They set off early the next morning - twelve soldiers, Leon, Aldric, and the Sword Saint.
The rest of the delegation would remain. The mages needed to begin their tests, to measure the gate's growth rate, to study the magical saturation patterns. The soldiers would protect them and maintain a camp that could serve as a forward observation post.
Leon's team would ride ahead to deliver the report in person. Letters could only convey so much. The king needed to hear it from them directly, needed to see their faces when they described what lay in the east.
The journey back was even quieter than the journey there.
No one spoke beyond necessity. The soldiers rode with expressions that had been dulled by what they'd witnessed, their usual banter replaced by grim silence. Aldric spent hours each day staring at nothing, occasionally muttering calculations under his breath that never seemed to reach satisfactory conclusions.
The Sword Saint rode at the front beside Leon, as always. But even her perfect posture seemed somehow diminished. Or maybe Leon was just projecting - attributing his own sense of overwhelmed dread to someone who never showed emotion.
Leon tried not to think too much. Tried to focus on the immediate - managing the horse, maintaining pace, ensuring the group stayed together. Because when he let his mind wander to the horizon - spanning gate, to the implications, to the impossible mathematics of defending something that large...
The thoughts spiraled into paralysis.
So he focused on the next mile. Then the next. Then the next.
Twenty days of hard riding brought them back to the capital.
Twenty days, and the gate would have grown even larger.
Rallegard.
That's what the capital was called - an ancient name meaning "King's Watch" in a language predating the current kingdom. Leon had learned it during his year here, had heard it spoken countless times, but only now did the name seem to carry weight.
The King's Watch. The last bastion. The place where decisions that shaped the entire realm were made.
They rode through gates that opened immediately upon recognition, past guards who stiffened at the sight of the Sword Saint, through streets where people stopped to stare at the exhausted riders covered in road dust.
No triumphant return this time. No flowers or cheers.
Just grim-faced soldiers pushing toward the castle as fast as dignity allowed.
They were ushered straight to the war room - no time to rest, no opportunity to clean up or prepare. The king was already there, along with Lord Casimir and what looked like every senior military officer and mage in the capital.
"High Archmage." The king stood as they entered. "Your letters arrived two days ago, but the council insisted we wait for your personal report before making decisions. Tell us what you saw."
Leon stepped forward. His body ached from twenty days of hard riding. His throat was dry. His mind felt foggy with exhaustion.
But he pushed on.
"The reports from Mudtown were accurate," Leon began. "The gate exists. It extends across the eastern horizon for... we don't know how far. Survey teams rode north and south until their horses couldn't continue. They found no end."
Silence in the room. The kind that felt heavy, oppressive.
"The gate is still growing," Aldric added, his voice hoarse. "We can't estimate yet how long till it opens, but it can't be longer than four months. The magical saturation is unlike anything we've recorded. If the density of creatures matches previous gates..."
He trailed off. No one needed him to finish that sentence.
Leon pulled out his notes - hastily scrawled calculations, estimates, projections. "Based on the first gate's density, if we apply this to a gate spanning even ten miles..." He stopped. "We'd need approximately one hundred thousand soldiers just to form a continuous defensive line. More realistically, twice that to allow for rotations and reserves."
"The kingdom doesn't have two hundred thousand soldiers," Lord Casimir said flatly.
"I know," Leon replied.
"Even mobilizing every able-bodied man between sixteen and fifty -"
"I know," Leon repeated. "The numbers don't work. They can't work. Not for one kingdom."
More silence. Longer this time.
A noble Leon didn't recognize spoke up: "Could we... abandon the east? Fortify the interior? Let the eastern territories serve as a buffer while we-"
"No." The Sword Saint's voice cut through the suggestion like a blade. "The creatures won't stop at the eastern border. They'll spread. Consume. Multiply. Abandoning territory doesn't delay the threat - it ensures it."
"Then what do we do?" someone asked. The question hung in the air, desperate.
Leon took a breath. This was the moment. The conclusion he had reached, that would either save them or reveal how out of his depth he truly was.
"We ask for help," Leon said.
Every eye turned to him.
"Other kingdoms," Leon continued. "The ones on other continents. They must have experienced gates. Must have their own garrisons, their own defensive strategies. This threat..." He gestured at the map, at the eastern territories. "This threatens everyone. If this gate opens and we can't contain it, the creatures won't stop at our borders. They'll spread to neighboring lands. Eventually to the other continents."
"The kingdom hasn't dealt with foreign powers in decades," a noble protested. "We don't have relationships with-"
"Then we build them," Leon interrupted. "Quickly. Because the alternative is facing this alone and losing."
The king studied Leon for a long moment. "You believe other kingdoms would answer such a call? Would send their forces to defend our territory?"
"I believe they'll recognize that this isn't just our territory," Leon said. "It's a breach in reality itself. And if they have any experience with gates, they'll understand what happens if it's not contained."
"He's right," Lord Casimir said quietly. "I've read the historical records. Before our isolation, before the current dynasty, this kingdom had alliances. Treaties. When the first gate appeared sixteen years ago, we received inquiries from foreign powers asking about the phenomenon. We ignored them, handled it ourselves."
"Because we could," the king said.
"This one we can't," Leon said bluntly. "Your Majesty, I understand this is unprecedented. I understand the political complications. But those complications won't matter if we're all dead."
Another long silence. Then the king turned to one of his advisors. "Bring me the foreign correspondence archives. Every letter, every inquiry we've received about gates. I want to know who has experience with these threats."
The advisor bowed and hurried out.
"High Archmage," the king said, "you will draft the message. Include everything - the gate's scale, the timeline, the threat assessment. Nothing held back. If we're asking for help, they need to understand exactly what they're facing."
"Your Majesty," a noble protested, "revealing our weakness to foreign powers-"
"Is necessary," the king finished. "The High Archmage is correct. Full transparency. They won't send forces if they think we're hiding information."
Leon felt something unclench in his chest. He'd expected more resistance, more debate. But the king understood. Saw the impossibility of the situation and made the logical choice.
"I'll need information about the other kingdoms," Leon said. "Their military capabilities, their experience with gates, any existing relationships we can leverage."
"Lord Casimir will provide everything we have," the king said. "Draft the message tonight. We'll send emissaries at dawn."
"Where?" Leon asked. "Which kingdoms?"
"All of them," the king replied. "Every major power we have records of. The Empire of Solmara across the western sea. The Confederation of Free Cities to the south. The Kingdom of Ishmar in the frozen north. Even the Eastern Coalition islands. Every nation that might have faced gates, that have forces to spare."
He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of his council.
"For the first time in decades, the Kingdom of Alderon will reach out to the wider world. Not as conquerors. Not as traders. As equals facing a common threat." He paused. "Because if we don't, there won't be a kingdom left to isolate."
The meeting continued into the night - logistics, message drafting, selecting emissaries. Leon worked through his exhaustion, translating his observations into language that would convey urgency without seeming panicked.
The gate spans the horizon. Current estimates suggest a width of at least fifteen miles, possibly more. It will open within four months. Without coordinated international response, containment is impossible.
Simple. Direct. Terrifying, as it was.
The Sword Saint contributed tactical assessments. Aldric provided magical measurements. Lord Casimir added military context.
By dawn, the messages were ready. Copies prepared for each kingdom. Emissaries selected - the most experienced diplomats, soldiers to guard them, mages to verify their credentials.
Leon watched them depart from his chamber window as the sun rose over Rallegard. Ships leaving the harbor bound for Solmara. Riders heading south toward the Free Cities. A northern expedition preparing for the harsh journey to Ishmar.
Messages carried across the world, asking for help the kingdom had never needed before.
Asking for help they might not receive.
Leon turned from the window, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He needed sleep. Needed to process what they'd seen. Needed to prepare for what came next.
Because the emissaries would succeed or fail. Other kingdoms would answer or ignore the call. And in three to four months, regardless of political outcomes, that gate would open.
And then they'd discover if Leon's formations, his engineering magic, his entire elaborate fraud...
If any of it mattered against something that spanned the horizon.
He collapsed onto his bed without bothering to undress, and sleep took him immediately.
In his dreams, he stood before an endless tear in reality, watching creatures pour through without end, behind him a kingdom burned.
He woke to knocking on his door.
"High Archmage?" A servant's voice. "The king requests your presence. The first response has arrived."
Leon sat up, disoriented. How long had he slept? The light through his window suggested evening.
"From which kingdom?" Leon asked through the door.
"Solmara, sir. Their fastest ships. They..." The servant paused. "They're asking to see the gate themselves. They'll be here within the week."
Leon stood, fatigue forgotten.
It was beginning.
The world was coming to Aldoria.
And Leon would have to convince them all that the threat was real, that his expertise was genuine, that the High Archmage of Pelenna deserved their trust.
The fraud was about to cross borders.