Sir Hugh closed his eyes, remembering the words of his wife. Breath in. Exhale. Breath in. Exhale. Forceful at first, then shallow. Gentle. As Hugh did, he found the frenzied chaos and tension of the room start to lessen.

"-you're fucking crazy if you actually believe that. And that's a big if, not exposing this for the gargantuan grandstanding it really is", Flaxen spat.

The Council Hall, which often doubled as a war room, sat on one of the small islands that floated above the Anaxian sea. Through the towering window walls, the clouds sat just outside, birds flying by so close the wind from their wings threatened to brush the glass. A giant, ashen stone table sat in the center of the hall, ten chairs positioned on each side vertically, and five horizontally. Of the thirty seats, only twelve were seated.

"No grandstanding at all, actually", said Lawrence, an older man, and though his body had given way to some fat, and his ashen hair receded, his figure and countenance gave whispers of a once young man of might. "Just truth. And balls. Something I know you and your boys don't like, or possess."

Flaxen leaned back in his seat, his mouth breaking out into a cruel smile, his tongue sliding out and wiping across his lips. His thick, black rimmed glasses had slightly fallen down, a common occurrence, and his left eye now stared naked at Lawrence.

"...where do you get your pants, general?"

Lawrence chuckled.

"Where is this going, lad? We haven't the time, nor frankly the energy, for your long winded metaphors. Flatulence would be a better use of our time, at least we'd be clearing our bodies as our mouths engaged in fruitful debate."

A few, scattered chuckles came from around the table. Flaxen nodded his head, his smile not faded from his face.

"Well, I only ask because...you push us into this war, this spat...this quibble with the Outer Rim riff raff. You push us to take fleets of our ships, who are already strained in their war with both the Ten-Harian Empire, the Ne-Hido fishermen, and the dwarf-star uprisings. Endeavors whose success is...questionable. All endeavors though highly encouraged by you, and your council. The billions we've bleed, this year alone. It's almost unprecedented. Maybe a more learned man than me would know for sure. Learned man like yourself. But I do have to ask: where do you get your pants? Because as the empire bleeds money like one of the soldiers down in the infirmary, another causality thanks to the war you backed, you steadily encourage it in endeavors that'll magnify that times ten...it's almost as if it's your money. And I have to ask, with money like that, the weight...it adds up. I'm surprised there's not a gaping hole in your pocket. Well, maybe it's in your back pocket...I don't mean in the same way Harry probably has-"

"Don't you mention my son's name", Lawrence spat, his face flushed red and neck veins close to popping. His meaty hand clenched, so tight it hurt himself.

"-but maybe it's just where your ass is. An asshole pants hole."

Faxen squinted, his brows furrowed as he leaned in quizzically.

"...unless...do you have an asshole opening on your pants where you asshole is, general? You always were quite close with Harry. And given Harry's...romantic disposition...I ask this respectfully of course."

Lawrence jerked up, his chair falling backwards. He slapped his cup off the table, glass shards scattering across the white marble floor.

"You say one more goddamn word about my son and I'll shove these shards so far up your ass they'll be ticking the top of your skull."

Flaxen threw his hands up in defense, his face in mock shock.

"Whoa! This is a council meeting, general. Spirited debate. Nothing more. Of course I don't mean to cause offense. We'll keep the banter to a minimum."

Lawrence stood, his breath labored as he eyed Flaxen, the intensity so that if it were possible lasers would beam from his eyes.

"It's okay, General Lawrence. Young Flaxen seeks to vex us all", said High Alchemist Samuel, whose towheaded hair was long and thick even in his primeval age. He tapped the table with his long and boney finger. "Please, rise up your chair and sit."

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"See, General, I vex-", Flaxen began to say before Samuel cut him off.

"You would do well to cease with any further hijinks and juvenile shenanigans the remaining duration of the meeting, council member Flaxen. Should another temper arise, I won't intervene."

Lawrence picked his chair up, returning to the table.

"Now, with all that being said", Samuel said, stroking his beard. A tick when things weren't going well. "Council member Flaxen is correct: We are currently spread too thin. Between the Fen-Har, and the complete blunder of the dwarf-star situation, which is now an almost unparalleled catastrophe, our resources are being pushed to their absolute limits. Perhaps they've already passed them. Though I'd rather not let the mind wander that far, least it suggest even worse, more troublesome conclusions."

Samuel coughed, shifting in his seat.

"Not to mention, King Tegar still has not been found. Though a possible alliance between the Ten-Harian and Outer Rim marauders is greatly troubling, and in due time vengeance shall be ushered, any inkling of resources we have left to spare should be allocated solely to the King's location and rescue."

Lawrence sighed, leaning back.

"I agree. That is sound."

"What say you, Sir Hugh? Though you have been quiet, the tightness of your brows slips secrets that much thought is being had."

Sir Hugh's lips broke out into a small smile, his gaze still on the table.

"As if being looked at by God", Sir Hugh responded, looking up.

"Not God. Just an old man that has cycled around the great suns far too many times now. It's funny, my father, the late Lord Rebar, once said to me that old age makes for clearer vision. I always thought it a contradiction, but now I see. More than my younger self ever could. Which begs me to repeat my question: what thinketh thou?"

Sir Hugh sighed, shaking his head, his countenance lethargic.

"The mess we find ourselves in...is almost unparalleled. The taking of the King...my mind thinks thoughts about this, but nothing fruitful. Rushing tempest of incoherent noise."

Samuel nodded his head, his eyes looking over Sir Hugh as he stroked his beard.

"And what of the boy? The hero summoned from beyond the firmament?"

"...since the orb summoned him, and he passed through the veil, we believe him worthy, but our initial training and testing was disrupted by the orb burning him."

"You mean?"

Sir Hugh nodded his head.

"He failed."

Silence overtook the room.

"And how is he alive then?", asked General Dubar, a narrow man with greying hair and worn, leather face, wrinkles decorating it like waves in the ocean. "Does not the law and tradition say if one fails the test, they must continue to pass through the fire?"

Sir Hugh closed his eyes, sighing.

"W-we grabbed the orb before it reached that point and saved him."

A gasp erupted simultaneously across the room.

"You broke law which has been in place for millenn-", Dubar began.

"I broke millennia old law, because we are living in unprecedented times, General. And the protection of the empire, and safety of my people, is all that concerns me."

The room was silent. Samuel sighed, standing up from his chair.

"Very well. We have discussed much, and much yet further is still to be discussed, but tensions and passions run high today. It is understandable. We shall reconvene at another time."

"What about the announcement of the King's disappearance?", Flaxen questioned, rising out of his seat. "Are we still on schedule to do that?"

Samuel shook his head. "No. Delay it. Until we are certain of the King's location, and have brought about a plan to rescue him, it is better to keep the lie going. Fearful citizens would only exacerbate our issues."

They processed out the hall, which was doorless, passing through a towering square opening to the outside port, crafts lining the launch pad.

"Walk with me, Sir Hugh of the King's Guard", Samuel said, Hugh looking up at him.

They walked towards an orchard, trees stretching on for miles, purple and red fruits hanging from them. A green, reptilian creature that resembled a Gecko with wings came and snatched one of the purple furits, just as quickly as he appeared, flying off.

"You planted a fair share of this orchard with your father when you were a lad", Samuel said, his gaze lost in the greenery.

"Mm. That I did", Huh replied, a slight smile forming on his face.

"You know, Dubar and a few other council members would object to a child being brought here. This is a place for serious business, they would say. Adult debate. Not for children to play."

Hugh chuckled.

"Gidion protested, however. He has a green thumb, he'd say, then he'd point, look, look at how it's grown since he's been here. The boy knows how to tend a seed."

Hugh laughed even harder, a deep, warm belly laugh.

They walked in silence, basking in the light and tender warmth of the suns.

"Gideon, in many ways, was a prophet. Perhaps more so than any warlock or sage. He saw the coming catastrophe, the crumblings in the foundations. No one listened, me included."

"Great Sage Sam-", Hugh began.

"Things are deteriorating. Fast, Sir Hughes. Fast. I believe that King Tegar was taken by the Femorian Empire."

Sir Hugh came to a stop.

"What?"

"I have reason to believe that Prince David kidnaped his majesty. I need you to quietly look into this, let the loudest you be but a whisper."

Samuel and Hugh stood still.

"Is this understood?", Samuel asked, his voice like flint.

"Yes, High Alchemist Samuel."