Aetheral Space

Gretchen Hail let out a sigh of relief as she lowered her body into the bathtub, water splashing around her. Babysitting the Supreme Heir was tiring work. Free moments like these were rare.

If anything, this was an especially free moment, though. While she was relaxing in the bath, Atoy Muzazi would be consumed by stress from his disastrous attack on the Tree of Might. Morgan Nacht and the other interlopers would be dying at the hands of the Tree of Might's Branches.

And the Fell Beast? Oh, she'd save the tree for last. She certainly hadn't forgotten what being killed felt like. It was an experience she was eager to share.

She was still a distance from her goal -- but so far, the deal she'd made had already paid great dividends. It was a good opportunity she'd seized. Someone who possessed power, the good sense to conserve it when necessary, and goals that accommodated her own.

Buzz. Buzz.

Speak of the devil. Gretchen cracked an eye open and saw her script on the floor, slowly crawling along as it vibrated. Could she really have no peace?

She closed her eyes again. “Answer call,” she said.

The buzzing stopped -- replaced seconds later by a cold voice.

“Anya Hapgrass,” said Dragan Hadrien. “It's begun.”

She nodded to herself. Leaking information on Muzazi's operation to Hadrien had been another good move. Even if Muzazi wasn't on site, losing forces loyal to him would still be a blow, given his personality.

“Are you there?” Hadrien asked when she didn't reply.

“I'm here,” she said. “Have your men managed to kill Nacht yet? Logistically, he's much more competent than Muzazi -- getting rid of him will be a victory.”

“It's not as you described.”

She opened her eyes again, suddenly tense. “What?”

“It's not,” Hadrien said, restrained anger binding his words together. “As you described. There are more Aether-users than you advised. There are mercenaries working in tandem with them. You told me to expect a small team specialising in infiltration.”

For a second, Gretchen didn't know what to say. She just opened and closed her mouth, like a stunned goldfish.

“Am I to understand you've provided faulty information to me?” Hadrien asked dangerously.

“No,” Gretchen insisted, sitting up, water splashing. “That's not the case. If things are different from what I said, that's because I wasn't informed about them.”

“If you weren't informed… doesn't that suggest Atoy Muzazi already considers you an enemy?”

“No,” Gretchen replied, but she admitted: “But he doesn't consider me a friend.”

For a good, long moment, there was silence. Gretchen almost thought that Hadrien had hung up the call. Then, though:

“The difference is negligible. There's something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Gretchen relaxed. “What's that?”

“Your condition for cooperating. It's got me curious.”

And the relaxation came to a swift end. Gretchen narrowed her eyes. “Has it now?”

“In exchange for cooperating with me and helping me become Supreme, you want me to authorise the release of Baltay Kojirough from Greyhound Asylum. Is that right?”

Eyes fixed on the distant script, Gretchen answered. “It is.”

“Why?”

Her hands tightened around the rim of the bathtub. “He's a friend of a friend. Once, he did a favor for me… I owe him.”

“Right.” Hadrien's tone suggested he didn't buy that in the slightest. “But you say ‘release’. Greyhound isn't a prison, you know.”

“It's a prison in all but name.”

“I don't know if you're aware,” Hadrien went on. “But Baltay Kojirough was already offered a discharge by the hospital staff last year.”

Her grip loosened. “What?”

“He refused. I just thought that was interesting.”

For a moment, Gretchen felt lost -- then she banished the sensation, replacing it with white-hot fury. “If that's what they're telling people,” she growled. “Then they're lying. They're full of shit. Baltay has too much to do, too much to make happen -- he wouldn't leave m… he wouldn't be wasting time sitting around in a shithole like that!”

By the time she was done, she was nearly standing up, wet hair clinging to her face and forming what was very nearly a complete blindfold. Slowly, she lowered herself back down. She knew full well…

…she'd said too much.

“You seem to know Baltay Kojirough very well for a friend of a friend,” Hadrien commented.

Gretchen said nothing.

“Back at the church,” Hadrien continued. “I saw that you knocked the Heir unconscious with some sort of Armament you'd planted on her, right? Remote activation. That's supposed to be fairly advanced, from what I've been told.”

Gretchen shrugged. “I've got a friend in the Maker-Guild. I get reduced prices on things like that.”

“Hm. There was someone in the Seven Blades who was an expert on Aether Armaments, wasn't there? Someone very close to Baltay Kojirough.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn't know. I'm not familiar.”

“I think you are familiar…” Hadrien said. “...but fine. I just wanted to make sure we understand each other.”

“And what exactly is it you want me to do with this understanding?”

“I won't be needing any more leaks from the Muzazi camp,” Hadrien replied casually. “If he doesn't trust you to the point where you're receiving incomplete information, then there's no point.”

“So the deal’s off?” Gretchen scowled.

“I wouldn't go that far. All I mean… is sit tight for a while. There'll come a time when I need you. Until then, sit tight.”

Her finger tapped -- tap tap tap -- along the edge of the bathtub. “And you'll keep your end of the bargain?”

“And I'll keep my end of the bargain.”

The call ended without so much as another breath from Hadrien, leaving Gretchen in a silent room. The water had gone cold, but she leaned back anyway -- and sighed once again. Her lips spread out into a thin smile.

Yep. She'd been right.

Nights like this were rare indeed.

Jude Glear, Commander of the S4’s Azum-Ha branch, cut down a warrior with a single swing of his sword.

Things were going well. They’d managed to penetrate the underbelly of the Tree of Might’s temple, and -- as the majority of forces had been stationed on the roof -- their infiltration was proceeding steadily. The other members of Jude’s elite squad flanked him as he marched down the stone hallway, their plasma rifles trained and ready to fire. To tell the truth, though, Jude wasn’t certain he needed their help against the rank-and-file.

To put it simply, he cut quite the intimidating figure.

A full-blooded Pugnant, he was tall and gangly, with crimson hair cascading down and golden eyes glinting in the dark. With slit pupils -- like those of a reptile -- he stared ahead, his footfalls thumping on the wooden floor below. Smooth black armour covered his unique frame all the way up to his chin, and in his hand he held a similarly ink-black sword. The only trace of true colour he permitted his ensemble was a short and tattered red scarf, fluttering in the air behind him.

He stepped over another corpse -- cut down by a previous attack -- and reached the door at the end of the hallway. In contrast to the antiquity of the rest of this place, this actually seemed to have been constructed in the last century. Connected to some form of security system, clearly. It wouldn’t just open.

“Can we crack it?” he asked, voice soft, turning over his shoulder to look at Breeson -- his tech specialist for this operation.

“It’ll take time,” she replied, speech modulated by her helmet.

“I’ll do it, then. Step back.”

His squad, well trained, obliged -- and Jude turned back towards the door, shifting his sword into a one-handed position. He held his free hand up as if to grasp the air.

“The House,” he intoned, and three white dice of carved bone appeared floating over his palm.

Jude had encountered other gambling-type Aether abilities in the past. The former patriarch of the former Oliphant Clan, for one, along with a gentleman he’d encountered in the UAP. Still, he enjoyed the simplicity and ease of use that The House provided.

“Roll,” he commanded, and the dice began to spin, began to rotate, began to orbit each other like a solar system in miniature. One second, two seconds, three. Three was his lucky number. “Stop.”

Immediately, they halted, the faces of the dice snapping to face him. Two ones and a three, so he’d rolled a five in all. Not great, not terrible. It would suffice.

Without preamble or ceremony, he swung his black sword at the metal door -- and the sheer force released by the swing was enough to do three things, all at once.

First, it blew the door off its frame.

Second, it sent air pressure billowing through the hallway.

Third, it cut the man who’d been standing on the other side clean in half.

Poor fellow. Jude sniffed as he saw the man collapse into two pieces, dying instantly. He hadn’t even known there’d been anyone standing on the other side. It wouldn’t have changed his actions, sure, but he still didn’t relish it.

Steam drifted up from the blade of Jude’s sword as he continued to advance. Needless to say, that hadn’t been the strength of a normal sword swing. In fact, it had been about five times the strength of the usual swing of this sword. The simplicity and ease of use of The House.

When Jude rolled the dice, his next attack would have its power multiplied by the result. On the rare occasions he rolled an eighteen, it could become quite tremendous -- he usually just ended up rerolling rather than having to deal with the collateral damage. A ten was usually more than enough to deal with anything that lived -- especially with his Aether Armament, Mightier, possessing quite a bit of brute strength all by itself.

Still, if he rolled an eighteen today, Jude certainly wouldn’t be rerolling. He had to take this contract as far as he could. He had to show Atoy Muzazi exactly what he could do.

Because Jude Glear had a future in mind.

Even though the Supreme was -- by nature -- the strongest in the land, that didn’t mean they could rule the Supremacy all by themselves. For one, they just couldn’t be everywhere at once. They required agents and enforcers, people to travel and enact their will.

Renée the Raven had had her Unkindnesses, her secret police.

Gael the Golden had had his Heroes of Form, his chivalrous paladins.

Even Kadmon the Indoldent had had his Contenders…

…but before them, he’d had the Supreme Guard.

Indeed, Jude would take this opportunity to show Atoy Muzazi exactly what he and his elites could do… and then, he’d make the Supreme-to-be a very persuasive business offer.

As a group of enemies -- these ones much more fearsome than the greenhorns they’d previously encountered -- met them in the massive chamber beyond, Jude smirked. With a contemptuous hand, he tossed them a small slip of plastic. His card.

“Here,” he said. “You can leave that to your next of kin.”

As Xander Rain kneeled before the throne, he spoke for the sixth time in ten minutes -- and repeated himself for the sixth time in ten minutes.

“Lord Hadrien,” he said. “Shouldn’t I be there?”

Hadrien looked down from his script, blue eyes cold and distant. “There’s no need for you to be there.”

“But… my men are fighting. The Tree of Might is fighting. As the First Branch, where else should I be if not there?”

Hadrien slouched in his throne, laying the script down on the arm. “A good warrior should know where his strength is needed. The battle at the temple is meaningless right now. It’s a tactic to allow our enemy to think they have agency -- to provide them false confidence so they’re unprepared for the real fight. Us winning would be even more meaningless. Why waste strength on a victory that means nothing?”

Slowly, Xander nodded, his head still bowed. The words made sense. He couldn’t deny their merit. And yet… something about them seemed so plastic…

“Do you understand, Xander?” Hadrien asked.

“I do, Lord Hadrien,” Xander replied, his voice nearly a whisper. “I do.”

“Then let’s hear no more of this. Leave me.”

Xander obeyed, standing and striding out of the command room. The true headquarters that they’d taken was cold and ravaged by time, deep in the bowels of Azum-Ha. Their neighbours were tombs and mausoleums. Even the sky was distant: the closest things to stars here were the gleaming eyes of the rats that nested above.

As the doors to the command room slammed shut behind him, Xander clenched his fists. He respected Lord Hadrien. He believed in the vision of victory that the Zero Branch had laid out before them. And yet…

Servant as he was, Xander had his pride too. His father had left the Tree of Might to him without ever speaking a word of approval. He’d gladly handed that heavy burden to Lord Hadrien when it had become appropriate. And yet…

Xander had never felt that the rest of the Tree of Might had truly respected him. Even with the potential people said he had, he still seemed a shadow of his father. Even with the uncontrollable Absolutian that people said was a beast apocalyptic, he still possessed a certain weakness of character. Even with the ability that people said was unmatched in versatility, he still wasn’t good enough.

And yet…

…his heart made demands of him.

Forgive me, Lord Hadrien.

Xander Rain stepped forward -- and let the wind pluck him from the ground.