Mercifully this is one time where leaving home doesn't immediately lead to a life-or-death struggle, and we make it to The Convention's meeting hall in good time... It is a thoroughly unimpressive building. It looks so... Utilitarian. There's no flourishes to it, no artistry, just brick and concrete. It's simply a building. I think I don’t like it. I think I don’t like it at all.

"No wonder they opted to use the Palace for my castigation. This place just looks depressing."

"No frills, just pure function. You'd almost think it wasn't made for human beings at all." Auguste softly chuckles under his breath, taking a moment to truly consider the building. "A far cry from the salons and the coffee houses The Convention grew out of."

"Coffee shops? A bunch of old men discussing things at a cafe managed to form an entire alternate government?"

"Some of those old men were very, very rich. Others were very, very good at getting people on their side. I wonder if our founder intended all of this..." Auguste looks about ready to spit, fist clenched as he tries not to overtly express his irritation. "He certainly didn't intend for the Aeduian Restorationists to come to dominate things... If anyone dressed in purple tries to become your friend, I highly recommend you ignore them."

"Heh... If only you'd given my brother the same advice."

"... I'm sure he'll be fine. As long as he keeps winning victories."

There’s almost something regretful in Auguste's tone, but he moves into the building before I can properly interrogate it. I follow as quickly as I can, seeming to earn the ire of the gendarmes out front of the building... Who does the Gendarmerie work for, anyway? The Crown or The Convention? Government services are more than a little confusing when there are two governments in the same country... Back on the beaches of Kerska, such a question would never once have occurred to me. Am I becoming a grown-up, despite my protests?

The inside of The Convention's meeting hall is almost as uninspired as the outside, neutral colored walls and functional yet dull furniture. I can imagine golemized machinery happily making their home here, voting on which indolent person to eat next... What does a place like this do to the people who work here? Is this how Malmo happened?

I don't have time to ponder, a man in purple approaches me with a smile, arms open as if he expects a hug. "Ah, Mademoiselle Pollineux! Thank you for taking the time to join us today."

I remember this man... He was one of the men in purple castigating me. "I get the impression that I didn't have much of a choice."

"Oh, you certainly had a choice. Between coming here and being escorted here. I appreciate that you took the easier option... We are, as always, happy to have a Pollineux in our esteemed hall."

"So I've heard...” I must confess, seeing this man trying so hard to project charm and human-ness, I can almost see what my brother sees in the purple shirts. “You’re what they call an Aeduian Restorationist, right?”

“I certainly am! I should introduce myself, I am Minister Roland. Your brother has spoken a lot about you, kind words only I should clarify.”

Kind words that carried no weight during my castigation, no doubt… He was quite the prominent figure during that event, maybe he might be able to answer a question of mine. “Well, I try to live up to the legend he has built… I’m sorry, I just have to ask. What’s an Aeduian anyway?”

He smiles, but his eye twitches somewhat, as if he expected that to be obvious. “Ah, see, the Aeduians were once a fellow Celtic tribe, back before the Avernii conquered all of what is now Avernia. The Aeduians were a proud people with a noble tradition of not bowing to kings or queens, but instead coming together to determine who was best to lead their society. A republic, Mademoiselle Pollineux. That is the legacy we wish to restore.”

“A republic that was conquered and forgotten about? … I must confess, I fail to see why that would be so compelling to you.”

“One bad implementation does not invalidate the entire idea, Mademoiselle Pollineux.” He’s clearly said that line before, countless times I’d bet. “And there were compelling advantages to a republic that a Kingdom simply cannot emulate. That’s why the Avernii made an Aeduian city the capital of their ‘High Kingdom’, after all. No violent kings and steel subjects could build something so beautiful and prosperous; they could only conquer it.”

“And conquer it they did… I don’t know if you’ve noticed, monsieur, but we happen to be in a war. A very big one in fact. It seems a poor time to switch to a system with a noted history of being invaded and conquered.”

“The Aeduians were simply ahead of their time, Serena. They lived in an age of warriors clad in steel and royalty who led armies into battle. Those days are long over. Today we have soldiers wearing cotton and wool uniforms, we carry muskets instead of swords, and the nation on the side of technology wins. This is the age the Aeduians were waiting for! And we will not deny ourselves this progress just because of some historical minutiae!”

“You could probably argue that Humanism does the same thing, only it hasn’t failed yet, and it seems to make the world a happier place.”

“Oh don’t be naïve, Serena. Do you genuinely believe that Humanism is viable in the real world? That a godless system built on giving charity to the poor and everyone holding hands can survive in La’an?” For someone who had been so idealistic before, this pivot to extreme cynicism is honestly quite jarring. “Our system provides progress that will actually stand the test of time, that can genuinely build a better state, and that can honor our gods. With a legislative branch representing the people and honoring Cotton, and our Senate, honoring Wool and making sure things don’t get too out of hand... And the benefits of our more incremental approach will trickle down to the people! The very same people that folks like Auguste claim to care about, but would ruin by simply giving them things they have not earned!”

The gentleman seems to have worked himself into a fervor with his little sales pitch, one which makes me regret asking about this. “You asked me here to give testimony about recent events, right?"

“Simply give your account as best as you remember it...” He calms down in a hurry, switching gears from philosophical to conspiratorial without skipping a beat. “I must tell you, Mademoiselle Pollineux, what you choose to convey to The Convention will have some rather far-reaching consequences... I would advise you to be careful, and to not mention any details that might be... Hearsay, or that you are not entirely certain on. And of course, I would be cautious about any illegal knowledge you may have come to acquire during your experiences."

What does he mean by that? Surely I'm here to inform these people about what happened, right? "Sounds to me like you're perfectly okay with hearing the truth, but not the whole truth."

"I simply believe it is best to keep things simple and not direct members of The Convention to question minutiae that is not fully understood. In any case, this is just advice, take it or leave it. I would hate for your testimony to lead to any consequences for you, or your brother."

"... Antoine can take care of himself."

"Right you are, Mademoiselle Pollineux. Right you are."

The man leaves my presence, clearly displeased. I think he was hoping to get something out of that exchange, and that he either underestimated or severely overestimated me. Auguste's advice is already coming in handy, I do not want to be friends with that man.

"Is this what Antoine meant about not being able to stand any of his friends?"

"Your brother sounds like a smart man..." A voice... An old man, who managed to sneak up on me despite his frailty. "I can't stand these vipers either."

Looking at the man, I can't help but wonder why he's here. He clearly needs bed rest, even with his cane he's barely upright. His eyes look dull and aged, I can almost see the years he's lived printed onto them permanently. His form is ever so slightly twisted and gnarled, I'm not sure people are supposed to live for as long as this man has... There's barely anything of him left to feed the grove.

"My brother has his moments, certainly... If you hate the people here so much, then why are you here, monsieur? Surely you could be somewhere far away from here if you wanted."

"... I am here because I am not a smart man. A long time ago, I thought I was, and maybe that was even true then. But if I was smart, then I was too smart for my own good."

"... Do you want to take a seat, monsieur-"

"I will stand. It's what I came here to do. Stand as best I can against the perversion of my vision."

"... You're referring to The Convention."

A mite of anger slips into the man's tone, loud enough that I wonder if he can even muster the strength to scream.

"The Convention of Humanity, which a lot of the young folks forget... Back when I was younger, I wanted to build a form of government for humans, by humans. I wanted to give them a voice, and believed that if I did, then power would be forced to serve them..." I can see the memory of a fire in his eyes for a brief moment, before he slumps little against his cane in resignation. "But money has a voice too, and so does religious zealotry, and soon my Convention of Humanity became a playground for such interests. Just a way to force power to serve money and insanity..."

I can't help but raise an eyebrow at this sudden speech, it seems almost a little rehearsed... "Monsieur, why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're the only person in this room that hasn't heard it yet." The answer doesn't come from the old man, it comes from Auguste, approaching the two of us with a smile. "Serena, this is Count Trevallion of Lemonum, the founder of The Convention and chairman of the Humanist Salon."

There is a clear reverence in Auguste's voice... And an unclear contempt, which the old man seems blissfully unaware of. "Ah, Monsieur Rosierte, it's a pleasure to see you again. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Things must truly be dire if they've called you out of your sickbed to come join us here, Trevallion. Are you sure that you should be out and about rather than resting?"

"... This concerns The Heart, no doubt... They won't say it out loud, the cowards, but if I had to guess why we all had to be here, why I had to be here... It's because the money men want to make sure The Convention has its story straight." The old man tries to spit, but it doesn't quite take.

"The Heart again..." I don't even know what it is but somehow I hate it more than anything. "How can it be so important as to draw everybody here like this?"

A messenger, a different one from this morning, and a much less out of breath one, tugs on my sleeve from behind. "Mademoiselle Pollineux, your presence is requested on the dais. The Convention's members are beginning to assemble."

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The old man blinks. Apparently he had been unaware of who I am or what I’m doing here. But his confusion is quickly followed by a grin, one lacking in teeth but rich in mischief.

"I cannot wait to hear your story, mademoiselle. The entire thing."

His shuffling into the hall is awkward, and seems to cause him no small amount of pain. I would have figured Auguste would soon join him, but he stays behind for a moment, watching the old man struggle to walk…

"If you tried to help him, he'd probably just hit you with that cane and tell you to stop patronizing him." Auguste rubs his head, apparently speaking from experience. "... For someone who once wanted to help the entire world, he's certainly averse to receiving help himself... At least now he is."

"You sound like you have a story or two to tell, Auguste."

"I don't think that many stories would be enough, Serena... In any case, we'd best get you in front of The Convention again."

"... Auguste, what should I do?"

"About your testimony?"

"About what people want my testimony to be."

"Ah, that... Serena, I could give you advice, I could tell you what to do to get out of this building... Not quite intact, but at least no more hurt than you were when you came in." He gives a slightly distant chuckle; it is a slightly morbid observation even if an accurate one. "... But I trust you to be yourself, and don't really trust you to be anything else. So I won't tell you what to do."

"So just, do what I want and deal with the consequences later?"

"That's just how you are, Serena... And I don't think I'd have offered you my home if you were any other way."

Auguste makes his way into the chamber finally, giving me one last look over his shoulder. He’s conflicted about something... Somethings... A fair few somethings... And I have no time to speculate. I have to head to the dais and decide what happened this past week in Alesia. And deal with the consequences.

"What would Her Majesty have me do?"

I have no answer to that. She isn't here. It’s just me... Me alone, taking the stage, in front of the old men and fancy folk of The Convention. And their expectations. Come to think of it, the men of The Convention called me 'Pollineux', didn't they?

"Mademoiselle Pollineux!" A familiar man in an ornate brown barrister's uniform and a white wig addresses the crowd and I both, his voice still a match for the Marshal of Avernia. "You have been central to the tragic events that have rocked our city in the past few days. By what few scattered accounts we have of the incidents in Triumph Square and at the former National Gallery, your actions were both heroic and necessary to prevent further bloodshed."

It sounds so dispassionate to hear him say it, as if saving people is no different from shooting them personally. It feels wrong, having been in these places myself and felt the events he mentioned all too viscerally, to hear them summed up this way... It makes me wonder who’s penning those 'scattered accounts', if this man could see them so dully.

Not that I'll ever have a chance to ask, the man's introductory spiel continues as loud as ever. "Now we would hear your account of these events, as someone who was central to them, so we might better understand and counter these kinds of tragedies in the future. You are doing Avernia a service, Mademoiselle Pollineux. Now, begin with the incident in Triumph Square."

Starting at the beginning, that should be simple enough, right? "Alright... I was in Triumph Square to buy groceries-"

"Please omit any details not directly relevant to the tragedy in question, Mademoiselle!"

"... Apologies." Less simple than I thought. "The gunfire started from all directions, Alemannian mercenaries attacked the square from all directions at once. Mercenaries I believe to be from the von Moniks band-"

"And how do you know that, Mademoiselle Pollineux?" This loud man seems determined to interrupt me, much to the amusement of some purple shirts in the audience. "I would like to request that you not give unfounded speculation."

"Of course. However, I happen to be the employer of a separate band of von Moniks mercenaries and thus recognize their uniforms and bayonets, and the unique nature of their commanders. One of whom happened to be present in the square." Well, no one is amused now, which I’ve decided is a good sign. "They spilled into the square, shooting and carving civilians seemingly without direction or reason."

"Did you discover any evidence concerning how they managed to, with their uniforms and bayonets and all, sneak into Alesia and launch a surprise attack on a crowded civilian market?"

"I do not. Several of the Greenjackets-"

"Greenjackets?"

"Alemannian mercenaries... Several of the Alemannian mercenaries in my service were disguised among the crowd as butchers, perhaps this band had employed a similar course of action-"

"But you don't know."

"No. I do not."

"I see." I can't help but feel like this man just won a victory against me, somehow. "Moving on. When these mercenaries flooded the square, what was your first course of action, Mademoiselle?"

This is going to be a very awkward part of my testimony. "I had noticed Princess Theophania in the crowd earlier, and having seen her bodyguards carved apart by the Wolfman- The mercenary commander, before you ask, I rushed to her defense."

"And you managed to protect her?"

"I got a rather nasty cut in my arm for the trouble but yes."

"Please do not slip superfluous details into your testimony, Mademoiselle Pollineux."

My arm almost being cut off doesn't seem all that superfluous to me... "Once I had seen to her safety I returned to the square to take personal command of the Gendarmerie, to ensure that civilians were rescued and that the Wolfman would be engaged properly."

"According to the newspapers, about twenty people managed to escape the square alive, although one woman did lose an arm and others had gunshot wounds or other such injuries. You directed the Gendarmerie to protect these people?"

"I did. Although my own companions were also commendable in this effort, and in bringing down the mercenary commander. I would like to particularly commend-"

"This is no forum for you to enrich or aggrandize your personal friends, Mademoiselle Pollineux."

... Probably for the best, Pasche likely doesn't want these people to think highly of her anyway. "In any case, I lost consciousness soon after the square was secured, due to blood loss from my injury. When I awoke, I was home."

"I see. Do you perhaps have any evidence as to why a German mercenary contingent attacked a peaceful market square in Alesia seemingly at random?"

"... I do have a theory, based on what I saw in the square-"

"This is not a forum for speculation, Mademoiselle-"

"There was this blonde woman. /in the smoke of the square, I saw her stealing a painting-"

"That is quite enough, Mademoiselle-"

"That same blonde woman appeared in the other incidents-"

"You have no definitive proof of these allegations and thus they will not be considered relevant by The Convention-"

"Why did you even call me here if you don't want to listen to what I have to say!"

"We have brought you here to provide evidence that we do not have, not to supply opinions that we do not think, Mademoiselle Pollineux."

I feel just about ready to punch this pushy lawyer, but I somehow manage to restrain myself. I’ve only just gotten back into the good graces of the press after all, back to where I can be seen with Her Majesty. I can't waste this fortuitous circumstance by starting a fistfight in The Convention... And it won't do Auguste or Celeste any favors either, and I owe them more than I can properly express in a whole lifetime. So I hold my tongue and keep my fist in check, for them.

"Now, onto the second incident."

The rest of the testimony continues much the same, giving the answers The Convention expects to hear, slipping a few details about the blonde woman in where I can before being shouted down once more... I decide to omit a great deal of my interactions with Her Majesty from the record. These men don't need to know about our dancing, and I don't trust them to know about her painting. Their insistence on not hearing any evidence regarding 'Rivauld' made explaining the gallery fire awkward, with The Convention eventually settling on being completely blind on that issue. And they don't even begin to allow me to explain how Rivauld had assisted Malmo with arranging my castigation. One thing did pique their interest, however…

"... So this rumor, regarding the King starting the war with The Coalition." This question doesn't come from the barrister, it comes from the crowd itself. "Is there any truth to it, as far as you are aware?"

"That rumor? I assumed it was something entirely fabricated, just designed to whip the crowd into a frenzy and cause a diversion."

"And it was believed immediately?" One of the other men in the crowd this time, but one nearby. "Seems the ground must be fertile for that kind of rumor, right?"

Where are they going with this? "I... I suppose so, conspiracy theories are a gram a dozen these days-

"I wonder what would happen if that one would happen to slip into the newspapers... I imagine the King would be desperate to prevent that, wouldn't he?"

... I'm being completely ignored, aren't I? "I'd hope that everyone would be opposed to lies in the newspaper..."

"Perhaps we could get some concessions out of the King, holding this rumor over his head."

"I mean, our friends in the newspapers could certainly disprove it, for a price."

"Or spread it, to cause the King some serious discomfort."

The purple shirts seem to have taken to speculating about the potential use of this rumor, much to the apparent horror of the green shirts and steel priests in attendance.

"Are you mad? We can't just be promoting baseless conspiracy theories!"

"It will undermine the legitimacy of the Convention!"

"This blatant attack on His Majesty compromises our cooperation!"

And now it’s a shouting match. My eyes find the old man in the crowd alongside his Humanists, all of them looking somewhat defeated. I can't help but sympathize with them, and so can the barrister strangely enough, him trying to put an end to the impromptu little fight. He is unfortunately not having much luck. I wonder if I can just sneak out of The Convention Hall in the confusion and go home. This fight seems like it could easily take the rest of the day. Possibly the rest of all time.

Fortunately, this dispute does not continue until the end of time. Unfortunately, it’s interrupted by a pair of Gendarmes, one appearing to be the very same captain I'd forced to be a hero in Triumph Square. Both he and his subordinate look rather haggard, and their sudden arrival is enough to shut the old men and fancy folk up.

My interrogator is the first to speak, giving the two his full attention. "The Convention is in session! What warrants this interruption?!"

The captain gives a rather hasty salute, trying to retroactively be respectful to those in attendance. "It's... It's a riot. Half of Alesia's up in arms, wanting to storm the Royal Palace and tear the King limb from limb. The Gendarmes don't know what to do, a bunch of them are trying to disperse the people while another lot are joining the rioters!"

The Wigged Man seems rather stunned, as do the people of The Convention, faced with an actual crisis they are utterly paralyzed... But this is my fifth crisis this week, so I take over from our loud friend.

"What’s provoked this? Why are the people up in arms?"

"It's the newspapers, they're reporting the High King was conspiring with foreign powers, inviting them to invade Alesia to get rid of The Convention!"

So the rumor has already gotten out? I can see a few of the purple shirts in the audience start to look very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

And one of them is apparently feeling defensive "But... But that's just a baseless rumor! The people have heard them before, they don't normally riot like this-"

"It's not baseless, sir... The newspaper has copies of all the letters. They have the royal seal and everything, they're legitimate... His Majesty started this whole war. Gods save Alesia…”

The entire hall is shocked to the core, the enormity of the information finally dawning on all of them. The High King was unambiguously a traitor to the nation and its people, their greatest enemy had been caught in an absurd blunder. One would be forgiven for thinking they should feel jubilant. But joy is not something to be found even among the purple shirts, the very ones who would have used this rumor to their advantage against the High King. They are all utterly gobsmacked, and even Minister Roland, the most prominent among them, can barely muster the wherewithal to have a reaction at all.

And he certainly can’t muster any eloquence. "Well... Shit."