9.

The morning after Lucian's decision to send a delegation to the northern outpost arrived faster than he expected. The Abyssal Citadel was unusually quiet, as if the entire realm held its breath, waiting to see how the confrontation with the Shadow Realm would unfold. Lucian could feel the weight of the decision pressing on him, but he remained resolute. He knew this was a critical moment. The wrong move here could plunge the Abyss into a full-scale war, while the right one might buy him the time he needed to fortify his position and gather more information.

Seraphis, ever the shadow in his court, had assembled the delegation swiftly. She stood before him now, dressed in her typical dark robes, her eyes gleaming with the sharp cunning that made her one of his most trusted advisors. Her expression was calm, but Lucian could sense the intensity behind her gaze.

"My Lord," she said softly, bowing her head. "The delegation is ready. We will depart within the hour."

Lucian nodded, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the group of elite soldiers and envoys she had gathered. They were the best of the Abyssal forces—veterans of countless battles, their loyalty to the Abyss unquestioned. Still, Lucian couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that this mission was more dangerous than any simple negotiation. The Shadow Realm wasn't sending a truce envoy; they were sending a test.

"Remember," Lucian said, his tone firm, "this is a show of strength as much as it is diplomacy. We must not appear weak, but we must not provoke them either. The Shadow Realm is looking for an excuse to escalate this conflict."

Seraphis's lips curved into a faint smile. "Of course, my Lord. I will ensure they see our strength without needing to draw blades. The Shadow Realm has always been a master of subtle threats, but we can be just as adept."

Lucian gave her a nod, his trust in her abilities absolute. Seraphis was more than capable of handling this mission. She thrived in the world of secrets and shadows, where every word and gesture carried meaning. But even with her skill, the situation was fraught with peril. One wrong word, one misstep, and blood could spill.

"Keep me informed of every detail," Lucian said. "If they make any aggressive move, I want to know immediately."

Seraphis bowed low. "You will know the moment anything happens, my Lord."

As she and the delegation prepared to leave, Lucian found himself lingering in the War Room, the massive map of the realms spread out before him once again. His fingers traced the lines separating the Shadow Realm from the Abyssal Domain, the borders that had held for centuries but were now fraying. He could sense the tension building on both sides, like a tightly wound cord ready to snap.

Tharok entered the room soon after, his heavy steps echoing in the stone chamber. The Warlord's expression was grim, his armor clinking with every movement as he crossed the room to stand beside Lucian.

"They will not negotiate in good faith," Tharok growled, his voice low. "The Shadow Realm is pushing us, testing us. They want war."

Lucian glanced at Tharok, sensing the truth in his words. Tharok was many things—fierce, loyal, and sometimes impulsive—but he had a keen understanding of the nature of conflict. The Shadow Realm's leaders were not fools. They wouldn't waste time with diplomacy unless they believed it served a greater purpose. If they were negotiating, it was only to gain an advantage.

"I know," Lucian said quietly. "But we can't give them the war they want. Not yet. We need more time."

Tharok's hands clenched into fists. "And what will we do if they strike first? You know as well as I do that they are preparing for it. Their forces are already in position. If we hesitate—"

"We won't hesitate," Lucian interrupted, his voice firm. "If they strike, we will respond with everything we have. But for now, we wait. Seraphis will gather information, and we will act when the time is right."

Tharok's jaw tightened, but he nodded in agreement. The Warlord was eager for battle, but he understood the importance of strategy. Rushing into a fight now, without full knowledge of the Shadow Realm's plans, would be reckless. They needed to remain in control.

Lucian's eyes scanned the map once more, his thoughts churning. The Shadow Realm was dangerous, yes, but it was the Fire Realm that concerned him more. Their leaders had always been more cautious, less prone to rash decisions, but if they were convinced that the Abyss was vulnerable, they could strike with overwhelming force. And unlike the Shadow Realm, the Fire Realm's armies were vast, their elemental magic a devastating weapon that could tip the balance of any conflict.

"We need to know what the Fire Realm is planning," Lucian said, almost to himself. "Their silence worries me more than anything the Shadow Realm does."

Tharok grunted. "The Fire Realm waits. They always do. They'll strike only when they're sure they'll win."

"That's what concerns me," Lucian muttered. "We need to ensure they don't see an opportunity. If they believe the Abyss is strong, they'll stay out of the fight. If they believe we're weak…"

"They'll burn us to the ground," Tharok finished, his voice hard.

Lucian nodded. "Exactly. That's why we must show strength at every turn. We cannot afford to falter."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their shared understanding pressing down on them. War was coming, and Lucian knew that when it did, it would not be a simple conflict. The Abyss was surrounded by enemies, and even the slightest miscalculation could lead to disaster.

You cannot avoid this forever, the voice of the Abyssal Lord whispered in his mind. War is inevitable. You must embrace it. Take the power that is yours, and crush those who stand in your way.

Lucian clenched his fists, resisting the pull of the dark voice. The power of the Abyss was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for him to call upon it. He could feel it swirling in the air around him, an endless void of dark energy that promised destruction if unleashed. But he knew better than to wield it recklessly.

"I'll be ready," Lucian said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. "When the time comes, I'll be ready."

Hours passed, and the tension in the Citadel only grew as the delegation made its way to the northern outpost. Lucian remained in the War Room, unable to shake the sense of unease that gnawed at the back of his mind. He had sent Seraphis with the delegation, knowing that she was more than capable of handling the delicate diplomacy required. But even with her skill, the situation was precarious.

Then, just as the shadows of the evening began to stretch long across the Abyssal Domain, a messenger arrived once again, his face pale and his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"My Lord!" the messenger cried as he dropped to his knees. "We've received word from the outpost. The Shadow Realm's envoy… they attacked."

Lucian's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing. "What happened?"

"Their soldiers ambushed our delegation," the messenger said, his voice trembling. "Seraphis's agents managed to hold them off for a time, but the situation is dire. We need reinforcements, or the outpost will fall."

Lucian felt a surge of anger boil up inside him, the darkness of the Abyss stirring in response to his rage. The Shadow Realm had shown their hand. They had come to provoke war, and now, it seemed, they had found the spark they were looking for.

Tharok stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury. "They want war, my Lord. Let us give it to them."

Lucian's mind raced as he processed the situation. This was exactly what he had hoped to avoid, but the Shadow Realm had forced his hand. There was no turning back now.

"Prepare the legions," Lucian said, his voice hard as steel. "We march at dawn."