Ten seats ringed a stately and circular room.

Despite somehow fitting together, the seats were not remotely similar: Instead, each was unique, highly stylized in different ways. One was an austere, iron construction of angular lines and sharp edges; another, dimly glowing with a soothing, divine light; while another yet wasn’t physical at all, constructed entirely out of dizzying swirls of condensed mana.

Yet despite the many details of each chair competing against one another to vie for the eye’s attention, many who found themselves with business in said room often failed to notice them at all. For as much as the furniture — and even more broadly, the entirety of the room’s décor — was something to behold, it paled in comparison to the ten who claimed the seats as their own.

They were as varied as the chairs they sat on, save for their common feature: Each of them radiated a sense of power. Certainly, some more than others, but even the newest among them could effortlessly fill the room with their presence.

In light of the seating and those that sat thereon, one could be forgiven for assuming that the room was the meeting place of some grand cabal. A place where each word that was uttered was rife with significance. A space that dared suffer no trivialities.

It was quite unfortunate, then, that trivialities often had to be suffered.

Bah. I hate this part. He gazed down at the center of the room, doing his best to hide his distaste.

A nervous woman — notably well-muscled from a lifetime of working in the mine — stood there, rotating as she spoke so as to address each of the ten equally. Despite clearly suffering from a fit of nerves, she delivered her speech well, listing out the arguments for her case in an impassioned plea.

Of course, it won’t do a lick of good. All ten of us knew exactly how we were going to vote the moment the proposal hit the floor. As was often the case, this part of the proceedings was more of a formality than anything else.

Eventually the woman finished and was escorted out of the room, leaving only the ten behind. Before a silence could begin to gather, a man in an intricate chair of ink and parchment spoke out.

“We will now commence our preliminary vote. The issue at hand is: Should the miners of Sylum be granted a second day of rest each week, extending their weekend from one day to two? As this is predominantly a matter of common labor, we begin with Master Astorius, the Chamber Head of the Commons.”

How many decades have I been doing this now, and I still have to stifle a scowl whenever he calls me that. “Master Astorius.” Unpleasant.

Nine pairs of eyes swiveled towards the occupant of the simplest of the chairs in the room — a smooth, clay-like seat with various icons patterned onto it. Each icon seemed to represent a different profession.

Their gazes left him with a somewhat bitter taste. The floor was his. He could use the time to build upon the earlier miner’s case.

Instead, he grunted out a single word. “For.” He knew when a fight could be won, and when it could not. There was no sense in drawing it out.

“The Chamber Head of the Commons is for the motion. Next, Mistress Goss, Chamber Head of Peace.”

A stern woman — the occupant of the harsh, iron chair — frowned as her name was called. “Against. Some of us are old enough to have been here when the motion for the first day of rest was voted on. I was against it then, and I’m against the extra day now. It takes far too much ore to outfit the guards and the army. Far too much, at least, to consider soft-hearted nonsense like this.”

“The Chamber Head of Peace is against the motion. Next…”

The responses droned on and on. Against. Against. Against. The artisans were worried about price hikes on metal. The merchants would see a cut to their profits. On it went.

It wasn’t a complete shutout — Divinity and Knowledge went his way — but it wasn’t enough. The last vote came in, and the preliminary vote ended. The floor opened for a brief discussion in case anyone wished to persuade the other members to change their votes, but it was a thing of brevity. When the final votes were tallied, they remained the same.

Wonder if there’ll be talks of a strike from the miners. His eyes found their way over to Mistress Goss at the thought. Then we’d be back in here deciding if there’s sufficient reason for the guards to put down the strike. He did a brief scan of the room, taking in each of the other nine. He sighed. Would probably pass, too. Damnation. The currents of power had shifted in the past few decades.

“Very well then. In the matter of extending the miners’ day of rest from one days to two, the motion has failed. As this was our last item on the agenda today, the council is now dismissed.”

All ten members rushed out of the room, some going so far as to teleport out.

Chamber Head Astorius was sorely tempted to follow in their footsteps — he had quite a day ahead of him, and the extra time would be appreciated. Still, he knew better than to waste the mana.

After a short trip from the inner city to the outer, he was home. He opened the door to his abode, finding a man in a butler’s outfit standing ramrod straight at attention for him — exactly who he needed to talk to before he left. The chamber head grunted out a greeting.

“Markus. Anything you need from me? Otherwise I’m heading out. It’s about time to check on that idiot boy of mine.”

He sighed. Sooner I get that boy back into shape, the sooner he can take this position from me and be the one who sits in on those gods-awful meetings. Retirement sounded kind of nice, honestly. Plus, why have kids if not to make them do all your least favorite chores?

Of course, easier said than done…

The boy brought his own share of trouble to the Astorius household, after all.

“No, Lord Astorius,” Markus replied. The edge of his lips curled upwards almost imperceptibly.

Scarcely before the words left his lips, a droplet of water materialized in front of the butler’s face. It slammed into his forehead, the force almost enough to leave a welt, but not enough to wipe the faint grin that clung to his mouth.

“Bah, I’ve had enough of that nonsense at the chamber meeting. You know how much of a headache it would be if people thought I actually made everyone call me Lord Astorius.” He shuddered, his temples pulsing with a faint phantom headache. As much as it felt like it sometimes, he was hardly the “Lord” of anything, and he could count on two hands the number of people who genuinely used his last name to refer to him. “And besides, I don’t need any cheek from you today. We both know I’m going to get far too much of it shortly.”

Markus bowed deeply to the chamber head, though his faint smile was undiminished. “Of course. I appreciate you checking in prior to teleporting off. Safe travels. And do relay my greetings to the young sir.”

The chamber head snorted. The boy hadn’t been a “young sir” in decades. Still, he grunted an affirmation while fishing out a recall stone from his inventory. It took a moment, as he’d managed to amass a fair number of the things, but eventually he found the one he was looking for: Recall Stone (Drawgin).

He activated it, watching with great familiarity as everything around him suddenly turned transparent — an odd consequence of most modern teleportation spells. As if it were nothing more than a ray of light, his body shot off through his glassy surroundings, headed straight to the city of Drawgin.

This shouldn’t take too long. Might even make a little vacation out of it. Just a quick checkup on that idiot boy of mine, and then maybe a day or two off where no one can hound me for anything.

He raced through the intervening space between Sylum and Drawgin, and when the spell reached its completion, his body rematerialized.

The teleportation had spat him out in front of a tunnel cut into the mountainside. Idly, he started walking down it while thinking of what he’d do to celebrate his rare slice of freedom.

It was as he was lost in such thoughts that, without warning, two figures leapt towards him. Instead of coming from the front, however, they’d somehow been clinging to the ceiling. They made not a single sound as their blades descended, aimed straight toward his vitals.

The chamber head didn’t stop his casual stroll. Twin whips of water erupted from the ground, coiling up around the two attackers and slamming them to the ground. In the aftermath of the counterattack, everything was intensely silent for a brief moment.

He turned to where the two lay, frowning.

“Oop. Forgot that Drawgin had that strange tradition about ‘testing’ people who come in.” He winced, realizing that he might have used a bit more force than was necessary. Still, you’d think these chuckleheads would have had a better sense of self-preservation, no? What do I look like, a mage fresh out of his apprenticeship?

“Bah. Sorry about that folks — can’t say you don’t partially deserve it, but think I went a tad overboard. Anyhow, nice to meet you both! The name is Suds. Got a longer, stiffer name, too, but no one ever calls me that, you know? Just here for a quick visit. What can I call you tw-”

He gave a closer look to the two guards sprawled out on the ground. A perceptive eye might have noticed that they were abnormally clean, and a faint floral scent drifted off from them. Indeed, everything within a certain radius of Suds seemed a fraction cleaner than it had been before his passing. Still, those weren’t the most important details at that moment. Much more pressingly…

“Hells, I knocked them out just with that? Ah well.” They’d be fine. Probably.

Now, I wonder how long it’ll take for me to find the boy. Hopefully niiiice and quick. Can’t be too hard, can it?

“He WHAT?” A ring of water appeared around Suds’ feet, agitatedly churning about as he shouted.

“Your son? He left.” A massive green woman stared down at Suds, delivering the news far more nonchalantly than should have been the case.

He’d wasted a fair amount of time searching for the boy before growing increasingly frustrated. A few passersby that he’d questioned had told him of some sort of “expedition” that a number of residents had gone on, but the chamber head knew that his son wouldn’t have gone on it. At times, the boy could be a fool — that was why he was here in the first place, after all — but he wasn’t that much of a fool. Certainly he wouldn’t have just up and left the training city.

As more and more inquiries turned up short, however, he was forced to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance his son wasn’t around. It was probably just a misunderstanding, but he’d managed to track down the mayor of the city — Agath, her name was — assuming that she’d be able to tell him more.

She apparently didn’t actually have time to meet with him, but on seeing him, she’d yelled something about him looking “worthy of a challenge,” and to come in, whatever that meant. If she thought he was sticking around for a spar, the woman was delusional, but whatever got him in the door.

Presently, he stood in her office, fuming.

“He… left. He left?” Suds grit his teeth. “Pray tell where that idiot boy ran off to.” So I can find him and rub his mouth out with soap.

Agath answered him by opening up a cabinet and shuffling around some papers until she found what she was looking for. She lobbed a scroll at him, and once he unfurled it, he could see it was a map. A large red “X” was featured in the middle of a stretch of barren wasteland.

“He went with the others to the city in the deadlands, where the ‘X’ is on the map. ‘Emer’Thalis.’ You will likely find him there. Now! With that taken care of, you seem strong!” Agath slapped a meaty hand onto Suds’ shoulder. “You are in a bad mood. We will fight, yes? Good stress reliever.”

Blasted, battle-hungry… He sighed, cutting off his train of thought. She wasn’t even entirely wrong — he wouldn’t mind venting a bit. Still, he broke out from under her grip.

Too busy. He did his best to avoid being too offensive as he denied the woman and escaped her office, making sure to commit the map to memory first.

And besides, I don’t think she’d be all that much harder than the two goons in the tunnel.

Before the mayor could follow outside and flag him down, he quickly removed a brass whistle from his inventory, giving it a brief blow. It didn’t make a single sound, but as his breath traveled through it, a river of mana streamed off from the whistle. It traveled directly to the empty space before him, until, with a flash of light, that space was no longer empty.

Standing directly before the chamber head was a beautiful, massive, bird.

At least, it was sort of a bird. The front of it was, in any case. From the neck down, it took on the shape of a lion.

Eh, not as fast as a good teleport, but it’s admittedly been a while since I got to ride the good ol’ gryphon. He hopped onto its back, and his steed lifted into the air. He aimed it in the general direction of this “Emer’Thalis,” and only a short while later, Drawgin was well behind them.

“Always something with that boy,” he shouted, his words getting lost to the wind. “I’m of half a mind to have another kid, just so I can raise someone who does not give me this much grief.”

He grunted, knowing he wouldn’t. Too much of a pain in the ass. And the boy is old enough by now in any case. If he’s not going to take this seriously, he could at least give me a grandkid who will, no?

His grunt was immediately replaced with a sigh. Wish we’d thought of that twenty years ago. Not like a newborn would change much back home. The Astorius clan could use some fresh blood: Politics was increasingly a war waged by the young.

He cast the thought away, knowing it would do him no good. So be it. If there wasn’t going to be any fresh blood, then he’d at least make damned-well sure that the old blood was doing what it was supposed to.

Feh. So much for having time for a vacation. That boy better enjoy some good food and drink while he can. At this rate, I’m going to scrub his mouth out well enough that he’ll be tasting soap for a week.

With that cheery thought, the Master Astorius, Chamber Head of the Commons — better known as Suds — flew onwards towards the deadlands and the city of Emer’Thalis.

Some ways away, one of the residents of Emer’Thalis felt a sudden shiver pass over him. His mouth twitched with the phantom taste of floral-scented soap.

Ominous, he decided. I wonder if perhaps I should have told father that I was coming here? He chuckled. A jest. I sincerely doubt the man will find any time to come visit, and by the time that he does, I’ll be well back in Drawgin, and he’ll be none the wiser.

He certainly hoped that was the case, at least. If his father did end up visiting Drawgin while he wasn’t there…

The taste of soap suddenly intensified, and he chuckled once more, though this time a touch more nervously.

Well then, I do believe I would be in a spot of trouble, yes?