Chapter Eighteen: The Weight of Negotiation

Chapter Eighteen: The Weight of Negotiation

The halls of the Ironhold Embassy were lined with cold steel and reinforced stone, an architectural contrast to the grand Gothic designs of Eternis Primus. The Iron Dominion's delegation had withdrawn to this fortified sector of the city after the Trial of Machines, their silence more telling than words.

Inside the central chamber, a massive war-table was lit by overhead rune-lamps, casting long shadows against the steel walls. The Iron Dominion's officers sat on one side, their expressions unreadable behind helmets of burnished iron. General Kael Dorn, ever the embodiment of restraint, observed the table's war-map with a quiet intensity. Beside him, Strategist Helmar Grev—a cold and meticulous mind known for calculating the outcomes of battles before they were fought—sat with his fingers steepled.

On the other side of the table sat Aedric Leiyen von Vandemir, with Sebastian at his right and Lord Varion Eddelmar—Vandemir's Minister of Trade—seated on his left. The golden phoenix emblem of Vandemir gleamed against the deep crimson of his military coat, its presence an unspoken declaration of the power that had been forged, not inherited.

There was no opening pleasantry, no ceremonial toast of goodwill. This was not a meeting of diplomatic courtesies—it was a negotiation between two forces that had tested each other and found no easy victory.

Kael Dorn spoke first. "Vandemir is not what we expected."

Aedric smiled faintly. "I would be disappointed if we were."

Dorn's mechanical fingers tapped against the steel table. "Your machines… your soldiers… you have built something different. Not an empire of tradition, nor an economy that feeds on luxury. A war-state that prepares for a future battle."

Aedric exhaled slowly. "Every nation prepares for war, General. Some admit it. Some hide it behind trade and titles. I simply ensure that when war comes, Vandemir decides the terms."

Helmar Grev studied him, voice smooth as polished iron. "Then let us speak of those terms."

A Pact of Strength

The Iron Dominion did not form alliances lightly—their philosophy was simple: only the strong were worthy of recognition. And yet, Vandemir had proven its strength, not through sheer numbers or history, but through its unyielding ability to adapt and overcome.

Dorn placed a sealed document on the table. "We will not stand against Vandemir. Nor shall we obstruct its rise."

Sebastian's keen gaze flickered toward the parchment, but he said nothing.

Aedric raised a brow. "A truce, then?"

Helmar Grev interjected. "Something more pragmatic. A Pact of Strength."

He continued, his tone even. "The Dominion does not make treaties of peace. That is for lesser states who seek security in ink and parchment. We recognize strength, and we acknowledge that Vandemir's rise will not be halted easily."

Aedric leaned forward slightly. "And what does this pact entail?"

Dorn's expression remained unreadable. "A trade of power. We grant Vandemir access to Dominion weapon-forges, armored plating, and steam-core reactors. In return, we expect exclusive access to your mithral deposits and an exchange of tactical blueprints for aerial warfare."

Sebastian glanced at Aedric. The request was bold, but not unreasonable—the Dominion sought to enhance its air capabilities, an area where Vandemir was already pioneering advancements.

Aedric's fingers drummed lightly against the table. "An equal exchange, then. Strength for strength."

Dorn gave the barest nod. "Precisely."

A pause. Aedric could sense the weight of this moment—a shift in the world order. The Iron Dominion was not offering subjugation, nor fealty—but an acknowledgment that Vandemir had earned its place at the table.

Aedric reached forward and took the document, breaking the seal with a single movement. "Then we have an accord."

Expanding Vandemir's Reach

With the Pact of Strength secured, Vandemir now stood in a position unlike any before. No longer an unknown kingdom, but a power recognized by warlords and empires alike.

As the Iron Dominion's fleet departed, carrying the sealed agreement back to Drakarheim, Aedric wasted no time in pushing Vandemir's expansion forward.

The Highlands Bastion

At dawn, a fleet of supply wagons and arcane-engineered transports began their journey toward the Northern Highlands, where Vandemir's first mountain bastion was set to rise. The expedition, led by General Hadrian Wolfe, would establish a fortress capable of overseeing the mithral mines and serving as a military stronghold against future threats from the continent's interior.

Hadrian stood before Aedric in the war room, his expression steady. "The reports of monolithic ruins still concern me, my lord. If they are ancient, then they may hold power beyond what we understand."

Aedric nodded. "Which is why I am sending a contingent of arcane scholars and researchers with you. The fortress is your priority. The ruins? We study before we claim."

Hadrian smirked. "Then let's carve our mark into these mountains."

As the Highlands Expedition set out, Aedric turned his attention to another front.

The Trade Outposts of Auralis

With Vandemir's military presence growing, trade needed to match its pace. Auralis, the coastal jewel of Vandemir, was quickly transforming into a hub of commerce and naval command.

Lord Varion Eddelmar, ever the shrewd merchant, approached Aedric with new trade proposals.

"The Federation of Argos has finally sent its delegation," Varion reported. "They are curious, but cautious. They wish to see our mithral processing facilities before they commit to long-term trade."

Aedric allowed himself a smirk. "Argos does not trust what it cannot control."

Sebastian, standing at the balcony of the Trade Council Hall, spoke without turning. "They fear what they do not understand."

Aedric exhaled. "Then let them come. We will give them a show worth remembering."

With the Iron Dominion secured and Argos watching, Vandemir had pushed forward into the next stage of its rise.

A World on the Brink of Change

Far beyond Vandemir, in the floating citadel of Solencia, High Magister Kaelion Tharos stood at the edge of his sanctum, watching the shifting constellations reflected in his scrying pool.

A voice echoed behind him. "The Dominion has acknowledged Vandemir. It will not be long before Argos does the same."

Kaelion's silver eyes darkened. "Then the balance is shifting."

The Magister turned, his robes trailing behind him like shadows cast by the sun. "Vandemir moves as if guided by unseen hands. We must know who truly holds the strings."

And far from Solencia, across the vast, mist-covered seas, a new presence stirred.

A presence that had watched Vandemir's rise with interest.

And would soon make itself known.