The Path of Ascension Chapter 348

Chapter 348

Westley Bakerfield had spent his life sharpening his teeth in politics. When he was in elementary school, by dint of his last name being earliest in the alphabet, he was made class president and was responsible for making sure all of the other kids cleaned up at the end of the day. Originally, the position was supposed to be rotated monthly, but after the first cycle, there was an unspoken understanding that Westley was the man for the job.

Even as a child, he understood how best to motivate people. From the most reluctant who never wanted to help clean up, to the perfectionist who spent too much time on one task, Westley was able to get them working with the collective for the greater good.

That was the start, but by no means the limit of his abilities. By the time he was in college, he had already led three debate teams to national victories, and in his sophomore year, he had won an election for student electorate president.

Now, at the tender age of thirty nine, he was the youngest member of the Arbitration Convention by over a decade, but even just his last two years of service to The Joined Provinces of Turistia as their high chancellor had taught him that he still had more to learn.

Westley couldn’t say he was a good man; he had made too many compromises with villains and evildoers during his life, but he always did what he thought was best for the JPT. That sometimes meant crushing the little guy underfoot, but that was simply the cost of progress.

His nation hadn’t carved its place among the giants like the Democratic Republic of Noricum or the Communists of the Greater South Plains by being nice.

That was why he was quite gleeful that the two superpowers had gone to war. The more they weakened each other, the better the JPT’s standing in the international community.

Even now, the two leaders glared at each other as they were made to wait in the great hexagonal room.

Most of the people were watching the two, and Westley was no exception. The two superpowers had been settling in for a long and bitter war before they had an inexplicable cease fire, and the Arbitration Convention flexed its moderate political influence to get every world leader at this meeting. He hadn’t been able to figure out how they had managed it but he was prepared for a AC power play if it came to that.

Westley had done his homework on the flight over, and knew that such a meeting had only happened twice before. And never before at the behest of the AC, who as their name implied, acted as a place of mediation with little power of its own.

The fact they had gotten even the non democratic states to attend, combined with the atmosphere that the other shoe was about to drop, had Westley on edge.

That feeling of static in the air grew until Councilors Jolene and Samuel walked through one of the side doors gathering everyone’s attention to them like a magnet thrown into iron dust.

Councilor Jolene held up a hand and waited for silence. It took almost five minutes, but eventually she got it, and when she did, she started speaking. “I’m sure that everyone is curious as to why I gathered you all. I wish I had better news but to put it simply our planet has been brought under new management. W—”

Her next words were drowned out by the cacophony of shouts and even Westley was opening his mouth to raise an objection, when four people appeared next right behind Councilor Jolene and Councilor Samuel.

Both councilors flinched as did everyone else in the room.

Even as Westley’s mind spun and tried to process four people appearing seemingly out of nowhere, he was caught on their appearances.

People popping out of a trap door in the floor or having some kind of new kind of stealth tech would be impressive in its own right, and could theoretically be used to blackmail the AC, but what made no sense was their skin color.

The two individuals standing in the fore were clearly the leaders, if he was reading the body language of the two behind them correctly. They were paler than anyone he had ever seen in his life. Not to mention their strange robes. They weren’t the fashion anywhere he knew of adding to the strange otherness radiating from the newcomers.

Pale skin combined with hair colors he had never seen outside of a bottle, golden and a red with odd golden under and over tones, respectively. And the man’s eyes…if he wasn’t confident in his eyesight, even at 40 years old, he would have doubted his own vision. The golden haired man had what seemed like an extra layer to his pupils, the outer glowing with light and the inner paradoxically absorbing it.

Even the two…personal assistants? Secretaries? Were lighter of skin than what was seen on Soerilia. The woman’s skin was slightly dusky, but the second man’s skin was even paler than the first, though that might have been his ink black hair giving a better contrast than the golden haired man’s.

The slitted eyes the man had were almost mundane next to the paradox that was the male leader’s eyes.

Westley’s mind ground to a halt before long training forced it to analyze something else.

The two in front, the leaders, were built like his bodyguards more so than politicians.

The man could be considered attractive if one could look past the odd coloring, as his symmetrical facial structure was chiseled in a way that was only seen in exceptional models. But while that was interesting it paled in comparison to his body. The man was at least a head taller than Westley and his wide shoulders and large chest spoke to long hours in a gym.

Or long hours on a battlefield.

The thought bubbled up like water on a sinking ship from Westley’s subconscious, but he didn’t dismiss it.

Instead, he turned his attention to the woman.

The hair like copper was striking and combined with her face– seemingly devoid of makeup or adornment– the women could grace any number of magazines, and even with the oddity that was her coloration, Westley found her moderately attractive. There was something about her that seemed off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it until he realized the woman didn’t have the soft curves that were considered attractive in the JPT, or even the thin limbs that were the beauty standard on the old continent. Like the man, the woman was muscular. She still had curves, but Westley would put all of his wealth on the woman having almost no fat except for her chest and posterior.

Westley was about to speak out when a presence descended over the room.

It was like being woken up by a wet blanket being thrown over his face and body, and almost immediately, all sound in the room stopped.

Even the chairs didn’t make a squeak as every leader shifted and checked why their voices had suddenly stopped.

Councilor Jolene spoke in the silence. “There is no easier way to put it. A folder of information is on your desk. Please spend a few minutes going over it and then I will answer questions. To answer the main question that I am sure is on everyone’s tongue, these are our new overlords. Duke and Duchess Matthew and Elizabeth Moore. Please read the packet, it will answer most of your questions.”

Westley tried to speak but his voice was still muted, and he saw several of his fellows trying to not just speak but get up, however they seemed to be trapped in a space around their desks.

Westley reached out trying to feel the barrier that was barring the others from storming the floor, but he felt nothing. The bird on the woman’s shoulder that he somehow hadn’t noticed before this seemed to catch his movement and smiled.

How a bird smiled, Westly couldn’t put words to, but the expression was clear. And right in front of his fingertips appeared what looked like a heatwave of an open flame, or a not so clear piece of glass.

Except there was no heat, and as his finger touched it, he felt like he was pushing up against what he could only describe as hardened air. It wasn’t cool to the touch like metal or wet like the shimmer might have implied. It felt like the air that was always around him.

Looking at the still smiling bird he took a better look. He was pretty sure the bird was on fire. Not a regular fire like you saw from wood or gas burning. No, it was a liquid kind of fire that crackled over the sleek feathers of the raptors compact body. A body that radiated danger to things probably larger than rabbits and field mice.

A shiver ran down Westley’s spine and he turned his attention to the packet of information in front of him.

It was short, only five pages long, but if not for the demonstration of magic before him, he would have never believed a word he read. It was too fantastical for reality.

Magic people, called cultivators, who had unimaginable powers, who lived forever, and who owned millions of planets like Soerilia.

That might have been the hardest pill to swallow.

Their planet had been part of one of these Great Powers before their planet had been a part of a treaty that saw them ceded to The Empire.

The fact their new rulers were monarchist was less than reassuring. The few monarchies on Soerilia were seldom better than the petty dictators who turned their countries into fascist dumpster fires.

And what was with the names? The Sophron Empire, the Everlasting Republic, the United Clans, The Hierarchy of Sects, the Nixi Federation, the Monster Collective, the Conglomerate of Guilds, the Assembly of Corporations. Most lacked any of the personalization that he was used to seeing in governments but then the reason hit him. They didn’t need identifiers beyond their governmental type because they were the only ones, and therefore there could be no confusion.

That thought was like a lead weight that settled into his stomach.

The size of their respective entities seemed beyond belief. Millions of planets connected through magical tethers in some higher level of reality? Westley had trouble getting his more distant governors to listen to him, and they were all within the same planet. How did anyone govern millions of planets?

The packet had the answer, but Westley wasn’t sure he actually believed it.

The Emperor was apparently one of the eight strongest beings in the realm and, therefore, ruled via his overwhelming power.

Westley had the thought to ask if they could be given back to the Republic, a place that seemed more inline with their ideals, but quickly realized if they had been given away by agreement of the highest powers, there was nothing any amount of begging would do.

The gods had decided, and the mortals had little choice but to obey.

Westley did see some good in the destruction of his world.

It was clear that the two people in front of him were the lords the document talked about, but if that document was to be believed, there were benefits to be had. New technologies, magical healing the likes of which could only be seen on the silver screen, and magical powers.

Westley could see that his position as Chancellor would be the last or possibly second to last, but he saw an opportunity here to improve the lives of his people. Clean energy that every person produced just by existing?

It all seemed too good to be true.

And it was.

Or at least, it seemed that way.

There were magical portals in space filled with monsters that if not entered and cleared regularly would spill ravenous monsters out to kill anyone nearby.

There were cultivators living among them currently who ‘delved’ but their new rulers seemed intent on allowing anyone to delve those rifts.

His packet came with a list of locations in his own country, and Westley had to suck in a deep breath at the list. He didn’t know every location, but several of them were known to him for their danger.

Westley’s rational mind said that if there hadn’t been any monster breaks in the last however long, there shouldn’t be any going forward.

Instead, his mind kept going to the list of technology that the Empire would bring.

Even if his country didn’t survive this integration, he could ensure that his people were well established in this new world order, and he wondered if they needed to be producers of goods, content, or of services. What would serve his people best?

His attention was brought out of his musings by a voice he didn’t want to hear.

***

Tara Felgrave, President of the Vimar Republic, felt her age in her back and hips, but all of that was washed away at the news of magic.

She wasn’t so much excited as deeply fearful of what was apparently coming.

“We will happily take control of Soerilia for you, my lords.” Victory Rahpesh was the king of the Rahpesh kingdom, and had been a thorn in her side just like his father for the last three decades as they constantly expanded.

It had only been a defensive coalition of all their surrounding neighbors that had finally stopped their aggressive streak, and the thought that they might take over their entire planet made her want to vomit. Her knuckles remind her of her age as she squeezed her hand into a fist.

She tried to speak, as did a dozen others, but once more their voices didn’t seem to leave their throats.

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Instead, the woman spoke, “While we appreciate your willingness to serve, we will not be placing a local leader in command of Soerilia. We will be personally overseeing the integration, and eventually a candidate from the Empire proper will be given lordship over Soerilia.”

Tara tried to raise her objection and was surprised to find her voice worked.

As everyone turned to her, Tara stood on shaky legs. “Are we to be given no say over who will rule us?”

The young man nodded, but it was clearly only in acknowledgment of her question and not agreement. “As we further the integration, you will find that many of your positions will turn into governors, which even in the Empire are elected officials. We are willing to take feedback on our possible candidates, but I assure each and every one of you that the Baron who takes over Soerilia will be competent and compassionate.”

Feeling all of her and her ancestors’ work slipping away from them, Tara tried one more time. “Is there truly no way for us to rule ourselves?”

The man blinked at her, and Tara was reminded of the eyes of killers she had encountered in her life. Eyes not quite dead, but that had seen more than anyone ever should in a single lifetime. “That is not within the purview we have been given. Local populations must be brought up to Empire standards as quickly as possible.”

The man gestured around the room. “Something as simple as language is a barrier for you all, but no matter which of the many worlds in the Empire that you travel to you will be able to communicate without issue. That is just one example of what is needed in an integration. Do you believe that a leader chosen from among you with your varied and tumultuous histories will be able to refrain from the squabbles of the past?”

Tara wanted to refute the man. She acknowledged that there was a thread of logic in bringing in someone from the outside, but that didn’t mean she liked it. She also didn’t like the idea that her people would be forced to learn some foreign language.

Language was life.

He was correct in that it was how people communicated, but it was so much more. A language was a growing thing that changed as people did. Its very essence was seeped in the history of its people, and no matter how good any translation was, it could never do justice to the original, for those who had been born in the language and understood its nuances and intricacies.

The kid might put flowers on the idea, but everyone speaking the same tongue across even a single planet would lead to homogenization and eventual stagnation as the rigid constraints of the language, unchanging and unbending, forced their thoughts into rigid predefined patterns.

These invaders from another reality might couch it as a good thing, but Tara could see this for what it was.

The death of Soerilia.

Tara just didn’t know what she could do to prevent it.

If even half of what the folder said was true, these people were like gods.

That thought had her looking over to the Grand Secretary of the Palkar Union. Gerard seemed genuinely apoplectic, and based on their almost religious belief in everyone being born equal and remaining equal throughout their life, with no person having more rights than another, it wasn’t surprising to see him reacting badly to the idea of real tangible differences in power between individuals.