“I almost wish the Prince had died,” oddly enough, this didn’t come from Hann or Qave, both of whom were currently engaged in a subtle staring contest, but from the black eagle standing to the Sky-Elf’s right.

“Care to explain your reasoning, Fadala?” Deqa asked.

“Someone else died at that park. Someone he considered a father, if rumors are to be believed.”

“He was just a system-borne,” Cyra said.

“And you’re just a human. Doesn’t really matter. A person is a person. And this one happened to be one of the most important people in Tolemvaria’s life, if not the most important. When he wakes, he’ll go for blood. I’d rather it be from one than all.”

“Hefting all the blame on Hann won’t erase the fact that he saw all of us there,” Gabrilore said.

“But it will hinder him,” his wife said. “Reduce the avenues he could use to come at us. Make sure we’re not vulnerable legally. Assassins, on the other hand, is a whole other story. We better hope whatever The Goldenmace plans to use on him doesn’t just work but that she wants to use it to protect us too. Two layers of hope stacked on top of each other. Very flimsy.”

“He cannot come at us. Legally, or illegally,” Deqa said. There it was again. Complete assurance.

“What do you know, Deck?” Hann asked, and sensed a charge brewing in Qave.

The Half-Orc hesitated again. Recovered faster than last time. “I know sacrificing one of our own is not right. I know that you mean well, Jon. That you think taking all the heat for us somehow equates to redeeming a small part of your soul. But that’s not how redemption or forgiveness works. At least not in the Order of the Le’Avendara. We go for the whole of it, not just a tiny piece. And we go for it together, or not at all. Your choice might have been the root cause of the trouble we face, but it wasn’t the only one. Merely a part of the sum. We all have brains. We all followed your orders blindly, even Cyra, till he decided not to anymore. But he added to the heap before that. We all did. You’re our brother, Jon. Let us help you—let us help each other—bear it.”

Another reason Hann hated the Wash-outs. How alone he imagined they felt. A feeling he sometimes had which he didn’t want compounded. Oh, if he got expelled, he would still have his sister, Qeru, and his mother, Azami, but Graduates of the Academy often ended up working in the upper echelons of Oshveperthe. A non-graduate became a pariah. A laughing stock who would still get work—Harubridgium education was still Harubridgium education—but a laughing stock all the same. Who would want to be associated with him? Why would he want them to draw ire by being associated with him in the first place? Bearing the burden meant his friends, his family, got to go live out their greatest dreams; without him. Helping each other meant possible expulsion for him and the Pebbles he cared about. Meant starting from scratch. Meant a miracle if they ever wanted to be [Knighted] by the [World.King] himself. Meant being together through it all; not alone—never alone.

Hann turned his eyes back to Qave. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Like to ponder. Spectate. Have nothing to add,” she moved back to the head of table, and sat back down.

“Oh, I can think of one thing,” Hann smiled.

The Green Orc laughed. “Additional points anyone?” She asked. Took a spoonful from her dish of rice and liver. “No? Then the voting should begin, should it not?” This she directed at her wife.

What are they hiding?

“Precisely,” Deqa stood back up, straightening her purple and blue robes, and clearing her throat. “Astute members of The Le’Avendara, a fork in the road has been reached. Should we choose to take the first path, all will bear responsibility for the actions which took place before our imprisonment. And should there be repercussions, all will be hit by them in equal measure. No one will be safe. But should we choose the second, only one of us will be held culpable; only one will shoulder the tribulations which might come from what we all partook in. Only one will pay. Our Spear-Tip. Our Leader. Our Order-Head. Johann Avendari, of the [Blacksmiths] and [Sky-Elves]. Will we sacrifice one of our own, or will we weather the storm of our choices as one. Let us travail whatever path we decide to take together or not at all. So I Pronounce and Witness in [Oshvepertha]’s stead. May the Slumbering Mother have mercy on our Solemns.”

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“Together or not at all,” her Order-mates echoed across the dinner-hall, some kissing their thumbs and raising them into the air, but not all.

“Let the voting begin,” Deqa said. “Liwi’Tamara Ensedu: choose.”

Lita’s head was propped up against her hand, eyes as red as her trench-coat looking through the stained, cracked, window to the east, Parkward. “When Sky-Elves fly more than one, they don’t call us a Flock. They call us a Murder,” She turned to look at Hann. “We ruin everything we touch. Hurt everyone we love. And you are not the exception. Want to take the hit for what I did, who am I to say no. I choose Sacrifice.”

Deqa nodded. “One vote for sacrifice. Fadala’Mezes Leqedha: choose.”

With a narrow stretch of his wings, the Black Eagle started walking forward. “Hann is right. You two are hiding something. Whether its an act of the Slumbering Mother or some other kind of miracle, I know not. But you seem to be sure it’ll help us. Even so, the fact remains: Letting our leader take the fall for the incident at the Park adds another layer of protection, one that might hold in case complications arise. Protection for the rest of us, but not for him,” he stopped once he got to the steps, near his snoring friend, and turned to look at the Order-Head, “For that, I am truly sorry. I choose Sacrifice.”

“Two votes for sacrifice. Gabrilore Ensedu: choose.”

He drunk his fill from a golden goblet, medicine for the pain, before touching the back of his wife’s hand. “You do not ruin everything you touch. Kill everything you love. Yes, we voted for the job, while she voted against it. But we didn’t force her to fly away with the opponent. Fight the Ranger alone so she could kill the Ranger alone. She fought. She died. A warrior’s death. Something most of us aspire to. And we’ll cry and laugh with her about this one day. We’ll meet her again.” They stayed like that for a moment more, gazes locked, grief shared, before she turned away from him, retreating her hand away from his. Gabrilore glanced down at the table for a moment before turning to look at Deqa. “Our choices are our choices. I will let no one else pay for mine. I choose to weather the storm.”

Again, the Half-Orc nodded. “Two votes for sacrifice. One for the storm.” She turned to look at her partner. “Qath’Vereta Chazaje: choose.”

The [Warrior] swallowed her meal. “I don’t really know what all of you are on about concerning us and secrets. We keep no secrets. And though I’m adamant in not wanting Hann as our leader; in finding a replacement for him as soon as possible, maybe from the inner circle instead of a new member in spite of very valid arguments supporting the latter, I don’t want to lose you, Avendari. Don’t know if I’d even be married without you. As my wife said. You are our brother. So, it is with a whole heart that I too choose the storm.”

A smiling Deqa nodded, patting Qave on the shoulder. “Nicely done. Two votes on each,” she raised her hand at the Eagle who shook his friend awake. The Metal Mage rose with a single snore and frantic looks all across the room.

Qave snorted before continuing with her meal. “What happened?” He asked between breath.

“What happened is you probably should take better care to wade away sleep during very important meetings, Cyra,” Fame said, a hint of humor in his voice.

The human rose from the steps, turning to look at the Purple Orc who was feigning a frown. “Sorry, [Witness]. Won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t,” she said. “Cyra’Lasidius Tazuja: Choose.”

“Ah, yes… choosing,” he turned to gaze at Hann. Silence, for a moment. “Don’t ever call my people dirty again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry I hurt you,” Hann said.

He nodded, turning his head back to the Witness. “I choose Sacrifice.”

A nod, before she said; “Three votes for sacrifice. Two votes for the storm. Two votes remaining.” The Witness stopped, eyes on the table and the empty plate standing there. “I’ve already said a lot on the matter—all of you know where I stand on this—but allow me a moment more before I vote. You’re right. We’ve been lying to you all.”

“Deck!” The Green Orc forgot her meal. So much for not keeping secrets.

The Half-Orc’s head tilted toward her, orange beads around her many dark braids shimmering against the chandelier’s silver light. “Is your [Whisper.Field] active, Qatha?” She asked.

“From the moment the Mage got up from his chair,” Qave answered.

Whisper Field? An exclusive skill. Given only to the System-borne. Is that the secret? Were they Pocket Systems, run away from some cruel master?

“And do you trust anyone more than you do the people in this room.”

“No. We would’ve found others if that were the case. Doesn’t mean they get to know yet.” Qave stood from her chair; walked toward her.

“I know I’m ready. I know they’re ready too. But if you aren’t, I promise we can keep a lid on it.”

“I am. You know I am. But too much is at stake,” she strided from the table toward the windows at their back, started walking back before she was halfway there.

“They’re our family. The risk is also theirs.”

“I know. Just wish I got a slumbering notice, is all.”

The Witness shrugged. “Spur of the moment. I’ll warn you next time.”

“That’s what you say every single time,” Qave grinned. “Alright. You can give it to them straight. I’m going to kill you if one of them ends up being a mole.”

“Is anyone here a mole?” She yelled out.

Everyone started looking at each other, buffled, before all heads turned to Hann and the open silver book in his risen hand.

Deqa frowned. “Have something to say, Jon?”

“Wouldn’t let out any secrets just yet, if I were you.”

“Why not?” Qave was already walking toward him.

“This book. I’m adamant it’s alive.”