Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS

“With that said, I’m sure you understand why it’s clear that only another Exid Queen would think to do such a thing,” said Deuvar.

“Makes sense to me,” chortled the Staiven official. He did not actually care about what actually happened. The code of the Justice Office was to believe whatever they were paid to. The truth was wholly irrelevant.

The moment he had been informed of Iskrise’s suicide, Deuvar had immediately entered into talks with Astna’s contact in the Justice Office. The Iskrise Queendom had many contracts with the station’s corporations. With her death, millions of serite were lost each day, and pressure had been placed on the Justice Office to find a scapegoat.

Deuvar had considered the option of placing the blame on the Riverfiend and his Redwater Sect, but he still held out some hope of acquiring their assistance during the upcoming war. Even though their cooperation in this instance fell through, that was due to ill luck, rather than any breach of trust on either party’s behalf. Given his understanding of Canvasian culture, Deuvar held expectations that he would be able to once more entice the alien faction to assist them.

In the end, he had decided that putting the blame on another Exid was the ideal outcome for the Heirs. Queen Exsrish, specifically, was his target. As her territory bordered both the Iskrise and Sikreis Queendoms, putting her in the sights of the Justice Office would not only prevent them from targeting Sikreis, it would also limit Exsrish’s ability to suppress them. If they were lucky, it would also prevent her from contending for portions of Iskrise’s holdings. The fewer enemies who wished to take them, the more the Heirs would be able to grab for themselves.

The discussion with the official ended quickly. The moment he had heard what had happened to Iskrise, Deuvar had instantly known that he needed to bribe quickly, and avoid getting into any sort of bidding war with Exsrish. In the end, the final cost had been rather large, but he had succeeded. Even with the benefits they might acquire from the remnants of Iskrise, this was a huge loss, but it was much better than the alternative. In the long term, the results might actually be positive, but Deuvar could not think more than a few months in advance given the current situation. It was extremely unlikely that the situation would remain stable for long.

Like all Exid Queens, Exsrish was protected by the corporations she worked with, so she would likely get off with solely the need to pay the corporations back for the full sum of the losses they accrued. If the Heirs had been in that situation, not only would they have needed to pay, they also would have needed to sacrifice tens of their own soldiers to the prison moon as scapegoats.

Still, having avoided the worst case scenario, Deuvar was content. One needed to accept matters as they were, instead of focusing on how they should be. It was a necessary first step before taking action to improve the situation.

Deuvar stretched himself, making sure that he remained in good condition. Despite the fact that his physical conditioning remained healthy, he was getting to the age where the body slowly accumulated issues. His joints liked to ache, and his hair that had been prematurely graying due to stress was approaching the point where it should be doing that naturally anyway.

Now, he thought, perhaps he could finally take a breather. They still needed another month to finish digesting their gains in Otan before they could consider themselves prepared to fight the Hadal Clan. So long as they could pass through that period, Deuvar was confident that the war situation could be managed without scaling to the point where titans needed to be used. His goal was for a smaller scale war using only infantry and enforcers. Acquiring territory and resources from the Hadal Clan was far less important than maintaining the Heirs’ own foundation. If only the Leader wouldn’t continue to exacerbate the conflict, perhaps it would all work out.

Deuvar had actually been concerned for a while about the matter. It was as if something was wrong with the Leader- when they spoke, he almost seemed calm to Deuvar, at least compared to his normal state. Despite this, the policies he had Deuvar implement were becoming more and more inflammatory. Compromises with the Hadal Clan were refused outright- all Deuvar’s best efforts had achieved was to sign a deal preventing the clan from involving themselves in Otan, though he knew the document would mean nothing once war broke out. It was as if the Leader wished to speed up the start of the war, even though he himself had been the one telling Deuvar to delay it for so long in the first place. Deuvar couldn’t help but wonder what the man was thinking. Did he have some sort of plan? If so, why had he decided to keep it to himself?

Deuvar had even taken the initiative to visit the man himself and discuss policies with him, just to confirm that the Shade Rachel had not secretly impersonated him and replicated his image. He was relieved to find this was not the case, but still could not quell the worry in his heart. He had a gut feeling that he was walking on the edge of a precipice, each step taking him further away from safety, and closing to the inevitable point at which he would slip and fall.

He had felt this way for months, and so far, his instincts had yet to let him down. Recently, Deuvar had gone from crisis to crisis, without a moment to catch his breath.

He was broken from his reverie by another call from his slate. It felt like in recent days all he did was sit around in his office, make plans, and take calls. Perhaps that was just the life of a manager. Seeing that it was from his sister, Deuvar ignored the dark feeling in his gut and accepted it, causing her image to float above the slate. He set it back down on his desk and waited with a dour expression for the ill news she would inevitably be bringing.

Astna smirked at his expression.

“No need to be hostile, brother. I have news you’ll be interested in. Though I wager you won’t be happy about it.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“My sister, do you ever give me news that makes me happy?” he asked.

Astna had consistently been a bearer of bad news in recent months. It felt as if every time they spoke she had something to say that he did not wish to hear.

She chuckled.

“Rarely. Still, you’d be more angry if I didn’t tell you about it. It’s rare for positive events to be so pressing.”

She wasn’t wrong. If it wasn’t important for him to be immediately notified, Astna would not bother to give him a call, and instead let her subordinates pass it to him. Sometimes he wished they could occasionally speak to one another about something other than business, but he knew such a thing was not very reasonable. Both of them spent far too much time at work, a matter which was not likely to change until the day they died or retired. It was simply the way of their family. Even Kalthen almost never interacted with those who were not a member of the organization.

“Just tell me your news, Astna,” he said, resigned.

She complied, shifting into a more serious tone as she gave the report.

“There is a riot ongoing at the border. Apparently, a martial artist killed a Korlove in broad daylight just because they bumped into one another on the street. They’re currently driving every Canvasian they can find out of the district. Some of our lowest level soldiers have become involved, against orders.”

Deuvar rubbed his forehead in exasperation. His attempts to delay only continued to fail, and the Leader’s recent orders only made matters worse.

“Have the Hadal Clan-”

Astna laughed.

“Of course they have. Seiyal wearing green and black robes have shown up on neighboring stacks. I suspect they have decided they wish to be the ones who take initiative.” Her holographic projection met his gaze. “I don’t think we can delay it much longer, brother. You know as well as I do what this means.“

Deuvar sighed. He wasn’t sure he quite agreed with her, there had to be some way to delay further- but he would certainly need to run this turn of events by the Leader. And given the man’s recent actions… Deuvar was scared that he would be able to guess what the response would be. He would be told to reinforce the border, thus angering the Seiyal. Events, shifts in attitude… the dominoes fell, and puppets like Deuvar were forced to dance at the marrionettist’s flourish.

It seemed that after a long decade of peace, war had truly returned to Tseludia Station. But Deuvar was certain, now. The current situation could not be the natural flow of history.

“I’ll speak with the Leader,” he said.

There was a mastermind behind this war, of this he was certain. The shifts in cultural moods was too swift to occur naturally. It was an expertly tuned display of manipulation, and the aims behind it remained unknown. While his information was limited, Deuvar would not allow his people to fight to their deaths due to the whim of another. But Deuvar would keep his suspicions to himself for the time being. There was little he could do, and keeping quiet raised the chances of his being able to catch the mastermind’s tail.

If war was inevitable, it was his duty to ensure that none would be the winners of this conflict but the Heirs of Ottrien.

Composition of the Mortal Soul: [The most complex of the common ashatic structures, a soul is shaped like an amorphous sac filled with thick fluid, shifting along with the flow and current of ashata within the Brink. This ‘sac’ is called the shroud. It is a membrane composed of a thick, durable ashatic compound which allows certain quantities of ashata to permeate in and out in a process similar to osmosis. The interior of the soul has a jelly-like consistency. This ashatic material is continually nourished, refreshed, and expelled, and forms the information retaining structures known as engrams by interfacing with the natural conduit to the sapient mind to which the soul is bound.]