Reminder,

  All Holdings of Note[1] must send an official representative to every annual convention of Holders. Repeated absences will be seen as a violation of Sovereign responsibility.

  The convention will, as usual, begin with the announcement of Holding achievements within the last year before socialization and pleasantries.

  [1] Those Holdings led by Sovereigns who have passed the wall, Holdings maintaining significant territory or Affiliations numbering over a thousand. All Holdings previously deemed 'of Note' by the organizing body.

  ~ * ~

  Prince Mahk sighed as he considered the information arrayed in front of him. By all public accounts he should be overjoyed. He was the Prince, the Heir to Family Velli should his ancestors ever relinquish their titles. The newest policies, the effort to ensure all Awakened who owned any of their success to the family displayed their allegiance, was a resounding success beyond his dreams.

  His embarrassment of a nephew? Dealt with. His sister's growing independence? That had been an unfortunate situation. He'd had to change plans, move forward with actions that were meant for decades from now, take the spotlight when he was not fully prepared.

  Public opinion was more positive than ever and all his previous concerns about their projections had manage to reverse themselves. Why then did he continue to stare at the reports about a pesky, insignificant, ultimately valuable Seed in the far reaches of Awakened Humanity? Clyde was the one they had bested, the boy had played his hand and failed.

  He knew why, he loathed admitting it but he knew exactly what kept him focused on that speck, on those children who might as well be nothings. OverSeer Valene had challenged him, had stood up for them. Senior Engineer Yshe, that meddling Architect who he'd thought long forgotten, had re-surfaced. He'd sent agents, he'd had them dig, had them pry, had them make unwise purchases simply to leverage the situation, only to time and time again see no results.

  What good was being able to shift opinions across the WidePond if a single Holding could keep secrets from him. That an unknown Seer, no matter how much of a prodigy, could constantly elude surveillance and leave only crumbs behind?

  He could break them all, destroy them, bury them in an instant, if he was willing to risk being sanctioned and reprimanded. He could throw everything away over a few brats, invite investigation into HIS Family, prove he had the power to make them suffer. He'd never have their Seed, never further Family Velli, but he would win. He would-

  No. They were not worth the suffering it would cause. Their destruction would serve nothing. Overt efforts would indicate interest, would let the others know Velli cared. More eyes meant more risk, more risk meant a greater likelihood that someone else find a way to hook the Seed for themselves. The fact that no one seemed to know about 'Holding Syl' after over a year astounded him. Did no one else dedicate time and resources to watching for fresh Cores and Seeds? To determine if they were ripe for the plucking?

  The Seer was isolated and absent. Bring her into the light, have her show her colours. She had no public allegiances, she had no Holding to back her, make it obvious. The Seer's Council remained independent, he couldn't have her removed directly, but he could leave her fully shunned and left without new assignments. Socially it would do nothing, few would even know where to look to see such a change, but her social presence was non-existent. Professionally it could lead to a disaster, force Valene to actively intervene and expose himself to risk.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The Holding was trickier. Velli had purchased the Depths Administration corporation they had used, only for them to find their own Staging Point and bypass the challenge entirely. They were left without income, but they seemed indifferent, content to move forward with their own progress and ignore how they would be left behind by those who invested in the future.

  For now all his agents would be able to do is watch, watch and wait for flaws to be exposed. Catch them in weakness and turn it to his advantage. To be left without solution was bitter, to allow them to contend against his plans an outrage. But time, time was something he had. They were not yet past the wall, they might never cross. And then he would have all the time he needed to claim what was his by right.

  ~ * ~

  Clyde scrambled to his feet as the slime slid towards him. He'd thought he'd been done when he crushed the last one under a rock, he'd believed himself done for the day. One cavern, one set of creatures, one chance of survival. That was the rule.

  He wasn't a Combat Pather, he didn't fight. He wasn't supposed to fight. He wasn't supposed to have to get his hands dirty. What good was it to learn how to beguile, to enchant, to control? What good was it to be able to infuse your words with Energy so they heard what you wanted them to hear, when the creatures were too dumb to react.

  "Stop," he said, his voice hoarse from all the previous attempts.

  "Stop Die," he tried again as he looked around.

  The slime kept coming, uncaring of his words. Grabbing the same rock he nearly gagged at the slime that it left on his hands. The slime came closer and he slammed the rock down, the splatter bringing him no joy.

  Nothing brought him joy. Not the defeat of the creatures, not the slow progress he was making. His clothes were barely rags, his hair a nest of tangles. He hadn't had a proper meal since he was banished months ago, hadn't had a hint of luxury since the night the guards took his tent.

  He'd yelled, screamed, threatened. He'd refused to believe they would turn on him, he was a Velli. How dare they treat him like one of the Velli trophies? He was a Count, a Scion, a future Heir.

  With the last of the slimes defeated his tormentors returned. They'd been watching, likely hoping he died. They never helped, never saved him from pain. Water poured down onto him, his daily cleaning, their solution to the mess that the creatures brought.

  "Well done your Lordship, you only screamed once today," the first said. "3 slimes of your own level, how talented you are."

  "Take me home," he commanded despite knowing it would do no good.

  "None of that," warned the second. "One warning. Try again and you'll go without food."

  Frowning he shut his mouth and lowered his head. Arguing would do nothing but leave him hungry. Instead he let them clean him before his rations dropped to the ground in front of him, paste from a food creator.

  It was all her fault. She'd resisted, broken free of his words. She had laid hands on him, assaulted him. She had humiliated him, treated him like he was a common thug. If she'd done as she was supposed to he would be next in line for a Dukedom. He would have a Seed to his name, a reputation for success.

  He would be eating off silver, servants at his beck and call. He would be able to meditate in comfort, progress the way the true elites did, effortlessly. Instead he shivered on the floor in caverns, hid from Depth born creatures and scrambled desperately to be allowed to meditate in a tent so small he could barely sit up.

  She would pay, she would regret the day she refused the honor he offered. He swore he would get even with her. He would grow, he would learn, he would escape this torment and return home. His Uncle would acknowledge his efforts, admit that he still had a place in the family.

  He would advance, he would survive. He was Clyde Velli and he would not let an upstart from nowhere survive shaming him.

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