A Hall of Conflict - from Olga

Built with stone from the ground up and having the likeness of a small fortress, the Serisian Elder’s Hall was one of the few structures that survived the storm. Dull and cloudy were the skies, pitter-patters of rain… But that was usual in Seris. No one expected it would develop into catastrophe – except for the Fliers, whose concerns were brushed off for “paranoia” due to recent traumas.

Many other buildings succumbed to the forceful winds, or even got struck by the stampede of lightning bolts. Their minimalistic constructions lacked stability in mind, save the “more important” places. No matter, since a shelter was just that to them – a shelter.

“Those idiots,” Olga thought, sitting on a throne that stood atop an enclosed platform protruding from the wall.

It was the second day of the gathering, when all tribes could speak. The prior day was nothing but terror, as the Guardians revealed they received a report from one of their own, Roe Darcy, about the sightings of anomalies in Section 1. She had listened closely as Elder Hagwin of the Weavers hypothesized that, since the system was breaking, these errors were destined to occur in abnormal locations.

“Ladies and men of the Council, let the meeting commence,” Hagwin announced as he always did. His voice was tired, and eyes half-lidded. “It has been 40 days since the recession began. The Flier tribe, after many unfortunate casualties… Has estimated the rate of destruction to be a little under an entire section every 7 days. Meaning that, quite shortly – Section 48 will be the farthest to exist.”

He let his words hang in the air. Soft murmurings carried through the room. Olga huffed and shifted in her throne. Part of her had hoped her senses were incorrect, that the Nexus had more than only a year left. But there was no more denying the truth.

As Hagwin went on with his elaboration, his words faded into background noise. Olga was too focused on the Menders across from her, fingernails digging into her legs. The long minutes only added to the simmering anger beneath, but an outburst from an Elder was unacceptable – that is, not until the right moment. That said moment arrived when Hagwin finally spoke the words, “The floor is open.”

“Menders, you lot of traitors!” she raised her staff, “The Weavers are owed an explanation for your disgusting cease of resources to Showyth. We are running out, the people will be hungry, and you good-for-nothings – you know this!”

Her fellow tribespeople joined in her outrage, demanding answers from the unflinching Menders who sat with their heads held high. Hagwin stayed composed, but even he had a flicker of displeasure in his eyes.

“At ease, Weaver,” a mending Elder said firmly. “Do you believe we did such without a sensible cause?”

“Sensible, you dare say? Bah! There’s no logic in starving off the Weavers!”

“Not unless there is no choice in the matter,” she waved her hand, catching the room’s attention. “Everyone, listen! There is more than the anomalies we must be aware of, far more… In Visea, and I’m sure in all the other regions, our harvest’s yields have greatly decreased. Why? Because the crops have stopped growing! All of them!”

“She says the truth, I’ve observed it myself!” another agreed.

“It is the same in Arenard!”

“Now, do tell, Elder Olga – can us Menders be blamed? Do you expect us to supply your region at the expense of ours?”

Olga’s body trembled as her face twisted. As if they didn’t already have enough problems, now an impending famine? Yet still, it changed nothing.

“If that is the case, it is indeed dire… But is the solution to leave the Weavers helpless? Of course not, you buffoons! We are the Tribes, united since the dawn of time. How can one survive without the others?”

“You should be telling that to the rest of your kind!” a Reaper shouted.

Half the Hall applauded, much to the Weavers’ agitation. Olga had noticed that, just as she greeted the Menders with icy glares upon entrance, many had done the same to her – but she didn’t ponder on it too hard, until then.

“Out of all of us, the Weavers have responded the most violently. Worse than the riots in which they tear up their own villages, they have burdened the other tribes as well… Thefts, assaults, even murders – all on the rise!” the same Reaper ranted. Turning to an Elder of the Guardians, he asked, “That ‘Roe Darcy,’ didn’t she say her ship was attacked? They are relentless even at sea!”

“Bah, please! Like nobody else has taken advantage!” Olga retorted.

“Excuses! The Reaper’s point still stands. Don’t pressure us to help you when your people are running amok!”

“Enough! You’re all acting like children!” yelled Hagwin, slamming down a fist. “Have you no decency?”

“With all due respect, Hagwin,” began a Guardian Elder, his voice low and steady. “The recent aggression from the Weavers cannot be ignored. Since their Elders are not handling them, we will. And I believe that’s the last thing anyone wants.”

“That is… Understandable, admittedly.”

“Hagwin! Persuaded by threats – you should be ashamed of yourself,” Olga scolded, her face turning red. Ready to burst through the roof, she regretted ever coming. Yet even at home, there was still no peace – not with a grumpy teenager, whose sister was several days too late.

“We are simply saying what has to be done. As Guardians, it is our responsibility to protect order—”

“Excuse me, but I must address this,” interrupted a Flier. “Before you Guardians get any ideas about the Weavers, you ought to consider yourselves – whether you are, to be blunt… Capable—”

“What are you implying exactly?” he asked. The way in which he did – Olga could almost feel his disciplined poise wavering.

“See, now you know how we feel!” she thought.

“Well, you know, I’m just using rationale here… It’s odd only one Guardian spotted an anomaly. What makes more sense is that other Guardians saw them as well, but were killed,” he sat up straight, eyes narrowing, “So, my question is – how are you going to ‘handle’ the Weavers if you’ve grown so weak?”

“The same way we could drag you down from that throne, to be frank.”

“I have wings, so I’d wish you luck with that—”

“Yes, yes – wings that can be removed.”

Olga slowly sat, realization climbing up her. The Elders could get heated sometimes, but… What did she start? Isolde did always warn her about her temper— she shook her head. She couldn’t afford to think of Isolde during this, not when she was already so stressed about her unknown whereabouts.

“Enough, enough!” Hagwin repeated desperately. “At least, let us discuss the matter of the harvests! Surely, that is the most pressing issue brought up!”

But again, the Elders were filled with too much emotion to pay him any mind. If it was possible to weave mouth shuts, Olga was sure he would’ve done so. Alas, everyone was on the verge of strangling each other, and there was no way of fixing it —

Until a dark-haired woman, donned in jewelry and fine silks, strutted into the Hall like she owned it. Olga squinted. She didn’t recognize the woman – who obviously wasn’t an Elder, given her youthful appearance. The Guardian shared her offense, and rather harshly he said,

“What do you think you’re doing, waltzing into the Elder’s Hall—”

“That is Elder Dulcie,” Hagwin said quickly, looking astonished.

A loud gasp escaped them all. Olga hardly believed what she saw. She was an Elder? And not just any, but the famous Dulcie Cyrus?

A not-so-subtle grin stretched wider on Dulcie’s face. “Thank you for the warm welcome. But you all should really quiet down.”

That was all it took. Not another word was said, not even a whisper.

Dulcie approached Hagwin and, once he removed himself, took his throne. “My first meeting in decades, only to be nothing but chaos… Chaos can be enjoyable, but here – it’s quite inappropriate, no?”

She looked as all but Olga sheepishly nodded. Their submission seemed to satisfy her, a twinkle in her gaze. “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding. Now, let’s see. What I came here to say – is that resolution is completely, utterly… Useless,” she intertwined her fingers, “there’s no saving the Nexus, and no way to prevent anything caused by it. Yet you’re here wasting time, trying to ‘reason’ yourselves out of the inevitable—”

“Bah, that’s not the point. Nobody is confused about our fate, for goodness’ sake. But until the end comes, we should aim to survive as best as possible,” Olga said.

Everyone stared at her as if they had witnessed a ghost. Some even seemed like they were about to faint. The tension was suffocating, and Olga didn’t get why. When her eyes went back to Dulcie’s – there was a shift, the cocky smile vanished, taken over by a look of… Danger. It was brief, so much so that Olga wondered if she imagined it – but she couldn’t have.

“What is your name, Weaver?” Dulcie asked.

“Olga Stein.”

She gave her a once-over then said, “You’ve never been to Elakin, I presume?”

Olga saw Hagwin stiffen.

“Only ever a few times.”

“Yes… Thought so,” she covered her lips, holding in a stifled laugh. “That explains it, then. Anyway… Miss Stein, why do you believe the Nexus is receding?”

“I— do not know. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Or does it?” she crossed her legs and laid her elbows on the armrests, “I’ll ask you another question. What’s required for the Nexus to expand?”

She scrunched up her nose. Even a child could answer that.

“Its Limbo at full capacity of thread.”

“And how does Limbo receive thread?”

Olga restrained herself from snapping as she gritted out, “Whenever something living dies, of course. You Reapers collect the wandering threads, and send them back to Limbo.”

Likewise, before expansion, thread would be lost whenever new life was made – be it a baby in a womb, or a sprouting plant. The Tribes always had to keep this cycle in mind, resulting in their regulations.

“Exactly. So, there is only one conclusion. Because the Nexus, rather than expand, is doing the opposite… It must mean that Limbo is short. Devastatingly so. Now, the Nexus is doing the only thing it can do – gaining it all back.”

“Then… You are saying it is meaningless to try and survive, when what the Nexus needs – is death?”

“Precisely. I bet if enough of us died, the Nexus would get back the thread it needs to halt its recession before reaching Section 1. However, and I know this for a fact…”

Dulcie relaxed into the throne, seeming as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She drifted her mocking watch across the whole room, penetrating each Elder – though with Olga, she ignored her. When she spoke again, she said very simply,

“ … There isn’t a single person who is willing to die. Not even for the Nexus.”