Bernard Empire National Hospital – Intensive Care Unit
Elizabeth and some people are walking down the hallway.
At the end of the hallway, slumped on a plastic chair outside Room 307, sat Carl. His uniform was streaked with ash and dried blood. A bandage wrapped around his forearm peeked beneath his sleeve, and his head hung low, fingers gripping his hair as if to physically anchor his guilt. He didn't look up as Elizabeth approached, though his shoulders tensed.
"Carl," Elizabeth said, her voice clipped.
He flinched but remained silent.
Carl's jaw tightened. "I… tried to... The explosion—"
"Save your excuses for the tribunal." She swept past him into the room, leaving the door ajar.
The ICU was a cocoon of cold light and machinery. Alberto lay motionless on the elevated bed. An oxygen mask fogged faintly with each shallow breath. To his left, a ventilator hissed rhythmically; to his right, a cerebral oximeter displayed a precarious 72% blood oxygen level. Intravenous lines snaked from his arms to bags of electrolytes and broad-spectrum antibiotics. A neurostimulator crown—a lattice of silver wires and glowing runes—encircled his skull, its monitors flickering with erratic brainwave patterns.
Dr. Elena Voss, the hospital's lead neurologist, stood rigidly beside the bed. Her lab coat was wrinkled, her eyes shadowed from three consecutive shifts. "Prime Minister," she said, bowing slightly. "We've stabilized his vitals, but the coma is… unpredictable. The blast wave caused diffuse axonal injury. Until his neural pathways begin to repair, we can't—"
Elizabeth raised a hand, silencing her. She turned to Circe.
"Circe. Can your magic do anything about this?"
The sorceress stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the Emperor. She extended a hand, and a faint gold aura emanated from her palm, washing over Alberto's body. After a moment, the glow dimmed. "I can mend bone and muscle, Prime Minister, but not this. His mind is adrift. I do not know of any magic that can wake him up."
Elizabeth's expression hardened. She turned to Rena. "Called all the cabinet ministers and the three military chiefs!"
Elizabeth's gaze lingered on Alberto's face— {You don't get to die yet}
_______________________
Two hours later, the cabinet chamber buzzed with tension. The room—a vaulted hall of polished obsidian and gold—was lined with holographic maps of the empire's borders and the smoldering ruins of Britannia's capital. Twenty-three ministers and three military chiefs stood at attention as Elizabeth entered, her presence silencing the room.
"Sit," she commanded, taking her place at the head of the table. Rena projected a classified dossier onto the central screen: satellite imagery of Latvia's coastal shipyards, troop movements near Britannia's northern front, and a blurred photo of a serpentine sea monster breaching dark waters.
"As of 0800 hours, Emperor Alberto is incapacitated. Per Article VII of the Imperial Charter, I am assuming executive authority until his recovery or… successor confirmation. Does anyone have any objections to this?"
No one objected. Because they understood that Elizabeth was taking power in the absence of Alberto was the right decision to keep their country stable.
"The first order of business: Latvia."
"We confirm Latvia's fleet has blockaded Britannia's eastern ports. They're using deep-sea leviathans to drag entire warships underwater. Our satellites confirm Latvian shamans are raising draugr from mass graves—corpses reanimated with necrotic runes. Our allies are drowning. Latvian orc legions are executing nobles and burning villages. If we don't intervene, Britannia collapses in months."
Then a minister said, "But the Prime Minister, only the Emperor has the right to declare war."
"Yes, you are right. However, Under Article IX, in the absence of the Emperor, wartime authority can be transferred to the Prime Minister with a 75% cabinet vote. "
Then General Marcus said, "Even so, Prime Minister, we don't know much about Latvia. If we attack them , it will cause a lot of damage to our troops."
"I know. We can get information about them from Britannia. We also have their former prince. He can give us all the information on this matter. I just want you to prepare your forces—mobilize the 5th Infantry Division and 9th Armored Division to the Britannian. Admiral Tanaka, deployed the 2nd fleet to break Latvia's blockade."
She turned to Economic Minister Anika Patel. "Double shifts at all munitions factories. Suspend civilian production of vehicles. Offer tax exemptions to corporations supporting the war effort."
"let's show them what real power looks like!"
By nightfall, the empire's war machine roared to life. Factories in the Iron Belt churned out armored tanks and fighter jets.
Duke Farl said. "Your Majesty, the Elysian Archipelago controls the Jade Strait. If they blockade it, our eastern trade routes will collapse. We'll lose access to grain stores, iron ore, medicinal herbs—"
"Then we take the Strait back," Maria snapped. "General Voss."
A broad-shouldered man in burnished armor snapped to attention. "Your Majesty."
"You led the campaign in the Blackfire Mountains. The tunnels there—can they be used to bypass the Strait?"
General Voss frowned. "The tunnels are narrow, Your Majesty, and riddled with cave-ins. But… with enough laborers, we could clear a path. It would take weeks, maybe months."
"You have days," Maria said. "Use prisoners. Use convicts. Use children if you must. I want that route open before the next full moon."
A collective shudder ran through the room. Even the most hardened nobles recoiled at the order. Duchess Milana opened her mouth to protest, but Maria silenced her with a glare.
"This is no longer a kingdom of laws," the queen said quietly. "This is a kingdom of survivors. And survival demands sacrifices."
Maria rose from her seat, her blood-streaked gown pooling around her like a shroud. She walked slowly to the map of Britannia, her fingers trailing over the inked borders. When she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of a death sentence.
"Let it be known," she said, "that any lord, lady, or commoner who withholds troops, supplies, or loyalty from the crown will be branded an enemy of Britannia. Their lands will be scorched. Their families will be executed. Their names will be erased from history."
"As for Duke Barco," Maria said, her lip curling, "send a raven to the Elysian Archipelago. Tell Strom Elysian that his and his father's head will adorn my gates by winter. And his islands will burn until the waves themselves boil."
The nobles bowed, their earlier defiance extinguished by the queen's iron will.