Garier sat with Crin on the park bench. They were a comfortable distance away and didn't seem together. Just two strangers sharing a seat near a stunning view.

The dozen other benches were also occupied. Drakk Memorial Park was the largest park in the entire city, set between the Government Center and the Barracks District, the heart of Warrior Sect power.

Looming nearby was the bronze statue of Fetrik Drakk, immortalized triumphantly in his Sterling Armor, Phasematter longsword held high, Caster floating off his left shoulder.

The same Caster, Divinity, was now missing. Along with the Inheritor. The Sovereign was accounted for and returned to the dust. House Scarl had delivered on their promise. Even if they taunted Crin by sending his old war rival Retrik.

Kormel was a different story. The criminal attacked Drakk Palace and vanished like a ghost. Even Ophan's best Shade agents were unable to track him. When the Syndicate wanted a person to disappear, they never left a trace. He had to go about this delicately. He didn't know the Syndicate's game.

"Knight Commander," Garier said, his voice and expression subdued, acting casual. He was getting better at not being obvious during their meetings.

Garier wore garishly colorful worker clothing, a billowy yellow jacket, tight cyan leggings, and tall leather boots. Crin contrasted him on the other side of the bench with his black trench coat and neatly pressed uniform. Borealis, his Caster, hovered beside him, spinning like a top.

Beneath his uniform, bandages covered his shoulder and torso wounds. He didn't take any medication for the pain and chose instead to live with the discomfort. Because if one was going to fight, they should be painfully aware of the consequences.

"What news from our mutual friend?" Crin said. He was speaking of Kormel, of course.

"It wasn't easy getting a message to him. The rats are spooked and hiding," Garier crossed his legs and threw seeds to a flock of pigeons. They converged in a frenzy of pecking. "They shot at me when I knocked on the door. None of my contacts knew about Kormel's attack. If he had planned it, it must have been spontaneous. He didn't consult anyone, as far as I know. Maybe it was revenge for what happened in the park. He should have gone after Vivana instead. Maybe he's a coward."

That was all Crin needed to know. He changed the subject. "How is your family, Garier? Are they settling down well in Whitestone?"

"They love it here. The city is clean and inviting, and the people… law-abiding. We are all grateful for your patronage and are in your debt."

"You're proving yourself a worthy investment. Keep track of the rats from me. Let me know if they decide to bite."

"I will," Garier said. He gave a short bow of respect and strolled away, a trail of hungry pigeons following in his wake.

Crin checked the time on his comm. It was early in the morning, the Twins a smear of red and orange, low in the sky, behind a smattering of clouds. Haven, churning with yellow storms, was saying its goodbye for the day, only to be back with its majesty in the evening.

All the senior officers had arrived overnight. They would be meeting if a few minutes, along with Crin, to discuss the assassination and the missing Inheritor. These were matters of national security, after all. Crin's shoulders are where all the decision-making would fall. He was effectively Sovereign.

I should've been getting sworn in this morning. Except I'm not. Because of Kormel. I'm the wrong enemy to mess with.

He stood and saluted to the statue of Fetrik Drakk and took the short walk to the Hall of Valor.

Sorry old man. Despite your uncanny fighting skills and bravery, in the end, you were too distracted, too weak. Leaned on the scholars and gave them power. Let your son slip into their slimy grasp.

The Hall of Valor, like most Warrior Sect buildings, was a fortified bunker. Unlike the pompous universities of the Scholar Sect or the opulent towers of the Worker Sect. Everything about the structure screamed pragmatic and utilitarian. Little glass as possible, and were placed it was reinforced, able to survive bullets and rockets.

A trooper squad in full body armor guarded the entrance, auto-rifles slung across their chests. They saluted Crin as he passed. Nice crisp salutes, not the halfhearted ones the Argent Knights often gave him. He believed all officers and Knights should be forced to serve in the Army first. No politics, no mind games, only pure devotion to one's nation.

The vault-like doors rumbled open, revealing a glass atrium serving as the entrance. Because of the assassinations, the entire Warrior Sect was on high alert. The lobby beyond the atrium was like a cathedral with no decorations or paintings. Enormous blue tapestries hung in rows with the emblem of Ophan, the silver sword, on them.

Crin's boots clicked on the polished white marble floor. Immediately he was flanked by a flock of junior officers and secretaries, each with pressing news. As annoying as it was to be mobbed, they were only doing their jobs. He smiled and thanked them as they gave their reports, taking the entire elevator trip down sixty floors.

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The Hall of Valor was a massive facility dug deep into the crust of the moon. It even had its own geothermal plant, which fed sustainable energy to half of Whitestone's residential districts for free.

The junior officers scurried off before he stepped through the council chamber doors. The guards opened the doors for him. He stepped into the gaze of five grim elderly faces, sagging in their uniforms. Fear hollowed their eyes and stiffened their backs. They sat in silence, having said little before Crin's arrival. Even the highest-ranking leaders of the Warrior Sect needed a leader, after all.

"They briefed me on my way in."

Crin removed his trench coat and put it on the back of his chair at the head of the table before sitting.

"This situation we find ourselves in is unheard of in Ophani history. This is the first time we've ever lost the Sovereign and Inheritor in one fell swoop. Our enemy, the Syndicate, does not fight with honor. They are filthy criminals, the scourge of Promise, a rampant cancer spreading in the heart of every nation. We've grown lax in our prosperity and our new peaceful era. We forgot the barbarism humankind is capable of. They think they cut the head of the snake, but they'll find Ophan is like the legendary phoenix and will rise once again from the ashes. You have my full attention and decisive authority, so let's decide together how to move forward."

The words put the room at ease with a few nods and relaxing postures.

Prime General Arton, leader of the Army, spoke first. "The Inheritor may still live. The Syndicate is known for taking hostages. In the past, they never attempted a political assassination. Targeting the most powerful nation in the world shows their arrogance. I suggest swift retribution, especially to any nations who harbor the Syndicate."

Ever the hound. Arton, you know the cost of real war. Yet you slather at the jaws for it still.

Prime Commissioner Wessa licked her lips before she spoke. She wasn't as relaxed as the others, as the duty of protecting the Sovereign fell onto her shoulders as leader of the Police Force. "We tracked a car taken by Arik Drakk from the Drakk Palace garage. All the way to the Free States border. It was abandoned, but they might still be nearby. I'm having a team investigate. The cybermind's camera footage was wiped. We don't know who was in the car with him. Could've been Kormel."

Crin knew about the car. One passenger had to be Arik Drakk, who was involved with the Syndicate. Before Kormel took out the security system, Arik had been recorded bribing the guards at the front gate in the same car. Another rotten apple on the Drakk family tree to be plucked.

Prime Director Porinel's face was like an unreadable statue. "At 4:00 a.m. Shades identified a transport airship leaving the skyport. The stated destination was Ordon. Security footage was mysteriously corrupted, and we suspect sabotage. But we have the visual confirmation from a Shade watching the landing pads that she saw him."

Kormel knew Porinel loved dropping little nuggets. You've been keeping this a secret. Even I didn't know, and my personal spies are among the best. Secrets are your forte, aren't they, Porinel? I wonder what else you know.

Crin poured himself a glass of water and took a refreshing sip. He had been awake an entire day. Soon as he handed over the investigation of the Sovereign's murder, he had taken the rail directly back to Whitestone from Gressi. Likely, he wouldn't be able to sleep for another day or two. He had instigated a national crisis and had to clean up after himself.

"The car is likely a distraction," Crin said and steepled his fingers. "Outside of Gressi, the Goldmarsh is vast, the largest stretch of uninhabited land in Ophan. We could spend a decade, even with the best equipment, searching the area to find nothing."

"I have a fleet of seeker-drones and fighter-drones surveilling the wetlands south of Gressi," Prime Sky Marshal Ulana added. She was the leader of the Skyforce, Ophan's aerial navy. The elderly woman always seemed eager to please. Crin doubted her drones would find them.

Crin locked eyes with Wessa. She squirmed nervously in her seat. "I trust the borders are closed."

"Yes, sir. The border police have stopped all roads and skyports and are rerouting the rails."

"A little late on shutting down air traffic," Porinel jabbed. Wessa rolled her eyes and took a sip of her own glass, hands slightly shaking.

"Excellent. Thank you, Wessa." Crin nodded in her direction.

It was better to keep her on his good side. He knew the Police Force was taught to work out every angle in an investigation. Doubtless, they suspected him on some level already. But once Crin was Sovereign, no one would dare suggest foul play.

Crin continued, "My personal focus will be on the apprehension of Kormel. It is my fault he was let out of prison."

"Sir, with all due respect," Arton interjected. "You shouldn't take responsibility for these events whatsoever. You did your duty to preserve the peace."

"If we are able to capture Kormel, Prime Director Porinel can extract the location of the Inheritor."

Porinel folded his arms and leaned back with a confident nod. Wessa shifted and frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the decision. The tension between the Police Force and National Intelligence existed for ages. The Police Force saw to matters of national law enforcement, justice, and national security. It was their job to investigate crimes on Ophani soil. They were strict, following the ancient colonial laws of personal liberty and justice. National Intelligence tended to deal with foreign intelligence gathering. They had few rules to follow, especially when it came to extracting valuable information.

"Sir, I still think we should strike while we have an advantage." Arton was absolutely hungry for war. It was too obvious. "The leaders of the Free States are practically asleep at the wheel. The longer we give them to prepare, the worse the bloodshed will be."

"Usually, I agree with a preemptive strike," Crin said. The Free States were among the first of Crin's targets. They would get what is coming to them soon enough. "Right now, we do not know the location of the Inheritor. Such a war would be the Sovereign's ultimate decision. Until we know the Inheritor's fate for certain, we shall refrain from overextending the Warrior Sect's authority."

Arton pouted, looking like a grumpy child. The rest of the administrative officers nodded in agreement. The general needed to have a little patience anyway. Crin would let him off the leash soon enough.

"Well, if you excuse me," Crin said, rising. He swung the chair and grabbed his coat, sliding it on. "I must make a difficult visit to the Consort to give my condolences. As well as to reassure her, we're doing everything in our power to find her son."

"We don't envy such a grim task," Arton mumbled.

"Give her our condolences," Porinel said, shooting a scowl at Arton.