March 6th, 1939.
The grand hall of the Winter Palace was silent, the air thick with anticipation. Hundreds of high-ranking officials, ministers, military officers, and diplomats filled the expansive chamber, each face set in stony determination. The ornate golden chandeliers cast a somber glow over the assembled crowd, casting long shadows against the walls decorated with the banners and crests of the Ruthenian Empire. No one spoke; they waited, breath held, knowing the weight of this gathering. The Empire stood at a precipice.
The heavy doors at the far end of the hall swung open, and Tsar Ivan Alexandrovich entered, his figure silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor behind him. His pace was deliberate, his face an unreadable mask of controlled fury. Flanked by his most trusted generals, including General Vasily Rostov and Admiral Mikhailov, he crossed the hall, each step echoing in the hushed silence, each movement commanding the attention of every eye in the room. His regal military uniform bore the insignia of his office, a stark reminder of his absolute power over Ruthenia.
As he ascended the dais, taking his place behind the heavy, dark wood podium, he cast his steely gaze over the room, his cold blue eyes meeting the faces of each man and woman in attendance. The room itself seemed to draw in a collective breath. His presence was unyielding, magnetic—a force to be reckoned with.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled, yet carrying to every corner of the chamber. "Honored ministers, loyal commanders of Ruthenia, and our esteemed allies," he began, his voice a measured rumble, "today we are met with news that challenges the dignity of our great nation."
He paused, the silence in the hall thickening. "News has reached us of a dishonorable attack upon our navy—an insult delivered by Valoria," he continued, his voice hardening. "They attacked our fleet, our pride, our defenders of Ruthenian sovereignty. And they did so under the illusion that Ruthenia would allow itself to be humiliated." He let his words hang, the fury in his tone clear, sparking quiet murmurs of outrage among his audience.
Ivan's hands gripped the edges of the podium, his knuckles white, as his words grew sharper. "They believe that we are a power to be tested, a nation to be trifled with." His eyes narrowed, his gaze icy as it swept the room. "But Valoria has miscalculated. They have mistaken restraint for weakness, diplomacy for complacency. They have mistaken Ruthenia's honor for timidity. This, we cannot and will not tolerate."
The crowd began to stir, some nodding in agreement, others clenching their fists in silent rage. The Tsar's words resonated, mirroring their own simmering anger.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Mikhailov replied, his voice filled with grim determination. "We will be ready."
The Tsar turned back to the crowd, his voice rising once more. "Make no mistake, gentlemen: this war will not be easy. Valoria is strong, but they are not prepared for what is coming. We will strike without hesitation, without restraint, and without mercy. We will remind them, and all others, that Ruthenia is not a nation to be trifled with. We are an empire that stands strong, unyielding in the face of any who dare oppose us."
He paused, his words hanging in the air, charged with the promise of war. "Our allies will stand with us, and those who do not shall see what it means to cross Ruthenia. There will be no compromises, no negotiations. This is a battle for survival, and Ruthenia will prevail."
As he looked over the crowd, a fire burned in his eyes. "Let this be a message to Valoria, to all who might underestimate us: Ruthenia will not fall. We shall stand victorious. We shall bring Valoria to its knees."
The hall erupted in applause and shouts of approval, the sound echoing through the Winter Palace as officers pounded their fists and ministers cheered. The Tsar's declaration was clear—Ruthenia would not stand down, would not bow. They would fight with every ounce of their strength and crush those who dared to challenge them.
Ivan looked out over his loyal commanders and advisers, his face set in a fierce determination. "Prepare our troops, our fleets, our people. Let them know that we are at war, and let them know that Ruthenia will not rest until victory is ours."
He turned, his generals and ministers standing straighter as he left the dais, each man and woman in the hall ready to carry out his orders. As the Tsar left the room, the gravity of his words weighed on them all. This was no longer a dispute; it was a crusade for honor, pride, and supremacy.
In the dim light of the Winter Palace's corridors, Ivan allowed himself a grim smile. He would show Valoria, and the world, the might of Ruthenia. This war, he vowed, would end with Ruthenia standing unchallenged, feared and revered across the globe.