Chapter 1 – Opportunity

“He who knows when to fight and when not to fight will win.”

– Wu Changqing, 1st Sun General, Dawn Imperium

 

“Эх, разлетались кудри врассыпную.” (The fleece on his hat was messy.)

“О доме думка мучила его.” (Thoughts of home were tormenting him.)

The young boy sat alone in a small bedroom. He sang along to the music that emerged from a cassette player on top of his computer desk. His adolescent voice mixed with the soft, male chorus of the Alexandrov Ensemble, better known in the west by the name Red Army Choir.

Broad daylight streamed in through the room’s curtains, however the fourteen year old Alexei was neither at school nor meeting his friends outside. Instead the sickly young boy sat alone in his bedroom, his eyes glued to a computer screen which displayed the blue-purple glow of a nebula in space.

In the center of his screen was a single, lone frigate: a Caldari Buzzard-class designed for covert ops. There were no other ships in view but his vessel nevertheless remained cloaked. He had left ‘lowsec’ space and was exploring deep into ‘nullsec’ territory — the regions in the game EVE Online which had no law enforcement provided by the NPC factions to regulate player behavior.

In other words, he was in the Wild West, the Siberian Frontier. Out here in the wilderness, the only law of the land was strength in combat. Such encounters required a contest that he had avoided his entire life, as he had always been small of build and bullied in schools. Nevertheless he wanted to explore the mysteries of the game, to see the server-simulated wonders of deep space that he would never journey to himself.

“Эх,в даль глядел он синюю степную,” (He looked into the distance of the blue steppes)

“А в той дали не видно ничего.” (But there was nothing visible in sight)

As Alexei continued to sing along, he couldn’t help but notice how fitting the lyrics were. Alexei had loved the scenery of space ever since he saw the images taken by the Hubble Telescope, yet it always evoked an emotion of deep melancholy in him. The universe was so vast yet empty at the same time. One could go on forever yet never find another place where they felt like they belonged.

The faint sounds of a distant explosion emerged from his desktop speakers. It pulled his attention back to focus on the ship’s sensors as he noticed a firefight in the distance. A trio of mining ships had been pounced upon by a wolfpack of four raider vessels. The miners’ two escorts were outgunned, yet they fought bravely as their friends bid a desperate retreat, fleeing towards the nearest stargate as fast as their sluggish ships could manage.

One of the escorts exploded as a volley of energy turret fire ripped through its armor. The ship vanished from space in a bright burst that lit up the nebula. A torrent of taunts in English followed through the region’s public chat, denouncing the players of the mining convoy with a flurry of stereotypes and slurs.

“Go back to your Gulags you Commies! This sector belongs to us!”

“Stealing from our space just like the rest of your kind? The only good Red is a dead Red!”

Alexei’s temples twitched as the insults reminded him of the same lines he received as school. His teachers often turned a blind eye as long as they weren’t present, even on the few occasions when he received a deathly threat from the worst bullies and reported it. His father often spoke of prejudice in the car when picking up Alexei from school. All the complaints filed did little to change an environment where almost every American had grown up on decades of “evil Russian commies” in every form of media.

However, unlike his father, Alexei could never be a fighter. His heart was weak from birth, and as a result he could never keep up in physical activities. This left him a short and scrawny boy who couldn’t throw a single good punch. All he ever received for standing his ground were bruises and wounds.

Another explosion flared on his screen as the last escort ship was destroyed. The miners were now left to fend for themselves as they ran for the exit point. The journey would take at least five minutes given their low speed. They would never make it, and they knew this fact as they desperately called out for aid in Russian on the open channel.

“Help!”

Alexei felt his knuckles tightened as his hand balled into a fist. How many times has he cried out only to be ignored by the others around him? Would he do the same thing now as another person who spoke his own mother tongue asked for the same?

This wasn’t real life, where he was just a weak and frail boy who could do nothing except become another punching bag. No, his frigate might be a covert ops model, but it was armed to the teeth with rockets and missiles.

Tapping his mouse and keyboard, Alexei steered his cloaked frigate towards the battle while assessing the tactical situation. The miners weren’t out of the nebula yet, and the haze might just offer his cloaked ship a few additional seconds of cover and surprise. The furious defense put up by the escorts had also dealt significant damage to two of the raiders, one of them was already so badly damaged that Alexei doubted it could survive a full salvo. Now, with the escorts destroyed, they were prioritizing their weapons instead of their defenses, which would allow any sneak attack to inflict maximum damage. His Caldari-built frigate specialized in missiles and rockets, with improvements to both their rate of fire and damage. All this meant that if he maneuvered into the raiders’ rear and unloaded his ammunition at breakneck speed, there was an excellent chance he could knock out the two damaged ships before they could even react.

Where the battle went from there would depend on luck and morale. Could Alexei cripple a third ship with critical hits before they targeted him? Would the shock of the surprise attack send them packing? Engagements were always difficult to predict when there were so many human factors involved. Even the best of plans would only take him so far.

“Screw it,” Alexei gritted his teeth as he reached the attack position and launched his assault with a few keystrokes. His opening salvo converged on the crippled raider and shattered the larger destroyer with a barrage of exploding missiles. His weapons then retrained on the other damaged raider, another destroyer which quickly became engulfed in flames.

Neither of them even had the time to jettison their capsules. EVE wasn’t like other online games. That which was destroyed in combat was gone forever. The pilot might re-spawn ingame in the body of a prepared clone, but their ship and their previous body’s implants were forever lost.

As Alexei’s missiles locked onto the third destroyer, its pilot feared for his assets and turned to flee. But the fourth and final raider which held its ground was a cruiser. Even as a Stabber model outfitted for speed, there was not a chance that Alexei could fight it head-on and win.

The young boy cursed as he tried to skim the engagement range of the cruiser. His missiles had longer reach than the target’s turrets, and as long as he maintained distance he could stay alive. If he simply distract the ship for long enough the miners could get to safety, at which point he could flee using his frigate’s superior speed. However even as he thought this out, the destroyer which had fled turned about. The ship was armed with long range weapons just like Alexei’s own. It quickly closed the range and launched its salvo against the smaller frigate.

Alexei winced as his ship was rocked by explosions. His father once asked why he physically reacted to every attack in a video game, but even Alexei couldn’t explain it. For him, it was natural to empathize with even a pixelated avatar, to feel the same impacts that his character would surely have felt in-game.

“Run!” Someone sent him a private message in Russian within the game.

In the heat of battle, Alexei didn’t even notice that the sender’s name didn’t belong to any of the fleeing miners. Nevertheless he reacted on instinct, turning his frigate and using every trick he knew in an attempt to evade the incoming shots. His mind grew so focused that he began ignoring everything else in his tunnel-vision. He didn’t even register the new arrivals until the raider cruiser came under fire from another direction.

It was a pair of cruisers, whose pilots crossed the path of the retreating miners without attacking. They must be allies, thought Alexei, despite recognizing that they belonged to a different corporation — EVE Online‘s equivalent of a player guild.

The lone raider cruiser didn’t stand a chance. Within a minute only floating debris remained, while the destroyer stopped pursuing Alexei and fled in the other direction. Alexei however was still nervous as he eyed the new ships’ player names. He might have helped the miners, but there was no guarantee that the new arrivals would see his damaged frigate as a friendly.

“Thanks for helping our friends.” One of the cruiser pilots, a player named Ataman wrote in Russian on the public channel.

“Gladly :>,” Alexei wrote back. “I couldn’t just watch them insult our people and do nothing.”

“Those piss-condom Brits will get what’s coming to them,” Ataman declared. “Where are you from?”

“Almetyevsk, near Kazan,” Alexei noted, although ‘near’ in this case was still over two hundred kilometers away, given Russia’s sheer size. “I was born there. Though I live closer to New York today. Papa works between America and the Motherland.”

“I’ve been to Kazan for work. Never America though,” Ataman replied. “Noticed you still aren’t in a corporation yet. Would you like to join us? I’m the leader of the Zaporozhian Host, a member of Red Alliance. We’re always happy to welcome another comrade.”

Meanwhile, as the track for Smuglyanka ended and another song began to play, Alexei couldn’t help but appreciate the sheer coincidence that could only have been arranged by fate itself.

“Шли по степи полки казачьи с Дону,” (Cossack regiments walked along the steppes by the Don)

“Один казак лишь голову склонил.” (One Cossack only bowed his head.)

Alexei had once read that the cossacks of the Zaporozhian Host were a proud and rugged people. They were known for embracing anyone who wished to join, regardless of origin or social standing, as long as they could accept the same independent lifestyle.

For the young boy, whom for years found himself unable to fit into American society, it truly felt like the opportunity of a lifetime.

 

—— * * * ——

 

Lucina Chandrabha Arrius — though everyone in her life these days called her ‘Luna’ — rubbed her eyes before opening them.

So that was how ‘I’ first met ‘Grisha’.

Memories of her past life have been sporadically filling her dreams for years now. She still didn’t grasp many of the details, but she understood most of the general concepts and events. Words like ‘Russian’ implied not just a birthright or language, but also a cultural and national identity that her past self felt a strong attachment to. And while EVE Online might just be a ‘simulated game’ designed for entertainment, it was also a world where Alexei experienced many of his life’s most pivotal moments.

For Luna, these memories were more than just vivid dreams. They conjured nostalgia as though she herself had lived through them. She even felt each and every emotion, because she and Alexei were one and the same.

Grisha, a bittersweet smile came to her lips as she thought of the man’s handsome image. It didn’t matter that Alexei wouldn’t hear his voice until months later. It didn’t matter that Alexei wouldn’t meet him face-to-face for years. This simple first meeting would always live on in Alexei’s memories… and now, through Luna’s as well.

Stifling an involuntary yawn beneath her palm, Luna blinked away her tears and looked to the attic window. The first rays of sunlight had began to stream in. It was time to begin another day’s work.

Four years had passed since Luna first began working in the manor of Konstantin Apraksin. She was nineteen years of age now, a maid in service of a young baron just a year older than herself. But things were never as straightforward as they seemed on the surface. Her role in the house was certainly not merely that of a typical servant.

Looking across the room, Luna sighed as she noticed her roommate, Alisa, still fast asleep. As the junior maid of the household, Alisa was supposed to get up first and then wake Luna, not the other way around.

Give her a few more, She stopped herself from calling out. The new girl, who had started less than two weeks ago, was only given a day to recover from her recent cold.

Pulling herself out of bed, Luna rinsed her face thoroughly with the metal basin of water she filled last night. After drying herself off with a towel, she pulled off the short chemise that she wore to bed and began putting on her maid outfit. Her legs went through the midsection first, then she pulled the black and white dress up to her shoulders. Her arms reached into their respective, puffy sleeves, before she began pulling on the cords on her lower back which laced her leather waist cinch.

It wasn’t as restrictive as a corset. Those were only for upper class women who didn’t have to work. But the dress did pull tight enough to hug her slim waist; certain more so than the average servant’s dress.

Luna scowled as her fingers slipped twice. It was hard to do it properly when the cord knotted halfway up her back. This was where Alisa was supposed to help.

Bet I didn’t have… this trouble… in my last life, she thought back to the memories of Alexei.

After all, men’s clothes were so much more straightforward. Actually, men’s everything was always more straightforward.

It took her several minutes to tie and knot the cords, followed by closing the buttons on her upper back. She then tightened the violet ribbons threaded through her sleeves just beneath the shoulders, knotted into a cute tie visible from both the front and back.

Her outfit wasn’t standard issue. The expensive violet ribbons alone marked her unusual status in the household. In some ways Luna ranked higher than the other servants, while in other ways she was lower than everybody. The other servants might not receive His Lordship’s personal favor, but they could also quit and leave as they pleased.

Moving to the windows, Luna saw that the sun’s glow has just peeked above the horizon. The tiny moon that was her namesake could still be seen orbiting the gaseous, indigo giant which dominated the sky. There was just enough light to reflect off her handheld mirror. She brushed her soft, silver-white hair before pulling it in front of her left shoulder as a side tail, where she tied it off with another ribbon near the end.

It’s about time, she thought before crying out:

“Alisa! Rise and shine! The sun is up!”

The mousy girl, barely sixteen years of age, turned and grumbled in her bed. Luna watched her toss and turn before finally yanking away her covers.

“Come on. I’ve already let you sleep extra. You’ll be late if you delay any longer!”

The brunette slowly raised her head with a massive yawn.

“…Just once, I’d like to get a full night’s sleep.”

“You’re in the wrong occupation for that. Try housewife.”

Luna sent the casual reply as she sat back down. She lifted her skirt before pulling a white stocking up each leg, plus the matching garters to hold them there. Her fingers laced a pair of heeled boots around her small feet next, and all that remained was her apron, her headdress, a pair of white gloves, and a small waterskin with the herbal tea she made herself.

“If I could get married to someone nice, I would have already…”

Alisa was still grumbling as Luna finished dressing and strode to the door.

“How are you always so accepting of it?”

Luna stopped just as she was about to depress the door handle. An uneasy feeling spread from her chest, before being beaten back by a sobering alliance of gratitude and self-discipline.

“Because I’m grateful to His Lordship, and I could have ended up far worse than this,” the soft voice that left her lips was perfectly at peace. Then, with a tone firmer and louder, she added: “better to accept a decent life for what it is.”

And with that final comment, she pushed open the door and departed for her day.

 

—— * * * ——

 

“Luna! Hurry it up!”

Konstantin Radomirovich Apraksin impatiently tapped his foot as he waited beside a small, open carriage. The driver was ready, the horses were ready, even the steward was ready to see him off. The only one who wasn’t ready was his maid.

He heard the sound of her heels clapping against stone before she ran out from the entrance hall. Her breath was short as she stopped before the carriage, her waist slightly bent with fatigue.

“Sorry… Your Lordship…”

Luna huffed as she tried to lift the large wicker basket that she carried with both hands onto the back of the carriage. Her thin arms couldn’t quite manage, and the steward Vitomir had to step in to help. The sound of clinking wine bottles as the basket met wood spoke enough about what was inside.

“Whomever heard of a master waiting for his servant?” Konstantin scolded. He straightened the brocade, forest-green tunic that matched his gaze with an irritated jerk. His leather-gloved hand then grasped the door before stepping up into the carriage with long legs.

“I’m sorry.”

His maid lifted up her ankle-length skirt as she climbed in from the other side. Luna straightened her outfit again as she sat down on the rear-facing seat.

Konstantin couldn’t help but exhale his fumes as he eyed the maid facing him. The girl was rather short and thin as a twig, but she had an angelic face that simply made men want to smile back. Her almond-shaped eyes were a crystal-blue, accompanied by pale, delicate lips and a gentle nose. Her skin was creamy and fair, with that translucent gleam that made her flushed cheeks glow in the autumn morning’s cold air. Like all Samarans, she had snow-colored hair — the silver-white luster of her soft, silky strands reflected the faint-blue tinge of the light outside.

Clearing his throat for attention, the potbellied steward with salt-and-pepper hair closed the door on Konstantin’s side before asking:

“Does Your Lordship expect to be back for dinner?”

“No. I expect I’ll be back quite late,” the young man made a lecherous smirk, one that told Vitomir that he had some late night escapades with an upper-class courtesan in mind.

“Very well,” Vitomir’s expression kept even, although his square face formed the faintest scowl as his gray eyes briefly glanced at the maid with a look of pity. After all, what reputable woman would want to be found loitering about late at night? Luna would have to stand outside for who knows how long, enduring the most indecent sounds as she waited for her master to come out.

“I’ll leave the front gates unlocked and post a guard as usual.”

Konstantin simply nodded, before his hand knocked on the carriage’s wooden door twice.

With a cry and a slap of the reins, the wheels began to turn as the driver pressed the two horses into motion.

…

“HALT! IDENTIFY YOURSELVES!”

“GAHHH!”

Konstantin almost jumped out of his seat as the carriage turned a sharp corner in the forest road and suddenly found themselves facing a squad of armed men. Two pointed spears and two crossbows were already aimed at them, with another five warriors clad in chainmail on standby.

As the carriage braked, both of Konstantin’s hands leaped up in reaction. The result was a posture halfway between shielding his face and trying to surrender.

“Oh, it’s His Lordship, Baron Konstantin.”

The sergeant, an imposing middle-aged man with towering height and broad shoulders, announced as he waved for his men to stand down. Despite being of commoner birth, he couldn’t even keep the sneer out of his face as he intentionally swaggered up to the carriage.

“Heading into the city are we?”

“Yes-yes,” Konstantin took several deep breaths, still visibly shaken after the surprise encounter. “I have a few errands to run.”

“Could’ve figured,” the sergeant replied in a voice that openly declared ‘we both know that’s not true’. “Still, we have to stop and examine every passerby,” he leaned casually against the carriage as he leered at the lovely young maid. “Count Nikola’s orders. Can’t be too careful with the Eastling invasion.”

“Y-yes, I-I understand,” Konstantin stuttered, looking distinctively uncomfortable as the bardiche axe held in the sergeant’s hands slanted neared him. His eyes darted between the bladed head and the sergeant’s rough face. He even leaned away from the sharpened steel, as though merely being in proximity scared him.

Meanwhile, Luna simply looked down at her skirt. Her fingers fidgeted as she endured the indecent gaze that felt like it was undressing her.

It took a long moment before the sergeant finally decided he had enough.

“Well, I won’t keep Your Lordship any longer. Have a good day.”

He stepped away from the dirt road, and Konstantin rushed to tap twice for the signal. The driver whipped the reins once more to get the horses going.

His men didn’t even wait until the young noble was out of earshot before commenting in disbelief:

“That’s the son of Grand Prince Radomir?”

“Apple sure fell far from the tree, didn’t it?” The sergeant replied before spitting onto the ground. “A wastrel and a coward. What a disgrace to his father’s legacy.”

…

The bustling city of Boh was the southernmost trade center in the Federated Principalities of Polisia. Better known as the ‘Polisian Federation’, it was a collection of autonomous city-states ‘Principalities’, agrarian commune ‘Protectorates’, and semi-nomadic tribal ‘Khanates’, which banded together in a treaty of collective defense and open trade. The Federation controlled huge swathes of the continental north. Yet despite news of invasion and war coming from the east, the traders within the settlement continued their business as usual, plying the markets with furs, gems, lumber, and grains — all of which Polisia dominated.

Konstantin’s carriage took over an hour to crawl down the crowded main street, which was lined with stalls and shouting tradesmen on both flanks. It was almost noon and the market had been open for hours, yet the booming mercantile activity still couldn’t stop itself from spilling onto the roads.

To his side, Luna squirmed and fretted in her seat, looked decidedly uncomfortable as their carriage advanced through the noisy throngs. For some reason that Konstantin never could understand, his maid simply couldn’t relax whenever they were near a crowd.

“We’ve arrived, Your Lordship,” the driver announced as their carriage pulled up in front of a huge, three-story tavern with a wood sign in front. Imprinted upon it was the art of a black dragon with twelve heads. Beneath that lay the gilded letters ‘The Storm Dragon’.

“Should I return at dusk as usual?”

“That’ll be perfect.”

Opening his door, Konstantin leaped off the carriage with the enthusiasm of a boy anticipating new toys. He rushed inside the largest tavern in this city, leaving behind his maid to pull out the heavy basket.

“Your Lordship,” a familiar barkeep who was almost short enough to be a midget approached him in the hallway. “Back to play again?”

“What else would I be doing here?” Konstantin answered as he crossed the wooden floor in long strides, forcing the small man beside him to double time just to keep up. “I woke up feeling exceptional lucky today!”

An excited grin spread from ear to ear as he marched on, not even bothering to cast a glance at the lowly barkeep.

“I know for certain that I can win back last time’s losses!”

“Of course, Your Lordship,” the reply came rather greasy. “Although it’s still early in the day. Not all the regulars will be here yet.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’ve got time to burn,” Konstantin remarked before he heard the clatter of heels and the soft clinking of glass behind him. It signaled that his maid Luna had finally caught up.

The young man spun about, reached into the basket that the petite girl struggled to hold up, and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“I’ve brought several bottles of the finest, imported Inner Sea wine to share with my friends! I’m sure those of us who are here can take our time enjoying it!”

Turning from the main hallway, the young lord walked into the upper-class gambling parlor with his offering held high. True to the barkeep’s word, only one table out of half a dozen was seated.

“Hey look, Lord Moneybags has returned,” a dashing young man in his early twenties cried out from the table before gesturing in welcome. Dressed in green cashmere and sporting a stylish, feathered hat, Dmitrei was the son of a petty, local noble who also frequented this establishment.

“Ha! That’s Lord Moneyback to you today!” Konstantin smeared a grin across his face as he exchanged nods with the three other men at the table, all sons of wealthy merchants who lived within the city. “My luck has returned today and I know it! So I’ve brought something for everyone to enjoy as I retake my losses! And there will be no leaving here today before you cough every copper kopec back up!”

“Let’s just hope you brought enough silver this time to cover your would-be debts,” another young man smirked in acceptance of the challenge. “Let’s see what trinkets you’ve brought–” he received the bottle of wine and turned it in his hands. “Sixty-year old Arcadian! That’s wine for the Inner Sea Imperium’s patricians! You must’ve paid in gold for this!”

“I think my late father was the one who left these in the cellar,” Konstantin pulled back one of the luxurious leather armchairs and sat down. “I’ve brought two bottles, plus three more of stronger spirits, as well as my maid here to serve us.”

“So she’s the reputed beauty on your estate,” said another young man as he stared at Luna with desire in his eyes. “Pretty rare to see a Samaran in this part of Polisia. Their Protectorate is over a thousand kilopaces to the northeast.”

“What can I say: the gods favored me enough to find her,” Konstantin bragged. “Her father was an Inner Sea merchant — caught at the wrong place at the wrong time; left her an orphan of the Iskar War.”

The previous young man then leaned in to whisper:

“Think you can, uh, let me have a taste of her? Never had a chance to try a Samaran before.”

Konstantin didn’t notice the obvious shiver that went through the girl who stood not far behind. But nevertheless, he stared back like the man who asked was delirious:

“In your dreams. I’m not that magnanimous!”

Meanwhile, another man at the table shouted:

“Hey barkeep! What are you waiting for? Bring us some empty pints! And fresh bread! We might even let you try a sip!”

“Yes Sir!” The small man responded cheerily before hurrying out.

“Quit being greedy, Kuzma,” Dmitrei pulled back the wistful man before he could complain or insist on bartering for the girl. “We have fine drinks, good game, and beautiful company. What is there to whine about? Enjoy the world for what it is and don’t spoil it for the rest of us!

“Now,” the noble son continued as he bridged the deck of cards in his hands with effortless ease. “Let’s have a game to warm up. Regular, half, or full nine-draw?”

“Full nine,” Konstantin declared as he leaned in on one arm. “I told you I’m feeling lucky today.”

…

 

Two hours later, after the lunchtime bustle had faded, Konstantin groaned as he tried to keep his head level.

He hadn’t lost any coin today. But he was a long way from recovering all of his past losses.

“We’rrrrrre not doneeee yet!” His head swayed alongside his arm as he issued yet another challenge. “Again!”

“Please.” Dmitrei, the other noble at the table, scowled. “You’re drunk, Konstantin Radomirovich. Doesn’t really surprise me; you’ve never been able to hold your alcohol.”

“No. Nonononono no! I’m tooootally fine!” Konstantin’s head lolled to one side. His face, normally on the pale side, was beet red. “One more game! I stiiiiill haven’t earned back my minnings!”

“If you’re fine, finish your drink first,” one of the other young men challenged.

Konstantin wrapped his fingers around the handle of his flagon and brought it to his lips. But as soon as he drank one mouthful, he suddenly changed his mind and thrust the drink to his maid:

“Y-yoooou you drink it!” His torso swayed in the armchair. “I-I-iiiii want to see you drink some for once!”

Luna took the flagon with both hands. For a brief moment she looked hesitant, troubled, unsure of what to do. Then, with a deep breath, she raised the container with her fair hands and began chugging down the whole thing in one, long series of gulps.

“Woah!” Several of the men stared. Their gazes switched from feeling sorry for the girl to eyes-wide with amazement. “That’s the strong stuff too!”

“Way to go girl!”

Luna coughed several times as she finally finished and lowered the empty flagon. Her red cheeks suddenly bulged and her palm rushed up like she was going to puke.

“Girl you better lie down… you haven’t even eaten yet!”

“She’lllllll be fine,” Konstantin swayed.

“I’ve heard that Samarans can’t get drunk,” Dmitrei noted in astonishment. “Has something to do with their blood. She probably just never had something that burns her pretty throat. Aren’t I right?”

“Ughhh,” Luna groaned with tears in her eyes, her soft voice barely emerging at a mumble: “How does anyone drink this terrible stuff…?”

The men all laughed. One of them even clapped the petite girl’s thin shoulders, almost unbalancing her in the process.

It was as though they just watched a kid stumble through a coming-of-age ceremony.

Meanwhile, Dmitrei turned around and waited until the short barkeeper was passing the room before shouting out:

“Hey barkeep! Is this guy’s usual room upstairs available?”

“Yes, Your Lordship!”

“Well let’s get him to lay down then.”

The noble son Dmitrei left his seat and was just about to help Konstantin stand, when Konstantin suddenly bolted upright from his armchair.

“Iiiii don’need your help!” He swayed about as he stepped out from the table. “Iiiii know where m’room is!”

With a sigh, Dmitrei turned towards Luna:

“Well then. Girl, make sure your master gets up the stairs safely.”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” Luna dipped down in a shallow curtsy, before rushing after the swaying Konstantin and grabbing a hold of his left arm. This wasn’t easy as even on her heels, she was a full head shorter than he was and much thinner as well. It took all of her meager strength just to keep the larger man steady and walking in some semblance of straight.

…

As soon as Konstantin made it upstairs and turned around the corner, all signs of his drunkenness evaporated.

“Anyone?” He whispered to Luna.

The girl shook her head.

Konstantin continued to fake staggering steps until he reached a door near the end of the hallway. However his countenance had already changed, as his emerald-green eyes unveiled its mercurial nature to bring forth a fierce and piercing gaze.

He slammed open his usual room first, before his fingers squeezed on the ruby signet ring that he wore. The enchanted jewel activated its scanning spell, then turned a shade darker as it detected a scrying sensor within the room and automatically projected a Veil.

Konstantin then reached into his pocket and tossed a rune-inscribed stone onto an armchair. The magic activated immediately, and a ghostly figure in his drunken image emerged into the room before solidifying. The illusory Konstantin staggered over to the armchair before collapsing. ‘It’ leaned towards one side where his maid quickly moved the chamber pot to. The retching sounded real in every way. So did the terrible smell of vomit that followed.

Meanwhile, the real Konstantin wrinkled his nose, before quietly slipping out with his maid and closing the door.

He then turned around, moved twelve paces down in silent steps, and pressed another door handle to slowly open it.

Inside sat another young man, his appearance just over twenty years of age. He had light-brown hair, sky-blue eyes, and a round, well-proportioned face which made him handsome in a rather boyish way. Wearing the full blue-and-white military dress of the Polisian Federation, he turned from the writing table and looked back with a look of startled annoyance.

His perplexed gaze passed over Konstantin and examined Luna.

“Excuse me, Sir,” he asked as Konstantin carefully closed the door. “Aren’t you in the wrong room?”

“It’s alright, Sachka. She’s trustworthy.”

For a moment Aleksandr Vladislavovich Tuchkov — Sachka to only his close friends — continued to stare back with uncertainty. Then, within the blink of an eye, his mask of discontent transformed into the nostalgic, beaming smile of greeting a dear childhood friend, one whom he hasn’t met for far too long.

“Kostya,” he used Konstantin’s diminutive in turn as he stood up. “It’s been what, seven years?”

“Almost eight.”

The two men drew close, gripped one another by the right forearm, then embraced the other as though they were brothers.

“You’ve sure grown.”

“I have to catch up to you at some point,” Aleksandr grinned.

He was still a hand’s width shorter than Konstantin, who stood broad-shouldered and close to two-and-a-half paces — above average for even the tall, Polisian men.

Aleksandr then raised an eyebrow. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine,” Konstantin insisted again, except his speech this time was clear and crisp. “This redness…” he gestured at his face, “it’s a slight allergic reaction that I have to certain types of alcohol. What’s it called again?” He turned to his maid.

Luna blinked. The unexpected question caught her totally off-guard and left her mouth gaping like a fish for a moment.

“R-rosacea, Your Lordship.”

“There you have it. My cheeks grow roses,” Konstantin smirked. “Doesn’t affect anything else. But I have found it useful.”

“Well, you can certainly dispense with the jester act now,” replied Aleksandr. “Room’s clean. I’ve scanned it for scrying sensors and soundproofed it already.”

“I expected no less,” Konstantin returned the grin. “Sorry it took a while. Had to enact some way of getting Nikola’s spies off me for a few hours.”

“You’re still under surveillance then?”

Invited by a gesture from Aleksandr, Konstantin stepped over to the armchairs and sank into one. He relaxed with a deep exhale, as though he had been working nonstop for hours.

“Every daylight hour,” he scowled. “My steward, my driver, half my staff, quarter of the people I meet, and probably every kid just around the street corner.” He sighed with a roll of his eyes. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it is, to live a life knowing that almost nobody around me can be trusted. I have a grand total of two people that I can rely on in my household — Luna here,” he nodded towards the maid, “and my bookkeeper Milosh.”

“It’s even more ridiculous that I have to launder my own money,” Konstantin finished, a perfect explanation of why he had to come gamble so often.

“You’re still alive aren’t you? How many ‘princes’ do you think have ever survived a political purge? Consider yourself lucky,” Aleksandr made one of those ‘you-should-know’ faces as he took the other armchair for himself. “Good,” he stressed, “but also lucky. If the Dolgorukovs had even the slightest inkling…”

A drew a line across his neck just to highlight how serious the topic was.

As typical for a man of noble birth, Aleksandr completely forgot about the servant still standing by the door. But this time, Konstantin didn’t.

“Luna,” he gestured towards the chair by the writing desk that his friend once sat in. “Take a seat. You won’t need to check up on my other self for a while yet. Oh, and sorry for the act I pulled downstairs. Figured it was a good opportunity to show them just how ungrateful of a brat I was.”

“Don’t worry, Your Lordship,” she replied in her gentle, melodic voice. “I never hold the actions of that hedonistic mental midget against you.”

Aleksandr snorted. The air and saliva that had been in his mouth came rushing out of his nose.

“Wow. You sure have a blunt maid.”

“I have an honest maid,” Konstantin corrected that observation. “It’s a rare trait that I’ve come to value, especially these days when I can trust so few.”

Meanwhile, Luna sat down as she was told, her silent presence almost blending into the background. It was a feature of the excellent servant. After all, the aristocracy didn’t exactly want to be reminded that they were being watched at all times.

“Well, Sachka,” Konstantin leaned forward and towards his friend. “How about you tell me just what’s so important that you had to travel down in person. You know as well as I do that you’re endangering your whole family with this trip.”

“I was already in the south when my family sent message for me to return,” Aleksandr began. “Grand Prince Mstislav has issued a general call-to-arms. All landed nobles are expected to rally their druzhina retainers and join with the Grand Prince’s main army.”

Technically speaking, Konstantin was a landed noble as well. The only difference was that he had no right to maintain a contingent of household troops. The Grand Prince had stripped that from him, and the guards at his manor were all in the pocket of his steward.

The young lord’s eyebrows rose. “The easterners were too much for the Khanates to handle this time?”

“Too much? They were overran!” Aleksandr exclaimed. “The battles in Astra destroyed their armies! Even now, the Eastlings are advancing on the White Citadel of Sarkel to lay siege. According to father, their ‘Great Khan’ has claimed lordship over ‘all who live as far as the prairie grass grows’.”

Konstantin’s brows furrowed. The semi-nomadic Khanates of the Polisian Federation were a hybrid between Marches — militarized border provinces — and friendly buffer states. They guarded the stormy eastern borders where the nomadic hordes of the steppes clashed every season. The Khanates maintain much of their autonomy, but in exchange for free market access by Federation traders as well as a united diplomatic front, they receive substantial military subsidies and a guarantee of support during defensive wars.

“That’s just ridiculous! They can’t just shout a terrain and claim all of it as theirs! Geopolitics isn’t a silly, childish game!”

“News have it that they trampled the entire Dawn Imperium in the east to dust,” Aleksandr noted. “Not sure how much I believe that. It may be just rumors spread to scare us. However one thing is for sure: these barbarians aren’t to be taken lightly.

“According to father,” he continued, “our scouts estimated that only forty-five thousand Eastlings crossed the mountains. The Khanates in the east pooled together twice that number. Yet they were the ones smashed by the battles’ end while the invaders’ losses were,” he brought up two fingers to emphasize the quote: “light.”

Konstantin pursed his lips with a sigh.

“The Khanates were always so prideful, claiming their horse archers were braver and tougher than our druzhina. Now look at them, defeated and chased like a pack of frightened rabbits by…”

He then paused, realizing that he’s never really asked.

“Why do we call them ‘Eastlings’ anyway?”

It wasn’t unusual for nations to give disparaging nicknames to their enemies. But the term ‘Eastling’ only started to appear in the news recently.

“Because they’re short, stubby creatures who ride small horses,” Aleksandr explained. “Or so the reports claim.”

The young lord scowled, before leaning back and returning to the topic at hand:

“You still haven’t told me the reason for our meeting.”

Aleksandr feigned a long, disappointed sigh as he shook his head.

“And here I was, giving you an opportunity to vent your true feelings, for the first time in who knows how long.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sachka. I appreciate our time together,” Konstantin chuckled. “But I’m also anxious to hear the real message.”

“Fiiiine,” Aleksandr added in a rather petulant tone, before straightening his voice to speak seriously:

“The reason I’m here is because Grandpa sent me. He believes that this war won’t open well for us — and I don’t mean just the Khanates.”

“Marshal Tuchkov?” Konstantin tilted his head, before receiving a nod in confirmation.

The Tuchkovs were one of the great dynastic military families in Polisia. Aleksandr was the youngest of four brothers in his generation, all of whom became career officers to uphold the family legacy. Their patriarch was Marshal Tuchkov, a retired military commander with five major conflicts under his belt. This easily made him one of the most respected and experienced military leaders in the Federation.

The Marshal was also a firm ally of Konstantin’s father Radomir, at least until the Streltsy Revolt when Konstantin’s family was virtually wiped out. Since then, the Tuchkovs openly switched their allegiance, while secretly maintaining a backdoor with the young Konstantin through his childhood friend.

Aleksandr nodded before continuing:

“It’s been only seven-and-half years since the Dolgorukovs seized power in the aftermath of the Streltsy Revolt–”

Konstantin’s eyes flared for the briefest moment as he heard two words. He had learned to suppress the screaming in his memories and the guilt riding his emotions. But he still had trouble keeping the hatred out of his gaze.

“Grand Prince Mstislav Dolgorukov is a long way from wielding the same influence and respect that your father once had,” Aleksandr continued. “Many of the Princes pay him respect in name only, not to mention he’s never even attained a clear majority of support from the Veche Assembly. Grandpa believes that the Grand Prince is marching out in belief that war — especially a victory — will consolidate his power. Except the defeat of the Khanates in the east clearly show: this is the greatest threat that Polisian has faced in over a century. It is not some trifling challenge that could be won without a strong military leader!

“How could a fragmented army whose noblemen lack respect for the commander win such a battle!?” He ended with a frustrated exclamation.

Konstantin nodded, knowing fully well what Aleksandr meant. The Polisian army did see some modernizing reforms during his father’s time, which was part of the reason behind the Streltsy Revolt. However, the core of the army was still feudal, maintained by the military orders and the Boyar aristocracy. To wield this army effectively during war would require the personal loyalty of many nobles — something that Grand Prince Mstislav had yet to achieve.

“Victorious warriors achieve victory first and then enter battle. Defeated warriors conduct battle first and then seek victory.”

Konstantin echoed the words of the famous Sun General, whose brilliant campaigns built the foundation to one of the two superpowers in the world.

“Exactly,” Aleksandr was well-read in the military treatises himself. “Grandpa believes that we might have a forty percent gamble to win at best, and even then it’ll be a pyrrhic victory. On the other hand, if we lose, it’ll be a disaster. A full cavalry army that can outmaneuver even the Khanates? Our army will stand no chance of retreating.”

Konstantin looked grim. “How many men are we talking about?”

“According to the Coalition Military Council’s estimates: ninety thousand, including over twenty thousand druzhina, fifteen thousand streltsy, and at least fifty shturmoviks.”

“By the Gods,” Konstantin stared back, his wide eyes full of dismay. “If he loses, he’ll throw away Polisia’s entire standing army! Why didn’t Marshal Tuchkov–”

“You think Grandpa didn’t try to persuade the Grand Prince!?” Aleksandr raised his voice with a scowl. “Of course he did! This is the fate of Polisia we’re talking about, far more important than the debauched politics of who gets to be in power! But the Grand Prince has never trusted Grandpa! He thinks us Tuchkovs are just afraid of him gaining more influence!”

Konstantin looked down, ashamed of himself for opening his mouth so quickly. Perhaps he had let himself speak too freely in front of Sachka. He knew that the elderly Marshal Tuchkov was a true patriot, one who would gladly overlook personal politics for Polisia’s future. If only the man wasn’t over a hundred-twenty years old and nearing the end of his life as a mage, if only he was still healthy enough to ride a horse and accompany the main army…

“And your family is riding with the army into this…”

Konstantin’s tone was one of lament. The Tuchkovs represented one of the last reliable allies he still had. But Aleksandr’s reply came with nothing but fortitude:

“No Tuchkov has ever shirked duty before a Call-to-Arms. If our participation can raise the odds of victory by even the slightest margin, then we would gladly ride to meet the Valkyries.”

It was said that the souls of those who died gloriously in battle would be taken by the divine battle maidens — the Valkyries. They would be brought to the Golden Halls of the Stormlord Perun, where they shall fight and feast in merriment until the end of all days. It was a prime example of how the Boyar aristocracy had brought their Hyperborean religion into this land, where the beliefs intermingled with the local Polisian deities over centuries of time.

“So…” Konstantin stared back at his childhood friend after a moment of silence. “If the fate of Polisia is already sealed on this throw of the dice, what can we do?”

“We can prepare for the worst,” Aleksandr spoke grimly, “and seize the few opportunities that arise.”

Konstantin gave a slight tilt of the head, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’ve only twenty-five druzhina with me on this trip, but they’re all the finest in my house,” Aleksandr finally reached the point as he pulled a parchment scroll from his pockets. “Every one of them is fit to be an officer, and I’ll be leaving them behind — here,” he unravels the scroll to reveal a map, “when I head east, where they’ll stay undercover until you meet them.”

“You want me to build an army, in secret,” Konstantin raised one eyebrow.

“Well you’ve certainly got the money laundering skills, and that’s the hardest trail to hide,” Aleksandr chortled, before getting serious again: “You also live near both a swampy border and the abandoned foothills in the Dead Mountains’ shadow. I can’t think of any better circumstances for the raising of a secret, private army. If our campaign fails, the Grand Prince will either be dead or in disgrace, while the Dolgorukovs will have taken a massive blow to their power and prestige. There’ll no better time to resurrect the Apraksins’ banner and lead the Reformist faction once more, Kostya.

“Besides… by that time, Polisia will need all the armies that it can recruit,” he added. “After all, war is the great crucible in which heroes are forged.”

“For it reveals both humanity’s finest and worst,” Konstantin finished the philosopher’s quote for his dear friend with a smirk. “But what if the campaign succeeds? I could be putting all of your family in great danger.”

“That is a risk that Grandpa believes is worth taking,” Aleksandr clasped Konstantin on the shoulder again, as though to erase all of his doubts. “Besides, even a pyrrhic victory could cost Mstislav more prestige and influence than he gains. With the whole standing army so far away from the capital, maybe that’ll offer a window of opportunity. If not, you can still disband quietly and pray nobody noticed.”

Standing up straight and smoothing out his uniform with a tug, Aleksandr declared:

“In the end, House Tuchkov will hedge our bets and place our trust upon you, Konstantin Radomirovich Apraksin.”

Then, his lips bent with that of a playful smirk.

“So you know: no pressure.”

 

 

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Author’s Notes

• The lyrics of the opening scene belong to two Russian songs: The first, Cossack’s Song, is about a Cossack cavalrymen in the Russian Civil War, who expressed his homesickness before his compatriots cheered him on. The latter, The Cossacks is a more standard marching song.
• ‘Zaporozhian Host’ is an 18th century autonomous Cossack state in modern day Ukraine, which became a vassal state and was later integrated into the Russian Empire. They are most renowned for the Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks, which was cinematized by Paradox as a trailer.

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