>Out in the training grounds of the palace in the dawn’s light, the harsh peal of steel on steel rings out in brutal notes. A small crowd of griffin soldiers watch anxiously as the combatants clash over and over, each a hair’s breadth away from crippling the other with each violent meeting.     
>Two blades collide in a shower of sparks. One is thin, quick and held in a tense hand. The other is wide, powerful, and in the grip of powerful talons.
>At once, the swords disconnect and their owners jump back, both wanting a reprieve.
>Colonel Reeni stands at one side, her gallowglass longsword held in one set of talons as she takes a few deep breaths.
>On the other side is you. Shirtless, sweat covered, and gulping air. 
>Last night you were told that the Vähemmän, the lesser lords, the ones who will decide your claim to the throne, were arriving early. Months early, in fact.
>It went against everything you had planned. There is still so much you have to do, but it looks like fate had an ace up its sleeve.
>There is not much that can truly peeve you, but such a huge upheaval of everything you had carefully laid out was one of them. So you did what anyone else would have done.
>You blew off some steam.	
>The lovely young maid you pulled from her duties the night before is probably still passed out in your bed. 
>But even after that, you woke up still feeling ill-tempered. Luckily, Reeni was off her topside duties and up for a spar to rid you of the rest of your frustration    
>You struggle not to pant as you adjust the rapier-like weapon in your sweaty hand. Reeni was formidable even before she came under your command. The harsh Unohdettu training you forced on all of the griffons loyal to you had only made her that much more frightful in combat.
>The worst, however, is simply how she carries herself: with utter confidence and assurance in her own power. If you weren’t her lord, you might have been frightened.
>She recovers first, and in an impressive display of balance, raises herself onto her hind legs with her wings splayed out for stability.
>In an instant, she’s upon you, her sword flashing in a deadly, head-cleaving arc.
>You don’t think, just react as the world slows to a crawl.
>A flick of your thin weapon deflects Reeni’s lethal steel and you lash out at her eyes in return.
>Faster than what is natural, her longsword is in front of your swipe. The pair of blades meet in a resounding ring.
>She plants her free talon on the flat of her gallowglass and with a growl, brutally bashes you with the side of the sword.
>You let out a grunt as you backpedal from the rib cracking blow.
>She wastes no time and goes back on the offensive.
>Slash, parry, parry, feint, parry, slash, stab, slash, parry, stab, feint...
>You had taken up the art of melee combat shortly after arriving in this world and did just as you would with everything else you do: strive to perfect it.
>But even with all your diligent training and skill, you can still feel that you are losing ground against the griffon colonel.
>The baleful dance is watched closely by the surrounding soldiers, all of them not daring to take their eyes off of the combat for fear of missing something. After all, it’s not everyday you see two renowned figures locked in such an intense skirmish.
>Stab, parry, parry, slash, parry, lock, struggle, disengage, feint, parry, sidestep, parry...
>Reeni takes her sword in both talons and hacks at your head with all her considerable might.
>”Rrrrraaahhh!”	
“Damn!” you curse quietly under your breath as you duck under an arc of gleaming silver.
>You deflect another blow to the side, making her sword slide off yours with a metallic screech before you hop backwards and assess everything.
>Your heart is pounding in your ears, your lungs burn from complying to your body’s demands, and your limbs are shaky and weak.
>A glance at Reeni makes the situation even more hopeless. Her breathing is deep, but nowhere near as bad as yours. Her sword is still held firmly and ready for attack. Her eyes remain on yours rather than scanning your body, telling you that she already knows where you are weak. 
>It’s obvious, you’re not going to win. But you refuse to simply give up.
>With every bit of power you have left in your body, you make a final charge on the griffin.
>Everything slows down even further, letting you take in everything.
>The watching soldier’s eyes widening.
>The fluttering wings of a bird in the distance.
>The slow breaths that your opponent takes.
>The minute clouds of dust that your feet kick up.
>Surging adrenaline in your veins, it’s a wonderful feeling that you’ve been without for quite some time. 
>Reeni raises her gallowglass, bringing it to the side in preparation for a titanic strike.
>The muscles in her legs ripple before she shoots forward, making the ground under her paws buckle from the unearthly strength. Her wings flap in tune with her steps, speeding her up to a blur.
>Even against you of all people, her expression hardens, making her eyes flinty enough to give even the most seasoned fighter pause.
>In a split second, you’re hardly a meter away from her.
>You swing faster than what can be seen.	
>WHHHHERRRR!
>She does too.
>WHHHHEEERRR!
>CRRASHH!
>The weapons connect and yours shatters in a burst of glimmering shrapnel.
>Before you know it, a cold sensation settles on your sweat-soaked shoulder. Idly, you wish you could have the cool sensation over the rest of your body. 
>You tiredly look over and find the tip of Reeni’s sword resting there, ready to slice out your throat.
>Everything is silent.
>”I think this one goes to me. Do you yield, Lord Anon?” she asks simply.
>You take a deep breath to steady your out-of-control heart and just nod in response.
>The watching soldiers erupt into applause and cheering at the end of the intense match, all of them thrilled to have born witness to it.
>Dropping the now useless hilt of what was your thin sword, you motion for one of the idle troops to bring you your dress shirt, tie, and coat where you left them hanging on the doorknob to a small armory building.
>Once he gives you the articles of clothing, you and Reeni slowly begin to walk back to the palace as the soldiers get back to training.  
“I have to say, Reeni, you’ve certainly earned your place within the Dominion’s military,” you tell her while debating on whether you should put your discarded clothes on while still coated in sweat.
>Going shirtless back to your room isn’t going to hurt anyone.
>The griffon hen smiles at the compliment. “Thank you, sir! You’re certainly a challenge yourself. The learning curve for close combat is usually much harsher. How do you overcome that?”
>With a low chuckle, you wonder if you should tell her that humans are a race born and bred for violence. 
>She doesn’t need to know...
“I just put as much diligence and effort as I can into what I do. It’s far from pleasant most of the time, but the results are well worth it.”
>She slowly nods in agreement as you enter into the palace. The cool air of the huge stone building washes over you and makes your body tingle pleasantly.
>A glance down both sides of the hallway you and the Unohdettu lieutenant are essentially alone, meaning you can talk about more sensitive things with some caution. 
“So, what’s the status of the VIP preparations? I don’t want my first impression on the  Vähemmän to be anything but spectacular.”
>”They should be ready. If I recall correctly, then Lord Raskas of the South should the first to arrive,” Reeni recites after a moment of thought.
>At least something is going right. Of all the Vähemmän, Raskas is the most corrupt and easy to bribe. The fat, orange-plumed griffin inherited his position from his father, who was just as debauched and lazy. All of his languid and poor upbringing as a ruler would make it easy to lure him, and by proxy, his impressive wealth and forces right into your pocket.
>You let your lips rise into a small smile. It’s always nice to have an easy victory.
“Excellent. What of the unicorn I talked to?” you ask, idly hoping that she was a worthwhile investment. 
>It would be a shame if you had to put her down when such an opportunity only rarely comes by.
>Reeni frowns. “Trixie?” she asks. “She was released into the custody of the archivists and was granted access to the first floor the royal library’s restricted section. She’s been agreeable... for the most part.”
>You look at the colonel with a raised eyebrow as you feel your smile begin to die.
“For the most part?”
>Reeni runs her talons through her windswept crest feathers and sighs. “Although she’s had no qualms about being given access to the restricted section, she’s adamant that she doesn’t need to train the skills she acquires from the the magic tomes we have. So she’s learning, but she’ll never be of any use with how weak all of the spells are.”
>That’s not good, not at all. At this point, you can’t afford to have investments that aren’t at least going to break even on costs. Looks like you my have to do something about the situation.
“I’ll deal with that...” you mutter quietly, already brainstorming the best method. “What of the reconnaissance teams? Did they have anything to report?”
>”If I recall correctly, then the team sent to the Minos Isles has reported mostly positive news. They managed to scrounge up the blueprints to a few parts of the minotaur magic-fusion engine, which will make replicating it considerably easier. The scouts also got a rough estimate on minotaur forces and the direction their economy should take in the coming months.”
>You nod, signaling Reeni to continue.
>”The team sent to Equestria reports numerous successes. They have what should be a fairly accurate estimate on the Equestrian forces and economy, information on numerous important individuals, locations of interest noted, copies of several important documents, and notes for prime sabotage points. They’ve detected little to no misinformation during the mission and should return within the week.”
“Very nice. I’m not sure if the scouts are especially talented or if Equestria has really sunken so low with their security. Either way, they will be rewarded for their fine service. Continue.” 
>”Yes sir. Continuing on, the scouts sent to the changeling wastes were unable to approach without putting themselves in undue danger, so they observed from a distance. They have notes on the changeling’s mysterious abilities and a very rough estimate on their forces.” The griffon hen’s voice takes a slightly saddened tone as she carries on, “The scouts were discovered approximately one week into their mission. Although they managed to kill all of the aggressors and hide the bodies, one scout, Ruoskia, I think is his name, was given a debilitating injury. He was brought back to Koti Sydämemme and treated. Shortly after, he was honorably discharged and having his memories modified.”
>Ah. It’s always unpleasant to hear of one of your own being injured in the line of duty. He must’ve known the risks, however, so you can’t say that it upsets you much.
“Sad. He and his family have my regards,” you comment halfheartedly. “What about the last team?”
>”Something to note, the reconnaissance team sent to the Canine Republic capital are Chief and Boris’ kid, Erio.”
>Why in the world is Chief, an Unohdettu lieutenant, out on grunt work like a reconnaissance mission? And why is Boris’ brat out there with him?”
>Seeing the darkening look on your face, Reeni speaks up. “Sir? If I may offer my thoughts on this?”
“Speak.”	
>”It seems to me like Boris may have asked Chief to go on the mission with his son. He’s always been against Erio joining us,” she offers. This is one of the reasons you brought her on board: the good head on her shoulders.
>The satisfaction of picking a good lieutenant quickly fades, however, in favor of irritation.
“Reeni, I believe that Chief is significantly more valuable than a rookie. His strategic genius has pulled us out of more than one problem. I can’t help but find myself unamused.”
>You narrow your eyes and quietly growl in displeasure.
“Tell Boris that due to everything moving apace, that I’m postponing my inspection of my commissions until a later date. Also tell him that if this potential debacle is indeed his fault, then he and I will have words,” you say crossly, the underlying threat in your speech as plain as day. 
>The colonel gulps and nods quickly as she subtly edges away.	
>You and her walk for several minutes to an elevator and enter it before Reeni works up the courage to continue speaking.
>”I know that you are displeased with the situation, my lord, but do you still wish to hear what they have to report?” she asks as the elevator lurches and begins to rise.
“Go ahead.”
>She holds a balled up talon in front of her beak and clears her throat. “Right. As expected, they stayed just outside the city limits and observe from a distance due to the usual D-dog hostility. We’re getting conflicting reports from both of them. The one from Chief indicates that the dogs are rather idle at the moment and that there is nothing worth pursuing. The other from Erio says otherwise, that the dogs are planning on taking some sort of military action against a currently unspecified faction. We have reason to believe that he may be exaggerating.”
>Oh wonderful, simply divine! The rookie thinks that he can accomplish something by making up stories. He’ll definitely get a reprimand for such behavior.
>”All and all, they have nothing else that we don’t already know. We expect them to arrive back at headquarters within the week.”
>You sigh and rub your temples.	
“I suppose that there is more good news than bad, so I’m willing to take that.”
>The elevator stops on your floor, before the cage like doors open with a nasty squeak.
>You walk out and turn to the griffin still in the elevator.
“I have to go clean up and prepare for the summit, so I suppose this is farewell for now. Keep me up-to-date on anything you believe to be important when you can,” you order as you begin walking back to your quarters.
>You get a “Yes sir!” from behind you before the elevator doors squeak shut and begin moving, likely taking the colonel back to the soldier barracks.
>Unlike on the lower floors, you pass several griffons who give you odd looks for walking around shirtless. It’s not surprising, however, since you’ve almost always been fully clothed in front of others since taking residence here. 
>Walking into your quarters, you find the room tidied up, the bed made, and the sullied sheets on it changed.
>Looks like that maid woke up and decided to clean. How nice of her.
>You drop the shirt and coat still in your arms onto the bed and make your way to the bathroom for a hot shower.
>Who knew that running a country could be so trying?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



>As you were cleaning yourself off while pondering on the state of your position, affairs of another sort slowly unfold the palace council chambers.
>Harel, the eldest councilgriffin of Koti Sydämemme and spokesman of the body, sits alone as he scans over numerous documents with a weary expression.
>He didn’t want to believe it, he wanted to give Anonymous the benefit of the doubt, but the arrogant child DiVargin did not mislead him.
>Drug trade, unlawful surveillance, bribery, and so many other things that would put a ministry official in hot water. Anon has his hands dipped in all of it. It was also obvious that there is more that has yet to be revealed.
>All of this had been gathered by DiVargin’s not so well known ‘security forces’.
>The reports are vague, but no one would dare put such scandalous accusations on paper unless they were supremely confident in their findings. False information could easily lead to the destruction of one’s social integrity, and DiVargin, to his credit, has never taken such a blow.
>The old griffin sighs, feeling his seventy six years catching up to him.
>How could this have happened? How has so much taken place right beneath his beak, and without the slightest hint of deception to boot?
>Oh Anonymous... he seemed like such a charming young soul. Always working so hard and bringing a good name back to the Dominion ministry. Was all of it a ruse? Just a well acted façade so that he may further his own goals?
>It hurts. It hurts to think that someone who appeared so upstanding and trustworthy could be capable of such.
>What could Anonymous hope to gain from being involved in so much crime? He must have known that Pele was going to select him as a successor, so why would Anonymous go to all this trouble when his ascension to power is almost guaranteed?
>”Why, child? What are your ends and what do they mean for us?” Harel quietly questions himself.
>He slowly stands and paces around the council table in troubled thought. “As head of this council, I should be the one rooting out such corruption,” the griffin glumly says to himself. “Yet, here we are once more, in a quagmire with no clear escape.”
>Harel covers his face with a claw and slowly drags it down. “I knew I should’ve retired...”
>The elder scans his eyes over the portrait lined the walls of the spacious council room, as if hoping the paintings of his predecessors would offer their wisdom.
>He gets nothing from the stoic portraits.
>With a dejected sigh, he returns to his seat at the counsel table and closes his eyes, trying to think of the next step he takes.
>Who does he tell for something such as this? It’s not everyday that such a beloved official has such horrid crimes pinned to their name. Is there anyone he can even tell?
>Harel runs through a mental list, and of everyone he could think he can reveal DiVargin’s findings to, the other senior members of the council are the only ones who could be trustworthy enough.
>Even then, things look a little iffy...
>With a final look around the room, Harel gathers up the documents so... graciously given to him and slowly makes his way out of the council room.



xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


>”No, no ,NO!”
>In the dimly lit restricted archives, a book the size of a small child slams down on a flimsy desk, sending up a cloud of blinding dust. The loud noise makes the watching archivists wince.
>Once the dust settles, the angry visage of a blue unicorn becomes apparent as she stares at the innocent book balefully.
>This is far from what she wants. The spells here are weak and useless, only a fool would ever try and make use of such things.
>Trixie is no fool.
>”This is not going to work! Where are the powerful spells? The sort of things that a master of the arcane should know?  Trixie demands to be told!”
>She knows there are better things here. Destruction magic,  mind-ensnaring illusions, matter and energy conversion. REAL magic.   
>Oh how she longs to know true power. The sort that makes even the threads of reality weave into something beautiful, something in her own vision.  
>One of the archivists steps forward, the hooded robes signifying his job casting harsh shadows on his face in the low candle light. “You were told to learn and master the current levels before advancing as per Lord Anonymous’ orders. Do as you are ordered.”
>Trixie whirls to face him, her violet eyes blazing. “Trixie is beholden to nop0ny! Especially not some ape! This is a mutual partnership and nothing more!”
>All of the watching griffins recoil, as if confronted by a foul-tempered snake. Some of them clutch spots on their robes, revealing the outlines of daggers.
>The first archivist scowls as he fingers his own knife through the fabric of his clothing.  "It would do you well to never say such things again, should you wish to remain in the realm of the living," he hisses.
>if Trixie was threatened the slightest bit by the threat, she did not show it. “Please, do you really think you could harm Trixie? Your little master obviously saw her worth and wisely formed a partnership with her. Could you lay a talon on Trixie knowing your master freed her himself?”
>If looks could kill, then Trixie would have burst into flames from the intensity of the archivist’s horrid glare. “This still changes nothing. You are to learn what you are currently given and show expertise in its use before you are to move onto any more advanced subjects. These are the stipulations laid down by Lord Anonymous, and if you can’t follow them, then you simply will not learn,” he says resolutely.
>Trixie grits her teeth and narrows her eyes furiously, livid that she was so soundly shot down. “You cannot do that!”
>”I can, and I will.”
>How dare he!
>”You don’t seem to understand,” Trixie grounds out, “you are here to help Trixie expand her arsenal with spells of use. You are totally and utterly FAILING to do as you’re supposed to. Trixie has learned all these useless parlor tricks at your behest, but no more! It’s time to move on!”
>The griffin remain stoic and unyielding through the yelling, even as tiny droplets of spittle find their way into his feathers.
>Fine, if he wants to be that way, then he will have to see just how great a folly he is committing!
>The blue unicorn lights up her horn. Not to actually harm this poor cretin, but to give him the fright of a lifetime.
>The archivist keeps his face as unmoving as stone. That is, until his eyes shift upward slightly, then he goes wide eyed in alarm.
>Ha! He must see tha-
>A new voice echoes out in the room, interrupting Trixie’s inner monologue. 
>”Do I want to know what is going on here?”
>Trixie whirls around, her horn still alight and ready to blast the unfortunate soul behind her into next week.
>Or she would have blasted them, if the owner’s talons didn’t shoot forward and close around her horn in a brutal grip.
>It takes all of Trixie's constitution to not gasp and fall to her knees from the sudden shock of pain in her skull.
>The archivists silently watch, none of them moving to help Trixie were to hinder the new interloper.
>”If you are wise, then you will listen to old Boris, and calm down,” the now named Boris grimly states.
>His talons separate themselves from Trixie's horn, letting her back up and stare at the griffin in front of her warily.
>He’s old, is the first thing she notices. Definitely in his fifties or later if his sagging and lusterless rust orange plumage is any indicator.
>The illusionist looks over Boris with a careful eye, taking in everything she can with the observation skills that come from a lifetime of show business.
>A frown slowly finds its way to her face. This Boris is giving conflicting cues left and right. Outwardly, it seems as if he's perfectly at home within the window list restricted section.
>…At the same time though, his body is so tense that looks like he could spring up and move with haste his body shouldn't have, like he expected danger out of nowhere with lethal intent.
>The white lab coat around his body suggests that he must be a doctor or professor of some sort, yet he lacked any of the paraphernalia on his person to confirm the thought.
>What she did notice, however, was how beaten and dirty the article of clothing is. Rips, tears, burns, stains, and frayed ends litter the white cloth. It’s nigh impossible to tell what caused each little deformity on the coat.
> Trixie couldn't even make heads or tails of the stormy, almost defeated look in his gray eyes.
>He’s apparently some sort of big shot within the powerful nation of the Griffin Dominion, in the capital city castle no less, and the griffin looks as if he should be on antidepressants.
>None of it makes sense.
>The unicorn sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, silently cursing herself for not being able to read him deeper.
>But that can wait until later.
>”How DARE you!” Trixie all but roars in the old griffin's face, much to the surrounding archivist’s shock and mortification. “You think that you have any right to simply waltzing here and then put your talons on a lady?! Especially one such as myself?!”
>She takes a step forward, making all of the griffons around her sans the target of her ire grip their hidden weapons once more.
>Boris looks over to one of the robed griffins closest to him, as if you didn't notice the verbal abuse. “You. Retrieve for me a copy of Lampo the First’s notes on factual absolution, would you?” he asks, his tone still as dead as when he spoke before.
>The griffin looks between the furious unicorn and his superior dubiously, before nodding and slipping away to do as he’s told.
>”Do not ignore me!”
>Gray eyes slowly turn to meet burning violet, like the owner of the violet orbs is something vaguely interesting.
>Boris silently regards Trixie what appears to be a casual look, making the irritable scowl on her face deepen.
>The longer he looks, however, the more the unicorn fidgets in her spot.
>It’s not the common fear that ponies have of carnivores, for Trixie is too great for such a thing as annoying as instincts.
>Nor is it the cold hooves that many will get in the face of a superior, because Trixie is beholden to no one.
>So why is she becoming so Celestia damned nervous!?
>”Why are you here?”
>The sudden and unexpected noise pulls Trixie from her in her reverie. “What?”
>Boris looks at her, his eyes going from uninterested to as critical as can be, almost making the unicorn shrink down on herself.
>”I asked,” he starts in his droning voice, “why you are here. What is it that you wish to accomplish here?”
>The archivists look back and forth between the two in front of them, again not daring to interrupt for whatever reason.
>What is this old bird talking about? Why is she here? The answer should be as plain as Celestia's day. He can be truly asking that, can he?
>”Trixie is here to bolster her repertoire with new spells and increase her power,” Trixie states simply, purposely leaving out that her endeavors are to push an agenda of vengeance forward.
>Boris raises an eyebrow, totally unconvinced with the lackluster answer. “That’s it?”
>Now it's Trixie's turn to be incredulous. “You’re saying Trixie needs a reason other than to further herself?” she asks.
>The old griffin frowns, pronouncing the wrinkles in his face and making him look a shocking amount older. “No. No I suppose not,” Boris replies, not even bothering to hide his very blatant disappointment.
>”Miss Trixie,” interjects the lead archivist, finally speaking up, “you should be studying, not bothering Sir Boris. You still have a great number of things to go.”
>Before Trixie can even turn and begin another rant, a held up right talon from Boris stops them both.
>Trixie idly notes that the raised foreleg only has three toes on it.
>”Sidottu, is it?” Boris asks, getting a nod in return from the robed griffin. “It is fine, I’m finding my conversation with this young mare to be… enlightening.”
>The way he said that sent a jolt of nervousness through Trixie.
>”If it is alright with you, I would rather carry on until my notes arrive.”
>Sidottu looks as if he wants to protest, but whatever he has to say stays firmly locked within his beak.
>With future interruptions silenced, Boris turns back to the blue mare. “I’ll ask again, why are you here? What are you truly hoping to attain by allying yourself with the Dominion?”
>This old bird’s age is certainly beginning to show, because Trixie swore that she answered the very same question just a few minutes prior. Why would he ask again? Where is the use in repeating herself?
>After a minute of silence staring and no answer, the orange plumed griffin simply sighs and shakes his head, as if again disappointed with the young mare in front of him.
>”Tell me,” he starts, “why are you so resistant to learning what has been offered to you? The Dominion archives are a trove of knowledge second only to Canterlot, yet you throw tantrums when you are expected to follow a lesson plan. I cannot seem to puzzle such a thing out.”
>It takes every bit of her self-control to not start screaming again.
>”First off,” Trixie says, little higher than a hiss, “there is nothing even remotely useful within the so-called ‘restricted’ spell books. It’s all been nothing but things that any old buffoon could do!”
>”Compared to whom?” he asks.
>What?
>”What?” Trixie asks with a blink, mirroring her inner question.
>Boris looks over to the large book sitting on the table, squinting to make out the title in the flickering candle light.
>”What I mean is-“
>”Sir Boris?”
>Everyone turns to see the young archivist sent away earlier, now back and holding a folder under one of his wings.
>He looks uncomfortable with all the stares, so he simply pulls the folder from under his wing and hold it out to Boris.
>The older griffin takes it wordlessly with his three toed foreleg and stows away the folder within his coat.
>He looks back to Trixie. “It appears that our conversation is going to be cut short. Before I go, I have a few things you would probably find helpful.”
>Boris walks up closer, until his chipped and unwashed beak is right next to the unicorn’s ear.
>”I don’t know just how far along that Lord Anonymous has led you, and I cannot tell you everything, but I urge you to remember my words and always keep them in mind,” he whispers with a tone so low that Trixie can hardly make it out.
>”The web so ensnaring is spun with silver, reflecting light all around. If untanglement be your wish, don’t struggle and hide in the dark, but climb towards the highest light,” he says as quietly as possible.
>She could've swore that she heard a faint warble of fear in the whisper.
>What is this? Some cryptic message is supposed to help her? With what, magic? How completely and utterly preposterous!
>Yet, despite the sneer on her face, Trixie’s blood runs cold by the end of Boris’ short speech.
>Said griffin backs up a few steps and looks over the assembled archivists and the aspiring mage, before turning and promptly exiting.
>Weird old bird…
>”Miss Trixie?”
>The blue mare sighs at the sudden wave of fatigue washing over her. “Just get me the next book in the series, and some writing material as well,” she says, too tired to argue any further.
>Before she knows it, the requested book, some parchment, an inkwell, and a quill are on the desk.
>Trixie settles herself in front of the desk and looks over everything, thinking back to what she was asked earlier.
>What exactly is she comparing herself to here? The imbecile, Sparkle? Is that why all of what she is learning seems pointless?
>Opening the book, Trixie halfheartedly scans the first page, titled “The purposes and applications of energy constructs”.
>The average unicorn certainly couldn't do anything like this. Only adept Equestrian mages and better could use magic such as this.
>Maybe these parlor tricks will be sufficient for now…
>Looking at the quill on the desk, the old griffin’s message seems to echo almost hauntingly within her head.
>What did he mean? What good can possibly come from something so useless?
>She still found herself writing down the message anyway.
 
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 
>Today is it.
>You stand outside the palaces southern gate in full formal wear just as the first rays of the sun peak over the mountains around the city.
>To your left is Reeni, a handful of other military officers, and a general. All of them are as stoic and unmoving as a collection of brick walls.
>To your right is assorted nobility, ministry officials, and wealthy merchants. Among them are DiVargin and a bored looking Gilda, the former of whom is looking especially smug today.
>In a way, you're glad for him. He may as well pull as much enjoyment from as he can, seeing as how you won't let him interfere with your claim for the throne in any way.
>Whatever convoluted scheme he has cooked up will fail, you’re sure of it.
>And finally, there’s you within the center of the formation, the hand-picked next in line for the throne.
>Everyone waiting is arranged in a large arrow out on the path to the palace, not too dissimilar from a flock of migrating birds. If it weren't so unbecoming, then you might have laughed.
>It’s tradition for guests of great importance to be greeted in such a formation, and it’s something that you're certain Raskas will enjoy.
>The fat bastard loves to feel important, as you learned from his last visit during Pele’s reign.
“Should be any time now…” you say quietly to yourself as you straighten a wrinkle on your silken top.
>Sure enough, a line of dots appear on the horizon. They’re almost unnoticeable at first, but the formations of chariots and carriages pulled by armor-clad griffins quickly comes into focus.
>Then you notice something else. The sound.
>Of all the factions of the Dominion, the southern citadel of Roteva Este is the home to some of the largest and most imposing combatants to ever live. Some are so powerful that they can FLY into battle wearing armor hewn from stone and held together by steel. The secret to breeding such warriors is so jealously guarded that there isn't even a place to start on researching how to emulate it.
>With any luck, you will be the first to end that…
>Even with the great distance, it’s easy to tell that the flying griffons are at least a head and a half taller than the inhabitants of Koti Sydämemme.
>Their wings are flapping with such force that the noise can be heard all the way to where you stand in front of the palace.
>And they must still be miles out, at least.
>A few moments of waiting and they are within the city limits, letting you see the lavish gold and black decorated transports attached to the flying soldiers.
>Slowly, they angle towards the southern gate and drop into a lazy descent.
>The first member of the Vähemmän, Raskas of the South, has arrived.

>"Come on! There has to be something we can do!"
>"For the last time, kid. This is reconnaissance work and nothing else!"
>"But I know the dogs are up to nothing good! You know it's true as well."
>"We're not supposed to act upon impulses and assumptions. That sort of thing gets griffins killed out in the field.”
>"That's the thing! It's not an assumption, it's fact!"
>"Maybe, but it’s a 'fact' with no evidence. Now simmer down and keep watch."
>Erio lets out an exaggerated groan only a frustrated teen could make at his partner's retort. 
>This is getting them nowhere!
>The young griffin sighs and looks up at the sun that's just beginning to hit high noon. 
>He and Chief have been here on this plateau for days now without even the slightest bit of...well...anything!
>Worse yet, the older griffin won’t even hear him out on the subject of the dog’s obvious mischief! It’s like he’s ignoring it!
>With a huff, the young griffin flops down onto his stomach and stares towards the shanty-lined city with a vacant expression. 
>From his side, Chief only shakes his head. 
>The noon sun leisurely moves across the clear blue expanse of the sky with agonizing slowness, as if to mock Erio’s bored self.
>Again, he looks up, and again he has to force down a loud groan. The sheer amount of nothing he experienced in the last few long days had sent even his mind into the doldrums. No amount of fantasizing about kicking dog behind and being lauded as a hero would cut it anymore. 
>Not even the one where the lovely colonial Reeni wanted to reward him ‘personally...’
>Settling his head onto his foreleg, the young griffin half-heartedly reached into his pack and procured his telescope before pointing it at the dog capitol building.
>A clawful of the mangy mutts are going in and out, most of them dressed in high-class suits that look ridiculous on their gorilla-like frames. Others simply sport the iconic collars of their race and continue nude. 
>Erio sighs and rubs his tired eyes with balled-up talons. There’s nothing even remotely interesting going on. 
>”Tired, kid?”	
>Erio looks up from his eye-crust covered talons to see Chief scribbling away in a small notebook. “No one ever told me the hours,” the lower ranked member grumbled. 
>”We don't get the luxury of set hours,” he starts, “we go where we’re needed. Wherever Lord Anon points us. But we’re supposed to get the best training there is before we’re let out into the field.”
>Chief sets the pen in his talons down and levels his partner with a scrutinizing eye.
>Poor Erio squrims under the unsetting look. 
>”You did complete basic and get the sleep deprivation technique down, right?”
>The lesser griffin steels himself and scowls. “Of course I did! Why else would I be out here? Do you think I’m a cheat or something?”
>The elder shakes his head. “Boris let you skip some of the training, didn’t he?” he asks, ignoring Erio’s questions.
>”Wha- How did you know!?”
>Chief snorts. “I didn’t know, only suspected it. Thanks for confirming it for me, though.”
>With that, the older griffin goes back to writing.
>Almost seething with how easily he’d been fooled into giving such info about his father out, Erio turns back to his telescope and stares at a random building, willing to to catch fire and give him SOMETHING to look at.
>The poorly maintained structure doesn’t heed his wish.
>It only serves to frustrate the young griffin even further.
>Turning his attention back to the capital building, Erio zooms back in for another look, hoping beyond all hope that-
>Wait...
>Walking up the cracking stone steps of the building is the same a trio of dogs that Erio had spied arguing with any warehouse just a few days ago.
>Every bit of fatigue in the young Unohdettu's body is expelled just by the sight. 
>The three dogs stop just short of entering the building as Thin-muzzle takes charge and explains something to the other two, who both nervously nod and eye the briefcase in Thin-muzzle's loose grip.
>Erio frowns to himself, idly wishing he could read lips. It would make the nature of the unexpected meeting much more clear.

>The three standing and converse for several minutes with none of the passing dog bureaucrats and politicians paying them any mind.
>Finally, Thin-muzzle looks down at his briefcase with a small, mocking smile that can't possibly mean anything good. 
>Erio lifts his eye from the telescope and looks back over at Chief, only to find him still scribbling away in his notebook. Good.
>Looking back through the telescope once more, the young Unohdettu just catches the suspicious trio as they entered the capital building and disappear from sight.
>Another half-cautious, half-suspicious glance at Chief reveals that the older griffin is still not paying attention to his younger counterpart.
>Good, that should give him more time to plan.
>Just as Erio thinks that, Chief's bag of supplies begins to vibrate quietly at three second intervals, making both of the Dominion agents snap their heads to the quiet sound.
>The grey-plumed griffin reaches his talons inside and fishes for the offending object. A moment later, a glass bottle with its middle wrapped in copper wire and topped with a cork is pulled from the depth.
>Erio blinks to himself, not sure what the world a little glass bottle could-
>Before he can finish the thought, the exposed neck of the glass container lights up an eerie green for a split second. If it were dark out, then the glow would have lit up the entire stakeout point.
>The light fades rapidly, leaving the glass a dim and inert once more, but with a distinct difference this time.

>Inside the bottle is a rolled up sheet of parchment where there was nothing before.
>As Erio puzzled over the seemingly magic item, his older partner pops the cork off and tips the bottle into his free talon, where the parchment drops.
>With speed belying his age, the senior agent breaks the wax seal holding the parchment closed and scans through the contents with rapid twitches of his eyes. Once done reading the message, he shreds the parchment into thin slivers with his sharp claws and drops it over the side of the plateau, where it drifts down in a cloud of yellow particles.
>The whole thing took roughly half a second.
>Erio can't help but gape at what he had just seen. That sort of speed and dexterity is totally unheard of outside of the the truly elite of the Dominion's forces. 
>Replaying the brief memory in his head makes a cold lump settle within Erio's stomach. The Unohdettu, at least to his limited knowledge, are supposed to be among the greatest that the Dominion has to offer. Seeing Chief do such a thing shouldn't have been such a surprise, but it was, and it drove a hard point home.
>He's been skimping on his training, the teachings he had willingly taken to better himself for both his loved ones and his country. 
>Even worse, he'd been doing it on purpose...
>The thought makes Erio scowl hatefully. Why did he feel so lazy during basic training? Why did he have his father skip him ahead? Why was the training so damn difficult?
>"I wanted to join to make a difference..." the young griffin says lowly to himself, "I want to help push everyone forward. But..."

>He looks down at his open talons, which seem so thin and weak compared to Chief's. 
>Is this the path he wants to go down?
>...No. There's no possible way this could continue...
>Images fly through the griffin's mind. His friends, his comrades, his leaders... his father...
>What would they say? Would they be disappointed? Disappointed with his weakness? His lack of resolve?
>Erio grits his beak and clinches his talons closed so hard that his claws dig into his skin and draw blood.
>No. The fooling around needs to stop. This is not what he wants to do with his life.
>"Hey, kid," Chief speaks up, pulling a smidgen of Erio's attention away from his inner monologue, "we just got an order. The mission's been cut short and we're leaving the night after the coming one, when we have enough cloud cover to slip away."
>The grey-feathered griffin looks at Erio with a raised eyebrow when he receives no response, but finds the youth staring at his own talons with an intense gaze.
>How curious...	


________________________________________


>The sun had just begun to set back within Koti Sydämemme, heralding the beginning of dinner within the monolithic palace in the center of the city.
>It had been a trying day for everyone. Raskas' arrival was so sudden that there was practically no time to prepare. 
>All day maids and servants had been scrambling around as if someone had set their fur afire. All of them have been stressing, sweating, and cursing more than you had ever seen.
>Not to say it's been easy for you, either. All day, you played host to the piggish and wholly unpleasant griffin named Raskas as well as his entourage of titanic guards.
>To give the servants more time to prepare the palace into something most impressive, you had been forced to lead around the Vähemmän to areas that were ready beforehand, meaning you had spent the entire day with him.
>Of course, the fat tub saw fit to open his mouth about every little thing. Whether it was to downplay the splendor of Koti Sydämemme and its palace or to glorify his own citadel of Roteva Este. How this arrogant, incompetent lump became one of the ruling powers of the Dominion, you will never know. 
>He even went as far as to mock the city's army right in front of you and Reeni, who was with the small group at the time, then boasting about his "so expertly trained juggernauts."
>Reeni, who was certainly beyond miffed, excused herself shortly after, lest she do something that could earn her a prison sentence. Personally, you didn't blame her at all. Had it been Gilda there, the fat ruler may have been mauled to death. 
>If it weren't for the severe repercussions that would come from doing so, you would give into your own urges and ripped the Vähemmän's throat out before the first hour had even come and gone.
>You didn’t, however, as being disemboweled by the six foot tall griffins at his side would have put a nasty stopper on your future.  
>But luckily, this long, practically torturous day is coming to a very appreciated end. Just a bit longer and you will be free.
>A loud, reverberating voice brings you back to awareness.   
>"...Then I told the poor sod 'this is no coin, it's an old sword pommel!’"
>The large, circular main table within the dining room erupts into quiet peals of chuckles at Vähemmän Raskas' joke, yourself included.
>You certainly have to hand it to the rest of the guests in attendance, they are beyond excellent at faking laughter, easily on par with yourself.
>The mammoth table is practically filled to capacity. Raskas', a pair of his goliath soldiers, yourself, Gilda, Reeni, a Koti Sydämemme general whose name escapes you, DiVargin, Harel of the council, and a rabble of other nobles and politicians whom you don't care to name find themselves in attendance. 
>Raskas takes a moment to finish off a morsel upon his second plate with decidedly more noise than needed. "Ah, but enough of myself... For now, we're here about Sir Anonymous, are we not?"
>The eye's of the table turn to you, but you keep your neutral gaze locked with Raskas' pig-like eyes.
>You can only hope that this overblown bastard will be the falling domino to sway the other Vähemmän and that all your efforts here today weren't in vain.
>And to think, he's without a doubt the most manageable of the five…
“Indeed. Let’s talk about what we can do for each other, Sir Raskas.”
>Never a moment's rest, it seems.