None of the Cell variants are as obscure and secretive as the Stalkers. Very little is known about them, as we've never been able to capture one for study. Actually, the number of direct human sightings of a Stalker is low enough to be counted on two hands - nine.

Here's what we do know. They're tubular in shape, with twelve appendages. They exist in a separate dimension and have the technology to both create and repair worldholes at will. By using these "pocket worldholes," Stalkers are capable of free movement between their dimension and ours and between any two points in space. They have highly potent warding, enough to make all but the most powerful sorcerers pass out on the spot due to the pain. And they only appear when massive damage is done to our dimensional fabric, typically resulting from a worldhole.

This has predictably led to many people speculating wildly about their intended role in the Cell structure. Some have posited - and this is a stance that I tend to agree with - that the Stalker is a sort of dimensional maintenance unit, arriving only when needed to observe and potentially repair damage to our dimensional fabric. Several small worldholes have disappeared without explanation in the past, though no sightings of a Strider conducting this work have ever been reported. Presumably, they also do this for their own dimension, though that is pure conjecture.

This theory has issues. Most large worldholes have never been repaired - many have existed for tens of thousands of years. It is also clear that the Stalkers serve as some kind of dimensional police and that they definitely aren't on our side. Several incursions onto Firewatch from other dimensions have been rather violently destroyed by Stalkers. The dismemberment of several of our breach-teams has also been attributed to Stalkers. So at best, they're neutral and view humans as we view single-cell organisms - that is to say, insignificant. At worst, they have some ulterior motives that we don't understand. One way or another, they're scary.

Good news is, they've never been known to go after regular people. As long as you aren't a sorcerer of any particular note, you should be fine.

<>-----<>-----<>-----<>-----<>

The voices.

They were everywhere. The walls, the ceiling, the doors. The furniture. Everywhere she turned, every step she took, always looking over her shoulder. 

Something crashed behind her. Instinctively, her body flashed. Energy poured into her palms. Alex whirled around, her heart pounding, her arms outstretched. 

Just an empty, hazy room. 

Obviously, Alex thought, scolding herself halfheartedly. She had asked to be alone. There was nobody, nothing. Shaking, she sat down cross-legged, her back against the wall, looking at her palms. The energy was dissipating, slowly, but they still glowed white-hot. 

She didn't even know where she was, nor how long she had been wandering. Not even what time it was. Sleeping in her current state was a fantasy - she would set the bedsheets on fire. 

An empty, hazy room. The walls were shimmering. Why? Where was she? She stood up, still shaking, leaving charred marks on the floor where her hands had been resting. With one arm, she reached out, running it across the smooth marble and watching with a start the ripples of a forcefield radiating from her forearm. 

With her other arm, she felt for her personal shield generator. It hung off of her belt, right where it was supposed to be, but it was ice cold. Confused, she ran her fingers through the field, then looked down at her glowing hands. Back up at the walls, and her eyes widened as she realized the truth. 

It was coming from her. Subconsciously, she had projected a force field. Completely and utterly outside of her control. 

Her confusion and surprise quickly morphed into anger. Beams of searing hot light lept from her palms, dissolving the force field and blasting a crater in the wall. Breathing heavily, she slunk back down, trembling violently, her head down, her hands curled into fists, trying to steady herself. 

The tears started to fall. Slowly, at first. They literally boiled off, hissing into vapor on contact with her skin as her dress burned away. Her body was dumping heat as fast as possible; it didn't take long for the small chamber to feel like a steam bath.  

After a few minutes, she cooled down. Alex willed to be, discharging heat directly into the foundations of the Sarpeka. Most of her regal garb had been torched, ashes on the charred floor. 

It was almost comical, she thought to herself, wiping her nose on her forearm. Alone and practically naked in what was soon to be her kingdom.

Someone was calling her name. She took several deep breaths, each more steady than the last. Alex wove herself a new dress using illusionary magic and cleaned up her face. It would be passable as long as no one got too close. Illusion could also conceal the damage she did to the room, although she would have to own up to it eventually. 

Might as well take it in stride, she thought.

<>-----<>-----<>-----<>-----<>

The report was worse than Alex imagined.

"Bastards!" she had exclaimed, blasting a hole through her dresser, much to the chagrin of her attending servant. Imperial weasels want to test her? Violating Larian sovereignty so blatantly - not to mention accusing a Larian of the attack? They were lucky she wasn't in a volatile mood, or planetbusters would already be airborne.

It took her a few hours with her consort and several steaming mugs of herbal tea to cool down. Vaporizing the Empire, as cathartic as it would be, was a terrible idea. Laria maintained a small arsenal of relic anti-planetary weapons from another age that could wipe Far Harbor out, but no one was under any delusions that Imperial planetbusters wouldn't respond in kind.

Besides, Alex had a lengthy list of matters to attend to before she got around to blasting the Empire into subatomic particles. The Fleet Arm needed to be fully deployed. Garrisons needed reprovisioning. Jespyr Castle was the primary strongpoint safeguarding the Capitol, but the massive shield dynamos buried deep beneath the stonework needed weeks to heat up. They were running overtime now, and the dull roar could be heard even from the Sarpeka.

A War Council had been summoned. In attendance were all the Lord-Commanders and Admirals of the Royal Army and the Fleet Arm. The First Fleet, with the Aryarastone as flag, had been rapidly deployed to protect Larian voidborne assets. Lord-Admiral Auelyn was in command and thus could not make it to the Capitol in time. A shame, but she had more important duties to attend to.

"Report, Marshall Dyson."

Dyson. A war hero and Lord-Commander of the Border Territories. The man who would be responsible for organizing the initial defense of the Larian border should the situation at the border escalate. He was imposingly tall, a full head and a half taller than the queen, with broad shoulders, gray hair, and brown eyes. His armor spoke to his veterancy, pitted and scarred.

"The Empire has 90 divisions mustering here, here, and here." His voice was deep and gravelly, and there was a trace of fatigue that betrayed his weariness. He pointed to a series of illuminated spots on a map of the kingdom. "Our fort at the Kolada Pits here is the largest strong point in the area, but it is decades out of date."

"It still has shields, surely?" Alex inquired.

"Indeed, my liege. But the dynamos are old, and the fort is several dozen square kilometers in area. It will take weeks for the shield to be ready."

Shield dynamos had a lengthy charging period that was exponentially proportional to the size of the area that the shield was being projected over, Alex recalled. "I trust they are charging as we speak?"

Dyson nodded. "This is the case. But the shield dynamos are only part of the problem."

"Enlighten me."

"Kolada Pits is an ancient fortification. The walls and shelters are centuries old, and the tunnel network needs to be dug deeper. They have been improved over the years, but without the shields, the Pits will not survive a siege. West Harbor knows this. Should they attack, the strongest hammer blow will be there."

"And what does this mean with regards to the bigger picture?"

"It means that the Empire could theoretically achieve a breakthrough and overrun the Border Territories in weeks or even days. Our reserve line is anchored here, at Seeker Fort, and Ground Command East is fully deployed. Let's see... that's 54 divisions. The 10th, 12th, 13th, 94th, and 122nd Tactical Penetration Divisions from Ground Command North are based within a safe teleport range."

"Is reinforcing the Pits worth the risk?"

"It is hard to say, your Grace. We will be signing the death warrant of any garrison that staffs the Pits if the shields are not raised in time. Even then, the battle will be hard-fought, and many lives will be lost."

"What of the Navy?" Alex shifted her gaze. "Lord-Admiral Reynfred. Could the Fourth provide fleet support to the Pits in the event of an attack?"

Reynfred was a relatively new addition to the War Council, having just received his Lordship about one year ago. A young and eager face in a sea of grizzled veterans: some of the old guard had reservations, but Alex overruled them. Fresh blood was welcome, and besides, it was nice having someone to talk to who was born in the same century. Ironically, he had been one of the few who didn't initially object to her coronation.

"I have nineteen bombardment cruisers ready at my command, your Grace," Reynfred replied. "We could be on station within the day."

Good enough. "Coordinate with Marshall Dyson regarding the defense of Kolada Pits. Should you still feel the need for reinforcements, we will discuss the matter further then."

Dyson and Reynfred stood, bowed, and excused themselves.

Alex turned to Marshall Willmot, Lord-Commander of the Framingsea Archipelago.

"Marshall Willmot. I couldn't help but notice that you have not canceled your redeployment."

The Marshall hesitated briefly. "Your Grace, I did not." There was genuinely a hint of regret there, albeit one that was obscured by thinly veiled scorn. Unlike Reynfred, Willmot did not support her ascension to power - worse still, he openly spoke against it. But where most of the Lords acquiesced, Willmot doubled down. Alex would have been within her rights to see him executed for treason. Instead, he got reassigned to the most far-flung Larian sector that Alex could find and saw his reputation tarnished beyond repair. "I could not, in good conscience, leave the Kingdom so vulnerable with such a withdrawal."

"I am not asking you to withdraw anybody, Marshall. I am simply requesting that you cancel the redeployment. We are already sending Fleet Arm assets. I do not wish to further provoke the Empire."

Willmot objected immediately: "I do not believe provocation is on the table anymore, your majesty. West Harbor is mobilizing. We are only within our rights to answer in kind."

Alex pursed her lips. "Perhaps. However, I am confident that Marshall Dyson will be able to organize a defense with the forces at hand while the rest of the Army regroups. Regardless, the situation is no longer in our hands, nor the Empires. The Ministry is now presiding over all matters regarding the incident."

Marshall Willmot sneered. "The Ministry has no interest in assisting us," he snapped. He wasn't even trying to hide his contempt. "If West Harbor invades, they will not intervene."

"They would be in violation of common law to ignore such an attack. We will raise the matter during the next Tribunal if such an event comes to pass."

"The Tribunal has not done anything for decades, your majesty." His voice crept ever louder. "They exist only on paper, not in function! You would place the defense of our kingdom on such a fallacy?"

"I would."

"They did not even assemble last time they were summoned!"

"They will assemble before me."

Marshall Willmot rose abruptly from his seat, his face red, clenching his hands. "Your arrogance will be the death of us!"

The silence was deafening.

"Marshall," Alex said, her tone dropping ominously. "I am ordering you to cancel the redeployment. Are you refusing my command?"

Willmot struggled to hold back a scowl as he reluctantly took his seat. "I am not, your Grace."

Well. He was certainly strong-willed, Alex noted. Or perhaps obstinate. Regardless, he was out of line.

He fell quiet as he awaited his dismissal.

After what felt like another excruciating minute of silence, Alex said: "You are free to leave, Marshall. I will await your report."

Willmot stood and executed a stiff, tight bow. "Understood, your majesty." He wheeled around abruptly, striding down the hall without another word.

Ironically, Alex had half a mind to agree with him. But there was still a good chance that this saber-rattling would resolve peacefully. More sabers wouldn't help.

More importantly, Willmot was a prick, and Alex was the goddamn Queen. He had no right to defy her. Her mother would have had him discharged.

Alex chuckled to herself quietly. Mother wouldn't have stood for any of this nonsense. She uprooted the entire nation to quell dissent among the Minor Houses. Only a few dared to take up arms against her. Maybe it would have been wise to follow in her footsteps.

Regardless, she was tired of sitting on this throne. Thirty hours of crisis control had Alex utterly spent, and the throne was surprisingly uncomfortable. Her neck and back ached as she stood, and she made a mental note to find someone to redesign the throne. Or maybe a throne redesign competition was in order, open to the public.

"Dismissed," she said, waving her hand to open the doors. "Return to your commands. We will reassemble in one week's time."

Each Lord rose and bowed in succession.

After a few moments, Alex rose, making her way through the winding corridors with the Custodian at her side while her wandering mind turned to the event that was bothering her the most.

That damn Strider. They were invaluable. Unheard of all the way out here, away from the Median. The Ministry had a fair few of them, true, but they had an unimaginably massive tract of inhabited land to cover.

So why a Strider here? The Ministry styled itself as this benevolent supranational organization, but everyone knew that they had spies everywhere, no doubt even on her own Council. Not to mention the Sentinel detachment that was assigned to patrol the Larian reality anchors. The Ministry probably knew more than she did about the goings-on in her own Kingdom.

It led her to firmly believe that the Ministry wasn't being straight with her. And it wouldn't be the first time, either. Laria and West Harbor had been on the brink of war before, and the Ministry didn't even bat an eye.

"Taxxon."

The Custodian had followed Alex out of the hall into a small courtyard, maintaining a respectable distance. Now he stepped forward, remaining silent just long enough to dip into a shallow bow. "Yes, your majesty."

Alex pursed her lips in a brief moment of hesitation. She didn't know how the Ministry would take to this. But she had already made up her mind. "Send a delegation to Lorains," she ordered. "Find the commander of that Strider. Bring him before me."

"At once." Lieutenant Taxxon bowed once more before leaving the Queen alone.

The courtyard looked quite beautiful in the snow. It wasn't nearly as colorful; a little dreary, even. The evergreen that formed the nucleus around which the rest of the quadrangle orbited still wore several shades of dark green, dripping down from the snow-laden canopy in tangled knots of vines. But the vibrant purples and oranges that had sparkled like crystals in the terraced flower beds were all buried. However, there was a certain appeal in the simplicity of grayscale that she hadn't appreciated much before.

She realized with a start that she was barefoot. More than that, she was woefully underdressed for the weather. It had to be well below freezing. Her thin regal dress would have done little to ward off the biting chill.

And yet she wasn't cold. Her subconscious had taken care of the situation, weaving a bubble of magic around her person.

Anger boiled to the surface. With a frustrated wave of her hand, she dissolved the bubble. The sudden chill was quite a shock, but Alex gritted her teeth and dealt with it, pulling in the folds of her dress to perhaps stave off the cold. Treading lightly, she bounded across the courtyard into the relative warmth of a covered porch. With the only bench covered in snow, Alex sat down with her back against the wall, pooling the folds of her dress beneath her to fashion a cushion.

It was a sorry sight. The Queen of Laria, seen as an avatar of the gods themselves by some, shivering on the stone-cold ground like an animal. The door to the outer sanctum was only a stone's throw away, but she knew that her freedom would vanish as soon as she stepped past those walls.

She would freeze to death out here like this. Swallowing her pride, Alex summoned a wick of flame in her palms. With the sudden burst of heat came an unexpected wave of comfort, and before she knew it, the Queen was asleep right there on the snow-covered pave stones.