They've whispered these words in the shadows before.

Weaved their conspiracies like spiders in the darkest corners of a forgotten cupboard—planning, playing against the monster that stalked these halls like an exterminator.

They've played away from prying eyes, game pieces with deniable proxies and burned missives paid off with coinage; and with each measured spoken word cut with deniability, every promise made with caveats.

In this place, there is no such thing as loyalty.

And gathered at the foot of this girl, these souls are all guilty of treason.

But Magistrate Yun has toted this line better than them all, played this game in that northern state of his, sharpened his blades in the State-Court in the shadows of the holy corpse of Paguaeja, and now in the Palatial Temple he cuts them all.

He plays against the military with the fresh-water shipyards of Hwangju, leashes his fellow Magistrates with the factories of Yunclair in his pockets, and he skirmishes with the High Court with the imported goods of the entire Sanji State.

Magistrate Yun, with his thirty years in Landfall, has cut them all, made them bleed into his cauldrons like exsanguinated swine. Silver and favors—Yun Zhexian holds those seats in the Lower Court, no, owns these seats in the Lower Court.

These simple soldiers, these foolish power players are nothing but his pieces on this board. His to use, his to sacrifice—lives to be forged into a key to the Obsidian Chamber.

But this emissary, this woman, this monster from beyond Landfall, beyond this Dominion is something more than just a life. Here beneath the light of Unudo, as his pawns stand beneath that barely highlighted face of pale skin, of a crown of golden hair, and under the gaze of those cold, dead eyes; this Magistrate sees it all.

It's the Imperium's weapon, their all seeing eye in Tianci.

That Landfall Treaty has given this Lower Court the power to play this game against the Sages, against perhaps even the Lord on that Throne—and she's here to make sure it happens under their watch. So that eventually, when the pressure vessel within this Temple explodes, the Imperium will be there to pick through the scraps with a puppet controlled by his very own wife.

That's Magistrate Yun's way in, and that's how he shall play this game like a child catching a dropped blade.

His words drip with the implication, an edge poisoned with power and loyalty. "Your Grace, the northern states of Tianci have always been close to Imperial needs. For our long history we have been trade partners, and even more recently we held port for your battleships in Yunclair. If that's not evidence enough of our already deep relationship, I am uncertain what other proof I could provide you."

The body in the chair shifts at his words, the mind behind those pale blue eyes pondering his words. "I see, but I'm certain there should be more evidence? Historical economics and war-time treaties don't seem to be… convincing."

"Ma'am." The Magistrate uses the formal imperial term for royalty, trying to build a bridge of familiarity with the Silver Demon. "Our people were affected the most by the Great Starving. Imperial grain fed our children, and for that act of kindness we cannot ever repay such generosity. But please do not mistake our loyalty to your cause as a desire for repayment, but for an alignment with the values and stability that the Imperium provides. We simply are requesting the ability to better align ourselves with any future developments the Imperium desires not only in our small Coalition of Northern States, but any plans that you may have for the Dominion beyond us. We are simply here to help you in any way we can."

He's toted the line far enough, letting the silence sit alongside this offer of power.

Half offer.

Cause if that damned Imperium was actually seeking to seize control of everything north of the Hwangju River it wasn't like Yun could do anything about it. Might as well align himself well enough with this Demon to perhaps keep his small seat in Yunclair…

Or, if he plays his tiles just right, even the entirety of the Sanji State itself.

He needs to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth, keeping his composure against what could be the greatest political power play to ever grace the Dominion.

The words come dead cold from her, the monster on the throne leaning in towards him—this space seemingly collapsing onto that frame highlighted through the gargantuan stained glass windows. "Your offer sounds too generous, what do you have to gain from signing yourself with the Imperium?"

Magistrate Yun ignores the bodies shuffling from behind him, his tenuous allies already wearing thin from this coup of local power—with that Princess' words trusting his intentions a little too far into the eye beyond deniable implications.

"An alignment with your imperium." Yun corrects, keeping his voice steady. "A separate agreement beyond the measures outlined in the Landfall Treaty can benefit both our peoples."

"And this 'agreement' would be done for… your people?"

The Magistrate has to bite his tongue. "Of the Coalitioned States that are represented here, in this chamber, yes."

A flash crosses the emotionless face of the Demonic Entity sitting in the chair, with her next question aimed at the darkened souls behind him. "Does he speak for the rest of you?"

Magistrate Yun barely turns his head, the smallest of movements crushed into a screamed demand to his subordinates. Don't say a single thing.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

For a long minute nobody dares to even breathe, Yun keeping a small smile on his face as he brings the cause back to the Princess-Consort with calm, readied confidence. "Your Grace, we stand united in this matter. It's simply a…"

"... you stand united in treason?" Sophia Elise the Eighth plays no game, resting her head on her arm upon the chair, a bored sigh in her tone. "A-as in, you seek to pursue an agreement… beyond the clauses of the Landfall Treaty?"

It wouldn't be the first time someone's put him on the firing line, and Magistrate Yun Zhexian masterfully plays his hand. "Of course not, treason to any treaty carrying the Black Stamp would be unthinkable for us loyal servants of the north. This is simply a negotiation within the guidelines under the name of national cooperation. I would imagine your nation would be happy to…"

"You do not know what the Imperium is here for." Sophia Elise interrupts him. "Try again."

Yun takes a quickened breath. "Ma'am, are you not here as an Imperial envoy? Are you not here to guarantee that the guidelines laid by the Landfall Treaty are followed by the Dominion?"

The silence is deafening, this Princess looking each and every one of them over like a hawk studying rats. Long enough that the chamber echoes their very breaths, and the soft ceramic clinking of that Impericutta's battle armor.

"I-I am." Princess Sophia's whisper explodes into the emptiness. "Which is why I find this matter to be extremely… annoying. I believe you would be better off bringing your query to the attention of Zai himself if you are seeking real resolution."

Crown Prince Zai Tianci.

The evocation of his name is enough to send ice across the spines of this room, with even this Magistrate feeling the beads of sweat upon his forehead. Still, he remains calm. "I'm certain the Crown Prince would not appreciate this matter being brought to his attention, especially given that we all stand united in this matter. By bringing his majesty into this negotiation I fear that…"

"No, we don't stand united on this matter." General Choi Sang-hoon, two bodies down from this Magistrate, interrupts with the sharpness of carbon-steel. A tone carrying more than the confidence of a Rifle Guard, the combat medals upon her right chest glinting gold and silver into the light of Unudo. "The Dominion Military recognizes the Landfall Treaty, and we don't endorse any unauthorized agreements."

Her son won't survive the night for this defiance. Magistrate Yun thinks to himself. I will see to it personally.

The Demon leans back, slouching in that chair as she cuts out a lazy, half scowl towards the interloper in this chamber—and for a long moment she motions for that newly hired Chief of Staff to her ear.

Yun watches as that planted Embassy Worker speaks to her liege, noting to his own personal self that his prediction of "Evelyn Corrin" was, in fact, correct as those two finally peel away; leaving Princess Sophia Elise to stare daggers at General Choi.

The Silver Demon will take care of her. The Magistrate takes that bit of hope. Defying us shall be that General's last mistake.

"General… Choi Sang-hoon." Sophia begins, taking a long, long breath from her lungs. "You are in objection to Magistrate Yun's claim of a Coalitioned Northern State."

"Such an alliance doesn't exist, your grace." The General begins to plead. "It's…"

Sophia interrupts her, waving her hand as if trying to shoo a fly away. "Admiral Kang So, are you with your… compartriot on this matter?"

She calls the commander of the Grand Adrianic Fleet, its fragments still in the dockyard in Yunclair. That old fossil, that ancient sailor's own power leans upon Magistrate Yun and Yun alone.

So Yun subtly turns his head, just enough to catch the very edge of the pale form of that military officer. You speak against me, you shall lose everything.

The Admiral stands, only speaking the single line of confirmation. "I am with the General, ma'am."

Sophia Elise the Eighth leans back in the chair, that gaze befalling each of them as she lets this guillotine fall. "Is there anyone in this chamber that even stands with the Magistrate on this matter?"

Someone has to answer her.

A fellow magistrate has to speak up, or another one of the officers—someone in this chamber who stands with Yun, who has carried with him the power of Sanji's very arteries, will ally with him at this moment.

But they wait, and wait.

For an entire two minutes of silence he waits for someone to speak up, to throw their lot in with this treason—to take these loyal northern states to the hands of a foreign power that has lined their pockets with silver and fed their mouths with imported grain; a power that has evoked the name of the son of murder.

There's a shadow in this room.

Weighing over these people like the blade of an executioner, his presence in every corner of this unholy place.

No soul defies the Lord of the Dominion.

Magistrate Yun Zhexian, the voice of the North, the seat of Yunclair, stands alone in his treason.

He hears them behind him—his own party suddenly shifting their footing, taking their small glances between one another as they begin to take their contingencies.

It's in how General Choi Sang-hoon and Magistrate Shan steal seconds of eye-contact, those two meddlers already divvying up the Nineteenth Rifles Division. It's how Admiral Kang So holds just the most subtle of smiles upon their face, his welted hands already grasping the vast protrusions of Yunclair's Dry-Docks with a curt nod from Magistrate Seo Dae-jung.

Not even two minutes and they are already plotting betrayal, salivating at the fat on this Magistrate's bones.

They wouldn't dare. Yun takes a ragged breath. If Magistrate Shan goes, the Nineteenth Rifles will burn his quarries to the dirt. If Admiral Kang So takes the docks then there always will be Magistrate Seo to slip poison into his cup.

Not a single one of them can stand against me.

No one.

A chill runs down this man's spine, his gaze suddenly ripped back towards that monster on the throne.

The iconography of Unudo, painted by artisans thousands of years dead, form a crown over her head—and that Princess Sophia Elise the Eighth slouches in her throne, staring into the very soul of this Magistrate.

The game is over.

This place was united in a single purpose now, his own comrades in politics, of the states and armies and navies north of the Hwangju River coming together under a new banner beyond his. Because behind him they sharpen blades, his long gone allies making plans and contingencies against him, for him.

Magistrate Yun Zhexian is meat on the butcher's table.

The Silver Demon narrows her eyes, breaking the unholy silence with an execution order. "Please leave, this session is over. Don't ever dare to bring any more of this nonsense before me. I tire of it."

The Magistrate wants to object, to speak out against this; to somehow save himself from this pit of starved swine. But nothing comes from his mouth, nothing comes to save him: and in silence he bows in reflex, prostrating onto the floor alongside them all.

All of them standing, all of them shuffling out through these obsidian black doors.

All of them whispering as they walk these halls, all of them plotting, all of them coming together to feast upon just one carcass that they sneak glances of in their midst.

He sees a glove dropped onto the floor, a medal on a general's chest turned inward on its face.

Magistrate Yun Zhexian is a dead man.

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