Drifting Changes

The Observe window was interesting twice over. First was that Fianna had more than doubled her level, when she had been effectively topped out since he had first hired her. More interesting than that was that her Stats had not changed despite this increase. It was the first time that John had seen something like that.

John gave the window a tap, sending it over to Scarlett, who scanned over it. “Oddities abound, but I think the important thing you realized is that she’s not braindead?”

“Braindead or at least compromised in some mental fashion,” Scarlett confirmed. “She was awake for long enough that she could confirm she wanted her legs off rather than healed.”

John clicked his tongue at that. “I would have preferred to be informed before that decision was made. Undine could have saved her legs.”

“She could have,” Scarlett confirmed. “Lorylim scars would have effectively ruined her legs though.”

For normal people, wounds created by the Lorylim usually healed in a way that made it look like they had been flailed with fish hooks. Encountering such scars was rare, as most people that got injured by the Lorylim in that way did not get it out of their system afterwards. In fact, John had only ever met one who was covered in such scars. Marathyu had been insane before he vanished, so the truth of how he managed to heal was obscure.

Similarly, it was still a mystery how Fianna had ended up with such injuries and yet free of infection. “Given that you keep her here, I can assume that there are no traces left in her system?”

“I had Nia run a scan on her before Lee teleported her out.”

“Couldn’t she have done the Observe at that time?” John asked. The Mindful Lover’s Will Mark gave those in his harem that had it that capability.

“It wasn’t on my mind at the time. Plus, I thought you’d want to look at your scout personally. Especially since, even with Observe, I still have no idea why she’s making bits of metal float about.”

“You’re not wrong,” John answered and gave Fianna another once-over. Her limbless state caused him mild discomfort. Part of that was simple human pattern-recognition. Given that they had the means to fix it, that wasn’t the primary issue he took with it though. Her arms and legs had all been lost in the line of duty – duty to him.

Looking at her reminded him of the consequences of following him.

Fianna’s eyes flew open at that moment. The bits and pieces of metal in the air dropped to the floor. Nine pieces of metal, all clattering on the naked concrete floor. “Sir,” she addressed him militarily.

“Fianna,” he answered in kind. “Were you listening?”

“I was concentrating on another matter. I’m on the precipice of something…” Fianna’s voice trailed off. She blinked. Tilted her head back, then focused John again. In the room’s artificial light, her pupils appeared like slits for a brief moment. “Sir, I have a costly request.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I am willing to hear it out.”

“Turn me into one of your Artificial Spirits.”

John tensed up in surprise. He had expected requests for top of the line equipment or protection orders for loved ones. That was the degree of selfishness that he had considered reasonable here. “You know all that entails?”

Fianna gave a sharp nod. “Sylkarions are an incredibly limited resource, so I am aware that this request is unreasonable.”

‘Incredibly limited is putting it mildly. I only have one left.’ Despite that thought, John shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. You will lose your body, you will become ageless, you will become powerful but only through attachment to me.”

A romantic softness mingled with her stern, Irish accent. “Attachment to you is the least of my concerns, Sir.”

‘Really? Two? Today?’ Momo groaned inside his mind. He pushed her aside. This was not a conversation he even remotely approached from that angle.

“You shouldn’t let your current infatuation weigh into this decision,” he chastised her.

“I am not.” Fianna was straight back to her professional demeanour. “It is an addition to my rationale.”

“Explain it to me. What happened?”

“I was injured by the creature. Izha pulled me into the hivemind. I could hear the cacophonic drums beating in my brainstem and then… white. Something great took an interest in me, Sir. I do not know why and I do not know what. I cannot tell you with any certainty that my suggestion is the effective path forwards. I feel the call to the metal. If I am to be useful to you before this conflict ends, then this body must be left behind.”

“…I see…” John digested what was being said. A theory formed in his head, one for which he required contact with Lu Zhi. ‘Was she **** to an assassin because she invoked the Cardinal Beasts? If so, is Fianna the White Tiger’s chosen?’ It was far from the only viable theory here. There were just enough pieces for all of this to line up.

If it was the case, then he would owe Lu Zhi a thousandfold for her aid in this.

“I will have to consider this request,” he told her truthfully. “You’re asking for much, in resources and in implications. You will have my answer before the general offensive.”

“I trust in your wisdom, Sir.” Fianna closed her eyes again. “Until you decide, I will wait here.”

“Very well,” John agreed.

He and Scarlett stepped out of the room, closed the door, and then went back to her workbench. While the technomancer resumed work on her combat limbs, John asked, “So what do you make of that?”

“It’s an absurd request in absurd times,” Scarlett answered. “You should wait until you hear from Lulu.”

“You’ve come to the conclusion that she might have been chosen by the White Tiger as well?”

“I caught her eyes changing for a moment and the rest lines up as well. Strikes me as fucking weird that it would choose her, but I don’t claim to understand ancient Chinese beasts.” Scarlett pulled a panel off, to inspect underlying wires. “I’ll keep further thoughts to myself until we have a meeting on it.”

“Fair enough,” John said.

He would have happily steered the conversation towards small talk. If he had nothing else urgently to do, interacting with his loves was a good way to stay sane. The Harem Comms opening in front of him at that moment presented him with different plans.

Nightingale: I request your presence in my tea room.

“Well, Gale calls for me,” he told Scarlett, as he wrote his confirmation back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Later… Hey, John?”

“Yeah?”

Scarlett looked up from her work and, seriously, sincerely, stared into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he responded, joyfully.

____________________________________________________________________________

John knew that he was in for a political meeting of some kind. Before the coronation two days ago, Nightingale had been informally his domestic diplomat. That was not giving the lady of the night and her ability to make social networks the full credit she was due, but it painted the correct picture. When John did not or could not have any direct relations to anyone politically or economically powerful, Nightingale was there to make sure they at least felt like they had the ear of the president.

Now that he was king, that role was thrice as important. Not for any reason that had been formalized so far, but because everyone tacitly understood that the political influence of his women was going to ramp up now. John had made no statement to that end so far. Even if he denied it, it would ring hollow. Between Rave making herself a beacon of hope for the people, the elementals going around helping people, and the various miracles of the crafting crew, it was expected that the queens and concubines of John Newman would come to hold the highest rank of the land with him.

In clear terms, now that they were transitioning into a more aristocratic way of operating, social networks were rising in importance as well.

There was a short list of people who John expected to meet with Nightingale. The first among them was also who he found there.

Oiled, black hair was woven into two braids, worn traditionally over the shoulders. A leather band around his head was decorated with a single eagle feather, a clear sign of his adherence to the ways of his ancestors, even if his suit was decisively European. Like most of the Hidden Tradition, its leader was a man who wished to see the indigenous clans survive and thrive and, to that end, obliged the needs to modernize where they existed.

Ahanu was an average looking man on most days. His face was a bit too long, his features a bit too close together, to be called handsome. Today, he looked bad. Deep rings under his eyes made him look many years older. His suit was creased. He was slumped forwards in the chair, sipping from his porcelain cup with quivering hands.

The Gamer stepped up to the table and met the eyes of the leader of the Hidden Tradition. Where once there had been trust and familiarity, there was now a resentful kind of neutrality. “Greetings,” John said, trying to sound as friendly as the circumstances allowed.

“Hello,” Ahanu responded tiredly.

John would have extended his hand, but Ahanu deliberately looked back at the cup in his hand. Taking the cue for what it was, the Gamer instead sat down by Nightingale’s side. The harpy goddess subtly shifted in her seat towards him.

“You have much to talk about,” Nightingale coaxed the two men into addressing each other.

“Not really,” Ahanu disagreed. “The matter is clear from the perspective of the Hidden Tradition. We desired to stabilize the continent under a just federation and stumbled our way into being part of a tyranny.”

John pressed his lips together. He barely managed to keep the flaring rage from spilling over into his aura. There was still a threat of his shortened temper. “I respect your view on the matter, but you have to understand-“

“I do understand that you took the easy route,” Ahanu interrupted him. “That is my view on it. You will not change it. King John, the only thing that matters to you is the thing I can guarantee you: the Hidden Tradition does not have the power to rebel against you and we are not foolish enough to try and deal with you covertly. You have our subservience by your might alone.”

Nightingale softly interjected, “Ahanu, you are being confrontational.”

“To speak truth to the face of tyranny is what I owe my people that die and bleed for your security.”

“Where do you think the Hidden Tradition would be in all of this without Fusion?” John asked, forcefully calm. “Would you rather get absorbed into the hive standing alone?”

Ahanu just gave that a tired shrug, before rising from his seat. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Lady Nightingale, but this will be the last time me or mine will be present for one of your tea parties.”

The black lips of the harpy parted in a heavy sigh. Neither she nor John stopped Ahanu on his way out. Once the door had closed, John asked, “I assume you wanted this to go better?”

“No, I wanted to ruin relations with Collide’s second oldest ally,” Nightingale drawled.

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you.” John chuckled and poured himself a cup of tea.

“The talk was going poorly. He confided in me his doubts. I attempted to appease, to no avail. Calling you was my final gambit.”

“Trying to save that bridge is admirable.” John pulled one of Nightingale’s wings over his lap and began the simple process of grooming her feathers. A pleased hum escaped her, graceful as the rest of her appearance. “Sadly, I think that one has burned.”

“What will we do with the Hidden Tradition now?”

“Sadly, I think the only path forward is to sideline them until the war is over, then find loyalists within the Hidden Tradition to replace him and Elu. I’ve lost their trust in a way that cannot be regained.”

“The lot of a leader is to make decisions that create enemies,” Nightingale attempted to soothe him.

John nodded and let out a heavy sigh of his own. “I’ve made peace with that fact… Doesn’t make me immune to the pain of it though. He was… short of a friend, but certainly more than a normal political acquaintance.” Feathers parted softly between his fingers.

“If you wish to cry, you can,” she assured him.

John shook his head. “I’m saddened, but I have no tears for this. All I need is a minute and your company.”

“I can promise you the latter.” Nightingale shuffled as close as she could. She put her head on his shoulder. “From all of my heart, you have my love, my respect, my patriarch.”

What more could he ask for, in times like these?