The Lion's Den
Date: August 3rd, 980 GD. Time: 10:15 AM (Descent Phase). Location: The Great Tether -- Descension Phase.
Gravity felt reasonable again, but the view outside did not.
As the Blackstone capsule slid down through the cloud layer, I left the silent, sterile Golden Smog of Zenith-Zero behind, returning to the noisy reality.
At this altitude, the morning sun should be shining brightly. However, in Zero Point City, "morning" was merely a vague concept. Sunlight had to struggle to pierce the layer of industrial smog from Valdor and the moist steam from Aurum, creating a dirty, coppery halo effect on the horizon.
To my right, the transparent pipes still pulsed, pumping up thousands of liters of Ambrosia—the liquid breakfast for the Gods. To my left, the waste disposal channels began to hiss, dumping Aether Slag—the leftover waste from last night's feast—into the processing bunkers below.
The digestive system of this world never slept. Eat, excrete, repeat.
The effects of Elara's sedative were thinning as the cabin air pressure rose. The cold in my bones returned, this time accompanied by a stabbing hunger.
BZZZT.
A vibration in my wrist. The rough encryption pattern was becoming familiar.
The Weaver.
The blue hologram screen glowed dimly, contrasting with the coppery light from outside the window.
SENDER: THE WEAVER
SUBJECT: THE SEWER KEY
"You managed to stare into the Sun without blinking, Praetor.
They gave you a 'Pacification' mandate, didn't they? Ironic. Those who live above the clouds are so dependent on what crawls underground. Those rat paths are their secret arteries.
The Lions down there are restless. They know you've descended. Don't meet them directly. Let them wait. Let them sweat in ignorance until sunset. Fear is the best spice for negotiation."
I smiled thinly. Good advice.
DING.
The lift doors opened at the Base Terminal.
It wasn't heavenly wind that greeted me, but The Downdraft—the downdraft carrying dust, the smell of hot oil, the fishy stench from Aurum's markets, and the faint scent of despair. The sound of hover-car horns and dockworker shouts assaulted my ears. Noisy. Dirty. Alive.
Rian and Vianna were already waiting at the VIP hangar entrance. Vianna tapped her Mag-Lev shoes, checking her watch impatiently.
"You came down faster than expected," said Vianna, her eyes immediately scanning my body for signs of injury or failure. "The morning stock market session is fluctuating. Rumors are circulating that you were detained up there."
"I'm free," I replied, stepping out and taking a deep breath of the polluted air. "And I bring a full mandate."
"Shall we call the Pentad meeting now?" asked Rian, readying his tablet. "Imperator Titus has sent three threatening messages asking for your position."
"No," I answered coldly. I looked at the glass tower of Nexus Hall in the distance.
"Let Titus wait. Let Vianna—I mean, let the Suzerain of Aurum and the others speculate all day about whether I'll fire them or not. Uncertainty will erode their arrogance."
I turned to Vianna.
"Vianna, return to your office. Handle our business. But tonight, at exactly 9 PM, I want you at Nexus Hall not as my partner, but as the skeptical Prime Director. We need a convincing performance."
Vianna smiled crookedly. "Nighttime drama? I like that style. Very well, Praetor. Don't die before 8."
Time: 20:00 Night. Location: The Nexus Hall -- Main Council Chamber (The Pentad Chamber).
Night had transformed Nexus Hall into a haunted opera stage.
The room lights were completely off, leaving only the faint blue glow from the floating Obsidian round table in the center. The floor beneath us was made of transparent glass, and because it was pitch black outside, we could look directly down at the glowing Tether Plaza beneath our feet.
Thousands of neon lights from Neon Harbor, torches from Iron Plaza, and lanterns from White Avenue formed an artificial galaxy below. We sat floating above it, five minor gods gazing down at the world we held hostage.
I sat in the main chair—the Grand Praetor's throne. In front of me, a cup of thick black coffee reflected my impassive face.
Around me, the four Suzerain sat with faces illuminated by the table's hologram light. The tension in the room was so dense it felt like breathing air inside a narrow coffin.
To my left, Imperator Titus (Valdor). Half his face was hidden in shadow, making his burn scars look like a map of dried rivers. His metal fingers tapped the table with an aggressive rhythm—clang, clang, clang—like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
To my right, Prime Director Vianna (Aurum). She had shed her skin. No longer my panicky business partner worried about stocks, she was now the Ice-Cold Corporate Queen. She sat with graceful, chilly posture, her eyes glinting, reflecting the stock charts scrolling on her contact lenses.
Across from me, High Pontifex Silas (Aethelgard). His white robes seemed to glow on their own in the dim room. He smiled softly, but his eyes were empty like porcelain dolls. The faint scent of Moon-Lily wafted from him, sweet and nauseating, covering the smell of oil from Titus.
And between them, Grand Justiciar Kael (Arbiter). Blind and silent. He was the only one who looked calm, as if darkness were his old friend.
Look at them, I thought cynically. Four monsters ruling the city. One butcher, one leech, one holy charlatan, and a blind man. And me? I'm just the circus ringmaster trying to keep them from eating each other.
"First Strategic Pentad Meeting under Ash's administration," I opened. My voice echoed, breaking the heavy nighttime silence. "Apologies for making you wait all day. The Sky... demands a lot."
That sentence made them all straighten their backs. The word 'Sky' always succeeded in tugging their leash.
"They are not pleased with this week's chaos. They demand absolute logistical efficiency. And for that, we must talk about the elephant in the room: We are almost bankrupt."
AGENDA I: THE FINANCIAL VETO (Legitimizing Funds)
I tossed a physical file onto the center of the table. The slap of the papers sounded loud and harsh.
"You're the one who bankrupted us, Ash," growled Titus, his voice heavy like a millstone crushing gravel. "Your 'Golden Chains' speech destroyed the market. And now you ask us to ratify... what is this? 'Emergency Funds'?"
Titus pointed at the figure in the document. A fantastic amount. The money from the Velvet Chip casino heist.
"This isn't emergency funds," Titus spat, half-rising from his seat. "This is stolen money! You robbed a sovereign Aurum territory. Vianna, you just sit idle while this new kid plunders your domain? Where's your corporate pride?"
Titus is an idiot, I thought. He thinks honor can pay bills. He doesn't realize Vianna would sell her own mother if the price was right.
I glanced at Vianna. This was her stage.
Vianna didn't answer immediately. She picked up the file with two fingers, as if it were disgusting, dirty tissue, and skimmed it.
"Correction, Imperator," Vianna said, her voice slick and sharp. "Technically, The Velvet Chip operated without a Liquidity License Level 4. They were hoarding physical Lux, causing currency scarcity in the real market of the Eastern Sector."
Vianna placed the file back down.
"The Praetor's actions, although his methods are barbaric, primitive, and very... unaesthetic... actually functioned as an aggressive Market Correction. Inflation dropped 0.5% since that robbery."
Titus gaped, his face reddening. "You're defending your own robber?"
"I'm defending my balance sheet, Titus," Vianna retorted coldly. "That money is now in the Senate treasury. If we reject it, we go into deficit. If we go into deficit, the city's automated defense systems—including the Barrier protecting your weapons depot—will shut down tomorrow afternoon."
Vianna looked at Titus with a condescending stare.
"Unless you want to donate from your personal budget to pay the city's electricity bill? I hear Valdor is... experiencing liquidity difficulties due to the repair costs for the Golems you broke yourself."
Titus growled, cornered. He hated Aurum, but he hated the fact that he was poor even more.
"Silas?" I prodded, passing the hot potato.
The Pontifex smiled, steepling his fingers into a pyramid. Ah, the pose of a fake saint, I thought inwardly.
"Moral issues are indeed complicated," he said softly, his voice like honey mixed with poison. "Stealing is a sin. But leaving the city unprotected is a greater sin: Negligence. In our theology, The Greater Good purifies minor stains."
Silas looked at me, his pale blue eyes seeming to pierce through my flat mask.
"If this 'tainted' money is used to buy medicine for charity clinics in the Southern Sector... I believe the Gods will turn a blind eye. As long as the bookkeeping is... prudent."
"Prudent means legal," Kael interjected suddenly. His voice was flat and emotionless. "Article 9, Clause 2 of the City Charter permits 'Seizure of Criminal Assets for State Purposes'. As long as this money enters the official ledger, the Praetor has not broken the law."
I leaned forward, my shadow covering the table.
"You heard the Judge. The choice is simple. Accept this money, and Valdor's fortress lights stay on tomorrow morning. Reject this money because of 'pride', and you explain to your troops why they have to eat cold rations in the dark."
Titus snorted roughly, slamming the obsidian table until it vibrated. He was defeated. Logistics trumped ego.
"Take the damned money. But don't expect me to sign it with golden ink."
"Ratification accepted," I said flatly. "Gavel down."
AGENDA II: ASSET STATUS RATIFICATION (Protecting the Team)
"Next. Personnel."
I projected the profiles of Kara, Rian, and Elara into the air. Kara's scarred face rotated slowly in front of Titus's face.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. If it was hot before, now it was freezing.
"These are the Praetor's special staff. I propose a motion to designate them as High-Level Senate Assets."
"That 'Rust'?" Titus laughed scornfully, his laughter coarse and grating. He pointed at Kara's hologram with disgust. "She's a deserter. Trash I threw into the punishment pit for assaulting a superior. You pick up my garbage and ask for diplomatic immunity for her?"
Titus shook his head, belittling.
"She's a rabid dog, Ash. She has no discipline. She has no loyalty. Giving her a Senate badge is like giving an active grenade to a monkey. I reject. She must be returned to the Valdor Military Tribunal for execution as a deserter."
I looked at Titus. I wasn't angry. I was amused.
"A rabid dog?" I repeated softly. "No loyalty?"
I leaned back in my chair, allowing a thin, cold smile to touch my lips. The drug's numbness was fading, replaced by the familiar, cutting cynicism.
"Let me tell you about loyalty, Titus. Your 'loyal' officers followed your illegal order to assassinate an unaffiliated student last night. They failed, and got frozen. Kara, the 'rabid dog', followed my order to secure the perimeter and didn't ask questions. She broke two jaws, three ribs, and a drone, but the perimeter was secure. Your loyal men are in the hospital. My 'rabid dog' is eating steak in my office. So, tell me again. Who is the useless asset?"
Titus's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. The air around him grew hot, distorting the light. He's about to lose it, I thought. Good.
"Insolent brat!" he roared, standing up fully, his exoskeleton whirring. "I will not have a deserter—"
"Imperator Titus," Silas's voice cut through like a scalpel, calm and deadly. "Please control your... thermal emissions. You are warping the table's hologram. It's very distracting."
Vianna sighed theatrically. "The repair cost for this Obsidian interface is 5,000 Lux per square centimeter. If you damage it, it comes out of Valdor's military budget. I'll make sure of it."
Titus froze, caught between rage and budgetary reality. He slowly sat back down, the heat subsiding. His pride was a big, dumb beast, but even it knew when it was about to be financially neutered.
Kael spoke, his blindfolded face turning towards Titus. "The legal precedent is clear. Once assigned to a Praetor's direct security detail, personnel fall under Senate jurisdiction, not their faction of origin. Attempting to reclaim them is a violation of the Truce Accords, Article 3. Would you like me to read the relevant passages regarding penalties for violating the Accords? They involve significant territorial concessions."
Titus was surrounded. Law, money, and diplomacy were all against him. He had nothing but his bruised ego and empty threats.
He glared at me, his eyes promising murder. "Fine. Keep your mongrel. But if she steps one foot into Valdor territory without my express permission, I'll have her shot on sight. That is my law."
"I wouldn't dream of sending her on a social visit," I said dryly. "Motion carried. Kara, Rian, and Sister Elara are now Senate Assets. Any attack on them is an attack on the Senate itself."
BZZZT.
My Smart-ID vibrated again. Not Weaver this time. A priority alert from the City Grid. I glanced at it discreetly. A report from the lower-level sewer sensors. Unauthorized mana fluctuations. Significant. In the ancient bunker network under the Iron Plaza.
The Lions are getting impatient.
"Which brings us to the final, and most critical, agenda," I said, turning off the personnel holograms. The blue light faded, plunging the center of the table back into shadow. "The Sky's direct mandate. The reason I was called up there today."
I projected the new data packet—the one from The Joint Commission. The title glowed ominously in golden script:
MISSION: PACIFICATION OF THE UNDER-CITY
A simplified map appeared, showing a cross-section of Zero Point City. Above, the three glittering sectors. Below, a labyrinthine network of tunnels, sewers, and ancient bunkers labeled LAYERS -1 to -5. The "Under-City."
"A problem has festered beneath our feet for decades," I began, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "The Stateless. The refugees from the Dead Zones. Criminals, deserters, and those who simply fell through the cracks of our glorious society. They live in the pipes, the old war bunkers, the forgotten infrastructure. They have their own economy. Their own rules."
I zoomed in on the map, highlighting several arterial tunnels connecting the three Sectors.
"And they control the unofficial supply lines. The ones not on any city ledger. The ones that bring in... specialty goods for all of us. Luxuries for Aurum's elites. Rare herbs for Aethelgard's rituals. Even certain... components for Valdor's black projects."
I looked at each of them. "The Sky knows about them. They've always tolerated them because these 'rats' provide a useful service. A pressure valve. A deniable source of contraband."
I paused, letting the implication sink in.
"But our recent... activities. The market crash. The casino raid. It's sent shockwaves underground. The delicate ecosystem of bribery and blind eyes is collapsing. The gangs are fighting. Supply lines are cut. The Sky is not receiving their usual... tribute from the shadows. And they are displeased."
Silas's gentle smile didn't waver. "A theological matter. The light must sometimes acknowledge the shadow to maintain balance. But a shadow that grows too bold becomes a threat."
Vianna tapped her chin. "The black market accounts for an estimated 18% of non-essential luxury imports. Disruption there affects high-end consumer confidence. Bad for business."
Titus just grunted. "Vermin. Should have been purged years ago."
Kael was silent, his head tilted as if listening to something far away.
"The Sky's order is simple," I concluded. "Restore order. Pacify the Under-City. Ensure the flow of... goods... resumes. They don't care how. Install a new boss. Buy them off. Or wipe them out. Our choice. But it must be done before the Zenith-Zero Tournament begins in seven days. They don't want our esteemed guests from the Sky to see rats scurrying in the lobby."
I let the map hang in the air, a glowing cancer beneath the city's skin.
"This is not a request from the Sky. It is a mandate. Failure means they will find a new Praetor who can handle it. And they will likely do their own 'sanitizing' from above, which would be... messy for everyone."
The silence that followed was profound. This was the real test. Not a petty squabble over money or personnel, but a direct order to dirty our hands in the city's bowels.
"So," Vianna finally said, breaking the silence. "We are to become gang lords."
"Or peacemakers," Silas offered. "Depending on the perspective."
"Bah! It's a clean-up operation," Titus spat. "Send in the Arbiter shock troops. Gas the tunnels. Be done with it."
Kael spoke, his voice like dry ice. "The Under-City's population is estimated at fifteen thousand. Unregistered. Indiscriminate use of force in confined, unstable spaces would likely cause structural collapses affecting the foundations of all three Sectors. The Iron Plaza's main forge venting system runs directly through Layer -2. A collapse there would flood your forges with toxic sewage."
Titus fell silent, scowling.
"Then we negotiate," I said. "We find the biggest lion in the den and make him an offer he can't refuse. We give him legitimacy, in exchange for control. We turn the biggest gang into our enforcers down there. A Senate-sponsored cartel."
Vianna's eyes gleamed with predatory interest. "A monopoly. We could tax their operations. Regulate the flow. It could be... profitable."
"Profane," Silas murmured, but there was a calculating look in his empty eyes. "Yet, if guided, even the darkest river can be channeled for irrigation."
"It's a security nightmare," Kael stated. "But a controlled nightmare is preferable to a chaotic one."
Titus crossed his arms, clearly unhappy but seeing no better alternative that didn't risk his forges. "Who makes contact? Not my men. They're soldiers, not sewer-dwelling diplomats."
All eyes turned to me.
I smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I'll go," I said. "Alone. A Grand Praetor showing up at their doorstep is a statement. It shows respect. Or it shows we're not afraid to walk into the lion's den."
"And if they eat you?" Vianna asked, not sounding particularly concerned.
"Then you have your excuse for the purge Titus wants," I replied. "And the Sky gets a new, presumably more competent, Praetor. Win-win."
I stood up. The meeting was over. "I leave at midnight. The entrance is a maintenance hatch in the Iron Plaza's old foundry district. By dawn, we'll either have a new business partner... or I'll be a martyr for urban renewal. Prepare your sectors for either outcome."
I didn't wait for their responses. I turned and walked out of the Pentad Chamber, my boots echoing on the glass floor over the glittering city below.
The cold in my bones was back, sharp and hungry. But this time, it felt like an ally. The chill of the grave I was about to descend into.
Let's see what the lions are hungry for, I thought, heading towards the armory. And if they're not hungry for a deal... well, I have a new thermodynamic trick I've been wanting to try.