12-13-2025, 01:09 AM
Consul Semyon Alexeev.
Nikolai neither moved nor flinched, but inside, he felt his mind snap with rage.
One of his own. The other names Eliot offered were bad enough, but Alexeev was a betrayal that burned deeper. The man had sat in his confidence. Advised on defense matters, eaten at his table. And he was a traitor the entire time.
Eliot gave up the names with the ease of someone bartering contracts not comrades. There was no plea for mercy. No protections negotiated. He handed his own brethren over like old coats to be thrown on the fire.
Cold bastard, Nikolai thought. And perhaps more trustworthy than he’d first believed. A man who could slit his own kin from the cause without blinking was either a psychopath… or a professional. Nikolai preferred professionals.
He gave no outward sign of his decision. Just a nod. “Follow me inside,” he said.
The Dominions fell into step alongside him. The wind shut like a door as they passed into one of the structures. Its walls were of practical concrete, tile lined the floors, and the windows were practical steel frames without ornament. This was a military base first and foremost. The Garden was only a codename. Nothing about the space was beautiful. Nor was the conference room that awaited.
There were no banners or seals. Just a long table of dark composite, a few chairs, and a tactical screen darkened at one end.
He took his seat at the head of the table, the Dominions arrayed behind him like shadows carved from stone. Then, at last, his gaze turned to Helena once they were all settled.
“You said I am the needle through which this plan must pass,” he said. “But what of your Atharim laws? Your sacred traditions?”
His stare was hard, calculating. “Will I now fight the Atharim on two fronts? The ones still thirsty for my head… and the ones who will rebel against your plan?”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, fingers steepled.
“How do you intend to incorporate the world into this tribunal system you propose? You can’t possibly imagine scaling this as-is.”
Nikolai neither moved nor flinched, but inside, he felt his mind snap with rage.
One of his own. The other names Eliot offered were bad enough, but Alexeev was a betrayal that burned deeper. The man had sat in his confidence. Advised on defense matters, eaten at his table. And he was a traitor the entire time.
Eliot gave up the names with the ease of someone bartering contracts not comrades. There was no plea for mercy. No protections negotiated. He handed his own brethren over like old coats to be thrown on the fire.
Cold bastard, Nikolai thought. And perhaps more trustworthy than he’d first believed. A man who could slit his own kin from the cause without blinking was either a psychopath… or a professional. Nikolai preferred professionals.
He gave no outward sign of his decision. Just a nod. “Follow me inside,” he said.
The Dominions fell into step alongside him. The wind shut like a door as they passed into one of the structures. Its walls were of practical concrete, tile lined the floors, and the windows were practical steel frames without ornament. This was a military base first and foremost. The Garden was only a codename. Nothing about the space was beautiful. Nor was the conference room that awaited.
There were no banners or seals. Just a long table of dark composite, a few chairs, and a tactical screen darkened at one end.
He took his seat at the head of the table, the Dominions arrayed behind him like shadows carved from stone. Then, at last, his gaze turned to Helena once they were all settled.
“You said I am the needle through which this plan must pass,” he said. “But what of your Atharim laws? Your sacred traditions?”
His stare was hard, calculating. “Will I now fight the Atharim on two fronts? The ones still thirsty for my head… and the ones who will rebel against your plan?”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, fingers steepled.
“How do you intend to incorporate the world into this tribunal system you propose? You can’t possibly imagine scaling this as-is.”