Deep within the impossible geotry of Allara's Dollhouse, four powerful won were seated around an ornate, round mahogany table. The room chosen for their eting was a study in surreal disorientation. Three of its walls were fashioned from flawless, floor-to-ceiling glass, presenting a vista that was ant to be a tranquil garden. Instead, it offered a heart-stopping plunge into the void. Beyond the panes lay the naked vacuum of space, an infinite tapestry of black silk pierced by the cold, distant fire of alien suns. The silence of the room was made profound by the view, a constant, unspoken reminder that a single crack in the glass would an an endless, soundless fall into oblivion.
At the center of the table sat a lavish, three-tiered silver tray, ticulously arranged with delicate finger sandwiches and exquisite pastries, all prepared by their unseen hostess. Beside it were four porcelain cups and saucers. The centerpiece, however, was Scarlett's contribution: the soul-sipping teapot she had acquired from John. It sat, deceptively mundane, a gentle, perfud steam wafting from its spout that seed to carry whispers of other worlds.
With a practiced, deliberate slowness that bordered on ritual, Scarlett lifted the teapot. She filled each cup in turn, the liquid within shimring with an otherworldly luminescence. The atmosphere thickened with each pour. When she ca to Yin, her movents beca rigid. She held out the teacup, her crimson eyes a burning ember of contained hostility. Yin accepted it with a predator's grace, her vulpine eyes narrowed to slits, her ears flattened almost imperceptibly against her white hair. It was a silent exchange of pure animosity, a promise of violence suspended only by the shared, chilling knowledge of what would happen if they disturbed the Dollhouse's peace again. Allara's recent intervention hung in the air between them, a threat more potent than any weapon they carried.
The tension was a live wire stretched taut across the mahogany table, the civility of the tea ceremony a fragile mask over a seething cauldron of old grudges and rivalries.
Anya and Steph each took a sip of their tea, the otherworldly brew seeming to ease the tension from their shoulders. Anya let out a low, rumbling sigh of contentnt, while Steph’s sigh was one of pure, beatific pleasure. The temporary peace, however, ended with them. Across the table, Yin and Scarlett remained locked in a silent, searing glare, the tension showing no real indication of resolving.
Steph placed her cup back on its saucer with a delicate click. Her smile was serene as she turned her gaze to the feuding won.
Steph: “You know,” she chid, her voice lodious, “all that glaring is going to give you both wrinkles. Such a waste of two perfectly pretty faces.”
Anya: “Steph is right,” she added. She shifted in her seat, her massive armor creaking. “You don’t have to like each other. But I did not co here to spend the night watching you two attempt to set each other on fire with your minds.”
Steph: “Though I wouldn’t mind staying an extra night or two,” she mused, clasping her hands together. “I do so love our little gatherings. It’s so rare we all get to be in one place.”
Anya: “In a more peaceful ti, perhaps,” the general conceded, her expression turning grave. “But there are people who rely on , waiting in precarious safety. I cannot spend more than a day or two away. I’m sure your own followers in Coppa feel the sa, Steph. So, let’s attend to our business.”
The weight of Anya’s practicality finally broke the deadlock. Scarlett and Yin, almost in unison, broke eye contact. The naked hatred in their expressions was smoothed over, replaced by masks of cool neutrality. They turned their attention to Anya, the unspoken truce firmly, if temporarily, in place.
Anya:“Good,” she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. “It seems we can finally focus on the true purpose of the Unseen Hand: assisting one another. We are fellow patrons of John, and that bond must supersede our… personal disagreents.”
Steph: “As John would want us to do,” she affird, her tone taking on a reverent quality.
Anya’s stern deanor softened a fraction.
Anya: “I know I have said it before, but it bears repeating. I am eternally grateful for the three of you helping resolve the civil war in Gix.” She bowed her head, a gesture of deep respect from a warrior of her stature.
Steph: “It is no trouble for . There are countless innocents suffering. It is only right that I and my followers in the Red Church do what we can to alleviate that suffering. It is the will of our god.”
Yin: “Do not mistake my involvent for charity,” she stated coldly, her vulpine eyes sharp and calculating. “My Hounds and I will greatly benefit financially from stabilized trade routes once the civil war ends and you solidify your power in Gix, becoming queen.”
Anya: “I have told you,” she corrected, her voice firm, “I do not intend to beco a queen. My goal is to abolish the monarchy entirely and install a fully representative democracy.”
Yin: “Titles are irrelevant. You will be the one holding the power after the war ends. The result is the sa for my bottom line,” she retorted with a dismissive flick of her tails.
Scarlett, who had been observing the exchange with growing impatience, finally rolled her eyes with a sound of disgust.
Scarlett: “Would you two give it a rest with the fake justifications?” she snapped, her voice cutting through their posturing. She turned her crimson gaze to Steph. “You,” she said pointedly, “obviously want Anya to formally recognize your ‘Red Church’ as an official state religion once the war is over, giving your fanatics legitimacy and a massive influx of followers.”
She then swiveled to face Yin, her lip curling.
Scarlett: “And you. You play the part of the cold, calculating cri lord, but in reality, you’re a sentintalist. Gix has always been the nation least harsh to mutants. You’re not just funding a rebellion for profit; you’re funding your holand. You plan to use Anya’s influence to enshrine anti-discrimination policies, to make Gix a true sanctuary where your kind can live freely. So, can we please stop pretending and just admit why we're truly helping Anya?”
Yin: “Pft, don’t act like you know my intentions,” she hissed, her vulpine ears flattening against her skull. Her composure, usually as unshakable as polished jade, showed its first crack.
Scarlett: “Oh, but I do,” she purred, her voice dripping with venomous amusent. She leaned forward slightly, her crimson eyes seeming to glow in the room’s ethereal light. “When you were a filthy, holess orphan, you would climb to the roof of that abandoned warehouse you called a ho. You’d look up at the cold, distant stars—not the ones outside this window, the real ones—and you wouldn't pray to any god. You’d pray to the city lights, begging for just one thing: a place you could belong. A place with a warm bed that didn’t sll of mildew, and a al so tasty you could forever forget the gnawing, constant ache of being hungry.”
The description was so visceral, so intimately specific, that it stole the air from the room. Yin’s eyes widened, her pupils contracting to thin, shocked slits. The color drained from her face, leaving her pale. It was a mory she had buried deep, a vulnerable secret she had never shared with a living soul.
Yin: “H-How do you know that!” she stamred, her voice a raw whisper, all pretense of cool control shattered.
A smug, cruel smile played on Scarlett’s lips.
Scarlett: “Fun fact,” she began, as if discussing the weather, “people born with red eyes sotis develop… peculiar talents. Mine was a paltry thing at first—the ability to catch glimpses of an object’s past. A faint echo of who held it last, a shadow of a significant event.” Her gaze intensified, pinning Yin in place. “Then I t John. And the ability… evolved. Now, I can catch glimpses of a person’s past. Fleeting, random monts. A laugh here, a tear there. A desperate prayer on a cold rooftop.” She shrugged, a gesture of deliberate nonchalance. “From those scattered pieces, it’s not so hard to piece together the whole, pathetic picture.”
Yin’s mouth hung open. A tremor ran through her, and her expression began to contort, the shock lting into a volcanic, humiliated rage. She drew a sharp breath, poised to unleash a torrent of fury, when Anya’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Anya: “Scarlett, you never explained you possessed this ability to us.”
Scarlett didn’t even flinch, rely flicking her gaze toward Anya.
Scarlett: “I never bothered,” she said dismissively. “It’s usually a useless parlor trick. The glimpses are random. I can’t control what I see, and I can only use this ability on the sa person so many tis. I can’t rifle through your life like a book.” She then turned her attention back to a seething Yin, delivering the final, mocking reassurance. “So don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ve already seen all the interesting parts of your past I could see. I can’t use this eye ability on you anymore.”
Yin’s breath was a ragged, controlled hiss, her shoulders trembling with the effort of containing her fury. The air around her seed to crackle with suppressed energy, her vulpine features sharpened by a raw, humiliated anger.
Steph: “You were an archaeologist before that whole… unpleasantness with the betrayal,” she comnted, seemingly unbothered by either Scarlett’s ability or her failure to disclose it. She took a delicate sip of her tea. “I bet that particular gift was quite useful for your work.”
A flicker of professional pride crossed Scarlett’s face, a stark contrast to her earlier malice.
Scarlett: “It was useful,” she admitted, her tone shifting to one of cold efficiency. “Reconstructing a shattered urn from a thousand fragnts was a simple matter. My eye showed its original form, the hands that shaped it, the mont it was placed in a tomb. It made the best in my field.”
Anya: “Fascinating,” she rumbled, her massive fra leaning forward slightly. The question she posed was not hostile, but carried the weight of a general assessing a new weapon. “But since you are so confident in your assessnts of Yin and Steph’s intentions, what about ? What hidden motives do your glimpses reveal?”
Scarlett turned her crimson gaze fully upon Anya, studying her with an intensity that was both analytical and devoid of mockery. She was silent for a long mont, the only sound the faint hum of the void beyond the glass.
Scarlett: “You,” she finally said, her voice losing its sharp edge and becoming almost respectful, “an exactly what you say. You don’t bullshit people. You are unwavering in your conviction, and there is no hidden agenda festering beneath the surface.” A faint, rare smirk touched her lips. “Honestly, Anya, the stories of your feats downplay your actual heroism. And that is what I like about you. You are, without a doubt, the most genuinely honest person in this room.”
Anya: “I am honest with all of you,” she affird, a solemn gravity in her tone. “But in the world outside this Dollhouse, I still must play the part of the unyielding general, the symbol. I cannot always afford the luxury of pure transparency.”
Steph: “But you don’t need to be anything else, Anya,” she interjected, her voice warm with fervent belief. “You are the woman I know will bring true peace to Gix. I would have believed it before ever eting John. But knowing that John supports you… there can be no doubt in my mind. His favor is a confirmation of your destiny.”
Yin: “What Steph said,” she added, her voice tight but conceding the point, her own grievances montarily set aside for the larger goal.
Anya: “Thank you. All of you.” her smile was genuine, and she gave a slow, grateful nod to each of them before her eyes settled back on Scarlett, her gaze penetrating. “So, then, Scarlett. If we are laying our cards upon the table, what are your true intentions? Why do you involve yourself in the fate of a nation so far from your own usual… interests?”
Scarlett: “Just like you, I will be as straight as I can,” Scarlett replied, her posture straightening. “It is simple. I have powerful enemies, and to survive, I need powerful allies. That is all there is to it, so do not paint as so altruistic saint.”
Anya: “Who are these enemies?” Anya pressed, her strategist’s mind seeking a tangible threat.
Scarlett: “I don’t know.”
Yin: “So much for being honest,” she chid in, a bitter sneer returning to her lips.
Scarlett: “It is not hiding things, like a certain fox,” she shot back, her temper flaring. “It is simply not knowing. There is a conspiracy at play, one that is far larger and more deeply rooted than I originally believed. I am still searching, piecing together fragnts in the dark, trying to identify all the players.” Her gaze swept across the table, ensuring she had their full attention. “But the enemies I have identified are as powerful as archmages and are backed by large, shadowy organizations and entire governnts. I cannot fight that alone. I have the foundation of a powerful organization right here—the Unseen Hand. Now, I need the backing of a governnt. That is why we should hurry along and end this conflict in Gix. The sooner it is resolved, the sooner we are all closer to getting what we truly want.”
Anya: “Well said, Scarlett. I trust you as John does. And I will help you. Your enemies are my enemies.” She offered the pledge without a mont’s hesitation, a soldier’s oath.
Scarlett’s face twisted into a mask of complicated emotions. The cynical, defensive walls she had spent a lifeti constructing were, brick by brick, being challenged. Revealing her true motive—a plea for allies born of desperation—felt like exposing a raw nerve. This small act of opening up to soone other than John, this tiny vulnerability, made her feel terrifyingly exposed, and a flicker of that discomfort showed in the tightness around her eyes.
Anya: “But,” she continued, her tone shifting from oath-taking to strategic assessnt, “I cannot offer you the backing of the Gix governnt as it currently stands. As you know from our regular correspondence, while the Liberation Army is the largest single fighting force, we are still stretched thin.” She leaned forward, her armored elbows resting on the table as she began to trace invisible lines on its surface. “We control the entire southern coastline, a vital strategic position, but we are at our logistical limit. We cannot expand. My n are forced into a defensive entrenchnt. If I move troops to support an offensive, the Noble Faction or the Endless War Cult will pour into the vacuum and seize our territory. We are in a stalemate.”
Steph: “The Red Church is working to gain control over the Harvest Valley. Once we have pacified the region, you will not have to worry about an attack on your eastern flank.”
Anya: “I do not doubt your zeal, Steph. But, the Harvest Valley is where the fighting is most brutal. With the crown’s authority gone, ancient rivalries between the city-states in that region have been reborn, almost certainly spurred on by the Endless War Cult. The nobles believe, not incorrectly, that whoever controls the Harvest Valley will beco the next ruler of Gix. It is the nation’s breadbasket; controlling the food supply is a sure path to the throne.” She paused, letting the gravity of the statent settle. “Where they are fools, however, is in their shortsightedness. The mont any single faction fully claims the Valley, they beco the primary target for every other faction. You would be painting a target on your own back. I would advise against trying to bring it solely under the banner of the Red Church.”
Steph: “Thank you for your concern, Anya,” she said, her beatific smile unwavering. “But I have absolute faith in our god to see us through.”
Scarlett: “Your god,” she interjected dryly, the mont of vulnerability gone, replaced by her familiar skepticism. “Not mine. I still maintain John is an outsider.”
Steph: “Regardless of faith, the Red Church is based in the Agado Swamplands. No conventional army would dare assault us there.”
Anya: “Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But they do not need to take Agado. They only need to push you out of the Harvest Valley. And they will.” Her voice was not unkind, but it was unflinchingly realistic. “No matter how formidable you and your followers are, your numbers are still limited—even more so than mine. You would be overwheld by the sheer force of numbers. We need a different strategy.”
Yin: “You could always hire rcenaries,” she interjected, her voice a cool counterpoint to the strategic impasse. She examined her claws with feigned nonchalance. “My Nighthounds have deep pockets that continue to get deeper, thanks to investnts like our ingenious partner, Luke Vaga of Vaga Industries. We’re expanding our operations into other nations within the Union and diversifying into a great many… legitimate businesses.” A sly smile touched her lips. “We could, of course, finance a few reputable rcenary companies to bolster your lacking manpower.”
Scarlett: “Yin,” she cut in, her tone shifting from strategic to deliberately provocative. “A different question. Do you actually know what Vaga is like?”
Yin’s ears twitched in mild irritation at the off-topic query.
Yin: “Of course I do. He is another of John’s patrons, a visionary I helped fund. He has created one of the biggest automakers in the Union. He has been an exceptional investnt, providing the Nighthounds a golden key into the legitimate business world and allowing us to expand into other industries.”
Scarlett: “No,” she pressed, her crimson eyes gleaming. “I an, do you know what he’s physically like? The man himself. He’s absolutely disgusting. ”
Yin: “Why do you sound as if you’ve been personally interacting with Vaga?” she asked, her voice dropping a degree, a subtle predator’s interest now coloring her tone.
Scarlett: “Because I have,” Scarlett announced, a cocky smile spreading across her face. This was the reveal she had been waiting for. “He needed a master enchanter for his pet project, the ‘Skyfire.’ Another little detail you failed to disclose to the group.” She leaned back, expecting to see another flash of fury, a sign that she had successfully encroached on Yin’s carefully guarded territory.
Yet, Yin didn’t flinch. Her vulpine features remained an impassive mask. There was no surprise, no outrage. Only a calm, almost bored acceptance.
Yin: “I see…” was all she said, her voice flat.
It was now Scarlett’s turn to feel a spike of annoyance. Her attempt to provoke Yin had fizzled, the revelation landing with a dull thud instead of a satisfying explosion. Yin’s lack of reaction was itself a reaction—it scread that she had known all along. She had been playing dumb, allowing Scarlett to think she had one up on her.
Yin, sensing Scarlett’s irritation, allowed a slow, suprely cocky smile to grace her features. It was a silent, gloating victory.
“God damn Nighthound information-gathering network,” Scarlett silently cursed, her jaw tightening. She had underestimated the reach of Yin’s spies. There were no secrets, only information Yin simply hadn’t chosen to act upon yet.
Anya: “What is this ‘Project Skyfire’ Scarlett is referring to?” she asked, her gaze shifting from the smirking fox mutant to the irritated enchanter.
The na alone carried a weight of implication, suggesting sothing far grander than a simple business venture.
Yin gracefully produced an ornate fan from within her silken robes, snapping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist. She held it so it covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her cunning, slitted eyes visible, which now glittered with mischief.
Yin: “rely another potential asset for your cause that the brilliant, if… disturbing, Mister Vaga is developing,” she explained, her voice a lodious purr from behind the fan. “I chose not to speak of it prematurely because Vaga could not guarantee its success. There was a significant chance the entire endeavor would amount to nothing but scorched tal and wasted resources.” She gave a delicate shrug. “There is no point in revealing a card before it has been fully dealt. I have nothing tangible to show for it at this mont.”
Anya: “I see,” she replied, her tone neutral but her eyes missing nothing. She understood the value of secrecy, but also the danger of being kept in the dark. “I trust you will keep inford should this project bear fruit.”
Yin: “But of course,” she assured her, her fan fluttering gently.
Anya: “To return to the matter of rcenaries. I appreciate the offer, Yin, but I’m afraid they are no longer a viable solution for fielding reliable soldiers. Throughout this conflict, we have repeatedly discovered that many of the rcenary companies for hire are secretly infiltrated by, or entirely composed of, Endless War Cultists. Their loyalty is to chaos and conflict, not to any coin.” She shook her head, a gesture of weary frustration. “The most I would dare use them for is paid harassnt on our enemies’ flanks. I could never trust them to hold a captured city or enforce the rule of law. They would either abandon their posts or turn them into slaughterhouses.”
She looked around the table, her expression one of a general assessing her limited options.
Anya: “So, I appreciate both Steph’s fervor and Yin’s resources. But rcenaries are a definitive ‘no,’ and the Liberation Army must maintain a public distance from the Red Church for now. I do not need the militant wing of the Light Church added to my list of imdiate enemies.” Her gaze finally settled, heavy and expectant, on Scarlett. “Which brings to you, Scarlett. In our ssages, you claid to be working on a project that could potentially solve my manpower problem. With our other options closed, I am listening.”
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