---
The first true cracks appeared in the western provinces before dawn. Governor Varin's forces had positioned themselves along the borderlands near the Rift Plains, their encampments camouflaged under the gray mist. Soldiers whispered nervously, aware that any misstep could ignite full-scale conflict. For weeks, tension had mounted like a taut cord; now it was fraying, each province moving according to its own fear and ambition.
Varin's council chamber buzzed with strategy. Advisors pored over maps etched with glowing Ether routes, marking trade lines, reactor storage, and the rumored movements of Lio.
"We cannot wait for Lysara to act," Varin said, voice firm. "She hesitates while our neighbors prepare. If we strike first, we control the narrative. They will see us as protectors, not aggressors."
A young general, Tarek, shifted uneasily. "And if the Citadel intervenes? If they view this as rebellion?"
Varin's eyes narrowed. "Then we deal with them. The Accord is already fractured. What remains is only strength."
---
In Caltherra, the southern trade syndicate prepared emissaries to cross borders, unaware that Varin had already moved troops under the cover of darkness. Emina's council argued heatedly about priorities.
"Every letter we send, every envoy we dispatch, is at risk," a clerk warned. "Borders are no longer safe. Varin's armies are mobile, and there's talk of black Ether shipments being stolen mid-route."
Emina's expression hardened. "We adapt. Diplomacy is our shield where swords fail. Even if Varin moves, we must secure alliances with the other provinces. If one falls under military pressure, others may rise to support him. The balance can still be preserved."
---
Meanwhile, the eastern provinces stirred with something more sinister. Cults of the Second Void had grown bolder, seizing abandoned towns and using blackened Ether shards to manipulate the very fabric of reality. The leaders, calling themselves the Heralds, preached upheaval in the name of the void, claiming that only chaos would cleanse Afterlight.
"Bring the cities to their knees," one Herald whispered to his followers, the black shards glowing faintly in his palms. "The first dawn is meaningless. Light without discipline is fragile. Let us awaken the world to true power."
The cultists moved swiftly, spreading fear and rumors. People who resisted found themselves trapped in twisted reflections of reality, cities mirrored and warped by black Ether. Survivors spoke of corridors that led nowhere, streets that folded upon themselves, and shadows that whispered secrets too dangerous to repeat.
---
Far above, in the Citadel, Lysara monitored these developments through Ether-linked communication grids. Her council was tense, the weight of impending chaos pressing against every decision.
"Varin will not wait for diplomacy," Erwin warned, pointing to recent reports. "He has mobilized half his forces, and scouts report movements toward Caltherra. If he acts first, the southern provinces will fracture and possibly join him under fear or necessity."
Lysara closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a steadying breath. "Then we force the pace. We send the emissaries not as diplomats, but as anchors. They will carry both word and influence, swaying councils before fear turns their loyalty into submission. And we deploy our forces strategically—not to fight, but to deter. This is a test of resolve."
---
In the void, Lio watched silently. His connection to Subject Zero allowed him to perceive the rising tensions before they erupted fully into violence. He could feel the pulses of ambition in Varin, the caution in Caltherra, and the fanaticism of the Heralds. Each move was a tide, each decision a ripple across the delicate balance of Afterlight.
"I can guide them, but not directly," Lio murmured. "If I intervene too openly, I risk becoming the catalyst of war instead of the stabilizer. I must… manipulate indirectly, plant ideas, strengthen unity where I can, and weaken fear where it festers."
A faint echo responded, a whisper from the void itself. "Influence is fleeting. Tides rise and fall, yet chaos seeks to claim the unguarded. You cannot shield them all."
"I'll try," Lio replied, the void humming faintly around him. "If I fail… Afterlight will tear itself apart."
---
The first clashes came in the northern borderlands, where mercenary bands loyal to Varin intercepted traders from Caltherra. Skirmishes erupted under the muted light of dawn, black Ether flares igniting the horizon. Reports of missing caravans, destroyed settlements, and chaotic retreats reached every council within hours.
Emina clenched her fists as she watched the reports scroll across the communications grid. "We warned them… diplomacy alone will not protect us if they choose aggression over reason."
Erwin, observing the Citadel's own defensive forces, said grimly, "This is no longer negotiation. The Accord has fractured in action. And the provinces that hesitate will be swept aside by the current."
---
In the Rift Plains, whispers of Lio's presence spread among soldiers and mercenaries alike. Tales of a boy who had bent Ether to stabilize the first surge became legends, though no one had seen him directly. Fear and superstition amplified every shadow, every anomaly.
Kai, leading a team sent to reinforce border defenses, muttered, "If this kid is real, he's not just a stabilizer—he's a weapon. Everyone wants him on their side, or gone."
Axel's voice was grim as he scanned the horizon. "And right now, no one can control where the tides are taking him… or us."
---
By nightfall, the provinces were divided in action. The western forces advanced aggressively, claiming key positions under the guise of protection. The south fortified its borders, balancing diplomacy with deterrent threats. The east's cultists moved silently, their presence twisting reality itself to isolate and frighten those who resisted them.
From the Citadel's tower, Lysara's gaze swept the fractured map of Afterlight. "This is what we feared," she murmured. "The first true fracture has arrived. Every choice we make now ripples outward. Every hesitation costs lives. Every miscalculation…"
Erwin completed her thought. "…will burn the world further."
And as the stars blinked faintly above the fractured lands, a new understanding settled over the councils and warriors alike: unity had become a fragile illusion. Ambition, fear, and survival were now the forces guiding the tides of Afterlight.
The Tides of Discord had become a storm.
And no one, not even Lysara, could predict its path.
---