Tyvan sent Yan Xue and Briar Rose back to Elysium. Afterward, he reconvened with the rest of his company.

--all... two of them.

He looked around the small private room, the faint scent of sweet tobacco in the air and infused into the yellowed walls.

The long, darkwood conference table could have easily seated twelve.

In his past life, Tyvan’s war rooms were filled with illustrious personages: titan-bloods and harpies and succubi... honorable orcs, bone-plated hobgoblins, iron-furred dire-wolves capable of articulate speech...

Their names and faces were lost to him.

But, all of them... they were his brothers, his sisters... members of his covenant.

And, in his new life... he had managed two. (Three, to include Briar Rose.)

...He reasonably expected at least one.

Tyvan still felt a pang of regret-- or loneliness, perhaps. But two was twice as he felt deserved.

Prince Charming Latorre--

Or... Bishop, as he preferred to be called.

He looked presentable, wearing a long-sleeved patterned shirt to hide his enchanted tattoos. He’d foregone a necktie, but that was permissible, considering the relaxed setting. Considering his blue mop of hair, though, he was sorely in need of a haircut.

He nodded thoughtfully with closed, slightly upturned eyes, listening to a droll anecdote from Rook’s military service days. His dark sunglasses were off, resting on the table beside his colourful, crushed-ice drink.

As Rook’s story reached its climax, Bishop briefly opened his eyes in wonder, allowing a wisp of white mana-light to drift upward.

Rook-- real name Callum Scott, was dressed well enough.

He wore a red flannel shirt, rolled up to his sleeves. He laughed with a resounding and boisterous guffaw before he took a sip from his drink of choice: whiskey with a single, clear block of ice. It was rare to see him without his favoured cowboy hat, but his blonde hair was neatly tied behind his head. Too long, though. He also needed a haircut.

Tyvan placed the plate of fritule between the two as he took the seat beside Rook.

Rook sampled the Croatian fare, humming pleasantly. “Mm. I reckon the Russian’s outdone himself.”

“It’s like funnel cake,” Bishop said, “but... better? More... slavic.”

“I asked Dajik about the process,” Tyvan said, “There’s rum in it.”

His companions raised their heads slowly and in tandem, eliciting a melodious ‘ohhhh’. A meeting with the present members of ❴The Kingdom❵ was guaranteed a certain level of harmony.

“We still waitin’ for Empress?” asked Rook.

“She was invited,” Tyvan replied. “She is, however, predisposed.”

“Anything we can help with?” Bishop inquired.

“I don’t believe so,” Tyvan said in an even tone, “The three of us are somewhat lacking in regard to... artistic vision.”

“I’m lacking in all kinds of vision,” Bishop smirked.

“Ain’t e’zactly a bad thing,” Rook said. “Means ya don’t gotta look at Raia’s face twistin’ into a knot e’rry time she catches you slackin’ off.”

“Last week, Bishop struck a Chinese man with her car,” Tyvan explained.

“PC!” Rook exclaimed, “You got a driver’s license?”

“Nope!” Bishop said, returning a wide smile, “You wanna help me apply for one at the DMV?”

There was laughter.

Tyvan smiled politely, relishing in the camaraderie shared more than the absurdity of the topic. He took a sip of his own drink. Gin martini. Light on the olive brine. Stirred, not shaken.

“I’d like to discuss recent developments.”

“How’s the new girl?” asked Rook.

“She’s awesome!” said Bishop, “Her name is Shay.”

“I, fer one,” Rook said, “am real glad ta get someone new.”

Tyvan pursed his lips, “Yan Xue belongs to Elysium, but she is not part of ❴The Kingdom❵.”

“How come?” and “But she’s awesome?!” were the retorts.

Tyvan went on to explain...

He detailed Merlin’s phone call. Her augural message strongly implied that the appearance of a new reincarnator was a harbinger of a power imbalance between Archangel’s various factions.

He spoke of the recent debacle, her sneaking into Tužni Ćevap underage and Dajik rightfully challenging her identity.

He also mentioned that he erased her past life memories.

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--while avoiding the fact that those memories included him.

...and he most certainly did not mention that the young lady needed to better moisturise her lips.

“Can’t be too mad at her,” Rook said. “You come into a name that makes you feel powerful-- so you use it. Power feels great-- lets you get away with shit.”

“It could have been far worse,” Tyvan frowned. “What if, instead of Dajik, she offended members of ❴Sleeping Forest❵ or ❴Eminence❵? ...and from there, if she were inexorably linked to ❴The Kingdom❵?”

He shook his head.

He was at fault. It was his selfishness that allowed Yan Xue to cause so much trouble. He should have sent her away when she arrived in his office. Or perhaps he shouldn’t have trusted her with being discrete.

Did she even read her contract?

He took a breath... and tried not to remember the desperation in Yan Xue’s eyes that sun.

--or the overwhelming relief she conveyed when he agreed to take her in.

Rook and Bishop were deep in contemplation, as well.

Rook scratched the back of his golden mane, likely perturbed by the mention of ❴Sleeping Forest❵. He had unsavoury history with ‘The Pack,’ yet to be resolved.

Bishop was facing away, slurping the slush in his drink.

“Stop that,” Tyvan said.

“My bad, Boss.”

He and Briar Rose both had a great disdain for the ❴Eminence❵ faction as a whole-- and for good reason.

“Well,” Rook said... “y’can’t kill her?”

“We don’t kill children,” Tyvan said... more for himself, than for his company.

“She might have some potential,” Bishop said, “but she’s basically human.”

He opened his eyes and pointed at their luminance, “When I met her, she looked like a Class D transmigrator.”

“Now that ain’t quite fair,” Rook argued. “If she’s got even a couple o’ memories left, she sh’d rate Class C, at least.”

Tyvan steeled his expression.

Bishop’s judgement raised a controversial issue. Yan Xue had abysmally low mana reserves and a far-reaching lack of aptitude for magic-- both by Tyvan’s standards and those of ❴The Towers❵. By that logic, she should have been classified as a non-threat.

But it was her potential that gave him pause. By those same standards, ❴The Kingdom❵ was able to claim Bishop without issue. Rook, too, had similar circumstances.

Most damning of all...

Yan Xue called him ‘Commander.’

Every single member of his past life’s retinue was well-accomplished at slaying gods and titans, both.

If he allowed her to regain her strength... then, if she were discovered by the other factions...

--then if it came to light that ❴The Kingdom❵ was harboring multiple Class A transmigrators...

“Those memories are exactly what concerns me,” he said, “if Merlin’s pill failed... if Yan Xue’s recent actions were guided by even a fragment of her past memories...”

Bishop raised his hand, “Then... wouldn’t Merlin be the one at fault?”

“I’ll kick his ass for ya, Boss,” Rook said, flexing his biceps... that is-- the muscles on his arms, as opposed to his legs.

“Wait,” Bishop said, “I think the Merlin he’s talking about is a girl?”

“D’aw, shit,” Rook said, sucking air through his teeth. “How ‘bout we give Empress a call? Have her kick Merlin’s butt?”

“Empress,” Tyvan said, “has even less patience than I do. I’d rather those two not meet anytime soon.”

The notion left an impressionable moment of silence.

--a silence that Rook broke in lieu of that gravity.

“Welp... how ‘bout y’just let her be?” he said, “We’ve already made our bed-- just gotta lay in it.”

Tyvan furrowed his brows. What did a bed have to do with anything discussed?

“Then,” Rook added, “as long as ya don’t let her get too close to you, what’s the harm?”

Tyvan raised his chin, “Elaborate, if you would.”

The answer came from Bishop.

“I think what Rook’s trying to say is... you already have a girlfriend, right?”

Tyvan pursed his lips, “I don’t follow the logic. What does my relationship with Esha have to do with anything?”

Rook looked over to Bishop, “Should we tell him?”

Bishop twisted his lips, “I think he knows. He has to.”

Tyvan sighed loudly. He was unaware of the particulars being discussed-- but it bore no relevance to the conversation.

“Let’s move onto the topic of ❴Hidden Village❵.”

Rook and Bishop sat up in their chairs, keenly aware of the gravity of the situation.

Tyvan continued, “We may need to hold a full faction convocation soon.”

He gestured to Bishop, “❴Eminence❵ must be involved.”

He gestured to Rook, “❴Sleeping Forest❵, as well.”

He looked to the empty seat at the head of the table.

❴The Towers❵ had to be informed. Did they still prefer doves and ravens to telephone calls? Or could he summon them via fax machine?

“I don’t like it,” Rook said, “Ain’t no one’s gonna like it. It’s been over 10 years, give or take, for a full-blown con-ver-cation. ❴Sleeping Forest❵ doesn’t even have a head honcho, right now!”

Bishop had his arms crossed, frowning, “It’ll be just as hard to get ❴Eminence❵ together. They technically have a leader, but he’s in uh... hibernation.”

“Hibernation?” Rook said, “If the fella’s a bear, he’s in the wrong faction.”

“Nah,” Bishop said, “from what I hear, he shaves pretty regularly.”

Once again, Tyvan didn’t understand what they were referencing. However, the mood had lifted. And with the mood, so too did the weight of his doubts decrease-- if only slightly.

He smiled politely and lifted his glass.

“Gentlemen, from here, let us discuss potential courses of action.”

“More drinks?” Rook grinned.

“Mooore drinks?” Bishop said playfully.

Tyvan closed his eyes and nodded.

“Let it be so.”