“Councillor Omdal, please put in your vote.” Lieutenant General Salomon requested from his position at the podium at the centre of the Central Council’s meeting room. As was standard practice, the veteran marquess councillor shielded the twin buttons before him on the grand semi-circular table with one hand, using the other to make his selection using one of said buttons.
15 and 14, leaning in favour of the motion, Salomon noted as he peered at the custom-made communicator on top of the podium specifically for Central Council votes.
After 29 votes, Salomon’s gaze finally fell upon the last councillor to be called, Duke Silvan.
“Councillor Karesti, please put in your Crown vote.”
Silvan pulled his unnoticeable gaze from person seated at the exact opposite end of the table from him, which had caused the two councillors to be in perfect line of sight of one another. Using his one hand to cover his selection while making his vote with the other, there was a pause of five seconds until Fabian Salomon spoke his next words.
“Councillor Karesti, please put in your plebeian’s vote.” Salomon requested.
Silvan calmly entered his second vote in the same way he had entered the first. A couple of groans were heard from his fellow councillors, but most remained silently observant as Salomon watched the numbers on his communicator change.
“In a tally of 15 to 16, the Central Council votes against the construction and display of a memorial statue for Lieutenant General Ruvimu Berg in the city of Menrva.”
The council room became filled with a gracious applause, although not everyone’s clapping had the same volume.
--
Silvan found himself once again wandering within the walls of the quiet Central Council library after the biweekly meetings. But instead of pacing aimlessly, he was biding his time for his unlikely ally within the council, and he only had to wait a couple of minutes.
“Duke Silvan, I’d like to thank you for effort again.” Quirina Calvo said with her hands humbly folded in front of her.
“Duchess Quirina, you don’t have to keep thanking me every single time we have a vote session.” Silvan rolled his eyes before giving a chuckle. His eyes spotted a bench in an empty corner of the library, and he gestured for the head of the Calvo clan to join him in sitting on it.
“I still find this arrangement rather amusing, that’s all.” Quirina smirked as she sat half an arm’s length from Silvan.
“So do I,” Silvan shared her smile, before it straightened.
“I knew Ruvimu Berg.” he quietly confessed. “He was a good man.”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Quirina frowned, gazing at wall far in front of her. “I wasn’t aware.”
“He was one of my father’s close subordinates, and I saw him quite often until the old man passed. It would’ve been nice if the vote had gone through, but you and I know that a statue is the least of our problems.”
Quirina breathed a quiet exhale of relief, thankful that Silvan was on the same page as her. She too had her own reason to vote in favour of the motion, but instead decided not to.
“My mother’s family is from Menrva, but… it’s Menrva, after all. Putting a statue there would just be performative work.”
Menrva might have been the second-largest city on Titan, but its relevance was nothing next to Xanadu’s. The capital settlement of the Titanian Empire was a primate city. Its population was a whopping 30 million against Menrva’s 6 million.
“So you too had a reason to vote in favour,” Silvan understood. “Wonderful. By the way, have you noticed it? How little they mentioned the failure in Terra’s Barrens?”
“The military faction don’t want us speaking about their shortcomings. It’s an utter disgrace to the brave men and women who lost their lives there,” Quirina mused. “Otherwise, I would’ve voted in favour of the statue being built.”
“Either way, I’d be voting however you voted.” Silvan flashed a white grin.
The voting arrangement between Silvan and Quirina worked very well. Votes were confident within the Central Council, and no one knew another’s unless they disclosed it following the conclusion of the meeting. However, the two young elites had found a way around it. It took them three meetings to realise that the order for voting stayed the same. Quirina’s name was called much earlier than Silvan’s. She would make her vote known to him with a subtle display of body language: one right hand on the table had meant she put in a vote in favour of the motion, while no right hand on the table signified a vote against the motion.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Silvan would then use his royal privilege to strengthen the position Quirina had chosen. Members of the royal bloodline sitting on the Central Council were given two votes. The Crown vote represented the interests of the royal family, while the plebeian’s vote was supposed to be a voice for the Titanian public. In theory, at least. Many councillors and elites outside of the government had accused it of being an abuse of power. But regardless, Quirina’s one vote and Silvan’s two made up a hefty 10% of the Central Council’s 30-person voice, and not a single person on the council knew of this powerful arrangement besides the two of them.
“There are rumors,” Quirina spoke after a short pause in conversation. “That before the depot’s lasers were functional, there was a terrorist on the Terran’s side making very quick work of our soldiers. It’s been said that he cut down about 300 Titanians even while they continued to come after him one after another. And all that with just a sword.”
“So I’ve heard,” Silvan said. “But it’s hard to believe. Is there really a terrorist that strong out there?”
“I’ve heard so from my family’s guards who have deep connections remaining in the military,” Quirina said. “I’m sure your guard Meurig has also been made aware, but there are three theories that are rampant at the moment.”
The first supposition was that the super soldier was trained directly under the Red Devil himself, which made sense given that the latter was found to have collaborated in the assault on Shargara. The second was that this soldier was in fact the asset who had been sought after so badly by the General, not a farfetched idea as eyewitnesses had credible testimony of his prowess in his earlier confrontation with the squad meant to capture him. The most popular theory, and indeed the most unsettling, was that this soldier was the asset who had become the Angel Slayer’s undisputed successor in his crusade against the Titanian Empire.
“May Pizna protect her children,” Silvan shuddered at the thought, before rising to his feet.
“I’ll be leaving now, Duchess Quirina,” Silvan spoke. “I have an appointment this evening.”
Quirina walked Silvan to the doors of the library, being careful to not leave through them at the same time as the Duke. Any eyes spotting them together meant the creation of unnecessary gossip within the Central Council.
“Say, Duke Silvan, I… have a request.” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder before his foot crossed the doorway.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking about this, that we’ve only ever spoken to one another inside this library. I don’t think it should be that way. Would you be… willing to get dinner with me sometime?”
A smile erupted on Silvan’s lips. The Calvo girl seemed to have taken an affinity to him that extended past their professional alliance.
“You have my number,” he said. “You know where to find me.”
--
The distant sun was now totally invisible as light had given way to darkness, not making too much of a difference given just how far it was from Titan. The only way it was possible to see was with lamps spread in equal distance throughout the sprawling garden dotted with rare flora from all over the moon, emitting dazzling magenta hues as a result of the Utrium placed inside of them. Natural or artificial light, it was no issue for the two completely armored figures who had gotten into a brawl within the cultivated plot of land, connected to an enormous building with the typical edgeless, annular architecture of Titan via a narrow, arched walkway.
One of the fighters swung forward with their sword from their right, attempting to exploit the left handedness of their opponent. The opponent parried well, shoving their body off of them. The younger fighter, who had been on the defensive side of the fight till that point, created a level 5 barrier just strong enough to catch their fall. They used the momentum from bouncing off of it to charge forward with a grunt, preparing to slice the helmet off their opponents’ face. But the older, more experienced fighter already had their sword up in parry in anticipation of the restless opponent’s attack. The experienced fighter was just a bit too strong for the younger, being pressed against hard by their opponent. There was no time to create a second barrier as both hands of the younger fighter gripped their sword. Instead of pressing back against the opponent, they decided to swing their sword upwards swiftly. The blade cut across a line hoisting up some of the lamps, and they jumped a step back, falling into a shrub that boasted bright, florid red berries. Several of the lamps had already crashed down on top of the older fighter’s head when they understood the youth’s last-ditch tactic to save themselves. The older fighter was disoriented and stumbled to the ground, but they caught that the younger fighter had to have lost their sword as they fell into the shrub.
All they had to do was get up fast enough to finish off the younger fighter. But when they had risen to their feet, they found the younger fighter standing before them, the height difference between the two fighters noticeable as the younger stood a few inches above the older. The younger fighter had no sword in their hands, and all the older fighter could do was gasp in astonishment before they were whipped across the face with the pistol the younger fighter had kept in their utility belt. They fell to the ground, but the younger fighter continued holding their pistol, aiming it at the older warrior’s skull.
As the veteran held their head in their hands, groaning in pain, the green warrior looked down at them much in the same manner a bird would look at a worm.
“Yield!” the young fighter cried with a feminine voice. “Or face the consequences for trespassing on Karesti land!”
“I… will not yield,” the older warrior refuted, her voice more mature than her opponent but still womanly as she got herself to her knees. “I will get my hands on the princess, as I was told to—
The juvenile didn’t wait for the intruder to finish her sentence and sent her flying to the ground again with a powerful kick to the shoulder. The intruder ceased movement.
The budding fighter had won their battle.