Captain Henry Donnager opened his eyes to find himself standing up, facing a door. He looked around. The room was small, without any decorations or furniture. The only thing that stood out from the grey walls of the room were the lightbulb overhead and the blood red door ahead. He walked toward the door and opened it.

He emerged on the other side into a vast throne room. The tapestries that adorned the dark walls all bore a simple yet elegant insignia: five white stars upon a blue flag, arranged in a chevron formation. Sitting on the throne was a man obscured in darkness. The man stood, having noticed Donnager, and walked to him. As he got closer, it seemed as if the light around him dimmed, as if the man was emanating darkness. Donnager frowned, unnerved by the dark undertones of this place.

The two men stood face to face. Donnager stared into the face of the man, or rather where he believed its face should be. Although he couldn’t tell for certain, he felt the mysterious being’s gaze piercing into his eyes. Then, it spoke.

“You have doomed us all.”

The man pointed his finger. Following its direction, Donnager turned around to see that the door behind him was no longer. Instead, it was replaced by a window. He walked to it and stared into the cityscape beyond. He recognized this place… It was Manhattan. He looked down and saw Central Park. Slightly to the left, he identified a set of residential complexes. That’s where he grew up.

Puzzled by this vision, he turned to the man behind him. “Why are you showing me this?”

The mysterious figure remained silent, giving nothing at all in response to his question. After a few seconds, he returned to the window. The scene changed. He was no longer in Manhattan, not was he in a skyscraper. He stared out of the window of a bombed out building, seeing a large circular stadium.

“Donetsk…”

Donetsk, Ukraine was the site of his final mission before he was transferred to Area 51. Hearing the sound of a jet, he looked up into the sky. An Su-34 whizzed past before igniting into a ball of flame, a missile scoring a direct hit on its engines.

Donnager remembered this… he took out several jets that were stolen from the Russian military by a rogue general, General Zhukov. His own jet flew overhead, an F-22 Raptor, which quickly disappeared out of sight.

Within a minute, he saw it return. “No… I put this in the past already!” He turned around to demand answers from the man, but he was gone. He looked back toward the burning plane, which had just been hit and was now spiraling down, shrieking as it grew closer. It was going to crash in his building. He started running from the window, attempting to put distance between himself and the crashing jet, but it was too late.

“You didn’t finish the mission,” a harsh voice echoed, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.

Captain Henry Donnager opened his eyes to find himself on the floor, with the same mysterious man above him. He quickly got up and looked out of the window. It was Manhattan once again. This time, fires raged throughout the city, tracer rounds lighting up the twilight sky in the distance. The sky was dotted with squadrons of jets and helicopters. A unit from a formation flying right above him was hit, and slammed into his old home.

His eyes widened. He remained silent as the fighting raged on, until a crippled helicopter began falling toward his position. He turned back in order to run. This time, the man hadn’t disappeared, and instead was beckoning him towards a shimmering portal. He could attempt to find this building’s stairway, but there wouldn’t be enough time for him to escape. The only way out was this shimmering portal. He ran to it and let himself be pulled into its event horizon.

Captain Henry Donnager opened his eyes to find himself on his bed. He looked to his right. The clock read 5:55 A.M. He groaned, knowing he would have to go to work soon. As he initiated his morning routine, the thought of the dream lingered in his mind.

——

North Grenden Plains

40 miles from Fort Sool

Sonaran Federation

Continent of Eanif, Planet Gaerra

2 P.M. Local Time

Month 5, Day 17, Year 237

By an interesting looking flag that depicted a multitude of stars upon a blue background, two men conversed with each other.

“The forces of the Nobian Empire will be converging on these grounds by daybreak tomorrow, Master Kelmithus. Are you certain your strategy will work?” a man asked, his clothing defining him as someone of importance.

“Indeed, General. How are the beacons?” the old wizard replied, sparing a glance at the field of obelisk-like constructs.

“They are ready to activate on your command. The mages are on standby to assist you.”

Kelmithus stroked his grand beard. “Excellent. At the least, this plan should be able to delay long enough for reinforcements to reach the fort.”

The general nodded solemnly. “I pray your sacrifice will not be in vain. May Sola’s light guide you.”

“And you as well.”

The two men concluded their conversation and directed their troops to rest, as tomorrow will be a fateful day. Several nations were curious about Kelmithus’ planned strategy. Consequently, observers watched from a camp nearly a mile away from the battlefield.

——

“Master Kelmithus, are you sure this will work? The enemy has a force of twenty thousand, including 200 wyvern riders!”

To reassure the general, Kelmithus explained the logic behind this magic. “Truly, it matters not how many people I face. It only matters the volume of which is transported. As long as the enemy formation is not spread out tremendously, my spell can envelop and transport all of them.”

The general sighed, eyeing the few thousand brave soldiers under his command. “Reinforcements are three days worth of travel away, and I fear we may not hold on for long.”

Kelmithus clutched his staff and smiled at the general, attempting to radiate confidence. “Worry not, dear friend; I shall see to it that we Sonarans shine light upon these wretches.”

The dire situation posed by the oncoming enemy invasion resulted in desperation, and thus Kelmithus would cast a spell that the world has not seen for millennia. Kelmithus, noticing that his hand was shaking, drove his staff into the ground. With his chest held high and his beard majestically flowing in the wind, he closed his eyes, uttering a silent prayer to Sola. When he finished his prayer, he took time to survey his mages. They were prepared; calm, even. His rallying speech several days ago convinced them of an easy victory, and their assigned jobs required little more than channeling their magic energies — one of the most simple of magical tasks. However, only Kelmithus and the Sonaran general knew of the truth. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Kelmithus was planning to replicate a lost art of magic, recently rediscovered in a mildewing stack of ancient scrolls. This type of magic became lost for a good cause: it was incredibly risky, posing a magnitude of danger that could potentially threaten the existence of the entire world. In the face of possible annihilation, Kelmithus determined that this was a risk worth taking. After all, the other nations have been able to develop super weapons. Why couldn’t the Sonarans?

——

Month 5, Day 18

The peaceful silence of the plains was interrupted by the sound of marching, before coming to a halt. An army flying a black flag, with a silver crescent in the middle, stared eastward, toward the sight of multiple plumes of smoke originating from campfires. As the troops of this army began to establish a camp for the night, a man grabbed their attention. A gaunt man stood before his comrades, preparing to give a speech. His graying hair and wrinkles were in stark contrast to his youthful determination and overall physique.

“Tomorrow, we begin the first incursion into the Sonaran heartland! After almost a year of grueling battle with their tributaries, we shall finally bask in the glory we have long sought! Before dawn, we shall march unto their positions and annihilate the enemy, and open the floodgates for our torrential wrath! For Nobia!” the general said.

“For Nobia!” his soldiers echoed.

As the Nobians marched toward the outnumbered defenders, Kelmithus began his incantations. The magical beacons he placed began to pulse with light, as his mages channeled their mana through to the master wizard. With an abundant supply of mana at his disposal, he was able to cast his spell, surrounding himself and all of the enemy forces in a transparent purple bubble. The Nobian mages, sensing the powerful magics in the atmosphere, began to tremble. They realized what Kelmithus was attempting, causing goosebumps to form as they yelled at the enemy wizard.

“Quickly, brothers of Nobia, we must stop this fool before he undoes our progress!”

The Nobian soldiers closed the distance between them and Kelmithus as fast as they could, with the dragon knights taking the lead. Despite their fearsome capabilities, the distance proved to be too vast, and Kelmithus was able to complete his incantation.

“San noranimis cronissus travurium!”

Upon his command, the bubble and everything enclosed within vanished. In the place of a bubble, a space-time anomaly that resembled a portal remained. Tumultuous winds rushed in to fill the vacuum that the spell left behind.

Spectating the event, the Sonaran troops stared in awe, mouths agape at the incredible feat of arcane prowess. “May Sola’s light guide you, Master Kelmithus. It was an honor to serve alongside you,” the Sonaran general whispered.

——

Sir Mirand Du Barenia stood from his seat, watching from the observer tent. He scanned the battlefield, from the Sonaran side to the Nobian side, or rather, what used to be the Nobian side. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped, incapable of fathoming the incredulous scene that had just occurred before him. Observers from other nations reacted similarly, although he was too stupefied to notice them.

The spell was successful, and exceeded expectations so tremendously that the battlefield fell silent for nearly a minute, men standing and looking around as if they had just woken up. Suddenly, the silence was broken by shouting and horns coming from Nobian command tents. The Nobian commanders, seeing their forces vanish, ordered a retreat for the remaining command staff. As they fled the scene, observers sent from various nations began to converse amongst each other.

“I have never seen such magic in my life. How is this possible?” Sir Du Barenia asked.

A haughty man named Senior Mage Joseck Alyn, hailing from the Divinian Empire, replied, his eyes displaying a wisdom far surpassing that of most people. “Ah, you Mekkanese, your people are so ignorant in the history of magic.” The man then paused, seeming to display fear before returning to his previous demeanor. “I never anticipated any of the younger civilizations to come across such spellcasting, but it appears I am mistaken. Knowledge of spatial manipulation was sealed thousands of years ago.” He shook his head and sighed. “Are you familiar with the Axons?”

The Mekkanese observer shook his head. “No.”

“With your relatively recent arrival to this world, I suppose I understand. Several thousand years ago, humanity discovered how to influence space and time with magic. There are many variations of the story, but they all tell the same tale: empires in search of riches and lands to conquer opened a portal into other lands, likely on different worlds. For a time, they rejoiced in their discoveries: endless resources and exotic species to enhance their palette. Medicine advanced with the application of new herbs and some nations had even begun to industrialize because of tremendous riches and advancement. Of course, that didn’t last very long. Eventually they came across other conquerors, much more powerful than they. These otherworldly conquerors came to be known as the Axon Empire, and spread from South Obeg, nearly dominating the central continents. They wielded magical weapons beyond our understanding, but the gods of Lore graced us with Heroes who pushed them back into their own world. Since the banishment of the Axons, the knowledge of portal magic became forbidden, sealed away.”

Sir Du Barenia scoffed. “Evidently some scrolls managed to get away.”

“Yes, unfortunately. I pray that the Axons are not able to somehow detect the magical signatures of these portals. I fear for their prophesied return,” Alyn muttered.

“Well, perhaps it is unlikely that they will return at all,” Du Barenia suggested. “Surely the likelihood of the Sonarans opening a gateway into the realm of the banished empire is astronomically small.”

“That isn’t the issue. Such magic is traceable, and can lead the banished enemies back to our home. Imagine villages in the forest. There are many, but we cannot find them because of the dense vegetation. However, if one of these villages lights a fire, everyone in the surrounding area can see the smoke, and can locate the village. What the Sonarans just did is light up a signaling fire.”

“Well, then why didn’t you stop them?”

Alyn nearly chuckled at the Mekkanese man’s ridiculous statement. “Anticipating their use of long-lost magic is not something that can be foreseen.”

Du Barenia nodded in understanding. “Then, how long would it be before the banished empire returns? We can start preparing now!”

Alyn gave the proposition some thought, tapping his chin as he spoke, “It might be a futile endeavor if they have advanced more than our civilizations. Still, there is a possibility that they suffered greatly from the war, and have advanced at the same rate as us. The only difference now is that we do not have heroes to call upon.”

Sir Du Barenia gave the Divinian a quizzical look. “Do the gods not answer your offerings?”

“The gods have not surfaced in centuries, nor have their heralds. Unless a miracle is to surface, we face this new threat alone. Our rivalries must end here and now should we survive the coming ordeal.”

Du Barenia smiled, hiding his suspicions. “And so we shall.”