“I suppose things make more sense with you in the picture.” A frigid beauty with brunette hair laced into an elaborate braid, chuckled as her eyes gazed over the strangely-dressed man introduced to her, now for a second time, by Chairman Troist.

“And I didn’t peg you for the Queen type.” Third returned with a sip from the crystal glass of brown liquor.

“We take what falls into our lap, right?” Gaurdia’s Queen mirrored with a shrug. “Has your answer changed now that you’ve seen firsthand the damage that can come from the demons?”

Third considered for awhile, the answer wasn’t simple. He certainly wouldn’t run away from it; towards near-death, like before. That much in him changed. The damage of the four darts that’d swarmed the Boston docks had boiled his blood, but he still saw no tangible way to defend against an enemy like that. “It hasn’t. I still can’t do anything.”

“All you can do is lead.” Camilla shrugged, speaking this time not as a Queen, but as the girl who’d spoken to Third in the warm library all those months ago. “Don’t underestimate that. Things might be vastly different if they hadn’t proceeded the way they have.”

A chill ran Thirds spine as he heard to words, “I suppose it was worth a bit of frostbite.”

If he hadn’t been in that forest when he was, the randomly scanning UAV might not have pinged his phone when it had, who knows how long it would have taken him to find Varn or the Shipyard near Irias. He might still be living with the merchants who’d found his car-wreck, or maybe off learning swordsmanship and magic with some old fogeys in the Gaurdian keep.

“Still you are taking part in the assembly, that feels like indication enough that you are joining our fight.” Camilla reiterated with a tilt of her head. “I look forward to seeing if that massive craft will truly float.”

“Th-” Third began to argue before deciding to choose his battle carefully. “It’ll float. I’ve been on tons of them, they float.”

“I suppose it’s not worth questioning.” Camilla murmured casually. “I’ve already seen houses flying through the air today, a floating cathedral shouldn’t be too far.”

Remembering the massive helicopter which had flown Third and Gary to the Gala earlier, there was no doubt in her mind now that the large metal ship Chairman Troist had described to her in letters would indeed float.

“Another whisky?” A voice asked, stepping up when noticing Third’s empty glass.

“No, that was awful. Do you have milk?” The craving was odd but persistent so he figured it wouldn’t hurt asking.

“H-horned cow-milk?” The waiter asked, having heard the request from a few of the events he’d worked over the last few months. It wasn’t a common drink for the humans of the continent, it had only been since Arna and Reynolds employees began frequenting the city that they even bothered farming it.

“Thanks.” Third nodded replacing his emptied glass onto the tray the waiter held.

“Is it good?” Camilla hesitantly asked after the waiter scrambled off to find the odd VIP request.

“Hm-” Third murmured, not catching what she meant until thinking over the words a second time. “Ah, it reminds me of home a lot. It’s odd but it’s my new favorite thing about coming it Irias.”

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Chuckling Camilla shrugged; there were more than a few odd delicacies she enjoyed, so there was no point poking fun at the one he favored.

Receiving the cup a few minutes later, he first offered it out to Camilla. “Wanna try?”

She eyed the chilled glass carefully before tenderly reaching out to grip it around the bottom. Sniffing closely she tipped back the cup slightly to receive a small trickle of the smooth creamy milk.

Wincing mostly due to lack of expectation she thrust the cup back to Third’s awaiting palm.

“Weird, maybe its not for everyone?” Third laughed, tipping the glass back and sighing as-if a heavy weight had been lifted.

“It feel’s odd.” Camilla responded, her eyes watering and wincing as she swallowed down the tiny bit of liquid.

“Gkah” Third answered with a refreshed sigh, setting the cup down and adjusting his seat as he gazed across the area beneath the private balcony the two had occupied. The party was still well underway with countless meandering bodies still flitting into separate groups of conversations that scattered the wide ballroom.

Around one table, the largest group of audience had formed as they listened to the conversation between Gary Podavani, Chairman Troist of the Passage group, Chairman Lu’win of the 7th wing, as well as a few other big names of the Irias six families.

His booming laugh cut through the calm music that filled the room as he spoke. It nearly drew its own crowd just from curiosity of those who smiled as they heard it.

“So he’d come rushing down the hall and as soon as he’d get within a few feet, we’d hang up.” Gary continued, holding in the laughter so he could proceed to the punchline. “And we are doing this for weeks by the way, once or twice a day, we’d call his extension and watch him rush down the hall to grab it, only to miss it right at the end. So, after about a month of this, he finally agreed to have his phone moved back to his office. So, our job was done, right? Well, a few days after his phone has been moved, he comes into the break room; real grumpy expression on, so we ask him, ‘Arnie what’s happening?’.”

Again, Gary stifled a heavy guffaw as he glanced around the table to the attentive group of local business leaders. “He says, ‘Think my phone is broken, I used to get a few calls a day, but now almost none.’”

The group, being nearly as drunk as he, all burst with laughter in unison with Gary; despite still not fully understanding what a phone was. Fortunately, the joke landed well enough that the infectiousness of Gary’s laugh was enough to carry it.

“Say, what do you know about Josin Ruker?” Third asked abruptly, suddenly thinking of the aging Count’s eldest son that Varn’s chancellor had warned him about.

Camilla was initially caught off-guard by the question but as she drew upon her memory of the name a nod of understanding soon followed.

“The Ruker's are a complicated case.” Camilla sighed, rubbing the corner of her head which commonly held the headaches they caused. “Have you met Leon yet?”

“Not directly.” Third explained with a shrug, “We were able to negotiate through the Village Chancellor for mining rights in the valley, so we haven’t needed to yet.”

Camilla considered how best to describe the situation. Technically, the Ruker county was a land under her control, but in reality, the Ruker’s had limited contact with Gaurdia over the past decade, using the excuse of ‘heavy damages from demon attacks’ to explain their slimming tax payments year after year.

According to her advisors, her father had even considered auditing the land by force after one particularly insulting year’s payment.

She’d heard rumors that his eldest, Josin had been placed in charge of the county’s finances, but she was reluctant to assume all the blame for the souring relationship could be attached to him.

However, from her limited recollection of the man’s father, she had always thought he was a rather docile and respectable figure, so she couldn’t quiet mesh the two images painted in her mind.

“You should.” Camilla claimed with a bit of impulsiveness bled into her voice. “I don’t know about Josin, but Leon was a good man, he is a good man.”

“Alright,” Third nodded, still trepidations due to his initial introduction of the name.

Neither spoke their underlying thoughts, and they each knew far more than the other expected. But the chasm between the two had already formed; their commonality in goals was limited. Third felt no real incentive to fight for Gaurdia’s Queen, or it’s people.

He still couldn’t care less about the hundreds who’d perished in the ritual used to bring he and the others here. If anything, he’d even felt a bit joyful learning that Camilla’s father; the man who’d made the call that brought them here, had died for it.