Inside the official residence of the Chairman of the Union's Central People's Committee.
The orange glow of the fireplace flickered low, dancing over the crackling logs.
Black and white pieces stood in disciplined formation upon the chessboard.
"Will you take the white pieces, Comrade?"
The People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs asked the question with practiced deference.
Edward Louis shook his head, a thin smile playing on his lips.
"Black is more than sufficient."
He yielded the first move to his opponent.
It was a tactical choice—to project the appearance of the defender.
A white pawn advanced a single square.
"This is the intelligence report regarding the Ursus border," the Commissar said, placing a slim dossier beside the table.
"Since the loss of their southern granaries, the Empire's finances have been severely destabilized. Tax revenues have plummeted, and the resentment among the New Nobility is reaching a fever pitch."
Edward did not move his piece yet.
"And the Emperor?"
"He maintains his legitimacy, having ascended to the throne by crushing the old aristocracy, but his prestige has been mortally wounded."
A knight leaped over the pawns.
"Then what is it they desire?"
"Victory, presumably."
"No," Edward countered, cutting him off sharply.
"They do not want victory. They know victory is an impossibility."
The People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs narrowed his eyes.
Edward continued, his tone cold and analytical.
"They want prestige. They lack the capacity for war, yet they can push themselves to the very precipice of it. That is enough to save the Emperor's face."
A bishop slid diagonally across the board.
"Is the Union not in a similar position?" the Commissar asked. "The previous cabinet collapsed due to the lukewarm results of our intervention in the Ursus civil war. The citizenry is suffering from a deep fatigue regarding international entanglements."
"Precisely."
Edward quietly adjusted his queen.
"Therefore, war is out of the question. However... preparation is a necessity."
"To appease the military?"
"The military is a political interest group. To keep a political group silent, one must provide them with fodder."
He paused for a heartbeat.
"Furthermore, while the citizens loathe fear, they loathe being defenseless even more."
The Commissar leaned forward. "And if Ursus crosses the line?"
Edward smiled.
"They will not."
"You are certain?"
"They are well aware. They know they cannot defeat the Union single-handedly."
A single pawn was exchanged.
"They need the theater as much as we do. We heightening tensions at the border, they issue resolute proclamations. We reinforce our deployments, they reorganize their military districts."
"A midnight waltz, then."
"Exactly. The two nations do not hold hands, but they share the same rhythm."
Silence fell between them for a moment.
The Foreign Commissar spoke again, choosing his words with care.
"And what is your assessment of the International Communist Party?"
Edward did not look up from the chessboard.
"Comrade Vladimir," he said, pronouncing the name with distinct clarity.
"He is an extraordinary individual. His ideology, his execution, his sheer audacity—he was a man perfectly suited to be the founding father of our Union."
"But is he not dangerous?"
"The man himself is not dangerous. Had it been him in our place, he would have acted precisely in this manner."
Edward moved his piece.
"He is simply standing in a dangerous situation."
He reflected for a second.
"I respect the man. Without him, the Union would never have been forged. Without the International, the Union would lack the hegemon-level influence it wields today."
The Commissar nodded slowly. "Then this recent measure is—"
"It is not for his sake," Edward interrupted firmly.
"The economy takes precedence. The elections follow. Ideology comes only after those."
A knight was sacrificed.
The Commissar hesitated, looking at the board. "Is that move not a bit reckless?"
"No."
Edward's eyes glinted in the firelight.
"When the military is satisfied, the assembly falls into line. When the assembly falls into line, the markets are reassured. And when the markets are reassured, the approval ratings recover."
He moved his final piece into position.
"Check."
The Commissar stared at the board for several long seconds.
Finally, he sighed and shook his head.
"Checkmate."
Edward began to slowly pack away the chess set.
"There will be no war," he said quietly.
"But we will advance to the very edge of one."
The following morning,
The Union's morning gazettes were flooded with breaking headlines.
'Armed Clashes Erupt on Ursus Border'
'People's Commissariat of Defense Announces Defensive Troop Build-up'
'Emergency Motion Tabled for 600,000 New Military Cadres'
'Public Opinion: 68% in Favor of Military Expansion'
The proposal for the defense budget increase passed the assembly in less than a day.
The pieces on the chessboard were no longer moving.
But the moves made beyond the board were already following the predetermined path.
***************************
Night on Rhodes Island was a tomb-like silence.
The deck, once bustling with personnel and transport vehicles, sat empty. Only the dim emergency lights of the medical ward cast long, pale shadows down the corridors.
Theresia opened her eyes.
The ceiling was a stark, clinical white.
Her breathing was rhythmic and steady.
The heavy weight that had pressed upon her soul was gone.
Yet her fingertips felt icy.
She slowly lifted her right hand and stared at it.
It looked as it always did, as if nothing had transpired.
But the sensation lingered.
The cold grip on her shoulder.
The eyes of the sculpture.
And that voice.
— You may proceed no further without the Master's authorization.
Theresia closed her eyes.
She had witnessed the memories of many legends before.
The bloody slaughter of war, the eons-long recollections of ancient beings.
Their mental defenses always followed a pattern.
Spiking headaches, blurring visions, or an overwhelming sense of physiological rejection.
But this was different.
It wasn't a defense; it was a structure.
Like a door meticulously engineered by a master craftsman.
"You're awake."
Kal'tsit's voice was a low rasp in the quiet room.
Theresia opened her eyes.
"How long? The time."
"Two hours."
Kal'tsit pulled a chair closer and sat down.
"You overexerted yourself. Forcing yourself to wake through sheer willpower just for the sake of negotiations was reckless."
A brief silence filled the room.
Theresia kept her gaze on the ceiling as she spoke.
"Kal'tsit, I have something to tell you. His memories... they aren't simply sealed."
Kal'tsit's eyes sharpened.
"Then what are they?"
"They are being managed."
The word dropped like lead into the room.
Kal'tsit said nothing.
Theresia continued, her voice soft but certain.
"At first, there was a door. A shattered door. And behind it... an entirely different architecture."
"Who did it look like it was made by?"
"Not a who. A... something."
She took a steadying breath. "He might not even know the full extent of his own memories."
Kal'tsit's expression shifted subtly. "Are you certain of that?"
"No," Theresia shook her head. "It's an intuition."
A faint metallic whine hummed through the walls.
The landship was adjusting its course.
"The next time you meet him, do you intend to read his mind again?" Kal'tsit asked quietly.
Theresia paused to consider.
"No."
Kal'tsit looked up, and Theresia spoke again.
"This time, I'm going to ask him."
"Ask him what?"
Theresia's eyes grew dark and distant.
"Exactly what it is that he lost."
Silence reigned for a moment.
"And," she added, "exactly what it is he is protecting."
Kal'tsit turned her gaze to the window, watching the darkness of the tundra pass by.
"You likely already know, but the Union has begun to move."
Theresia sat up slowly, though her body still felt fragile.
Her mind, however, was razor-sharp.
"He will move as well."
Kal'tsit didn't need to ask who she meant.
"Still... I hope you don't grow to hate him too much."
"Pardon?"
Theresia's words struck Kal'tsit with unexpected weight.
Kal'tsit stared at her with wide eyes.
"Can a person after they have lost their memories truly be considered the same person they were before?"
"...."
"That is why I want to see him more. I need to know if what I—what my intuition felt—is the truth."
Theresia looked out at the dark horizon beyond the glass.
She thought back to that corridor within his subconscious.
The sculptures. The authorization. The management.
She whispered to herself in the silence of her mind.
Next time, I won't let you be the only one looking into me.
A faint expression crossed her face, one so fleeting it could barely be called a smile.
The next encounter would be different from the first.
*********************************
Diete Grivaiburg.
Ten years had passed since the civil war erupted, and though the Empire's scarred capital had regained a semblance of order, the shadows remained oppressive.
Anti-government organizations flourished in the gloom. Remnants of the old nobility, using agents bought with what remained of their wealth, successfully assassinated several high-ranking officials.
Yet, neither their mining Originium explosives nor their poisoned arrows could overcome the ancient monster that held the reins of power.
"Make way for His Excellency, Grand Duke Kashchey!"
"Clear the streets at once!"
His processions were always flanked by an iron wall of guards.
They were not his private house-guards, nor were they common mercenaries.
They were members of the Okhrana—the Department for Protecting the Public Security and Order.
The citizens froze in terror.
For everyone knew what the Okhrana represented.
It was a cold-blooded apparatus of state terror. If a single socialist was found among one's kin, the entire family down to the third degree would be vanished to the very mines where the Infected labored until they died. The old aristocrats who opposed them were simply executed, their heads left to rot on pikes in the marketplace.
And the man who directed this slaughter, all in the name of 'Ursus's tranquility,' was Grand Duke Kashchey.
One peculiar detail in recent days was the constant presence of a young Draco girl with ash-grey hair in his wake.
Whenever the girl was present, the Okhrana guards seemed even more prone to sudden acts of violence and harassment against the commoners.
"Talulah, this is the reality of how we live. The treasonous republican rabble cannot comprehend it, but human beings were born for vertical relationships."
Kashchey whispered his poisons into her ear.
Even when met with the girl's eyes, burning with a fierce, rebellious light, he only sneered at her defiance and continued his lecture.
"The Infected, the socialists, the republicans—they are all deluded."
The only things that truly matter in this world are authority and terror.
The girl's face hardened with a silent vow never to accept his teachings.
But the more she resisted, the deeper Kashchey's smile became.
========================
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