~March 3rd, 140 AH~
~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters, Conference Hall~
Makiri’s hatred for large crowds was reinforced and then some as soon as he walked into the conference hall.
He’d somehow underestimated the turnout. Every seat upon the U-shaped gallery was occupied, and in addition, a veritable throng of men and women filled the back of the room—standing-room only. At a glance, at least half of these attendees were dressed in civilian clothes.
For one blissful yet all too brief moment, every intent within the room joined as one [INEVITABLE] reaction as eyes flicked in unison toward the late arrival. Just as quickly, however, the entire hall dissolved into a confused mess of shifting and disparate aspirations, pulling Makiri’s attention in far too many directions at once.
This was accompanied by a familiar headache, one that was even more pronounced than usual. So much so that it nearly took his breath away and rooted him to the spot. Makiri disguised a wince and shuffled quickly toward his reserved spot on the panel.
Inwardly, he cursed the fickleness of man and wished for the seclusion of an Eidolon cockpit. Given the choice, he’d rather face down a mass of Syntropy than be stuck inside a conference hall full of fellow Akropolitans. For no matter how large its number, an obsidian horde remained ever uniform and singular in its purpose.
But alas, such a choice hadn’t availed itself this morning. He sat down at an empty seat between Colonels Zhao and Shiranui, exchanging perfunctory nods with the former and a lengthy staring contest with the latter.
Prior to the events of February 25th, Makiri hadn’t thought it possible for his father to lose any more weight or cultivate more shadows upon his gaunt bespectacled face. Yet, here he was, looking more haggard by the day, not just in physical features but also in comportment. This was, to say the least, disturbing to see in the kind of man Makiri had always known his father to be.
As soon as he took his seat, Yuito turned to him and asked in a low whisper, “Anything?”
Makiri wouldn’t have needed an Einkunst to hear the question before it was asked. For it’d been the first word out of his father’s mouth any time the two of them had met in the preceding week.
“Nothing yet,” he answered, not a little exasperated. “And like I keep saying, if I learn anything new about Asena’s status, you’ll be the first to know.”
Yuito nodded, eyes flitting in and out of focus as though distracted. Then, as he looked away from his son, he brought a thumb to his lips and began to bite his nail.
Floored, Makiri detached himself from the rest of the room and focused his attention entirely on his father, thereby attempting to ‘read’ him like a book. All his life, he’d never known Yuito Shiranui to be a nail-biter. Had he reverted to juvenile habits in his advancing age? Or…
Mixed in with the obvious (and understandable) anxiety was an undercurrent of another emotion, clear enough to present itself along with Yuito’s intents. Guilt. It wasn’t the amorphous guilt of a father who felt as though he’d let down his daughter. Rather, it contained the specific notes of action and consequence.
And for the first time, Makiri began to wonder if Colonel Yuito Shiranui mightn’t be at least partially responsible for what had transpired on February 25th—at least more responsible than the man who was about to be put on trial today.
“Sir.” He leaned in closer, with the faintest of whispers that only his father could hear—if he were in a state to hear anything at all. “Do you know something about—”
The swirling intents of the conference hall unified into one reaction. An instant later, all seated personnel stood to attention, while the already standing members straightened themselves.
General Ghata Vakta strode in, turned to the room with a slight cough, then mumbled, “As you were.” More sliding chairs and creaking joints, then the hearing got underway without much further ado. This was one area where Makiri appreciated Ghata’s leadership style over that of Fenix Duodecim’s: his disinterest in theatrics or lengthy preambles.
As soon as the official dialogue began, Makiri took it as his cue to lower his head and all but close his eyes. To any observer, he would’ve appeared to be perusing the documents laid out before him—not that he much cared what he looked like to others. It was more important that he limit his sensory inputs as much as was practical, lest he lose his mind to the extended overload.
He even managed to tune out most of the speeches. None of them contained much new or useful information anyway. The excitement advertised by Ghata Vakta failed to materialize for much of the early proceedings, until the prosecution called their ‘star witness’.
“Bannan Athelstan will now take the stand.”
Makiri allowed himself a moment to look up and observe the young man that now stood at the centre of the testimony table.
Bannan Athelstan, older yet far meeker than Zelen, had nevertheless dressed impeccably for the occasion, with a collared two-piece suit that closely emulated what was supposedly Old Earth fashion. His nervous eyes darted from one end of the U to the other before settling upon the panel at the front of the room.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Do you, Bannan Athelstan, solemnly swear that the evidence you shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?”
Only the briefest of hesitations preceded the reply, but it was enough for Makiri to clearly see the [INEVITABLE] lie.
“I do.”
Makiri closed his eyes again and tuned out the rest of Bannan’s statements. He didn’t need to hear any of it, since none of it would be true.
The disparity between how the Athelstans and the Shiranuis had been treated in the aftermath of the alleged coup hadn’t escaped the notice of any discerning Akropolitan, least of all Makiri’s. It’d already begun on February 25th, when Chancellor Gerech Athelstan was arrested before the day was out, while Colonel Yuito Shiranui was allowed to continue his duties as if nothing had happened.
It did speak to Akropolis’s inherent favouritism of their military personnel over those in civilian posts, but it was more than that. Makiri understood—and grudgingly accepted—that he himself was the main reason for the Shiranuis’ special privilege. The Joint Forces simply couldn’t risk testing Spindrift’s loyalty, not after they’d already lost Kingfisher.
So, even while the whole city recognized and formed their own opinions on the diverging fortunes of two Tetrarch families, one head rolled while another wobbled upon increasingly flimsy shoulders. Amidst the farce, one meek son chose self-preservation over filial loyalty.
Makiri kept his eyes closed and ignored Bannan’s words, but he did attune to the younger man’s demeanour. The blatant opportunist seemed to grow firmer in tone and steadier in cadence as the testimony went on, no doubt having persuaded himself of the righteousness of his treachery.
Sensing this, Makiri was disturbed to find himself simmering with rising anger. He tried to remind himself that he had no skin in the game. That he was best suited to prying his trade from the inside of an Eidolon cockpit—and not sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
As dramatic as Bannan’s introduction had been, the testimony itself proved mercifully brief. As the soon-to-be (very soon) Athelstan patriarch returned to his seat, Makiri braced for the flood of intents and futures that followed in Bannan’s wake. For as unified as Akropolitans were in accepting the respective fates of Chancellor Athelstan and Colonel Shiranui, feelings on the matter nevertheless ran the gamut of morality and sensibilities.
The prosecution’s case-in-chief concluded not long after, making way for the defense to present their witnesses. Makiri kept his eyes closed, knowing that even this portion of the trial was a sham: a scripted play to give the appearance of due process. He was surprised, however, to hear the name of the first witness.
“Gerech Athelstan will now take the stand.”
Makiri opened his eyes wide, taking in the whole of the conference hall: intents, futures, and all.
A palpable hush had fallen over the place as the defendant himself rose to give his side’s first testimony. Unlike his son, Gerech had opted for a remarkably unassuming attire, collarless shirt and slacks that he might’ve worn in the comfort of his own home. While most observers might have balked at this as casual disregard for the solemnity of the occasion, Makiri saw it for what it was: a man presenting himself in his final moments purely as he was, absent pretense or ceremony.
“Do you, Gerech Athelstan, solemnly swear that the evidence you shall give—”
“I’m not here to give evidence.”
The hall-wide hush quickly turned to disarray as incredulous murmurs pulsed up and down the seats and beyond. Makiri braced against his splitting headache and forced himself to see, hear, and feel everything—to bear witness to a Tetrarch man who, at the end of his days, had finally found the courage to abandon his script.
The pounding of General Vakta’s gavel echoed with the same uncertainty that now clouded his voice. “Order, order! Chancellor Athelstan, this is your first and final warning. You will not speak out of order again, otherwise I’ll have to—”
“Hold me in contempt. Slander my name. Hang my corpse in the Horsemen’s Square for all to see. I care not what you think you need to do with me, Vakta boy, but if I am to die today, all within this hall shall hear my final words.”
The murmurs swelled in volume and alarm, but Ghata’s gavel hung in the air, with the man himself left momentarily speechless. Those seated in the U and standing in the back might’ve wondered at this, but every man that faced Gerech Athelstan from the panel—including Makiri—knew and resonated with the spell that had taken hold of their General.
For at least in this moment, Ernst Athelstan the First Reiter stood among them again. The same gravitas and force of personality. The same conviction and yearning for the future.
Makiri too was spellbound, hanging onto every word that not even his Nexus-attuned senses could predict. For at least in this moment, nothing was [INEVITABLE]. And everything was possible.
“I’m here to declare once and for all that I did not, in fact, aid nor abet my son Zelen Athelstan in defying the Joint Forces, in stealing valuable military equipment, and in killing Fenix Duodecim. I did not inspire nor encourage seditious ideas in the privacy of our own home. I did not fund nor support his collaboration with like-minded deserters.
“And I’m also here to declare that I regret all of it. I regret giving him away to the Joint Forces to be raised as nothing but a trained killer. I regret not getting to know and understand him in the privacy of our own home—a home that was more alien to him than the solitude of a battlefield. I regret not collaborating with him and indeed all the young people of Akropolis, in envisioning and realizing a future that doesn’t leave them hollow and broken before their second decade is out—that doesn’t push them to the brink, until they feel as though their only option is to turn their back on the only life they knew.
“Most of all, I regret that I’ll never have the chance to say all this to Zelen in person. That he’ll forever remember his father as the hollow husk of a man who spent his entire life hiding behind the false might of the Tetrarchy and holding onto a history that’s not worth preserving. My only hope is that, with my death, and with my son’s act of bravery, more Akropolitans will find the courage to seek out their own truths, to derive their own meaning from what’s left of our lives upon this godforsaken planet.
“And with that, I rest my case.”
Gerech Athelstan was dragged back to his seat amidst a furore of insults and remonstrations. Ghata Vakta’s frantic gavelling fell on deaf yet fearful ears.
Amidst it all, Makiri Shiranui recoiled under the sheer violence of his headache, as an entire civilization’s intents and futures collided and roiled against the shifting shapes of his own.