CYRDEL SONASSON IS AFRAID. When cannons and flintlocks open-fired on the pacifist territory, Alkara, signaling an invasion by Synketros, he is left with no choice but to watch destruction grip more than he is ready to let go. With his fiance and her...
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2412, Strilaxis 26, Daleth
The birds flitting outside the windows caught Cyrdel's attention more than the pressing issues being discussed around him did. His rear had frozen long ago, even against the cushioned seat of the Council room. Voices died down and heightened, reasoned and countered, but everything faded into a bland buzz in his ears.
What was the point of discussing anything else when not even three days ago, most of them were lying on cots trying not to die?
It amazed Cyrdel sometimes, how fast these people could bounce back from such horror. Three days ago, he and Ravalee departed the Temple of Souls after setting free the stolen shadows from his maximizer. They still didn't know who was responsible for causing the deaths of at least a thousand people and hurting uncountable souls, but it is enough to prove that there was a war brewing and it would not spare Alkara and Penleth and everyone who lived in it.
They shouldn't be here, discussing mundane things for the next week like they did when there wasn't anyone knocking on their doors demanding their allegiance. But they were, and there was nothing Cyrdel could have done to curb the flow of the discussion.
The birds outside, glowing pink and green against the bright afternoon sun, flitted out of the glass window's scope, filling him with a different kind of melancholy and loneliness. Surrounded by adults with blurred priorities, it's not impossible for him to realize he's the only one who seemed to be thinking straight in this room.
"What about the appeal we received from Synketros?" Cyrdel prodded after the silence between the calls for motion on the next inventing fair rolled around. Heads turned to him, confused looks peppering his faze. Why were they even this confused by his question? It's a territorial issue, so why were they keen on pretending it wasn't? "When will we get to that? Or are we planning to get to that at all?"
"What do you want us to do, Crovalis?" Master Philiine fixed him with a sharp glare. "Up until two years ago, you wouldn't have wanted anything to do with the proceedings. What's the rush?"
Cyrdel's fists curled over his lap. Maybe because two years ago, the only thing he thought about were fixing crop problems and uprooting fungi networks under the ground. He had grown since then. He wasn't the same irresponsible kid obsessed only in defying his calling, because now, he's the only one who really knew what's going on. These so-called adults denied the war's existence even if it had already touched their borders once.
"As for the appeal for partnership," Master Nerira picked up where Philine left off, folding his hands over the polished wooden table. They couldn't even call it a 'demand' like these organizations were known to do. "I'm sure they would be more polite if we show we're not a race to be pushed around."
It didn't work like that. Nobody thought they're above Synketros and Cardovia and lived without a scratch. They continued seeing the urgency of this issue, and for as long as they did, Alkara, Penleth, and the rest of the Brownie population stood as something to lose.
