Chapter Fourteen: The Iron Dominion Stirs

| The Fortress-Cities of the Iron Dominion |

Beneath a sky choked with storm-gray clouds, the Iron Dominion stood as a land of steel and fire. Unlike the soaring spires of Solencia or the gilded streets of Argos, the Dominion was a realm of brutal efficiency—where industry reigned supreme and the weak were swallowed by the machine of progress.

The capital, Drakarheim, was no mere city—it was a fortress carved from the very bones of the mountains, its walls reinforced with blackened iron and runes of resilience. Colossal steam-towers belched smoke into the sky, their gears grinding ceaselessly as they powered the foundries that churned out weapons, war machines, and armored legions. Rail systems wove through the city like veins, transporting goods, troops, and raw materials to the ever-expanding war effort.

And at the heart of it all, within the Black Citadel, sat the one man who ruled over this empire of industry: Warlord Varrik Kaine.

Within the dimly lit halls of the Black Citadel, the air was thick with the scent of burning coal and molten metal. The chamber was constructed of cold steel, lined with banners bearing the sigil of the Dominion—a crimson wolf's head against a black field. Unlike the decadent courts of other nations, there were no lavish thrones or golden chandeliers here. This was a place of war, of strategy, of iron-clad rule.

At the center of the chamber stood a massive war table, its surface an intricate map of the known world, sculpted from obsidian and steel. Small iron figurines represented key cities, fortresses, and fleets—tokens of power moved by the hands of the Dominion's warlords.

Seated at this table were the Lords of Iron, each a veteran of countless battles, clad in blackened armor reinforced with steam-driven mechanisms. Some bore mechanical limbs, results of brutal warfare and the Dominion's ruthless doctrine: Strength is Survival.

Varrik Kaine stood at the head of the table, his towering form clad in a suit of enchanted war-plate, his left arm fully mechanical—a masterpiece of Dominion engineering that hummed with stored energy. His face, lined with scars, bore an expression of deep thought as he examined the newest addition to the war map: Vandemir.

A land that had risen from nothing.

A nation that defied expectations.

And one that had now drawn the attention of the Dominion.

The first to speak was General Kael Dorn, a man whose entire right arm had been replaced with a mechanized gauntlet lined with steel rivets. His voice was like grinding gears.

"A new power rises, my lord. A nation that forges industry with magic. Their fleets control the eastern waters, and their airships are unlike anything we have seen before."

Varrik did not look up from the map. "And?"

Kael narrowed his eyes. "And they are unchecked. Vandemir's ambitions are unknown, but their expansion is undeniable. If they continue at this pace, they will soon rival even Argos in trade and Solencia in magical might."

From the other end of the table, Strategist Helmar Grev, a scholar of warfare and a master of logistics, leaned forward. "They are not a threat. Not yet. But they are… intriguing." His voice was calm, measured—like a blade waiting to be drawn. "Their growth is too rapid. Either they are backed by an unseen power, or their ruler is an anomaly—a rare mind capable of shaping empires with unnatural speed."

Varrik finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Tell me about this man."

A second of silence passed before Lord Rhazik Volter, the head of the Dominion's Iron Spymasters, placed a parchment on the table.

"Aedric Leiyen von Vandemir. A strategist. A builder. A conqueror. He does not rule through birthright or divine will, but through sheer force of intellect and adaptability. He has crushed a pirate oligarchy, forged alliances with the Whalefolk, and now seeks to establish himself on the world stage."

He exhaled slowly. "He is dangerous, my lord."

Varrik studied the parchment, his sharp gaze scanning the words before setting it aside.

"Then he is like us."

A murmur spread through the council. It was not an insult, nor a dismissal—it was an acknowledgment.

Varrik leaned forward, his mechanical arm clanking softly as he moved a single iron token representing Vandemir across the war map. "They do not yet threaten us, but we cannot ignore them. Tell me, what do our spies report of their military capability?"

Kael Dorn's mechanical fingers tapped against the table. "Their navy is still developing, but their ship designs are unique—incorporating arcane shielding and steam-powered artillery. Their air force is where they are most advanced. If left unchecked, they could dominate both land and sky."

Varrik's expression remained unreadable. "And their armies?"

Helmar Grev answered this time. "They are small, but well-trained. Their military infrastructure is still growing, but they focus on tactical superiority over numbers. They do not wage war for glory. They wage war to win."

Varrik smirked. "Good."

Varrik rose to his feet, his armor groaning as steam hissed from the vents along his shoulders. "We will not make the mistakes of Argos or Solencia. We will not waste time with whispers or schemes."

He turned to Rhazik Volter, the Iron Spymaster. "Send an envoy. A delegation of warriors and engineers. We will meet this Aedric Leiyen von Vandemir."

Kael Dorn frowned. "And if they refuse to meet us?"

Varrik's smirk widened. "Then we will send a different kind of envoy."

The room was silent. They all knew what that meant. A test. A battlefield negotiation.

The Dominion did not barter with words alone. They tested strength with strength.

If Vandemir was worthy of recognition, they would endure.

And if not… the Dominion would see how their machines fared against real war.

Days later, within the halls of Dominion Castle, Aedric read the sealed message from the Iron Dominion. His eyes flicked over the words, the challenge hidden beneath layers of formal diplomacy.

Sebastian stood beside him, unreadable as ever. "A direct meeting? They waste no time, my lord."

Aedric set the parchment down. "Of course they don't. The Iron Dominion respects power, not politics."

He rose, moving toward the balcony where he could see Eternis Primus thriving below. Airships hovered above, their enchanted engines humming in the twilight. Soldiers drilled in the War College, their formations precise. Engineers toiled in the Arcane Foundries, crafting weapons of both steel and sorcery.

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then we shall show them that Vandemir is worthy of their respect."

His gaze turned toward the horizon.

The world was watching.

And soon, Vandemir would prove itself to the strongest nation of war.