Aetheral Space

The image stared back at Muzazi from the script laid on the table. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the script's owner.

“So,” said Dorothy Eiro. “How do you want to do this?”

The two of them were sitting on the balcony at a rooftop café called Miyure, located in a fairly up-market sky-district of Azum-Ha -- and, for the most part, they were alone. Apart from the staff, who'd been sworn to secrecy, the only other people in the café were those watching from the furthest possible table. Muzazi honestly didn't know why they even bothered with the pretense of distance.

Both he and Dorothy knew who they were, after all. Jamilu Aguta and Rufus von Winterburn. The Nebula from the Unified Alliance of Planets. Their secret sponsors. Their secret treason.

Dorothy stirred her cup of tea with a spoon, soft blue Aether crawling down the surface of the utensil.

“Stir,” she commanded, letting it go as she looked up at Muzazi.

The spoon continued stirring as though still clutched by an invisible hand. Was that Dorothy Eiro trying to intimidate him with her ability, or had she simply gotten so used to using All-Word that she deployed it for such a small task? Muzazi couldn't say -- this wasn't a woman he understood yet.

Many Special Officers obtained reputations in their times. Ash del Duran was known for his mastery of the killing arts, Lunalette de Fleur for his brutality, PALATINE for its inhumanity and overwhelming malevolence. It was a rare Special Officer that garnered a reputation for benevolence.

The kindest Special Officer.

The woman who’d ended the plague on Firocia, the famine on Drengel 9, who’d brought the Indivisible Shredder in without shedding a drop of blood.

Looking at Dorothy Eiro, could Muzazi imagine all that? It was difficult. More than anything, Dorothy Eiro looked normal. If he hadn't already known who she was, he'd have been hard-pressed to recognise her as a Special Officer by sight.

Black hair tied into twin braids. Freckles lining her cheeks beneath inquisitive brown eyes. A blue-and-white polka-dot dress. Worn-down red shoes that had seen their share of steps. She didn't even seem to have a weapon on her. Was it concealed? Or did she just not need it?

She blinked at him. “You like to stare a lot, huh?”

Muzazi took a deep breath. “From what I understand, our friends over there have been providing you with some assistance as well.”

“Yep,” Dorothy nodded.

“So, really, we're meeting at their behest.”

Again, she nodded, a lopsided smile on her face. “That's about it.”

Muzazi sighed, running a hand over his face, wooden fingers rough against his cheek. “I suppose I don't need to be a genius to see the obvious move here.”

They both spoke at the same time.

“You should surrender.”

Dorothy blinked. “Ah…” she said. “Well, I was kinda expecting that, but still… no way I can convince you otherwise?”

Muzazi shook his head. “It's my ardent wish to become Supreme. I won't give that up without a fight. I assume it's the same for you.”

Dorothy leaned back in her chair, hands on her lap. “That's about the long and short of it. I've got a dream of my own, and there's no way I can achieve it without becoming Supreme.”

“What dream is that, if you don't mind my asking?”

Dorothy smiled sadly. “This world is broken. I want to fix it. I don't see any way of doing that without rising to the very top.”

The same, huh?

“My intentions for becoming Supreme are similar,” Muzazi said insistently. “However, if we fight in the Dawn Contest, there's a good chance the injuries the winner sustains will impede them in the next match. Their chances of overall victory will be reduced. If you agree to surrender, I can pass to the next match in a better condition than the other participants.”

Slowly, Dorothy shook her head, that sad smile still on her lips. It occurred to Muzazi that she seemed to have come alone. Muzazi had posted the Phases loyal to him around the building, but he'd seen no sign of the Eiro party.

Was there even an Eiro party, or was this woman just fighting the Contest all by herself?

“You say that, Mr. Muzazi,” Dorothy said. “But if we're going by that logic, I'm physically in a better state than you right now, aren't I? Wouldn't it make more sense for you to surrender to me?”

She wasn't wrong. As a long-range fighter, she'd mostly avoided injury in her previous matches -- while Muzazi had suffered much the opposite. He'd been sprinting since he'd started, whereas she'd managed to get by jogging.

Even so, though…

He couldn't bring himself to trust her, to trust her words. She said she wanted to fix the world. Muzazi knew what that meant to him, but what did it mean to her? Even if he asked, and even if she told him, could he trust that answer? He'd had no shortage of false allies: the face of Baltay Kojirough floated to the top of his mind.

Excuses for stubbornness.

It wasn't just that, Muzazi knew. Even if he knew 100% that Dorothy Eiro’s goal was the same as his own, he couldn't imagine surrendering. Even if their ideals were identical, even if the other person had a better chance of success…

They both spoke at the same time.

“I can't trust my dream to anyone else.”

Far in the back, Muzazi saw Jamilu sigh, saw Jamilu look away. This wasn't the result he'd hoped for, either. Muzazi offered the tiniest apologetic smile to his sponsor.

Dorothy canceled the infusion on her spoon, and the stirring stopped immediately. She pulled it out of the cup, tapping it twice against the rim.

“I guess that's it, then,” she said, her brown eyes distant.

“Yes,” Muzazi nodded. “I guess that's it.”

“Tell me again why you want to meet our commander,” said Gregori Hazzard, dull red eyes glaring at the girl before him. “Don't bother lying. I can tell.”

This wasn't an interrogation room -- no, it'd be more accurate to say this wasn't intended as an interrogation room. No doubt it had been intended as storage space, as somewhere to keep goods on a temporary basis, as one room among hundreds in the great resource-caches of Azum-Ha. An anonymous door in an anonymous warehouse.

Right now, though? Right now it was an interrogation room.

Serena del Sed scowled back at Gregori from the chair she'd been tied to, hissing Neverwire bound tight around her body. Her appearance had been a surprise, to be sure, but where she'd ended up obviously hadn't been -- to anyone except for her, of course.

Seriously? Showing up at the enemy's doorstep, giving yourself up, and asking for a private meeting? She was lucky to even be alive.

Still, Gregori mused. Del Sed, huh? There's a coincidence.

“I told you already,” Serena del Sed snapped. “I’ll only talk to Atoy Muzazi.”

“And why exactly should I allow that?” Gregori said, circling her, hands in his pockets. “You used to work with Esmerelda, right? Rebels against the Supremacy. I wouldn’t put it past you to try and kill the commander the second he shows his face.”

“If I did that, I’d die right after,” Serena replied. “It’d be stupid.”

“Maybe you are stupid,” Gregori replied, his voice droll. “Who can say?”

He went to say something else, but before he could, he felt the telltale buzz of the communicator in his ear. Sighing in exasperation, he turned and strode out of the room, sealing the door behind him. Serena del Sed tried to call something after him, but he didn’t care to listen.

“Sir,” he said into the communicator the second the door closed. “Hazzard reporting.”

Toll’s gruff voice came back: “Hazzard. Is this line secure?”

“Sure is, sir,” Gregori replied, pacing the walkway as he spoke.

His Aether ping -- specialized in detecting the shapes of objects more than Aether itself -- showed nothing of concern near him. Military training had helped refine the technique after his transfer. Marie could have just invented new senses to detect enemies with, but a human like Gregori just had to make do.

“How’s Muzazi doing?” Toll asked. “Will he be in shape for his next match?”

“I’ve observed he does his best work when near-death,” Gregori said, leaning over the railing. “If I were you, sir, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“My position is maintained solely by the fact that I worry. The Supremacy’s position is maintained solely by the fact that it worries. If it were any way else, this nation would have ended with Piala the Practiced.”

“Apologies, sir, I misspoke. What I meant was that the matter of Muzazi’s health won’t be a problem.”

“I see. I got a report from my man in the GID an hour ago -- from what I understand, Muzazi is currently meeting with Dorothy Eiro. Can you confirm?”

“I can. They’re both being sponsored by the UAP’s Nebula, so I expect they’re discussing which one of them should surrender.”

“You expect? So you’re not there?”

“I am not. Muzazi assigned me to guard the base while he’s taking part in this meeting. The usual crowd is accompanying him -- Nacht, Grace, and the Fell Beast. Del Duran, Hapgrass, and Silversaint have been left behind along with myself. He still doesn’t trust me, as he believes I’m spying for you.”

“Well, you are spying for me, son.”

Gregori shrugged, a light smile on his lips. “In that regard, he has good instincts. Still, he trusts me more than Aclima’s goons. Myself and Ash del Duran are trusted with tasks when Muzazi’s inner circle are unavailable. I can worm myself in deeper through those.”

“I see. What sort of timescale would we be looking at?”

“Difficult to say right now. I may be able to engineer a situation to ingratiate myself with Muzazi further, which should accelerate things some. At the very least, if Muzazi wins the thing and becomes Supreme, I’ll be able to stand by his side.”

“Right-hand man?”

“That’s… more difficult.” Mereloco had failed to eliminate Nacht as Gregori had hoped, and now the boy was wary. He wouldn’t make himself vulnerable to a direct confrontation -- and even if he did, Gregori would likely be suspected of the slaying. No, for the time being, Morgan Nacht couldn’t be touched. “But not impossible.”

“I see. I’ll be closing the channel shortly. Any other activities to report?”

Gregori glanced back at the room containing Serena del Sed.

“No, sir,” he lied.

“I see. Call if you need me.”

The communicator clicked off, and Gregori let out a shallow sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he disliked the Ascendant-General -- the man had been something of a mentor to him, after all -- but it was just that he’d be much more comfortable if Toll didn’t exist.

Gregori Hazzard’s career had taken something of a serpentine path. He’d started as one of the golden generation of Special Officers, alongside legends like Baltay Kojirough and Nigen Rush, but he’d never achieved the same level of notoriety as them. While they burnt with glory, he simmered with quiet competence. It wasn’t an exciting legacy, but it was one the higher-ups could put their trust in.

And so they’d assigned her to him.

Marie Hazzard. The last Gene Tyrant living in this world -- or, well, the last they’d known about at the time. She’d taken on an appearance similar to his. She’d taken his name. As far as the rest of the world knew, they were brother and sister, sibling Special Officers fighting against criminals and corruption. Those had been fun times -- fun times that had impacted Gregori deeply… so deeply.

Seeing who Marie was, seeing what she could do… Once she’d been reassigned, being given her own missions, Gregori just couldn’t go back to his previous career. He’d switched tracks, joining the Supremacy military, quickly climbing the ranks until he became one of Ascendant-General Toll’s personal agents. One of his ‘Honest Men’ -- amusingly enough, Gregori supposed that he was now the last ‘Honest Man’. What a joke.

Honest Man… Special Officer… warrior, agent, servant… the more you climbed through life, the more meaningless titles and roles you accumulated, more expectations and limitations. Some people said that life was the accumulation of countless burdens, followed by death -- but Gregori couldn’t abide that idea. To him, the purpose of life should be to shed burdens. To discard everything that displeased you, that weighed you down… until all that remained was the very core of your being.

The human heart, light as a paper airplane.

Gregori looked back at the door to the interrogation room, folding his fingers into razor-sharp claws with Paper Moon. He’d said that he’d create a crisis to bring himself closer to Muzazi. Was this the opportunity? Serena del Sed was Aetherless right now. He wouldn’t get a better chance. If he dressed up the scene, he could probably get away with…

Nah.

He unfolded his fingers. That would be a bad move. If he acted right now, it would only be due to a fear of inertia. That was something else he hoped to toss away. So long as he was patient, so long as he was clever, so long as he chose his chances well… he’d shed those burdens.

He’d pry open his own chest, and pull his heart free from its humanity.