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An elevated platform stood at the center of a vast hall designed like an auditorium, its pristine walls adorned with the flags of various clans. Each banner bore a proud sigil, representing generations of hard-won respect. This platform served as the official gathering place for the most influential clans and their leaders—a tradition that began after a peace treaty was signed, becoming an open way to discuss problems and grievances inside the Eros Alliance.

During those public discussions, it also welcomed diplomatic guests and representatives from kingdoms and empires who sought to observe and participate in the clan traditions, trying to build relationships and help their allied clans.

Other participants, representing the lesser members of the Eros Alliance, were circling the platform. Although they had the right to be present, their individual voices had little influence on the grander decisions.

"My name is Alexander K. Leonandra, son of Eastern Moorgrelian Knight Marisia S. Leonandra and Kairoso Leonandra, a Druid of the Twin-Acorn Temple," came Alexander's gentle, warm voice as he addressed the many attentive faces before him. "I hope for a constructive discussion that will, ideally, climax in a harmonious outcome for everyone here."

Light laughter rippled through the crowd, drawing a puzzled look from Alexander. "Oh?" he asked with a faint, innocent smile, scratching the back of his neck as his tail flicked in confusion. "Did I say something wrong?" He became embarrassed, his cheeks coloring faintly.

"Don't worry, Mr. Alexander," a warm voice assured him from across the circular table. "You probably meant culminate."

As the voice faded, its owner rose to his feet—an earth djinn with polished caramel skin and dark forest-green eyes that exuded the unyielding strength of mountains. He stood as the sole representative of the earth djinn kin, embodying their forced unity and enduring resilience in a space dominated by powers mostly hostile toward them.

"I shall introduce myself as well," locks of hair fell over part of his face, hinting at quiet mystery. Despite his calm demeanor, his posture was poised and commanding, his flawless armor gleaming beneath the hall's crystal lights as he spoke. "My name is John, representing the Steel-Mountain clan."

The clan mentioned was renowned for its crafting, mining, and combat traditions—values deeply ingrained in their identity. Through these skills, they proved their worth against hostile rivals and earned their place within the alliance. Among the clans, they were staunch advocates for a closer coalition with the Moorgrelians, viewing the Beast Kin as a more reliable partner than their estranged kin—a reflection of internal discord but, for Alexander, a promising opportunity to exploit.

Alexander chuckled, briefly lowering his gaze. "Thank you, Sir John. Please forgive my slip as I continue refining my language skills." His smile radiated sincerity, prompting murmurs among the onlookers. "Like many wonderful things, one cannot immerse oneself in your beautiful culture and language every day, can they?"

Representatives of smaller clans, unions, and businesses whispered among themselves, their conversations laced with the swirling rumors within the Eros Alliance. Chief among these was Alexander's moniker, "Saint," a title he had meticulously crafted to eclipse all others—an image of quiet benevolence strengthened by his unassuming demeanor. While the approval of some resonated in Alexander's ears, the animosity of others was just as palpable as his very presence seemed to provoke disdain.

'Assholes,' Alexander thought, keeping his outward expression tinged with mild embarrassment and a comforting demeanor. The derogatory whispers, loud enough for him to catch, only hardened his resolve. 'I'll remember you, little fuckers.'

The Eros Alliance faced a stark divide, torn between outward expansion and inward consolidation—tolerance versus isolationism. The more prominent clans embodied these contrasting ideologies, with some striving to grow through new alliances, seeking opportunities in novel regions of Orbis where they could thrive. Others clung desperately to their power, fully aware that deeper integration between Moorgrel and the Eros Alliance would dilute their influence. The logic was simple: as the "cake" grew larger, their share would shrink proportionally, diminishing their control over policies and governance.

A similar divide existed in Mal-Gil, where Moorgrel adopted a highly diplomatic approach, seizing every opportunity to forge new friendships. In contrast, the central regions remained deeply entrenched in the past, clinging to their traditions. A prime example of this disparity was Alexander's household, which, while relatively open to outsiders, exhibited a greater willingness to engage than any of his kin households ever did.

"Dear Mr. Alexander," a woman's voice spoke up—a strikingly mature djinn with a curvaceous figure, which was rare among her kind. She shifted gracefully in her seat, patiently smiling as she addressed him. "There's no need to feel uneasy; many of us could barely read at your age while you dabble in our complex traditions," her voice carrying a soothing, almost mesmerizing tone as she regarded him intently.

"I'm grateful for your kind words, Ms. Theressa Hearthstove," Alexander replied, his eyes shifting to his other ally. "But I am sure once we get to know each other, we can create much more beautiful traditions with those differences."

The Hearthstove clan, unassuming in name, wielded significant control over the Underworld and the red-light districts. Theressa, a mixed breed, secured her place on this platform solely through her considerable influence. Yet, despite her power, many refused to show her the respect she rightfully deserved due to her lineage.

'That's right,' Alexander thought as he sought to rally allies who felt marginalized. Though he couldn't contact her directly, there was a mutual, unspoken understanding of their shared objectives. It was like a buffet of potential allies waiting to be gathered, and all he needed was a unifying ideology to give them room to thrive.

Alexander was about to sit down, but before he could lower himself, an abrupt wave of hostile aura rushed toward him, halting his movement. "I won't delay any—" he started, only to break off as a sudden heat surged through his veins. The person he'd been waiting for had finally shown her hand.

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"You insolent creature," rasped an elderly woman draped in ornate traditional garments and leaning heavily on an intricately carved wooden staff. She stood tall, her fiery eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. "Do you truly believe you can insult us with such brazen audacity?"

'At last,' Alexander thought, suppressing the urge to smirk. 'The isolationist has finally revealed herself.' The temptation to act on his plan was nearly overwhelming, but he knew the other clans around him remained undecided—especially those he needed as allies. 'Patience,' he reminded himself, maintaining an outward facade of mild confusion, though the slight twitch of his ears betrayed his focus.

"Ms. Orayas Pure-Steam, may I—"

She cut him off. "It's Dame Orayas Pure-Steam!" she snapped. Her aura flared, pushing outward as a mist of scalding steam surged toward Alexander—only to dissipate as though confronted by an invisible barrier.

A calm, clear voice broke the tension. "I'm sure you'd also prefer to avoid The Nightmare descending upon you," it said. A woman rose beside Alexander, wearing a flowing, blueish dress whose hem swayed with each sharp click of her high heels. The crowd turned toward her, many wearing thinly veiled expressions of disgust as her light-bluish skin caught their eye. She smiled with haughty self-assurance, her gaze lowered as though addressing a room full of inferiors. "Now, I'd like to continue our introductions," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "Dame Pascal—here as a private individual, ready to discuss certain pressing issues involving my territory, which happens to be occupied due to the doings of the Pure-Steam Clan."

Pascal's gaze shifted to Alexander, her greyish-blue eyes narrowing appraisingly. He flinched ever so slightly, offering an awkward smile. "Thank you, Dame Pascal," Alexander said with a warm gratitude, making her arch an eyebrow. She was clearly puzzled by his meek reaction, though she guarded her thoughts.

Pascal, his most unlikely ally on the same side of the platform, was a mix-breed and, like the representatives from the Eros Alliance, an outsider within the Essence Alliance. To many, her presence was nothing short of an eyesore. To Alexander, she was invaluable—a perfect lightning rod for animosity, allowing him to amass goodwill among the undecided and fearful quietly.

Before Alexander could express gratitude for her intervention in a way that would even please others, he felt another wave of pressure. Orayas was far from finished; her acid-laced and searing aura flared anew, threatening to melt the young noble away. But Pascal neutralized it almost casually, her own aura overriding Orayas's malice. While Alexander knew he could have held his ground somewhat, he opted to lean into the image of a non-confrontational scholar, preserving his carefully curated persona.

"I'm confused," Alexander said as he took a cautious step backward, his voice tinged with nervous laughter. "Isn't it a platform to foster peace?"

The tension in the hall reached a breaking point as Orayas's aggression intensified. Barry and Lili were on edge and ready to execute her. 'This old hag,' Alexander thought, forcing a fearful expression to maintain his saintly persona for the sake of his plan. Yet, beneath his outward composure, his blood simmered, his instincts stirring, and his skills itching to be unleashed. He justified his restraint as diplomatic prudence—too precious to threaten a foreign diplomat or a noble. Deep down, though, his desire to decapitate her was rooted in far pettier motivations.

'They deserve it,' Alexander stopped his retreat, narrowing his eyes at Orayas. 'I can't believe I ever pitied them.'

Throughout his intricate schemes, weaving conspiracy upon conspiracy, Alexander occasionally felt a pang of pity for those who suffered as collateral damage to his ambitions. He was fully aware that he was playing a dangerous game for his own benefit, always ready to shift the blame as needed—a tactic that ultimately positioned the Pure-Steam Clan as his ideal scapegoat. Yet, as he met their hateful, disgusted gazes, he was confronted by the grim realities of this world. He realized that, if given a chance, these isolationist clans—eager to align with The First Servants, humans, dwarves, elves, and gnomes—would gladly shackle his kin once more, perpetuating the cycle of oppression his people had fought so hard to break seven thousand years ago.

Alexander crafted a mana construct, preparing to amplify his voice. Though the moment was unplanned, he knew he couldn't let it slip away. 'Focus,' he thought, channeling all his diplomatic skills. He braced himself to anticipate every possible response, aiming to counter them swiftly and maximize the goodwill he could garner.

"I see now why you attacked Dame Pascal's territory," Alexander announced suddenly as his voice echoed through the hall, his tone sharper, his stance more confident. "You used displaced refugees to do your dirty work. It explains why you're so hostile toward me—the one who's been aiding those poor souls who now resist your tyranny!"

A heavy silence followed Alexander's words. He had hoped to approach the topic with more finesse, but Orayas's blatant hostility made it clear she was out for blood. 'Can't believe they even let her on this stage,' he thought, puzzled by the coalition of isolationist clans watching her with such conflicted expressions. 'What exactly are they even trying to achieve?'

Though part of a larger coalition that afforded them a voice in this forum, the Pure-Steam Clan remained relatively minor. They had secluded themselves on a remote, occupied island at the fringes of Eros Alliance territory. As Alexander caught sight of Orayas's livid scowl, he knew this was his moment to push forward. If he hesitated, the factions might intervene, forcing him to find another scapegoat, or if it would turn upside down, finishing early amidst the rapidly escalating tensions, and with key parts of his plans still unfinished, he had to act decisively. However, he still had to wait for someone else to engage.

"Lila, aren't you ashamed?" Fortunately, the final representative rose. His bearing exuded wealth and superiority. "You once claimed the Leonandras had learned to reason," he said, his voice filled with contempt.

At Alexander's side, Lila flinched, having remained a silent and passive participant until now. Her nervousness among the imposing figures surrounding her was evident. While her clan was respected and had risen in power due to the traditions her half-sister had "skillfully" leveraged, Lila was still too young and inexperienced.

Alexander's mind raced, strategizing how to shield Lila since he couldn't lose any ally. 'Divide and conquer it is,' he mused inwardly, watching as everything clicked into place like the gears of a well-oiled machine, each piece aligning seamlessly.

"Sir Kayris Golden-Ember, if I'm not mistaken?" Alexander asked, a measured smile on his lips. "Weren't you the one exploiting those refugees by using the Pure-Steam Clan so they could conquer part of the Essence Alliance territory, only to help the clan Lila waged against to win the mentioned wager?"

'No turning back,' Alexander grimaced as he had to lie now, but fortunately, it didn't matter since he found a way to shield Lila and attack the Golden-Ember clan.

In Alexander's view, the numerous economically significant coalitions, clans, and unions could be divided into two factions: those advocating for free trade and those opposing it. Golden-Ember had firmly aligned with the isolationist side, leveraging the lack of trade options to monopolize and exploit smaller clans without other means to buy or sell their goods.

Alexander needed to attack the Golden-Ember Clan and use them as an example, focusing any hate he could on them. 'All my pieces are here,' he thought, his inward smile curving into a sly crescent as his eyes gleamed with mischief. He surveyed the numerous smaller clans, ready to transform this forum into a powerful force aligned with his promises to Lavafist.

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