________
The National Convention was a maelstrom of voices. The vote on the First Amendment, abolishing slavery outright and establishing a Freedmen's Bureau, hung suspended in the air like a blade, waiting to fall.
Cody sat rigid, jaw tight, scanning the chamber. He expected resistance from the Magdalo faction, but it was the wavering of his own Magdiwang allies that gnawed at him. Some looked toward Henderson with hope, others shifted uncomfortably in their seats, afraid of the wealthy landowners who whispered threats in shadowed corridors.
Ken Drick sat beside him, silent, but his eyes were sharp, noting every twitch, every falter, every whisper that threatened to break the fragile consensus.
Senator Henderson stood again, pounding his fist on the railing.
"This amendment is madness! Do you wish to bankrupt our nation in the name of sentiment? The farmers cannot survive, the merchants will flee, and the soldiers will mutiny if they are told that the world they know has vanished overnight!"
A ripple of murmurs passed through the Magdiwang bench. Cody's stomach tightened; he had feared Henderson's theatrics, but not the quiet acquiescence of his allies, and it unsettled him. The Magdiwang Radical Party decisively called for the outright defense of their nation's sovereignty during the War of 1940 and immediately moved to stop the Imperialist Rebellion that soon followed.
Now, eight years later, they're stuck in a bitter stalemate over the passing of the First Amendment. The Southern provinces have already garnered enough support from the Magdalo benches, composed of fascists and imperialists, all remnants of the Rebellion.
Congressman Jackson rose from the opposite side, veins standing out in his neck.
"And what of the cost of human lives, Senator? What of the children born in chains, the men and women denied their liberty for generations? Is this not also a cost? Are we to ignore the suffering because it threatens comfort?"
A few Magdiwang delegates shifted uneasily in their chairs. One whispered to his neighbor, "This is dangerous. Too much change at once..."
Henderson snapped at the comment. "Dangerous? I say it is ruin! And who will pay for your idealism? You, Congressman? No! Our Nation will burn for your dreams!"
Cody gritted his teeth, leaning closer to Ken Drick.
"He's playing on fear. Classic. And it's working better than he thinks."
Ken Drick nodded, eyes still scanning. "Notice how the hesitant ones haven't spoken yet. They wait for the tide to choose them."
Senator Rayne, a small man from the northern province of St. George, cleared his throat and rose. His voice quivered at first, before gaining momentum.
"I... I fear neither ruin nor idealism. I fear only that we betray what is right. If we falter tonight, we cement injustice, and the Republic's soul dies with it."
A few murmurs of agreement echoed. Henderson's lips curled into a thin, angry line. Cody saw the shift, however slight. Fissures were forming in the opposition.
Congresswoman Techum from the southern industrial sector leaned forward, voice sharp.
"We cannot pretend this is simple. The Freedmen's Bureau... funding it, protecting rights, enforcing laws... requires money, manpower, attention. Can we honestly say the nation has the strength to bear it now? Or are we rushing headlong into chaos?"
Cody's chest tightened. He understood her fear, it was practical, not cruel but it also revealed weakness of resolve. He could see which delegates would vote with conviction, which would fold under pressure.
Ken Drick spoke quietly, his eyes on Cody.
"If this Convention cannot decide tonight... the nation will tear itself apart before the dawn. And mark my words... the children will remember which side faltered."
Cody nodded grimly. He leaned back slightly, scanning Henderson's smug expression, Jackson's righteous fury, and the restless, unsure delegates in between. He would need more than speeches and moral appeals; he would need a strategy.
Venator's gavel fell, trying in vain to quiet the chaos, but the chamber continued to hum with tension. Votes would be cast soon, and the first to falter would determine the fate of a nation still fragile, still raw from centuries of injustice.
_______
The room was thick with tension. Ken Drick, Cody, and Karlos sat around the polished table, papers scattered before them. Lines of worry marred their faces, the weight of the Convention pressing down like a storm cloud. Outside, the last light of day faded into gray, casting long shadows across the walls.
Cody rubbed his temples, staring at the scattered notes and tally sheets. "We're heading toward another deadlock," he muttered, voice low. "The minor skirmishes in the chamber aren't helping either."
Ken Drick leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze sharp. "The delegates are fractured, wavering under pressure. Every time it looks like we might gain ground, someone hesitates, and the whole thing slides backward."
Karlos tapped a pen against his notebook. "They won't yield easily. Fear and pride are a harder hold than reason."
Cody exhaled, scanning the room as if seeking an answer in the shadows. "We've done all we can for tonight. More arguing will only wear us thin, and history isn't patient."
Ken Drick nodded slowly, voice calm but heavy. "Then we adjourn. Let them sleep on it. Tomorrow, we try again."
The three men stood, collecting their notes and straightening their coats. Silence lingered for a moment, a fragile pause before the return to the outside world.
Cody lingered by the door, gazing out at the city streets below. The streets of Revilla were quiet now, the echoes of the day's chaos fading into night. He checked his pocket watch; it was far later than he had expected.
With a resigned sigh, he stepped into the hallway. The click of his shoes against the floor echoed in the empty office, a reminder that the day had not yet released him. By the time he finally reached his townhouse, the city slept around him, and his presence would be the only light in the quiet townhouse.
When he arrived home, the townhouse was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of breathing. Jazmin lay sprawled across the sofa, the day's exhaustion evident in the way her chest rose and fell. Meika had curled up in the armchair, clutching her sketchpad like a talisman, a faint smile on her lips even in sleep.
A warm smile tugged at Cody's lips, the cares of the Convention momentarily melting away. This was the part of life he lived for, the rare moments untouched by politics, by debate, by the endless weight of responsibility.
Gently, he bent down, lifting Meika with care. Her small hands loosened their grip on the sketchpad in the process, and it slipped to the floor with a soft thud. He didn't pause; carefully cradling her, he carried her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed.
His eyes caught the sketchpad on the rug. Picking it up, he opened to a page that made his chest tighten: a careful rendering of a young man in her school... Maybe the same age as her, standing tall, eyes steady, the faintest curve of a smile on his face. Below the sketch, in Meika's careful handwriting, read:
"He is a brave and kind soul."
Cody felt a pang of warmth and pride. Even in a world so uncertain, even in the shadows, her observations were sharp and true. She saw the courage and kindness in others, even when they were hidden from most.
Carrying the sketchpad with him, he set it gently on Meika's bedside table before standing and leaving the room. For a moment, he lingered in the doorway, watching the two he cared for most, the weight of the day still pressing on his shoulders, yet softened by the small, enduring comforts of home.
To be Continued