The Ol' Switcheroo

by CloverCloverClover

What if Amalthus had awakened Mythra instead of Malos 500 years ago, so best girl (Nia) and best bro (Malos) got more screentime? Among a bunch of other things? Let's find out. (TITLE DOES NOT REFLECT THE TONE OF THIS FIC) ACT 5 FINALLY FINISHED! AVOID COMMENTS ABOUT CHAPTER 25 UNTIL YOU HAVE READ IT IF YOU WANT TO AVOID MAJOR SPOILERS!

18. Chapter 18

36.

It wasn't much later that the sounds of distant gunfire began to die down. Soon after, Sylvie was able to begin picking up reports from the civilian radio outside the palace.

"An Urayan attack on the capital-"

"Rumored that traitorous elements within the government helped Urayans launch a terrorist strike on the palace-"

"Emperor unaccounted for, many officials missing and confirmed killed-"

The airwaves were dominated by broadcasters speaking in hushed, panicked tones. Rex remembered how unthinkable it had seemed to so many Ardainians that they might actually face an attack in their capital. Ironically, they had been right. The attack came from within. But it seemed whoever was feeding information to the radio stations was doing well to ensure that a particular story got out first.

"We have an announcement, from Supreme Commander Nelson, of the War Council," one authoritative-sounding broadcaster intoned. Sylvie stopped switching the radio stations for a moment, as a grim, raspy voice filled the room.

"Yes. I am a military man, no Senator or politician. So I will keep this brief and to the point." The commander paused, drawing in a long breath before continuing on. "Citizens of Alba Cavanich, and of Mor Ardain. I can confirm that tonight there was an attack on the palace by Urayan forces. They were equipped with small arms, and a limited amount of light artillery. The attack has been driven off, and the palace guard has re-established control. I must advise citizens of the capital to stay away from the palace. Not only is it unknown if all enemy forces are encountered for, but security is on high alert. Remain within your homes, and do not approach the palace. Palace guard has been given the order to shoot intruders on sight. It is not thought that Urayan forces struck outside the palace. If you see any, remain calm, stay within your residence, and make attempts to contact the civilian defense by radio. We believe that most of the attacking force is dead. I will be giving updates on the security situation as it evolves and as soon as more information is available.

It is currently unknown how they were able to make their way onto palace grounds. I will not speculate here, only to say that it is confirmed that no Urayan ships were spotted by the Homeland Defense Armada. I ask you to refrain from speculation or the spread of wild rumors. Stations that engage in baseless fearmongering will be shut down on order of the War Council. The most important thing right now is to keep our discipline, and evaluate the situation once we have more information.

Many lives were lost today. If you have family in the palace, I understand your concern, but please, as mentioned before, do not approach the palace. Do not add to the tragedy by foolishly interfering with security. We will be coming out with a list of the casualties as soon as possible. I will confirm that, yes, the Emperor is currently unaccounted for. Control has only been re-established mere minutes ago. As soon as we know of his status, we will make an announcement. Hail Mor Ardain."

Morag strode over, flicking a switch, shutting the radio off. She smiled bitterly, shaking her head. "A good actor. You might even believe he cared. Nelson is a Brionac man, through and through. If anyone knew about this, he did."

"So, wait," Zeke said, scratching his chin in consideration. "If you and Niall had both bought it, would he be the one taking over?"

Niall shook his head, sighing softly to himself. "No. If Morag and I were to die, imperial sovereignty would be passed over to the War Council as a whole. No one person would assume the throne. It was...intended as a safeguard against encouraging ambitious nobility, back in the day. I suppose we never fully accounted for the possibility that the ambitious might be just fine with a junta."

"Well, we have to get the word out!" Rex said, stamping his foot. "We have to let people know the truth about what happened!" Sylvie looked up at him, giving him an odd look, dark circles beneath her eyes.

"It's not so simple, Rex," Niall murmured.

Before Rex could answer, the door to the throne room opened quietly. Beyond it stood a man in a Brionac uniform, quite a high-ranking officer from the looks of all the regalia pinned to his chest. His face was gaunt, hard, icy eyes sunk into his skull, jet-black hair peaking out from beneath his cap. The silver skull on his cap looked as if it was laughing. Behind him stood more officers, at least a dozen of them, all peering into the throne room. His eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in the bodies, and widened slightly upon seeing Niall. But no more than that. "Your majesty," he said, smoothly, sliding into the throne room, the other officers filing in behind him. "I'm glad to see you've survived the attack." He glanced back meaningfully at the men around him, who slipped past him to begin dragging the bodies out of the throne room. Turning back again, he gestured around at Rex and the party surrounding him. "I assume your friends here helped you repel the invaders. Mor Ardain owes you all a debt of gratitude."

"Commander Maclair," Niall replied, drawing himself up to his full height. The officer eyed the ragged holes in his imperial regalia with interest. "Are the...enemy forces all defeated? Can we expect any more...bloodshed, tonight?"

It was a tense moment as the Brionac officer eyed him intensely. He glanced around, at Morag, staring at him coldly, her hands slowly going for her blades. There was a long, deadly pause. And then finally, the officer slowly gave a small smirk. "No, I see no reason why there should be," he said, and there was awful confidence in his voice. "Almost all of the...enemy forces are dead. No need to get bloody when we have the remaining ones surrounded. All we await on...is a surrender."

Sylvie stared at him, her eyes filled with malice. Niall merely sighed, a long, defeated sigh. "I see. Well, please inform the population of my safety. I would hate that the people might worry on my account." Pain crossed his face, and he looked away. "What a tragic day for Mor Ardain."

"Tragic indeed. We can talk in the morning." The officer produced a small sheaf of papers from his jacket. "I have here a list of casualties. Please review them before we meet tomorrow, your majesty." He stepped forward, handing the list to Niall. The Emperor's eyes widened to see the length of it. "Will your friends be returning to their suites…?"

"I...think it best they remain here, until we are absolutely certain there's no more bloodshed to be had," Niall replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "We have room in the imperial apartments."

Maclair shrugged. "As you will have it. See you tomorrow, Emperor." With a small gesture, he motioned to the officers behind him, who began filing out of the throne room.

"Commander Maclair," Niall called, as he was about to exit the throne room himself. The Commander turned around, a quizzical eyebrow raised. Niall was going through the list in his hand, and looked up at him, a sad, bitter smile on his face. "Was it worth it…?"

Maclair seemed genuinely shocked by the question. For a moment, his expression became distant, haunted. Morag imagined she could, for a moment, see the young soldier Maclair must once have been. The man he must have been before the Clockwork Demon reached down and turned him into the bloody instrument of history he was now. It was brief, only a moment, before his face hardened again. "All that I do," he replied quietly, "I do for Mor Ardain."

And with that, he exited the throne room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he did, the papers slipped from Niall's shaking hands, falling to the floor, and, trembling, he staggered. Zeke rushed forward to catch him before he collapsed, Morag only a step behind him.

"He needs his rest," Nia yelled, moving forward. "His body needs time to catch up with the healing! Someone get him some food."

Zeke gently laid Niall into a chair that Brighid dragged over, and the young Emperor slumped against the desk. "So much death," he muttered to himself, his face in his hands. "So much death."

Sylvie had slowly, quietly gathered the sheaf of papers he dropped, and was cautiously paging through them, her eyes growing wider and wider. "But...oh Architect, there are hundreds of names here," she said, voice quavering. "Oh...what...what have they done?" she lowered her hands to her side, tears falling down her face. "They...even killed Brionac Senators. Why…?"

"Well, sure," Malos replied, his voice grim. Sylvie, shaking uncontrollably, looked toward him. "Would be suspicious if no Brionac died in the attack, right? What better way to make the attack seem legitimate than to kill off a few of your own? As long as you kill more of your opponents."

"What are you still doing here, Sylvie?" Morag snapped suddenly. She was kneeling at her brother's side, glaring up at her. "Go join them. Go join your killer friends. Go join your fellow butchers."

Sylvie was suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on her. She wiped her eyes, desperately trying to stop the tears. "Please, Morag," she gasped, finally, unable to stop them. "You have to believe me. I...I never wanted this. Please..." she said, looking around the room, at the cold, suspicious stares boring into her. "This..." She looked with despair, down at the list of names. So many names. So many that she knew. So many she had argued with, but always with a smile in her heart. All gone. Gone forever. Her head swam as the awful magnitude of it all hit her. "I..."

"Morag, please," Niall said, placing a hand on her arm. "I...don't believe Sylvie knew about this. She certainly didn't spend all that time arguing with me because she thought I'd be killed and irrelevant anyway. For all we know, they intended for her name to be on that list as well."

"I don't care if she didn't know," Morag replied, uncharacteristically emotional. She couldn't help it. Seeing her brother die before her eyes, seeing the crimes committed by the Brionac party...she had come to Mor Ardain holding hope in her heart that she could prove Cole wrong. But what was left of Mor Ardain's honor? Where snakes and traitors stalked its halls of power, was there much left worth saving…? She sighed, sadness creeping into her voice. "Oh, Sylvie," she murmured. "Why couldn't you have been better…? It didn't have to be like this."

Morag's words twisted in Sylvie's heart like a knife. Pale, trembling, she placed the papers on the Emperor's desk, backing off. "I'm...so sorry," she whispered.

"But..." Rex said, finally, having watched all this silently. "I...aren't you going to arrest them…?"

Niall sighed as he spread out the papers before him, casting hollow, hurt eyes across the names. "They...were very thorough, Rex. I had precious few who might stand up to Brionac before tonight. They're...all gone. They control the radio stations, they control what the people know. I...don't know what options I have anymore."

"It's not right," Rex continued, despair creeping into his voice. "We...discovered their plans, we stopped the assassination..."

"Yes. But...this has been a long time coming." Niall put his face into his hands again, and Morag's heart twisted to see the sadness on his face. "It's politics. There's not always a happy ending. I don't think there can be a happy ending for Mor Ardain anymore. Maybe there never could be."

37.

That night, they slept in the imperial suites, luxurious apartments located off the side of the throne room. Niall insisted upon it, not certain whether or not they would be safe returning to the diplomatic suites. Though they were large, they didn't have nearly enough beds for everyone. Rex and Malos ended up sleeping on the floor in the living room, while Nia and Dromarch cuddled up on the couch.

Nia awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of Rex tossing and turning, muttering to himself. She yawned, stretching, rolling over to glare at him as he thrashed about in his blankets. "Cor, will you go to sleep?" she snapped at him through the darkness. "It's like a restless puppy is in the room or something."

"Sorry, sorry," Rex muttered back, rolling over to face her. His eyes gleamed in the darkness. "I...haven't been able to sleep all night. Don't think I'll be able to. I can leave if it's bothering you."

Nia looked around the room. The pad that Malos had been resting on was empty. She sighed, pushing the warm, purring Dromarch off of her as she sat up. "What is it?" she asked. Although she thought she already had a pretty good idea of what was bothering Rex.

"It's just..." Rex sat up as well, turning to face her. She could see the consternation on his face as he talked. "The...Brionac, they tried to kill Niall, and they did kill a whole bunch of people. And now they're lying to everyone about what happened...but we know the truth, we should be out there, telling people what actually happened, Niall should arrest them..."

"Arrest them with who?" Nia shook her head sadly. "He can't do it alone. You heard him, they murdered everyone who could have stood up to them. And why would anyone believe us? They'd just say we were lying, and then probably try to have us killed to shut us up."

"He's...the Emperor, isn't he? I'm sure if he talked, people would listen."

"Maybe. Or maybe Brionac would just kill him again if he tried. They control almost everything now, I'm sure it would be a lot easier for them the next go-around. I don't….I don't really know what he can do, Rex. Sometimes...you do everything you possibly can...and the bad guys still win."

Rex was silent for a moment. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm no child. I know not everything gets a happy ending. But….this…." He looked up at her, and the pain in his eyes was like a knife to her heart. "It's...sick. It's so wrong. They murdered hundreds of people who...trusted them, stabbed them in the back...and they're going to kill thousands more, if they can. I...we have Malos on our side, the bloody Aegis, we should be able to do something about it..."

"Like what? Blow up the Ardainian Titan?" Nia asked quietly.

Rex's eyes widened in shock. "What? No. What kind of monster would that make me?"

Nia looked at him, her eyes mysterious in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows. "Why don't you ask Malos? He thought it was worth destroying a Titan to stop something awful, at one point."

"That was different," Rex replied, uncertainly.

"Was it? Pyra...Mythra...was off destroying Titans left and right, yeah? Was that really so different from what Mor Ardain's gonna do? The biggest, bloodiest war the world's ever seen?" Nia winced a bit as she spoke. She knew that Rex admired Malos. It was the reason he was so willing to accept the Aegis power. But she...wanted him to think more about the kind of man Malos might be. It wasn't even that she hated Malos anymore, or even disliked him, really. But the Aegis had a darkness in him that she...she knew Rex would never really approve of. She thought she knew Rex that well. Malos...was bloody-minded enough to be a murderer, if he thought it necessary.

Rex was quiet for a long time. Suddenly, he looked to his side. "Where is Malos?" he wondered. He slowly got to his feet, stretching out, shaking a bit as he pushed to the limit. "I'm gonna go take a look around for him. Let you get some sleep."

Malos looked out through the long hallway of Emperors outside the throne room, out to where the palace opened up to the airdock that served as its rooftop. He flickered through the shadows, barely visible when darkness fell completely across him.

There, framed by the moonlight, a lone figure on the edge of the roof, stood Sylvie, smoking a cigarette. Her shadow stretched across the roof as she looked down from the edge. She didn't turn around as Malos opened the door to the outside.

It was a calm, cool night. It was almost obscene how comfortable it felt, actually. After what happened yesterday, it seemed wrong that Mor Ardain's night could wrap you in gentle arms that made you feel as if all was right in the world.

Sylvie kept her silence, even as Malos came to stand next to her, merely glancing over at him. He crossed his arms, staring down at the ground below.

There, in the palace courtyard, arranged in neat rows, were the bodies of everyone who had died yesterday. They were spaced out from each other, each wrapped in a blanket, each a faceless, mummified monument to the horror. Each one had a small collection of items placed by their feet, presumably to help identify them. There were so many of them, they filled nearly the entire courtyard, stretching on for what seemed like forever.

"Do you believe me?" Sylvie asked quietly. Malos merely looked at her, saying nothing. "Do you believe me, when I say I knew nothing of this? That I would have never done anything like this?"

Malos considered for a moment. "What do you think war is?" he said, finally. "You told me you were willing to conquer the world, even if it made everyone hate you. You'd have caused more death than this."

"That's different," Sylvie replied, her eyes hollow, dark, as she stared down at the courtyard. "That's...death in battle. Even if...everyone who died yesterday, had died in an honest war...but this...cut down by the people they trusted, murdered by the people who were supposed to protect them..."

"Don't you understand?" Malos snapped at her, suddenly. "You told me, you told yourself, you were willing to do what needs to be done. Well, what do you think this is?" He gestured out over the courtyard, over all the bodies. "This is what your friends thought needed to be done." He shook his head. "Maybe you thought...doing what needs to be done made you noble. That it made me noble. But if you're going to believe that you're willing to do whatever it takes, anything, you can't lie to yourself, you can't tell yourself that being ruthless, being bloody, makes you a good person. You need to be honest with yourself. Either you have limits on what you're willing to do...or you're a monster. Maybe you think you're a monster with the right ideas. But you're a monster all the same."

Sylvie closed her eyes, putting a hand to her face again as tears threatened to begin falling once more. "And what about you?" she asked, after a moment. "Are there...limits to what you're willing to do?"

Malos kept his silence, and did not answer.

"Maybe you're right," Sylvie continued, after a moment. "I...would never have done anything like this. No matter what it would have bought me. But like a fool, I ran with wolves who gladly would have. The blood on their hands is on mine as well. I am a monster."

"No. I don't think so."

Sylvie and Malos turned around. There, in the moonlight, stood Rex, looking defiantly up at them. "Whatever you are, lady, I don't think it's a monster. You were willing to risk getting caught just to help us get our friend back. A monster wouldn't do something like that."

"I...appreciate the sentiment, Rex," Sylvie replied, giving a crooked, bitter, despairing smile. "But...there's no use denying what I am." She closed her eyes, her smile growing yet more crooked and broken. "I've walked hand in hand with butchers and led...dozens of my friends and colleagues to their deaths. I...don't deserve any sympathy. What a fool I was. I..." she glanced down at the courtyard. "If there was any justice in this world, I'd be down there with them."

"I don't believe that!" Rex shouted, suddenly furious. Malos raised his eyebrows at the boy's passion. "Maybe you were tricked into go along with them. And maybe you honestly were a bad person. But you obviously regret it! It doesn't have to be like this. Even if everything around you is going rotten, even if you've walked a thousand miles down the wrong path, even if you think you can't ever be forgiven, even if you're right that you can't be, it's never too late to start doing the right thing!"

"That's...not always true, Rex." Malos shook his head, dark shadows concealing his eyes. "Sometimes...it really is too late for some people. Sometimes...there's really only one thing to be done once someone's walked too far down the wrong path."

"I don't believe that," Rex shot back at him, clenching his fists defiantly. He looked back up at Sylvie, eyes beaming with honesty and hope. "If you mean what you say," he continued, "Then I hope that one good thing can come out of all this...bloodiness. I hope you can turn around. I hope that you can start being the good person I think you can be. Mor Ardain needs good people. It clearly needs them."

Sylvie drew a slightly shaking hand up to her mouth, staring at Rex. "Do...you understand what I did? Do you understand what was done yesterday…? Entire families….entire noble lines wiped out because Brionac thought they might get in the way. I helped that happen. I...can't ever be a good person."

Rex was silent for a moment, staring at her with fire in his eyes. "Yes you can," he said simply. "It's never too late."

Malos watched Rex, staring down the Senator. He admired the kid's hope and sense of justice. But sometimes, it really was too late for some people.

Sometimes, it was too late for entire countries.

38.

The party idled about in the throne room the next day, waiting for Niall to return. He had gone off to meet with the War Council, as promised.

Morag paced back and forth nervously, agitation written all over her. She had wanted to go with Niall, but he had insisted that he go to face those butchers alone. "Don't forget," he had murmured, taking her hand, "You told me what Roderich said. They had initially planned on hanging you for treason. I don't think they'd have the gall to try it while I was still alive, but...let me speak to them. Let me come to an understanding with them first."

Morag had still wanted to go. The thought of her brother being in a room alone with those butchers who had tried to kill him had made her sick. Who was to say they wouldn't try again? But Niall had convinced her – they had, after all, announced on the radio that the Emperor had survived the attack. It would look suspicious if they had told everyone that, and then he suddenly died.

Finally, after hours, the throne room doors swung open. Niall stood behind it, a haunted, exhausted look in his eyes. Everyone watched, not speaking, as he silently walked through the room, then collapsed upon the throne, his head in his hands.

Morag came to his side quickly, kneeling down beside him. "How did it go?" she asked quietly.

Niall didn't lift his head from his hands. "Mor Ardain," he said quietly, "Will, this afternoon, announce official plans to invade the Urayan capital."

"No!" Rex cried. All eyes turned toward him as he strode toward the throne. Niall lifted his head to stare at him, wearily, as he approached. "You...you're the Emperor. You have to stop this. You have to let people know the truth, and stop this!"

"And what do you suppose would happen, if I did?" Niall asked quietly. When Rex didn't respond, he continued. "Well. I can tell you. They'd try to kill me, and then the War Council would assume command, and the invasion would happen anyway. Only I wouldn't be in control to reign in their viciousness. Oh...maybe I could escape their assassination attempts. Flee to the desert, and do my best to let people know what actually happened yesterday. And if people listened, it would tear my country apart in civil war."

"So you're just...going to let them have their war?" Rex's head filled with memories of Fonsa Myma. He tried not to imagine it burning, torn apart by bombs, the bodies of its citizens littering the streets.

"An announcement itself is not an invasion," Niall replied. "There are...some ways yet to delay them. And perhaps an official announcement might even make Uraya more willing to come to the negotiating table." Then he looked down at his hands, sighing. "Though...I must be honest with myself. I doubt any concession from Uraya will satisfy what remains of the Senate. I must be honest. I no longer have much hope the invasion can be stopped." He looked up, and the despair on his face broke Morag's heart. "I'm so sorry."

"Happy, Sylvie?" Morag called out across the throne room, her eyes never leaving her brother's face. "Happy? You are getting your damn war."

Sylvie merely stared down at her boots, saying nothing, her face buried in the shadows of her cap.

"I...Architect." Rex drew back, if coming under a sudden realization. "So many people are going to die."

"And I thought my country had some real nutjobs in government," Zeke muttered, glancing around at the bloodstains that still tarnished the polished gold of the throne room. "This…this is sick."

"Emperor," Sylvie said, suddenly looking up, her eyes full of steely determination. "I still have...many contacts, many resources within the Brionac party. Let me use them for you. As far as Brionac knows, I'm still loyal. I can be your spy for you within the party itself. Perhaps...I can dig up something that can...delay...or stop this war."

Niall looked at her, sadly. "A sudden change of heart?"

"I...still think that Mor Ardain is the best hope for the world. And if that means a war is necessary, so be it." Her haunted eyes scanned the throne room, lingering on the bloodstains. "But not under the leadership of these...snakes. I would rather have the wrong peace, under your rule, than the right war, under the command of those...rabid dogs."

"An insult to dogs, frankly," Dromarch muttered.

"I would...appreciate your assistance, Senator," Niall mused. "But...you realize what you are saying, yes? I can assure you….the military leadership of Brionac is done with debate and politics. If they find out you are spying on them, they will kill you."

Sylvie drew herself up, puffing out her chest. "Let them try. I'm the daughter of an old tank commander. My dad taught me how to play rough."

"So be it." Niall's gaze drifted to the rest of the party. "I...am so sorry that you got dragged into Mor Ardain's darkest hour. But it seems the bloodshed is over. You are safe to return to your diplomatic suites, if you wish. If you'd feel more comfortable, I can pay for your lodgings in the city, outside the palace."

"That...might be a good idea," Malos spoke up. He crossed his arms, staring down Sylvie. "After all, like you said, it sure seems like Brionac is done playing around. If Sylvie here figured out I was the Aegis, other people might be suspicious as well. And I don't think they'd be shy about trying to take me."

"I didn't tell anyone about my suspicions," Sylvie said, quietly. "But...you may be right. It might be best for you to leave the palace."

"I will have it arranged for you to stay in the finest inn in Alba Cavanich," Niall murmured. "A fine one, with outdoor hot springs. I believe you know the one I'm talking of, Brighid?"

The blade nodded. "I'll see them safely there, your majesty," she replied.

Morag lingered by her brother's side as Brighid led the party out of the throne room. "Rex, Malos," Niall called, before they could leave. "Might I have a word with you?"

Nia glanced behind her, as she saw Rex linger by the throne room door, then turn around. She glanced at Brighid, leading the retreating forms of Zeke, Pandy, Dromarch, Tora, and Poppi down the hallway. She bit her lip, then hid behind the throne room door, listening to the conversation within.

"I...assume you are going to leave soon, to continue your mission to Elysium," Niall said quietly, as Rex and Malos approached and stood before him.

Rex rubbed the back of his head. "Well...yeah. That's the plan. I...I wish I could stay and help."

Niall smiled grimly. "It's...alright. You've already done so much. It's all politics from this point on, and I think your talent is better spent elsewhere." He was quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor. "When I...when I was shot," he murmured quietly, "I...saw a vision of Elysium. A beautiful land of plenty. All the world's peoples living side by side, with more than enough room to spare. Only..." he shook his head, bitterly. "Only there were no Ardainians there." And here, he looked up at Malos, questioningly. "What...do you suppose it means? Are we not worthy of the peace of Elysium? Are we…."

Malos barked a laugh. "There's nothing saying that only the 'worthy' can set foot on Elysium, or whatever. Anyone can. What you do with it is up to you."

Niall stared at him, and Malos actually began to find the desperation in his eyes slightly unnerving. "I...think, more and more, that Elysium really is the only hope for this world," the Emperor said.

Morag reached out, putting a cool palm on her brother's forehead to check for fever. He had only recently been healed, after all. Maybe the stress and the healing was getting to him.

Niall merely laughed at her, ruefully. "I'm not sick," he said, taking her hand, giving her an innocent smile. "I...just have a bird's eye view of the world, as Emperor. Brionac thinks they can keep the world running for a few centuries more, if only they can conquer it first. I'm not so convinced. I think they're likely to do so much damage in their conquest that they'll just accelerate matters. I know precisely how much industrial capacity, agricultural capacity the world has, Morag. Better than anyone. We...are running out. Mass starvation will become a norm within my generation, unless things change."

Rex's eyes widened. "Architect, really? I...thought things were bad. It's why I wanted to go to Elysium. But I never thought things were that bad."

Niall nodded. "Yes. They are." And suddenly he rose from his throne, his eyes burning brightly, stepping forward to face Rex. "That's why I wanted to tell you how important your mission was. The world needs Elysium, Rex. Your mission cannot fail. And that's why….I want Morag to go with you."

Morag's eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet. "Niall, no. You...need my protection more than ever."

Niall shook his head sadly. "You...cannot protect me now, sister. If they wanted to kill me, they'd just kill you too. And I want you at Rex's side, to help him make his way to Elysium." He glanced up at Malos, who gazed down at him impassively. "Even if the Aegis says anyone can make their way there….I want you to prove Ardainians deserve to be there." His eyes drifted downward, across the throne room, and he slowly made his way to his desk. Upon it lay Aegaeon's core crystal, dull and grey, not yet active. "And...I'd like you to take Aegaeon with you, to help you." He laughed, quietly. "The poor man never could stand being cooped up in the palace. He'd be much happier in the field, with you."

"Niall, what are you saying," Morag snapped, trying to be harsh, but sadness sneaking into her voice all the same. "You'll be...all alone with these...butchers. You'll have no one by your side to protect you..."

"Aegaeon couldn't do it alone, anyway." Niall shook his head as he plucked up the core crystal and turned around to hand it to her. "It's better if I just accept reality, rather than dragging him down with me." He smiled wanly at her. "Please, just take him. Don't make me order you to do it."

"You..." Morag reached out, and reluctantly took the core crystal from him, shaking her head.

Niall turned back to Rex. "I know...that it must seem like an enormous burden. But the world really is counting on you, Rex."

Rex's eyes were wide as he took the Emperor's hand to shake it. Despite this, he did his best to sound confident, certain of himself. "I...started out on this journey to find Elysium, to help everyone," he said. "I won't let everyone down."

Behind the throne room door, Nia held a hand to her chest, wincing to herself. Then her eyes widened, and she dashed down the hallway as Malos and Rex made their way out of the room.

Morag was the only one left in the throne room with Niall now. She was gazing into Aegaeon's core crystal. The thought of her brother left, all alone, with the men who tried to kill him surrounding him every day...it was too much to bear. She turned around to protest.

But the words died in her mouth. Niall was standing before the throne, his shoulders shaking, one hand pressed to his face as tears flowed down it, unstoppable. "I failed them, Morag," he said, drawing in an unsteady breath. He looked at her with tear-stained eyes, still filled with so much innocence, still bright and full of life. "I failed them. I failed my people."

Morag gently wrapped her arms around his frail, shaking form as he staggered, drawing him in close, whispering reassurance into his ear as he collapsed into her.

39.

Morag lifted a coffee cup to her lips, blowing softly on the hot liquid.

It had been only a couple of days ago that Niall had stood before what remained of the Senate, the pack of jackals that had survived the bloody coup, and announced with a weary voice the commencement of plans to invade the Urayan capital, to uproarious applause. Not, Morag supposed, that the Senate really mattered anymore. If they tried to stop it in any way, the military officers in the Brionac command would probably have had them killed too. In a way, in one fell stroke, they had made Mor Ardain's republican traditions obsolete. The sick part was that it didn't even matter. The Senate was a dog and pony show that would have given them exactly what they wanted anyway.

But as Niall said, the announcement of an invasion was not an invasion itself, not yet. There were preparations to be made. Inspections to be done. That was why Morag was sitting here, now, in this coffee house in Alba Cavanich, awaiting the man who would be conducting the inspection of forces and delivering the assessment report to the Senate. She had rented a private room, so that they could be given some privacy. And she had been sure to ensure that no spying eyes could see them here.

The door slowly opened, and Padraigh entered. General Padraigh, now, recently promoted after his victory over the Urayan forces besieging Torigoth. As the commanding officer with the most experience fighting the Urayans, he had been selected to conduct an assessment of the invasion army, to evaluate their readiness. He looked….tired. Worn down. An ugly new scar ran down the side of his face, to the bottom of his chin. His black hair now had a few flecks of silver in it. It was stunning, what hard war could do to someone in a short period of time.

He sat down across from her, setting a coffee cup on the table between them. Then he looked up, glancing at her with steely blue eyes, the softness that had been in them the last time she saw him driven out by battle. By seeing too many dead men. But when he spoke his voice was still warm. "Morag," he said quietly. "Good to see you, in these dark times."

Morag placed her cup down with a quiet clink. "You as well, Padraigh. I hear you and your men...had a hard time of it in the mountains outside Torigoth."

Padraigh sighed, shaking his head. "The Urayans fought like it was the end of the world. They're far more wily than the high command gives them credit for. Though I have to say, I'm surprised that they managed to attack the palace. We underestimate them at our peril."

Morag bit her tongue. She...wanted to think she could trust Padraigh. Trust to tell him the truth. But if she could convince him without risking letting him know what had actually happened….

"I suppose," Padraigh said, sipping his coffee, raising an eyebrow at her, "that this is more than a simple social call."

Morag sighed. Padraigh hadn't risen through the ranks by being an idiot. She should have known that he'd come into this being suspicious about what was actually going on. She stirred her coffee idly with a small spoon, then glanced up at him. "Padraigh," she said, suddenly, her voice curious. "What do you think of this war?"

"It's not my job to steer the ship of State. I am here to serve the Emperor and the Senate," Padraigh replied dismissively.

"We're not talking about your job, here. I want to know your personal opinion. It's just us, here. I'm not speaking as Inquisitor. I want to know, as your friend."

Padraigh sighed, setting his coffee down, drawing a hand across his face, tormented eyes staring off into the distance. "You really want to know?" he said, quietly. "I think this war is idiocy. Madness. Sickness. I've served a long time, and I've never seen anything as bloody as this war. So many men dead. So many more, going to die. And for what…? So we can march into the middle of a peaceful country that never did us any harm, before we began this war? Burn its cities to ash? Gormott, I could understand, we needed the resources. But do we even really need Uraya's resources…?" He stopped his rambling, glancing up at her. "Ah. I apologize. I know they did try to kill your brother. There's no stopping it now, then."

Morag ignored this. She tried to focus on the hope rising in her heart. "I feel the same way," she replied quietly. "So does Niall. Even now, he remains dedicated to the idea of peace. But the Senate...they've been...pressuring him. He needs time, more time for negotiations."

"Well," Padraigh replied bluntly, "It seems time is up."

"It doesn't have to be."

Padraigh was very, very quiet and still. He stared at her with those hard, piercing blue eyes. "What are you saying?"

"You are the Inspector General," Morag said calmly, folding her hands into each other, crossing her legs. "You're the one evaluating whether or not the military is prepared for an invasion of Fonsa Myma. Stall them. Insist on additional training. Do something to give my brother a bit more time."

Padraigh didn't reply for a long time. "What you're saying," he said finally, "is you want me to lie."

"If you think that's necessary."

Padraigh rose from his chair, his black military trenchcoat sweeping around him as he faced a wall, his hands clasped behind his back. "Morag," he said quietly, "What you're talking of is political interference of one interested party in military matters. It's dereliction of duty and possible treason. You do know that?"

"You're one of the only people who might be able stop this war now. You said it yourself, this war-" Morag began.

She was interrupted by Padraigh spinning on her furiously, his eyes flashing. "Damn it, Morag, my opinion on this war doesn't matter. It's not my place to be making those sorts of decisions. It's the will of the Senate that this war proceed. I don't just get to unilaterally decide to stop it based on my personal feelings, that's corruption. How, how could you ask this of me?" And now, real pain settled into his eyes, and Morag winced. "I thought we were friends."

"You know this war is wrong. You know it, I know it, damn it, this is bigger than the Senate," she snapped at him, forging forward through the look of hurt he gave her. "It has to stop. All my brother wants is a bit more time..." but Padraigh was shaking his head.

"I can't. I can't, Morag, you know I can't. I won't lie. As much as I might disagree, I have to accept the judgment of the Imperial Government. It's not my place to make these decisions. I have to have faith in the wisdom of the political leadership of the Empire. I am just a small part in the machine. If each gear decided to spin at its own pace because of its own personal feelings, things would never work. I have to have faith in these decisions made through the deliberative political process. I'm sorry." He swept up his cap from where he had sat it on the table, placing it on his head. "I...since you're a friend, I won't report this. But..."

"Deliberative political process," Morag muttered, getting to her feet. "Deliberative political process. Damn it! Padraigh, it wasn't the Urayans who tried to kill my brother. It wasn't the Urayans who attacked the capital. It was Brionac! I was there, I saw those...jackals, try to murder him!"

"What…?" Padraigh said, freezing in shock, his eyes wide. "I...but...why are they still..."

"You don't know what happened here. It was a damn coup. A coup where they just missed killing the Emperor himself. There's your damn 'deliberative political process.'" She shook her head, grabbing his arm. "Padraigh, please. I know...in normal circumstances, your sense of honor would be the right thing to have. But these aren't normal circumstances. You say you need to have faith in the political leadership. I'm telling you the political leadership is rotting from within. I am telling you it's broken. It's gone wrong. It's all gone wrong. What remains of your leadership is a collection of wolves and butchers. You need to listen to what your heart tells you about this war. We're the only ones left who can stop these lunatics from getting what they want."

And for a moment, she felt the hope in her heart rising as Padraigh looked around uncertainly. But suddenly his face hardened, and he turned his gaze back to her. "I'm sorry," he said. "But whatever the mechanisms of politics, it's simply not my place to make that decision. If Brionac really did attack the capital, you should have them hanged for treason."

"I would if I could. There's no one left to knot the nooses." She withdrew her hand as Padraigh yanked his arm out of it. "Padraigh, please-"

"No," he said simply, not looking at her. "It isn't my place. I won't lie, commit treason or give into corruption for you, Morag. I...if what you say is true, I don't blame you for asking me. But I will not forsake honor."

Morag collapsed into her chair. She chuckled to herself, as she looked at Padraigh in despair. Honor. For honor's sake, Padraigh was going to help Brionac open the gates of hell. All for honor. The thing Mor Ardain had drilled into all its citizens. Honor. Honor. All for honor. She couldn't blame Padraigh. She truly couldn't. This was what he had been taught was the right thing to do from the moment he was born. Disregard personal feelings. You have your duty, and you must execute. For honor. Even Mor Ardain's virtues were being turned against her.

"Morag, I'm sorry," Padraigh said simply, when she didn't answer. Then he shrugged, and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

"All for honor," Morag murmured to herself. "All for sacred honor."

40.

It was later that week, after the official announcement of the invasion, that the War Council declared that there would be a military parade, 'To show resolution in the face of the Urayan threat.'

Though Morag had accepted that she would be traveling with Rex when he left, she wanted to remain by her brother's side for a while. To show the butchers of Brionac that she wasn't afraid of them. And so she found herself standing next to Niall, on a high podium, overlooking the streets of Alba Cavanich, as crowds thronged around the parade path. On their left and right, on lower podiums, sat the eight commanders of the War Council. Nelson was there, and Maclair too: All grim men, in black leather trenchcoats, several of them adorned with the silver skulls of Brionac on their caps. All around them, enormous red banners and flags fluttered, adorned with the golden crest of Mor Ardain. Red confetti fluttered through the air, as thick as the smoke pouring from the countless factories of the city, reminding Morag of nothing more than blood.

Suddenly, with the heavy pounding of drums, and the blare of triumphant trumpets, broadcast through loudspeakers lining the streets, the parade began. The crowd roared, the shouts blending into each other, becoming the cry of some enormous beast, as column after column of Ardainian soldier marched past, the earth trembling under the coordinated tramp of their feet, all turning as one to salute Niall as they marched past.

Morag glanced down at her brother. He was doing his best to present a calm, collected face to the soldiers and the crowd, waving serenely at the marching soldiers. But Morag could see his hand trembling as he placed it back down on his leg.

It was...understandable why. Even Morag found herself shocked by the intensity of the crowds. They were screaming fury, roaring for victory, roaring for revenge, their cries blending with the endless beats of the drums, the blaring trumpets, creating an awful war song. It was an awful throbbing, a rhythmic din that sank into her bones, the beating heart of Mor Ardain coursing with horrifying intensity and energy.

She turned her gaze to the side, at the War Council seated below her. Even they seemed taken aback by the scene. They kept their discipline most of the time, presenting nothing but steely gazes to the crowds and the soldiers most of the time. But every once in a while, she caught one of them looking around, glancing nervously at each other, looking down at the roaring crowds with wide, shocked eyes. Fools. Bloody-minded fools. They had toyed with this fire burning in the heart of Mor Ardain, they had stoked it, they had done all they could to bring the worst out of her once-beautiful country, to turn the Empire to ugliness, and now they had the audacity, the gall, to be shocked by the result?

Her eagle eyes followed the direction of their nervous glances. The War Council was watching, mostly, the officers marching in front of their battalions, the colonels and majors and other mid-grade officers. She pondered over this for a moment. And then, suddenly, it dawned on her.

The War Council was afraid too. Afraid that if they didn't push for this war, the officers below them would rise up and strike them down for their weakness. There was no exonerating them. They certainly wanted the war themselves. But they were driven as far as they were, as bloodily as they were, because they feared the men beneath them.

And it didn't end there. As the endless parade continued, as soldiers marched past, great, grinding tanks roared by, as the sky screamed with the sound of Titan warships soaring overhead, she kept her eyes on the officers marching past. And they were afraid too. When they were not looking straight ahead, their faces blank, they occasionally looked back towards the men they led, the soldiers themselves, the ones that would be fighting and dying in the war. And there was no doubt about it. It was fear in their faces that Morag saw. They feared appearing weak in front of their soldiers, afraid that if they did not push for as much conquest as possible that they'd look soft, vulnerable.

And even the soldiers themselves – the young men, carrying rifles, so damn young, and so many of them doomed to die – when they broke discipline, it was the crowds themselves they stared at with fear, the citizens of Alba Cavanich screaming for revenge, crying up to the heavens themselves for the soldiers to deliver death.

And the crowds – the crowds watched everyone, and were afraid of them all.

Morag closed her eyes. This...this was what Cole had seen. This was why, even if the War Council were to all drop dead tomorrow, nothing would change. This was what her brother was fighting against. The fear that drove everyone in a suicidal, mad circle, pushing everyone to further and further extremes, damning them all. And...it had been going on for a long, long time, hadn't it? Ardainian citizens...for generations, had lived entire lives with this fear driving them. And that was what fueled the Clockwork Demon. It wasn't any one man, or even any one political party. It was this fear, this fear that had been with Mor Ardain for centuries. This fear that was now, before their eyes, reaching a crescendo, a peak, this fear that was going to drive them to hell.

Around her, the roars of the crowd, the throbbing, pounding percussion of the war drums, the blaring of the trumpets, blended together into a steady, endless rhythm, and Morag imagined it was the ticking of some enormous, monolithic gear, until in her mind arose a figure, a giant, a colossus of a billion ticking gears, belching flame and smoke, rising from the debris, the shattered lives of all Mor Ardain's wars, flame-blackened iron, eyes of roaring fire, growing like a tumor on her beloved country, fed by centuries of violence and fear, growing not despite Mor Ardain's virtues, but precisely because of them: perverting their notion of progress, their sense of loyalty, their valor in battle, rising into the sky, blotting out the sun, some awful mechanism of all their failures and loss, and it turned to her with a smile that was a million torn pieces of metal, flame dripping from its teeth, and said, with a voice like a thousand explosions, like tanks grinding over skulls: I win, Morag. It's over. I win.

And as Morag looked around her, at her brother, so afraid, at the War Council, at the officers and the soldiers and the crowds, all so full of fear, all hiding it, all too afraid to admit weakness to stop her beloved country from being driven to madness, she finally understood. She understood how other countries saw Mor Ardain. She understood why Vandham, as brave as he had been, even Vandham who spat in the face of death itself, had been afraid of the Empire. Mythra was an individual madness, but here was a sickness that had possessed an entire country, and where an individual's insanity might be cured, there was very little to stop a madness that caught on like wildfire, spreading from person to person, burning through the centuries, until it was finally an enormous funeral pyre for the world.

She finally understood. She understood the Clockwork Demon.

41.

The inn the party stayed at, after leaving the palace, was a grand one, much larger than any they had stayed in before, built into a large, squat multi-story building, with upwards of hundreds of rooms. The innkeeper had greeted them with a sour face. It wasn't difficult to see why: with the war, and the condemnations of Mor Ardain from other nations, tourism to the Empire had plummeted. Not that Mor Ardain, even in the best of times, was much of a place for tourism, with its harsh desert environments. But at the very least, being at the heart of the Empire seemed to, usually, ensure a lot of traveling businessmen. Not so much anymore. The countless rooms lay mostly empty, many of them not even being locked – it seemed the innkeeper had to lay off a lot of the maintenance and security staff. It was almost haunting, in a way, the long, endless rows of mostly empty rooms, quiet and foreboding. With the lack of demand, they had easily been able to afford an individual room for everyone.

The city itself, in their days there, seemed quiet as well. Though there was the rally, the military parade that Morag had attended, which had drawn furious crowds...the hustle and bustle of the city that Nia had formerly experienced, when she went shopping with Brighid, was gone. Surprisingly few people were talking about the attack on the palace, though the official line was that Urayans had attacked. Armed groups of citizens, or soldiers – it was hard to tell which – dressed in Brionac regalia would occasionally patrol the streets, loudly proclaiming their impending victory and revenge on Uraya. And they'd draw murmured agreements, sometimes. But many other times, people cast their eyes away, glancing nervously around. It was as if many people knew that something wasn't quite right with the official story. Rex had tried talking to some of these people, tried asking them if they really believed that the Urayans had attacked the palace, but all he had gotten in return were frightened stares, people muttering that they just wanted to keep their heads down. Finally Malos had pulled him aside and snapped at him to keep his mouth shut, unless he wanted to draw attention to them and get them killed.

"Don't forget all those bodies lined up in the imperial square," he had said, as Rex glared defiantly up at him. "Mor Ardain is not a free country. These people murdered nobles, Senators and almost an Emperor to get their way. They will absolutely murder you, and not think twice about it."

Rex, however, just couldn't stand it. He was no fool. He had lived places where the wrong word might start a fight, might land you in trouble, might even get you kicked out. But never before had he ever lived anywhere where the wrong word might get you killed. And the awful injustice of it all burned him. It hung over the city, like an oppressive pall, muting everything. Such a monumental lie, all so that a gang of murderers could fulfill their thirst for blood. He understood Niall's concern, that to tell the truth would lead to terrible consequences – but that just made it even worse. He wasn't a child. He knew that power could attract the wicked, the ambitious, the cruel. He had, after all, lived beneath Bana's rule over Goldmouth for quite some time. But this...this was so beyond the pale. Bana's was an understandable, petty evil. This was wickedness beyond anything he could have imagined. And worst of all, they had won. Despite it all, despite them knowing exactly what they had done, Brionac had still won. And so he spent much of his time in his room, brooding.

Nia watched him with curious, sharp eyes, as he stalked the hallways of the hotel, a his face like a thundercloud. She thought she understood. Mor Ardain...something had gone rotten in it. She wasn't Ardainian, and Morag wasn't around, but she could see from watching Brighid, from looking at the faces of the Ardainians in the streets...it had all gone wrong. And soon, they'd be leaving.

She awoke one morning, yawning as she made her way downstairs, Dromarch padding silently at her side, to the inn's grand dining room. As with the rest of the inn,, always mostly empty, and the innkeeper had long since given up on setting out a proper breakfast, instead setting out a meager basket of buns to appease the few guests they had.

Nia grabbed one of this, sniffing it dubiously, before biting into it with a grimace. It was stale, but still edible. She glanced around. Zeke and Pandy were sitting at a table, discussing things with a small, but very pretty woman, dressed in long, flowing white robes, a golden tiara in her long brown hair, golden ribbons woven around her. She looked serene, cheerful. In fact, she had an incredibly warm, almost hypnotic presence. Nia found herself drawn to her, drawn to sitting down next to Zeke and Pandy, despite the fact that normally she found Zeke and his flirting with Pandoria to be kind of annoying. Her eyes widened as she sat down and noticed a blade core crystal embedded in the woman's chest. Although...it seemed strange. Smaller than most, a carved triangle of glowing blue.

Zeke raised an eyebrow at her as she sat down. "Well, good morning, Nia. Surprised to see you up so early. I figured you'd be a late sleeper. What with, you know, the cat thing and all."

"I'm Gormotti, not a cat," Nia snapped back at him, as she leaned back and kicked her boots up on a nearby chair. "What are you still doing, following us around anyway?"

Zeke laughed far too uproariously for it to be genuine. "Well, I am an ambassador from Indol, specifically here to keep an eye on the Aegis. Don't you remember?"

Suddenly, Nia felt her pulse quicken. Indol? They were the ones who had imprisoned her, before Jin had rescued her. And to be honest, she didn't remember – in the chaos of the night the Tirkin had attacked, she had forgotten Zeke's introduction. She now felt much more nervous about Pandoria's suspicion of what she had done in the throne room. "Ah, no, I suppose I forgot," she muttered, trying to play it cool.

Unfortunately for her, the woman across from her seemed like she could sense her nervousness. "Don't worry," she said, her soft laugh like the tinkling of tiny bells. "I don't know what...Zeke here said to you. But I'm an official envoy of the Praetorium as well. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Fan la Norne."

"The Goddess of Indol," Zeke said dramatically. "Fan, this is Nia. One of the...very close friends of the Driver of the Aegis." He smirked at her, and Nia threw her biscuit at his head.

Fan la Norne laughed again. "Goddess is such an extravagant title. I'm just a blade, like Pandy here." She gave Nia a warm, comforting smile. "I know you must have run into...a lot of trouble, during your journeys so far. The Praetor sent me to extend an invitation to the Driver and the Aegis to come to the Praetorium."

Nia wasn't sure what to think. She knew that they had planned on going to Indol, of course. She thought she would be able to get away with a change of clothes or something. After all, it had been a while ago since she had captured, and Jin...Jin had murdered the entire Indolian platoon hunting her. And she had heard nothing about Indol hunting her since. But now, just sitting across from three people she knew were from Indol themselves….well, she supposed if Indol honestly was still hunting her, Zeke, Pandy or Fan la Norne might have known her face. But still, she felt anxiety and the urge to run building within her. She opened her mouth to reply, but was suddenly interrupted.

"Haze…?"

The group turned around to stare. There, in the doorway of the dining hall, was Malos, Rex at his side, looking uncharacteristically surprised. "It really is you."

Rex squinted up at the Aegis. "What, Malos, you know this woman?"

Malos walked forward, the beginnings of what looked to be a genuine smile on his face. It almost looked strange to Nia, seeing him smile without a hint of mockery or cruelty. "I do. She...fought against Mythra, during the Aegis War..."

Fan la Norne rose, bowing her head to the Dark Aegis as he approached. "Ah, just the man I was looking for," she murmured. "The...Praetor did tell me that you might remember me by a different name. I am Fan la Norne."

Malos stopped approaching, a look of confusion crossing his face. "Fan la Norne…?" he asked, quietly. "I mean, I suppose you wouldn't remember who I was, or the Aegis War, after getting a new driver. But why do you call yourself that?" His eyes went to the core crystal in her chest, and lingered there for a few moments.

"The Praetor can answer all your questions," Fan la Norne answered, approaching Malos with a broad smile on her face. "I am here on his behalf to extend an invitation to the Aegis and his Driver to the Prateorium in Indol." She glanced down at Rex, who was staring up at her with something like awe. "I suppose you must be his Driver. Zeke's told me about you, Rex."

"Ah, yeah," Rex said, rubbing the back of his head and blushing, glancing away from her smiling face. "That's me. I guess."

"Don't worry. Zeke's had nothing but good things to say. He told me about how you saved your friend, and helped defend the Emperor against...the...unpleasantness a few days back." She gave him a beaming smile, and Rex blushed even more furiously. "It's good to know that the Aegis is in the hands of someone so kind-hearted."

Nia watched as Malos stared at Fan la Norne intently, looking almost...sad. Suddenly, she found herself feeling bad for him, despite everything. Every friend he had ever made was dead, or didn't remember him, or actively wanted to kill him. Malos was very good at seeming cavalier about it all, but occasionally small cracks in his armor showed, as it was now, as he looked at Fan with forlorn sorrow, an expression that seemed almost alien on his face. Suddenly he shook his head, and his usual mocking smirk reappeared. "Well. We were planning on going to Indol anyway."

"I have a ship awaiting us in the Ardainian docks. We can leave any time you are ready." Fan la Norne tilted her head as she smiled up at him, and Malos looked away.

"Oh, but wait a minute," Rex said, recovering from his bashfulness, glancing up at Fan with sharp eyes. "We were going to stop in Leftheria, first. I have a, ah, friend I wanted to meet in Fonsett. We promised him."

"That's perfectly fine." Fan spread her arms, in a calming gesture. "It's an invitation to the Praetorium, not a demand. Whenever is most convenient for you. The Praetor has all the time in the world."

"The Praetor," Malos muttered. He glanced towards Fan, scratching his chin. "You're talking about Amalthus?" Fan nodded serenely.

"What's….what's Amalthus like?" Nia asked suddenly, leaning forward, her eyes flashing. She had never heard much about the leader of the Praetorium herself. She was vaguely aware of him as a quasi-mythic figure, the mortal who dared to climb the World Tree without even a blade at his side, who had unleashed the horror of the Aegis war. It seemed odd that such a man would still be alive after all this time, but he was Indoline, and they lived long lives.

Fan smiled softly to herself. "Well, I may be biased, since he is my driver," she murmured. "But Amalthus...is a kind and wise man. And humble. He freely admits that he made...many mistakes in his youth, that he bore a great anger towards the Architect. But perhaps it is age that has tamed him, calmed him." Suddenly, her face grew troubled, sad. "He does have...a great sorrow within him. And he does...keep others at a distance. Even me. I…." suddenly she glanced up, blushing. "Oh, but listen to me ramble on!" she said, laughing that charming laugh of hers once more. "The Praetor is a great man. And a fellow driver of the Aegis. He very much looks forward to meeting you for that, Rex. You have something in common that few people in history have. Besides you, only Addam."

Rex's eyes widened. To think that someone as powerful as the Praetor might personally know of him, be interested in meeting him….it was mind boggling. A far cry from the lowly salvager he had been not so long ago. "I guess it is a pretty exclusive club, huh," he mused.

"It's settled then, isn't it," Zeke yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the table. "A quick stroll through Leftheria first, and then it's off to the Praetorium."

"You talk like you're coming along." Nia crossed her arms, glaring at him.

"Well, of course. Why wouldn't I? It's my job. And I should make my way back to the Praetorium myself." Zeke kicked back his feet and grinned. "Plus, the beaches in Leftheria are the best in the world! How could I miss an opportunity to check those out."

Nia glanced back and forth between Fan and Zeke. "Hard to believe you both work for the same man."

Fan la Norne glanced towards Zeke, giving a sly smirk. "The Praetor believes there's a...correct tool for every job. Zeke and Pandy are...a very…unusual pair of tools."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean, Fan?" Pandy asked, glaring at her from behind her large glasses. "Unusual? I-"

Nia tuned out as Zeke and Pandy began protesting, and Malos sat next to Fan to question her about the location of the ship and when they could leave. Her eyes were on Rex. He had come down to the dining room, but hadn't eaten. Instead, distracted, he was staring out the windows, out into the gray streets of Alba Cavanich, hollow circles beneath his eyes. Sighing, he left without picking up any of the bread at the table, going back to brood in his room.

"Right, that does it," Nia muttered to herself.

42.

Nia stood in her room, looking at herself in the mirror, smiling happily to herself.

She was wearing the dress she had attended the ball with, the one patterned in the style of autumn leaves, Brighid's core-concealing knot tied around her chest. She hadn't originally planned on taking it, but Brighid had insisted that she take it when they packed up and left the palace. "It looks so good on you," the older blade had said. "And besides, it will be out of fashion in Mor Ardain in a few months." Nia had played it cool at the time, politely thanking her, but the truth was she was ecstatic. The dress actually did look very good, and it had grown on her. It was really the first fancy dress she had ever liked.

"Nia look very pretty."

Nia glanced behind her with mild irritation. Dromarch was lounging on her bed as usual, luxuriously licking one of his paws. But next to him sat Poppi, kicking her legs idly off the edge of the bed, smiling at Nia. It still felt odd to think of this new girl as Poppi. And though she had said she still had the same personality, she seemed somehow...less naive. More brazen. Although perhaps Poppi had matured while she was in her smaller form, and it just seemed more obvious now that she looked older. She had strolled into Nia's when Nia had accidentally left the door open after running down the hall to Brighid for her help with tying the knot on, declaring she was bored. "Tora off discussing engineering particulars with his dadapon," she had declared. "What Nia up to?" And now, she was watching with interest as Nia had straightened out her dress.

"Thanks. I guess." Nia put the crown of brambles on her head.

"What Nia getting all dressed up for?" Poppi asked, innocently.

"Oh, nothing really." Nia attempted to sound casual, idly glancing away back to the mirror.

"Poppi thinks Poppi knows," the robot girl said smugly.

"You don't know half of what you think," Nia snapped, and was about to continue when Pandy appeared in the doorway, chewing idly on an apple.

"Whoa, Nia, lookin' good," Pandy said, her mouth full. She stepped into the room, and Nia cursed under her breath. Why had she not closed the damn door? "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion, really," Nia replied, airily. "Just, you know. New dress. Wanted to see it and all. That's it, really."

"Nia planning on bringing Rex out to restaurant," Poppi said suddenly, and Nia sputtered. How the hell had she known?

"Oh really?" Pandy grinned. "I was kind of wondering if you two were, you know..."

"It's not like that," Nia snapped, turning back to the mirror, adjusting her headpiece. "Rex and I are friends, is all."

Pandy nudged Poppi, grinning still. "Oh? Just friends? I guess that's sort of a relief." She posed, putting a thoughtful finger to her mouth. "See, I think Rex is pretty cute myself."

Nia froze for a moment, then continued adjusting her dress. "Yeah, well, I suppose he isn't bad looking," she replied, her voice casual.

"Yeah, so it's a relief that he's available," Pandy continued, as Poppi looked up at her curiously. "I can ask him out myself."

Nia spun around, glaring at her. "You think you're clever, do you? You flirt so much with Zeke I know you're full of it. I know what you're trying to do, I'm not an idiot. But it's not going to work. Rex and I are friends, is all."

"Why Nia not just admit it? There nothing wrong with liking Rex bit more than a friend." Poppi piped up suddenly. Nia glance down at her, eyes widening. The robot girl had a gentleness to her voice that Nia hadn't heard from her before. "Poppi thinks Rex...very fond of you, too," Poppi continued. She shook her head. "Poppi not understand. Nia so brave most of the time. Why this such a big deal…?"

Nia looked at her for a few moments, blinking, struggling for words. Why was it such a big deal? What-

You know why, hissed the voice inside her, suddenly roaring forth with fury. It had been...quieter lately. But now it filled her head, echoing through her. Never forget what a miserable failure you are. Never forget what happens to the people you love. You're only going to hurt him, fail him. Oh, can you imagine what the look on his face is going to be when he finds out the kind of bad person you actually are? You've already let it go too far. We've noticed the way he looks at us sometimes, oh yes. Makes your heart flutter a bit, does it? You greedy, selfish idiot. And now you're just going to make matters worse. Why can't you leave the poor boy alone? You know why, of course, because you don't care how much you hurt people as long as it makes you a little bit happy, you sick, broken thing.

Nia slowly raised her hands to her head, closing her eyes, trying desperately to shut out the voice's endless savagery. Pandy and Poppi glanced at each other, taking a step forward in concern, as Dromarch sat up in the bed, staring at her, tail flicking. Finally, Nia's eyes fluttered open, and she looked down down at the ground. "I...just want to be happy for a little bit longer, before he finds out," she murmured softly to herself, too softly for them to hear.

"What's going on here?"

Nia looked up from the floor, suddenly, to the door, where Brighid stood with her arms crossed, looking severely around the room. "You two, why don't you give Nia some privacy," she said, her tone clipped.

"Aw, fine. C'mon Poppi, let's go to the hot springs," Pandy said, stretching out, her wiry tail waving back and forth.

"Can...Pandy even go into baths with that tail…?" Poppi asked, on their way out of the room.

"I mean, can you? Aren't you a robot…?"

Their voices trailed off into the distance as Brighid watched them walk down the hallway, her eyebrows arched. She turned back to Nia and gave her a small smile.

"Thanks, Brighid," Nia muttered. "Those two, so gossipy, I swear."

"It's nothing at all." Brighid lingered by the door for a moment, looking her up and down. "You look fantastic, Nia. Have fun." And then she disappeared down the hallway, humming to herself.

Nia sighed, then breathed in, heavily. She reached out, petting Dromarch, her blade letting out a loud, rumbling purr as he nuzzled his head against her hands. Her eyes drifted over to the bureau, where the stone Rex had given her back in Gormott, the rainbow rock, as he called it, lay sparkling in the sun. She smiled, squared her shoulders, and set out down the hallway, to Rex's room.

She knocked on his door, setting her hands on her hips as she heard him moving around inside. Finally he opened the door, his eyes widening, blushing a bit as he saw Nia standing there in her dress. It really did make her heart flutter a bit, Nia realized.

"Alright, Rex," she snapped, glaring at him, summoning her anger. He looked pale, a bit wan, dark circles beneath his eyes. He probably hadn't been sleeping much, in addition to not eating. And it made her angry. "Come on. You've been moping in there long enough, yeah?"

"Ah...hey Nia. I...well, yeah, I suppose I have," he replied, dragging a hand across his face. Then he looked down at her curiously. "What's with the dress?"

"You're gonna come to a restaurant with me," Nia said slyly. "Or did you forget already? You don't wanna experience the reputable Ardainian food? That palace stuff they fed us was rich people food. I wanna experience the true Ardainian cuisine."

Rex gave her a small smile, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes. "Yeah, alright. I'm up for that. I don't have much money though..."

"Don't worry about that, this one's on me. Go get those fancy clothes they gave you at the palace-"

"Hold on." Rex crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. "Do I really need fancy clothes?"

"Yes! I got reservations at a nice restaurant. This isn't Uraya, they'll expect you to dress up a bit."

"Didn't you just say that you wanted to taste real Ardainian cuisine? This sounds like more rich people food-"

Nia growled in irritation. "Rex. A girl is offering to pay for your dinner. Don't question a gift, yeah? Get your outfit!"

"Alright, alright," Rex said, laughing. It was good to see him laugh. At least he was easy to cheer up. "Gimme a sec, gotta get dressed."

He closed the door. Nia leaned back against the wall across from it, and wrapped her arms around herself. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, and she began giggling. She didn't know why. She just felt like laughing.

43.

Rex had appeared, back in the same outfit he had worn when escorting her to the ball, the stark, black Ardainian officer's outfit, with silver trim. He really did look pretty dashing in that.

Nia had led him down the stairs, out the inn's lobby. She had been hoping that no one would be there to see them. But of course, Malos had been there, lounging in a chair, reading a newspaper. He put it down, raising one eyebrow as he saw the two of them. He caught Nia's eye, gave a small smirk, but thankfully kept his silence, merely shaking his head at the two of them as he raised his newspaper again.

Nia's ears fluttered as they stepped out into the streets of Mor Ardain, and Rex instinctively drew her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, glancing suspiciously around the city streets. She opened her mouth to make fun, but for once thought better of it. It...was nice to know Rex felt protective of her. Although she didn't think the city streets were all that dangerous. She understood how Rex felt, he thought the city was wicked, so he assumed it was dangerous. He didn't understand that some of the most wicked places in the world were very, very peaceful indeed. Brionac wouldn't be gunning down people in the streets. Their strength came from the fact that they wouldn't need to. "This way, macho man," she murmured, wrapping an arm around him as well, pointing down one of the side streets, cobbled instead of paved. "It isn't far."

Rex glanced around as they traveled down the street. It was bustling with people as they passed by. Whereas the Ardainian citizens had been quiet, subdued these past few days, these seemed more cheerful. He watched as they set up colorful stalls, humming to himself as a nopon hung bright red balloons from the streetlamps. "Looks like they're setting up for something," he mused.

"Oh yeah. It's a street festival later tonight. Supposedly celebrating the founding of the Imperial dynasty."

Rex grimaced. "I wonder if any of them know just how close that dynasty came to ending just a few days ago. Would they still be celebrating today if it did?" He glanced down at her. "It's only thanks to you that it didn't, really."

Nia blushed, looking away, then got annoyed with herself for blushing. "It was nothing, nothing. That dumbass colonel didn't even have very good aim. I bet a good medic could have patched Niall up, too."

A jolt shot through her as Rex squeezed her fondly. "Come on, Nia. We all saw what happened. You bought me back from the edge, too. You're an amazing healer. Best damn one I've ever heard of."

"Shaddap, I said," Nia replied, poking him in his side. Rex laughed, carefree. As he did, Nia reached through the ether, examining the wound within him. It was still huge, ragged, feeling like something that should have him screaming in pain. Perhaps not as bad as it had been when it was fresh, though it was hard to tell if it was actually healing or if it was just her imagination. But again, Rex still seemed physically fine. She didn't think he was intentionally hiding any pain from her. What exactly was this wound doing to him? She sighed as they walked into a plaza, dominated by a central fountain, in the middle of which was a large statue of a severe-looking man in military uniform, his face hidden beneath a particularly gargantuan mustache, somewhat rotund– one of the former Emperors. The plaza was large, and seemed to be a central hub of the festival that was being set up, with hundreds of red balloons hanging from street lamps, from the fountains, dozens of stalls being constructed, and even a small stage being put together. She pointed to a building, ensconced in metal staircases leading up several floors, of black brick, its windows glowing with orange and yellow light. "That's the place, right there. Bassani's Butchery."

The restaurant was somewhat quiet, as they entered – perhaps many people were saving their appetites for the street festival's food. It was dark, as well. The light they had seen from the window was only from the entrance – the rest of the restaurant was lit by small flickering candles, barely able to fight off the shadow. The atmosphere it created was somewhat suspenseful. They were greeted by a small, demure, silent Ardainian waitress, who led them to a table for two, taking out a small notebook to record their orders. As they sat, she wordlessly uncorked a bottle of wine, placing it on the table between them, before walking off. Rex and Nia looked at this with wide eyes, then at each other.

"Ah yeah," Nia said. "I heard about this. Apparently Ardainians drink wine with a lot of their food. To ah….cover up the taste, supposedly."

Rex picked up the bottle, examining it. He was amused to see that a drawing of Niall's face actually decorated it. "From the Imperial Vineyards," he read, squinting at the label. "What vineyards! I didn't see any vineyards!"

"They're in Gormott," Nia replied. "Great big fields of them, planted after the Empire conquered them. It's a major business nowadays, actually. I hear the wine's pretty good." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You gonna have some or not?"

"Ah...yeah. Rule one of the salvager's code. Swim like a fish, and drink like one too!" Rex laughed, somewhat nervously, as he poured himself a glass of the wine. It was a deep, rich, purplish red.

"Oh yeah? Have you ever drank before? Aren't you a little young for that?"

"Have you?" Rex shot back. "I mean, I've drank before. Never wine. But I've had a beer or two on a salvaging mission."

Nia smiled mischievously at him as she poured herself a glass. "Yeah, in Gormott it's pretty typical for parents to give their kids some wine when they're younger." Her eyes flashed at him as she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, the wine settling into her, warming her blood. "I bet you're a total lightweight."

Rex glared at her, then defiantly took the glass, raised it, and down it all in one giant gulp.

"What the-pace yourself, you moron," Nia cried, as Rex swallowed, shook himself, and then poured another glass. "I still gotta get you back home responsibly."

"Oof," Rex said, as the wine hit his blood, warming him up immediately, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Wow. That's a bit harder than beer." He glanced across the table, where Nia was staring at him with mysterious, hooded eyes, yellow twinkling in the candlelight. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing," Nia murmured. She felt the wine in her blood, and suddenly felt a bit more daring. "It's just...how competitive you get...it's a bit cute, is all."

Rex crossed his arms. "Oh. Me, the competitive one. This coming from the lady who couldn't stop bragging about how her bear carvings won her the bet back in Uraya."

"You started that bet, you daft fool!"

"I'm pretty sure it was you-"

Their squabbling was interrupted by the waitress arriving with their order. Nia had ordered a chicken breast with a side of asparagus. It arrived slathered in cheese and red sauce. Rex had ordered a steak with a baked potato. It looked...very, very well cooked.

Nia poked at her chicken dubiously. There barely seemed to be any chicken at all beneath the sauce. Rex cut his steak, struggling with the tough meat, sniffed it, and took a tentative bite. "Blaugh! I can see why they cooked it so much," he said, wrinkling his nose as he chewed vigorously to work his way through the stringy meat. "That's downright unpleasant. I dunno if I really have the appetite for Ardainian cuisine."

"Oh, you're gonna eat it," Nia said, her voice dangerous. "I've seen you skipping your meals lately."

"Ah," Rex said.

"Boys, I swear. You think you're invincible." Nia popped an asparagus sprig into her mouth and chewed. "Oh, I don't need to take care of myself, I'm a big strong man, my body can take it! You abuse yourself and then wonder why you have so many aches and pains. Especially after the way you throw yourself into battle."

"Look, look, you're right," Rex said, holding up a hand to pause Nia's outburst. "I guess I just don't think of it much like that. I mean, if Malos can-"

"Malos is the bloody Aegis, you twit!" Nia snapped, jabbing a fork at him. "You're only human! Malos could probably stop eating altogether and not skip a beat. I swear, I'm gonna-"

"Alright! Alright, okay, I'll eat it," Rex said, laughing, as he cut a huge chunk from his steak and popped it in his mouth. "See? Eating. I…." he grimaced, then reached for his wine to wash down the food. "I can see why they have it here now," he muttered.

Finally, the two of them forced the meals down, declining politely but vigorously when the waitress arrived to ask them if they wanted dessert. "Well," Rex said, as Nia set some gold down for the bill, "Thanks for the dinner, Nia. I guess I can cross Ardainian off my list now, too."

"Oh, we're not done here yet," Nia said, smiling at him. She grabbed his hand, leading him out of the restaurant. "I never did get to see your new dance moves at the ball. Well, you're going to show me them now. I'm curious."

They opened the doors to the plaza, where during the course of their dinner, the sun had sunk low and the street festival had begun. The night air was warm, comfortable. Crowds lined the plaza, gathering around stalls, and the scent of grilling meat wafted through the air. The street lamps flickered on as they stepped outside, bathing the plaza in a gentle orange glow. But most of all, crowds gathered around the makeshift stage that had been set up in the center, next to the fountain. On top of the stage, an Ardainian in full military uniform played the fiddle, and the plaza was filled with people dancing with each other.

Nia glanced around, at the crowds. She could spot Zeke, and Pandy there, Tora and Poppi, there with Tora's dadapon – even Brighid, with Morag, who had finally come down from the palace to try and enjoy herself, apparently, all of them milling about in the crowds, checking out separate stalls, Morag silently watching the fiddler and the dancers. But she didn't care. Her blood ran wild with the wine, setting a flame inside her. "C'mon, I know you've been practicing," she said, turning to Rex, pulling him closer to her for no reason at all. Those laughing golden eyes of his filled her vision. Once more, she felt the wild urge to bite him.

Rex smiled, scratching his chin. "Yeah, alright. I'm game for that. Just don't be upset when it turns out I'm the better dancer now."

"Oh, you cocky bastard."

They pushed their way through the crowds, into the center of the square, among the other dancers. Just as they did, the fiddler ended his previous tune, and picked up a faster, energetic tune. Nia watched as Rex closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, steeling himself. And then his eyes snapped open, full of fire and determination, he gave her a mischievous grin, and grabbed her hand, placing his other hand on her hip.

"Okay, you got the basics," Nia began, and then gasped as Rex pulled her closer, pressing her body to his. She looked up at him with surprise. "R-Rex?"

And then he spun her, as the beat picked up, and she had to admit, whatever Brighid had taught him, it was working well. The world twirled around her, flashing lights and red balloons and laughing faces, as Rex led her, and her eyes grew wider and wider as they fixed on his laughing face, as he pulled her close, spun her away, even grabbing her by the waist to lift her at one point, and the wine flowed in her veins, and the fire in her built, and she realized that, for the first time in a long time, she felt carefree, she wasn't thinking about her past, about her secrets, about the voice in her head, her regrets, the uncertain future, she was here, her heart was here entirely in the moment as she twirled in Rex's arms, and it made her happy, and Rex looked happy as well, as if he was forgetting the terrible things he had seen, the things he had to do, laughing with her, blushing, and seeing him happy made her even more happy, knowing that he was happy because of her, and her heart soared and sang like it hadn't ever before.

When the song came to an end, Rex twirled her back into his arms, pressed against him once more. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling in the lamplight, not saying a word. There was a voice inside her, now, but it wasn't the usual one, not the one that berated and tormented her. This was another voice. Kiss him, it said, kiss him, bite him then kiss him!

"That," Nia said, panting, as the voice eventually calmed down, "was...really good. I have to admit."

Rex nodded sagely. "Yes," he whispered. "Rex wins."

Nia smacked him. "You don't win! That's one dance. So you can do one dance good, so what. You gotta show that you can do more than just one-"

"Rex wins," he repeated, a teasing smile on his face.

Over on the stage, another fiddler took over. This was another Ardainian officer, tall, thin, mournful-looking. He was joined by several other fiddlers, all officers as well. Together, they began playing a slower, lilting tune, somewhat sad, in some indescribable way.

Nia sighed, then lay her head on Rex's chest. "Let's see how you do with a slow dance," she murmured.

In the crowd, Morag watched the two dancing. Brighid had been the one to convince her to come down from the palace and join the festival, insisting that she needed the break. Her blade stood by her side, smirking slightly as she watched Rex and Nia. "Still a little sloppy, but I think I did a fairly good job showing Rex some dance moves," she said. "What do you think, lady Morag?"

But Morag only had eyes for the fiddlers on the stage. She recognized the tune they were playing. It was a modification of an Ardainian military funeral dirge. Their uniforms were all, conspicuously, devoid of any Brionac insignia. And they played with such mournful passion, such awful sweetness. As if they were playing a funeral dirge for Mor Ardain itself. Did they know…? Perhaps, even if they didn't, they could see the dark path Mor Ardain was on…

And suddenly, from the crowd, there emerged other fiddlers, getting up on stage, these ones dressed in the Brionac uniform, silver skulls gleaming in the darkness. And in reply to the mournful dirge, they began playing triumphant, lilting tones, furiously sawing away at their fiddles, grinning, eyes gleaming, like wolves in the night. And around them, other fiddlers spun, weaving together the triumphant liltings and the dirge.

This was Mor Ardain, Morag realized. The dancers spun around her, fireworks exploded in the sky, flooding everything with red light, and the music, all the triumph and madness, all the mournfulness, wove together into a cohesive melody, building louder and louder. As much as she might want to think of Brionac as some...corruption, of her country, they weren't really. They were Ardainian, they were a part of the melody that was her Empire. They might be vicious, and murderers, but these were the same men who would fight and die gladly for Mor Ardain. The beauty and the horror were inseparable from each other, woven together so tightly, in this chaotic, awful, magnificent symphony. The Clockwork Demon was not some separate entity from the Empire, they were both different faces of the same thing, and one could not exist without the other, and so tragedy was in the very bones of Mor Ardain. And oh, it was wondrous, and beautiful, and awful and terrifying all at once.

She put a hand to her head, as the symphony grew louder and louder, as Nia twirled in Rex's arms, laughing, as the Brionac and the Ardainian officers dueled with their violins, and the fireworks exploded in the sky, like a thousand rockets and bombs, and just down the street she could see soldiers leading away more ragged prisoners, traitors to be executed, and in the distance she could hear a long, low train whistle, and it all wove together with the symphony, with the smiling faces of the crowd around her, who forgot the past and thought only of the future, and red balloons drifted by the dozens into the sky, so much of it beautiful, so much of it awful, and the symphony grew louder, and louder, and louder, until-

A series of very large fireworks exploded into the sky, with a massive crack, and the night sky bloomed into a thousand red roses, bathing them all in a deep red light, and the sound of the explosions startled the fiddlers, so that suddenly they stopped playing, their melody coming to an abrupt end.

"Lady Morag?" Brighid asked, questioningly, as Morag stared into the explosion in the sky, a mysterious expression on her face.

"You know, Brighid," Morag said, quietly, "Despite it all, Mor Ardain is still a very beautiful place." She shook her head, snapping herself out of her reverie, then pointed back into the crowd. She smiled slightly to herself as she saw Nia and Rex laughing, running off into the night, away from the crowds. After all, she had bought her new friends here, to her home, and got them wrapped up in all this blood and horror. It was good to know that at least some of them were having a good time.

Nia gasped, laughing, as she clambered up one of the metal staircases on the side of a building, the world spinning around her. Perhaps she had had a bit too much wine. Or maybe it was the dancing that got to her head. She glanced down at Rex, who was climbing up after her, as he stumbled on one of the steps, as well, falling on his ass. Well, Rex had probably had a bit too much wine, that was for certain.

They made their way to the rooftop of the building, sitting on the pavement by one of the edges, watching the fireworks explode into the night sky.

"You know, thanks for cheering me up, Nia," Rex said, as the sky burst into flame around them.

"Yeah well, you'd been moping for a few days," she replied. "I know that's not the kind of guy you are."

"Oh? And what kind of guy am I?"

Nia considered for a moment. "You're….Rex," she said simply. "You always keep your chin up. Even when it's stupid." She felt the warmth of the wine filling her with fire, and curled an arm around his. "You...you make me smile."

Rex was quiet for a long moment, staring up into the explosions in the night sky. "It's...not always easy," he said, softly. "I've got a...responsibility to the whole world. I hadn't really thought of it until now. But I'm the Driver of the Aegis, and...I have to find Elysium. Not just for myself, for everybody. But everywhere I go, I seem to muck it up. I couldn't help Vandham. I couldn't stop Mor Ardain from being taken over by butchers." He shook his head. "All that power Malos gives me, and so far I haven't been able to do much helpful with it."

"Those things...they aren't all on you," Nia replied quietly. "You aren't responsible for the whole world, Rex. You can't be so hard on yourself. You're gonna kill yourself if you try to fix everything."

What Rex said next made her blood run cold. "Would that be so bad?" he mused. "I'm just one person. If it's just one person dying for the sake of the whole world, that seems like a pretty good deal to me."

Nia squeezed his arm, hard. She tried to bite back on the fury rising in her. "You...don't just have a responsibility to the world, you know. Idiot. You have a responsibility to the...people who care about you too." Suddenly, as the explosions rocked the sky around them, she took his face in her hands. "Do you have any idea how I'd feel if you were to bite it?" she asked, his eyes filling her entire vision. "Do you really? Oh, you bastard, do you?" And suddenly, she was aware that she had an ether connection to him again, a small golden cord connecting the both of them, and through it she could feel him, feel how genuine and good he was, and feel the wound in him as well. Rex hadn't noticed, but right now she didn't even care if he did. It felt so right, so perfect.

Rex laid a hand alongside her face as well, and it took all her willpower to not nuzzle up to it. "Nia," he said, quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm really not a very good friend, am I?"

"You..." Nia shook her head, the words tying up in her mouth. But she took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. "You...Rex, you're sweet, and...I...I'm so glad I met you, I...ah, this sappy stuff is so dumb!" She removed her hands from his face, fishing around in one of the pockets of her dress, producing a small, red cactus flower. "I...there's barely any flowers around here, I had to really go hunting for this one, I..."

"What's it mean?"

"No, shh," Nia said, laughing to herself. "The official meaning...it's ah, 'cute butt', or something like that-"

Rex raised an eyebrow her, and she shoved him, laughing, falling over onto him. "I'm trying to say," she snickered, "that, the official meaning doesn't matter, because it's the only one I could find. Not that it's not cute. But that doesn't matter. Because...this is given with special meaning from me. C'mere." She fastened it to his breast pocket. "This means….you're a rotten bastard...who means a lot to me...and you..." suddenly, she leaned forward, her forehead touching his, swimming in each other's eyes. "You...you can't hurt me like that, because..." She closed her eyes as the ether connection between them grew. Rex's soul was a burning white-hot flame, and so beautiful, but there in the center of it was a black stain, a flickering black core, that was the stain of Malos' power upon him. "I really want to," she whispered, her face so close to his. "I really want to."

"Really want to what?" Rex murmured.

But visions were flashing through Nia's mind. Her sister, withering away before her eyes, no matter what she did to help her. Pyra, whispering to her through her dreams, telling her how much it could hurt to lose people, how inevitable that loss was. Caes, Vandham's wife, and her awful, endless grief at his graveside, driving her half to madness. And suddenly she was closing her eyes, to prevent the tears from flowing. "Oh, why did you do this to me," she asked, wrapping her arms around Rex, squeezing him tight. "How could you, you awful, beautiful bastard? How dare you, damn it, how dare you?"

Rex wrapped his arms around her as well, and she hated it, she hated how much she loved how it felt. "Nia," he whispered into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "It's alright. I'm not going to throw my life away for nothing, I promise."

"Don't you throw your life away for anything at all," she hissed into his ear. "Don't do it. Don't do it to me. You arsehole, don't do it. Nothing's worth it." And she squeezed him tighter, and they stayed like that for a time, as the city of Alba Cavanich roared around them, rockets firing into the sky, a false war to proceed the real one.

Finally, the rockets died down, and with a regretful sigh, Nia severed the ether connection between them. It was surprisingly hard to do. It felt...right, it wanted to be there, it resisted being cut off. "I guess we ought to get back," she murmured, as she let go of Rex. She looked at him, blushing slightly. The wine in her blood had died down a bit. She hoped that she hadn't made things between them awkward.

She didn't need to worry. Rex got up, dusting off his pants, adjusting the flower in his breast pocket. "So," he said, breaking the silence, "You think it's cute?"

She smiled as she took his hand as he pulled her up. "Shut up."

"Oh there's nothing wrong," Rex said lightly. "I mean, yours is pretty cute too." He put a finger to his chin, considering. "Nothing compared to mine, of course."

Nia laughed as she took his arm. He might be a dork, but...it was nice knowing that things wouldn't be awkward. He had a way of making things light-hearted and still remaining sincere. It was one of the little things she loved about him.

44.

It was a few days later that they gathered at the Alba Cavanich docks, in front of Fan la Norne's ship, ready to depart.

Fan's ship was a large Indoline vessel. Dwarfed by the military titan ships it was next to, of course, but still one of the largest that Rex had ever seen. Whereas Ardainian ships, civilian or military, were always covered in armor and designed to resist boarding and invasion, the Indoline ship was much more decorative, fluted white columns spiraling upwards, designed almost to look like seashells, multiple stories of rounded doorways, with spiraling leaf and vine patterns carved into the marble, the decks delicate, polished wood, golden railings. Ardainian ships were, undoubtedly, weapons of war. Fan's ship was designed as much to be pleasant to look at as it was designed to be a vessel.

The decks bustled with soldiers, many of them carrying huge crates of ammunition to be loaded onto the warships that docked and departed with incredible rapidity. It took a mere half hour for one military ship to be docked, refueled, stocked up with ammo, and set out again. The efficiency was astounding.

There were a few people there to see them off. The first was Tatazo, Tora's father. "Tora still think his dadapon should come along," Tora muttered, embracing his father one last time. "What if Bana try to find you again…?"

"Hah! Tora not worry about his dadapon. MuiMui got drop on him, is true. But Tatazo a wily one, he promise." Tatazo broke off the hug, stroking his mustache with one wing. "Remember, must gather pieces to build Lila new body. Have a few more pieces to buy here, then taking a ship out to some prime salvaging spots. Tora not worry! Tatazo take care of himself, he promise. Once he gather enough pieces, he find Tora, and if sonnypon have time, they rebuild Lila together." He placed his hands on his hips, looking up at the rest of the party. "Although it seem like Tora have very important mission now, yes?"

"That's right. We gotta find Elyisum," Rex said, pounding a fist into his hand.

"What? Okay sure, whatever, but Tatazo talking about finding ancient technology." His eyes gleamed with interest. "Beast guarding the world tree, from your description, most definitely mechanical. Imagine what we gain if we dismantle it! Oh yes."

"Tora very interested in finding secrets of ancient technology as well!" Tora cried, shivering. "I mean if Rex-Rex want to do side-quest to find Elyisum, that cool too. Only polite to help."

Malos broke into laughter. "Engineers. They never change."

Tatazo reached up to take Poppi's hands in his. "Poppi, it very nice to meet you as well. You living embodiment of sonnypon's engineering ability and fashion sense. And you have within you only remaining link to Grampypon SooSoo." He wiped a tear from his eye. "Please look after Tora."

"Tatazo not worry," Poppi murmured, looking down at her driver with glowing orange eyes. "Poppi make sure her Tora never taken from her ever again."

Next was Niall, surrounded by a platoon of bodyguard soldiers. Morag had selected them personally. If she could not be there to protect her brother, the least she could do was screen his bodyguard for him, and make sure that none of them were Brionac. She had spent countless hours interviewing soldiers, sussing out their loyalties. In the end, she had drawn many of his bodyguard from the cavalry. They no longer rode animal mounts into battle, rather, they drove tanks. But they had a long tradition, back to the days when Mor Ardain was just a fledgling Empire, with no Senate yet to speak of, when the nation was little more than a band of marauders led by a warlord. And they still, to this day, pledged their loyalty to the Emperor over the Senate. And many of them seemed overjoyed to be personally selected by a member of Ardainian royalty. "The Senate is a fad. The Dynasty is eternal," one of the soldiers had said to her, clasping her hands in joy as she selected him to be a bodyguard. If only he knew how close the dynasty had come to ending.

"I would like to thank you all for your help during Mor Ardain's bloodiness," he said to the party. "In particular, I would like to thank you, Nia." He clasped her hand and leaned forward, to whisper into her ear. "I will do everything in my power to improve life for your kind within my borders," he said quietly, so the others could not hear.

"It's no problem," Rex replied. "I just wish there was more we could have done to help."

Niall spread his hands, smiling wanly. "It's my responsibility now, Rex."

Brighid, uncharacteristically, knelt down to give the Emperor a fierce hug. "I want you to get your sleep now," she said, wagging a finger in her face. "Remember the instructions Nia wrote down for you. Ten hours of sleep, three solid meals a day, and a glass of warm milk at night. You're a growing boy, and your body still needs to recover." She got up, crossing her arms, glaring around at his bodyguards. "You all, listen here. I want you to make sure Niall follows those instructions. I don't care if he is the Emperor. You have the permission of the Jewel of Mor Ardain to make sure he takes care of himself."

Morag was holding Aegaeon's core in her hand as Niall turned to her. "Niall," she said quietly, "I still think you ought to have Aegaeon by your side."

"My mind is made up, sister," Niall replied, before he embraced her in a tight hug.

Morag was surprised for a moment, but then wrapped her arms around him as well. "Please, take care of yourself," she murmured.

"It's in the hands of fate, now," Niall said cryptically, as he pulled away from her. "Don't worry about me. Help Rex find Elysium."

And the last to come say goodbye to them, to their surprise, was Sylvie. She was in heavy disguise, wearing none of her Brionac insignia, or her usual military uniform, instead wearing normal civilian clothes, with her face concealed by a large scarf. "Gah, this thing is sweltering," she snapped as she unraveled it.

"We may have to work on your disguises, Senator," Niall said dryly.

"Well it works, right? Just have to make sure no Brionac spot me here." She looked over the party, not knowing what to say. Finally, her eyes settled on Morag. "I...Morag, I'm going to try to do the right thing. I know….I haven't for a long time. But I'm going to try."

Morag sighed, then looked away, coolly. "A fine time to start. When it's probably already too late."

Sylvie looked at her with sadness in her eyes, then turned to Rex and Malos. "You...you were right," she said to Rex, giving him a small smile. "At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I'm not a monster. I can do the right thing." She looked over towards Malos. "And...for what it's worth...I don't think you're a monster, either," she murmured. "Or, if you think you are….it's because that's what you choose to be."

Malos stared at her, impassive, face frozen in a stern, stoic expression. Finally, he shrugged. "I am what I have to be," he said quietly. "That depends on the circumstances. The important part is that I won't ever pretend it makes me a good person."

And with that, they boarded Fan la Norne's ship, all standing on the deck to wave goodbye as, slowly, the ship rumbled to life and smoothly began pulling away from the dock. Morag looked out, at the shrinking figure of her brother, at the spires and glittering towers of Alba Cavanich, her beloved country, with all its glory, and all its treachery, its honor and its traitors, all its beauty and all its horror.

"Goodbye," she whispered, as first her brother, then the docks, then the spires of the city itself slowly faded into the distance, enveloped in the grey fog of the Cloud Sea.

45.

It was a couple weeks after Morag and the rest had left. Sylvie sighed as she hunched over a desk in her mansion. It was large, mostly empty now. Her father had passed away a couple of years ago, and her mother, after that, had retired to a small villa in Gormott. Sylvie had long stopped paying for the servants, rarely visiting the mansion. She had considered selling it, but it was a good thing she didn't. It came in useful now.

She had a place in the Senator's quarters in the palace as well, of course. But this was the sort of work that definitely shouldn't be left around the palace. Before her, lying spread out on the desk, were hundreds of financial documents on the funding of Brionac. That, she decided, had been the best place to begin, to get some useful information for Niall. She knew the Brionac party had a fund – they had even paid for her election campaign, in the past – but she wasn't aware where the money came from. But they also had the money to build an army of their own, and the money to pull off an attempted coup. Those things didn't come cheap. She was expecting to find all sorts of donors, from industrialists within Mor Ardain. And there was a lot of that, yes. But much less than she had expected.

And as she had begun prying into the sources of the cash Brionac had, it led her through a byzantine series of money exchanges, people attempting to make the source difficult to find. But after some research, and some logical deductions, she was left with a startling conclusion.

It was Indol.

Indol was underwriting Brionac to an enormous extent. It was hard to say just how much – so much of the cash sources were still uncertain. But at least forty percent – forty percent! Of Brionac's available cash could be traced back to various sources in Indol. Another thirty percent was uncertain, but she suspected a large chunk of that might be Indoline in source as well.

And that wasn't all. It wasn't just any Indoline source. In fact there was no source in Indol who could command this much money. It had to be coming from the Indoline government. And if it was coming from the Indoline government, that meant the Praetor knew about it. Indol was not Mor Ardain. In Mor Ardain, there was enough government bureaucracy and competing interests – even now, with Brionac having murdered much of the competition – for there to be room for hidden money flowing out. Not so in Indol. Praetor Amalthus was absolute monarch, and he brooked absolutely nothing in his government to be hidden from his knowledge. He insisted on complete government transparency. On pain of imprisonment or execution. Draconian, yes, but Sylvie supposed it might have served the Empire better if the Emperor had that policy, wouldn't it have?

But why would Indol be underwriting Brionac? It was definitely at odds with their public position. Amalthus had not been shy in his scathing criticism of the war, and even in his scathing criticism of Brionac in particular, even if Indol remained one of Mor Ardain's closest diplomatic connections.

Unless, wily fox that he was, Amalthus actually wanted the war. But….what for…?

Well...it was no secret that the Indoline theocracy was the most powerful military in the world, after Mor Ardain. But why would he encourage Mor Ardain to attack Uraya, which would only strengthen them in the long run, if…

Unless...Sylvie checked herself. She tried to think through things clearly, as an outsider. Amalthus had the weight of centuries of experience, and was a near-mythic figure. He was no fool. Maybe...Mor Ardain was not so mighty that an invasion against Uraya would go smoothly. Maybe Amalthus expected it to be much more bloody than Sylvie thought it would be. Maybe he expected it to weaken Mor Ardain to the extent that Indol could claim its place as most powerful nation in the world.

Well, she had more than enough evidence. Later on she could meet the Emperor and tell him all about it. But first…

She gathered up a summary of the relevant documents, and a small letter, into a silver tube, which she locked with a key. It was a courier tube, for important information between government officials. Only Senators and other important officials had the key to unlock them. She assumed Morag would have one.

Ironically, Brionac had a list of compromised members of the Courier corps that they knew could be used to spy. This came in handy for Sylvie now, who could use the list to know exactly who not to entrust with the message.

Roughly an hour later, she was meeting a member of the Courier corps by the palace barracks. It was late at night, but the Courier corps's motto was any message, anywhere, any time of day, no matter what it took. She looked the young man up and down as she handed the tube to him. Other companies might deride the Couriers as glorified mailmen, but she knew they were subject to some of the most rigorous training of any of Mor Ardain's troops, and often undertook missions far more dangerous than any other division would ever face. He was kitted out not in the Ardainian heavy armor, but a much lighter reconnaisance outfit, baggy clothes and bandoliers strapped about him, carrying a large rifle. He looked young, but confident, experienced.

"This message," she said quietly, "Is going to Morag Ladair. You will deliver it no matter what happens. Even if the invasion begins, don't listen to recall orders until you get this to her. Understood?"

The young man's eyebrows rose. "The Morag Ladair? Well then. And her last location?"

Sylvie considered. "She should be in Indol, soon. But stay away from Indol with that message. I don't care how good you think you are, it's not worth the risk of the message being captured."

The young man raised a hand. "Say no more. We take requests, no questions asked. Any idea where she'd be headed after Indol?"

"...No," Sylvie admitted.

"Well," replied the young man with a salute, "Don't you worry, ma'am. I'll try to catch up with her before she gets to Indol, or I'll catch her on the way out. Courier corps always gets the job done. Unless I'm killed." He laughed lightheartedly.

"That's what I like to hear," Sylvie laughed herself, placing her hands on her hips. "Alright, soldier, I'll leave it to you."

She returned home to her mansion, opening the door, walking in through the dark. She had a meeting with Niall early tomorrow morning, and she could tell him about her findings then. And after that-

Suddenly, she froze at the sound of a gun slowly cocking behind her. "Hello, Sylvie," a voice whispered from the darkness.

Sylvie slowly turned around. There, in the dark of the hallway behind her, was a tall, thin Brionac officer, his silver skulls burning bright blue in the moonlight filtering in through the window. She recognized him. This was Richard. A captain in Brionac. She had...even gone to military academy with him, back in the day. They had even been friends. He was pointing a gun at her face, the barrel seeming like it went on forever. He gave her a crooked little smile. "We've been busy, haven't we," he said, holding up a sheaf of her research papers in his other hand. "Very busy."

"Richard," Sylvie said, mournfully. "Why did it have to be you…?"

"Actually," Richard said, scattering the papers on the floor, "When it was being discussed, I volunteered for this."

Sylvie slowly raised her eyes from the gun barrel. There, hanging on the wall of the mansion, was an old photograph of her father, sitting on top of his tank, surrounded by his friends in the cavalry. They had always looked...so happy. Her father had so many stories of his comrades-in-arms, and they had remained friends until the day they died. It...was something Sylvie had always wished she had. Oh, well. Too late now.

"I tried to do the right thing, dad," she murmured to the photograph. "I really did."

In the night, shots rang out, echoing throughout the streets of Alba Cavanich. And then all was silent.

Note:

Wow, back to back longest chapters, I really just wanted to get chapter 4 done with, I wasn't actually expecting that there was that much left to it

A very inspiring song for me this chapter, particularly the scene with Morag and the fiddlers, was Max Richter – Infra 5

As always please, please comment if you read this, these chapters take a lot to write and comments are basically the only feedback I get. I write this because I like to, but it would be a lie to say that more readers and more comments aren't motivating. Unfortunately I don't really have time to advertise this anywhere on my own. So please if you can, comment, and if you know friends who might enjoy this, tell them about it