Amused laughter.

“Excellent work Lord Glove. This tree is the source of all their feuds?”

Step. Step. Kneel.

“Yes. It is a holy site. Both doms claim the tree for their own. Sadly, it rests on the border.”

Creaking ebony, glinting iron.

“What do you propose?”

Shadows playing over ivory. Ivory mirrored in darkness. White against black. Black over white.

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“I have formed two militia. Each contains troops from either side of the conflict. Naturally, they are unaware.”

Rough hands rasp rough skin.

“And then the tree disappears?”

Invisible acquiescence.

“War is inevitable. The militia will split in order to protect their home. Friends will become enemies and enemies will become friends. Certain ‘outspoken individuals’ will call for an end to the fighting. Any officers who continue to support the war will be overthrown and executed. A temporary peace, fragile, yet beautiful, will be held as the doms try to figure out what to do. In the midst of the confusion…”

Hissed excitement. Iron rests against ebony.

“The tree will return. Can you do this?

Boots strike onyx. Boots strike stone. Door opens, light revealed. Door closes.