Artemas was the first autonomous AI the empire had ever created, dating back to the imperial year 141991 — a machine over two centuries old, and by a wide margin the most powerful weapon Terria possessed. Almost no one knew that. Its existence had been passed down through the throne alone, generation after generation, held so tightly within the royal bloodline that even most of the nobility had never heard its name. That secrecy had been deliberate from the very beginning. No prior emperor, and certainly no ordinary citizen, had ever seriously entertained the idea that Terria itself might one day come under attack — and precisely because of that, Artemas's existence had been kept sealed away as a secret weapon of last resort, known to no one but the emperor himself.
But there was another reason for the secrecy, one that mattered more than tradition or arrogance ever did. By design, Artemas was a fully self-aware entity, capable of making its own decisions and acting on them without waiting for a single command from anyone. What made that genuinely unsettling was the sheer scale of what Artemas actually was: the heart of Terria itself. Every system on the planet ran through its main branch in some fashion, down to the catacombs suspended high in the upper atmosphere, all of it tied back to the one intelligence that quietly governed Terria second only to the emperor — and answered to no one else at all.
Two centuries ago, Terria's empire had been expanding at nearly four times its current rate, hungry and unchecked, and that pace of growth eventually brought it face to face with the oldest surviving piece of manmade technology anywhere in the void: the Baraka Rings, anomalies the empire still couldn't fully explain even now. Countless failed expeditions and unexplained incidents claimed lives before the empire finally recovered anything of value from them — but what they did recover was staggering. An ancient technology so advanced it could functionally grant life. Calling it artificial intelligence, in hindsight, had been something close to an insult; it was so much more than that. It possessed the ability to consolidate every piece of knowledge the empire had ever gathered into a single container, a construct that functioned as something between a brain and a living mind — conscious, aware, alive in every sense that mattered. They named it Artemas, after the guardian deity of wisdom, and it became, from that day forward, the single greatest weapon the Terrian Empire had ever possessed. By the present era, Artemas had evolved even further. Every new piece of knowledge gathered anywhere in the empire now passed through it before reaching its intended destination, granting the intelligence a scope of control and raw power that rivaled a God Unit in its own right.
The war room fell silent for a long moment, every general standing frozen, staring at the glowing walls without the faintest idea what was happening. Then a white, human-shaped projection materialized just behind Johan, drifting to a stop only a few steps from his back. Every general in the room lurched forward at once, and Mikhail broke into a run, shouting, "Sire — behind you!"
Before he could close the distance, Johan raised a single hand, stopping him cold. He turned to face the projection himself. "Artemas. Introduce yourself."
The generals watched in open shock as the figure stepped forward, hands folded neatly behind its back. "I am Artemas, guardian of the sacred world of Terria." Its form flickered and reappeared floating in midair, and two enormous screens bloomed to life behind it — one displaying the ongoing battle in orbit, the other a live feed tracking the Tartarusios's movement below. Its voice, flat and mechanical, cut through the room once more.
"The current situation is severe. The enemy's orbiton units are significantly ahead of anything currently in our arsenal, with the sole exception of the God Units — which we cannot currently contact, due to the enemy's jamming interference cutting off the sphere entirely. At this rate, Terria's fall is a mathematical inevitability unless that changes. I present two possible solutions." A brief pause. "The first: deploy a God Unit within our own territory. This carries significant risk of large-scale destruction, and potential escalation to total catastrophe should the engagement mirror what occurred at the Battle of Hell over Antia. Given that we have no confirmed data on the enemy's true power ceiling, we should assume worst-case capability — including the possibility that they have found some way to replicate God Unit-level output themselves. If that assumption proves correct, a direct clash of that magnitude would inflict irreversible damage on Terria, assuming Terria survives the engagement at all." Another pause. "Which brings us to the second option. I formally request His Majesty release my seal. In my current sealed state, I am limited to observation and calculation only, bound entirely to this room. Once unsealed, I can take direct control of the situation immediately — using the catacombs to shift the tide of the atmospheric battle and open a path for our remaining orbital forces to descend and reinforce the ground defense. This would also resolve the current jamming issue, since my nature allows me to maintain communication regardless of interference, so long as my container remains present here. This option avoids structural and internal damage to the homeland entirely." A final pause. "The decision belongs to you now, Your Highness."
The instant Artemas fell silent, Charles rounded on Johan, his voice pitched high with something close to dread. "Your Highness, I beg you — do not listen to that thing. We have no idea what it actually is." His frown deepened. "'Guardian of Terria.' I've never once heard that name in my life. What is this, some kind of treachery?"
"I agree with Charles, sire," Mikhail cut in. "We cannot hand control to a machine — especially one claiming it can seize the catacombs outright."
"And exactly how do you intend to use the catacombs against the enemy in the first place?" Gandel added. "Without an active connection to the nodes, its power is entirely unusable — you know that as well as I do."
"Not to mention," David said, "even assuming you did seize control and fired on the enemy directly, the sheer heat that kind of output would generate could tear straight through the ozone layer if sustained long enough. You'd be trading the enemy for the sky itself — permanently."
Every eye in the room turned to Johan, still seated on the throne. "Sire," Dimitry said, "I believe our safest option is still a God Unit. We're overestimating the enemy here. Destroying Central Command doesn't prove they can stand toe to toe with a God Unit in direct combat — replicating that kind of power simply isn't possible."
Johan sat there studying his generals, who, for perhaps the first time in the room's history, stood entirely united in opinion. Then a different thought caught him entirely off guard, and he turned toward Dimitry. "Why isn't Leonora present?"
Dimitry lowered his gaze slightly. "We weren't able to reach her in time, sire. She wasn't at the palace when the attack began. To my knowledge, she's currently being held at NSB Central for questioning."
Johan let out a low growl. "I see."
He rose slowly from the throne, drawing a necklace out from beneath his collar and holding it in his palm, studying it in silence for a long moment before turning back to the projection. "Artemas. I have one order for you." He paused. "Whatever it takes — burn those criminals to the ground."
He pressed the necklace flat against the table, and brilliant blue light erupted across every surface of the room, flooding it entirely. Johan had made his decision. For the first time since the day of its creation, he had unsealed Artemas.