They did not really need to hide. It was a fairly common sight to see people hurrying through the streets of Citadel carrying unusual things - be it their latest inventions, carts full of semi-finished products or heaps of broken stuff that needed to be repaired. A mechanical arm sticking out of her back would really not set Auria that much apart, but they still were careful. She switched her bloodied medic robes for a thick, long leather jacket stained of machine grease that Naira lent her, and the projector has laid comfortably curled up inside a large backpack. Naira was adorned to her usual black attire that fit well with now permanently adorned gauntlets on her hands, and Hairan accompanied them looking no different to countless citadel guards that kept peace on already peaceful streets, wearing padded scarlet uniform.
To an outsider, the peace kept through the streets of Citadel was a highly extraordinary thing - there were no beggars, no thieves and cutpurses, no rapists. That is one of the reasons why the Lands of the Citadel seemed almost utopic to scores of foreign travelers and refugees, seeking to start a new, better life. A life full of safety and comfort in the lands where farmers and bakers were as valued as mechanics and guardsmen, and knowledge was something readily available to each person - or so it would seem on the outside.
After discovering the somewhat darker truth, foreign travelers often turned their carts packed with their livelihood and left back from where they came. True, the crime was almost entirely absent from Lands of the Citadel, but the reason behind that was rather cruel.
There were no prisons in the Citadel - all those that would be convicts in Malorea, Antigan and even Kryota and Rooskuria were put to a better use in the name of progress. Medics needed test subjects for the study of diseases, medicaments and correct surgical procedures, and alchemists needed to test the newly made potions, poultices, toxins and unnamed experimental liquid and solid substances on living beings, and testing such vileness on innocent animals was, of course, unthinkable. Mechanics, historians and archaeologists always needed new hands for the purpose of excavating old tunnels that ran deep beneath the Citadel, as more often than not, old metal doors and gates were trapped, and tens of unfortunate souls perished yearly due to the effects of acid clouds or liquid fire. The order in the Lands of the Citadel was kept by the citadel guard, but - truth be told - there was not a lot of action going on, as the general population of Citadel adhered to the laws rather strictly.
As for the availability of the knowledge to everyone regardless of their stature, that was true, although every person with interest to gain knowledge in the halls of the Citadel’s university had to sign up a binding contract. Each person, regardless of their social ranking, had to pledge themselves for up to fifteen years of working under the banners of the Citadel after finishing up their hunt for the knowledge, and it happened only a handful times that anyone was willing to return to their original home after spending almost two decades in the safety and prosperity during their service to the Citadel.
“Where is it that we are going, Naira?” Auria asked after fifteen minutes of walking through cobbled streets.
“My old mentor. A, hm, former mechanic with particular interest in unearthing the lost knowledge from the tunnels. That is also why both me and Harian carry the backpacks loaded with what we took from the archive.”
“Seems like a reasonable step to take.” Harian nodded. “We’re taking these things as a…”
“Bribe.” Naira answered. “While he often used to work in tandem with historians to analyze new stuff from underground, to have such a collection, all to himself, without a wall of bureaucracy to attend to will be a much too delightful opportunity for him to pass.”
“Your old mentor… Wait.” Auria stopped in her tracks. “Your old mentor, as in Argyl Hanur?”
“Yes.” Naira nodded.
“The Triarch himself?” Harian asked, taken aback. “This doesn’t seem like such a reasonable step anymore.”
“Do not worry. I have thought this through.”
Auria laughed bitterly. “Of course, what is the worst that can happen? Me, ending up locked somewhere while dozens of people try to cut me open and rip the projector from my spine… Ah, what a delightful idea.”
Naira crossed her arms and looked each of them straight into their eyes. “Calm down. First of all, you are too much of an asset to take apart like that.” She snapped her fingers to highlight her point. For a second there, she seemed surprised that her gauntleted fingers actually made that sound.
“Second, We have not done anything wrong.”
“Other than stealing stuff from the archives, you mean.” Harian remarked.
“We have not done anything wrong.” She repeated. “We will come as victims of wrongly activated technology. There is already a dead person that was killed by the thing, and therefore we will make our case to be of life-and-death importance. Also, I have to admit - I am surprised that Auria managed to run from the hospital without any questions regarding how the historian died.”
“That’s actually a good point. How did you manage that?” Harian turned towards the medic. She shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. There was too much going on at once, and I don’t remember what I told the staff.”
“Third, and most important point…” Naira continued “He owes me.”
“He owes you for what exactly?” Auria asked as they started to move again. Naira’s right lip twitched in an attempt to smile slightly. “I have done something similar with him already.”
“Similar, as in stealing ancient technology from the archives and telling no one?”
“Exactly.”
***
It was a common misconception that Triarchy alone ruled the Citadel. In reality, a council made of members voted by the public was the true ruling organ, with Triarchy acting as their formal leaders - the ones overseeing the acceptance of new laws, the ones speaking publicly on behalf of their respective part of the council. Officially, the Triarchy was merely just a part of a larger governing body - their heads perhaps, but not the unrestricted rulers.
Unless a crisis came.
Argyll was just finishing his speech in front of the council, where he told them a full, uncolored recollection of all the correspondence he received in the past few days. “We are on the precipice of catastrophe, and I alone am not sure of how to act. Is it wise to fortify our borders and create a wave of public panic? Or is it wiser to try and negotiate?”
A silence as thick as a tar hung above the assembled council. The news hit them hard.
“What is the point of their actions?” A lone voice sounded from one of the masked council members. Other than Triarchy, all of the council members were hidden from each other behind black veiled hoods to prevent the possible voting bias.
“Yet unknown. They cannot aim to attack us directly, we are leagues above any known nation in terms of raw military power. They cannot starve us, as our fields, pastures, rivers and sea are able to sustain us indefinitely. Although the end of trade between us and neighboring lands may hit us hard, we still have a large supply of resources at our disposal. We have our own coal mines, so our steam engines will not run out of fuel. All the raw ore and scrap metal that we store can be repurposed for necessary needs. It is them that will suffer bitter consequences from this… step.” Argyl answered politely. A murmur arose through the council.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“They need us to maintain all the technology that we brought to their lands.” Another voice has risen above the murmuring crowd, only to be contradicted by a third masked person. “Perhaps not anymore. Not when they hold our people hostage.”
“What of the prisoner trade?” asked a female voice that Argyll could unmistakingly attribute to an alchemist named Peleria.
“Least of our concerns.” Larais, acting Triarch, answered.
One through the another, questions started to fly from the crowd towards each other, towards Triarchs, towards anyone. Twenty one voices, shouting and bellowing, made Argyll sit down and ponder.
What is the point of their actions? That was a great question. The declaration of war that is not a declaration by itself. The end of trade agreements… He did not understand any of this. He was a mechanic, not a bureaucrat, not a ruler. But, people entrusted this burden upon his shoulders, and he had to act… somehow.
He looked around the large council hall, admiring the beauty of stone craftsmanship that birthed the huge hall into existence. All the carved statues of people significant in the history of the Citadel that encircled the large hall, sunlight beaming through the glass ceiling highlighting their masterfully crafted faces… Ancestors of us all, what would you do?
He stood up and the crowd went silent. “We appreciate all the questions that you ask, but we require something else. A unanimous vote on our next course of action.”
The hall went silent for a few infinite minutes.
***
“That went fairly well.” Ceryna remarked, and Larais spat out a laugh.
“As well as one could hope for such a gathering to go.” Argyl muttered, not amused. “But the council has voted unanimously. A lot of work is ahead of us all.”
“What is the first course of action, Triarch?” Larais asked him without a sign of mirth in her tone.
Argyll did not think for a long time. “Sending an envoy of peace to Glaeria, and re-creation of trade contracts between us and surrounding lands.”
“Do you have somebody particular in mind for the peace mission?” Ceryna asked.
A winded boy came running up the stairs leading to council hall. “Triarch Argyl, mistress Naira Uransahr came seeking your presence, accompanied by medic Auria Yhrsa and a citadel guard Harian… uh… he did not give me the surname.”
“Oh, such a coincidence that a medic, a mechanic and a soldier come seeking you just when we require a peace envoy.” Larais spoke loudly with a barely contained enjoyment in her voice.
***
“Exquisite. Simply marvelous.” Argyll spoke silently while circling Auria and a straightened projector that traced his every step. “I never even hoped to see one in person, much less a functioning one.”
“So you know what it is?” Naira asked, and Triarch nodded slowly.
“More or less. Wait a second.” he turned away from them and went to a large library that adorned the north wall of his office. After a few minutes browsing, he returned with a hand-written journal that he handed to Auria. “You probably won’t recognize the language, but your projector will. Try to read it.”
“How?” She asked, puzzled.
“From what I understand - although my translation might be misleading and not accurate - try to merge your mind with it. See the journal through the arm. Open your mind to…”
Auria closed her eyes and focused on the metal arm. A feeling of familiarity swept through her but after a brief moment, she shuddered. “No.” She shook her head and handed the journal back to him. “I will not.”
“Why?”
“The thing screams of hunger, of a need to feed, to restore energy. The feeling is… overpowering.”
“Hunger? Restoring energy? Have you used it?” Argyl straightened and tensed his muscles as if expecting a blow. Auria nodded. “How?”
“I have healed my broken and burnt arm with it. And I have… probed the cancer inside of Harian.”
“That is… unexpected.” Argyl looked puzzled.
“Talk to us, Triarch. What do you know?” Naira demanded with a stern voice.
“This journal that I have handed to you is not mine, as you might have guessed. It was written a long time ago by a woman, and she refers to herself as a Sphinx. It may be a name, or a title, of which I am unsure. She speaks of being re-made and re-created again and again, in a vicious cycle of death and a new life.”
“A spiritual nonsense.” Naira stated. “What is the connection with the arm?”
Argyll rolled his eyes. “Just let me finish, Naira. I remember you being much more patient as a student.”
“That is because you used to slap my fingers with a stick if I…”
“Stop this bickering.” Auria groaned.
Argyl looked thankfully towards her. “Now let me continue, and please, do not interrupt. She spoke of a cycle of dying and being re-made again, but not through a birth, as you might think, but through a… device. She hated that thing, and she thought that it would spell the doom of their people - which I assume is the dead civilization of Bashen - as they have stopped reproducing naturally and instead, after death, they just underwent a process of recreation. Now, to this thing.” Argyl opened the journal and shifted through ancient pages vigorously. “Here. This… drawing.”
Auria took the journal into her hands for a second time. She felt as if the image was not drawn, but captured from the real world and pressed down onto a paper. She examined the image closely. A female, standing tall, with three projectors spreading from her back.
“Hey, her hair is the same color as yours, Auria.” Harian noticed. It was only then that Auria had noticed the snow-colored ponytail intertwined by multiple wires of different colors.
“That is Sphinx. As you can see, she also wore the projectors, and she even gave them names - The Dust, The Gravity and The Spike. She did not describe their exact effects or uses, but she mentioned that they were weapons, each of them able to transfer her thoughts into reality, to project them further, to obliterate anything and anyone… But at a cost.”
“What is the cost?” Auria asked, knowing first-hand the effects of using the projector.
“Her life. She writes that after each use, she had to enter the machine that would recreate her body as new, restoring it to a state before the use. She said that there was another way of recharging it, as she called it, but she never mentioned the exact way of doing so.”
“So it is a weapon.” Naira said, deep in thoughts.
“I thought so too, but Auria healed with it. And, as Sphinx said, it is supposed to project the thoughts of the user.”
“And what’s with understanding a language through it?” Auria asked, puzzled.
“My hypothesis. From my experience, the things uncovered from underneath the Citadel come from the lost civilization of Bashen, and old texts - both from our historians and original books written by Bashenites - speak of melding the mind with the device. I thought that there might be a two-way communication between you and the projector.”
“Meaning that I could project my thoughts - to heal - through the arm, and it can project its needs - to feed - through me?”
“I’m… not sure, Auria.” Argyl admitted. “It was just a hypothesis based on what I’ve read. Please, take this. Try and read it, maybe you will get more answers. The language of Bashen is complicated, and I did not understand everything as clearly as I would like to.”
“Thank you for the help, Argyl.” Naira bowed her head slightly. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Perhaps regarding… these?” She raised her gauntleted hands, but Argyl’s look was confused. “I have no idea what those are. Have you obtained them from the same archive as the projector? Interesting… Well, that might be for you to find on your own, Nairama.”
“Nairama?” Harian asked Auria silently.
“Her full name.” She whispered back. Harian smiled. “Pretty.”
“Now, there is something I need to ask you, in regards to your services to the Citadel.” Argyl looked them each in the eyes, trying to read their faces, waiting for their reaction. Auria was the first to speak. “We… wanted to tackle the problem of projector by finding the answer behind the Bashen wall. That is the second part of our… plan. After asking you for help.”
Argyl grinned. “Excellent. What I need of you is to travel to Glaeria, to their golden city, as a peace envoy. Do this task, and you will have my support to pursue your own agenda behind the Bashen wall.”
“A peace envoy to the land of holy cunts? Why?” Harian asked. Argyl sat down, and spoke.
***
“Wake up, commander.” Iarvahr’s dream was interrupted by a soft, female voice. “We have docked. Welcome home.”