Book 1 Chapter 14: Solara's Iron Heart

The pre-dawn air tasted of dust and distant industry, sharp and cold against High Commander Taylor Bula's face. She stood just inside the towering iron gates of Solara, the city rising behind her. It was a city unlike any other: a sprawling, meticulously ordered fortress carved from grey, polished stone, built solely for war and governance. Every building, every street, every single inhabitant served the military. There were no winding merchant alleys here like in Dustfall, no independent stalls. Instead, disciplined barracks stood shoulder-to-shoulder with steam-powered armories, vast training grounds, and the precise, imposing structures of the Solaran government. This was the beating heart of Solara, the unyielding core of a nation locked in a three-century war with distant Faph. This city housed the families of the army, a population bred for resilience, their lives intertwined with the rhythm of drills and the distant echoes of conflict. As a High Commander, Taylor was a prominent figure, her very presence a testament to the city's power and her formidable status within its rigid hierarchy.

She was tall and lean, her figure conveying a sense of disciplined strength. Her long, straight black hair was pulled back severely, a dark cascade that reached past her hips, an unusual length for a soldier but one she kept with meticulous discipline. Her uniform, functional and unadorned, fit her like a second skin, speaking of efficiency rather than flair. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, were fixed on the eastern horizon, where the vast, mineral-rich desert stretched, still cloaked in the final vestiges of night.

She was waiting. Not in the warmth of her office, but here, exposed to the elements. This was where the reports from the front lines often arrived, carried by exhausted, dust-caked runners or, as in this case, a lone carriage. She knew the costs of war intimately, the grim mathematics of bodies and strategic gains. She was here because direct, immediate information was vital. After all, every life mattered, even in death, to the larger, brutal equation of victory. Her presence at the gate wasn't a show for her subordinates; it was a testament to her proactivity, her relentless dedication to her responsibility, seeing her high rank not as a final destination, but as an ever-present burden of duty.

A lone camel-drawn carriage rattled into view, kicking up a plume of dust from the desert road. It pulled to a halt a few meters from the main path, its single, weary camel hanging its head. Taylor did not move, her posture rigid, unwavering, as if carved from the very stone of the gate itself.

A young man exited the carriage, dressed in the midnight-black uniform of a Solarian soldier. The fabric of his jacket, though clean, seemed to hang awkwardly on his narrow frame, and his trousers were just a touch too long, bunching around his polished boots. He looked barely a man, perhaps no older than seventeen, like a boy playing dress-up in his father's uniform. He held a tightly rolled scroll in one hand. Upon seeing Taylor, standing so tall and formidable by the gate, he visibly flinched. Despite the good few hundred meters still separating them, he instantly bowed, a quick, jerky motion. Then he broke into a run, trying to close the distance as quickly as his churning legs would allow.

He reached the gate, panting, his chest heaving, his face slick with sweat despite the cool morning air. He didn't seem to know the best way to present himself to someone of her rank; his movements were a tangle of nerves. He bowed again, then snapped into a clumsy salute, a pathetic, almost comical display.

"At ease... please," Taylor demanded, her voice firm, yet with a subtle undercurrent that hinted at her barely concealed amusement. "What is your name and rank?" she added, her eyes sharp.

"Private Orion Vance, Commander!" the boy gasped out, snapping back to a stiff, if slightly trembling, salute. "Field Courier, Third Platoon, Sector Gamma!"

Taylor gave a slight, acknowledging nod. "Very good. The report, please."

Orion, visibly spellbound by her simple praise, froze. His eyes, wide and earnest, seemed to fix on some invisible point beyond her shoulder, caught in the aura of her command. He remained utterly still.

"Report, please, Vance," Taylor repeated, her voice unwavering, maintaining the same even tone.

The young private snapped out of his daze, flinching as if struck. He fumbled frantically with the scroll, his fingers clumsy with nerves. The parchment tumbled from his grasp, threatening to land in the dust. Taylor’s hand shot out, seizing the report in mid-air just before it hit the ground.

"S-Sorry," Orion stuttered, his face flushing scarlet.

Taylor ignored his apology. Her gaze fell to the scroll, noting the wax seal still intact. Pressed into the deep red wax was the unmistakable Solarian emblem: a stylized, single-pointed star, its intricate lines echoing the very design on the royal coin Motley possessed. She broke the seal with a practiced snap, unrolling the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents, absorbing the grim facts.

INTERNAL: Sector Gamma Field Report – Operation Viperstrike Aftermath

Reporting Officer: Captain Jorah Thorne

Unit: 3rd Platoon, Sector Gamma – Vanguard Assault

Initial Deployment: 125 personnel. 

Engaged Target: Dustfall Western Gates, primary and secondary breaches achieved. Initial resistance from Faph City Guard is consistent with intelligence projections. 

Tactical Shift: Unexpected, overwhelming counter-assault from interior Faph forces. Enemy composition and readiness were significantly underestimated. Unit overwhelmed.

 Withdrawal: Unsanctioned tactical retreat initiated by surviving elements. Cohesion compromised. 

Personnel Status:

• Total Initial Deployment: 125

• Confirmed Returnees to Solaran Lines (Post-Engagement): 22

• Status of Returnees: All reported severe exhaustion, disorganization, and shock. All subsequently fled from collection points. No personnel from this deployment have successfully returned to Solara.

• Casualties (Confirmed KIA between Dustfall and Solaran territory): 21 identified Solaran soldiers, confirmed deceased by advanced scout patrols. Additional casualties presumed.

• Missing In Action (MIA): 1 personnel. Status unknown. Presumed captured.

• Summary: Operation Viperstrike failed to secure the target. Unit was routed. High casualties. No survivors returned to base. Recommendations pending further analysis.

Taylor rolled up the report, her face unchanged. "Dismissed," Taylor said, snapping a sharp salute.

"Thank you," Orion stammered, returning a wobbly salute of his own. He quickly turned, stumbling a bit before scrambling back towards the waiting carriage, his thin frame looking even more ill-suited for the harsh realities of military life.

Taylor watched him go. The carriage rattled away, disappearing back into the pre-dawn gloom of the desert road. Alone now, her body relaxed, the rigid discipline momentarily dissolving. She turned, facing the towering, closed iron gate behind her, its cold metal a stark mirror to the grim news she'd just received. "All dead... fuck," Taylor whispered, the curse raw and unbidden. She bit her lip, balling her hands into tight fists, scrunching the damning report into a crumpled mess. Then, she brought her fist up, banging it against the iron gate three rhythmic beats.

With a low groan, mighty gears rumbled into action deep within the stone. Slowly, ponderously, the massive gate of Solara's Iron Heart began to part, a narrow sliver of light revealing the barracks within.

Taylor centered herself again, her spine stiffening, her gaze hardening. She knew two guards were posted on the other side of the gate, their eyes unblinking sentinels. She had to maintain the image, could not show any weakness, not in this city, and certainly not at her rank. As the massive iron gates fully parted, two men stood on either side of the path, their postures rigid, bowing slightly at her appearance. "Back to headquarters," she demanded, her voice clipped, walking past them without acknowledging their deference.

A private carriage awaited her, its gleaming black lacquer a stark contrast to the dust-caked, utilitarian vehicle that had brought Orion Vance. All carriages under Solara's rule were kept in impeccable condition, but the few designated for the top one percent were crafted to stand out. Its wheels, large and silent, were fashioned from the dark, impossibly dense wood of Bloodwillow trees, rumored to be endangered and found only in the deepest, most sacred groves. Intricate, hand-carved gold filigree curled senselessly around its windows and door frames, purely decorative. Even the leather of its interior smelled faintly of rare, exotic blossoms, and the steam lamps illuminating its steps were miniature works of art, too ornate for mere function.

Stepping into the lavish interior always made Taylor feel a prickle of discomfort. She had held this title for less than two years, and she was not yet accustomed to this level of service, this overt display of her status among the elite. Having ownership of such a carriage, commanding thousands of people, having guards posted around her at all times—it was a constant weight. The carriage lurched forward, its steam engine hissing almost imperceptibly, and Taylor was alone again, at her demand. Her guards, trained to ride within the escort, were instead clinging to the carriage's exterior, per her strict orders for the trip home. She needed time to process.

In the almost two years as High Commander, Taylor had organized six raids against the city of Dustfall in Faph, the bordering nation across the Great Faph Desert. The desert, a supposed treasure trove of riches as the leaders always claimed, felt to Taylor like nothing more than a vast, bloody tomb. The lives lost for both nations were never worth it. She hated this part of her job: the wars, the fighting, the endless bloodshed. This one, this particular battle, was the worst. Much, much worse.

"Forget and move on. Forget and move on," Taylor whispered to herself, the words coming faster and faster. She could feel her heart begin to race, her chest tightening, a familiar vise clamping around her lungs. Forget, forget, forget. She pressed her palms against her thighs, rubbing them slowly, rhythmically. Her breathing began to mirror the motion, deepening and slowing, pulling her racing heart back from the brink. She released a slow sigh and leaned back against the plush leather seat, the tension in her body gradually easing.

Taylor watched the city unfurl beyond the carriage window, the constant rumble of the wheels a familiar drone. Here, the buildings were uniform, each block a precise grid of grey stone barracks and steam-powered armouries, their brass pipes gleaming dully in the early morning light. There were no eccentric, colourful stalls or sprawling cafes. Instead, she saw vast training grounds, where the silhouettes of early morning drills were already visible. She saw the housing blocks for army families, their windows small, practical rectangles, designed for function over charm. Every structure spoke of discipline, of efficiency, of singular purpose.

As the carriage glided down the wide, clean streets, almost everyone they passed waved. The adults offered a simple, respectful hand in greeting. The children, however, were another matter. Their bright faces would break into wide, unburdened smiles as they caught sight of the gilded carriage, some even abandoning their games to chase after it for a few breathless paces. To them, she must seem like a princess, a figure of distant, almost mythical importance.

The carriage passed through another massive stone wall, less a gate and more a seamless extension of the city's internal defenses. Before them, dominating the skyline, stood the headquarters. It was a towering figure, the very pride of Solara. Constructed from the same polished grey stone as the rest of the city, it rose into the sky in a series of dramatic, receding tiers. Along its lower borders, massive stone wolves, each a story high, stood sentinel, their muzzles pointed to the east. The building grew progressively skinnier with each ascending story, its upper levels tapering almost to a sharp point, like an arrowhead aimed directly at the gods above.

The carriage glided to a silent halt before the headquarters' colossal main entrance. Taylor exited, her gaze drawn upward. She couldn't help but look, taking in the full, towering expanse of the building. It was a sight she had known since childhood, yet it still gave her an uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was her latent fear of heights, or maybe it was what the building truly represented to the people of Solara: ruthless power and an insatiable desire for domination, the very mantra of the Solarian Army.

As Taylor walked towards the massive front doors, her guards flanking her with disciplined precision, the doors began to swing inward. In the widening gap, a lone figure stood, framed by the light from within. It was Commander Roric, Taylor's second-in-command.

He was a tall, unnaturally thin man, almost gaunt, yet he moved with an effortless grace that belied his spare frame. His face was clean-shaven, revealing features that were almost too sharp, too angular, giving him an odd, almost inhuman look. Long, dark brown hair was meticulously tied back from a high forehead. His eyes, a startling shade of pale blue, seemed to perpetually look down on people, as if he perceived no one standing above him. A long, thin sword, its hilt adorned with an array of shimmering, purely decorative gems, was strapped to his belt. At first glance, Roric exuded the air of a stuck-up, arrogant rich kid, someone who had been handed everything in life, never having worked a hard day. But this was merely a meticulously crafted persona. The true Roric was much, much worse.

At the sight of Taylor approaching him, Roric gave an exaggerated flurry of his hand followed by a deep bow, his head close to the ground. "Oh, Your Majesty," he drawled in a high-pitched voice, "welcome back to your humble castle."

Taylor, with a visible effort, rolled her eyes and marched past Roric's performance. Her guards offered slight bows to Taylor's back as they stopped at the entrance, posting themselves on either side of the massive doors, which now closed silently behind her, leaving Roric still in his low bow.

As Taylor marched her way to the meeting room, she could hear muffled footsteps as Roric raced up beside her. In the same over-dramatic, high-pitched voice, Roric continued, "Would Her Majesty like some tea? Or perhaps a shoulder massage after such a gruelling journey?"

Without breaking her stride, Taylor whipped the already crumpled report from her hand, tapping it sharply on the top of Roric's head. It made an echoing thump that ran through the empty hallway. Roric's theatrics vanished instantly. In a much deeper and serious voice, his usual speaking tone, he asked, "Is that the report?"

Taylor said nothing, simply handing him the crumpled parchment. Roric quickly unrolled it, his eyes tracing over the grim details inhumanly fast. He handed the report back to her, his face somber. "I am sorry, Taylor, this is awful news."

Taylor bit her lip, the raw grief threatening to break through her carefully constructed composure. "Can I speak clearly?" she whispered, her voice harsh.

"No, we are not alone," Roric whispered back, his gaze flicking to the empty hallway.

Taylor stopped at a door to her right, marked 'Private Meeting Room 001'. Roric stepped in front of her, produced a key, and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Inside was a large room dominated by a circular table in its centre, rimmed with eight chairs. To the left, a long bench held a large jug of water, a bowl of fruits, and a basket of bread. On the right, a small wooden platform stood, featuring a single podium. Taylor entered, Roric following her, locking the door with a soft click behind them.

Taylor singled out the jug on the bench and raced over to it. Rather than pouring herself a glass, she lifted the heavy jug and downed its contents, the cool water gurgling down her throat, some of it spilling onto her pristine uniform.

Roric, ever observant, saw the display as another opportunity. "That's not very lady-like, Your Majesty," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Taylor finished the entire jug, tossing it back onto the table without a care. It landed with a dull thud. She then collapsed into the chair closest to her, flopping forward until her head hit the polished wood with a soft thwack. Her long black hair spilled over the table, covering her face and spreading around her like a dark mop. A muffled voice came from within the curtain of hair. "Please remind me why I picked you as my second."

"Oh, Your Majesty," Roric replied, pulling out a chair and sitting directly beside her. "A tower shield is only effective when paired with a majestic sword."

"You calling me fat?" Taylor's voice was barely a muffled growl from beneath her hair.

"Yes," Roric simply answered.

Taylor pulled some hair back, giving her a view of Roric sitting beside her, a large stack of bound papers now resting on the table before him. "Do you have anything fun to report back to me today?" she asked, her voice still muffled.

Roric switched back to his normal, deeper voice. "I do, actually." He started from the top of the stack, taking off one report. "No." He continued this a few more times. "No... No... Depressing... No..." Finally, his fingers paused. "Ah, here's a good one." He took off the top report, placing it carefully between them, and began to read aloud:

"Trade Route Assessment: 

Eastern Flank – Solaran Coastal Access to Acrewood. 

Report initiated by Overseer Wendy Witmen (Field Operations – Solaran Naval Procurement). 

Following weeks of persistent negotiation and detailed mapping, a new, viable trade route has been successfully established connecting Solaran coastal ports directly to the fishing village of Acrewood. This route bypasses the contested desert territories and reduces transit times for critical maritime supplies by an estimated 25%. Acrewood's primary exports of dried fish, unique marine herbs, and specialised deep-sea oils are now flowing steadily into Solaran markets. Initial reports confirm high demand and favourable pricing for Solaran goods in Acrewood. The route has proven secure against Faph incursions. Recommendations for increased regular patrols and the establishment of a minor supply depot near the Acrewood terminus are pending review."

Taylor sat upright, pulling strands of her long black hair back from her face, her expression now fully composed. "Approve," she stated, her voice sharp and decisive. "We can use this as training for some of the recruits."

Roric signed the report with a flourish and pushed it towards Taylor, handing her a pen. Taylor's signature was swift and precise. She then slid the report to her left, indicating it was processed. "That is a good idea," Roric said, a hint of genuine satisfaction in his voice. "We've been fighting for that route for a few months now." He then picked up the next report, a smile gracing his thin lips. He began to read aloud:

"Platoon Deployment Order: Sector Gamma – Deployment to Eldoria. 

Report initiated by Commander Roric. 

A standard platoon, comprising 80 personnel, arrived at Eldoria on Saturday, responding to recent increases in bandit activity along traditional trade routes and the outer settlements. Initial reports from Eldorian locals confirm successful integration of the Solaran forces. Early engagements with bandit elements have been successful, with minimal Solaran casualties. The presence of Solaran troops has significantly deterred further bandit incursions. Recommendations for extended deployment pending review of Eldorian security assessment."

Taylor gave Roric a knowing look, his eyes still on the report. "Indicate that we will follow any recommendations from Eldorian security. But, have a small team buy some Lumina tea and have it delivered here asap. I am sure a decreased force can still handle any bandits during transit." Taylor said. Roric looked up at Taylor, then chuckled, and a slight blush crossed his face. "Thanks," He said. As he signed the papers then pushed the report over to Taylor. "I haven't had that tea in a long time"

"I look forward to trying it," Taylor said, a faint smile touching her lips. "You haven't shut up about it."

A soft chuckle escaped Roric, and Taylor found herself smiling more genuinely than she had all morning.

Roric then reached for the next report in the stack, his eyes narrowing slightly as he read its contents. He pushed it across the table to Taylor.

"Missing Royal Artifact: Solaran Royal Coin. 

Report initiated by Royal Treasury, confirmed by Palace Security.

A single Royal Coin, one of twenty in existence, has been identified as missing. Presumed theft. Request for immediate deployment of Solaran troops to initiate a comprehensive search in the surrounding desert territories. 

Priority: High. 

Objectives: Locate and secure artefact; apprehend perpetrator."

Taylor read the report, her expression unreadable. She thought for a second, then looked at Roric. "Deny."

Roric hesitated, his pen hovering above the signature line. "Commander? We have the manpower to spare."

"Deny," Taylor echoed, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's just a coin. No need to create a fuss about it." She then gestured to the stack. "What's next?"