The Onboarding Process, Pt. 2

"I can excuse the wife entering this den of war, as we have been informed. But a measly human servant? Kael, I need not tell you what you already know: this breaks tradition."

"You’d have refused to even show up had I mentioned the human. When has tradition ever stopped me?"

"I ask myself this every day, Blac’hil..."

Seated around the stone-carved table were five demonkin—fixtures of Kael’s reign, generals and strategists who had stood at his side since the first day of Blac’Hil hegemony. 

The old guard, carved from the same unyielding rock as the stronghold itself.

In another word, believers. With belief that wanes every passing day.

Some of them can’t help but think—what if they ran Highcliff like they did in the previous territories the Blac’Hils occupied.

They were prosperous enough—thriving, by some definitions.

Perhaps due to a lack of humans meddling in their affairs, making everything about themselves when all they did was get in the way of efficient governance… but they digress.

Highcliff was a different beast altogether.

Normally the humans know when to shut up and participate in becoming amicable and productive members of society. If they don’t like it, they were free to leave to their silly crumbling empires.

The Blac’Hils only took over this place when it was clear the Concordant was trying to make for something aggressive. The forward scouts in their territory were proof of such intentions. Not that the demonkin weren’t going to invade anyway—but it certainly helped.

Now Highcliff was an effective barrier between people whose egos got hurt, and those with a real vision for the future.

If ran successfully, all the better. But the humans have different definitions and outlooks of what success was.

That, their young master argues, was what Highcliff should be about. Never mind that he was madly in love with someone who clearly does not want for his best intentions or his provocations, she had fed him ideas that he frustratingly enacts—like an obeying, slobbering dog.

He argues that if Highcliff were to become the envy of the Concordant, more people would naturally start to defect from the Concordant. And if the Concordant was beginning to be seen as the failed project that it was… well. It’d be a smoother Bi-Millenial Invasion for everyone.

Look, they appreciate the ideals of its founders on principle—but a democratically-elected system will spell disaster for everyone. One word: corruption. People joke that the demonkin, by default, were corrupt, since the common citizen doesn’t get to choose who gets to be in power. The difference between such proclivities was that when you were weak—when a sizable amount of the populace disagrees with you enough… nothing stopped them from gathering forces and taking over.

Of course, they’d have to survive their defense first. It was a fair process. 

More than a few have benefitted from this high-risk, high-reward procedure, and almost all of them became houses that thrived because of their wit. If you got taken over and someone felt annoyed enough that they devote a good portion of their lives to ensure your downfall, you probably didn’t deserve the position in the first place.

Never mind that. Dwelling on the past was a fool’s errand. Time to deal with their fool of a better’s son.

Lovingly and endearingly, of course. This present incarnation of the bloodline was the liveliest of the bunch if nothing else.

\\

“I-I just think—”

Elisa cringed. This was going south, fast.

“Please, let Kael introduce you first, then the proceedings can commence.” One of the committee members must have had the shittiest morning ever to be giving off that tone of voice. One out of five members already going in with this attitude does not bode well for their chances…

Talk about being an asshole just for the sake of it. Expecting her to know next to any of this is insane. Probably intimidation.

Kael relented. “Forgive her, my grace. The woman who mistakenly spoke out of turn—her name is Cynthia. A valued servant of this manor who feels she can bring new insight into the… developing situation.”

The only other woman on the panel apart from Oraya, whom she had convinced to advocate for her, sounded only slightly less pissed.

“Kael, I fail to see how not drilling into the bottom of the Basin won’t assuage our fears. It'd certainly be much faster than whatever she's planning. If we can commission humans to do it for us…”

“Please, Mihala. Even if it were in our capacity; even if we bring in humanity’s best divers, we’d have a hard time convincing anyone to do a job that could potentially get them killed. This is a power unseen in my lifetime, or yours. If it is strong enough to affect any demon of any calibre among us indiscriminately, it is best to exercise caution. Lest they trigger something that wipes out all our kind within a fifteen-mile radius. Guh.”

Kael shook his head.

“No, the answer lies squarely in dealing with the rebellion. Directly. In some respects, they've conveniently forced our hand. One that invokes terror rather than subterfuge. Troubling yet terribly informative tactic. But one may recall the dead nation of Weconsiu. Rebels sprouted there too in much the same wake as how the Blac’hils seized Highcliff. And if you are seeing the same patterns I am seeing should we choose to ignore it…”

Mihala blew a shaky breath, nodding. “The death count will spiral. No matter the species.”

“Civil unrest, desperate people trying to take advantage of the chaos, so many variables we cannot and will not be able to control. It will be the end of the Blac’hil era as we know it today. And we all know how the story of Weconsiu ends…”

“In Fire and Brimstone…” Mihala sighed. “Where are you going with this?”

“I am saying we must work with the humans on their terms. Cynthia provides us unique insight into that world, foreign as it is to us. I have been convinced of her plan, but as per demonkin tradition, the Interloper who presents the initial Idea must make a compelling reason for all on the Council to believe in this as well. Alright, I've said my piece. So please, Interloper, make your stand.”

Anyone presenting an Idea that was entirely their own had to argue—convincingly—how they had arrived at that conclusion. A test in front of a committee. One designed to weed out opportunists whose reasoning wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny, and to elevate those whose intelligence and foresight marked them as worthy of leadership.

Strength among the High Lords wasn’t simply measured in brute force. That played a factor, certainly, but there were levels to it. A reason why one such imp made for a piss-poor combatant but stood tall as their most effective—and wisest—leader.

She could only hope Cynthia could match up to such lofty expectations. 

But judging by the way her hands fidgeted behind her back, Elisa didn’t hold out much hope.

Where was that fire Elisa saw when she first woke up? It was like a switch flipped and she became Infected.

Cynthia’s hands clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white. 

Elisa couldn't intervene, not yet. But her chance will come soon. 

Just need to not muck this up...