AlterOne
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The Veldt had been given quarters in unused military barracks, while their leader was allowed the run of a small manor house in one of the wealthier districts of the city. Orojin sat with his legs crossed, in a large room, windowless and silent. The only light came from a single flame levitating in front of the black cloaked man who sat across from Orojin. The flame did not flicker; it remained frozen in place casting an unwavering illumination upon the face of its conjurer.
Orojin sat in silence before whom he had been called the hour prior. The Dev’adon was not one to be rushed to speak. When he did Orojin listened attentively. Having been sired from the loins of Deva himself, he carried the living will of the gods within his veins. A demigod in his own right, his name attested to his
“What news from Adreark?”
The Dev’adon had ended his meditation. He looked upon Orojin, awaiting his answer. Orojin’s thoughts turned to the dishevel in his home country, the split in ideals and growing corruption within government. To a lesser extent, it mimicked the current situation in Alterus. Only a day prior, he had received news that an ally in the White Council had met an untimely end at the hands of the Sons of Black, a terrorist group growing considerably in number and whose actions against government have become more common place following the departure of most of the Veldt to Alterus.
“Nothing of note to report Dev’adon,” Orojin said in answer.
Orojin could see the Dev’adon’s lips purse just slightly. “There is always something of note Oro,” the Dev’adon said. “Whether you feel you needn’t tell me out of some sense of bringing inessential news upon your lord, I do not know or care. But our encounters would run smoother if I didn’t have to prod your mind for information that you’d have done better to simply tell me of in the first place.”
Orojin lowered his head. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “The state of Adreark is as you have no doubt envisioned.”
“My visions are of the future,” the Dev’adon stated. “The present is but an entity in the dark. Able to be touched. To be felt. It’s voice a distant echo, unable to be clearly understood, but heard all the same.”
The Dev’adon’s gaze locked upon Orojin, his eyes still, his body unmoving. Orojin could feel his master’s mind brush against his own. And as if someone had grasped the handle of a door, only to detach themselves from it the next moment, the lord’s presence was gone from his mind.
“With just a glance into your mind, I’ve seen all I needed to see,” he said. “You are uneasy, and your thoughts betray your uncertainty at the problems that plague your country. You were hesitant at bringing me unpleasant news, this is understandable. But do you not believe that I should be knowledgeable of any happenings on the home front?”
“My lord, I think it best that your thoughts not be diluted with matters on the other side of the planet,” Orojin answered. “My people have everything under control.”
“Your people,” the Dev’adon said. “Do you mean the White Council?”
Orojin nodded. “Yes.”
“It is my understanding that the White Council is in the midst of a power struggle in your absence,” the Dev’adon stated.
Orojin had not known of this, his surprise at how the Dev’adon had gathered such information evident on his face in the flame’s light. After a raised brow from the Dev’adon he righted himself once more.
“The fact that you did not know this concerns me, as it should you,” the Dev’adon said. “If I am correct, your intel from home is coming from your fellows in the White Council for the most part. Is it not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You’ve spent so much time delving on our plans in Alterus that you’ve neglected your position as leader of Adreark, something that had not escaped the notice of your contemporaries.” The Dev’adon said. “Your…friends in the Council have been feeding you half-truths while you’ve been none the wiser. They themselves have been angling for the past year at gathering enough power and backing to challenge each other. What with your extended leave from the country, the absence of the Dominu from state affairs has left them without a hammer to keep the nails in place.”
“Might I ask, my lord, how you’ve come about such information?”
“You’d do well to look for other avenues of intelligence,” the Dev’adon said. “I find the best information comes from those whose part in the play is that of support to the main cast.”
“And who might these supporting members be?”
“The Council Guard, present at some of the most intimate gatherings of plotting Consuls,” the Dev’adon stated. “The Vicars of the Faith are frequented for their religious consultation, each Consul believing they more blessed by Deva than the next, Clans that have been approached for support. They all bring word to their lord beyond the sea.”
“What, pray tell, led you to the decision to keep such information from me?” Orojin asked, the annoyance in his voice hard to mask.
“As you said, my current concerns are that of dealings in Alterus,” the Dev’adon answered. “I’d assumed, wrongly mind you, that you’d have made connections to the proper channels in your own country. As for my own interest, it is as it should be for my position.”
“And such an interest it is, my lord,” remarked Orojin. “Moreso than you seem to show in our current mission.”
The Dev’adon’s piercing gaze sent a slight chill down the spine of Orojin.
“My interest is in the wellbeing and morale of the people,” the Dev’adon stated. “As should yours.”
“The people are doing fine,” Orojin said. “They still remain in support of our mission here and await the time when they too may play their part.”
“Is this more of what the Consuls have been feeding you?” the Dev’adon asked. “The people are the victims of the growing corruption in your government and in these troubles times, they have a hard time grasping why the man who swore to protect them from the type of disorder that was ever present in the reign of the last Dominu, is off gallivanting in foreign lands while his country needs him.”
Orojin said nothing. He remained tight lipped, his eyes diverted from his lord, unable to meet those of the Dev’adon. He’d made promises. He’d made many promises. To the people. To himself. When this was all done, he planned to keep those promises. When this was all done.
“Leave me,” the Dev’adon said. “You’ve work to be done.”
Orojin arose from his position as he pulled the hood over his bald head. With a final bow to the Dev’adon, he exited the room, and stepped out into the midday air, the light beaming onto his dark purple cloak.
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Funerals were always a somber occasion. The large church was lit ceremoniously with rows of candles lining the walls, casting shadows against the old stone as their flames swayed gently. The faces of those in attendance were fellow teammates from the ACFC, family members from the paternal House of Adregi, and the maternal House of Kost, as well as friends the dead man had met throughout his life.
And there, the man of the hour lay cold and lifeless in his casket. Adorned in flowers atop the traditional burial vestments, Ulrich’s body lay on a raised platform for all to see. Looking down at him from the podium was his brother; his speech paused as he took a moment to gaze down upon his kin.
“Ulrich was a good man, and a great brother,” Akko said, continuing his speech. “I can’t…I can’t put into words how much I’m going to miss—”
The doors burst open, cutting short Akko’s words. Those in attendance turned as a squad of five soldiers, dressed in ceremonial black military attire marched into the room. Their black service coats strapped to them at the torso by a gray leather wide belt, their loose thigh riding breeches were pressed, a thin white double stripe running down the sides, meeting the top of the men’s black knee high boots, the shine of which caught the light as they came. The fifth soldier into the room stepped out from the rest.
“Attention on deck!” he ordered. “Third Admiral entering!”
Both House Adregi and House Kost were of the military aristocracy, which allowed little surprise when a great number of them immediately rose up to attention as the one of the most renowned Admirals in the nation stepped into the room. His uniform in similar fashion to that of his men, save for an array of medals upon his chest. In his hand he held a black peaked cap, and on its front attesting to his position, was a silver eagle, wings outstretched, with three silver stars formed in a downward triangle, as a pair of arched olive branches adorned the sides around the eagle.
An imposing figure, the Admiral’s stern manner quieted the room as he looked out upon those seated with steel blue eyes resting above his high cheekbones. He gave a small gesture with his hand, permitting those standing to their seats. The soldiers remained at the entrance as the Third Admiral walked down the aisle. All eyes were on him as he reached the casket; he stretched out his hand, reaching out to touch the face of Ulrich. As he brought his hand forward, another reached out, grabbing the Third Admiral by the wrist.
The Third Admiral looked up to meet a face much like his own. Akko’s firm expression was resolute as anger shown itself in his eyes. He pushed the Third Admiral’s hand away, releasing his grip.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Akko asked, his displeasure seeping through his voice.
“What does it look like boy?” the Third Admiral asked. “I’m here to pay respects to my son.”
“Since when did you care about anyone other than yourself,” Akko replied, and pointed to the troops in the back. “It’s evident by that little stunt there that you are still the same arrogant old piece of shit you’ve always been.”
The audience looked on as the scene played out before them. It is at this time that Malk nudged Zephyr and leaned in to speak. “Join me in being overly interested in this obituary until this scene becomes less awkward.”
“You know the rules well enough,” the Third Admiral said. “It’s proper for a Leading Admiral to be introduced upon entering a ceremony.”
“I also know that you could have ordered them to not do it,” Akko stated.
The Third Admiral looked to those gathered, and lowered his voice in his next words. “Why are you being so difficult?”
Akko replied, with all the malice he could muster, “Because I wish you were in that casket instead of my brother.”
The sound of the blow resonated against the stone walls. Akko stumbled sideways from the force of the shot, grabbing the side of the casket to catch himself, his left cheek red from his father’s sting. Pietro began to rise from his seat until he was pulled roughly back to his seat by Malk, who followed this with a hissing whisper.
“This is family business. Something you sure as hell shouldn’t get into,” he said.
The Third Admiral waved off his troops, keeping them at bay as Akko tightened his fists against his father. Before either could make another move, a deep voice spoke up from the crowd.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” said an old man as he stepped forward on his cane. He went up to the Third Admiral, “As Head of House Adregi you disrespect us all by disrespecting your own son, and tarnishing the memory of the other.”
Akko gave a glancing look to the casket of his brother at this statement.
“You’ve compromised the sanctity of this gathering,” the old man said. “If you’ll excuse your men and sit down for the rest of this funeral we can move on from this, if not then I’ll have to ask you to pay your respects and leave, Admiral.”
He chose the latter, stepping past the old man with the mumbled words of having a schedule to keep. Without another word to either of them, the Third Admiral briskly walked from the room, his men in tow. As if taking the cue, the other guests rose and began to pay their respects to the body.
“Thank you Uncle Eiit,” Akko said to the old man.
“People like my nephew are the reason I retired as a Commodore,” Eiit Adregi said. “Making it to Admiral just wasn’t worth the trouble.”
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Juri sat behind his desk and looked across the room at the two other occupants of the office. The red headed woman, Nandia, leaned against the wall, her arms folded, wrapped around a trench coat. Standing beside her was her friend and recently appointed partner, Tadeon, who occupied himself by cleaning his rounded wire rimmed glasses.
They had been waiting for some time for the arrival of the final participant in the day’s meeting. Unable to focus on the work that lay before him, Juri took to placing his hands, clasped, upon his face as he closed his eyes for a moment’s rest.
This respite did not last, as the door burst open and the son of the Kontikoff entered the room. His tailored suit was ruffled, the white shirt unbloused, lengthy hair uncombed, he didn’t look his best as his ran a hand across the five o’clock shadow of a beard. Juri signed, but rose all the same to greet the Koff-in-waiting.
“Good of you to finally join us Merik,” Juri said. “A tad late, but still.”
“The night’s escapades got the better of me,” Merik replied. He took notice of the other two occupants of the office. “What calls for this meeting?”
“I take it you haven’t checked your mail today,” Juri said.
Merik gave him a questioning look, “What of it?”
“If you had bothered to check your mail, you would have seen the letter informing you of the details of this meeting.”
Merik shrugged, “I didn’t, but I’m here now so let’s get on with it.” He gestured to his attire, “As you can see I’m in need of a shower.”
“Quite,” Juri nodded. “Now on to the matter, your father has let me know that the meeting with Akko Adregi is set for tomorrow here at his holding in Alter City.”
“Alright,” Merik said. “So does this mean my father will be making an appearance or is he again delegating such meetings to me?”
“Expect to see the Koff,” Juri answered. “He will be taking a more visible role in Syndicate affairs than he has shown in some time.”
Merik laughed, “So my father is finally coming out of that flying heap of metal.”
“And where, Chief Consult Tusen, do we come into this?” Nandia asked, gesturing to herself and Tadeon.
“Ah, your part in this is similar to that of last time,” Juri stated. “You’ll be passing word to Akko and bringing him here.”
“If our intel is correct, the police will have eyes on this guy and we’ll be setting ourselves up if he turns out to be their in-man,” Merik said.
Tadeon stepped forward, “I agree with this, and I’ve got to ask why are we putting so much into this one guy?”
Merik looked the man up and down, a frown upon his face. “Take a step back from me you.”
Tadeon did as he was told, and waited for an answer from either man.
“That information,” Juri said, “is not something you are required to know. Yours and every other Aduri’s job, is to treat him as any other once he is brought into the fold.”
Merik faced Tadeon, “And try not to screw things up this time.”
“Dismissed,” Juri said.
Tadeon and Nandia head for the door, with Nandia going over and clasping Merik’s hand gently as she passed, leaving he and Juri in the room. Merik folded his arms and moved closer to Juri’s desk.
“You’ve been of service to my House for years,” Merik said, “and not once have I heard you give your true opinion on a matter.”
Juri returned his gaze with a humored expression, leaning back in his chair as he did.
Merik continued, “So I’m asking you to give it now. Being skeptical myself, do you believe in my father’s plan?”
Juri sat back upright in the chair, and seemed to contemplate the statement for a moment before finally speaking once more. “No, I do not believe in your father’s plan.”
Merik’s brow raised, an answer he didn’t fully expect had come from Juri’s mouth, which now had turned into a half smile.
“I believe in Dirzo Lambert.”
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