Banon reached the mesa mat long before all of the other elders besides Tema, who was the only to have bitten wholeheartedly at Banon’s unspoken challenge to race.

For all his ignorance, the elder was an exceptional climber, and perhaps even better at descending quickly. Banon would like to blame the new and unfamiliar mass of his staff for slowing him down, but no, Tema would have won anyway. He was also the only elder Banon was absolutely sure he would lose to in an all-out fight, a fair one anyway. Some of the others among his father's six chosen might be able to kill him, but Tema was the one that Banon genuinely feared confronting in such a way, which might well come to pass, given their very public qualms with one another.

Banon slammed down on the mat, sending a spray of green bits from the impact. As he stepped out of the small crater his landing dug in the upper matt, he was already preparing for whatever scathing display of victory Tema was planning when the elder merely looked him up and down over arms crossed instead. The elder and war chief then spat into the matt, made a disappointed noise, and simply turned and walked away. Probably off to find his son, Banon imagined, since Banon had seen Haeran earlier, just at a distance, and he had already returned with the skull of a young Orux for himself. Tema was probably going to drag his son to meet the Pyathen as well, probably was dying to see his son standing next to Banon, who was without an Orux skull to adorn his head yet.

Banon would still be taller.

He only hoped their welcome precession was limited to as many as that would make. It would not do for the misplaced curiosity of the large number of non-Kothai among them to cause the Pyathen to feel threatened. Banon steadied himself, holding that reminder in his sleep-deprived mind since he was almost certain there was a possibility some of the very same boys that had grabbed at his staff earlier would be among the most likely to prod the Pyathen just a little too closely, leading to a misunderstanding they could not come back from.

All around in the huge clearing, rumor of what was about to happen was spreading as fast as the younger boys racing each other to tell everyone could speak it. Kothai and non-Kothai alike were emerging from their previous preoccupations, shooting curious glances around, then disappointed ones when they realized nothing was happened quite yet. Apparently the scout must have informed someone else on the ground before ascending up to the circle to inform the elders. And they, it seemed, had thought it necessary to inform the entire village.

Which figured.

By the time the other elders, his father, and the scout reached the mat, Banon had already begun gathering as many Kothai as they had on hand to guard their emperor and elders during the impending standoff.

By the time the Pyathen arrived, Tema and his son had already returned and taken their places standing in the command group alongside Banon, the emperor, and the other elders at the center of the large half-circle of Kothai formed around them. The elves' presence was announced first in song, or their view of what music was, at least. It sounded like a series of long, hollow whistles, echoing eerily from somewhere distant in the forest, still obscured by jungle tangle and trees. A few minutes later, the never-ending series of flute notes was followed by the sight of its perpetrators.

A fifteen-wide rank of Pyathen clad in silvery metal woven in complexly linked chain patterns emerged from the jungle, but then halted just before advancing out onto the mat. Their strangely ornate armor clung to the wearers' form like second skin, and yet, despite its tightness, they never seemed to lack flexibility. The chain weave was never featureless, either. Each and every Pyathen was like a walking painting, patterns representing exaggerated versions of various jungle creatures displayed prominently on their chests. Each man, if you could call such puny, pale things that, had so much individuality to their chest armor patterns, Banon could only assume it was some key part of their warrior culture. So much effort to make something so pretty, all for them to pierce and tear all the same.

Raised above the level of the heads of the standard foot soldiers were the acid launchers on their mobile platforms carried by other Pyathen soldiers. Each launcher had a gunner manning it wearing full body chain armor noticeably thicker than normal to the point where the only visible skin was their hands and a thin slit of determined eyes.

Inside the block-shaped formation of acid launcher crews and spear and crossbow-wielding footsoldiers, there was a distinct open space in the middle where flickers of blue flame danced, visible to his eye between the gaps of their front lines. It was only after their front rank parted that Banon got a better look at what it was. There was an inner core to the block of soldiers, a spacious cavity where a secondary formation took its place, though this formation was not for the purpose of defense. It was for the same purposes the Ooura always kept six in their circle of elders, and an emperor at their center instead of any other kind of arrangements.

It was a display for Kimitrius, their six-minded God, and the last semblance of their previous connection to the Ooura, though Banon doubted they saw it that way. They did not have a god in their ear keen on re-telling histories as they actually happened, after all. Or perhaps some of them did but saw their own wills’, along with their own names and their sciences, as greater regardless.

As the soldiers parted, the far more ceremonially appearing procession approached forward out of the gap they had been occupying on the inside. There were six naked Pyathen men spaced out in a circle, all of them painted black and with their hair and eyebrows shaven. In their hands, they each carried a black torch that burned a blue flame unnaturally bright.

Naked… and with their anatomy either tucked away or, Banon hoped not that it had been entirely removed for this purpose. Though now he was more concerned with his immediate compulsion to have empathy for any of them. They weren’t his people, were they?

They were the murderers of them, though.

At the center of the hexagonal formation of torchbearers, the princess walked with her face tilted down but her eyes scanning the Ooura relentlessly.

The Pyathen who were a part of this strange ritual appearance were all completely blank in the face save for the princess herself. She looked utterly determined in a kind of way Banon almost respected, actually. In fact, he did respect it, it was just a difficult thing to admit amid the clouds of animosity swirling unseen around them.

The rest of the armed and armored Pyathen surrounding her and her torchbearers from behind looked one unexpected cough away from pulling their triggers, men bathed in the thick scent of fear hanging tart on the air. She, on the other hand, with a body painted the black of the night sky, slicked down hair and eyebrows colored a bright white to contrast, and a gaze like stone, looked more fit to bathe among the flames of the ephemeral fires in the purple-ringed eye of God.

Her skin wasn’t just black like those accompanying her, either. She was covered toe to scalp in intricately painted Pyathen script. Over her skin, she wore only a thin green dress that had gaps in it where Banon could see things he was surprised were to be shared with any eyes willing to look. The Pyathens’, despite being desperate to be seen as the civilized heights of society, were in many cases just more blind to their own particular kinds of barbarism.

After their flute song hit its highest notes, and the smaller procession stopped only a few strides outside of their accompanying guard force, which was still all the way on the edge of the clearing, Banon realized it was going to be up to the Ooura to approach them.

So they did.

The Ooura crossed the mesa with no malice spared in their shared expressions. The Pyathen simply watched them, though their spear-points, crossbows and acid launchers were all kept ready and aimed. As they approached, Banon was reminded once again just how pathetic they were when you chose to ignore their inventive advantages. On even ground as they were, he and his fellow Ooura were taller than the tallest Pyathen among them by heads and arms. More precisely, an average Pyathen man came up to the bottom of his stomach. A Pyathen woman, well, most of their heads were the same elevation as his waistline or lower.

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Fragile creatures, all of them. And Enka were even smaller.

Banon could claim more meat on one of his arms than some of the spindlier, especially among the obviously younger generation of soldiers present in their guarding regiment.

The princess, on the other hand, was not what he was expecting at all.

For a Pyathen, especially a woman, she was shockingly tall. She was also quite a lot more to the eye than most others of theirs were. Maybe Banon was fantasizing one notch too far, but he was sure her cheekbones were so wide and prominent they began to form the same strong triangular proportions in the lower face that Ooura women were known for. The charcoal on her skin didn't help her case. Ooura were multiple shades brighter, closer to dark gray than the absolute black of charcoal. Still, in comparison to their native brighter-than-ivory tone, this was almost like looking at a half-breed.

A thought that was.

She was, however, nothing of the likening to Ooura when it came to her hair. It was white, completely. As white as a cloud and thicker, shinier, more dense. He doubted that could be natural, but it was a strong reminder nonetheless that she was no Ooura, no woman. No kind of woman for him to be considering, anyway.

And yet, he was curious enough to hold his gaze, watching for the right moments as the gaps in her dress shifted.

She did stand like a princess, even despite the circumstances.

The Ooura came to a halt at a cautious distance. Close enough to speak and be heard, yet not so close the acid launchers range could reach the back ranks of Kothai who trailed further from the main pack as a precaution against clustering up. Several of those standing back from the rest carried Ooura great bows, knocked but not drawn yet. Even if the Pyathen decided to fire everything they had all at once, the real threat to them was the simple fact the closest Kothai could almost definitely still reach their ranks before the Pyathen had time to kill them all, let alone how easy it would be to make a lunge for the princess and her little precession of unics.

Which was all the more impressive to Banon that she looked completely focused instead of terrified.

It was then that Banon heard two familiar voices.

“They are tiny!” one of the boys from earlier called, as he slipped past the Kothai until he stood next to Banon, though only because a warding arm stopped him from wandering even closer.

“I am taller!” another boy agreed from his tip toes once he joined them, also stopped from venturing further by an arm.

Banon shifted his grip around until he had one boy in each hand, grasped firmly under the nearer shoulder blade. Banon then turned, picked a gap in the Kothai and threw the two of them into a tumbling start of a run for their nosy lives. “Do not poke the beast whose claws you have not yet seen!” Banon called after them.

One of the boys yelled back something about dung flinging and a species of monkey called a wop wop that they called each other as a disparagement of intelligence.

Banon found size was better than smarts, most times.

When he turned back around, he was greeted with something that turned eyebrows up across many faces. The princess approached on her own. She only took a few steps until she stopped again, but she was now close enough that it was plain to see she was risking her life should the Ooura decide to spring an attack.

At the same time, with all the acid launchers pointed at the Ooura’s position, Banon supposed they would perish along with her if they tried for a quick kill. That begged another question: why was she still not worried? Why would she not assume the Ooura would be willing to strike at her in such a surprise attack, regardless of the costs? After all, it could have been any group walking out to meet her here on the edge of the clearing. It's not like she knew who they were by face or likely even name. Poh hadn’t been emperor when the Pyathen scourge began, and as far as Banon knew, their interests in sending spies to learn more of the Ooura's successions, or anything about them, were non-existent. Either that or their spies were so canny they were never once caught, which he found impossible.

Which led back to one conclusion. The Pyathen didn’t even deem the Ooura a threat enough to have plans worth eavesdropping on. They thought their mastery over science made them masters of everything. And yet, now, here they stood in front of us, vulnerable.

Why?

It was easy to think back to his reasoning that his raids and the defense of Bodastam had started to swing the tides of their morale, but staring down a Donai royal in the flesh, surrounded by ritualism and an arsenal enough to spook a Mew tree, Banon found it very hard to think this was all happening just because of something he did.

Banon watched as the tension in the air was plucked until it frayed, and then was about to break. Whatever such thoughts he was having towards a more violent end to this confrontation, Tema’s mind was probably a sea of rage beyond comprehension, thanks to the ease with which she stood in their presence.

Best to shift the focus of that tension onto shoulders built stronger for carrying it then.

Banon took two deliberate steps forward. Not close enough to feel the Pyathen would fire on him, though he was straddling that line. It was simply his way of responding in kind to her lone advance. Still, it was a measure of caution worth taking that he never once twitched or moved faster than a mouse, for that matter.

It caused a small kerfuffle when Banon went to sit down. A few of the crossbows pointing at him quivered as if their user was unsure whether this was the prelude to some trap or surprise attack.

Banon tucked his legs in so he became comfortably cross-legged. The princess still stood up straight across from him. Her eyes, however, were now much closer to level with his. He nodded at her in the best courtesy he could. She didn’t even blink back at him. “It is my understanding,” Banon began. “That you speak our language. You will forgive me for not understanding yours well enough to risk… a misunderstanding.”

She did finally blink, though her stare remained surprisingly blank. She looked at him for so much time Banon was considering turning around to ask the elders if they thought he had done something wrong. Eventually, she spoke, and it was a sound like water soothing its way through an endless stream. “Your people,” she began, in almost perfect Ooura, “and my people have not been on speaking terms for many years.” She looked briefly to the elders behind Banon, probably due to the embarrassingly animalistic growl Tema was making behind him. To her credit, she continued on without much strain. “I have come to break that trend.”

“Why!?” Tema’s son barked from behind, causing several crossbows to switch beads onto him instead. One crossbow actually went off, though it was not followed by more, and Banon heard no immediate shouts of pain, so… luck had been with them, if only for that moment.

“This is WRONG!” Haeran continued, only increasing tensions. Banon glanced over his shoulder to see, of all things, Haeran posing like he was ready to leap into battle, two long knives drawn and held splayed out away from him, and of course, an Orux skull headdress adorning his forehead so freshly harvested it still had visible bits on grisstle attached inside the nose canals.

Banon returned his attention just in time to see the princess shooting a series of angry glares about. Mostly in the direction of the disturbance, but also sometimes back towards a Pyathen man that stood out as the likely commander of this opperation on the military side. If Banon wasn’t so caught up in the moment, he’d swear she was begging the man to stand down.

Good, that meant Banon was not alone in the goal of making a seamless first contact, at least. He had considered more than a few possibilities where that was not the case. Among them, a more prominent theory he had been dreading was that this would be more a courtesy visit, purely informing them that after the Enka prince had married into the Donai family, their entire forest would be overrun with human raiders within the week. It certainly was not out of the realm of the level of cruelty they had already experienced. But in those glares he saw her shooting back at the man in command, Banon was sure he saw something more.

They needed something from this, something more than to make merely a gesture for one purpose or another. No amount of feigned stoicism could hide the grey clouds of desperation underlying her every movement.

It was a negotiation, after all, then.

The only concern after realizing Banon was not, in fact, one-sided in having hopes of this talk going smoothly was that… well, to tamp down the opposition to that idea. To take the rough edges among them and shove them beneath the water until they drowned. Haeran’s rapidly approaching footsteps behind him only confirmed what he needed to do.

Just as the peak of unease was sweeping across the ranks of the Pyathen in front of him and no doubt the same in the ranks of Ooura behind him, Banon began to laugh.