Meno looked out over the city of Det’em, blocking out the hum of the crowd behind him. He tugged at the collar of the exo-suit provided by the Traes guard before they entered the Planetary Head’s apartments. He had felt the familiar squeezing as it moulded itself to his body, much like the suit had on Gol months ago, a lifetime ago, it seemed.

This was the highest he had ever been in the temple, standing on the Patio stretched out from Pac’s and Eher’s apartments, just below the hands of Det’em with a full view of the city. From the patio, he could see the day-long celebrations still in full swing—music, cheering, parades, and the annual tradition of painting the buildings to welcome the new year. Meno had watched the festivities, eavesdropping on the guards' and guests' conversations, keeping himself alert and ready.

Some disturbances had already disrupted the celebrations. Fights had broken out and been promptly broken up. Protests had erupted over certain buildings, including the university and library, being painted in the deep green of The Yelean Front’s colours. The crowd’s anger had flared into violence, requiring intervention from the Det’em armed forces and some of the Traes Guard.

"Could it be tactical?" Meno had asked Angie, who stood beside him, clad in an exo-suit, looking far more comfortable than he’d seen in a long time.

"Could be. The incidents are spread out, which splits the forces. Wouldn’t be a bad tactic," she replied, eyes fixed on the vibrant scene below, the colourful smoke and music swirling through it. "Moran knows what he’s doing."

All flights in and out of the world had been suspended at Moran’s request after reports of a House Pillar entering orbit. Something that they were assured was purely for protection purposes and would be used as such.

"...more of a deterrent than anything else. We didn’t ask for it, but it's what you can expect from the Houses. It'll make Grasci cautious, and that’s what matters," Moran had said earlier, his large black moustache twitching as he briefed the hand-selected guards and the Traes’ guests. "And let’s not forget the Lotus is nearby. The Pillar will keep the Eshara in check."

Meno, Angie, and Paba had come as Liv’s guests and had been assured that Harold would have insisted they attend even if she hadn’t. Meno glanced across the room, catching sight of Angie and Paba deep in conversation with Liv, Shilu Salfor, and Eher Traes. Eher looked only tired, despite everything that was happening. Meno saw moments where she mastered composure, and had seen enough from her to believe it. He imagined that internally the Traes felt much like himself - like a tempest was swirling in their gut.

Pac Traes moved among advisors, Harold constantly by his side, pulling the old man along with him for every conversation, and dropping into hushed tones whenever the two had a moment of peace. Liv, meanwhile, with Eher engaged with dignitaries that forced a smile, her fingers wrapped tightly around her glass, knuckles white. Meno noticed her gaze flitting to the doors more than the people conversing around her. Sensing her tension, Paba had quickly assumed “Liv duty.”

The room filled with Moran’s hand-picked guard, dignitaries, and the Kryptea, who kept to a corner, silent and ascetic. They seemed unshaken, the only ones immune to the rising anxiety. Meno wondered if this situation struck any of them as unusual. They stood in their simple beige cloth robes, with their iron-bladed weapons held with their flat ends touching the floor. The two named Kryptea, besides 6 who had not yet earned his citizenship. Their red tan skin could have fit in well with the celebrations happening below, with the people painting the buildings and themselves. However, their sheer size, along with their imposing glares would have made them stand out anywhere.

Since he began training with 6, Meno had learned a great deal about the other two Kryptea. Archon, their leader, was the most experienced, a veteran of twenty-three battles, having served as a citizen soldier since she was fourteen. Archon was apparently the name of a large business family before she had taken the name. Even 6, unflappable as he seemed, showed his wariness, if not outright fear, in her presence. The other male, Laken, was just a year older than 6 and had fought in eight battles. He’d taken his name from a rebel commander who once attempted to destroy military barracks in Nyambe space, a mantle he assumed at the age of twelve.

“You’re making me nervous now,” Liv said softly, suddenly appearing beside Meno.

“Ah, am I? Sorry. Just never seen a festival before,” he replied, forcing a cheerful smile. He noticed her smile was just as strained. Paba gave him an awkward look as she fell in line next to them, and Meno saw Efreet standing diligently, just behind.

“The exo-suits are a bit much, aren’t they? Harold insisted that they be ready for anything. At least you’re spared the helmet,” she said, offering an apologetic look to her guard behind her.

“I think Angie appreciates it,” Meno said, glancing at Angie, who stood at the patio’s far side, arms crossed, surveying the city with her back to the wall.

“If only we could make it purple,” Liv joked, trying to lighten the mood. Paba let out a short, awkward barking laugh,

“Ah, I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m nervous, what do you want from me?” she said as she clutched the pendant around her neck.

“Not long now,” Liv said, allowing the unspoken tension to hang in the air. They didn't respond, knowing that any response would be speculation at best and words would only stoke their nerves.

Meno heard the faintest of whistles and looked over to Angie who darted her eyes downward, and Meno saw that in the Agora below and he saw, bearing the deep green flags and marching as a crowd, the supporters of The Front and Grasci enter into the already crowded agora of the temple. They were chanting something, but from this distance, Meno couldn't hear it clearly enough, it pulsated through the crowd, becoming louder, more rhythmic, and more coordinated as the green flags filtered into the crowd.

“Efreet?” Liv picked up on Angie’s signal too.

“We’ve been tracking them through the city, my Lady. They’ve been peaceful so far,” Efreet said, picking up on the concern. It didn't seem to put her at ease. Meno noticed he sounded different, admittedly he was wearing a helmet which modulated the voice, but Meno thought it could have been more than that. Maybe nerves had gotten to him too.

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Meno stayed in his position while the guests moved around him, Liv had told him to eat something, but he had told her that he was fine, and she had excused herself, drifting back into the crowd with Paba, leaving Meno to observe the city below. He kept himself alert and listened to the crowd behind him in their discussions. He may have wanted to keep the speculation low, but that was not shared by all,

‘Hopefully, that Pillar comes down and just ends this Yelean Front business once and for all’

‘We know Pac isn't going to do anything, I would have thought that Eher might have though’ said a passing couple.

‘Grasci could be a good option if handled well’ said in a low voice,

“Yes, things could escalate but have faith in the guard. These are trained professionals against farmers, allow the course to run,” a voice with pomposity said.

And then a voice muttered, “Well, we’ll find out in about ten minutes.” This had brought Meno back to full consciousness, and he instantly became aware of everything around him, as though he could feel it, every movement like a small ripple that hit his body. The crowds below had become more energetic, their chanting now coming through more clearly than before, and it was clear which side they had chosen,

‘Grasci, Grasci, Grasci…’ they sang, through the clouds of green smoke, the sun now setting. The crowd was growing restless, and Meno could feel the unease echo behind him as the Traes guests bustled around the room, mutterings rising from every corner. He spotted Liv, with Paba still by her side, nodding slowly as she spoke to Liv, who stared ahead, giving the occasional quick nod of agreement.

Then the lights came, fluttering up into the air, similar to the orbs from the Prelude Gala, spiralling through the darkening sky and throwing out beams of light that struck against one another, creating a great sparkling mist above the city. The crowds below howled with excitement, willing the leader of YF forward. Deep drums thumped below, echoing through the city and the night sky.

The chanting of Grasci’s name grew louder, a fierce rhythm building beneath the billowing green smoke. When the lights began to rise and spiral into the air, an electric thrill coursed through the crowd, swelling into a feverish roar. For a moment, Meno felt as though the city itself held its breath, each beat of the drums vibrating through him. Meno could feel his heart beating with the drums, heavy and hard, but he steeled himself, ready.

Then, he arrived as though summoned by the chants of the crowd, like some ritual of magic, glittering light being thrown, the stars of light coalesced into the smug image of Professor Isaac Grasci. Though Meno knew this moment was coming, the hollowness that he’d been feeling in his stomach for so long, now grew almost bottomless.

“Good evening, people of Yeley” Grasci’s voice boomed theatrically sending a surge of sound through the city, greeted by deafening applause as great images of Grasci appeared as great towers of light shining around the image of the Front’s leader, “And may you all share in a glorious Sun’s Rising Festival!” the images stretched their arms out, shooting the light into the dark sky, and illuminating the now painted city, his name being sung by the crowds, harmonising in their prayer.

The patio fell silent and still as if frozen in fear by his mere presence. The Traes’ guests, like Meno, felt the terror seep through, cold and pervasive, like an encroaching storm by the sheer scale of support of the crowd. Meno swallowed, looking down at the crowd, now in constant motion, jumping and screaming, holding their hands out to the images of light.

“I thank you for your welcome, and I honour you for the sacrifices you’ve made, the burdens you’ve shouldered, in these most difficult times. How strong you are, dear Yeleans, how admirable, how powerful!” Cheers erupted from the Agora below, reaching up to the temple. Meno drew back, knowing he couldn’t let himself be distracted by the Professor’s words. He needed to stay aware of what was happening with his people, with Liv. He caught Angie’s eye and then Paba’s, both standing just behind Liv, whose face, reflecting the lights, showed fear. He moved himself closer to the planetary heads, closer to Moran. No one questioned his movement through the guests toward the Traes, which only deepened his worry—if he could move freely, so could someone else.

“Yes, it has been a difficult year. We have faced many challenges, and we’ve overcome adversity. We have proven that we, the people of Yeley, speak loudly, we speak our truth, and we have shown that when needed, we make ourselves heard. And I say you must be heard, that our voices must still rise higher, they must be clearer, and more focused, for we need change on this planet of ours." The crowd grew quiet, drawn to the weight of the Professor’s words as his voice lowered. "We all know the situation. We’ve seen it, felt it. We heard the young Lady Traes speak just two nights ago of these struggles—an event I attended. Yes, don’t worry, I’ve seen all the speculations,” he added, smiling as a low ripple of laughter stirred below. "Yes, I was there. Disappointed, at first, that neither Pac nor Eher would speak. Now, now..."

Grasci continued, his projected effigies of light waving his hands down to quiet the crowd as boos filled the air. "I must congratulate Lady Olivia for standing where her parents dared not—too ashamed, perhaps. But it seems the Traes’ answer to Yelean change is simple—another Traes,” he mocked, and Meno saw Pac Traes’ fist tighten. "It was something, I tell you. The arrogance.” His face twisted in disgust. "They had our founder, the goddess of Yeley, Det’em, bow to the young Traes girl as she came to speak, then called the elite the foundation of Yeley!" he thundered, as the crowd’s anger swelled around him. "No! And to say all we must do is stand strong, regardless of what the client worlds say? Who does that hurt? Not them, not the privileged who call a Temple home—no! It is you, the ones who would suffer most." He paused dramatically, letting his image glare toward the temple. Meno met the light straight on, which portrayed the professor’s eyes. “No, this is not their home, their world,” Grasci declared, voice rising. “I say that it belongs to you, the people of Yeley, for whom Det’em forged this land! You are the foundation of Yeley!” The temple quaked with the crowd’s fervour. Meno could no longer see Grasci as he was now in the crowd.

He glanced over at Efreet, who stood behind Liv, checking his wrist, perhaps receiving word on the crowd’s movements. The atmosphere grew thick with unrest.

“It is profanity, to have our goddess, our founder, bow to these onlookers of our people, who sell our lives for their profits, for their privilege. Their hands have never touched the earth that you harvest, and so I say that if we need change, then we need to start at the top!” again he needed to raise his voice over the roars of the city as he continued, “I say that if Yeley is to change, then it should be decided by the people who are Yeley, it must be changed by you!” the rumbling of the temple intensified.

Meno watched as Moran looked across to a number of his guards and nodded his head. Grasci raised a fist, aglow with energy.

“So I say to you, Yeley, Stand up! Fight for what is yours”, he said throwing his hands into the air that burned like a star, “For what belongs to you. You must—”

“Take the shot,” Moran murmured, barely audible.

“...take what is…” there was a silence that fell over the city for just a moment, it plunged the patio into a breathless second, and then it came, like waves crashing against the temple walls, the mob screeched. Panic surged through the crowd on the patio, screams and shouts reverberating off the walls, as people rushed over one another in attempts to escape. Meno pushed his way forward to see what had just happened, peering over the edge in time to see Grasci’s falling figure of light, a gaping hole in his forehead, his mouth contorted, still trying to shape his final word that he had not been able to say. His body drifted like a feather in the night sky, the light stuttered and the darkness engulfed the city.

“What the fuck…?” was the only thing that Meno could say before he was hit with a tidal wave of sound as the mob roared. Desperate cries of anger, hatred, and betrayal were all directed at the temple, the echoing voices all hitting the home of the Traes in cries for blood.