Breaking the Multiverse for You

The first day of Soldier Appreciation Week dawned on the Shelb estate, a quiet contrast to Micheal's chaotic introduction to camp life. Adrian von Shelb, ever the visionary, was in his element. Clad in his finest double-breasted coat, he strode into the soldiers' courtyard, flanked by Harry Alcott, his perpetually frazzled assistant. Ever since Micheal said he can be anywhere but Shelb's army and left for Armond's camp, Adrian had been researching on ways to make Shelb's army attractive to the soldiers. The Soldier Appreciation Week is a result of Adrian's hardwork to raise soldiers' Morale.

Tables were laden with food, banners fluttered in the breeze, and the aroma of roasted sausages wafted through the air. Adrian's voice rang out, clear and confident, as the soldiers gathered hesitantly.

Adrian: "Men and women of the Shelb estate! Today, we honor your service with the inaugural Soldier Appreciation Week! Consider this not just a feast but a celebration of your commitment and courage."

The soldiers exchanged glances, their skepticism as palpable as the smoke rising from the grills.

Soldier #1 (muttering): "What's the catch?"

Soldier #2: "Probably wants us to fight blindfolded or something."

Adrian, unaware—or perhaps unfazed by the doubts—stepped onto a silk-draped crate and gestured grandly to the spread behind him.

Adrian: "Let this breakfast be the start of something extraordinary. No drills this morning. Only laughter, camaraderie, and the finest cuisine this side of the kingdom!"

The soldiers lined up cautiously, eyeing the abundance of sausages, fried eggs, and pastries. A tower of pears stood proudly at the center, Adrian's attempt to add a touch of "elegance."

Harry (hissing to a cook): "Next time, smaller portions. We're feeding soldiers, not hosting a royal banquet."

Cook (grinning): "You think they'll complain?"

As the soldiers began eating, the mood shifted from wary silence to tentative chatter. A few even ventured to taste the pears.

Soldier #3 (biting into one): "These pears… they're actually good."

Soldier #4: "Think they're enchanted?"

Near the food tables, Adrian floated among the soldiers, shaking hands and nodding graciously. One soldier, Sergeant Halbert, held a cup of coffee and stared at it suspiciously.

Adrian: "Freshly ground beans from Mount Vedrin. Only the best for our defenders."

Sergeant Halbert (sipping): "Tastes like dirt."

Adrian laughed heartily.

Adrian: "Constructive feedback! I'll have Harry look into a lighter roast."

Adrian had distributed handwritten thank-you notes earlier, each one crafted with care—or, as Harry suspected, a touch of overzealous enthusiasm. Two soldiers leaned against a fence, examining theirs.

Soldier #5 (reading aloud): "Dear Private Collins, your unwavering dedication to the Shelb estate does not go unnoticed. You are a valued team member. Sincerely, Adrian von Shelb."

Soldier #6: "Sounds like a love letter."

Soldier #5: "Better than the last one I got."

Laughter rippled through the courtyard. Adrian, watching from the sidelines, leaned toward Harry.

Adrian (whispering): "Do you see that, Harry? Morale is rising already."

Harry snorted, his arms crossed.

Harry: "Morale or confusion? Hard to tell."

Adrian waved him off, his optimism undeterred.

Near the pear tower, a soldier slipped on a discarded peel, prompting a round of laughter from his comrades. Adrian, quick to seize the moment, turned to Harry with a grin.

Adrian: "You see, even mishaps bring people closer. It's all part of the bonding experience."

Harry muttered something under his breath, no doubt a prayer for patience, as the soldiers returned to their breakfast, the courtyard now buzzing with life.

Meanwhile, Adrian scribbled notes on his clipboard, already planning the next day's festivities. This is only the beginning, he thought with a satisfied smile. Far from the chaos Micheal faced at the Armond camp, Adrian was determined to leave his own mark—one fruit basket and thank-you note at a time.

Location: Imperial Capital

Magda's carriage clattered down the cobblestone streets of the imperial capital, the towering spires of the Imperial Library coming into view. Her com-tab rested in her lap, Micheal's name still glowing on the screen. She stared at it, unsure whether to call him again. His missed calls from two days prior still puzzled her—he'd seemed desperate to reach her, but now his line went straight to voicemail.

Magda (muttering): "What are you doing, Micheal?"

With a sigh, she tucked the com-tab into her bag and leaned back, her thoughts shifting to her research. The fir tree cross-section she had brought from the Selb-Armond Mage Tower demanded answers, and the Imperial Library was the best place to start.

For two days, Magda immersed herself in the library of Shelb-Armond mage tower, surrounded by tomes and scrolls that smelled of parchment and time. The fir tree's glowing rings, each marking a year and corresponding mana fluctuation, hinted at something far older than the Empire itself. It was on the second evening that she came across a passage describing a mythical white sabertooth tiger—the White Saber. The creature, revered in ancient lore, was said to embody cycles of chaos and balance, its death and rebirth signaling great upheaval.

Her curiosity led her to Professor Ludwig, a well-known scholar of obscure cultures. His office was a cluttered haven of artifacts, and his enthusiastic demeanor provided a stark contrast to the grim implications of her findings.

Ludwig (eagerly): "Ah, Lady Magda! The Sasoon tribe—fascinating people. They worship Sasoon, a great white sabertooth tiger. According to their lore, the tiger dies every twenty years, unleashing chaos, and is reborn to restore balance. If your findings align with this cycle…"

Magda (leaning forward): "Then what I've found might be more than just an anomaly. It could be a warning."

Ludwig (grinning despite the seriousness): "Precisely! And if it is, Lady Magda, then you've stumbled upon something monumental."

As Ludwig spoke, Magda's thoughts raced. The mana fluctuations, the ancient myths—they all pointed to something far larger than she had anticipated. She left his office with a heavy heart and a mind full of questions.

The next morning, Calista burst into her room, a letter clutched in her hand.

Calista (excitedly): "A letter, my lady! From Barnaby. It's from Micheal!"

Magda froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn't known Micheal was planning anything significant, but as she unfolded the parchment, her breath caught. His handwriting sprawled across the page, hesitant yet earnest:

*"Dear Magda,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I'm heading to the Armond camp. I thought about telling you, but I couldn't find the words, so I wrote them down instead.

Ethan told me that I need to build character. He said that to truly live up to the Shelb name, I need to step out of my comfort zone and live like our ancestors—heroes, all of them. Adrian's stories about Grandfather Harold the South-Western Wall… I want to be worthy of those tales, too.

I don't know how good I'll be at this, but I want to try. For once, I want to do something that makes you proud.

But more than that, I want you to be safe. Please take care of yourself. Eat properly—not just sweets, and especially not just tea. Promise me you'll rest and not overwork yourself. You're… precious to me, and I need to know you're happy.

Yours,

Micheal"*

Magda stared at the letter, her emotions a whirlwind. Micheal's clumsy sincerity shone through, but his words also stirred an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. Her lips curved into a soft smile, even as worry clouded her eyes.

Magda (murmuring): "That fool…"

As she read the letter again, Calista leaned in, her curiosity evident.

Calista: "So… what now?"

Magda stood abruptly, folding the letter with care.

Magda: "We're leaving. I need to visit the Armond camp."

Calista (surprised): "But how? You'll need permission to—"

Magda (cutting her off): "I'll get it. The Imperial Mage Tower owes me a few favors."

By noon, Magda had already secured the necessary clearance, her connections at the Mage Tower proving invaluable. The mage in charge, an old acquaintance from her academy days, issued her credentials with minimal fuss.

Mage in Charge (handing her the identity card): "You'll be representing the Mage Tower as a consultant for rune and formation reinforcement. Try not to upset their routines too much."

Magda (smiling faintly): "I'll tread carefully. Thank you."

As the carriage was prepared for her journey, Magda glanced at the folded letter once more, her resolve hardening. Micheal might have thought he could handle this on his own, but she wasn't about to let him stumble through this alone.

Magda (to herself): "Whether you sell man-bras or build character, you're going to need someone watching your back."

With Calista by her side and her identity card in hand, Magda set off toward the Armond camp, her mind a mix of worry, affection, and the faintest spark of amusement.

Location: Shelb Estate

Duke Louis von Shelb swept into Duchess Eleanor's sitting room with a bouquet of rare roses in one hand and a bottle of their finest wine in the other. The fire crackling in the hearth and the soft glow of the mana lamps set the perfect ambiance for what he envisioned as a romantic evening.

Duke Louis (smoothly): "Eleanor, my love, I come bearing peace and charm. Roses for your beauty and wine to toast our enduring love."

Eleanor didn't even look up from her embroidery. The quick, deliberate jabs of her needle into the cloth spoke volumes.

Duchess Eleanor (flatly): "How very… thoughtful, Louis."

Undeterred by her tone, Louis placed the bouquet on a nearby table, pouring two glasses of wine with practiced ease.

Duke Louis: "Come now, Eleanor. Let's put aside any worries and enjoy the evening."

Eleanor finally looked up, her face a mixture of incredulity and simmering anger.

Duchess Eleanor: "Put aside my worries? Louis, did you perhaps miss the earth-shattering news of the week?"

Louis blinked, setting down the wine bottle mid-pour.

Duke Louis (hesitantly): "Did… did the wine cellar flood again?"

Eleanor slammed her embroidery hoop down on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

Duchess Eleanor (snapping): "No, Louis! Your son enlisted!"

The color drained from Louis's face, and he clutched the back of a chair for support.

Duke Louis: "Ethan? Adrian? They're already in the military! Did they re-enlist? Have they become so foolish as to stress you further with unnecessary dramatics?"

Eleanor rose from her seat, her hands trembling as she pointed a finger at him.

Duchess Eleanor (with mounting frustration): "Not Ethan. Not Adrian. Micheal!"

Louis froze, his mind racing to process her words.

Duke Louis (stammering): "M-Micheal? Our youngest? That Micheal?"

Eleanor folded her arms, her glare sharper than a blade.

Duchess Eleanor: "Yes, that Micheal. The one with the congenital heart defect. The one you've been pressuring to live up to Harold's impossible legacy. That Micheal."

Louis sank into the chair he was clutching, his expression one of pure disbelief.

Duke Louis (muttering): "But… how? When? Why would he do such a thing?"

Eleanor took a deep breath, her voice trembling between anger and concern.

Duchess Eleanor: "Oh, I don't know, Louis. Maybe it has something to do with you and your constant lectures about discipline. Or Ethan's endless lectures on character building. Or Adrian filling his head with tales of family glory. Take your pick!"

Louis ran a hand through his hair, his composure slipping.

Duke Louis (weakly): "But why the Armond camp? It's the harshest camp in the empire, Eleanor! They have beastmen there, for heaven's sake!"

Eleanor let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands in the air.

Duchess Eleanor: "Yes, Louis, the Armond camp. The one known for grinding even the strongest recruits into the dirt. And you're surprised? He's trying to prove himself because you and this family made him feel like he wasn't enough!"

Louis looked genuinely shaken, his hands trembling as he gripped the arms of the chair.

Duke Louis (softly): "The Armond camp… with beastmen… he could…"

Eleanor's voice cracked as her anger gave way to raw fear.

Duchess Eleanor (quietly): "He could die, Louis. His heart could give out under the strain, and we wouldn't even be there to stop it."

Louis's head snapped up, his face pale as he stared at her.

Duke Louis: "Eleanor… I didn't think he'd actually—"

Duchess Eleanor (interrupting): "Of course you didn't! You were too busy being the Duke instead of his father. Now, he's out there, trying to live up to your impossible expectations."

Louis stood abruptly, pacing the room with frantic energy.

Duke Louis (muttering to himself): "I need to fix this. Bring him back. Talk to the Armonds. Something…"

Eleanor folded her arms, her anger tempered only slightly by her worry.

Duchess Eleanor (dryly): "Oh yes, storm into the camp and demand they return him. I'm sure the Armonds will be thrilled to accommodate you."

Louis paused, looking at her with a mix of guilt and determination.

Duke Louis: "I'll fix this, Eleanor. I swear it."

Eleanor picked up her embroidery, her hands trembling slightly as she resumed her work.

Duchess Eleanor (softly): "You'd better, Louis. Because if something happens to him, I don't know if I can forgive you. Or myself."

Louis nodded grimly, his jaw set as he turned to leave. The fallen bouquet of roses caught his eye, and he picked it up, staring at it for a moment before tossing it onto a side table.

Duke Louis (muttering under his breath): "Flowers and wine… what a fool I am."

Eleanor watched him go, her heart heavy with worry as the door closed behind him.

Location: The Imperial Capital

Night draped the Imperial Capital in its quiet embrace as Magda sat alone in her borrowed study within the Mage Tower. The room was dimly lit by a mana lamp, its glow illuminating the ancient texts, maps, and the cross-section of fir tree wood spread across the desk. Magda's crimson eyes traced the glowing rings on the wood, her finger pausing over the brightest and most erratic one, pulsing faintly under her touch.

Ludwig's ominous words from earlier in the day reverberated in her mind:

"When the gods die, they don't leave quietly… or alone."

She furrowed her brow, her thoughts a storm of unanswered questions. If the Sasoon tribe's legend was true and the death of their white sabertooth tiger god marked catastrophic events every twenty years, why hadn't the Empire faced calamities every cycle? The last major mana fluctuation coincided with a devastating pandemic, but before that, there were no notable disasters.

Magda (whispering to herself): "Why now? What's changed? What was protecting the Empire before… and why has it stopped?"

Her fingers drummed on the desk, the rhythm a stark contrast to the chaotic swirl of thoughts in her mind. Could something—someone—have been shielding them all this time? Was the Empire now vulnerable because that shield was gone? The glowing rings seemed to mock her, offering no answers.

The door creaked open, and Calista entered, carrying a tray with tea and a plate of fruit. Her tone was soft but laced with concern.

Calista: "Your Highness, you've been at this for hours. You need rest."

Magda barely looked up, her attention still on the wood's glowing rings.

Magda: "Calista, if this has been happening for centuries, why wasn't it a problem before the last fluctuation? The Empire has thrived for so long. What changed? Why was there no calamity before the pandemic?"

Calista set the tray down carefully and moved closer, her gaze following Magda's to the fir tree cross-section.

Calista: "Perhaps someone—or something—was keeping it at bay."

Magda's lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing.

Magda: "Then whoever—or whatever—it was is gone now. And we're left to face the consequences."

The mana lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room as if echoing her unease.

Calista hesitated before speaking again.

Calista: "Your Highness, do you believe this has to do with the Sasoon tribe's myths? The god dying and being reborn?"

Magda: "It's more than a myth. The fir tree's mana fluctuations align perfectly with their timeline. Ludwig was right—when the gods die, they don't leave quietly. But this isn't just about the Sasoon tribe. This... this is something far bigger."

She stood abruptly, pacing the length of the study, her crimson eyes glowing with determination.

Magda: "If this is truly tied to the gods, then their death isn't just an end. It's a warning. Something is coming, Calista. Something we aren't prepared for."

Calista watched her with a mix of admiration and worry, her voice steady despite the weight of Magda's words.

Calista: "Then we'll face it, Your Highness. Whatever it is, we'll find the answers together."

Magda paused, her gaze softening at Calista's resolve.

Magda: "Thank you, Calista. I'll need your help more than ever."

She turned back to the desk, her fingers brushing over the fir tree wood once more, as if willing it to reveal its secrets. The faint glow of the rings seemed almost alive, pulsating with an energy that felt both ancient and foreboding.

Magda (whispering): "What are we missing?"

The wind howled outside, rattling the windowpanes, as if the night itself held the answers she sought but refused to give them up.

And in the flickering light of the mana lamp, Ludwig's chilling words lingered in her mind:

"When the gods die, they don't leave quietly… or alone."

Somewhere beyond the safety of the Empire, an ancient storm stirred, its shadows creeping ever closer.