The 17th day of Solariel

The charged atmosphere in Troér's Inn is filled with tension, a lingering residue from the recent Magycte Beast attack that had shaken the city. Patrons huddled in small groups, their voices subdued, exchanging wary glances as they murmured about the harrowing events of the past few days.

Lyra, Eamon, and Sly found themselves in a corner, their eyes fixed on the radio atop a worn wooden table. The device crackled, and a hushed anticipation settled over the room. The inn's flickering oil lamps cast shadows on the faces of those gathered, revealing lines of worry etched into furrowed brows.

The conversation around them was a low hum, snippets of dialogue drifting through the air. Whispers of the Magycte Beast's rampage, the destruction it wrought, and the lives it could have claimed had the Locksmiths and, to their dismay, the military, come to their aid. The inn's patrons, a mix of weary travelers and locals seeking refuge, spoke in subdued tones, their eyes darting between one another as if searching for solace.

A grizzled miner, his face smudged with coal dust, leaned closer to the radio, his weathered hands gripping a mug of ale. "You reckon they'll talk about the beast in the conference?" he mumbled to his companion, a woman with tired eyes that mirrored the city's collective exhaustion.

“It's not like the CC have let us common folk down. They’ve always been for the people,” a bystander replied, overhearing the miners' conversation.

Sly's gaze shifted from the patrons to the radio, her expression unreadable. She had seen her fair share of Rifts and Magycte Beasts, but the unease in the room hinted at a deeper undercurrent of fear.

Eamon, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within, caught Lyra's glance. They shared a silent exchange, a mutual acknowledgment of the weight in the air. The radio crackled, and the announcer's melancholy voice echoed through the inn.

The inn became silent, a silence so deafening a pin could be heard as they waited to see the unfolding that held the city's fate–perhaps all of Aurum–in its hands.

The conference started.

"As we convene today to address the challenges we face, let us not forget the resilience that defines us as Aurum's people," the announcer said, the words reaching every corner of the inn. The patrons listened, their expressions a mosaic of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and, for some, a simmering frustration.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 49th Citizen's Chamber Conference. We will celebrate half a century of collaborative governance in just a year. But today, we gather under somber skies as Aurum faces a terror that demands our collective wisdom."

The announcement introduced the political leaders, each name reverberating through the inn like distant thunder. Mayor Elara Duskmire of Lysandrian Kingdom, Tsar Nicolas Durand of Valerian Republic, by his side, the Praefectus Vigilum Cassandra Aegis, who was appointed as safeguard and protection over the festivities. Speaker Reynard Stonebridge of Crystalline City was next, followed by Imam Fhara Sheimer of the Aurora Federation—their titles echoed the weight of responsibility.

Lyra, Eamon, and Sly listened intently, their eyes reflecting the spectrum of emotions that rippled across the room.

The first topic surfaced like a storm on the horizon—the Harmony Tax Act. Mayor Duskmire spoke, her voice rising with authority: "Fellow citizens, the Harmony Tax is a call for unity, a bridge that spans the divide between common and affluent. It aims to forge Aurum, where prosperity trickles down to every hearth, but we must scrutinize its implications and be wary, as we have been burned in the past.”

Sly's brow furrowed, sensing the dichotomy of opinions in the inn. A man in plaid beside the miner grumbled, "Unity, they say, but how does taxing the commoners bring unity?"

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Tsar Durand's response crackled through the radio, "The Valerian Republic supports this act as a step towards economic equilibrium. A strong nation stands on the shoulders of both its bourgeoisie and proletariat. But let us not be blind to its nuances."

Eamon exchanged glances with Lyra, their unspoken dialogue mirroring the silent debates that echoed through the inn. The radio continued its relay of passionate discourse.

Speaker Stonebridge stepped into the arena of ideas, his resonant voice asserting, "The Harmony Tax Act, while well-intentioned, must be a conduit for transparent governance. Let our scrutiny be the forge that shapes it into a weapon against inequality."

The inn's patrons nodded in silent agreement. The miner beside Lyra, Eamon, and Sly muttered, "Transparent governance, that's what we need."

Finally, Imam Sheimer's measured words reverberated, "In Aurora, we share the aspiration for harmony. Nevertheless, let us remember that harmony is a symphony, not a monologue. The voices of the common must not be drowned."

The radio signaled a shift to the second topic—the incident in Gearford. Troér-–Chancellor Viktor Radovinov addressed the bewildering disturbances gripping the city. "My fellow Aurumites, we face a new challenge: Ethereal Rifts. These strange phenomena demand our understanding. In Troér, our people have witnessed their unpredictable might."

Lyra scoffed. Hearing the Chancellor’s voice made her blood boil, reminding her countless times how much of a snake charmer he was. It almost sounded like he knew these Rifts and was outright keeping it from the public.

Eamon kneaded his thumb over his hand, waiting for something to drop the ball and reveal everything. At the same time, Sly's expression was unreadable.

“My fellow citizens, I stand before you today, not as a ruler, but as a servant of the people. Our great nation has faced trials and tribulations. I have heard your concerns, your fears, and your hopes. I am here to address them and solemnly vow to each of you.

In the hallowed shadow of this historic place, I take this oath to renew the sacred trust between the government and its people. The harmony tax, which I proposed, is a path towards unity and prosperity. We can build bridges, not walls. It is an endeavor to ensure that no citizen of this great nation feels forgotten or oppressed.

I acknowledge the concerns raised about the military's growing influence. I vow to uphold our constitution and the separation of powers. Our military serves a crucial role in safeguarding our nation, but it must not overshadow the voices of the citizens it seeks to protect.

The rumors of strange Rifts - the Ethereal Rifts - are a matter of great concern. I pledge that we will investigate these anomalies diligently. They pose a threat not only to our nation but also to the entire world. With the assistance of the Locksmiths, the military will stand united in our efforts to understand and overcome this new challenge.

I promise the people that I will always respect their rights, freedoms, and independence. I will work tirelessly to ensure that citizens have the opportunity to succeed, regardless of their origin. We will build a brighter future together.

Our great nation is diverse in its regions, classes, and people. Yet, in this diversity, we find our greatest strength. Together, we will face the challenges that lie ahead. I envision a new era for our beloved nation, an era of solidarity, equality, and progress.

As your Chancellor, I commit to governing with transparency and accountability. You, the people, have entrusted me with the responsibility to lead this nation, and I pledge to be faithful to that trust.

Together, I take this oath not just as words but as a solemn covenant to uphold the values we cherish, protect the people we love, and March forward into a brighter, united future.

Let us turn the page to this new chapter of hope, where unity reigns and our great nation thrives. Long live our country! Long live the people!"

The political discourse faded and melded with the cheering of the Chancellor’s message. The inn's patrons engaged in whispered conversations, echoing the sentiments of the leaders on the radio. The miner beside them shook his head. "Ethereal Rifts, they say. Sounds like more trouble for us common folk."

“And what does that Rift produce anyway? It was much bigger than a Veilspawn and controlled Fiends, too?” And another said into the crowd of locals, confused by the Chancellor's vague message.

“What can the military do that the Locksmiths can't?”

“I've seen them using strange rifle-type weapons. The Fiends and Veilspawn even staggered! I never thought someone other than Locksmith could defeat Veilspawns or Fiends.”

And on and on, the questions continued.

The voices of Aurum's leaders resonated through the inn, each echoing a different facet of the complex harmony sought by the Harmony Tax Act. The air in the inn charged with the weight of uncertainty that would shape Aurum's destiny. Lyra, Eamon, and Sly were caught in the currents of change, their perspectives shifting with each word uttered in the political arena.