“The Sieve needs to be cancelled!” Roared Mylif, his voice cutting uncharacteristically loud, steadied calm all but abandoned. Lavastro might have enjoyed the novelty, were it not inspired by a situation so terribly dire.

In spite of the sense he made, or perhaps as a result of it, Mylif’s demand met only scorn or reluctance in the eyes of those seated around him.

Lavastro fell into old reflexes as she surveyed the room, gauging moods and guessing intents.

The first to catch her eye was Lesifarz, hair tangled and face unshaven, eyes sharpened by the recent catastrophe and calluses rethickened across his palms- doubtless from hard training. He seemed affronted at Mylif’s suggestion, unguarded in his outrage as in all other things. Certainly one the notion would be fought hardest by.

Balogun’s face was almost enough to drag her from her seat. That sneering, smirking arrogance had taken on a far darker tone ever since the stadium riots, and seeing her haughtiness untempered by the tragedy brought Lavastro near to tears with the fury she inspired.

Still, she would be one to appeal to. Of all the organisers Balogun had, perhaps, the greatest reason to advocate the contest’s continuation. Ajoke Balogun was not yet doomed to die by her father’s decree, she might not be at all if the event were cancelled.

Zilch curled Lavastro’s lip as she laid eyes on him. Still pale as snow, still sickly as plague itself and still trembling like an opium addict going without. As much as he disgusted her even to simply behold, his cowardice would be of use. It left little doubt to the man’s intentions.

Sorafin was the final organiser she lacquered with her eye, and he alone remained an unbroken mystery. She felt he was on her side in truth, but there was no telling for certain. That irked her as it always did.

Lavastro fell into a silence, chewing on her assessment. Not quite liking its results, but finding herself almost pleasantly surprised.

She’d worked more difficult rooms before and still left them with more than she entered. Only the Immortal left her in doubt.

Always the Immortal.

“I see no reason not to cancel the runnings.” Balogun answered, her contemptuous arrogance sounding worse still than it looked. Before even relief could blunt its effect, she continued.

“Save of course that it would give this rabble exactly what it seeks.”

Fury sprouted like shoots from a seed at that.

“If we don’t acquiesce then the rioting will grow worse.” Lavastro hissed. “Much worse, and already it’s consumed near enough to one tenth of the city.”

She felt a shiver just to say it outloud. It had taken three checks for the figures to sink into even her, and yet the truth was undeniable. Enough people had been starved into chaos that they could have filled the stadium had they been so inclined.

Still, Balogun merely smirked.

“Afraid of a few duns, girl?”

Lavastro almost strode around the table to strike her from her seat.

“A lot of them.” She managed, forcing her voice calm with a choking grip. “A lot of duns, most of them armed. Many with guns, and some not duns at all.”

It had been a particularly deep blow to learn of the mystics among them, and yet not such a surprising one. The gifted were more common in Unix than Dewlz, and the sheets had no such orderly a system as to ensure all of their magic would be used properly by the state.

Carriages had been overturned already in the destruction, buildings levelled. Still the Írìsi before her smirked, as if making herself a deliberate example against the concept of nobility.

“There are mystics here, too, girl. Mightier ones, I assure you, than any who might count themselves among the rebels. I say we stop humouring this idiocy and move to wipe them out- send forth the war mystics in force.”

“You’d turn the streets into a bloodbath!” Lavastro snapped, interrupted only a moment later as Mylif roared just as loud.

“We’d be dealing with five times as many after a display like that, death doesn’t remove hate or anger.”

Balogun’s eyes were colder than ice itself as she answered them.

“I don’t need them to calm down.” She purred. “Corpses are no more capable of rebellion than prisoners.”

Sorafin spoke before Lavastro could lose her temper entirely, perhaps sparing Balogun from a strike in truth as his tone ran like cool oil over all present.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Obviously the priority is to minimise Sieve expenditure, damage to the city and risk. Therefore simply ignoring or outright attacking these rioters are infeasible solutions.” He paused, checking he held the room’s focus like a teacher, then continued in a tone no less impassive.

“Besides, I’m not entirely certain it remains in our power to stop the chaos. By my estimates there are over a half million among the looters and rioters- thousands of mystics. They outnumber the guards we control ten times over even in magic alone.”

“Can’t you do something?” Zilch cut in, practically screaming the question like a frightful child. If Sorafin was as disgusted by him as Lavastro, he didn’t betray the fact.

“I am an Immortal.” He answered. “There are not so many of my kind, and yet still we are aware of the influence we hold over this world.”

Glancing around, he appeared to weigh his next words carefully.

“There are rules. We try not to interfere with matters directly. I would rather not displease my peers.”

Silence befell that, and Lavastro saw her chance to speak. To end the carnage at last, or if nothing else abate it. Memories of gunfire tearing through bodies, of flies feasting on corpses, swam before her vision like ghosts themselves.

And yet she hesitated, for duty was there as well. Ever present, ever resilient. The ice to her fire, the steel to her rubbery spine.

Lavastro’s mind turned to the Taikan Empire, to her father, then to all of Mirandis and the petty tyrants ruling over it.

“I am against halting the Sieve.” She breathed. “There are many mystics around the world- Immortals included- eager to see it out. Some watching their own children compete. More to the point,” She turned to Sorafin, “If the Crux were to come under attack directly, it would be well within your purview to crush the offenders, would it not?”

He weighed her at that, answering slow as ever.

“It would.”

Lavastro turned back across the table.

“There you have it, we are not in so much danger as that. And besides, there’s every chance Reginald Tamaias’ killer wished to put an end to the contest through his assassination. I would sooner deny our enemy what they seek than allow them it.”

Lesifarz slammed a fist down at that, making Lavastro jump as he roared his agreement.

“Hear hear!” The man howled. “With luck, we will force the cockroach to rear her head and crush her in the open!” He paused at that, grinning. “Provided Lady Kaiosyni does not needle them out herself, first.”

Mylif was more troubled by the room’s turn than any other, at least so far as faces told. He eyed Lavastro over the table with undisguised fury.

“People’s lives are on the line here.” He said, voice seismic with rage. “Thousands of them, maybe millions, who the resources being wasted on this contest Sieve could help.”

Lavastro found herself thinking again of Mirandis, steeling her heart once more.

“I am thinking of the people.” She whispered.

Whatever else he might have said, she never found out. Sorafin spoke again.

“The city’s relief camps are being overwhelmed. They are financial sinks, ineffectual at combating the damages inflicted by the attack and, most importantly, prime targets for opportunists. Already a hundred men have been hanged for attempting to steal from them, and the rioting is growing more organised by the day. It is inevitable that they will be attacked, and we don’t have the resources to adequately defend them.”

Lavastro’s blood ran cold.

“Where will they be moved?” She asked, stupidly.

Sorafin didn’t shy away from his answer, reluctance or uncertainty proving as alien to him as all other human trappings.

“They will be dismantled entirely, not moved. We have too few men and too little resources to sustain reassembling them, what wealth we still control must be put into securing our position against potential threats. And there is no want for those.”

“You’ll kill thousands.” Mylif whispered. He seemed not to believe what he heard.

The Immortal’s face seemed in deliberate opposition to his.

“Correct.” He said. “But there is no avoiding it, we have not the resources to do otherwise. Every day more guards die to ambushes, already it’s impossible to safely send our forces out save for in force.”

“And our protection comes first!” Blurted out Zilch. “We are the organisers- appointed by the Faction Leaders themselves. Our well being comes before any number of vagrants and rioters, there is no choice in the matter. Even with the defences we have there’s no guarantee we can withstand another attack from Tamaias’ killer, let alone if we split them.”

Sorafin began to answer, yet it was Mylif who made himself heard. Emotion still dragging his voice to eclipsing volumes.

“It isn’t vagrants and rioters who sit in our relief camps as we speak, it’s innocents who were simply caught in the crossfire of Tamaias’ battle. None of them are a threat to us, and as organisers it’s on us to protect them.”

“We’re going around in circles.” Lavastro cut in, hurrying the words from herself. Trying desperately to pretend they weren’t plucking at her like cyclonic winds about a skyrunner. “Is there truly any disagreement about the logistics of the situation? Helping these people is no longer within our power, that should settle matters alone.”

“But it is in our power-” Snapped Mylif, falling quiet only as Sorafin cut in.

“I sense little progress shall be made by simply continuing this matter, certainly none in the form of any consensus. And in these times above all others we have not the luxury of wasting the hours it might take to exhaust the topic fully. I propose it be settled now with a vote.”

“Seconded.” Lavastro answered, barely even thinking. Balogun and Zilch followed up before Mylif could even protest.

The vote’s result was formed quickly, and inevitably. Five against one, action decided in barely a minute more. The meeting ended soon after that, matters settled beyond argument. Thanks only one part in five to Lavastro herself.

And yet she still found herself avoiding Mylif’s gaze.