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Some of the streets were rife with political chatter and discussion, as was the norm around the towers. After all, it was the center of Imperial power and so all manner of political discussions and arguments filled the air.

But normal citizens and political pundits were far from the only people all around the towers.

A good portion of the streets surrounding the towers were taken up by thousands of Sanguine Fundamentalists, all of them protesting angrily against the powers-that-be.

Most of them were wearing their usual blood red robes, and were adorned with their various simple rifles and weapons. More than half had signs above their heads, some via holoprojection, others via poorly-written physical signs.

Regardless of quality, their rhetoric was splashed all over them.

–

Glory to the Old Empire

.....

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Restore Taloren Prime

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Eliminate the Corrupt

–

More than that, they were screaming and chanting their fundamentalist catchphrases at the hundreds of stoic tower security forces across the road.

And no matter how frenzied or furious the crowd seemed to be, they did their best and stayed out of the spiral towers’ Red Zone. They knew that stepping over that line meant absolute annihilation.

Little did they know that someone kept a very close eye on what they were doing.

Up at the very top of the crimson spiral towers in the center of Lacroseth City was the Emperor’s Throne. It was a truly expansive room whose walls stretched up for a dozen meters.

Not only that, but each and every one of those walls were highly detailed screens. Currently displaying on all of them were live feeds of the city all around the spiral towers themselves.

Standing near the middle of one of them was a large Justicar in an imposing and sleek suit of golden power armor. Strapped on her back was a massive claymore that appeared to be thick enough to be a blunt weapon.

But its edges revealed that the sword was impossibly sharp, perhaps down to the molecule.

The Gold Justicar viewed the live feeds of the Sanguine Fundamentalists below, and watched each of the crowds like a hawk. Although they hadn’t done anything to break the law, she was itching for an opportunity for them to break it.

She hungered for the chance to scatter those crowds, to swing her blade through their bodies, to cut them down like dogs.

While she stewed in her bloodlust, Emperor Retholis sat at the Imperial Throne. Though, it was less of a grand chair, and more of a commanding desk.

The desk itself was a massive slab of dark polished stone with veins of obsidian and purplish metals running through it. All of its surfaces were polished to a mirror shine, save for the far ends.

Both ends were roughly hewn and as raw as rock, a stark contrast to the majority of the desk itself.

Seated behind the center of its massive length was Retholis himself, who was on an important communique with an Imperial Liaison to the Senate.

The liaison was also at the capitol, specifically at the Parliamentary Grand Hall one tower over. He appeared to be seated at the very edges of the Hall itself, and watched as the Senate debated with itself for hours on end.

Despite how far away he was from the center of the action, he could easily hear the combative voices of the senators themselves.

Heated would have been putting their conflict lightly. Some were practically at each others’ throats. They ran down to the center and screamed in each others’ faces, and had to be physically held back by their own compatriots.

The liaison’s face was plastered with absolute disappointment as he gave his report to Retholis.

“Apologies, emperor,” he said. “We’ve been pushing to end our Advance, but the vote’s still in a deadlock. Konleth whipped up his loyalists and pushed back against Paveloth yet again.”

“Are there any senators still undecided?” Retholis asked. “We know we can’t move Konleth and his people... that’s impossible. Let’s find the few who don’t know which way to vote, and get them on our side.”

“I’ve already got a few ideas on who to reach out to... Want me to put together a pitch deck for your approval?”

“No, don’t bother with my signature. Just get it done. Pull from the Imperial coffers if you need to.”

The liaison scoffed on hearing the word ‘coffers’.

“We’d end up emptying them if we start giving handouts,” he said. “Clan Belynn would no doubt dangle their own prizes at them, if only to increase our bid.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Retholis answered. “I’ll be issuing an Emergency War Tax Decree later this week. That’ll keep the coin flowing for now.”

“Very well, emperor.”

The liaison gave a nodding bow, then ended their communique. His face winked off Retholis’ holoterminal at the same time.

Retholis then deactivated the terminal altogether, then turned to Orsethii. She was waiting patiently on the other side of the large desk.

The massive drogar was unarmed and unarmored, and only wore simple robes. And because her robes were unadorned and undecorated, she appeared to be almost pious.

What struck him most was that her scales appeared to be covered in numerous scars, at least wherever they were visible. It was clear that the woman had experienced a great amount of combat, and had suffered painfully for it.

Although there was a comfortable seat she could have taken, Orsethii instead opted to stay standing. Something deep inside her reviled being off her feet.

“Apologies for that,” Retholis told Orsethii. “Defending the Empire has taken up all of my time, quite literally. We’re being assaulted on every side, and on every level.”

“Life’s hard sometimes,” Orsethii replied. “For me, it’s hard coming here to talk to you. Talking isn’t my style; lots of people know that. But I was asked, so I came.”

“You were asked? Why?”

“The war, of course. They want me to convince you to stop your antiwar... thing.”

Retholis shook his head in disbelief. His opponents literally threw everything they had at him. Now they were sending him rank-and-file soldiers on the front line.

Did they honestly think that was enough for him to change his mind?

“Honestly, we’ve both got better things to do,” Orsethii continued. “But they think because I’m not some corpo profiteer or a ladder-climbing officer, that you’ll hear me out more.”

“That might make sense,” Retholis replied, “if you were just some random soldier on the front line. But you’re a Reborn. What you do and what you say has meaning for many drogar out there. The weight of your argument is far more than you might realize.”

Orsethii grinned, then shifted her stance slightly.

“Then maybe if I say the right things, you might change your mind,” she said. “Not because of my prestige as a Reborn, but because of my base aspects as a Reborn. You’ve learned the truth about what we really are, yes?”

Retholis grimaced as he realized where Orsethii was going. Despite her simple dialect, it was clear that her mind was incredibly sharp. Perhaps almost as smart as Colviss.

“My right hand is a Reborn,” Retholis said after a moment. “And she was telling me some of it, yes. That you’re all genetically designed constructs that never actually existed before. Not as living beings, in any case. Colviss described that each of you are something akin to highly detailed sketches of the ideal drogar. Something like that, anyway.”

“Mhm, pretty close,” Orsethii replied. “Another, smarter Reborn told me what we’re about. Honestly took me a while to wrap my head around the idea...

“Goes like this: think about old drogar legends, back when Taloren Prime was a lush planet. Stories about emperors and empresses, gods and devils, heroes and villains. We’re supposed to be that.”

“I get it,” Retholis said as he rubbed his chin. “Idealized drogar.”

“Idealized, sure. We Reborn are s’posed to embody the best of what every drogar is, deep down. We represent our species’ strength or resolve or anger. Your Colviss, for example. She’s the ideal the First Justicar, yes?”

Retholis nodded in agreement. He dove deep into the First Justicar’s actual history, at Colviss’ behest. And discovered firsthand that person was actually long lost to time. Her exploits were spread through oral traditions, which changed drastically over time.

Whatever her name actually was had long since been erased, and the only thing that remained was the fictional account of a god-like Justicar.

“Your Colviss might not’ve been the First Justicar at all,” Orsethii continued. “In fact, it’s practically impossible for her to be. She lived in a time when no-one understood or even knew about basic genetics. The First Justicar’s true genetics were never recorded.

“But that doesn’t matter – your Colviss was designed based on legends rather than the person. And she clearly embodies a deep loyalty. To you. To the Empire.”

“If any of this is true, and if Colviss is the embodiment of drogar loyalty, what does that make you, then?” asked Retholis.

“I get it sounds outrageous,” Orsethii replied. “But I knew it was true the moment I heard it. And I’ve realized who I really am. All I’ve ever wanted to do is fight others, show dominance, conquer the unbeatable. Even if I lose...

“I’m the embodiment of the drogar’s lust for battle.

“And you can’t deny this part of us. Every single drogar is steeped in this need to fight. It’s in all our stories, our rituals. Just look at your own divided senate for proof.”

Retholis inhaled deeply as he soaked in Orsethii’s words. Everything she said rang true.

“I can’t deny that the drogar are bloodthirsty,” Retholis conceded. “I reveled in it while I served as Swarmfather. But that’s not the only thing that makes us who we are. Or are you trying to tell me that drogar are nothing without war? That we cannot be defined without one?”

“Exactly that,” Orsethii replied flatly. “We need this war. It helps make us more complete. It might not be profitable like you want, but who cares? Not everything needs to net us more coin.

“Sometimes, all we need is to simply get our hands bloody. We need to fight others so deeply that we’re willing to break ourselves apart. In fact, we’re already at that point, yeah?”

A deep silence split the two.

What Orsethii argued made sense. Bloodshed and battle lust was a deep part of who they were. But again, the drogar were not a one-dimensional species. If all they did was follow their violent instincts, they would have killed themselves off eons ago through nonstop infighting.

“Even if I agree with you, which I don’t, I can’t simply change my position,” said Retholis. “As I mentioned, warring isn’t all that we are, and many clans agree with me. In fact, it’s by their support that I’m here at all. Going back on my word also betrays the trust they’ve given me.

“As much as I appreciate your arguments, and they are certainly powerful ones, I must remain unswayed. The war must stop.”

“Aren’t you emperor,” chided Orsethii. “Isn’t what you command, goes? I didn’t think you were beholden to common rabble.”

“The Empire is defined by the Clans, not the person in this seat.”