Summoning America

Chapter 175: Sovereign's Descent

January 16, 1641

Washington, D.C.

United States

Crown Prince Gra Cabal eyed the city below, the hum of the airplane keeping him company. It felt strange, being back here, amidst the heart of what they once considered their greatest adversary. The view from the aircraft window painted a different picture of Washington, D.C., than the one etched in his memory. In the early morning darkness, it seemed almost empty – nothing compared to the skyline of Ragna, or even compared to the Americans' own cities.

His father, former Emperor Gra Lux, leaned forward and squinted slightly as he took in the sight. He reacted the same way he did when first laying eyes upon their capital. Unlike the towering skyscrapers of a modern metropolis he probably would've imagined, the city sprawled out with a dignified modesty. The city mostly consisted of low-rise buildings and the occasional spire of a monument or dome of a historic building. The Washington Monument stood tall, a slender needle amidst a city devoid of the crowded verticality expected of such a powerful nation.

"So this is the capital of our enemy," he mused. "I expected... more, somehow. More opulence, perhaps."

Cabal turned to his father. He still had a flicker of the old fires in his eyes, but they had long since dimmed, reduced to mere shadows during their long journey from Ragna. "It's different during the day," he replied. "The simplicity is an opulence in itself: the expanse of its spaces, the monuments, the open skies."

Gra Lux hummed, a noncommittal sound that spoke volumes of his internal turmoil. "Monuments to what? Their victories?" There was a bitterness in his question, a king displaced, grappling with the reality of his fall.

"Perhaps to their ideals, Father," Cabal ventured, treading lightly. "Democracy, freedom... the very things we're hoping will grant us asylum now."

Asylum. The word felt... degrading, like it was a reminder of their precipitous descent from rulers to refugees. The plane banked gently, the Potomac River glinting below like a silver ribbon winding through the city.

Gra Lux settled back into his seat. "Ideals," he echoed, "Let us hope their ideals are as grand as their monuments."

The plane began to descend, circling around an airstrip illuminated by rows of lights: Joint Base Andrews, as the Americans had called it. The faint outlines of the jets escorting them peeled off, their mission complete. The aircraft's wheels touched the ground, the turbulent vibration like an assertive reminder of the new environment.

Beside him, his father sat in contemplation, eyes reflecting the runways' lights as they drew closer. His gaze looked hollow, truly the look of a man who had lost everything. The rest of their party, including his mother and sister, seemed enveloped in their own thoughts. Chief of the Military Xand Pastall and Secretary Varden Kurtz from the Office of the Sovereign were the only two people who weren't silent, though their hushed whispers carried the same weight as everyone else's silence. This was it.

As the plane rolled to a stop, a tall middle-aged woman seated close to the cockpit stood up. Protocol Officer Elaine Mercer, whom they had met upon their initial departure from Joint Base Maihark, approached them. "There will be a brief hold on the tarmac. Security protocols," she stated bluntly. "I'll guide you through the next steps once we've disembarked."

Her briefing back in Qua Toyne had been thorough, covering everything from the security measures that would surround them to the expectations of their conduct on American soil. She emphasized protocols quite a bit; it was the one thing about her that stuck. It was the one thing about the United States that he found tiring – overbearing rules and regulations.