“Ah manishi kuda hajaravutunnada?” (Is that man also attending?) asked a guard stationed outside the grand stone eting hall. His words, spoken in the Hilda language, carried a casual curiosity, but his posture remained alert and disciplined.
The man guiding Ethan nodded and replied in the sa tongue, “Avunu, atanu i sam'mit kosam pratyeka atithi.” (Yes, he is a special guest for the summit.)
Satisfied, the guard stepped aside, allowing the three n to enter. The building before them was no ordinary hall—it was the Great Town Hall of Otto, carved from imported marble and ocean-smoothed stone, a symbol of the Republic’s prosperity and independence. Otto was one of only two free cities in the Southern Islands, spread across a cluster of sixteen isles far from the reach of the mainland’s empires.
“Alright, this way, milord,” one of the guides said, shaking rainwater from his coarse jute coat as they entered the echoing stone corridor.
The hall was already teeming with activity. A crowd of over a hundred representatives, guild leaders, trade magnates, and envoys buzzed with excitent and tension. Voices rose and clashed like dueling swords—debate, rumor, and accusation all mixed in the humid air. At the far end of the hall stood a raised platform where a bald man in a silk coat gestured passionately, his voice magically amplified by the enchantnts of a Jasmine Flower.
Ethan and his two escorts removed their soaked coats, revealing finer clothing beneath—Ethan's was especially ornate, marked with the insignia of the noble Flask family of Ancorna. They weaved through the crowd to a better vantage point near the central aisle, where the speaker's words could be heard clearly.
“Vāru tama tīraṁlōnē oka sainya āyudhaśālanu nirmistunnāru!” (They are building a military armory right on their shores!) the bald man thundered, slamming his hand on the podium. The crowd stirred, murmurs spreading like wildfire.
“Vāru mā bhūmimīda kadaluto unnāru! Mana bhāryala pai, mana kōḍala pai ākramaṇa cēyaḍāniki siddhamautunnāru!” (They are readying themselves to march on our lands—on our wives, our daughters!)
One of Ethan’s escorts leaned in nervously. “Do... you understand what he’s saying, milord?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Why else would you be here if I did?”
“My apologies, milord,” the second man replied quickly. “He’s speaking of the Republic of Bolita. Apparently, they’ve begun constructing a military base on their coastal islands—those that border Otto's southern trade routes.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “From what I understand, Otto has no direct proof of what Bolita is building. So this is a political accusation, not a confird fact?”
The first escort nodded. “That is correct, milord. However, there’s more. Bolita has recently restricted the passage of our rchant vessels through the Otto-Bolita Strait. They’ve stopped sharing logs of passing ships, which they are obligated to under the old trade agreent.”
“They claim to be invoking Article 12 of the Otto-Bolita Agreent,” added the second guide.
“Article 12…” Ethan murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That would be the ergency clause from the Treaty of 1702, signed after the fall of the Absolute Being. It allows either republic to shut down shared strait access and withhold information in the event of an external threat to their sovereignty or trade.”
“Yes, milord,” the man confird. “But Bolita has not offered any evidence of such a threat, nor have they opened communication channels to explain the sudden enforcent.”
Ethan’s gaze returned to the speaker, whose voice had risen again in righteous anger.
“Kānlī sāmrājyaṁ vāriki sahāyaṁ cēstōndi! Manapai dāḍi cēyaḍāniki siddhamavutunnāru!”
(The Conley Empire is helping them! They're preparing to attack us!)
“That bald fellow seems rather dramatic,” Ethan comnted, crossing his arms.
“He claims that Bolita’s recent spike in trade with the Conley Empire is suspicious,” one of his escorts explained. “And that it indicates a deeper political alliance—possibly a plan to annex Otto with Conley's help.”
Ethan scoffed, though a flicker of concern crossed his face. “Still hearsay. Increased trade isn’t a cri, nor is secrecy during uncertain tis. For all we know, Bolita is just paranoid or reorganizing.”
“That may be, milord,” said the first guide cautiously. “But Otto’s leadership fears that Bolita is using the article as an excuse to build arms. And if Conley is indeed backing them…”
“Then this might escalate into sothing greater than a trade dispute,” Ethan finished the sentence. “But surely, that can’t be the only reason my presence was requested here. I was sent on behalf of the Right Minister of the Ancorna Empire, not to diate shipping disputes.”
He narrowed his eyes, glancing toward the stage again.
“There’s sothing more going on here. I’d suggest you start telling what it is—before that man on stage finishes setting the room on fire with his mouth.”
The first man exhaled sharply. “Each day, their actions plant new seeds of doubt among the city’s people.” His fingers drumd against the worn chest, the rhythm restless.
The second man, younger but no less wary, picked up the thread. “Like how Bolitan rchants have been fleeing Otto City with their families in the dead of night. Or how the Hilde Kingdom has been quietly withdrawing its naval patrols from the Free Cities these past months.” His voice was tight, the words laced with unease.
“And let’s not forget the trade routes,” the first man cut in, his tone bitter. “Goods that once flowed freely through the Otto-Bolita Strait now take weeks longer to arrive, forcing prices to soar. The people are growing restless, and hunger has a way of sharpening resentnt.”
Ethan’s mind raced, piecing together the fragnts of their warnings. The Free Cities only exist because Hilde’s protection keeps the empires at bay. That had been the unspoken agreent for a century—a delicate balance of power. Hilde, neutral in the continent’s ceaseless political gas, had no desire to annex Otto and Bolita outright. Instead, it had positioned them as buffer states, a shield against the expansionist ambitions of the Conley Empire to the north.
“But if Hilde is pulling back its ships…”
He lowered his voice further, the weight of realization pressing down on him. “If they’re reducing their presence now, it ans they’re cutting ties. Abandoning the treaty.”
The two n exchanged grim glances. “Exactly.”
Ethan shook his head, frustration knotting his brow. “But that doesn’t make sense. The Free Cities are a strategic advantage for Hilde. They could’ve swallowed them up a hundred years ago if they’d wanted to. Why withdraw now?”
The second man leaned in, his voice barely audible over the rising clamor of the tavern. “Because Hilde isn’t what it once was. The Hilon Plague gutted their economy. Their coffers are bleeding dry, and their king is desperate.”
The words struck Ethan like a spark to tinder.
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