The lounge enveloped Aureon in understated elegance. He luxuriated in one of the plush armchairs, savoring the warm glow of the brass-caged aether lamps, their light spilling almost physically across the polished ebony floor. The enchanted instruments filled the air with gentle music, blending with the soft murmur of the nearby fountain. He had visited many different forms of Archon sanctuary, but the lounges held a special comfort that always drew him back.

He sank deeper into the chair, the fabric supremely soft against his skin. The untouched ambrosia in his glass caught the light, reflecting off the gold threads woven into his pale wrist. The pose came easily to him now, a habit born of centuries. He knew well that true power required no display—it rested in the quiet confidence of knowing exactly what one was.

Aureon watched the air split apart in a needlessly dramatic display of gold and blue light that scattered across the black stone floor. When the spectacle finally ended, Brenda materialized in the chair opposite him, as composed as if she'd simply walked through a door.

"Brenda," He kept his voice smooth, refined from centuries of careful practice. "Still fond of your grand entrances, I see." He lifted his glass in a subtle gesture of greeting, though the ambrosia remained untasted.

She settled back, her shimmering dress catching the lounge's warm light. "And you," she said, her gaze lingering on his drink, "remain as needlessly indulgent as ever."

"He'd best hope his current scenario continues doing numbers," called Marcus from a chaise near the fireplace. "He's burning through a fortune a few ounces at a time."

Aureon chuckled under his breath and flicked two fingers lazily toward the side of the room. A glossy chrome automaton, its sleek design organic in its fluidity, rolled forward on silent bearings. It carried a crystalline tray with an array of jewel-toned bottles and stemmed glasses that glinted under the lounge's warm light.

The automaton stopped at Brenda’s side and extended an articulated arm, presenting her with a selection. Brenda took her time choosing, her eyes flickering over each bottle before finally settling on one filled with an opalescent liquid that seemed to shift colors as she reached for it.

She sprawled across from him, swirling her drink in its long-stemmed glass. As she did, its color settled into a luminous blue that mirrored the streaks in her unruly hair.

“So… Bannerlords, right?” she asked, one eyebrow arched as she peered at him over her glass. “How is that little dumpster fire going, Aureon?”

"Honestly, a dumpster fire?" He gasped, wounded. "Brenda, it's going beautifully." He leaned forward, raising his goblet slightly. "The factions are practically throwing Aether and Authority at me. Engagement ratings are sky-high."

Brenda tilted her head, swirling her drink. The blue streaks in her hair caught the light as she arched an eyebrow at him. Aureon ignored her skepticism, too satisfied with his success to let her doubt bother him. He took a sip of his ambrosia and settled back in his chair. He gestured with his goblet, happy to have an excuse to banter.

"It's all been a very quick turnaround, just as planned," he said, not bothering to hide his pride, "I won the rights to the planet from Bartolomeo about two hundred fifty years ago. A game of six-card, if you believe it."

Marcus snorted into his glass. He perched on the chaise's armrest in his tailored suit, looking down at them all with practiced disdain. The chandelier's light played across the fabric, shifting between black and silver.

"Two centuries is a blink for orchestrating something like this." He lifted his glass, amber liquid catching the light, then paused before taking a drink. "What'd you do? Skip balancing entirely and let Ares and Athena start butchering each other from day one?"

Marcus's accusation stung, but Aureon kept his face neutral except for a slight tightness around his eyes. He waved his hand dismissively, the motion leaving traces of divine light in its wake. His broken halo hummed in response.

"That's not what happened at all, Marcus," he said evenly. "You should know the A-listers aren't even involved, just their neophytes."

"Of course," Marcus agreed. "Never once did I imagine you would actually draw the attention of someone like Woden himself. I apologize if I misspoke."

"The arrangement works for everyone involved." Aureon retorted, taking another measured sip from his goblet. "I gave the leadership what they wanted: their lower-ranking celestials get some managerial experience running war games while the Skaeldrin serve as both cannon-fodder and potential recruits." His smile tightened. "Everyone profits. Especially me."

Aureon watched Marcus take a deliberate sip from his glass, the silence stretching between them like a challenge. Brenda, for her part, leaned forward: her interest finally caught. The blue liquid in her glass caught the light as she swirled it absently.

"Potential recruits?" Her tone was light, but he heard the skepticism beneath it. "Those scrap-huggers on the depository world?" She fixed him with a hard stare. "Don't get me wrong. I love a good underdog story as much as anyone." Her smile turned sharp. "But how much Aether are they actually pulling from that pile of rust?"

Aureon leaned forward, resting his arms on the table with his goblet held loose. "Of course, most of the Aether concentrates around the capital. It is why the population clusters there…"

He gestured, divine light trailing from his fingers as the golden veins in his skin pulsed. "And yes, the tier levels drop at the fringes—but that's useful, actually. The celestials with the least experience can practice doling out quests and rewards at practically no cost—tier 3 and under, mostly."

He settled back, his broken halo catching the light. "Still, some of the Skaeldrin show promise. I know for a fact that the War Host is going to try and properly recruit a tier 9 and a tier 10 out of the capitol region—if they survive the fighting, that is."

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Setting down his goblet, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. "And let's not forget the Concordance abductees I secured." The memory of that victory warmed him as his horns caught the light. "Now those are truly promising. Rare talent, unspoiled by local mediocrity."

"I've looked in on your little soldier boy," Marcus interjected. "I don't think he or his boundling are going to be taking any recruitment offers. And the professor is spoken for."

"A handful of talents," Brenda said, her gaze pinning Aureon, sharp and unyielding as polished steel. "Even exceptional ones, won't justify the level of investment being funneled into this little production of yours."

Aureon reclined in his chair, fingers brushing the rim of his goblet as though the motion alone could steady his irritation. "You're underestimating the scope," he replied smoothly, though he felt the weight of her scrutiny pressing against him. "The recruits are merely the most visible returns on investment. The scenario's complexity is what drives engagement."

Brenda leaned forward, her iridescent gown catching the golden light as she rested her forearms on the table. "Spare me the sales pitch." Her tone was clipped now, pointed in a way that left little room for deflection. "The Aeons aren't throwing their Authority at this because they're dazzled by your narrative structure. There's more here—something you haven't said."

Aureon reclined slightly, the glow from his golden veins faintly illuminating the sharp angles of his face. Brenda’s remark lingered in the air, her words both challenge and curiosity wrapped in a knowing smirk. She was good at this—needling for information, pushing without pushing. But Aureon thrived in the dance of subtle provocations.

“Oh, Brenda,” he said softly, his melodic voice laced with a predatory edge, a languid curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his glowing eyes. “You underestimate me.”

She raised an eyebrow, swirling the luminous blue liquid in her glass with deliberate slowness. “I don’t underestimate you,” she countered lightly. “I simply know you well enough to call out your theatrics. A handful of recruits doesn’t justify the amount of Authority being burned through out there.”

Aureon let his smile widen as he watched Brenda's face. A predatory gleam lit his eyes. He set his goblet on the crystal table and leaned forward, every motion calculated—even among peers, he was nothing if not a showman.

“Incentives,” he stage-whispered, savoring the word like a fine nectar. “The Bannerlords scenario isn’t just about cultivating talent or testing faction dynamics.” He gestured lazily with one hand, light trailing from his fingertips like faint embers in the lounge’s dim glow. “Let’s just say I’ve left our beloved Aeons some... incentives.”

Brenda tilted her head slightly, her iridescent gown catching and refracting the golden light as she regarded him with renewed interest. “Incentives,” she echoed dryly, though there was no mistaking the spark of curiosity beneath her otherwise casual tone.

“Oh yes,” Aureon said smoothly, settling back into his chair as though every motion were choreographed for maximum effect. “Some well-placed rewards to keep the factions really invested in the ongoing drama.” His fractured halo pulsed faintly as he spoke, the broken edges glinting like shards of glass caught in sunlight.

Brenda took a slow sip from her glass but said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. Marcus, however, leaned forward while swirling the amber liquid in his glass, the faint clink of ice against crystal loud in the otherwise quite lounge. His gaze bore into Aureon, sharp and unyielding.

"And what, exactly, could you have planted that would be worth all this trouble?" The skepticism in his voice wasn’t masked—it was deliberate, a jab meant to pierce through whatever performance Aureon was crafting. For his part, Aureon’s grin spread like the edge of a blade.

"You’ll find out eventually," he said, reclining with an air of insufferable ease, as though the weight of Marcus’s doubt was nothing more than a passing breeze. He steepled his fingers, crystalline horns catching and refracting the light like shards of stained glass. "But trust me—it makes control of that planet quite... desirable."

The pause that followed wasn’t an accident. He let it linger just long enough to bait their curiosity further before adding, with the casual confidence of a man holding every card in the deck, "Though I will admit... the most interesting prize wasn’t one I placed there myself. Pure luck. But Herne's people seem to be onto it."

"This all does beg the question..." Brenda began, her tone laced with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. "How the hell have you managed to pull all this off without tilting the scales toward one faction? I’m shocked you’ve set all this up without Demiurge slapping you with a sanction."

Aureon’s laugh was slow and deliberate, rolling out like honey spiked with arsenic. He rose from his seat in one fluid motion, spreading his hands wide as though inviting them to marvel at his brilliance.

"Oh, that’s the best part," he said, his voice dripping with amusement as if he were savoring a punchline only he understood. "The only faction truly impacted by my meddling is..." He let the moment stretch just long enough to tease them both before delivering his answer with a casual flick of his wrist. "The Concordance."

Aureon savored the moment of silence that followed his revelation, watching their faces as understanding dawned. Then, like a dam breaking, laughter erupted from all three of them simultaneously. The sound echoed off the obsidian walls, filling the lounge with their shared mirth.

Marcus wiped a tear from his eye, nearly spilling his drink. "Those stuck-up bastards?" He shook his head, amber liquid sloshing in his glass. "Oh, this is perfect."

"Reclusive pricks," Brenda added, her blue-streaked hair catching the light as she threw her head back. "As old as the System and still incapable of taking a joke. Shit, I'll put something in the tip jar for you if you've actually found a way to wrestle one of their little junkyard worlds from them."

Aureon settled back into his chair, allowing himself to bask in their approval. His fractured halo hummed with satisfaction as Marcus launched into a story about a particularly frustrating encounter with a Concordance representative.

"You should have seen this one," Marcus growled, "Wouldn't even look at me directly. Just kept staring at some point over my shoulder, going on and on about 'proper protocols' and 'established channels.'"

Brenda snorted into her drink. "At least yours deigned to speak. The last time I tried to coordinate with them, they sent an automated response. Three weeks later!"

Their shared disdain filled the room like fine wine, and Aureon lifted his glass in a mock toast.

"To the Concordance," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "may one of their precious singularities finally just swallow them all and give the rest of us a damned rest."

He drank with the others, but internally he was still thinking about the incentives he had mentioned. He really hadn't planned on that damned Leviathan, but the secrets it carried with it to the grave might end up turning his entire scenario on its head.

He hoped they would. It would be great for ratings.