Silvan’s hands hovered under a tap of liquid methane. As he scrubbed them clean, the cool liquid flowing over his skin, he could still only think of his speech given an hour prior.

Did they believe it? He asked himself. More important than having conviction in his own words was if others had believed them. If not, it would’ve made everything he hoped for redundant. As Fabian Salomon had implied, the right words had to be spoken by him in the right place, otherwise no one would trust him—or at least keep their distrust as moderate and inconspicuous as possible. Such was the case with Rhona Karesti.

“Ah, Duke Silvan, what a surprise!” a man exclaimed as he stepped into bathroom Silvan had been alone in until that point.

You don’t need to call me Duke--- no, he should. If I present myself as lowly, people will take advantage of it.

“Pleasure to see you… Count Moen, was it?”

“Please, call me Olvir. We’re colleagues now, aren’t we?”

You can’t let him be too personable with you. Owner of the third-largest private mine on Titan, he’ll want to have his way with you undoubtedly.

“I’d prefer to call you by your title,” Silvan smiled, moving away from the sink, and putting his hands below an air dryer. “Nobility is something our ancestors didn’t take for granted. Neither should we.”

“You do make a point, Duke Silvan,” Moen chuckled, before sighing. “I will be honest. I hadn’t expected you to be appointed. Or, actually, I hadn’t thought you would accept the appointment.”

“Is that so?” Silvan finished drying his hands.

“What I mean is… you aren’t quite as out-and-about as General Karesti.”

“Well, tides can change quickly,” Silvan noted. "It’s funny you mention her name. I don’t think I would’ve come here if what happened to her back on Terra didn’t go down. I suppose that’s why I felt I had to come here.”

“The bonds of blood are strong, I see,” Moen remarked. “But if I may, I have a question.”

“Please, go ahead,” Silvan said, having subtly inched himself towards the door so that he could leave as soon. “What do you want to ask me?”

“This war that we’ve put ourselves into… what do you think we’ll gain from it?”

Land? Resources? Answers such as those were shallow. If he said them aloud it would give him away as a person who couldn’t think beyond physical wants. Karesti’s were much more than that.

“I guess honour’s a nice thing,” Silvan answered. “But that’s what all wars we fought raged on for. I believe that what we have to gain from this is a clean slate. Something to build anew on.”

“So you want the Terran continent to be vanquished of its people?”

“Who knows?” Silvan shrugged. “That’s not for me to say. Anyways, I think I’ll get going. I believe you came here to do something?”

“That’s right,” Moen said, hiding a smile. “I shall see you next meeting, Duke Silvan.”

“You as well, Count Moen.” Silvan tilted his head slightly in honour of a man who was a decade his senior. He pushed past the sliding doors of the bathroom where he found himself in one of the hallways of the Civil Administration. This was where the meetings of the Central Council were held and where offices of the ministries were located, but it was much smaller than the Military Headquarters that it was attached to.

Outside he found that the halls were mostly empty save for a few passing guards here and there. His fellow councillors had for the most part left the grounds of the building as soon as their meeting had been completed. But there was still another 15 minutes or so before Meurig would arrive to pick him up.

What would he do to kill time?

Silvan entered the five-sided rotunda of the Administration building. To his left and right were two more hallways leading to smaller meeting rooms and offices like the one he’d come out of. At the left and right up ahead were the principal meeting room where Central Council convened and the library, respectively.

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Literature was an important part of Silvan’s life, but not because he’d wanted it to be. After Gunnar Karesti’s death, his widow and Silvan’s mother immersed herself in reading physical, paperbound books as a way to retreat from the weight of grief. All the walls of Ortrun’s room and many of the hallways were lined in shelves of old books she gradually made a collection of.

The feeling of being somewhere that resembled home snapped Silvan’s façade of appearing like he had everything together. This place was strange to him, filled with even stranger people. The only ones he believed he could trust were Sjogren and Salomon, of which he had only met the former, and that too briefly. He realized that if he could not make alliances within the Central Council he would not be able to keep his seat on it. Everyone had their own agenda and their own story, but which resembled his the most?

Silvan hurried to a seat in a quiet corner of the—as far as he was aware—empty library. He held his face in his hands as his chest rose and fell rapidly, anxiety flowing through his veins. He was not prepared at all. His mother had tried to protect him from the intricacies of bureaucracy for so many years but could not stop his grown self from going where his heart desired. Was this what he desired?

Calm down, Silvan, he told himself in his head. Just… breathe. Breathe, and think. You need to do research. Find out what stakes the other councillors have. Moen mentioned something about the war. What do they have to do with this war? I’m sure at least the nobles have their family histories written somewhere in this very library I’m in.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard a set of soft footsteps traversing across the library on the other side of the grandiose room.

He sighed as he took his head out of his hands, frustrated that his promising and hopeful stream of thought had been severed. He turned his head in the direction of the footsteps and saw a figure facing a window, their forearms resting on the ledge.

That doesn’t look like a librarian to me.

The person didn’t seem to notice Silvan’s presence as he carefully approached them. As he got closer, he was surprised to find out who it was. He had the opportunity to ask important questions.

“I didn’t you’d be here, Duchess Quirina.” Silvan politely chimed, prompting the young woman to turn and look at him. He hadn’t gotten close enough to see it before, but her face look exhausted and dreary even as she produced a slight smile.

“Oh, Duke Silvan. What a surprise to see you here.”

Silvan leaned against the wall adjacent to the window and crossed his arms.

“Now that we have a moment to speak privately, I need to know why you did that.” the young man’s voice suddenly turning stern.

“What do you mean?”

“You exactly what I mean. Back when I was delivering my speech.” he sighed. Silvan desired to speak in a more amiable tone, but he couldn’t tell if he could trust the young duchess. Especially a member of the family whose technology led to his father’s demise.

“I don’t get what you’re saying,” she admitted. “You don’t remember me?”

“Now how on Titan would I remember you? With all due respect, this is the first time I’ve ever even seen your face—

“That’s not true. And… well, I shouldn’t really blame you for not remembering, but we have met before. Not recently, of course.”

“And when would that have been?” Silvan sighed. He was getting frustrated, believing the girl was playing around with him. But then again, the enervation etched into her face told him she wasn’t in the condition to be doing so.

“It was… it’ll be 15 years ago, four months from now. Emperor Halsten’s inauguration party. Forgive me, I really shouldn’t have expected you to remember something that happened so long ago. We were only four then.”

“I see,” Silvan, trying to probe through his memory for that day but could find nothing besides the fact that he had indeed gone there with his mother and father. It wouldn’t be farfetched to presume that the heiress of the Calvo family too had been present. “Still doesn’t tell me why you helped me.”

“I think we could both use each other’s help.” she said, but there was some uncertainty in her voice. She wasn’t sure what this ‘help’ would consist of, but she knew it would come.

“Ah, so you weren’t being kind for the sake of it, huh?” Silvan said frustratingly, hitting his forehead with his palm. “Sure, fine. I can do that. Nice seeing you, Duchess, I think I’m going to—

“Wait, Duke Silvan,” she called out moments after his back left the wall. “I honestly think we can do something for each other. This… this council is built on exchanges, you know that. And as a member of the Karesti line you can’t exchange with just anyone. I—I don’t know what we can give each other yet, but I want you to trust me. I want to trust you, Duke Silvan.”

Silvan had stopped before he was further than arm’s length from the young woman. Something inside him told him to just consider her words. A war that threatened the power balance of the Empire and its two colonial strongholds had commenced. Could he afford to let such an opportunity go that the Empire that his cousin strived to change could possibly fall apart?

“Trust, you say?” he asked.

“Yes. We need to trust each other. Our Empire is in a difficult position which can be strengthened by an alliance between members of its two most powerful families. We can keep this a secret. No, we must.” Quirina affirmed. She extended her right arm before her, ready to partake in the Titanian gesture of confidence.

Silvan diffidently wrapped his right hand around Quirina’s right elbow, the digits of his appendage completely enveloping the middle part of her arm with its size. Silvan’s lips remained straight as a faint smile spread across Quirina’s, her thumb pressing into the inner area of Silvan’s elbow.

“I trust you, Duchess Quirina Calvo.” he said.

“I trust you, Duke Silvan Karesti.”