Leaving aside the kind of love-triangle drama that observers beyond the known universe would have delighted in watching unfold at a Chinese restaurant in Haidu City, Nefei, the Alliance capital, and the climates of planets scattered across the universe, today was the final day of the year 832 for every civilized settlement that followed the Galactic Common Calendar.
Many things had happened this year. It had certainly been a turbulent one.
War was raging across the New Continent. The great civilizations of the galaxy had deployed the largest military force they had assembled since the Seventh Galactic War, crossed through the stargate, and begun a grand expedition spanning two million light-years. For the first time, a war force greater than a dreadnought had set foot on that New Continent, a land filled with vast tracts of untouched wilderness.
The Fermo Nebula, the noisiest place in the galaxy, was still burning with war. But this year, the flames had been especially fierce. After receiving unknown backing, the Toren Horn warlord who called himself the Grand Marshal of Fermo had launched an aggressive campaign to unite the star region, and had actually managed to seize a considerable amount of territory. His forces had even pressed close to several space cities supported by great powers, which served as trade and intelligence transfer stations and transport hubs. For a time, the place had truly resembled a feast in a tower of flame, a bustling scene of revelry.
Of course, to most armchair politicians across the universe, the Fermo Nebula had never lacked new warlords, yet none had ever amounted to anything.
How long this warlord could hold out, and how he would meet his end, depended solely on when the Empire and the Alliance could spare the hands to deal with him.
But the