Chapter 13: Control

The Levicita Control Center was unusually silent, the tension hanging heavy as Valtheris stood before the communication array. The three magistrates loomed on the projection screen, their faces half-shrouded in shadows, as though their very presence drained the light from the room.

“Administrator Valtheris,” Magistrate Drena began, her tone clipped and icy, “you were appointed to oversee Aeris and its critical systems because of your competence. Yet, during Festival Night, under your watch, our water redistribution network failed catastrophically. The result was political turmoil, unrest in Calla Veil and Iskaar Reaches, and irreparable strain with the Earthlands. What explanation do you offer for this... disaster?”

Valtheris maintained his composure, though his fists clenched behind his back. “Magistrates, I accept full responsibility for the operational failure. My team has been working tirelessly to identify the source of the sabotage—”

“Sabotage?” Korran, the second magistrate, cut him off, her voice sharp. “You speak as though this is a certainty. Yet you have presented no evidence, no culprits. Weeks have passed, Administrator. All we see is incompetence.”

“I assure you,” Valtheris replied with calculated calm, “steps have been taken. Investigators are already gathering information on Aeris and the Isles of Fortune. I am confident we will have answers soon.”

“Confidence does not resolve diplomatic crises,” Korran snapped.

The third magistrate, Vosca, spoke slowly, his voice deep and resonant. “The Earthlands are preparing for war. Representatives from Aelith Shore and the Veyne family have demanded reparations for the undelivered water. They have made it clear they will seize Calla Veil and Iskaar Reaches if we do not compensate them. You have two weeks to resolve this. If you fail, Administrator, your career will be the least of your concerns.”

Vosca leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Two weeks, Valtheris. Provide results, or face the consequences.”

The projection faded, leaving Valtheris standing alone in the room, his face a mask of tightly restrained frustration.

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Calen made his way to work the next morning with a conflicted heart. Returning to his job meant regaining a sense of stability that he had deeply missed, but the abruptness of Valtheris’s decision to reinstate him left a lingering unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. While grateful for Rion’s relentless support, something about the situation felt off.

The atmosphere at LCC (Levicita Control Center) was different—tense in a way Calen hadn’t seen before. The usual hustle and chatter of the staff were replaced by hushed conversations and wary glances. As he walked through the corridors, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of being watched.

Rion stood waiting by Calen’s old desk, grinning broadly, though his eyes betrayed an undercurrent of caution. “Ready to reclaim your throne, champ?” he asked, clapping Calen lightly on the shoulder.

“I guess,” Calen replied, settling into his chair. He glanced around, taking in the subdued mood. “But seriously, what the hell’s going on? Everyone’s acting like they’re walking on glass.”

Rion leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You haven’t heard? The Magistrates summoned Valtheris yesterday for a ‘private’ meeting. Word is they’re turning up the pressure. And not just on him—everyone’s feeling it.”

“The Magistrates?” Calen repeated, his brows furrowing. He had heard of the infamous trio at the top of Operientes Solem’s administrative hierarchy, but their involvement usually signified one thing: trouble.

“Yeah,” Rion continued, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Apparently, they’re demanding answers about the Festival Night incident. It’s why Valtheris was so eager to have you back. He needs to make a show of ‘fixing’ things.”

Calen frowned. “That’s comforting,” he said dryly. “So I’m just another piece on the chessboard.”

Rion hesitated before replying. “Look, I know how it sounds. But…you might also be the piece that clears your own name. And maybe uncovers what actually happened that night.”

Calen opened his mouth to respond, but a voice cut through the office. “Valtheris wants you both in his office. Now.”

It was Tessa, Valtheris’s assistant, her tone clipped and efficient. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked briskly down the hall.

Rion and Calen exchanged a glance. “Well,” Rion said with a wry smile. “Guess we’re about to find out just how sharp this chessboard is.”

Back in Valtheris’s office at LCC, the administrator leaned against his desk, his sharp features set in a mask of composure. When Rion and Calen arrived, he gestured for them to sit.

Rion slumped into the chair, his usual defiance written in the cocky tilt of his head. “So, what’s this about? Another lecture on how we’re all doomed unless we save the empire?”

Calen, more reserved, sat quietly, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

Valtheris wasted no time. “Magistrates called me. They’ve given us two weeks to uncover what happened the night of the festival. If we fail, war with the Earthlands becomes inevitable.”

“War,” Rion said flatly, leaning forward. “Fantastic. And let me guess, you want us to fix this mess.”

“I want you to uncover the truth,” Valtheris replied, his tone cold. “You were both involved in the preparations. Calen, you were on-site when it happened.”

Calen frowned. “If you’re reinstating me just for this, why not say so earlier? Why the charade of dismissal?”

Valtheris’s gaze hardened. “I don’t need to explain myself.”

Calen hesitated but accepted. “Whatever, if it means stopping a war, I’m in.”

Rion leaned back, crossing his arms. “And what if this investigation points back to you, Valtheris? You’ve made enemies, and sabotage could be an inside job.”

Valtheris’s lips curved in a thin smile. “Then I’ll face the consequences. But I trust you’ll keep your conspiracy theories in check until we have proof.”

Rion snorted but didn’t argue.

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Later that evening, Calen found himself in a small, dimly lit bar in Aeris’s lower levels. The faint clink of glasses provided a welcome reprieve from the day’s tensions. He nursed a glass of amber liquid, savoring the burn as he tried to piece together the threads of the mystery.

A man seated at the far end of the bar caught his attention. Stocky, broad-shouldered, and dressed in dark, functional clothing, he radiated a quiet menace. His sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on Calen.

The stranger stood and approached, settling onto the stool beside him. “Rough day?” he asked, his gravelly voice cutting through the background noise.

“Something like that,” Calen replied cautiously.

The man extended a hand. “Balthar Drik. I’m in the business of finding things—and people.”

Calen hesitated before shaking his hand. The grip was firm, almost challenging. “Calen Ardyn.”

Balthar chuckled. “I’ve heard the name. You work at the LCC, right? Must be a lot of pressure these days.”

Calen’s guard went up, but he kept his tone light. “Comes with the territory. What’s it to you?”

Balthar shrugged, swirling his drink. “Just curious. Word travels fast in places like this. A guy like you probably hears things. Useful things.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for,” Calen said carefully.

Balthar leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “A girl. She might’ve passed through here. Name’s Livra. Know her?”

Calen’s pulse quickened, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “Can’t say I do. Why are you looking for her?”

“Business,” Balthar said simply, finishing his drink. “If you hear anything, let me know. People like her don’t stay hidden for long.”

With that, he stood, adjusting his coat. “Pleasure chatting, Calen. I think we’ll meet again very soon.”

As Balthar walked out, Calen’s mind raced. Livra’s presence in his life had brought light and warmth—but also questions. And now, what was that about?.