There was silence in the audience chamber, but not a merely contemplative one. It was heavy, and fell over the Council of Three as a thick fog - making it harder to breathe, even if the former Emperor's throneroom was vast. A light breeze swept through the window, offering relief from the sweltering heat that often befell Prime this time of year; but it was not a welcome chill. Aloof, and foreboding...
" I believe we have neither the time nor the need for introductions. " Swain starts, his palm sitting idly on the logbook of Trifarian records. Notes from their conferences, always written in a cryptic fashion. " We are facing something much larger than ourselves this time. And, as you know, the clock is ticking. The last time, it came from within. The next time, it will surround us. "
Surely the other two had heard the news. As expected, the Faceless remained motionless as a puppet - merely canting their head when Swain drew another unexpected breath.
" Perhaps Noxus has met a worthy adversary, this once." A pause; an impression of a smirk. " Demacia has fallen - and I suspect the east might be next, if we are not. So, here is my proposal. " He tapped the table with the tip of his nail. " Our Elite will be transferred out of the city walls, and into the East. Should we all end up... Possessed, the ones in their right mind will have an easier time fending off the blacksmith than they will Ben Farron. This thing will spread worldwide - and cannot be undone by our hand. But, if we can endure, and move the more unstable troops into the Eastern front, we could hope to wake to fruitful results after the damage is done... Cultivated ground for our next steps. "
Although Jericho Swain offered a sound plan, the general still harboured doubts regarding the execution. Yet: what else could they do? It was not even the survival of the fittest anymore, but march against the time and effort. Their dedication and plans could be all wiped away in a matter of seconds if their civilians would even stumble anywhere near the mist and that, as they all heard and saw in the sample of Demacia’s fall, was assaulting relentlessly everything it could reach.
Darius still did not know how to react to the fall of their greatest opposition. According to their resources, Demacia was a stalwart force against all magic. It was ironic how they worked hard to make an example of the scared mages, but now all of Runeterra was watching on in horror how the Mist’s ruination teared it down from the very foundation.
Travelling to the east could also come with various complications. No doubt the borders or the surrounding areas were already filled with Ionian scouts who have heard the rumours of the fall of Demacia. They could not afford themselves a conflict in these dire times, but something made him doubt that their eastern neighbours would be willing to share anything with their former enemies.
The soldier looked up from the table, his grim eyes focusing on Swain. “I suggest sending out a part of our civilians towards South. That not only to minimize the damage – should a group fall under the influence of this possession – but to have them settle on a more familiar ground.” Darius’ frown deepened at the thought alone, but it would be much easier to gather the scattered troops and people than to bury them all in a mass grave. But even that option carried great danger. He looked around in the room.
Despite all of their careful planning, nothing was guaranteed.
He went on:”Piltover is probably willing to accept the citizens of Noxus in the time of this crisis. The port cities of Shurima are still allied with Noxus, therefore establishing a foothold there could prove profitable.” If accepted, the people would have a better chance of survival under the ascended leader, Azir. Would the Mist even pose a threat to Shurima? Or would another threat, that has been present underground for years and terrorized the nomads, take advantage of this turmoil?
The general drew a deep breath. It was hard to think ahead of an enemy who they did not even see or hear. There were only semblances of whispers in him, but nothing more to that.
It was not necessary to point out that he and his troops would remain in the city until the very end. It was his home, his nation and pride. If he were to die in a battle against the Mist’s onslaught, it would be an honour to perish on the soil he had bled and sacrificed so much for. Another question that remained was Jericho Swain’s own role; last time he had acted like a beacon to the shadows, and the blow was most devastating. If it would happen again, it was probably not wise to keep the Grand General near people but leaving him alone to the relentless devices of his foes was out of the question as well.
With his suggestions laid out, he turned his attention back towards Jericho Swain in anticipation.
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