"Some believe the gods hated us."

Those quiet words break this silence with an almost cataclysmic force, the entire contingent in this train carriage jumping at the suddenness of his longing voice. It's the first time he's spoken in almost a day in their presence, and now this Crown Prince shatters the world like thunder as he stares out the window of the armored train carriage. "They came down from the sky, crossing that gap—crossing it to scour our world. Scour it clean of us."

Even his four guards, in their black and gold trimmed uniforms, their blades and handguns, their seemingly semi-transparent plates of abyssal dark armor, take a moment to exchange confused glances—all returning to his gaze outside.

"So we built that."

It's like a mountain half-buried in the earth, a hand of broken fingers reaching for something above the clouds—a corpse trying to dig its way out from the ground. An almost supernatural darkness coating the decaying ruin of squares the size of cities and esoteric runes deeper than canyons, a dead god eating away the light in its eternal vigil to a heaven above.

The young woman across from him at this table makes the comment, interrupting this royal with a near-comical disrespect of manners. "I-it looks like a cannon. Pointed up."

He carefully nods at that observation, keeping his gaze out at that monstrous thing growing closer with each minute of travel. "It was. A very long time ago."

"And did… did it work?"

The Crown Prince of the Tianci Dominion, Zai Tianci, doesn't answer that politically married wife of his for a long time. Keeping his eyes out towards that mountain of arcanite steel and divine purpose, keeping his mind free of that overwhelming fear crawling into him.

He finally gives her a rhetorical question. "We're still here, aren't we?"

She answers it, trying her best in her confusion. "I-I mean… y-yeah?"

"We had to kill gods for our own survival." Zai tells her, a dead expression on his face, in his eyes, in his hollow voice. "Our ancestors, all human kind, made weapons to slay those who helped us cross the gap. We made a choice."

Us or them.

This young woman, with those sharp facial features, that head of hastily braided blonde hair messier than it had any right to be, and eyes of a piercing blue, has nothing in her subtle silence and subterfuge. Because within this Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium, Sophia Elise the Eighth, the sole foreigner amongst this grouping of Tiancin, is utter carnage.

The Central Committee of Consciousness is on top of those words spoken by that husband, this vast semi-democratic council of thought processes re-reading the transcripts for the fifth time in a desperate panic for answers.

There has to be some analogy he's making there! One thought concludes. Something to do with making choices… or maybe a lesson on how old the Dominion is?

Another process dismisses the question. Face the facts, it's probably the first one. It's all about the *choices* we'll make in this position as Lady-Consort. We're about to face the Landfall court right? It's the bloodiest one in all of Ensolia!

It did have a point, and the rest of the Committee nods along in agreement.

And so the Internal Monologue sets the stage, snapping its fingers as this next part of the response is composed and delivered out to the Crown Prince.

"Do you think it was the right one?" Sophia asks with an almost naive innocence.

"I think…" Zai pauses at that question, trying to come up with an answer both theologically and diplomatically appropriate. "Given the circumstances of the time, I suppose it was an appropriate response for old humanity. When the gods came those many thousands of years ago, we only cared about our survival—not the reasons why they came in the first place."

This Imperial Princess gives her imperial answer without even thinking. "Well, I believe if anyone comes to your home trying to kill you, you should have the right to defend yourself!

And after a long silence, she clears her throat. "…right?"

Zai inhales, keeping himself composed. "That is certainly… a perspective on that, yes."

Pretty sure there's some serious religious implication in your answer that you just glossed over. Sophia's brain tells her. Good job.

"Well, it's an Imperial perspective on the matter." She continues to dig this hole. "The Goddess did betray her own kind for us, so I suppose we were in the right to defend ourselves. We did win, after all."

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There's a longing in Zai's gaze as he brings it from one of the seven heavenly guns and back to the train carriage, back to this Fourth Princess of their northern neighbor beyond the Wailing Fang Mountain Range. No energy for a theological debate, no space for anything more than an observation as they all feel this armored carriage begin to shift in a long, banking turn. "Were it so easy."

The train cars clack over the rails, the engine rumbles through the floorboards, and they all live in silence.

It never is so easy…

The Political Apparatus had cleared half the rails for this procession of one, planning this emergency return of their royal masters with an expected, yet vicious efficiency.

The Dominion's fledging system of railways, those critical arterial vessels connecting this state by threads, blocked in a near-deadly stroke to allow them to return aboard this monster.

This machine wasn't like anything Sophia had seen before, much less ridden on.

In her short twenty one years now she had of course taken the usual transportation methods for an Imperial Princess: from those fancy new motor carriages and even an aerostatic (that was a long time ago), but this train was something more… evil.

Nothing like those train carriages built for comfort and rideability, none of that usual efficiency that the Imperium had spoiled her with. Out here, in the Dominion, it all seemed a little too militarized.

An artillery carriage with enough firepower to assault a small fort, a garrison of soldiers in their three carts with enough machine guns and bodies to perhaps fight off an army, and a central carriage with armor thicker than this Fourth Princess' forearm—this entire train was made to survive practically everything except a transit deadline.

Sophia asks the question impatiently. "How much longer until we reach Landfall?"

Zai exhales carefully, avoiding the sigh. "A few more hours. Four at minimum given our pace of travel."

One of Zai's four Guardians lets out an audible scoff, the tall formed, short haired Guardsman Mori Fushimi keeping her hands folded behind her back and posture straight. She corrects him, taking a casual yawn as she does so. "Sire, if we're just reaching the heavenly gun-line we've still got a bit more ways to go. I'd say seven hours~"

Oh thank the Goddess. Sophia sighs to herself, letting herself truly settle down a bit more in a mannerless slouch on this far too comfortable seat.

The snap comes without warning, Zai's tone falling right onto her neck.

"Sit properly."

His voice is a mousetrap across the table, springing shut on her like some unfortunate royal rat.

A flurry of movement; an arched back straightened, heels clapped together, wrists folded on her lap like a state portrait sitting within the halls of the Imperial Palace.

"W-what?"

"Posture is important." Zai says, keeping his eyes on this cold, empty table.

And they just sit there in an awkward silence, with their collective perfect posture, gazing at everything except each other.

Who the hells gives him the right to correct us on our posture. Some part of this Fourth Princess scowls. Are you just gonna let your husband talk to you like that? Wives have beaten their husbands for less in the Silver Era…

But before any real argument can come from her that young man across from her takes a breath and simply tries to justify himself. "The High Court is extremely peculiar on appearances. I suggest you concern yourself with how you carry yourself."

"You're being dramatic, Zai." Sophia casually dismisses, still keeping that back as straight as possible.

"I'm not." The Crown Prince of Tianci has to choke on the words for a moment, trying not to panic within that thin facade of control. "Don't let your guard down."

Child of the fields, daughter of emperors and shepherds—take care in this land of death and corpses. Know that this place, which reeks of decay and hatred, is not for your soul of wheat and silver.

Watch yourself.

The Ancient Ones

She shrugs, half at Zai and half at the ridiculousness of that warning from his lips while still keeping that absolutely royal posture, quickly taking just a peripheral glance at him.

And she watches as he tenses from that dismissal, at her expression of carelessness against what was now, as she could read, a pressure bomb about to explode.

Quick, calm him down. Her brain tells her. Assure him that we will be alright, that we will be guarded in this court of killers. Tell him that our posture will be the first step in our new campaign: Sophia's Anti-Rot Initiative. Yes, this will be our year: we got a politically married husband (who practically sorta but not really just rejected our confession of sorta-romantic likeness), we get an entire new country to sorta but not really rule with him (that is also kinda crumbling into pieces), and a mission of romance in our heart.

This is our year!

So Sophia Elise the Eighth takes a really deep breath, straightens her spine another millimeter, and in the coldest, most professionally composed voice she probably could muster, assures him: "I will ensure my posture remains perfect during appearances at the High Court."

Ok, now finish this off with a really flirty line. Her consciousness committee pushes excitedly with this momentum. Something like: 'Of course… I wouldn't mind the occasional physical correction, if you find my form slipping.'

Yes, exactly in those words. No changes, no adjustments, say it with confidence.

Sophia takes another breath, managing her way through the delivery of that line in her own words. "I-I… I a-also wouldn't mind if you… if you kept correcting my posture."

The world pauses, leaving the dead silence in its wake.

But Zai simply takes a breath, recenters himself, and responds with composure. "I will do so if needed."

Sophia catches that forced blink, the only betrayal of thought on the barest twitch in his left eyebrow.

"I should retire to my room." The Fourth Princess quickly dismisses herself, standing from this seat and giving a very fast and far too shallow bow to this Crown Prince. "Have a good evening."

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