Sovereign

“Men shall no longer step on us women with their boots once more.”

- Queen Alexandria’s Proclamation, end of the Arcane Wars, 1723.

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Halia, Kingdom of Orland

Ivory Square

December 22, 2023

Today would be a day like no other.

“Come in, Basilisk One.”

“Report: All Royal Guard personnel close to Her Majesty has been identified.”

“Copy, Basilisk One. Interrogative: what is the status of Hitman Three and Four?”

“Hitman Three and Four are in the staging positions, over.”

A brief silence persisted through the comms.

“Basilisk One, permission to proceed has been granted. The operation is a go.”

“Roger that, Basilisk Actual. Glory to the Orlish Army!”

“For the New Republic!”

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The boots of thousands of young men echoed through the paved road. The tanks’ treads drove by it, their guns aimed sky high in the sky. Self-propelled guns followed, their artillery aimed at the sky…the same cannons that could obliterate entire legions of soldiers. Then the streams of endless military vehicles, as the Air Force’s squadrons flew at the skies. They were all in the Ivory Square today. All as they marched under the gaze of Orland’s high-citizens.

And as the somber drums played that accompanied their march, the Royal tricolor of Orland—Gold, White, and Grey fluttered from the wind. It was where the Queen of Orland’s eyes were aimed, as she finally reluctantly chose to view the same young men she had sent into the brutal frontlines.

The same men who were now returning back home.

Queen Areya Ludendorf, the unquestionable high Queen of the sole superpower today at the Great War’s final conclusion, and thus, the highest matriarch of Pollos, looked weary as she stared at her soldiers. In a way, terror slightly gripped her, at how they marched in ways that definitely stabbed threats to her and the Kingdom, but Queen Areya refused to let that affect her facade.

Internally, she still feared. These men…had way too many reasons to act against her Kingdom. She had armed them, trained them, and sent them into a continent where they were fed into the meat grinder. She fed them sweet honeyed words and promises after Orland neglected them and placed them in the worst pits of society. Words and promises so they would follow her to their deaths.

She offered them salvation but asked that they go to hell first in return. They had gone from that hell, and now they returned. Returned with ire and hatred that stabbed Areya in place. She feared…she definitely feared. This was a mistake. This was all a massive mistake that she had always spent many sleepless nights ruminating on.

Men…men…

She wanted to speak immediately, but no words came out yet. She looked at them more. They were marching with a calm facade, and she was smiling at them, like a mother welcoming her long-lost sons. But Areya knew that inside, she felt fear. Fear…of these…these men. What would they do now to her Kingdom? They were armed, hardened, trained, and shaped by this war.

They were mistreated, abandoned, neglected, and uncared for. Her Kingdom didn’t raise them in a way that they would find this place home. In the three hundred years rule of their once “egalitarian” revolutionary Kingdom turned into a “benevolent matriarchy”, these men had no good place in society. Centuries of women’s supremacist policies, all borne from their ability to cast and use the arcane, and men’s lack of it, had damaged men’s collective soul for centuries.

Areya had always promised them reforms, and she tried, she tried all she could. But she wasn’t perfect. Areya reformed Orland, gave men some rights, gave them enough education to work, and gave them the power to create and rule their own corporations, but until now, men remained the same as they always were since women gained magic.

Second-class, magicless drones.

Workers that built Orland but did not enjoy Orland. Disposable cannon fodder that defended Orland that never defended them. A group of people belittled and demonized by their own motherland. And these men…they just went through the worst wars there ever were.

And Areya doubted she’d be able to offer them more than votes with the state of her Kingdom.

Still! Areya rationalized herself. She defended them! She changed some things! She…she helped them, didn’t she?! Why were they looking at her like that? Why was that tank commander saluting her but frowning at her? She was smiling, speaking right now with warm words. She was welcoming them, soothing them, giving them the things they would want to hear after a long war.

But no…they stared at her with ire. Why? Why didn’t they show the least bit of gratitude to her? She would still give them the right to vote! Surely that was a start? Areya denied it again and again, of both her fear and that nagging voice that accused her of creating this ticking time bomb. As she both feared them and blamed them for her fear. Even when she knew why they would hate her. Even when she knew why they would not trust her Kingdom. Even…when…

It’s a miscalculation.

She was panicking a bit.

She had always panicked about this, but now more so than ever. These men…no, they were truly back in her Kingdom. Without the leash of the Royal Guard. Armed with weaponry so advanced that women’s magic would barely have a chance to scratch it. Areya won against the Empire and the Order Pact. With her efforts and reforms, the Ivory Alliance— Orland and her allies, won.

But…but the cost…

Areya fattened the Orlish Armed Forces. Granted them full autonomy to allow them to perform in ways that her inept Royal Guard would never allow them to do so. And there were millions of them. Millions of young Orlishmen, soldiers, who had no more connection to the Orlish people, alienated, demonized, and without any motivation to not burn her Kingdom down.

She had been a part of it, Areya realized. She, her mother, and her grandmother. The “reformers'' of House Ludendorf. The Queens that presided over the century-long path of Orland to technological, economic, and geopolitical supremacy. A century powered by men’s rampant pursuit of technological progress in a deranged way of achieving a semblance of equality with women. The progress that allowed Orland to beat her competition. The progress that built up her nation into a near utopia for women, with the highest standards of living that any human society ever gave to any group of people. All fueled by technological progress, the greatest challenger to women’s magic.

Something that Areya and her predecessors fueled further and further. Progress…that she wanted to use for herself and women. She looked at those weapons below her. Tanks, missile systems, self-propelled artillery. Even those new things that the Army bragged about. Mechs…six-legged monsters with a turret and cannon on top. And all of them were marching right in front of her, controlled by the same men she had sent into a distant war a continent away.

She had always felt comfort at their distance, now…they were truly right in front of her. No more were they distant figures on a report file, no, these men were truly in front of her. The same ones she used for her victories. The same ones she used until they cracked and bled and died so she could win.

The representation of her entire reign. The generations of men she lied to so they would work for her and her Orland. Generations that never tasted any of those promises after paying for the costs.

And this one…would be no different.

Dead eyes…dead souls…souls guided by nothing but disillusionment, apathy, or worst of all…hatred of those who sent them there. Areya feared.

Areya truly feared that these…demons, as painted by the conservatives of her nation always did, would live true to what they had always accused them of. That they would be the terrorists, the murderers, the criminals, the ones who would destabilize Orlish society in ways that would only harm innocent women.

What…what had I done?

She wanted to shake her head, as she remained smiling. What had I done? These people…surely, they would be the next threat to her power. Not the UOP. Not those high aristocrats. Not those upstart corporations. No…it would be these young men. After all, they had every reason now, didn’t they?

And they were armed. They had something to back their words from now on. They could do something, something that could truly threaten her and the system.

No, no…

Her denial grew. She was the Great Reformer! The idealized benevolent Queen! The same one who would shine the light on her subjects, these…these rats included! She would give them the votes! She would try changing things this time! What reason? Why her?!

Surely there was no reason for them to see her as an enemy. She was her friend! She was their beloved Queen!

You ungrateful bastards—

“Your Majesty!” The sound of a sudden alarm from one of her Royal Guard knights pulled Areya from her internal crisis. She was confused. Why the alarm in their voices? Until her eyes widened.

There were two of them. Painted black, with indiscernible markings, they drove through the parade with great speed that made them stand out. Areya watched as an Army MP (Military Police) shouted “Halt!” at them—only for his brain and blood to splatter in the cold asphalt.

A shot from the Palace’s rooftops.

“Assassins! Get the Queen off from here!” One of her Knights cried before she too was silenced. More dropped around Areya, even when two of them tried to cast a magical shield to protect Areya and their own selves. Their magic, their mana…it didn’t work.

Areya was frozen in place, her eyes watching as the parade turned into chaos, with men scrambling off from Ivory Square as military vehicles stopped. But not those two, they drove forward, undeterred, as Army MPs began firing their rifles at them. One of the black vehicles exploded, but the last one, filled with bullet holes, stopped right near where Areya’s podium.

Its side glass windows opened, and a hail of bullets rained from it, before a shot popped its tires, and sent it careening straight into a tank and destroying itself.

It’s…it’s warm…

Pain…the pain flared everywhere. Warm, crimson-red blood oozed from Areya’s wounds. She tried to speak, but she only drowned in her blood. People around her began pulling her, and Areya felt her Knights, her surviving guards trying to grab and drag her to safety. Dazed, she watched as an Army MP officer arrived and tried to help, but was zapped by one of her Knights after she gave him a barrage of accusations.

Areya could not do anything, and she struggled to comprehend it all…until her eyes fell on that bullet-ridden vehicle.

She had been assassinated.

And this…would just be the beginning of her Kingdom’s inevitable descent into madness. Between men and women.

That was not Areya’s worry, however. Not even the fact that she was dying. No…it was her daughters. Her beloved daughters.

Especially the next in line to the throne. Her daughter… too young and untrained to deal with all of this.

No…

Amelie…

Amelie…

Tears streamed from her eyes, as her consciousness faded.

Goddess…please save her.

I’m so…sorry…

The Queen of Orland…was dead.