Still, Giza himself was a much storied and decorated commander who had maintained Indira’s military dominance over Mano and, as such, was unaccustomed to criticism or needling doubts about his ability or acumen.

“There were triple the number of warmen than we expected,” he blurted. The sovereigns darkened, and Giza knew instantly that he had been rash to let his pride become provocative. He took a breath and backtracked. “Forgive me, King Raza, Queen Patra. I offer this not as explanation but simply as a report on what we now know to be true.”

“Continue,” Raza said patiently.

One step at a time, Giza told himself. One foot in front of the other. Like marching into enemy fire.

“As I said,” he went on, “the garrison at Front Tier received a large influx of reinforcements.”

King Raza leaned forward. “Could they have been aware of our invasion?”

“No, Your Highness. Not with enough notice to muster that large a force. Unfortunately, after the fact, our spies on Mano have informed us of the reason for the troop movement. King Xander has removed every soldier from the capital city of Mist Tier.”

Raza pursed his lips and turned to the eldest of the Wisened, not for advice but for affirmation. The elder Wisened nodded slowly as if she could read Raza’s thoughts.

“The Prophecy,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Giza agreed. “Perhaps more disturbing from a military point of view is the fact that the Manoliths have developed greater firepower. I can confirm improvements to their conventional defense systems. It is possible, therefore, that they are in possession of more long-range munitions.”

Raza stared, but Giza knew it was not because he lacked opinion. Raza was a well-considered king, meaning that he considered everything for its own merit. Giza remembered that, as a young man, Raza had savored his meals in similar fashion, tasting each item and lingering over each distinct flavor.

“What say the Wisened?” Raza asked without turning.

Wordlessly, they huddled together like carrion eaters over a carcass. The commander and the monarchs waited. Giza cast his eyes downward, avoiding eye contact with the king. There was one more piece of news he had to share, and he simply wasn’t ready. Finally, the elder Wisened raised her head from the clutch.

“It is as we have always feared.” She spoke in a hissing whisper like a sword on a sharpening stone. “We Indirans have always been more advanced than the Manoliths. But we knew the day would come when they would become a threat to our peace. It is now more necessary than ever for us to neutralize them before they have the capability to attack us on our home planet.”

Patra’s response was unsurprising. “How can you be sure the Manoliths intend to attack us?”

“It is inevitable,” the elder intoned undeterred. “The Manolithic civilization is rich in minerals and fossil fuels. But they have remained stagnant for one reason. They lack what we Indirans possess. An abundance of food. Water. A prosperous and productive populace. For their people to advance, they must take what we have. We cannot allow that.”