~March 18th, 140 AH~

~The Caverns, Concert Hall~

Zelen averted his eyes from the scrutiny and hurried down the aisle. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Feray to peel off and find herself a seat, allowing him to follow suit and at least pretend that he could blend in with the crowd.

At a rough estimate, he counted about forty-odd members around him, which meant that nearly the entire Alliance was in attendance. An impulse of vague origin compelled him to look up at the balconies, only to see that they were completely empty. He’d half-expected to find a figure (or two) seated upon the leftmost corner, and felt oddly relieved when that didn’t turn out to be the case.

Akash Varana was the odd one out, having sat himself on the stage, with his legs dangling off its edge. He managed to exude a relaxed air about him, despite the dim lighting that accentuated the grooves upon his face. The sight of it struck Zelen as strange, until he ‘recalled’ that a spotlight had once shone upon this very stage…

Lurid red that spread upon a shredded gold dress. Zelen blinked several times, partly to distract himself from a creeping headache, and partly to pull himself back to reality. He honed his focus upon the man on the stage, but the headache lingered.

“Right. I think we can begin,” Akash spoke now, not needing to raise his voice to be heard. “You’ll forgive me for sitting apart from you all. As much as I don’t want anyone to feel as though their voices matter less or more than others, I figured someone needs to moderate the proceedings, as it were.”

Hearing this, Zelen was struck again by a sense of discrepancy—between the way things were and the way they ought to be. His mind flashed with the image of a muscular man in a charcoal-grey uniform, one whose method of ‘moderating proceedings’ had been to exploit his followers’ fears. Akash the Gaertner espoused starkly different philosophies from those of the General’s, but perhaps, at least in some ways, he was no less egotistical.

“With that said,” the Gaertner now continued, “I’d like to first give the floor to Graeme O’Riordan. He’ll give us the latest intel we received from our eyes and ears in Akropolis, then we’ll go from there. Graeme?”

Taking his cue, the burly figure of Panzer Graeme rose from the front row. He turned to the rest of the group and all but stood at attention as he read from a piece of crinkled paper in his hand.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll get right to it. The first report that’s of interest to us pertains to the current power structure in Akropolis, and how that might’ve unsettled the masses. As you all know, the transition from Fenix Duodecim to Ghata Vakta has been anything but smooth.”

Zelen had of course been the reason for that transition. He’d since searched within himself for his own feelings on the matter—and found not much of anything.

Fighting Spindrift had been pure agony—on multiple occasions. His feelings about Asena had become more complicated than ever. Yet the knowledge that Fenix Duodecim was gone from the world—and of his own hand in ensuring it—triggered none of his usual angst.

If anything, thinking about Fenix’s death was when he was at his most peaceful. It was the only time when the blackness within his chest fell completely still. Just another discrepancy for him to wonder about—or perhaps, it was the only thing in his life that made perfect sense.

“Confidence in leadership is at an all-time low,” Graeme went on, “exacerbated by the brass’s attempts to obfuscate the truths about what happened on February 25th. Rumours, whether they approach accuracy or are wildly off the mark, are rampant up and down the three Akras, and there’s the real sense that the social contract between the ruling class and the population at large has never been more fragile. I say it’d only take one push to—”

“Thank you, Graeme,” Akash cut in, with just the slightest touch of admonishment. “And you were saying about the second report?”

Graeme cleared his throat with a sheepish glance at his leader. “Yes, of course. The second bit of intel is about Spindrift’s status—or the lack thereof. Our spies used every means available to track down information about Major Makiri Shiranui, but it appears that he never made it back to Akropolis after our contact some two weeks ago. Does that mean he’s been sent directly to another mission? Or that he’s been seconded to an FOB? Both scenarios seem unlikely, given the severely damaged state of his Eidolon when he left the Caverns’ perimeters. As to what did happen to him then… we can only speculate.”

A collective murmur went up and down the rows of seats. This was news to Zelen as well, and he shifted uneasily in his seat, as he tried to decide how he ought to react.

Relief? Vindication? Suspicion? All seemed like reasonable choices, but the feeling that rose to the fore, vague in origin yet insistent upon its own primacy, was that of foreboding. Something terrible would come of this. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew he would have to reckon with it eventually.

“Does this mean the intel about our location never made it back to the Joint Forces?” one of the attendees turned murmurs to question.

“It’s impossible to say,” Graeme hedged. “If you ask me, that’s a reasonable conclusion to draw but also a dangerous one. Even if Spindrift himself didn’t directly communicate with Akropolis, he was likely acting on preexisting intel when he found us in the first place. We should operate under the assumption that the Joint Forces have at least approximate knowledge of the Caverns’ location, and that it’s only a matter of time before that approximation becomes definite.”

Zelen instinctively looked for Asena, as if to calibrate his own reaction based on hers. He found the back of his Kurator fiancée at the far end of the first row. Even as the entire group whispered about her brother, she herself sat stock still, with her eyes pointed somewhere on the stage. Her calmness was notable, but Zelen supposed that she might’ve already been briefed on the reports prior to the town hall.

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“Thank you, Graeme,” Akash said again, raising his voice just slightly. The chatter died down in gradients as he spoke. “Before we open the floor for discussion, it’d be remiss of me not to address some of the concerns in our own camp. As you’re all aware and have been party to, we’ve ramped up our training in recent weeks, in preparation for more combat scenarios we could expect in the near future. While the progress on that front has been encouraging, it does come with a very real downside, namely our quickly dwindling Anamnium stores…”

The silence inside the concert hall was total, with the attendees united in understanding the implications of Akash’s words. Upon a planet depleted of its natural resources, Anamnium was humanity’s lifeblood, their only means of sustaining their existence. This was true regardless of what city they called home.

“A month,” Akash continued, his mild tone belying the gravity of his announcement. “At the current rate we’re burning through our stores, we’ll have a month before we’re forced to look for alternative sources. Of course, we could venture farther out. Perhaps explore Sector Sagittarius to see if there are any founts that haven’t been secured or sited by the Joint Forces. That comes with significant risks, including contact with the Syntropy, as well as the possibility of running afoul of Akropolitans that might be after the same thing.”

Akash paused. Then his expression visibly darkened before he added, “Then, of course, there are other options… which, I imagine, would be the crux of what we’re here to discuss today. With that in mind, I’d like to hand over the reins to everyone in attendance. This is a town hall, after all, and any and all opinions are welcome. Please. If you think you have anything to say on the Apfel Alliance’s immediate future—on the course we ought to chart for ourselves—this is the time to do it.”

Akash’s invitation was initially met by more silence. Zelen wasn’t surprised.

The size of the assembly contributed to its attendees’ reticence. It’d take someone truly confident or passionate to brave the proverbial spotlight, and Zelen himself had never been that person (or so he believed). He cast his gaze downward, if only to avoid the furtive yet expectant glances that flew his way. He thought he did have something to say, but he was far from sure that this was the right moment for it.

“I think we ought seriously to consider relocating.” The first to make himself heard was a thin older man Zelen had seen working at the Armoury but never spoken to. “Graeme is right. The Joint Forces will come for us sooner or later, and like it or not, we simply don’t have the means to repel them. Let us put our remaining Anamnium stores toward searching for a new home, one that hopefully could sustain us for longer.”

“Even if we were to find this oasis you’ve just dreamt up,” another man spoke up, audibly annoyed by his counterpart, “what are we to do once supplies run low again? Do you suggest we become a band of nomads, jumping from fount to fount, eking out a meagre existence along the way? Do you think the Akropolitans would just leave us be, to speak nothing of the Syntropy?”

This brought on another round of disorganized chatter, now coloured by rising tempers. It took several more pleas from Akash, as well as a gruff shout from Panzer Graeme, before order could be restored. Zelen watched and listened wordlessly, reflecting once again that Fenix Duodecim would’ve needed but one smile to silence the crowd.

“Thank you, Chai, for your impassioned input,” Akash said, voice now slightly hoarse. “We heard from one individual advocating for relocation. We also saw that there’re strong feelings on the matter, both for and against. Does anyone else have a different option they’d like to put forward? Don’t be shy. We could do with another lively debate.”

Akash put on a wry smile as he said this, but no one else seemed to share in his humour. The assembly once again fell silent for some time, until another voice did speak.

“I have… I have something to say. If you’ll allow me.”

Zelen sat up with a start and spun in his seat, as did several others around him. For the voice, soft and trembling, had risen from behind him, and it was one he’d come to know rather well over the past fortnight.

At the sudden attention, the slight figure of Lucinia Mauri shrank further into her seat. Zelen was surprised, not only because he hadn’t noticed her arrival, but also because he’d half-expected she wouldn’t come at all, not after that exchange with Feray.

Looking down at the stage, he could see that Akash also couldn’t hide his surprise. For all his professed invitations, the Gaertner obviously hadn’t expected his timid protégé to take up the mic.

“Lucinia, welcome,” he now exclaimed, somewhat stumbling over his words, “and of course. By all means, let us hear what’s on your mind.”

The younger Gaertner now drew in a breath, as if to steady herself. Then she said, “I think we should all go back to Akropolis. But not to the way things are now. First, we need to take down the Tetrarchy.”

Zelen’s surprise quickly turned to astonishment. All this time, based in no small part on the way she often behaved around him, he’d assumed that Lucinia was terrified of the Tetrarchy. To think that such warlike sentiments could emerge from a figure as slight and meek as hers… And judging by the nods and murmurs of assent that erupted all around, this same aggression was shared by many others in attendance.

Down on the stage, Akash’s open-mouthed expression slowly flattened, then curled into a tolerant if somewhat bemused smile. He said, “Would you care to elaborate on that, Lucinia? Why do you believe this to be the right path for us to take?”

The young woman visibly blanched, evidently unprepared to offer such elaboration. She nevertheless obliged with a stammering attempt, “I just think… Akropolis is our home. And it’s not right that we were forced to abandon it—and our loved ones that remain there—only because we couldn’t abide by the Tetrarchy’s rule. If the Tetrarchy are wrong, then it’s they that should change their ways, not us. And if they’re not willing to change, then… they need to be removed.”

“Hear, hear!”

“That’s the whole truth of it! What is there more to discuss?”

The town hall descended into outright anarchy, whipped into a frenzy by the unfiltered words of a Lower Akran woman.

As Zelen watched the chaos unfold, his mind was transported to another conversation from some time ago. He finally understood in full what Akash Varana had meant—when he said that recruiting Zelen to the Apfel Alliance was an opportunity he simply couldn’t pass up.

For these people had been crying out for a righteous war of their own choosing. And in Kingfisher, they believed they’d found the weapon to empower their cause…

Someone from a half-remembered dream had glared at him with tearful yet earnest eyes. That someone had said to him, we need you to act!

In the present, however, Zelen’s own eyes eventually found those of another, who now stood to lend her voice to the ‘lively debate’. The wiry figure of Asena Shiranui rose from her seat in the front row, and she turned to address the entire assembly—and to speak to Zelen directly.

“I agree with Lucinia,” Asena said. “Ready or not, the reality of our situation compels us to act. It’s time we put our ideals into action. It’s time for us to fight back.”