Episode 9: Unsettled Dome

  Chapter 027 - Who Decides

  In Armiton chambers, blackstone walls etched with luminous glyphs, each one pulsing faintly like a distant heartbeat. Firelight danced across the veins of obsidian in the floor, reflecting off breastplates and polished swords that leaned against chairs. Silence hovered over the chamber of elites. The men sat on seats with eyes glued to the obsidian table, appearing more than just exhausted. Walls glimmered with layered runes that blinked every few seconds to signify new system alerts from the provinces.

  Duxe lounged on the edge of his chair, one boot perched on the armrest beside him. His head was shot all the way back, and his glowing sword was balanced on the tip of his nose.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” he said, voice denasaled, sounding almost nerdy. “One child sneezes, and suddenly the kingdom catches a fever. What a good line. Good job, me. I’ll save that for later. Anyways, at least we got that settled quickly.”

  A few heads turned. “Yeah, with setbacks as per usual,” one sighed, wiping his shiny forehead with a cloth. “We had no clue what we were doing. That is pure shame, as Elites.”

  The glow from the wall runes sharpened the angles in Duxe’s face—noble and fox-eyed, yet casual as always. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. The sword swayed back and forth, the blade flattening the nose down.

  “Order is forgettable, but justice lasts,” said a voice on the upper deck designated for one person. Donnor sat straight, posture stiff, hand resting near a ring of rune-stamped tokens. Behind his noble gold chair was a broad map, a carved relief of four nations with RathNah absent. “We are just worn from inactivity. It’s a rumor, nonetheless. And we’ve survived worse. Don’t let a rumor become the basis of proving it otherwise. Rather, settle with the gossipers with what they started.”

  A few murmurs agreed. Others didn’t.

  Duxe shrugged. “You know, rumor or not, it’s still spreading. A boy lifting a boulder? You’d hear these stories from survivors of the wilderness. I’d think it is a simple lifestyle, but to be fair, I’m not taking chances. Those who live in kingdoms are better off than those in the wilderness. Although we do hear anomalies like this occasionally. If anything, sounds like someone didn’t learn restraint. And in the end, we hear those stories of early deaths. Crazy how that works.”

  “I don’t think the slaves care if it’s real or not,” someone else added. “They only need the story, and that leads to an uproar. Like these couple of days…”

  “And they already have it,” Duxe replied. “That’s the problem.”

  He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, the weapon sliding off his nose and right onto his arm’s embrace. After setting it against the table’s edge, he rubbed his nose. A massive red spot appeared. Some sniffles here and there. He said while clearing his nasal passages, “You know how quickly these things grow. Wanna bet tomorrow the rumor is about a child arm wrestling a bull?”

  Donnor didn’t smile. “The last time something like this happened, cities burned. A whole generation was wiped out.”

  “And the last time we ignored it,” Duxe added, “we spent years rebuilding Armiton’s lower districts. Let’s not pretend that didn’t happen. Disgusting. Cleaning all those dead bodies in Bareground was abominable.”

  Donnor exhaled slowly. “We have bigger concerns. Marshal Thallion is still absent. I cannot send the best into some rumor chase. Not while the slave districts are still restive.”

  “That’s precisely why we should,” Duxe said, standing now. “You’re worried about rebellion. So am I. Actually, it’s better to say… So are we! And nothing fuels rebellion like some child who’s more capable than most of our recruits, and they’re starting to have facial hair.”

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  A few nodded.

  “Kill the story fast,” Duxe continued, “and we buy ourselves calm. Send a scout or maybe a squad. Just enough to track and explain it away. Besides, going out to the wilderness and returning alone will silence many. Action is loud, and you know that.”

  “Action on what?” said one of the younger tacticians. “We don’t know who this child is. Or where they are. Or if it’s anything at all. We are purely guessing on rumors. We’ve seen this happen, and nothing happened to us. And by the time we leave, slaves will turn against the vulnerable government. Other branches of the military cannot contain it by themselves without us.”

  Duxe clicked his tongue. “Punks of slaves. They are quite strong… No wonder we can’t leave to do our own things. Or maybe the Armiton is weaker. No? The kings are quite strong. Maybe it’s because Luminar is gone that we…”

  As Duxe rambled in a mumbling volume, the rest of the room continued speaking. The runes behind Donnor pulsed once. Blue light crackled briefly before settling. At last, another voice entered. He was slow and deliberate.

  “If there is a child,” he said, “he’s not just a rumor.”

  The voice didn’t echo, though it might as well have. Across the room, Xollor leaned against a table with an upright posture, arms crossed. He hadn’t spoken for much of the meeting. But with lowered yet guarded eyes, he introduced himself after a long silence.

  “If he exists,” he said again, “then he’s a point of interest. He is not a threat, but he deserves attention.”

  All eyes turned to the man except Duxe—still speaking to himself. Donnor eyed him. “And you believe that?”

  “I believe we need facts,” Xollor said.

  Duxe turned now, gaze sliding toward Xollor with something almost playful in it. “Look at you. All tough and tidy.”

  Xollor said nothing.

  “Alright, buddy. Let’s follow your reasoning,” Duxe said. “Let’s assume he exists. What then? What do we do with him?”

  “We verify if his capability is true with the rumors,” Xollor replied, “it will be a quiet search. If it is true, we remove him. If he is a runaway slave, same thing. If he is something else…” He let the sentence drift.

  “And who decides that?” Donnor asked, voice quieter with a weary challenge to his stance.

  There was silence. No one spoke; some eyes averted. Xollor narrowed his eyes at the elevated man, but he quickly looked elsewhere. His stance was momentarily weak. He pressed his lips together, almost suppressing something inside him. The question hung in the chamber. More precisely, it served as a reminder of who they follow.

  “Exactly, and this goes for all of you too,” Donnor said, looking at all of them, particularly Duxe. He whistled his gaze away, knowing Donnor was staring at him. “Follow what we have been commanded. That was what had been tasked from the beginning by our sovereign, Luminar.”

  Xollor said nothing.

  The tension hadn’t left his shoulders. His jaw flexed once before he stepped away from the table. He moved slowly at first, then more deliberately, boots quiet against the obsidian floor. His back remained straight, but his pace felt compressed.

  The door hissed open. He didn’t look at anyone as he passed beneath the rune-lit archway.

  The others watched him go. No one moved. A few glanced toward Donnor, who said nothing. He only shifted slightly in his chair, eyes tracking the empty air where Xollor had stood. The flicker in the man’s stance hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor the silence that lingered.

  “Cute to see a brother defending his sis,” Duxe muttered, pushing up from his seat and catching his sword by the belt. He adjusted the strap with a short grunt. “Alright, we talked too much. How about we go and do some sparring? Anyone?”

  A few chuckled. The moment cracked open for small talk.

  As some of the elites stood to follow Duxe down the corridor, Donnor stayed seated. He turned toward the tall window, gaze slipping past the rim of runelight to the horizon beyond. Far off, the stone walls of RrodKa made a jagged line of shadow against the pale sky. Tiny figures—soldiers, workers, vendors—moved like ants between posts and pillars.

  But Donnor’s gaze drifted back, settling again on the space where Xollor had stood. His fingers tapped once against the table’s edge. They stilled a second later. A long breath slipped from his nose. He was distracted by the elites leaving one by one. Even words of departure flew by his head. There was some air of concern around Xollor, though not quite, but close.