Lieutenant Master General Carmen Reyes Reisstien "Reis"

January 16th, 492; Second Era of the Templar... The sky blushed with the first light of dawn as Carmen Reisstien stood at the bow of the Basitin military sailboat, her keen eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of a Southern Human Island. The salty sea breeze ruffled her fur, but she remained still, her muscles taut with the anticipation of battle. Around her, the deck was alive with the disciplined efficiency of her warriors, each Basitin sharpening blades, adjusting armor, or preparing the small, sturdy longboats that would carry them to shore.

Behind her, three more warships cut through the waves, their sails full and steady. Each vessel bore warriors armed with curved sabers, bows, and the signature agility of their kind. The Basitin were not ones for prolonged warfare, nor did they revel in bloodshed without cause, but the continued human incursions into their waters had left King Jade Adelaide with no alternative. The humans had been warned. They had been given a choice. They had chosen war.

Carmen’s grip tightened around the stock of her crossbow. She had fought in skirmishes before, but this was different. This was not a warning raid, not a diplomatic show of force—this was extermination. No survivors. The humans would learn the cost of their arrogance.

As the boats neared the shore, the village came into sharper focus. Smoke curled lazily from thatched rooftops, and the distant clatter of morning activities drifted across the waves. The villagers had no idea what was coming. They would see the Basitin ships soon, but by then, it would be too late.

Carmen turned to one of her soldiers, a battle-hardened veteran named Raleth. His amber eyes met hers with unspoken understanding.

“We strike fast and leave nothing standing,” she said, her voice calm, resolved. “King Adelaide’s will is clear. This village burns before the sun reaches its peak.”

Raleth nodded, gripping his axe. “For the King.”

“For the King,” Carmen echoed. Her hand resting on the ivory grip of her pistol.

January 16th, 492; Second Era of the Templar The morning began like any other on the southern island of Keepsheire. The villagers stirred to life as the first pale streaks of dawn touched the horizon, casting the shoreline in soft hues of gold. Fishermen hauled nets toward the surf, their speech carrying faintly over the rhythmic whisper of waves. Smoke rose gently from the chimneys of thatched cottages, mingling with the scent of brine and roasting grain. To the people of Keepshire, the sea was familiar; sometimes generous, sometimes cruel, but never silent.

Yet today, it was too quiet.

A boy tending to nets on the pier was the first to notice the shadows on the water. Distant shapes, sleek and low, cutting through the waves with unnatural precision. He frowned, shading his eyes against the sunrise. Sailboats, but not merchant craft. The sails were uniform, taut with the morning wind, and the crests they bore were unlike any he’d seen before.

The call went up moments later. Bells rang through the village. People were confused, panicked, overlapping one another. Mothers ran, and fishermen dropped their nets, racing inland to alert the guards. A few of the older men grabbed rusted blades, relics from old border skirmishes that had long since faded from memory. The younger ones simply stared, paralyzed by the sight of four dark silhouettes advancing steadily toward the bay.

From the shore, they could now see the glint of yellow Fire-Gilded steel. ranks of armored figures moving across the decks with precise, silent purpose. No shouts, no signals, no warning. Just order and intent. The Basitin war banners fluttered in the wind like wings.

A single command was barked across the waves, too distant to hear but heavy enough to still the hearts of those on shore. Then the first of the smaller boats dropped into the water, their oars cutting clean, deliberate strokes toward the beach.

The guards at the watchtower began to ring the alarm again, but their hands trembled. The sea, once their lifeline; now seemed to carry death itself upon its back.

By the time the first arrow arced from the horizon and struck the sand near the dock, the people of Keepshire understood. This was not a raid. Not a warning.

The war had finally reached them. They all knew they were constantly stealing fish and Intruding on Basitin waters. Even going as far to attack Basitin military ships. The Basitin King Jade Adelaide for several months had attempted to resolve this diplomatically, all her letters burned. Now they were paying the price.

January 16th, 492; Second Era of the Templar... The village of Keepshire stirred in the pale light of dawn, unaware of the storm about to break upon it. Carmen Reisstien moved like a shadow through the thin mist rising from the shore, her boots sinking into the damp earth. The faint cries of gulls overhead were drowned out by the rhythmic hush of waves behind her, where Basitin longboats lay half-buried in the sand; silent, empty, their crews already ashore.

Her crossbow was drawn and ready, the string taut, a single iron bolt glinting faintly in the light of morning. Around her, disciplined figures slipped between the huts, their fur streaked with salt and smoke, eyes cold and focused. The air was thick with tension. That same fragile quiet that lives only in the breath before violence.

Carmen’s golden eyes swept the village. Children played near the well. A woman emptied a bucket into a trough. Smoke rose lazily from a baker’s chimney. They hadn’t seen her yet, hadn’t seen death itself walking among them. Her ears twitched as she caught the low whistle of one of her captains in the distance. The signal. No hesitation.

She raised her arm. In an instant, the calm shattered.

The hiss of arrows split the air. Screams erupted from the streets as the first homes went up in flames, their straw roofs catching like dry parchment. Humans fled in panic, tripping over cobblestones slick with mud and blood alike. Carmen advanced through the chaos with mechanical precision, loosing a bolt into a fleeing man’s back before reloading without pause. The sound of her pistol cracked once. Sharp, unnatural, echoing over the roar of fire, and another fell.

She didn’t smile. There was no satisfaction, no hesitation. Only purpose.

The Basitin line pressed forward, driving the survivors inward, her soldiers cutting down anything that moved. Carmen stepped over a fallen body, her gaze fixed on the center of the village where the bell tower rose above the smoke. Her orders were clear. Keepshire would burn before noon.

And as the flames climbed higher, their reflection burning in her eyes, Carmen felt nothing but the weight of command and the faint whisper of her mother’s voice, buried beneath the screams.

It had been 4 months after the Invasion and annihilation of the Human Evekeen kingdom. The Basitins have fully slaughtered most the humans, keeping the ones that remained under a very strong iron grip. All human kingdoms, settlements, and villages are fully under Basitin control. King Jade Adelaide had put extremely strict and heavy rules for humans. In her words; "I have a deep regret and pity for all the innocent humans, and those who were just misled. But I had no choice but to put what remains of humanity under an iron fist."

There were many, many restrictions, such as extremely strict curfews, Basitin Soldier Quartering, The humans are to have no more than 1 blade and a simple longbow with 4 arrows per household. Whatever a Basitin commands must be obeyed; no matter the command, or rank of the Basitin. Each family can only have a maximum of two offspring, The firstborn male of each family must be sent to work as a slave at the age of 12 for 20 years, Any disobedience will be punished swiftly; dependent on severity and the punishment could be death, 5 Basitin Warriors present and guarding each individual building. This, and many, many other more rules made being a human, the worst possible thing alive. The Basitins practically had free reign over anyone, even Basitin Children had more power than a fully grown human.

Jade Adelaide, benevolent and caring as ever — even to those that don't deserve it; deeply felt pity, but was left no other choice. Proof of her benevolence was that she pushed for all villages in ruins to be repaired and for humans to return. Furthermore, but great majority of these cruel rulings were not even hers, but rather her councils' all unanimously voting for them. Her council was responsible for such heavy rules. In Jade's words: “Sometimes I wish I had never formed a council. Those old doyens may be wise, but they are crueller than what a proper council should be, they took every advantage on the humans. It is truly troubling I still dare call upon them as a council for advice."

Reisstien however, was happy as a vengeful Basitin could be. Her views were the complete opposite of Jade. Reisstien only wished for human suffering, nothing more. These rules were exactly want Reisstien wanted, if not a step down. They were tame compared to what Reisstien wanted. Despite this, Reisstien was content with the current rules; and didn't push for stricter ones. Reisstien enjoyed the rules very much. A literal Basitin child, at the age of 6 when their training was launched; they immediately had more superiority than any human. The rules and humans were taken advantage of by almost all Basitin. Warriors were just waiting for the smallest of slip-ups to abuse humans. The Basitin children at the ages of 6-15 were much more complacent and cruel, they were doing everything they wanted to humans; theft, rape, abuse, and sometimes even unintentionally — or even intentionally killing a human; was very common.

February 27th 487. The day Reisstien broke.

It was only 1 or two hours past midnight, The camp, an hour away; was still alive behind her. That was the strangest part.

Lanterns still burned in rows, their light flickering across canvas and polished armor. Voices carried; muted, controlled, and disciplined typical of Basitin army. unaware of what had just happened inside the medical tents. No alarms yet. No pursuit. Just the low, steady rhythm of a war machine that was called the Basitin military.

Carmen Reyes Reisstien did not look back.

Her boots pressed into the cold earth with slow, deliberate weight, each step measured but heavy. like something dragging itself forward rather than walking. Her cape hung still, damp in places where it shouldn’t have been, the fabric darkened and stiff. The golden shoulder armor caught the very faint light of the waning crescent in the sky.

Her hands were the worst of it. Not clean. Not even close.

The fur along her fingers and palms was clumped, dark, matted down to the skin in uneven patches. It wasn’t the clean, surgical red of a battlefield kill. It was smeared, dragged, pressed into her claws and under them. There were places where it had dried already, cracking faintly as her fingers flexed.

She flexed them again. Just to feel it.

Her breathing had long since steadied, but it wasn’t calm. Forced into a rhythm by sheer will. Every inhale was sharp through her nose, every exhale slow and deliberate. She was holding something down inside her chest and refusing to let it surface fully.

Her ears pinned at a slight rustle. Not flattened in fear. There was no more in her for that. Listening, tracking, and waiting.

No had one followed. Not yet.

Her golden eyes cut forward into the darkness ahead, catching the faint outline of the treeline that marked the road to Berveach. For a brief moment, the wind shifted, and with it; the smell of the camp faded behind her.

Berveach.

The name didn’t carry emotion. Not anymore. It wasn’t a place. It was a target. All of humanity was. In her state: everything living was an target. No matter what it was; it it was alive she would try to kill it. A response so absolute it didn’t need refinement.

Only forty seconds after her mother breathed her last, giving last words and her dagger to Reisstien, after the silence that followed: The world had narrowed into a single, unbreakable directive.

Erase humanity.

Her right hand moved, slower this time, reaching beneath her cape. When it came back out, it held the dagger.

Cherry Reisstien’s dagger.

Even now, it looked untouched. Immaculate. The ornate detailing along the hilt caught what little moonlight filtered through the clouds, glinting faintly. No blood on it. Not a drop.

She hadn’t used it; Not on the doctors.

Those weren’t kills she was proud of; those were doctors, Basitin doctors. It was… a loss of control. They were not her enemy, but it was too late now. She was now in control of herself, and she had a clear enemy.

Her grip tightened around the handle, claws lightly pressing against the metal as if testing its reality. For a fraction of a second, her expression shifted; not softer, not kinder, just… sharper. She would get her revenge.

“They will all regret it...”

The words left her quietly, in Basitin, barely louder than the wind.

Her pupils narrowed.

That faint, red ring beginning to form in the center of her irises present. Nearing its peak. However, Not yet. She had to keep some control.

She had been walking for an hour. Within that, she had already mapped out her one-basitin invasion. Berveach wasn't too large, having a population of about 370 humans, and about 120 Keidran slaves. They would all die before the First Hour of Light.

Everything would die.

She had to get there first. It was about a little more than a league away from Basitin camp. Given that she had already walked an hour, she was only a quarter of an hour from the sleeping village.

Today, Everything she encountered would die without question; on sight.