The Grandian Saga

Felicia placed the teacups before the Lieutenant on the guest's table. Milena settled into the comfortable chair offered to her. Opposite her, Manuel sat stiffly and said, "I apologize for our behavior earlier. I never imagined the Federal Patrol might come to interrogate me."

"I'll be blunt, Mr. Manuel Dumont," Milena replied sharply. "We received reports accusing you of orchestrating dissent in Federation territories. Headquarters expects you to come with us for interrogation."

"Dissent?!" Felicia exclaimed, her voice rising in shock. "You must be mistaken, officer! My husband and I are on our annual trip. He has no intention, nor the time, to cause such problems—if he were even planning to break the law!"

"Honey... that's enough," Manuel said softly, his tone resigned. After a deep sigh, he added, "As much as I hate this, if the authorities are after me, I must prove my innocence."

Felicia fell silent, her worry apparent. Milena nodded and said, "If you believe you're innocent, we will hear your side, Mr. Dumont."

Milena's eyes drifted across the room as she signaled her subordinates. A peculiar detail caught her attention: a cluster of picture frames displayed atop an ornate cabinet. Rising from her seat, she approached them and focused on a specific frame—a portrait of a young man with aristocratic features. Calling her men over, she removed the frame from the shelf, revealing it more clearly.

"What is this?" Milena exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief.

Manuel's expression hardened as he realized he'd been exposed. In a swift motion, he drew a gun from his holster. Milena acted immediately, kicking the table into his arm and sending the weapon clattering across the floor. Seeing the escalating confrontation, Felicia bolted through a side door.

"The woman—she's escaped!" a patrolman shouted.

Manuel lunged at Milena, but she met him with a sharp knee to his groin. As he faltered, her subordinates tackled him, wrestling the large man to the ground. It took five officers to pin him down completely.

Gritting his teeth, Manuel shouted, "You'll never get our prince! He will restore order to Grandia! We will reclaim our land, our home, from the invaders!"

"Take him away," Milena commanded coldly. Her team cuffed his hands behind his back and began hauling him out of the room.

Her gaze returned to the portrait. "Prince Andrea Albani," she murmured, pressing a finger to her wireless transmitter. "Captain, are you still on the bridge?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Is something wrong?" Michel's calm voice replied.

"We've found our dissenter," Milena reported. "He's a prince who should be in exile. I believe we need to focus our efforts on apprehending him."

"Negative, Milena. We cannot leave the potential contraband unchecked," Michel said firmly. "We'll contact headquarters regarding the situation. Detain everyone involved with the dissenter and meet me on the deck."

"Understood, Captain. However, one of them has escaped," Milena added.

"That's unfortunate, but we can't give chase. Our priorities lie elsewhere," Michel replied.

----

Beyond the horizon, a fleet of seven ships approached. Most were corvettes, with a single frigate leading the formation. The reddish glow of their anti-gravity engines shimmered beneath their hulls, allowing them to hover at great altitudes. The ships' Elin engines—elixir nitrigate-powered steam engines—hummed as they propelled the fleet forward toward its target.

The silence of the control room was broken as a crew member announced, "Target sighted, milord!"

The general, a heavily bearded man clad in black-hued oriental armor, rose from his command seat. "Good. Make haste, gentlemen. We cannot allow the Federation to confiscate our cargo."

"Yes, milord!" the crew responded in unison.

As the general returned to his seat, his wireless transmitter buzzed. He touched the receiver at his neck and answered. "This is not the best time to talk."

A smooth, authoritative voice responded. "Voldyck, I trust you're retrieving the treasure. Ensure it doesn't fall into the Federation's hands."

"What do you take me for?" General Voldyck replied, irritation creeping into his tone.

The voice chuckled. "You never fail, Voldyck. You're one of our most promising generals. I simply seek reassurance."

Voldyck's eyes narrowed. "I don't understand why we're intercepting the cargo here. Why not take it through neutral territory?"

"To deliver a message," the voice replied cryptically.

"You don't mean..." Voldyck started.

"Precisely," the voice said. "It's time to show the Federation of Grandia that we're coming for them."

-----

In the lower levels of the land wagon, Prince Andrea Albani and his escorts navigated the dim, rusted passageways. The air reeked of waste and decay, causing the prince to cover his nose as he struggled to maintain his balance.

"We should stop for now," one of his escorts, Roy, suggested, his voice tinged with concern.

"No… I'm fine," Andrea replied, though his unsteady breathing betrayed him.

The group pressed onward until they stumbled into a storage area filled with crates covered in white cloth. Andrea signaled for them to halt as he surveyed the space.

"What is it, my prince?" Roy asked.

Andrea pointed toward the crates. "That cargo. Did we register it in our name?"

Roy shook his head. "No, my prince. I don't believe Maximus or Felicia knew of its existence either."

Andrea clenched his fists, unease settling over him. The sudden arrival of the Federal Patrol and the mystery of this shipment hinted at a deeper conspiracy.

Suddenly, a guard's voice echoed through the hall. "You're not allowed here! Turn back, or—"

Andrea stepped forward, cutting him off. "We demand access to the cargo," he declared, brandishing his family crest. "I am Prince Andrea Albani. You will stand down."

Roy and the others exchanged uneasy glances, silently hoping the bluff would work. With the Federal Patrol hunting them, they knew their chances of uncovering the truth about the cargo were slim. Yet, the prince's suspicions could not be ignored. 

The guard seeing this paused for a while. He contemplated whether to allow the prince or to shoot him on sight. With his hands on the trigger, the prince's fate hangs in the thread.