down at it. Static. Nothing more. But for a brief second, beneath the crackling noise, he could have sworn he heard something breathing on the other end.

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Scene 9

Mixed Allegiances

Sovaotrom Palace, Otramsk Imperial City, Karsenic Empire

14, January 2026

1250 Hours

The council chamber had been prepared long before anyone entered it. Everything was put in its proper place, chairs aligned, documents arranged, the air itself still and undisturbed. Prime Minister Snežana Lagunova and Grand Marshal Zvenimir Vlastenko were the first to arrive, they both sat quietly near the center of the table. A few minutes later, the chamber doors opened again. The Arkral of South Morvania, Viktor Hruška, was the first to enter. He walked slowly to his seats. As he passed Snežana, he gave a brief nod, formal, neither warm nor cold. Behind him followed Arlkral Matej Hrušovsky, Arkral of North Morvania.

As he sat at his seat, he glanced over to Viktor. “Viktor.” He said quietly.

Viktor glanced back slightly at Matej. “Matej, you’re here early for once.”

Matej exhaled softly through his nose. “I could leave and come back later, if you prefer.”

Viktor grinned slightly, leaning back in his chair as he removed his gloves. “Tempting offer.”

Snežana quietly observed from her seat, the corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. It reminded her of her and her younger sister years ago, before either of them had gotten into politics. Snežana lowered her gaze back to documents resting in front of her, though some of the tension in her expression had softened slightly.

Not a moment later, the doors opened again. Lady Mesyara Orlova, representative of the High Nobility. She moved with a measured calm, her house insignia embroidered on her coat, subtle, but enough to leave no doubt who she was. A brief nod acknowledged the room as she made her way to her seat next to Matej, adjusting her glasses before she sat. They all sat there, quietly reviewing the paperwork and date sheets in front of them. A quiet tension fell over the room, they all knew what this council meeting was about. For five whole minutes the room seemed to hold its breath, then, the doors to the room opened again. The royal advisor, Dimitri Malenkov, entered the room. Every member of the council rose.

“Members of the High Council,” he announced, his voice steady despite his age. “May I present to you, Her Imperial Majesty, Kralich-Prima Svetlana the Second.”

The atmosphere shifted immediately as Svetlana entered the room. She walked over to her seat on her side of the long oval table with practiced precision. Her father had spent years preparing her for this moment. Though, she paused for a moment, her gaze settled long on her father’s chair, no, it was her chair now. The thought lingered for only an instant. She straightened and quickly composed herself, and sat down.

Svetlana raised her hand slightly. “Please, sit.”

The council members obeyed, returning to their seats.

“We shall begin.” Svetlana announced. “I’d like to discuss the matter of the current economic crisis and the Cold War with Sóivéidrí.”

Snežana was the first to speak. “Current economic figures for the 2025 fiscal year have been finalized, your majesty.” She glanced down at the report. “Gross domestic product contracted by 0.71%. Total output currently stands at 1.42 trillion Zolars. Inflation is 3.3%, unemployment is 7.9%, and debt-to-GDP has reached 71.3%.”

The other council members quietly reviewed the figures in front of them. “The trend remains concerning.” Snežana continued. “Growth has consistently declined since 2021. 3.4% increase in 2020, 2.3% increase in 2021, 1.01% increase in 2022, 1.23% increase in 2023, 0.77% increase in 2024, now contraction.” She paused. “The Basiliya is not facing collapse. Yet. The current trend is unsustainable in the long term.”

Zvenimir folded his hands into a triangle. “The Cold War.” All eyes now shifted towards Zvenimir. “Our intelligence capabilities have suffered severely. Their security services conducted extensive purges last year. A dozen of our assets were compromised. Some were executed, others disappeared. Presumed dead.”

Snežana frowned. “How many nuclear weapons do they possess?”

Zvenimir shook his head. “We don’t know.” His answer drew silence from the whole room. “We estimate they have enough to threaten nearly every major city within the Basiliya.”

“And we still possess none.” Svetlana said quietly.

“No, we do not. Your majesty.” Zvenimir replied.

“Our chemical deterrent remains substantial. It has grown tremendously since we began production in 1947. It is estimated that we have the largest chemical weapons stockpile in the world.”

“But, chemical weapons are not nuclear weapons. Chemical weapons can devastate armies. Nuclear weapons can erase cities.” Viktor added.

“Correct.” Zvenimir answered, his tone more serious.

Before anyone could continue, a soft clock echoed through the chamber. Lady Orlova had closed her folder. “Your Majesty,” she began calmly, “before we proceed further there is another matter requiring the Council’s attention.”

Svetlana looked at her, her expression hardening. “Go on.”

Mesyara cupped her hands atop the table. “Succsession.”

Snežana’s expression tightened. Matej lowered his gaze. Even Viktor seemed to straighten.

“My father’s funeral is in two days. The viewing of his body only began last Monday.” Svetlana said coldly. “This seems an inappropriate time for such discussions. Besides, the line of succession is clear.”

Mesyara’s voice remained calm. “Many among the high nobility disagree.” The words hung in the air.

For a moment, nobody spoke. As if everyone was too afraid of what was to come.

Svetlana’s expression hardened further. “What are you implying, Lady Orlova? Do you believe that I am unfit for the throne? My father prepared me for years, and you believe I am not worthy of it. Is that it?”

Mesyara did not flinch. “No, your majesty.” Her answer came immediately. “I have never questioned your experience, your intelligence, or the preparations made by his majesty.” She paused, letting her answer sink in. “The noble houses in question are questioning whether preparation alone is enough.”

"Svetlana’s eyes narrowed. “My father’s wishes were clear.”

“They were.” Mesyara replied.

“Then there is nothing further to discuss.” Svetlana said, shutting the folder in front of her.

“Many noble houses disagree.” Mesyara said calmly, the words landing like a hammer.

Zvenimir shifted in his seat, looking uneased. The tension in the room was now thick enough to be cut by a knife.

“Enough.” Svetlana’s voice cutting through the tension. “Then, tell me plainly. No riddles, no implications. Who do they support?”

“Kral Miroslav.” Mesyara said calmly.

The name settled heavily over the chamber. Her brother. Svetlana felt something tighten in her chest. “On what grounds?” She asked.

“Public support.” Mesyara replied.

Matej Scoffed. “Public Support?”

Mesyara Ignored him. “The people trust him.”

“The people trust actors and football players.” Snežana replied. “That does not make them suitable rulers.”

“He has no experience in politics, neither was he prepared to rule like I was.” Svetlana added.

“This is perhaps the most appropriate moment to discuss another development.” Zvenimir interrupted, his tone immediately drew everyone’s attention.

“What development?” Svetlana asked.

Without answering, Zvenimir removed a sealed letter from his jacket and placed it on the table. The seal was unmistakable, the Royal Guard.

Svetlana felt her stomach tighten. “Vseslav.”

Zvenimir nodded. “This was mailed to me this morning.”

Nobody spoke. “Marshal Vseslav states that should the succession become disputed, he intends to assert his own claim to the throne.”

The room froze, even Mesyara seemed caught off guard. Matej swore quietly under his breath. For several long seconds, nobody moved. Because this was no longer a simple disagreement over succession, it was now a crisis.

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FUN FACTS!

Did you know?

Although the Karsenic Monarchy is hereditary and the throne normally passes to the chosen heir, succession is not always automatic. Under the Royal Succession Laws of 1906, established after the death of Ivan V, any disputed succession involving multiple claimants is resolved through a formal assessment of competence, leadership, and fitness to rule. The reigning Veskral may designate a preferred heir, but in the event of a contested succession, the candidate judged most capable is chosen to inherit the throne.

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Etymology

Krez (noun)

(Plural form: Krezi)

An administrative territorial division of Karsenia, governed by a regional authority appointed by the reigning monarch. While possessing limited autonomy in matters such as taxation, local laws, and community affairs, a Krez remains firmly subordinate to the central government and derives its authority from the crown. Among Karsenia’s administrative divisions, the Krezi possess the least degree of self-governance.

Černver (noun)

A derogatory term used to describe followers of Rodverism. The term carries strongly negative connotations, implying moral corruption, superstition, authoritarian clerical influence, or perceived obscurantism within Rodverist religious institutions. The term and many other terms that imply ‘paganism’ are seen as derogatory to Karsenics and followers of Rodverism.

Arkral (noun)

A male hereditary ruler who governs the autonomous realms within Karsenia while remaining subject to the Veskral. The title is traditionally held by the local monarchs of North and South Morvania, whose realms entered the empire through dynastic marriages and the 1861 Treaty of Otramsk rather than conquest. As a result, these two regions retain the highest degree of autonomy within Karsenia, leaving military and diplomatic affairs to the central government.

Kral (noun)

A male member of the royal family holding the rank immediately below the Kralich-Prim(a), granted to the brother of the reigning Veskral(ina).

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