The tram rocked to a steady rhythm, side to side down the district’s main road. It was a heavily pedestrianised place, almost a street mall if it were not for the occasional car crossing and central tram line. Flanked by both sides by storefronts and food stands, the place attracted the family sort.

Evalyn flipped through a newspaper she had found abandoned on her seat, wondering if the next issue would contain anything of that night's chase. Yet she trusted the woman beside her enough to know that would not happen.

She turned to Marie, her eyes on the families but her mind elsewhere.

“Want to get off somewhere, spend some time in the city?”

“Alone?”

“Well, I’ve got to go back and make sure Iris is okay, but you should enjoy your free time while you still have it.”

Marie sighed, and Evalyn saw her eyes shift in the window’s reflection. “Sometimes you sound like Florence.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, because you already look like her. Just a little less ladylike.”

Evalyn chuffed, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Marie fell silent again, facing forward.

“That’s how I knew it was you, the first time you rocked up in Geverde. Just this younger version of Florence, making bold proclamations to the entire council.”

“What about Elliot?”

“He looked like a loser.”

Evalyn chuckled, leaning her head on Marie’s shoulder.

“But he reminds me of you. That boy, I mean, not Elliot,” Marie sighed.

“Alis? In what way?”

“Do I need to explain? He isn’t the first bright-eyed youth with big plans for the world I’ve dealt with.”

“Don’t embarrass me,” Evalyn sighed, poking Marie’s shoulder. “I don’t have to hear about it again.”

“Why not?”

“It was stupid. All of it was stupid.”

“Was it?” Marie said. “I think you saved a lot of people.”

“I was lucky,” Evalyn admitted, “I survived it all somehow, but ten years has come and gone since then. Seen too much shit to think that there’s a greater purpose.”

“I don’t think Alis thinks of it like that,” Marie suggested. “He thinks of it how you think of Elliot, Iris, or even me. Just a thing he wants to fight for because it means a lot to him.”

“Revolutions are different,” Evalyn asserted, drawing a line in the sand. “Good people and bad people fight for something that exists, even if it is just numbers in their bank account or lines on a map. Fighting for some sort of ideal is just—”

“Stupid?” Marie said, bumping Evalyn off her shoulder and patting her head. “Darling, how do you think anything changes in the world without stupidity?”

 

The council would be seated in five minutes, and Lieutenant-General Marie Elvera found herself sitting in a room with a teenage boy. Even if the Commander of Special Operations enjoyed an unusual amount of freedom, the Queen proved herself alarmingly liberal with her assignments.

The waiting room was lavishly furnished and equipped to entertain any manner of VIP. The clientele usually consisted of diplomats, emissaries, or other—more recognised—foreign representatives. Yet Alis Harbourman did not stray too far from the definition, so he had been allowed to stay.

They sat on symmetrical leather couches on either side of a glossy wooden coffee table.

“Tell me if the cuffs feel too tight. It’s more a formality than anything else.”

“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m fine.”

He was well-mannered; Elvera could give him that much. She readjusted herself and leaned forward, bearing over the two brass knuckles splayed on a velvet jewellery tray.

“Look, Mr Harbourman. I’m going to be completely honest with you. You’re going to have to cooperate with me here, and I mean fully.”

“I do plan on cooperating with you as long as my needs are met—”

“The Queen would prefer you dead. The only reason she's given you this opportunity is because of your weapons. Even then, we can easily reverse-engineer them if it came to that.”

Alis shifted in his seat, and his eyes glanced around the room, yet never left the brass knuckles for more than a few seconds.

“Alright. What do you need me to say? I won’t be giving up any information.”

“I just need to know your plan in all this. You come here to be willingly sold out to us by the revolution you want to fight for while being tailed by the people you ran away from.”

“Yes, I am aware of the situation,” he answered, tone blunt.

“And you’re fine with that? All this, just selling yourself out?”

“I do not see it that way, that is all.”

Elvera bit her lip and massaged her forehead. “Dying a martyr isn’t going to help anyone, Mr Harbourman.”

“Well,” he started, leaning back. “Even I know to die a martyr, people need to know your name.”

“Is that what you want? For people to know your name?”

“If I did, this certainly wouldn’t be the way for me to do it.”

The door opened, and a suited security guard poked his head through, sticking up two fingers before retreating. Elvera stood up and began to pace.

“Any information you give us will be cross-referenced with our intelligence. Based on that and several other tests, hearings, whatever, your appeal for asylum will either be signed or burned.”

“I’m not saying anything until I’m guaranteed—”

“Then I’m not guaranteeing you asylum. See, please understand, Mr Harbourman,” Elvera said, sitting beside him. “You don’t have leverage here. Whether you give it or not, this information makes you worth more as an asset or a political bargaining tool. Do you understand that?”

Alis nodded, albeit not in a manner that reassured her.

“I have orders from the Crown herself to find out what you know. That does not involve helping you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” he stated. Elvera nodded.

“Then tell me—it can be brief—what you gain from doing this?”

“What do you stand from being in your position, Lieutenant-General?”

“What do I get?” Elvera repeated. “I get paid, I get power.”

“And yet we both know that that isn’t why you do what you do. We’re similar in that regard.”

She eyed him, neither of their gazes wavering. Perhaps Evalyn was right, perhaps it was just another case of misguided brashness. Yet his eyes were stone cold, frighteningly so. It almost felt like looking in a mirror.

“It’s almost time,” she said, breaking the stalemate.

They stood up, Elvera picking up the jewellery tray as they headed for the door. Immediately, Alis was met by two of the security team who took no time manning his flanks. They began their trek down a repeating hallway of guards, doors, fixtures, and carpets. When put together, it all seemed to supplement an illusion of infinity.

Elvera eventually passed the two who had escorted Alis to the building.

“Coming with?” she asked Evalyn.

“Do we have clearance?” she asked, pointing at her and then Iris.

“You’ve had clearance since he showed up at your door. Besides, I’d rather have you on this.”

Shrugging, Evalyn followed, beckoning Iris to tag along. They kept walking until they reached the hallway's terminus, where the officer guarding the door let them pass without pausing.

Passing the threshold, they entered a white space. Vacant, in every sense of the word. The contours of the very building were barely discernible. Several council members had entered already, their importance whittled down to specks of black in the absence of any context.

The council room was yet to be built, but it never took more than a few moments.

A final member entered the white space, holding to his chest a red cushion. The Beak was slender, their boxy suit concealing an undoubtedly gangling frame.

“The Royal Curator has entered; this meeting will begin shortly,” he announced.

The Royal Curator rose its head from the red cushion. A Spacehopper dragon the size of a hand, with a serpentine body and golden scales, stood on four stout feet and reared its head.

With its silent, dazzling command, the seat of the Geverdian Council sprang into being.

Pillars sprouted from the floor, outlining an oval and enclosing it with fine polished oak and walnut. The new walls bridged the gap above, sealing the council completely in the new space.

Orbs of orange light sparked across the room, recreating Excala’s night sky. In the light, horseshoe seating took form. It assembled itself piece-by-piece, giving the chamber meaning; a well-defined amphitheatre. Each seat swept every member off their feet as they rose, conjoining with the stands and ordering the crowd into their elected places.

In nothing more than a few moments the hearing was ready to begin.

“This meeting is now in session. As requested by the Crown, a vote will be cast by the end of the session, its sway equalling that of the Queen’s decree. The subject of this hearing goes by the name Alis Harbourman, claiming to be a defector of the Vesmos Empire.”

The Speaker announced from the horseshoe bend’s centre, the Royal Curator by their side. Evalyn patted Elvera’s shoulder before ushering Iris off the floor. Not a moment too soon, Alis began his appeal.

“Members of the Geverdian Council, as my introduction has already stated, I am a defector of the Vesmos Empire. As recommended by rebel forces in the country, I have travelled to Geverde to disclose sensitive information pertaining to the Empire. In exchange, I request political asylum and rights appropriate to my situation.”

“Any questions,” the Speaker announced. A member at the far back stood to speak.

“What was the reason for your defection?” they said through their voice box.

“I grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country’s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program. I was told to come here after escaping my barracks and meeting with a ULEF recruiter.”

Another stood, raising their voice. “What is the Experimental Weapons and Training Program?”

“I cannot answer that at this time.”

Punk.

The council member sat down once more, and another took their place.

“How did you grow disillusioned with the Vesmos method of governance?”

“I thought for myself, sir, a surprisingly rare skill amongst the Vesmos military. Media outlets are tightly controlled, thus word of protest does not make it past local jurisdictions. After catching wind through word of mouth, I wished to see the country through my own eyes. Particularly the perspectives of the green and grey tier citizens, of which I am one.”

“What information can you offer us?”

“I can name the names of roughly forty-seven officers involved in the program, sixteen members of my unit, a broad understanding of the technologies being utilised amongst its armed forces, rumours of upcoming operations amongst other things.”

The assembly began to murmur. The specificity of much of the information almost made it sound like a bluff. Yet, when considering the situation and Elvera’s estimate of his intelligence, it was easy to believe. Another council member stood.

“What does ULEF stand to gain from this act of goodwill? This question is directed towards the Lieutenant-General.”

Elver stepped forward, raising her voice.

“The United Liberation of the Eastern Front has already gained this information from Mr Harbourman. However, they refused to be left with a risky Vesmos military asset still wanted by his previous employers. By sending him to us, they can feign ignorance of him while stoking the flame of war between our Kingdom and their Empire.”

She looked toward Alis, who maintained a reactionless face.

“If Geverde, and by extension Sidos are pulled into a conflict with the Empire, the rebellion will have an opportunity to seize power.”

The assembly again descended into chattering. This time, less hushed. Anxiety was mounting at the mention of war. The same council member spoke again, their mechanical voice faltering once or twice.

“And in your assessment, Lieutenant-General, what does Geverde stand to lose if this boy is given political asylum?”

“It’s hard to say, honourable member. Yet, considering that Vesmos is already aware that Mr Harbourman is in Excala, feigning ignorance as ULEF did is no longer an option. Either he is given political asylum which lets us gain what we can, or we hand him back to his captors.”

She stepped forward, past Alis and his security detail, and faced the council head-on.

“We incur their wrath knowing we are prepared, or we push the countdown to war a few minutes backwards.”

The chatter finally degraded into disorder as members argued with one another. Neither the speaker’s voice nor the strike of his gavel succeeded in quelling the discourse. Elvera stood in the middle of it all, watching the regular display of indecisiveness bureaucracy was so infamous for.

“So, our option is to feign ignorance or fight?”

The Queen’s voice, silent in the room yet booming in their skulls, obliterated the madness and left in its wake unadulterated silence. Elvera looked upward to where murals of a Medieval Excala had looked down upon the congressional only moments prior. Now a tear in reality had formed, much like the planetarium the night before.

“Yes, Your Highness. Fighting may not come for years, if at all. However—”

“I understand…Sundays be damned…Lieutenant-General?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“I’m assuming Vesmos has infiltrated our levels of governance to a certain degree already, yes?”

“An exact number is indeterminable, let alone whichever faction they may be working for. Even so, acting without precaution would be unwise. The chances of a mole being in this very room is not even zero.”

“And what can you say our intelligence network looks like?”

Elvera glanced around the room, trying her hardest to get a fleeting glance at the members shrouded in shadow. She knew all too well it was impossible.

Was one of them Wesper’s? Perhaps one worked for Vesmos?

“Expansive, although informants have been dropping off the radar recently. The same can be said about Sidos. Yet, as I said, there is no way to be sure if you’re asking for a direct comparison.”

“Such is the nature of an information war,” the Queen concluded, falling silent. Elvera looked around the room to all the members deciding on the matter.

“This is still a preliminary judgment. No matters will be set in stone before a full assessment can be conducted. Yet, as your Queen, I require a decision to begin or disregard the process entirely. A simple yay or nay will suffice.”

The Speaker stood from his seat, raising the red cushion with him. The Royal Curator stood once more, wobbling to its feet as though exhausted.

“A roll will now be called. All in favour, make it known to your Queen and country.”

The floating orbs, which until then had speckled the room with uneven light, whizzed around the chamber into a uniform pattern. Every member of the arrangement had assigned to them a lamp.

And in unison, of the two hundred and fifty-six appointed members, the lights of only one hundred and four dimmed in protest.