Waterstrider

5th District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Triezal did not like being indebted. He was, after all, the sort of person who felt the need to actually pay off that debt. It would gnaw away at his conscience until he finally paid it off, freeing himself from its influence. What he liked even less was handing blackmail material to others. His current situation involved both.

In a moment of desperation, he had used his dagger- a weapon he had kept as an utter last resort. The lesion he had carved into reality would never heal. It would sit there, spilling miasma out into that restaurant far into the future, even past the time when the station was no longer inhabited. If it was found, the Leader would immediately sell Triezal out as a scapegoat to the Pantheonic Government.

When he first arrived at the station, he had been warned by the harsh man. Told that it did not matter how powerful the technology was. He would immediately sell Triezal out as a member of the illegal terrorist organization known as Epon, just to preserve his own skin and organization.

Triezal, of course, found himself unwilling to allow this to happen. Deep down inside he knew himself to be a selfish man. If he wanted to, he could blame it on the enhancement that Anteky had done to the self preservation instincts of his people. Triezal was not the type of man to make such excuses for himself, however. He simply was unwilling to die or spend his life enslaved on a prison moon.

For this reason, he needed to find a backer. Someone other than the Leader, who could hide the scene from both him and the government. Someone like Astna, wielder of a vast web of wealth and influence. Someone he had an in with. Thus, in desperation, Triezal first went to find Kalthen.

As expected, Kalthen had been put right back to blindly searching the streets of the fifth district after he had finished reporting his findings in Hestky’s townhome. Akekha surely knew there was little chance that the Riverfiend was still living inside of the district, but she obviously didn’t care about that. Luckily for Triezal, it meant that his friend was available and nobody would be able to tell that they had spoken today. That was certainly ideal.

He sent Kalthen a quick message using his slate, inviting him to meet up. As he had expected, Kalthen leapt at the opportunity to take a break from the pointless busywork.

While Triezal waited streetside, he saw Kalthen jog up, clearly in a good mood. His large, Jobu frame dwarfed most of the passersby around him. The heads of Kalthen and the other Jobu passersby stuck out from the crowd like boats riding stormy waves. As he approached Triezal, Kalthen’s expression shifted as he noticed the dark, tired mood of the other man.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Triezal wasn’t surprised by the question. There were no physical wounds on his body, but the exposure to poison along with the mental blows he had received had left him sickly and exhausted, occasionally coughing into his elbow.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Listen, can you get me into contact with your mother?”

Kalthen took a step back, giving him an odd look.

“...what? Don’t you know how to contact her? What exactly happened?”

Triezal laughed, spiraling into another coughing fit.

“I need to contact her in a way that won’t be noticed by the Leader or your Uncle. I was hoping you could help me out.”

“I think you should visit the hospital,” replied Kalthen.

Triezal laughed again.

“Maybe later. This is more important.”

“Just what happened?” he asked.

“Poison. Things I can’t talk about publicly. Just contact Astna, Kalthen. Consider it paying off the debt for me saving your life.”

Kalthen considered Triezal’s expression, internally conflicted.

“Fine.”

He pulled out his glyph slate, quickly drawing patterns into its surface.

“Fine, but I’ll need to know what’s going on.”

Triezal nodded wearily.

“I’ll explain it to you later.”

His eyes drooped, wanting desperately to close, to make him sleep so that he could regain his strength. But he had work that he desperately needed to get done, and he was worried that if he slept now, he might never wake back up. Sheer force of will was all that kept him lucid and standing.

It felt like just a moment later when Kalthen turned to him, expression serious.

“She says she will see you.”

Triezal gave a grateful smile, full of appreciation.

“Thanks.”

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

From the outside, the building that Kalthen’s mother had wanted to meet him in looked very mundane, and belonged to, of all things, a law firm.

Kalthen marched right in, and Triezal followed. Normally he would have walked right beside his friend, always maintaining confidence, but he was still frazzled, finding it difficult to muster his usual persona. They quickly made their way through the maze of rooms, ending up at a large conference room near the back.

The building had not been extensively redone from the original Staiven design, merely expanded to house a full company on a single tiered structure that took up an entire block due to the scale. It had a mix of Staiven and Celan architectural conventions on the interior, and had been wallpapered to hide the tell-tale ugliness of Staiven material science.

The conference room was more in the Celan style, fully enclosed by a metal wall, with no way for those outside to see in. It was isolated not by a Staiven hatch, but by a real, hinged door. Triezal adjusted his yellow jacket before trying his best to regain his normal persona. He wished to be his best self when dealing with the ‘Real Spider of Little Celah.’ He knew that Astna saw the label as more of a compliment than an insult.

Triezal followed in after Kalthen, wanting to use his friendship with the woman’s son as much to his advantage as possible. As he entered, his eyes scanned the conference room. It was quite drab, with a tactile mesh embedded in one wall displaying glyphs in a formation that told him it was shut down. In the center of the room was a long rectangular table surrounded by chairs. At its end a large woman was lounging, one leg resting on its surface.

Astna was lean for a Jobu, and it was clear to all who saw them that physically, Kalthen very much took after his mother. Despite this, her build, just like his, was still much more visibly muscular than Triezal’s own, and even without the height boost from her heeled shoes, she would be over a foot taller than Triezal if she were to stand up. Her eyes were the color of steel, and gave off the impression that they were sharp enough to gouge someone.

She was wearing a stylish black dress that accentuated the differences between a man and a woman’s physique, and had a pair of black pumps on her feet. From experience, Triezal knew that Astna only wore black. She was a person who paid extensive attention to the way that she presented herself, an expert at managing her own image. Even the pose she currently resided in was carefully chosen to manipulate his perception of her to her advantage.

Triezal knew that he could not hope to engage her in battle in her own domain. His options were to submit to her will completely, or be brash enough to subvert the nature of the engagement. To him, the second choice seemed far more enticing.

Astna’s eyes first went to her son, eyes displaying the barest hint of a softer gaze. It lasted for just a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by those same steely eyes.

“How have you been doing, Kalthen? Has that incompetent bitch been treating you poorly?”

Somehow, Triezal thought, Astna was able to retain an air of refined elegance no matter what vulgarities she chose to spout:

At her words, Kalthen visibly shifted his eyes downwards. Triezal knew that his friend deeply loved and respected his mother, but he also feared her.

“I’m doing well, Mother. I expect to regain my rank again swiftly,” he replied.

Astna nodded, her leg slowly lowering from the table.

“Good. Deal with her shit for a bit longer, and the Leader will reinstate you if me and your Uncle speak with him. We’ll talk about this later, though, since your… friend is here.” She turned her biting gaze to Triezal. “Now, what was it you wished to discuss with me, Magister Triezal?”

Astna, of course, as a member of the inner circle of the Heirs of Ottrien, knew about Triezal’s exact identity, and even why he had been sent here. It was an open secret among the upper echelons, and the source of plenty of rumors among the rank and file. It wasn’t a secret that Triezal particularly cared about keeping, as it would have reached the ears of everyone who mattered only a few days after his arrival anyway.

He covered his face in a bright smile, meeting her eyes.

“I must say it is pleasure to meet you again, Madam Astna. I have a favor to ask of you.”

Astna smirked, amused by Triezal’s little act.

“Oh? And what sort of favor would an esteemed man such as yourself have for a little old lady like me?”

Astna certainly wasn’t little, nor did she come across as particularly old due to how gracefully she had aged, but like everything else she did, she was using it to control perception and the flow of the conversation.

Working with his plan to simply act brashly and confidently, Triezal decided to be frank about his purpose.

“In probably less than an hour, crime scene investigators from the Justice Office will probably show up at one of our fronts by the Spacedock. I’m sure you know which one I am referring to. I want you to hide something on the scene from both the Pantheonic Government and from the Leader.”

He could sense Kalthen’s interested gaze from the side, and as he met Astna’s eyes again, he could see something shift in their depths. She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and cupping her cheek with her palm. She had a sly smile on her face, and Triezal couldn’t help but frown. Did she already know?

“And just what happened, pray tell, that would drive you to fear our very own Leader?”

Triezal paused, having difficulty deciding how to word his statement. In the end, it emerged on its own. His gaze hardened, diving deep into the molten iron of Astna’s. The words emerged in a near whisper.

“I created a lesion.”

A minute flicker of surprise crossed her eyes before she expertly regained control of her expression. If Triezal had not been very intently watching her, he would surely have missed it. So she hadn’t known, he thought to himself. There are limits to even her access to information.

“What?”

The word spurted from Kalthen’s mouth in shock, unable to stop himself from uttering it. Triezal and Astna each gave him a silent look, and he immediately steeled his expression, becoming silent. Astna’s gaze flickered back to Triezal.

“I’m sure you know that creating such a thing is incredibly dangerous, and highly illegal. Assisting you with this would make me complicit, in the eyes of the Justice Office.”

Triezal nodded.

“This is true.”

“And to hide it from our Leader… that constitutes betrayal of our very organization.”

“That is true as well.”

She leaned back in her chair, smirking once more.

“And you think I would be willing to help you? Perhaps I should just turn you in right here and now.”

Triezal hesitated, knowing that this had been a long shot.

“Is there anything you’re wanting from me? A favor from me as an operative, or a favor from me as a magister?”

Now Astna was the one to hesitate. She undoubtedly knew about the dangerous situation the Heirs were in at the moment, and the timer ticking down until the courier arrived. They were already later than the expected arrival time, and should have been here already. No matter what connections she had with figures on the station, there was nothing she could do if the Epon decided she was a nuisance. Everyone and everything on Tseludia Station was given the right to exist by powers far beyond this lowly backwater. She pursed her lips, seemingly coming to a decision.

Astna smiled, a bright, friendly expression filling her face.

“In that case, I have a few conditions.”

Triezal nodded.

“I expected as much.”

“First, I’ll need two favors from you, to be cashed in at a later time.”

“Of course,” Triezal replied.

“Second, I’ll be attaching the well-being of myself and my family to your own. Even if all goes poorly and the forthcoming Epon representative decides to eliminate us all. If that happens, you’ll defend us or I’ll inform the Justice Office and make the mess much, much worse for you.”

This was much more difficult to hear, but was one of the conditions that Triezal had expected her to put up. Still, it could be avoided if the presumed Shade was recaptured. Triezal nodded again.

“I agree.”

Astna smiled almost good-naturedly, though that seemed too obviously a front to Triezal.

“Good. I’m looking forward to our new working relationship, Magister Triezal.” Her eyes narrowed. “May it last for quite a long time.”

Lesion: [A tear in reality created by torsion of reality caused by warpings or unnatural structures and materials from the Incursion such as Ablation Engines and Naeratanh blades. Lesions are apertures in spacetime, tearing through to, among other layers of reality, the Brink, also as the spirit world. For this reason, miasma spilled constantly from lesions, warping everything nearby. There is no known way to repair or plug a lesion, and most attempts to do so exacerbate the issue, causing it to grow. Additionally, lesions operate under strange, unusual laws, and races such as the Staiven and the Celans believe that to an extent they are controlled by observation, because they tend to remain travelling in a certain frame of reference, such as remaining in the same location in regard to a planet or a space station despite the movement of such structures. The exact mechanics behind this property remain unknown. All known methods of creating lesions are banned in most civilizations, with the notable exceptions of those from within the Incursion, such as the Celans and the Khalak'Ora.]