Now, I know what I said. "Next chapter is all Jacques wank, glazing and polishing the tip." Yeah, well... surprise! This isn't it. Plot twist! But before we get there, I really needed to get this interlude out of the way. It's important. It sets the stage for the future and addresses what has happened before.
Also, because I really, really wanted to write a chapter with almost no dialogue tags or action beats.
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Atlas- Akarios Substation- Two weeks ago.
"You're here early." She greeted him.
He dropped the salute. Even if he was far above her station and the highest authority on the northern side of the planet, some habits remained. "I wanted to speak before the schedule took over."
"Unusual for you to deviate from it."
"My Lady, I thought it prudent."
"Well, I can't fault your timing. I'm somewhat lucid, awake, and only moderately annoyed. Speak, General."
"…I've come to discuss the succession." He stated.
"To what? My chair, my kitchen, or my corpse?"
"…To the mantle, my Lady."
"Ah. That old thing."
"I've begun to question the suitability of the agreed-upon succession."
"Have you now? And here I thought you were the one who seemed to be the most approving."
"I was. But... recent events have raised concerns."
"...You're hesitating, General."
"I'm reconsidering. Quietly."
"And you came to me instead of issuing a direct override. How uncharacteristically polite of you."
"My Lady, I came because this isn't something I would ever handle through command channels. Not when it concerns the nature of the Maiden transfer. Not when it concerns you."
"You mean not when it concerns my power."
"...Yes."
A long breath. She finally turned to look at him.
"Sit down, General. You look like you've been rehearsing this conversation since yesterday morning."
"I have."
"Good. At least you're predictable."
A brief silence. Then—
"I'm beginning to question whether the Specialist remains the right candidate."
"And here I thought this was going to be a request for an expedited ceremony. A final push before whatever inevitable disaster your council friends have decided to ignore. Weren't you the one who trained her?"
"It's not that. The plan is still sound. Her training is sufficient, and her progress is remarkable. Operational readiness is where it needs to be. But her recent conduct—"
"She disobeyed an order?"
"No, my Lady. She followed protocol. However.... She nterpreted orders beyond what was given, and took preemptive action where there was no formal cause. It was efficient and technically correct… but not authorized. She took initiative based on readings that didn't require action. Anticipated outcomes that weren't confirmed. Repositioned assets without clearance. The operation wasn't compromised, but the chain of command was… interpreted. It has become..a not uncommon occurrence."
"Hm. So neither defiance nor dereliction. Just a little overconfidence in her own judgment."
"Exactly."
"And you think that's cause for disqualification."
"I think she's begun to act not as an executor, but as an interpreter. She's seeing patterns that aren't there, and she's building her own conclusions."
"She's thinking. Terrifying."
"My Lady—"
"Relax, General. I'm not mocking your concern. Much."
"...Her reports have grown more... guarded. More cautious, sometimes contradicting direct orders. It's subtle, but there. And during our last briefing, she mentioned a conversation with her father. It struck me how she defended certain decisions, almost echoing his rhetoric."
A pause, then a softer breath.
"...You're afraid she's becoming like her father. That her loyalties are shifting."
"My Lady, I wouldn't phrase it that way."
"Then allow me. I was under the impression he was an ally."
"He is. He remains... strategically aligned."
" That's a new euphemism."
"It's an honest one. He's... difficult to position. Too embedded to be ignored, but too necessary to be opposed. For now."
"Hm. A familiar balance. I remember when the Marines used to say that about me."
"I meant no disrespect."
She waved his remark with a flick. "Oh, none taken. I've simply grown used to hearing praise dressed in caution."
"...There are things he knows. Too many. Especially for a man who claims no interest in the military. Details about operations he should not have had access to. Classifications he has no reason to understand. Information about our internal operations, our global deployments, even classified R&D. He knows about you. That should not be accessible to anyone outside these walls. And yet, he knows. And yet, he does."
"And yet, no one dares name it treason."
A tired sigh.
"To oppose him openly would be unwise. We've let him accumulate influence for decades, largely unchallenged. A mistake made before my time, but one that can't be undone cleanly. He's interlaced with our supply lines, our funding structures, even public relations. You remove one part, and the rest staggers. His presence alos keeps the rest of the nobility in check. Mostly."
"And in return, he gets to play God behind frosted glass. Quite the bargain."
An even more tired sigh. "It is what it is. If we were to treat him as an adversary—even hint at it—we'd see the other kingdoms scrambling to seduce him. Promises, positions, power. And if he accepted..."
"You're afraid of him."
"I respect the reality of what he is. "
A hum.
"....I spoke with him once, you know. When you let me out of my cage during the breach at HQ. Only briefly. But long enough to understand the shape of the man."
"...And your conclusion?"
"He's strong. I don't mean magically, there's none of that on him. I would have known. But it's there. A fearsome and almost cursed pressure. If I didn't know better, I'd call him a Grimm in in human form."
"...Estimate? In terms of combat potential?"
"He could rival a Maiden. Maybe even a fully realized one, on the right day."
"You're certain?"
"I'm old, not blind. If it came down to a fight, I could put him down. Eventually. But I'd need to go all out from the start. It wouldn't be clean. I'd break something. I might lose a limb or two."
A pause.
"Tell me, General. If he ever went rogue, if he ever decided Atlas was in his way, how would you deal with him?"
"We'd mobilize. Ground him before he could move. Freeze assets. Cut logistics. Deploy specialists to isolate—"
"That's politics. I'm asking militarily. Strategically. Tactically. How would you stop him?"
Another pause.
"...Not cleanly."
She nodded in approval.
"Clarify."
"...Nothing is off the table. If he went rogue, we'd launch Operation Whitefall. Full spectrum containment, air, land, sea."
In the same manner, they'd deal with her if she went rogue.
"Your simulations?"
"Worst-case scenario: subject goes rogue in a populated zone. Initial engagement would require rapid escalation. Standard kill-team protocol wouldn't be sufficient. If he has even a fraction of the abilities he showed last time, then direct confrontation risks unacceptable losses."
"Define unacceptable."
"Best projections place civilian casualties between seven to twelve thousand within the first two hours if he's uncontained. That's assuming he chooses theatrics over speed." A pause. "And that's assuming he's alone."
"Engagement options?"
"None ideal. We'd need to deploy long-range bombardment assets. Dust saturation, drone-guided kinetic strikes, maybe even sub-orbital support if necessary. We'd be writing off the entire district. There would be no room for precision. or surgical strike."
"And chemical agents?"
"No known physiological data, and no vulnerabilities to exploit. Assuming military-grade filters or some unknown resistance, we're just adding chaos to an already uncontrolled situation."
"So if it happens—"
"We slow him down. Isolate. Starve him of information and resources. Pressure him into a mistake through exhaustion and attrition warfare."
A long silence passed between them.
"So you don't have a plan. You have a funeral arrangement and several Hail Mary attempts dressed as a plan..."
"I have contingencies. That's all we can afford at the moment."
Truth be told, the Lady was the contingency.
She shook her head. "Keep your leash short, James. And don't ever convince yourself it's iron."
"I know." He studied her for a moment. "But from what you gathered...your opinion? Will it come to that?"
"Mm. Still, he is not mad, if that's what you feared. He does not seem driven by fever dreams or hunger for thrones. I expected a tyrant. But no... he reminds me of you. If a tad more theatrical."
She laughed. He didn't.
"He does crave attention,"
"Yes, he carries himself like he's performing for an audience. But beneath that, a great deal of self-control. What I gleaned from meeting him is that this is a man who knows exactly what he's doing and why... and perhaps, that is what makes him a dangerous influence....You're afraid she's becoming like him."
"I'm afraid she's influenced by him. He doesn't need to be present to leave fingerprints. My concern is not abstract."
"Of course not. It wears a uniform, follows orders, speaks like a soldier and thinks like a tactician. But in your eyes, she no longer trusts the chain of command."
"... Anticipation and proactiveness are useful when preparing for a war, but this—"
"—Feels inherited?"
"...Yes."
"And that's the problem. You want her prepared. But not presumptive."
"Exactly."
"...You're afraid she'll become like him. A stabilizing force, yes, but one you can't direct. Only accommodate."
"...My Lady, I wouldn't draw that parallel."
"But you just did."
"...Only in silhouette. She still believes in the mission."
"A soldier with initiative is an asset. A commander with conclusions is something else." A contemplative hum. "That would explain why you're here, instead of sending a memo."
"With respect, I didn't come to unravel the arrangement. Only to question whether it remains the right one. I wanted your counsel. And your judgment."
"Well, before we speak of judgment, let's speak of facts."
"...Of course."
"She was not the first choice. You know that much."
"I do."
"Do you remember, General, when the arrangement was first made?"
"It predates my tenure."
"Just barely. You were still a colonel then. Focused on fleet design and detached from the Council's more... ceremonial duties."
"I've read the report. Yet, there was no mention of her predecessor."
"Before Winter Schnee, there was her mother."
"...Lady Schnee was considered suitable?"
"Only verbal agreement back then. I even taught her briefly. A little slow, perhaps, but not stupid. Good aura density, solid reflex testing, didn't cry during exposure drills. She even passed for a stoic when she tried hard enough. "
"But?"
"She failed the most important test. The part no one ever writes down."
"...Which was?"
"This." A faint tap to the temple. "Upstairs. She could've had all the discipline and all the potential in the world, General, but none of the fracture. She was too... sane. She was far too self-actualized"
"...I wasn't aware sanity disqualified someone."
"For everything else, it's a requirement. For this, It's a coffin. She lacked the needed crack. Something in the mind that's already a little loose. You need space in the soul and the psyche for the powers to move. For the storm to live in you without suffocating. You need to be a bit—pardon the expression—fucked in the head to make it work properly."
"...That's not exactly a standard in our dossiers."
"Of course it isn't. No one wants to admit what the Maiden's powers really are. At their core, they're a parasite. One that is neither malicious nor benevolent, yet foreign nonetheless. You are tying an ancient, autonomous presence to your soul and asking it to submit."
"...And if your soul isn't prepared?"
"It breaks. Slowly, or all at once. Some lose their memory. Some lose empathy. A few lose their sense of self entirely. The powers don't kill you at once, General. But they don't let you stay yourself."
"And you believe Lady Schnee would have—"
"Fallen apart, yes. Not even in a blaze of glory. In her home, among people who wouldn't notice until it was far too late."
"...I understand."
"No, you don't. Because this is the part only we, Maidens, understand. Most Maidens don't die from combat. Not really. They die because the powers eat them from the inside out. Misfires. Confusion. Emotional collapse. Suicide. Some are found in the snow without a mark on them, and no one understands why."
"..."
"It's ignored. For the short time the Maiden exists, the benefits outweigh the cost. It's why they keep doing it. A few years of absolute power is worth one more shattered girl. As a soldier, that was the correct course of action, but..." a long breath. "It seemed I had a soft spot for that idiot student of mine. So, I told them to kick rocks."
"...Which delayed the selection process."
"Not due to a lack of candidates. There's always someone eager to throw a promising girl into the fire. But none of them had the right signature. None of them were—"
"Schnee."
"Precisely. And that, at least, was non-negotiable. Not just government stipulation or political convenience. It was the agreement."
"...The one made with Sir Nicholas Schnee."
"And your predecessor, the Council, the academies; they all signed off. Because the Schnees, for all their many... textures, had previously produced individuals strong enough to handle the transfer. Even if only barely. In return, they continue to act as a counterbalance for the clowns of Solitas, and Atlas gains half of the SDC, and—what no one expected—after the current patriarch seized control, the Dust monopoly of the world."
"You make it sound like a surprise."
"It was. No one thought he'd consolidate that fast or at all. Or that effectively. A no-name brat from the rabble of Mantle wasn't meant to be... that capable. By all accounts, I would say it was a fairly great exchange for all parties."
"So you all waited."
"No. For all that it was, Atlas could have backed down or delayed it. After all, once the ink had dried, Nicholas would've been forced to wait another hundred years, maybe more. The fault lay with the girl, not us. In fact, your predecessor was willing to snub the Schnees entirely, to find a younger, more manageable Maiden. Alas back then, I was in my sixties, uncontrollable and stubborn as ever."
"!"
"I stalled. I denied transfers. I dragged my feet through every compatibility review like a child refusing bathwater. Every report I could sign had 'insufficient synchrony' scribbled in the margins, neatly, mind you. I pride myself on legibility. And Atlas? Well, Atlas had no choice but to seethe impotently while my brain slowly started to turn to mush." A finger on her chin. "There was a time when they pushed their luck and tried to strong-arm me into approval. Threatening me, just a bit too hard. Let's say the previous General who tested those waters... never had the chance to push again. I made sure the message was clear."
"...But why?"
"Because before all the agreements, and all the papers, and all the polished arguments... it was a promise. A promise between friends. Not governments. Not generals. Not politicians. Just two people who stood as comrades on the battlefield. Even after his death, and with my death, I will uphold that promise."
"Lady Fria..."
"I already snubbed him once. If I snub his family again, what face could I meet Nico with when I see him in Hell?"
"...If I may, my Lady—"
"You may not, General."
"You think I don't know the stakes? That I haven't felt the cracks in the world as they widen? I know what she's done. I know what she's become. But I also know what she was meant to be. That counts for something. Or it should."
"With respect... that's what I fear most."
"Of course it is." She let out a soft and amused snort. "Because you're a good man, and a far worse politician than your predecessor ever was."
'If you weren't, I would've killed you as I did him' went unsaid.
Ironwood didn't reply.
"I don't need to like Winter Schnee. I never had to. She's brittle. She's bitter. She chokes on her own restraint like it's perfume. But she has held the line. Even when she didn't know where it was, or that there was even a line."
"...She hesitates. Acts on instinct. Sees threats where none are written," he repeated for the nth time in vain hope.
"So you keep harping. That means she thinks. You and I both know half your officers wait for a blinking light before they wipe their own arse."
"My Lady—"
"No. You wanted the truth, General? You've built a machine of cold and exact measures, of clean lines and moral equations. And into that damned machine, you keep trying to jam living people, hoping they'll function like gears. That's not how humans work. It's not how Maidens work."
"...She's too machine, then?"
"Mm. No. She's too alive." A faint chuckle. "And yes, I'm aware of the irony."
Another silence. Longer this time.
"You said once she reminded you of her father."
"...I did."
"Then good. Because whatever else you think of him, that arrogant brat did what none of you could. He saw the future before it saw itself, and he built an empire beneath your noses, tamed nobles, controlled courts, and cornered a resource the world burns itself to hold. And he did it all with nothing but contracts, wit, and a smile that made your colleagues piss themselves."
"That isn't necessarily praise."
"No, it isn't. But it is power. And you'll need it. All of it. So ask yourself, General: if she truly is her father's daughter... can you afford to waste her?"
Once more, Ironwood said nothing.
Fria folded her hands and leaned back. Snow had begun to fall again. They were hundreds of meters underground, but she still knew.
"Winter Schnee will take my powers. That decision was made long ago. By older, dumber people who thought they'd live forever. The only thing left now is how well she survives it. And whether she chooses to use what's left of herself... for Atlas, or for herself."
"...And if she doesn't choose Atlas?"
"Then I suppose we find out how much of her father she really is."
"..."
"I'm tired, General. I don't have many lucid days left. But I'll be damned if I spend one of them listening to you try to unmake what's already been set in motion because you're afraid of ghosts."
"...Yes, my Lady."
"And General?"
"Yes?"
"You came here afraid you were wrong. Not hoping you were right. That counts for something."
He nodded. "Thank you."
"Good. Now, stand up. You're making me feel like I'm scolding a cadet."
Ironwood stood, smoothing the crease in his uniform as he met her eyes with another respectful nod.
"I'll take that as a compliment, my Lady."
Fria's lips twitched into what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"Dismissed, General. And try not to let Winter break you before she breaks herself."
He turned to leave but paused at the door.
"One more thing, Lady Fria."
"Yes?"
"Even with what I've said, I wish to make one thing clear. If she stumbles… we won't fail. We will be ready, and Atlas shall stand victorious."
A satisfied inhale from Fria.
"Good. I expect nothing less."
With that, the door closed softly behind him
Fria stayed seated as the falling snow continued to settle around her. She closed her eyes and leaned back.
"Winter, huh?"
She let out a quiet scoff. What a foolish man. Could it be any more on the nose?
Nico really had a shit taste for naming.