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Setting foot outside sent shivers, guards were few but present. Lack of motion and presence, not to mention the perpetually present fog – a mist of frigid properties.

“Name?” inquired a guard, lack of supplies forced the rebellion into using olden suits of armor – an equivalent to bringing a knife to a gunfight. Blood had yet been shed – therein a staring contest between parties.

“Dyale,” returned simply. The guard nodded vaguely into the distance.

“Continue,” he said, to which, the mediator returned, the train trotted along, headlights lost within the cold air. The nature of his business was very much important. Representatives from the opposing faction joined in stride at Heu’s Church-town, a safe distance from the border and the resistance’s stronghold. Once again, guards meticulously searched his person. On completion, an escort walked through gravel streets, residences threw horrid glances from back alleys and mildly parted curtains.

A tavern named Mysteo, cupped away in one of the same alleys, opened its door to military men. The chipper sound of drunks, foul smell of burnt cigarettes and booze. Conditions to Dyale’s safety included no speaking to any bystander or otherwise, resident of Kreston.

Weak wooden steps climbed along the tavern’s back wall, the structure cried woeful creaks, energetic stomps arrived at a random door, the escort tapped three times and waited. Dyale threw glances at the surroundings, the place was very much the same where murders are reported; gang killings, vengeance, assassinations, and nameless, faceless bodies. Dark and dainty atmosphere, tension was high, any moment could be the end.

.....

*Click,* the impasse widened, the escort subconsciously stopped, there laid fear in his expression. No use in getting cold feet, the mediator stepped inside, the door shut loudly, an amber lit candle quivered, its fire carried to a lantern which brightened the room a little. Two seats, a clear view on the streets below, a small round table, and muffled breaths in the shadows. Dyale pulled a chair, tiniest of movements resounded deeply at his core, he dropped, reached for inside the coat, pulled a metal box, took out a cigarette, and puffed, “-if the intimidation is over, may we get the negotiations started?”

“Fine,” returned the opposing party cloaked under a hood, “-start?”

“I see what you’re doing,” he leaned confidently, “-trying to see my hand before we play, fine,” he puffed, “-we have nothing to hide. The crown wants but one thing, and tis the peaceful surrender of the nobles. My job is to keep the damage at a minimum – going to war will bring blood and tears to Kreston, the sullied nature of the province is sufferance enough. The negotiation isn’t an ultimatum, king Igna’s generous – long as the queen and Nicola are brought to the castle, the rebels will abstain from judgment.”

“So much for the negotiations. The nobles are scared, and I wouldn’t count on their bravery to save the day. Kreston isn’t foolish, those at the top have sent envoys to a particularly war-ridden kingdom, one would say, the cousin to Hidros as they’re born and brought up in a similarly dangerous environment. The rebellion wants but the rightful heir to take the crown.”

“Listen, today’s a trial run for the day when negotiations are truly needed. Here,” a briefcase slammed on the table, “-return lady Goldberg and tell her, I, Jonny Dyale, will always be at a phone’s call away. If the news is to be believed, Erat will surely be a bloodbath – the crown is very open about their plans. Consider this,” he tapped the case, “-an incentive to future parle.”

“Understood,” said the hooded figure, “-it was a pleasure, lord Dyale.”

So on and so forth, a step of good faith from Dyale rekindled the nobles’ sense of companionship to the mediator. The briefcase held items of value to the kingdom, most of which were owned by the rebelling families. Thus, a communication channel between each faction was established – one unbiased and objective.

Concurrently, away from the under-table deals, common in times of strife – Igna sat with legs crossed at Queen Ela’s bedside. She woke, climbed out the bed, shuffled to the wardrobe, threw on clothes, and avoided conversation, night layered the neighborhood.

“Silent treatment?”

“No, no,” she checked herself in a mirror, “-taking in the air and surroundings. How did I end here?”

“You have Dyu to thank. He asked for us to orchestrate a plan to sneak an innocent queen out of her queendom.”

“Couldn’t help notice the strained sarcasm on the innocent part...”

“Right,” he leaned, “-the federations, we did some digging and found Phantom to have been abused in a pointless war between kingdoms who were friends all along. The olive branch into Iqeavea, very noble of you, my lady. Hate to say, I don’t believe a word out thine mouth, if not for you, King Staxius may have lived.”

“Don’t blame me,” she narrowed, “-I warned him subtly. Besides, the nature of our relationship was and still is between him and me, I don’t need an outsider telling me what I should feel.”

“Right,” he stood briskly, “-ruining the Federation and betraying those who fought and gave their lives for the survival of Elendor,”

“Wait, wait, don’t leave. I need to know, what happened?”

“Well, majesty,” returned an unimpressed scoff, “-Dyu rescued thee from King Juvey’s lecherous hands. We put on quite the show, killing nobles and ruining the leadership in Elendor, I doubt they’ll strike again. Queen Ela, I promised Dyu Hidros to be a haven for the queen – far as the world is concerned, you’re dead. I advise finding a new name and starting a new life,” he walked and handed a card, “-here’s my number. Listen, what’s done is done, water under the bridge. Start again and live a normal life – if you wish something more entertaining, send over a summary of thy skills. However,” the tone harshen, “-if there’s even the speculation of betrayal,” he whispered, “-I’ll make sure the remainder of thine life grows into hell,” the lock clicked, “-the food’s ready.”

“Good,” he spun, “-remember my words, majesty,” he crossed Dyu, turned the corner, and stopped, “-she’s all yours.”

*Incoming Message – éclair.*

‘What’s it this time?’ he checked the notification, “-master, we need to talk. I’ve booked a restaurant, Loron.”

‘Loron...’ a stop at the kitchen showed Vanesa deep in heaven with food in her mouth,’-things never change,’ he smiled and joined her for the meal. Later, on the clock striking nine, Igna pulled into a parking lot, he stepped with Vanesa at his side. The promenade gave onto a very chaotic event. People sang and danced; celebrations prolonged.

‘Dinner at an expensive restaurant. What’s éclair got in mind?’ waiters bore friendly smiles, a stand at the front had few of the cooks sweating before the stove, the queue for Loron was long – Igna walked inside to a completely empty restaurant. A single table to the center had éclair sipping.

“Hello, éclair.”

“Greeting’s master,” he nodded, “-I see lady Vanesa’s here.”

“Tell me, what’s the meeting about?”

“It’s about lady Lizzie,” he said, “-the princess wishes to move onto greater things. Playing the piano and being worshipped as a diva of the classical world has swallowed any semblance of free time she may have had.”

“And, what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing, I figured you’d be interested...”

“I don’t see how it needed a tête-à-tête?”

Food arrived shortly, Vanesa’s stomach grew, appetite smothered the otherwise listless expression, “-tis about the war, majesty.”

“Go on.”

“Reports arrived from Jonny’s parle; Kreston is thinking of hiring mercenaries. I’m certain they’ll be the same opponents who defeated princess Loftha to an inch of her life. Aside from that, the defeat of Lucifer’s brought the attention of the otherworldly onto us, more specifically, you. I came to say but this, majesty, be careful. Fighting wars on many fronts isn’t the smartest idea. Leave the rebellion to us,” he sipped, “-I want the king to go in hiding.”

“And cower?”

“No, go in hiding and do what thee does best Majesty.”

“Kill?”

“Wrong again. Be a slave to thy whims, majesty,” he slid a piece of paper, “-on founding the alliance of Alrosia, matters of war is under the jurisdiction of a greater hierarchy. Emperor Markus stands at the top, there’s no arguing said fact. Hidros, Arda, and Easel Run Gard each have their representatives. Ultimately, without a vote, Alrosia can not act on greater matters. Thus, my saying, master, leave the statesmanship to us, your trusted companions. Take Elendor...”

“I get it, I get it,” he sipped, “-no need to sugarcoat the damned thing. I’m a liability, the rocky state of affairs can’t allow me to go haywire.”

“I wish there was more I could do.”

“No, it’s fine. The ends justify the means. Do what thee think is best for the people. I’ll stay out of the way.”

“I appreciate the understanding,” nodded éclair.

“Well,” he stood, “-nothing more I can add to the discussion,” Igna reached for Vanesa’s arms, “-I truly hope, éclair, the bold action doesn’t backfire.”

Back in the car, Igna sped, the engines roared throughout the cacophonous event.

“Wise choice,” said an ominously dark presence, “-keep Igna away from the politics and let us handle affairs of the state. Alrosia will fall into our hands sooner or later,” the voice transcribed onto Igna’s interface. “-Poor Emperor, they haven’t realized the conglomerates are more powerful than before. Any wrong move and the Wracia Empire will have no option but to take the fight into Hidros, we wouldn’t want that, not now when a rebellion rages forth.”

‘I knew it,’ he chuckled, ‘-éclair will never betray my trust. The conglomerates are making their move – Kreston’s too much of a liability now, he must have realized it. Until we know how deeply they’ve infiltrated our ranks, can’t act on my own,’ before he realized, Igna found himself out of the capital and headed to the south toward the Azure wall. A bright flash blinded the dashboard, a low-resounding rumble shook the desolate street, “-what was that?”

“Pops,” yawned Vanesa in the backseat, “-I sense a celestial, a goddess... or what remained of a goddess?” Gun holstered, the dark streets made seeing difficult, especially when he dropped into an untouched savagely growing grove. Strangely, the closer he moved, the easier it got, an uncertain brightness lit the grove of which moved and wailed. Closer, trees were left in the dust around a sharply glowing outline, “-HELP!” it cried, Igna took off the glasses – a strong convergence of raw power dug into whoever exclaimed, “-HELP ME,”

*Mana-Control: Waves,* a gesture relieved the pressure – the glow lessened, *Mana-Control: Vortex,* he guided the dangerously reactive mana into a condense orb above the palm. The more he pulled, the more it generated, ‘-what’s wrong with her?’

“HELP ME!”

“Can’t,” he pulled Tharis, *BANG, BANG, BANG,* three bullets of anti-magic properties hit points of power from what he saw in the fissured reality, a pulsing headache boomed till he wore the glasses again. The menacing presence eased, lights poured from the entity’s wound, the glow laid in a puddle, “-how am I alive?” it blinked.

“Consider it the hand of God,” he chuckled, “-what brings a high-tier goddess to the mortal realm?”

“Talk about the odds...”

“No, I’m quite worried, Goddess Athena.”