What? I'm American!

~5467 words

—21 July 2023 (Few months ago)—

Andrew Ashford POV

After the prompt discovery of the magical armor after several weeks of tireless excavation in the sandy expansive Negev desert, I spared no expense in ensuring a thorough scouring of every crevice and corner within that ancient temple. Delegating the task to others, I had other appointments that required my direct attention.

Ironically, one such appointment was to arrange yet another appointment.

The United Nations, the pinnacle of global diplomacy, stood as the largest and most influential international organization. Securing an audience with them was no small feat. 

With their large scale, came an equally vast and busy schedule. The recommended channels for contact included sending emails to designated company emails or waiting moments upon moments on a hectic hotline to maybe potentially reach a representative.

But that's tedious. 

Full of crap.

Luckily, I'm a man with money. A lot of money.

If accessing the international body as a whole proved fruitless, I figured that the next best idea was to dive deeper–a more targeted approach. Thus, my search settled upon a discontented ambassador within the organization.

Scott Brown. A seasoned US diplomat with decades of service under his belt. Despite looking through his wealth of experience, something stuck out to me. For all his extensive tenure, he lacked any truly noteworthy achievements–merely an extensive background.

Conveniently, he had recently assumed the post of deputy ambassador to the UN.

It seemed the perfect opportunity presented itself.

Employing the services of a skilled individual from the depths of the dark web, specializing in acquiring sensitive information through 'legal' means, I managed to procure a rather unexpected asset–a phone number belonging to his ten-year-old son.

What's the use of a phone number if it isn't used to call?

After inputting the number into my own phone, it buzzed a few times before falling silent.

"Hello?" A curious young voice rang from my phone.

"Ah, hello! You must be Josh," I responded, feigning an exaggerated enthusiasm that bordered on patronizing.

"Yeah… um, who's this? Are you one of Dad's friends?"

An innocent guess, kid. But why would one of your father's friends call his kids' number?

"Yeah! I must have accidentally dialed your number instead of his. Would you be so kind as to pass the phone to your dad? Just say it's a work-related matter, he'll understand," I requested, maintaining the charade.

There was a momentary pause before Josh answered.

"Okay! I can do that for you, mister. Just gimme a sec!" Josh's eagerness was evident.

Another interval of silence ensued until a knock, presumably on a door, echoed through the line.

"Daaaaaaad! A friend wants to talk to you!" Josh's voice loudly rang out.

"A friend? What would one of your friends want to talk to me about? You've been telling people at school I'm a diplomat again?" The voice–Scott questioned.

"Nooooo! He's not my friend! He sounds like an older guy who says that he's your friend from work!" Josh's response dripped with innocence.

I could sense his father's tension rising, despite being through the phone.

"Hand the phone over. And go play your Fortnite or whatever," Scott 0rdered, footsteps rushing off as his son complied. "So, who's this?" His voice, as clear as ever now being spoken directly through the phone asks.

"Ah, my apologies for grabbing your attention through your son. I-"

"Make this quick. Otherwise, I'll make you regret it–for using my son in such a manner." His voice came out calm, and direct. He's mad, beyond it, but his experience as a diplomat won't show it.

"My name is Andrew Ashford. Once again, I'll reiterate, I apologize for contacting you in such an inappropriate manner. I come bearing information that may change the whole world as we know it. I wish to use your position in the UN for a meeting." I explained, adhering to his command.

"Ashford…" Recognition flickered as my name rolled off his tongue. "So, what is it? What is this 'world-changing' news you bring."

"Well Mr. Brown, do you believe in magic?"

…

…

…

"Hmm… well, color me interested. It'll take some time from my end, but I can likely arrange that meeting for you."

After spending the last 20 minutes, giving a brief but informative summary of my events in Israel, it seemed I had won over Scott's interest.

"I thank you for all of your help, Ambassador."

"I expect you to have substantial evidence, something that can reliably back up this 'Arcanum' you speak of…" His voice trails off into silence before he continues. "I assume that this phone number you're calling me from is the best way to keep in contact with you?"

"That would be correct, Ambassador."

"Very well, keep an eye out for a message from me in the future."

With that final note, he hangs up, causing my phone to go silent.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. That went well, all things considered. Now… how best to prove the existence of something seemingly mythical…

Slumping into my chair, I swiveled to face my desk, noticing a notification buzzing from my other phone–a message from Sarah on a social media application.

…That could be a backup plan.

—------------------------

"So, what's the plan with the anime armor?" Sarah's voice floated beside me as we strode along the dusty path, the sun casting long shadows behind us.

I halted, turning to regard her with a raised eyebrow. "Let's refrain from calling it that," I replied, earning a giggle from Sarah for my reaction to her oddly accurate description of the mystical artifact.

Resuming our stride, we arrived at a nondescript shack-like building secured with a digital keypad lock. "We're going to try to break it," I answered casually, tapping in the access code with an experienced rhythm.

"Break it? Why the hell would you try that?" Sarah's confusion was palpable, her brow furrowed under the desert sun.

Stepping inside, we encountered another metal door requiring a thumbprint scan. "That's precisely the point. We're going to try," I explained, passing through the final security check.

Inside, my gaze fell upon what I sought: a wall adorned with an array of firearms, each one meticulously arranged and gleaming under the soft glow of the overhead lights. "It'll probably survive," I remarked, my eyes scanning over the lethal arsenal before me.

With a grin, I selected a rifle from the assortment. "Probably."

"So you plan to shoot the armor… with that?!" Sarah's incredulity was evident as she gestured at the rifle slung over my shoulder.

To be precise, my Barret M82A3 anti-material rifle, loaded with .50 BMG armor-piercing rounds. A rifle capable of penetrating over an inch of solid concrete with ease.

"Yes." Locking everything behind me, I motioned towards the exit of the building. "Are you coming? We have an audience waiting."

"An audience?" Sarah's curiosity was piqued, her steps quickening to catch up with mine, as we stepped back into the desert heat.

With a chuckle, "You'll see."

Sarah maintained her puzzled expression, trying to decipher my cryptic words. Shaking her head, she fell into step behind me, accustomed to my enigmatic ways.

Together, we continued along the dusty path, enveloped in comfortable silence, the occasional rustle of the desert breeze stirring the loose sand beneath our feet. Sarah was occupied with her phone as we walked, her fingers tapping away at the screen.

"Oh, by the way, keep your phone out. I want you to record this." I told her, my voice tinged with anticipation.

"Record wh-"

"There you are, boss man! We've been pretty eagerly waiting for you to arrive!" Hugo's voice rang out, cutting Sarah off, his excitement contagious as he greeted us with enthusiasm.

As we crested over the slight hill of the dune we were walking on, we were greeted with the sight of a few dozen people, the majority of whom had their own personal phones out, capturing the moment. Out towards the right of the group, approximately 200 meters away, a stand of armor stood. The magic armor we recovered.

Coughing into my hand, I adjusted my voice, projecting it across the gathering crowd.

"Alright! Welcome all, welcome everyone! I sent out an open invite to everyone on-site if they wished to spectate! My only request was to record and share absolutely everything you see here!"

Taking a moment to walk over towards a sandbag wall reaching up to my waist, I pointed out towards the sandy field at the armor in the distance.

"I wish to show everyone here that this peculiar-looking set of armor is supernatural! Capable of feats that regular items are incapable of achieving." Pulling the bipod down from the end of my rifle, I stabilized it on the firing position that had been set up for myself, before entering into a crouched position.

"This here, anti-material rifle, can penetrate roughly an inch of face-hardened steel. The same type of steel that is used to defend the lovely armored vehicles that you've all probably seen before." Finally, I load a magazine into the bottom of the rifle, before sliding the charging handle back with a satisfying metallic click, that echoed in the stillness of the desert.

"Now I ask you, the lovely audience who are here to witness this demonstration. Do you all here think that a set of regular plate armor would survive a round from this thing?" There were a couple of murmurs of disagreement coming from behind me before someone in the crowd shouted a very strong 

"""""Hell no!"""""

"Haha! You're goddamn right! It'd absolutely destroy the thing! Now, I ask of you again, this armor set of unknown origins. Would that survive?" Aiming down the scope of my rifle, placing the set of armor within the center of my scope's reticle- "Let's find out, shall we!"

-I squeeze the trigger.

BOOM!

The sand beneath me erupted from the pure force that the gun just produced, as the large rifle kicked backward into my shoulder, reacting to its incredible recoil, sending a jolt of pain throughout my bones. The deafening roar of the rifle echoed throughout the desert, reverberating for kilometers in every direction. 

"Hey! Hugo! Out of ten, what's your favorite number?" I yell out, my finger still on the trigger.

"Six! What's with the que-"

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

I squeeze and release the trigger five more times, soaring down five more rounds down range, the rhythmic cadence of gunfire punctuating the desert silence.

"Wooohee!" Pushing my finger up on the safety of the weapon, I flick it on before I rest the rifle against the wall, the adrenaline of the moment still coursing through my veins. "How you like them apples?!" After releasing round after round, my ears rang out in protest, the echoes of gunfire still pulsated in the desert air, a testament to the power of this demonstration.

As the dust settled, it became apparent that the armor remained unscathed, its surface gleaming mockingly defiant in the sunlight.

Did I miss?

Looking out towards the left of the sandbags, where a few cameras were present, I called out to the guys operating them.

"Hey! Did the high-speed camera catch all of that?"

"Yeah, yeah! Do you wanna check it out?" the camera operator yells back, the excitement of the moment evident in his voice.

"Of course!" Jogging over to where all the camera equipment was placed, the operator linked the captured footage to a large-screen TV that everyone could watch. 

On the TV, stood a still image of the set of armor, the anticipation building with each passing moment.

"The first round should be coming into contact… anytime now." A moment later, the bullet flew into frame slowly, the tension in the air palpable as we awaited the outcome of our demonstration.

Roughly just a little smaller than the length of my hand, I feel my heart accelerate in anticipation as I watch the projective hit center mass with the armor…

…As if it were a soda can, the bullet collapses in on itself as if somebody crushed the round in between their hand before it slid off the ridges of the armor and hit the sandy floor.

There were mixed reactions from the crowd, some were just happy to see a big gun being fired, and others were astonished. Especially for those who truly knew the capabilities of the weapon, to see it so… ineffective, was shocking–I too felt it.

"Other rounds coming in now…" The camera operator announced.

The results were the same, each round that came in, had shattered, collapsing in on itself, the power of the armor is undeniable. However, three out of the six bullets hit roughly the same area, directly in the center, which did result in some sort of damage. Entirely minimal, although, the area that was struck repeatedly was barely dented. If you weren't purposely looking for it, you'd definitely miss it.

I wonder how explosives would work against it…

Breaking my thoughts, a buzz from my pocket alerts my attention. The phone that buzzed–my burner phone had received a text from a new unknown number. Opening the notification, I read the message:

「Next week from this message. Get to New York over to our headquarters. Make use of it well, the others, and I eagerly await to see what you bring us.

Scott Brown」

Good, that's good. Things are moving along nicely… Well, time to do more testing.

"Hugo! Bring over a wrecking ball!"

—------------------------

—28 July 2023—

With deft hands, Sarah meticulously combed through my hair, her skilled fingers navigating through each strand with precision. Her touch was gentle yet purposeful, smoothing down any stray hairs that dared to disrupt the immaculate lines of my newly styled haircut.

Glancing into the mirror ahead of me, I studied my reflection with a sense of detachment.

Yep, despite everything, that's still me.

Side-stepping into my vision, Sarah slaps her hands on both of my shoulders, peering into my eyes through the mirror with a scrutinizing expression.

"Yeah, you still look gay." She comments, her face lighting up in amusement.

Swatting her hands off my shoulders. "What's with you and calling me gay recently?"

"Hmm… well, you're rich, famous, smart although only sometimes, and you got a good mug on ya, but despite all that, you STILL get NO bitches! I thought rich guys were supposed to be dashing playboys," She teased, wrapping her arms around my neck from behind in a hug, despite my earlier protests.

"Not only that but as of recently, you've been hanging out with a bunch of really buff dudes–and they're usually shirtless and sweaty. VERY sweaty, or is it oil? I dunno, they're just shiny muscly men." Sarah continued, resting her chin on my shoulder.

"You know that was because we were in Israel. It's hot in the desert, and the guys in both the excavation and mining teams probably felt more at ease with fewer clothes. It's mainly men because the industry IS mainly men. When you think of miners, you probably think of a guy, don't you?"

Flicking her on the nose, she retreats off me with a quiet 'ow'.

"Besides, I don't have an interest in anything romance-related. I'm busy."

"Yes yes, you're off trying to change the world! Expose the spooky wizards by pulling them from the dark and into the light!" She muses with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Assuming you do succeed, after all that, what's your plan next?" She asks, plopping down on a sofa behind me.

Swiveling on the chair, I faced her, "I'll continue to look for more artifacts, I highly doubt that the armor we found is the only thing hidden away. Other than that…" I close my eyes. "I'll find her."

"Mmm, is that right…?" Sarah flicked her phone out of her pocket, tapping on the screen to bring it to life. "Well, you're on in just about five minutes. You ready to complete your first step?"

A week had passed since I received the message from Ambassador Brown. During that time, we conducted various 'unique' tests on the arcanic armor we found. A few other minor artifacts rich in Arcanum were also unearthed, although they paled in comparison to the armor. Regardless, they would serve as useful evidence.

Flying out to New York, Sarah and I arrived just yesterday. Today was meeting day. I briefly met with Ambassador Brown momentarily earlier for him to give me further context on what exactly I was walking into. Unfortunately for me, I won't be presenting in a public hearing–a meeting that would have been accessible to absolutely anyone, as long as they have internet access. 

Regardless, I'd still be sharing information with a handful of diplomats from various countries. Predominantly, the security council. The most prominent and permanent members in that council being: China, France, the USA, the UK, and Russia.

Since the United Nations Security Council–UNSC for short, had the primary responsibility of maintaining international security and peace, I bring information that may disrupt that balance. Rather, than inciting panic by revealing the existence of magic to the world, I was to share my findings privately with governmental figures and discuss a plan moving forward.

Getting up from my seat, I stepped back, before looking into the mirror once more–this time with my whole figure visible.

Sarah had carefully curated my attire, selecting a black tight-fitting turtleneck that hugged my frame snugly. Paired with a well-fitted pair of black chinos, and an unbuttoned suit jacket over my turtleneck, its shade is subtly lighter than the rest, seamlessly blending all the dark tones together. It looked good, too good, fitting me like a glove tailored to perfection. It made me feel slightly uncomfortable if I were to be truthful, as I was never truly a big fan of dressing up like this.

"How do you feel?" Sarah called out to me from lounging on the sofa, her one leg dangling off the side.

"Awkward, but…" My expression stiffens. "...ready to take on the world."

Sarah snorts. "Dude, that was kinda cringe."

As I'm about to smack the side of her head, the door to the antechamber we're in opens, presenting a man wearing a dark navy suit. His eyebrow raised as sees my hand raised in a threatening manner, a moment away from my sister.

"Ahem-Mr. Ashford? I've come to collect you, it's time." he says, dismissing the scene in front of him with a cough.

"Ah, right. Let's get going then." Returning my hands to my sides, I gave a look to Sarah that roughly translates to 'behave.'

As I follow the guide out of the room, the bustling hallway envelops me in a whirlwind of diverse languages and bustling activity, the air seemingly alive with the hum of conversations in varying tongues. The vibrant mosaic of cultures and nationalities represented here at the United Nations headquarters was undeniably tangible. 

Along the walls, I'm struck by the presence of captivating murals, intricate sculptures, and other pieces of artwork, each seemingly imbued with layers of symbolism and significance beyond their physical forms.

Clutching my briefcase tightly, its metallic exterior smooth beneath my fingers. Within the case, lay the tools of my most recent mission in Israel–documents, data, and evidence meticulously gathered and organized to bolster my arguments and support my case. As I navigated the labyrinthine corridors, I couldn't shake the feeling of indifferent attachment to what was about to come.

How peculiar. I'd expect to feel more nervous.

Exiting one hallway, before entering into a long corridor leading to imposing double doors, the escort stood by the side of the door, gesturing for me to proceed. With a steadying breath, I stepped froward.

Letting my eyes adjust to the light of the new room, I was met with the sight of the large horseshoe-shaped table that dominated the chamber–the iconic centerpiece of the United Nations Security Council.

Along its sweeping curve, each seat bore a long microphone and a nameplate signifying the country and position of its occupant. Flicking my eyes around the table, I located the plate that belonged to me–precisely positioned to present the United States of America as an Attaché to the Deputy Ambassador. Specifically labeled as a Guest.

Guest, huh?

Around the chamber was a hive of activity, with a dozen or so individuals scattered around, all donned in formal attire that bespoke their roles as ambassadors, diplomats, and representatives of their respective nations. Engaged in various conversations in their own small circles, my ears pick up on the odd discussion spoken here and there, whether that be recent events such as the increase of natural disasters, international relations, and other trending issues facing the global community currently.

Towards the left of the room. Elevated above the floor, stood two booths that overlooked the proceedings. Each equipped with state of the art technology and panoramic windows, they provided a bird's eye view of the deliberations below.

It must be the interpretation and media room, although…

Glancing at the top booth, the media room, I noted a distinct lack of personnel amidst the array of cameras and equipment.

I see, this is what he meant by private.

"Mr. Ashford!"

Speaking of him.

The familiar voice cut through the buzz of conversation, drawing my attention to the figure of Deputy Ambassador Brown. His hair initially brown, had blended with grey–a show of his experienced age. Regardless, seeing him in person, he exuded an air of seasoned confidence that commanded respect.

"Mr. Brown, it's good to see you." I replied. Acknowledging his presence with a nod of my head.

"Likewise," he takes a moment to adjust his red and white striped tie against his black suit. "To catch you up, the chamber has already concluded with its daily meetings. Now, only the permanent members of the UNSC will stay behind."

"I see," my gaze drifting to the booths on the side, before back to Brown. "I've also noticed the lack of manpower in the media room."

"Correct. Only those that were necessary needed for the talks to come stayed behind." His eyes shift from my own to the briefcase I'm carrying. "I assume you've brought some 'interesting' information on this Arcanum?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

Gently shaking the briefcase I have in hand. "Of course. That and some other things that you folk will find bizarre."

"Magic is supposedly real… I eagerly await to see what you show us, Mr. Ashford." Brown remarked, his curiosity piqued by the enigmatic contents of my briefcase. "It's a shame Elizabeth couldn't be here, I'm sure she would've loved this upcoming spectacle."

"Elizabeth?"

"Ah right, Elizabeth Wood. She serves as the main ambassador to the UN. Since she's absent currently, I'm filling her position in the meantime."

"Oh, I see." I should make a mental note of that name for future reference.

"Anyways, why don't you take your seat and set yourself up? We'll begin the talks soon now that you're finally here," Brown suggested, gesturing towards my designated spot at the table.

"I shall do exactly that then." I agreed, offering a respectful nod before making my way towards the Guest seat reserved for me. As I settled into my chair, I retrieved a USB drive from my pocket, housing crucial information in the presentation that awaited me, and then inserted it into the laptop provided.

As if on cue, a sudden musical chime echoed throughout the chamber, its clear tones signaling for everyone to finish up their conversations and prepare for the upcoming discussion. Gradually, the bustling activity began to subside as each participant took their designated seats around the expansive horseshoe-shaped table.

Once everyone was settled, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, accompanied by hushed murmurs and whispered exchanges that fluttered among the assembled diplomats like delicate whispers in the wind.

"The 364th private meeting of the Security Council has been called to order," proclaimed the British president, his accent imbuing his words with authority as he struck his gavel against the polished table.

"This category of meeting serves the purpose of privately discussing matters that shouldn't or should not yet be made known publicly," the president declared solemnly, his voice carrying control and gravitas. "For everyone present here, I ask you all to not divulge any word that was spoken here–for the sake of international security."

The room fell into a respectful silence, each participant acknowledging the gravity of the proceedings unfolding before them. Soon after, a request for the floor was granted to the representative of the United States of America, prompting Deputy Scott Brown to rise from his seat to address the assembly.

"We would like for everyone here to listen well and brace themselves," Brown began, his voice projecting with confidence and purpose. "I bring a man, a guest–an expert on an element, an energy–a matter that is completely alien and foreign to us. Someone whose name you might recognize. Andrew Ashford."

All eyes turned towards me, their collective gaze fixed expectantly as I leaned closer to the microphone, my pulse quickening with the weight of the moment.

"Deputy, thank you," I acknowledged, meeting Brown's gaze with a nod of gratitude. "As Mr. Brown said, I've recently come to be regarded as an 'expert' on an element that was once entirely inconceivable–an element known as Arcanum."

Unclipping the hinges of my briefcase to reveal its enigmatic contents, I retrieved a scroll from within, carefully unfurling it and placing it before me, readying a projector to illuminate its ancient text for all to see.

The chamber fell into a collective gasp as the ancient script materialized before their eyes.

In Adam and Eve's library, a variety of items are housed, all with one common purpose: they were either worn or created by Adam and Eve. From what we can tell so far, the most prized possession is Adam's Battle Armor, known for its extraordinary strength, reinforced with dense and complex layers of Arcanum woven into it like threads in a dress. This armor showcases the skill, versatility, creativity and penchant for pure chaos and destruction of its creator–Adam himself. The library also contains many scrolls and books, each filled with valuable knowledge and wisdom. These texts cover a range of subjects, adding to the wealth of human understanding preserved within the library's walls. There exis-

As the contents of the scroll were projected onto a screen, a chorus of murmurs and gasps filled the chamber, accompanied by a flurry of questions and exclamations.

"Adam and Eve? As in the first humans…?" 

"The scroll… is written in Russian?" 

"What? It's written in Chinese."

"English? It's written in clear English!"

Amidst the confusion, I sought to clarify the mysterious nature of the scroll's ambiguous multilingual script.

"You're all correct." I affirmed, addressing the bewildered assembly. "This scroll is written in all those languages. And regarding Adam and Eve… we believe it to be linked to the biblical figures–the first humans."

"Mr. Ashford, this text is clearly written in French. What exactly do you mean by us being all correct?" The French Ambassador inquired, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"From my testing, the scroll is read in whatever language the reader is most proficient in." I explained, shedding light on the supernatural. "It uniquely manifests in the language most familiar to the observer. I've had people test it. So far, we've got English, Japanese, Arabic, Russian, French, Chinese, Pashto, Korean, Italian, Spanish, Por–the list goes on and on."

"How is that possible? And how is it linked to this 'Arcanum?'"

"For your first question, we still have no idea. And yes, this is believed to be the doing of Arcanum. If I may get your attention to this next item I'm about to present…" 

Brandishing an FLD device, I deftly activated it, its electronic hum filling the chamber as it scanned the surroundings for traces of Arcanum

"These items were initially called 'Foreign Locator Devices' or FLDs for short," I explained, gesturing towards the device. "Although, for convenience, you can now call these Arcanum Locator Devices, as we know what we're looking for now."

Scanning the room, the device emitted a series of beeps as it detected a dense reading of Arcanum, miles away before the signal dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

A bug? I shou-

"Mr. Ashford, how exactly do these 'ALDs' work?" asked the Russian Ambassador, his tone gruff with curiosity.

"These ALDs function similarly to an EMF reader. However, instead of detecting electromagnetic frequencies, they read the frequency of Arcanum instead. What's truly fascinating, however…"

"...that Arcanum is everywhere." I declared, sweeping the ALD across the room to emphasize my point, the device beeping as it did so. "Although, more interestingly…"

I pointed the device at myself, its beeping intensifying as it detected the Arcanum within me. 

"Humans, it seems, are conduits for its energy." I continued, the realization dawning upon the assembly. "We passively absorb it like oxygen. Some individuals harbor more significant concentrations than others due to their proximity to densely Arcanic areas or items. Like me."

"Is Arcanum dangerous?" The Russian Ambassador's voice cut through the room, his tone laced with apprehension and curiosity.

"For it to be inside of you? I don't believe so, at least I haven't felt or shown any negative symptoms from holding so much Arcanum." I reassured addressing the diplomat's concerns. "Although, as you have seen, Arcanum can be utilized within items. You may recall reading earlier on the scroll about 'Adam's Battle Armor.' We've managed to recover that, and I'd like to demonstrate its remarkable capabilities."

With a few clicks, I shared specific video files from my laptop, distributing them to each diplomat's device in the chamber. The footage predominately showcased durability testing of the Arcane Armor–scenes of it enduring crushing, gunfire, explosions, and other forms of assault.

"As you can witness from these videos, the resilience of Arcanum is unmatched," I remarked, the images on the screens illustrating the armor's imperviousness to conventional weaponry and forces. "Despite my company's most concerted efforts, we only managed to achieve negligible results."

The room fell into a hushed awe as diplomats absorbed the implications of the footage, murmurs of amazement and disbelief rippling through the assembly.

"According to all available data and research, this armor represents the most potent Arcanic artifact we've encountered thus far," I continued, my voice cutting through the quiet. "There is a distinct possibility that similar items are scattered across Earth. Currently, we've detected several other intense Arcanum frequencies that we have yet to investigate."

Transitioning to the next segment of my presentation, I clicked on additional files containing data, graphs, and statistics, projecting them onto the screens scattered throughout the chamber.

"Let us now delve deeper into the broader implications of Arcanum." I announced, gesturing towards the illuminated graphs. "As you can observe from these charts, there has been a steady rise in Arcanum across the globe. However, it's worth noting that these numbers initially appeared high due to our recent advancements in detection technology. I hypothesize that Arcanum has been escalating for centuries, if not millennia, largely unnoticed by humanity."

Pausing briefly to hydrate, I gathered my thoughts before continuing.

"I have strong reason to believe that Arcanum is beginning to exert its influence on our world in multifaceted ways." I asserted, my tone grave and earnest. "As evidenced by the increase in natural disasters and other anomalous phenomena, the correlation between Arcanum increasing and such occurrences also increasing is difficult to ignore."

"Are you suggesting that as Arcanum levels rise, natural disasters become more frequent?" asked the Deputy Ambassador of China, her voice tinged with trepidation.

"Precisely." I affirmed, meeting her gaze with my own. "However, while this phenomenon pertains to Earth itself, my primary concern lies with its potential impact on humanity."

"Humanity? You mean humans?" Her apprehension was tangible.

"Yes," I confirmed, addressing the assembly with a sobering tone. "While I lack concrete evidence of Arcanum-induced changes in humans, the data suggests that we may not be immune to its effects. From the artifacts we've recovered to the observed influence on Earth, there is ample reason to suspect that humanity may be subject to Arcanum's influence as well."

The chamber buzzed with conversation as diplomats exchanged theories and conjectures, grappling with the implications of this revelation.

"In light of these developments, I implore everyone to remain vigilant," I urged, my voice cutting through the racket. "Keep a watchful eye for any phenomena that may be deemed supernatural or anomalous. Earth is changing, and whether we are prepared or not, change is inevitable. Let us endeavor to meet it with foresight, wariness, and unity."

Or perhaps, is Earth returning to how it was once before?