This post is just an OOC note from me, but everything else in this topic is IC unless otherwise mentioned.
I’ve been planning a Phanama roleplay for a while so, to keep me from getting in my way further, I’m putting out the first post today and we’ll see where it goes from there. The next couple of posts will be in the first person so you get to know who Ros Bjòrandi was during the run-up to last year’s elections. That said, I’ll probably switch to the third person later to make it easier to write different perspectives.
Auve is Phanaman for water, and Phanóma is Phanama. The ‘-ki’ is a grammatical thing but, right now, it’s not important for the story.
Once the story catches up to the present day, feel free to have your countries/leaders/other characters react to any events here that might concern/be of interest to them. I don’t want to get bogged down in the details of what information they would and wouldn’t have access to right now, but we’ll cross that bridge when needed.
I set my tea on the stove before heading to the desk by my sewing machine. Though they weren’t particularly urgent, I finished all my jobs last night — a couple of shirts, skirts, dresses and trousers — so I check through them for the umpteenth time before ironing them, folding them, and placing them in their bags with a thank-you-note for their owners’ trust in my work.
I pour my tea into a flask and make my way to deliver the clothes to their owners’ homes. Once I’m done, I look at my watch to see that it’s 4:15 am. I’m about to miss my train.
The moonlit hills of Declevis roll by my window as I take tiny sips of my tea. It’s solely for this view that I try to get seats on the right-hand side of the empty train during my 3-hour commute from Milina to Spiritus.
I usually use this time to get ahead on the day’s work, put my thoughts in a journal or catch up on the news. But, even though I have my laptop, black cloth-covered notebook and daily newspapers sprawled across the table in front of me, my focus is on the outside.
I make out the shape of a waterfall in the distance, and the booming sound of cascading water comes to mind. I trace the jagged peaks of the valley and imagine myself hiking up there. And, just outside my constituency, at the foot of a particularly prominent hill, I see a quaint bungalow (which you wouldn’t spot unless you knew it was there) in which a certain Mr and Mrs Nolokari live.
My gaze lingers on my parents’ house, long after the train curves round a bend, slows down and the lights of the next station flood the car—
“Is anyone sitting here?” I turn to see a lady standing in the aisle, a warm smile on her face. Embarrassed, I down the last of my already cold tea, gather my things to one side of the table, and gesture for Councillor Sama Hauveza to take a seat.
“You’re making good use of the journal, Ros,” she ribs as she glances at my bookmark, placed about halfway through the black notebook she gifted me after I left her office to become a Representative.
“It’s the one thing that keeps me sane,” I smile. The train starts moving again and my eyes drift outside once more.
“Looking forward to the caucus meeting?” Sama asks drily. I roll my eyes.
“Just want to get it over with.” Any time a Kjofàfellskam caucus meeting is called, it quickly spirals into a shouting match between factions: insults are hurled, egos are bruised and the Chair decides, well into the night, that the meeting needs to be postponed (though many members of the party, myself included, take their leave before then).
The Councillor sighs and crosses her arms, probably mulling over the weight of the Chair’s promise that today’s meeting would be the last one, and the two of us remain silent until the train grinds to a halt in Spiritus.
Kai and I are laughing, though I can’t remember what about. We talk about everything from politics to Actoran slang as we enter the elevator that will take us to the caucus hall. The elevator’s walls are glass, so Spiritus starts revealing itself below: skyscrapers, steel and concrete are waging war against the parks, gardens and greenery bathed in summer sunlight, while the wide waters of Alterno snake between them, mediating and instigating their conflict.
The doors open and we step into a large, carpeted room with rows upon rows of chairs set up and filled by Kjofàfellskam members, sporting pressed suits like a uniform. As we take our seats towards the back of the hall, the Chair steps behind a lectern on a raised stage in the distance, a large television screen behind her. When 8 pm rolls around, she tests her microphone before explaining the voting procedure.
We won’t be using instant runoff voting (since arguing over how preferences are counted is what usually keeps us here for hours). We can vote for any two people in the room to form a presidential ticket, and any ticket with at least one vote will be displayed on the screen until the winning ticket is announced.
After Kai and I cast our votes, he asks about my tailoring, which I see as a hobby I just happen to get paid for, but he believes I should take it more seriously.
“Your work should be walking down runways in Vudesque!” he says a little bit too loudly, but no one notices thanks to the homogeneous hum of everyone’s conversation, the quietest a caucus meeting has ever been.
The idea appeals to me but I don’t think my heart’s in it. Switching gears, I ask, “How’s the Empire?”
“Becoming more like one every day,” Kai shrugs. The ‘Empire’ is the fast-growing, far-expanding Leandro family company. I once asked Kai if he liked his work there, but he brushed it off, saying his enjoyment wasn’t the biggest factor when his father, spending most of his energy in the Actoran Government, recruited him. Kai’s sisters are pursuing their own careers, so running the business keeps Kai busy when the House isn’t in session.
Before I ask Kai to elaborate, he looks up at the screen and says, “That’s many tickets.” He’s right. There are so many names that only a microscopic font can fit them all on the screen. I can’t make anything out.
Soon, however, the Chair is back on the microphone, adjusting her reading glasses. “This was a particularly tight race,” she begins, “but a ticket has received more support than the others. Kjofàfellskam, I present to you our 2023 presidential candidates: Ros Bjòrandi and Kaivar Leandro!”
I stare blankly at Kai and he looks back at me. What. Just. Happened?
We’re officially launching our campaign next week. Currently, our platform is centred on social welfare, following through on the 2021 environmental reforms and 2022 neutrality referendums, and giving Phanama’s nuclear industry a future outside nuclear weaponry. Nonetheless, I don’t see what contribution I’m authentically making to our platform — something I passionately want to bring to the table — so I came to the place where I decided that I’d even have a political career, with the gentle waves of Lake Natans providing the soundtrack to my thoughts.
Ever since the night of the caucus meeting, everything has been a blur. Kai’s friends at the caucus came over to cheer us on while Sama, who was already on her way home, called to congratulate us when she heard the news. The Chair displayed the detailed voting results, showing that our ticket had the most votes, though neither Kai nor I found out how our names ended up on the screen in the first place.
Sometime later that week, I came home to a surprise party thrown by Lara Takode, Kjofàfellskam’s new Representative candidate for Milina, with nearly the whole town in attendance. Lara has helped run my office in the constituency and, if she wins, I’m certain the people of Milina will be in good hands.
Last night, I received a call from my parents. “We heard on the news. You’re on your party’s ticket,” said my father.
“Yes, that’s true,” I replied.
“Are you going to run?”
“Right now, that’s the plan.” A brief silence followed before we exchanged goodbyes. It was a cold conversation, but far more than I could ask for since I entered politics.
My parents, like most refugees of the Second Declevern Civil War*, believe politicians were behind the fall of Declever, which forced people to trade their futures full of possibility for lives riddled with fear and uncertainty. This had to find its way into every dinner conversation in our studio apartment in Natans, perhaps to make me harbour the same hatred towards people in power. But, instead of hatred, I found hope.
Hope that I can right the wrongs. Hope that I can help us move forward, so people can look into the future with ambition rather than into the past with longing. Hope that we can come together, not just as Declever and Vesper but as the whole of Phanama. Hope that—
I should write this down. I think I’ve found what I was looking for.
* The Second Declevern Civil War took place in the 1940s between communities in the nation of Declever south of the Declever River (which would become Declevis) and communities north of the river (which would become Vesper). Tensions had already been rising for some time and had previously erupted in the 19th century during the First Declevern Civil War. The Second Civil War began on the night of a particularly controversial general election and saw atrocities committed by both sides, resulting in many refugees, most of whom were from the less populous Declevis, migrating to neighbouring Phan-Omna.
23 October 2023 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
Chancellor Ananeli Fujarvi watches the Raamistau handover live from the television in the Deputy Raamistau’s office. This office is bound to be Ana’s. Of course, Volta is not obliged to appoint a deputy for the remainder of the term, and she hasn’t announced anything about a search for a deputy, but surely that’s because the pair have been as thick as thieves since day 1, so the post is guaranteed to be Ana’s.
She watches the sun set behind the former Raamistau, Ian Aarijuka, as he steps into his car with his family and drives out of the compound. Volta is standing on the veranda, smiling and waving goodbye, without a single strand of hair falling from her sleek, grey bun onto her dark olive pantsuit. Ana takes that as her cue to join Volta. She grabs her notebook, keen to make a good impression, and rushes out of the office.
By the time Ana is on the veranda, most of the cameras are gone and Volta is making her way into the building.
“Is there anything I can do to help you settle into your new office, Volta?” Ana asks eagerly.
Without missing a beat, Volta snaps, “It’s Raamistau Kìruna, Ana. Replace the map of Phanama with my wall map of Vesper. In fact, get rid of all the Phanaman maps in this building by the end of the week.” She pauses so Ana can write everything down before adding, “I’d also like my bookshelves moved to my new office tomorrow morning, and then we’ll worry about the rest of the furniture later.”
The Raamistau walks past Ana into the building, leaving the Chancellor hoping that there are still staff that haven’t gone home for the night yet.
27 October 2023 Toiinala Square, Spiritus
Ros clears his throat before he nears the end of his inauguration speech. The audience has been very quiet since he began speaking and, despite looking up from his notes every so often, Ros hasn’t been able to gauge the the response since he starts shaking once he locks eyes with anyone. But the speech has been going as Ros rehearsed so far, so why should anything go wrong now?
“We have been described as a body, or a quilt made up of several fabrics” Ros declares, “But that body has wounds that are still raw, our quilt has seams that are fraying. Only when we consciously try to heal those wounds, can we go out there and stand our ground. Only when the seams are re-done, can we show our quilt off to the world. And I will make that my priority, not just for the next four years, but for as long as we need to strengthen the bonds that unite us as a country.”
Silence rings out across the open square. And then applause follows. Ros doesn’t take it as a sign that his speech was anything special, but he still beams. Ros steps down from the podium and President Bowleaf approaches him. When he gets close, the two hold each other’s forearms and use their free arms for a brief embrace, going for a formal but friendly greeting. As they pull away, Ros hears a distinct whisper: “You have as much power as you give yourself.”
He thinks he’s imagining things until he realises that President Bowleaf is maintaining eye contact for a bit too long and a slight shiver runs down Ros’ spine. Then they begin posing for the cameras. But even as he smiles, greets and shares short exchanges with Kai, Vice President Lancaster, her family and Bowleaf’s family, Ros makes a mental note of the former President’s words and starts mulling over their meaning.
30 September 2024
Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
Ana is not yet Deputy Raamistau. She keeps telling herself that Volta—no, Raamistau Kìruna—wants to spend her first year in office alone before appointing an official deputy. The Chancellor has been fulfilling all the duties of a Deputy in the meantime: she writes press releases, takes minutes at meetings and gets the Raamistau’s black coffee without sugar. Yes, these aren’t the executive responsibilities traditionally associated with the role, but when has Raamistau Kìruna followed the traditional route?
Ana knocks and opens the Raamistau’s door. Once she is called in, she marvels at the bookshelves that line three walls of the office while a floor-to-ceiling window makes up the fourth. Opulent rugs, sofas and trinkets from the Raamistau’s time abroad instantly grab her attention, making good use of the largest room in the building. However, these pale in comparison to the grand, detailed Map of Vesper that stretches across the entire ceiling. Ana always shudders at the memory of nearly falling off a ladder while trying to install that map.
Kìruna’s gaze darts between her three computer monitors and a pad of scratch paper on her desk. This is the usual routine: Ana asks what the Raamistau is up to, Kìruna says that Ana will find out in good time, and then Ana takes the Raamistau through her schedule for the day. But today, before Ana gets a chance to speak, the Raamistau asks, “How is the corruption report going, Ana?”
Not long after the Raamistau handover, Ana had been assigned the task of covertly investigating each Vespern official’s graft history. She had been dragging her feet with it and even thought—hoped—that the Raamistau had forgotten about it.
“I need that report before Friday’s Government Briefing. You are excused from your other duties until then,” the Raamistau adds. Ana nods and excuses herself from the room.
1 October 2024
Underground Spiritus, Spiritus
There are few meetings Ros dreads as much as National Security Council Conclaves. He has, however, come to love the early morning trek through the network of tunnels underneath Spiritus to get to the underground elevator that takes him to the meeting location. It gives him a chance to collect his thoughts.
Ros pushes a sequence of elevator buttons to begin his downward journey like he has every Tuesday morning for the past 11 months. Has it really been that long? Ros has started seeing through Phanama’s green transition, discussed nuclear power plant plans, strengthened social safety nets, followed the debate on reform of the education system, etc. Kai has been just as busy dealing with mostly foreign policy, breaking Phanama out of its neutral shell.
Despite their busy schedules, Ros steals away to Milina every week, Kai spends quite a bit of time in Actora, and the pair always find time to call each other and catch up. Usually, Kai and Ros take the trip to the Conclave together, but Kai is away on a foreign trip, leaving Ros to face the Conclave alone.
Ros actually gets along with most of the National Security Council. Prime Minister Elna Sotahuri is a different story. She takes Kai’s and (especially) Ros’ presence in that room personally, determined to be on the opposite side of the argument, belittling whatever words they say and hurling passive-aggressive statements at them. Kai and Ros are always outspoken and unfazed regardless, though Ros does need to psych himself up each Tuesday morning in advance.
Fortunately, today’s Conclave is just a simple election of who will chair the Council for the next quarter of the year. That shouldn’t be too difficult.
OOC Note
Thanks for reading! Sorry it’s been so long I’ve been focused on school, but I’m on a short break so I thought I’d continue the story a bit.
4 October 2024 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
“Where is it?” Ana mutters as she frantically searches her office for the corruption report. The Raamistau wanted a paper copy, and Ana knew she had put it in her bag before she left home. It has the fairly inconspicuous red seal of Vesper, so she wonders how she could have missed it. The Briefing starts in five minutes, and the Conference Hall is a long walk from the Chancellor’s office. Ana might as well arrive on time but empty-handed instead of being late with nothing to show for it, so she rushes out of her office.
With one minute to spare, Ana is the last person in the Conference Hall. All twenty heads in the room turn to her as she enters, indifferent. The Raamistau, however, is smiling. That’s odd, Ana thinks to herself. She hasn’t seen Kìruna smile since she became the Raamistau, but it puts Ana at ease.
“Don’t bother sitting down,” the Raamistau laughs. “We have just two things on the agenda. First, I would like to introduce you to our new Deputy Raamistau. A round of applause for ex-Chancellor Ananeli Fujarvi.”
This has to be a sick joke. Ana looks from the Raamistau to the cheering room and pinches herself. It hurts. She’s the Deputy Raamistau. Why was there a pit in her stomach just a few moments ago? “Thank you!” is all Ana can manage, visibly struggling to contain her elation.
“A joyous day indeed,” Raamistau Kìruna remarks, now directing her attention to the Ministers in the Conference Hall, “and as this day marks the beginning of the Deputy Raamistau’s time in office, this day also marks the end of yours.”
Now that had to be a joke. The cheering collectively halts as the Ministers glance at each other and mutter a few words. The Raamistau opens a drawer and pulls out a large binder emblazoned with the red seal of Vesper. Ana’s report. “I cannot stand for embezzlement in my Government, so none of your unapologetically flagrant track records have a place here. Use the remainder of the day to vacate your offices and leave room for those fit to hold public offices. Dismissed.”
Volta steps out of the room, and the Ministers move to the front of the room to analyse the binder. It doesn’t take long for them to find Ana’s name. They each shuffle past her, making sure to jostle her.
“Vekjil”, someone spits at her.
8 October 2024 Underground Spiritus, Spiritus
After Prime Minister and National Security Council Chair Elna Sotahuri reads through the Conclave’s agenda for the day, Ros raises his hand. “Madam Chair,” he says, “I suggest we also discuss recent developments in Vesper.”
The Prime Minister seems to mull over the idea before asking, “Why, exactly?” She does not do so in a particularly rude manner, but those two words scratch an itch in Ros’ mind.
Each morning, a stack of newspaper articles selected by the Chief of Staff awaits Ros on his breakfast table. When Kai was around, he and Ros would discuss them together with other events they considered worth thinking about. Nowadays, the Chief of Staff accompanies his selected articles with a brief presentation on each, though various topics receive various amounts of brevity. Today, he spent ten minutes on the supposed sheep uprising in Greenville—not an uprising by the shepherds, but by the sheep themselves—but did not even mention the mass sacking of Ministers in Vesper. Ros thought back and realised a surprising lack of coverage on Declevis and Vesper in his daily newspaper fare.
Conspiracy was the wrong word—too cold and organised—but Ros noticed an insidiously blissful ignorance and disregard for Eastern Phanama in the upper echelons of Spiritus. And he wanted to end it: if he had to listen to a thorough and well-researched argument that sheep had a vendetta against Phanamans, he at least deserved to see some coverage of what was going on where he was from.
“Vesper is the largest province and the third-largest by population,” Ros begins. “A capricious Vespern government would have widespread ramifications on national stability, the economy—”
“Speaking of,” the Prime Minister interjects, “Finance Minister Ramona’s team projects Phanaman GDP growth of 9.03% this year, an increase of only 0.32% from last year’s growth rate, which would be the smallest increase in the past 5 years.” This is not a new tactic, deflecting Ros’ concerns onto his perceived shortcomings and forcing him to choose which one to address: defending his Presidency or defending what is of importance to him. Kai has a way with words that he usually uses to defuse the resulting stalemate, but this time, Ros is on his own.
He opens his mouth to speak, but hears someone else’s voice. “It would also be the first time Phanama’s GDP crossed $1 trillion,” Defence Minister Vaske Brookhelm remarks. “Back to the main issue, I also think it is worth at least acknowledging what is going on in Vesper before it escalates into something else.”
This receives nods of assent across the room, except from the Prime Minister, but that is enough to add Vesper to the agenda. Ros makes a mental note to thank Minister Brookhelm after the Conclave.
Ros has a busy day ahead of him. Though you could say that about almost any day for the past year and a half. Kai is in some distant time zone, and Ros doesn’t want to wake him, Sama is spending some time off the grid, and there isn’t anyone else Ros can just talk to.
He still craves company, however. So he unlocks the drawer of his bedside table, pulls out his black cloth-covered notebook, and decides to spend time accompanied by his written thoughts.
27 October 2023 President’s Residence, Spiritus
After the inauguration, a banquet was held at the President’s Residence. It was a Kjofàfellskam party more than it was mine, so I was met with mostly unfamiliar faces. Kai and I had had a hand in deciding the guest list, so I recognised someone every so often: I caught up with Sama, a few Representatives, and several of our campaign’s sponsors, whom I made sure to thank profusely. I saw Kai’s family and had a chat with each of his sisters; they were all kind and affable, but I couldn’t help but find the whole event…impersonal.
My mind was called back from wandering, however, when I stumbled into the dining room and saw the long table replaced by lavish carpets and large sheets of omnaavikra*. I nearly fell over as I ran to sit cross-legged and wait for people to encircle an omnaavikra, before I realised that neither of my parents was there. They definitely received an invite.
Heaps of effort had been put into the meal, but all the flavours on the bread tasted dull. I don’t know what expression was on my face, but Kai noticed and snuck us off to a nearby Stoinian place. Even though we were back in the mansion soon after, those few hours in the crisp, Spiritan springtime breeze, when we could actually fathom the inauguration, were the best part of the night.
*Imagine Dutch pannenkoeken but served like Ethiopian injera.
4 November 2023 President’s Residence, Spiritus
This morning, I shrunk the workforce managing the President’s Residence. I cook for myself most nights and take care of my living spaces as I always have, and the staff terrifically fill in the gaps I leave. I’m just not used to having so many people do things…for me. I talked it through with the Chief of Staff but decided to deliver the news myself: most of them will be redeployed at food banks, shelters and charities across Spiritus while enjoying their current salary. Some of them looked excited, others more distraught. And even though I kept just a cook—a lovely lady named Hemva—and some grounds staff to tend the compound and its rabbits, I didn’t chase away any of the other people who inconspicuously returned during the day. Nor do I plan on evicting them if I see them tomorrow.
This was my first real action as President, but my second awaited me in the afternoon. Kai and I discussed the meeting with the Provincial Heads of Government over breakfast and lunch—meals we share to keep each other sane—but I still couldn’t keep myself from shaking when we walked into the oldest café in Spiritus.
Governor Matthew Russo of District 4 arrived behind us, before being joined by his Lenian, Spiritan and Actoran counterparts. I was expecting Sama to enter next, despite her unsuccessful election, but Declevis’ Raamisdau is equally friendly. Her equivalent from Greenville sat with us soon after, and all eight of us held a kind conversation. Once it was clear that Vesper’s Raamistau Kìruna would not show up, I began steering the conversation to more official matters, making a mental note to reach out to the Raamistau again later.
We discussed the issues plaguing each province, potential solutions, and how everyone at the table could help. I was happy to speak little, since each Head of Government was eager to every other Head of Government. We agreed to hold this meeting regularly.
28 November 2023 Underground Spiritus, Spiritus
Today was the day of the first National Security Council Conclave. Kai and I had breakfast at the Vice President’s Residence because his entrance to the system of tunnels sneaking their way below Spiritus is more…manageable than mine.
We arrived an hour early but were still the last to take our seats at the round table. Ava Oakwell, now Minister of Home Affairs, welcomed us warmly and was followed by the Defence, Environment, Foreign and Finance Ministers. They’ve all spent more time in the National Security Council than we have, so we accepted their welcome. However, one person was not as cordial. Behind her voluminous clipboard and half-moon spectacles, Prime Minister Elna Sotahuri neatly tucked a strand of hair into her tight bun before silently shaking my outstretched hand.
As we moved through the agenda, I noticed a consistent coldness from her towards my contributions. I don’t expect anyone to agree with me 100%, but I also don’t expect a member of the NSC to disagree in such a petty manner. She had conspicuous coughing fits that were triggered whenever I spoke, to the point where I thought to offer her a lozenge, but cured whenever someone else took the floor. I thought I was imagining things until Kai tossed her a few cough drops across the table.
Yes, she was not part of my original Council of Ministers appointments, but Kai suggested that I shouldn’t take it personally: he, too, was a victim of her coughing fit assaults.
I recalled our meeting with the Presidential Candidates last week to see how I could implement some of their visions. Leon Nallerom, the Social Democrats’ candidate, initially accepted the invitation before cancelling with a strongly-worded email that ultimately boiled down to, “We decided to gate-keep. All the best!” Viiskama Huinademokratiadaàr lost the House of Representatives and a seat in the Council of Ministers to Liiberale and the Presidency to a party born yesterday. Most HD members don’t care, but it keeps the die-hard ones up at night. Our Prime Minister must fall into the latter camp.
7 January 2024 Central Spiritus Train Station, Spiritus
I saw Kai off this morning as he embarked on his first diplomatic trip as Vice President. He’s much better with people than I am, so everyone agreed he would be more suited to this kind of thing. As I hugged him goodbye, he whispered, “Try not to cry in public. You’re in charge of a country now.” I rolled my eyes, shoved him onto the train out of mock-anger at being teased, saluted his guard and waved them off once the train started moving.
We’ve more or less been joined at the hip since we met as Representatives, but now that he’s going to be abroad more often and for longer periods at a time, I need to make new friends.
Or not. I handled the festive season just fine when he was spending time with his family in Actora. We did talk every day, however. But! I have friends outside Kai, like Sama and…um…
6 June 2024 Riine Riine Memorial, Skierova, Vesper
Usually, Riine Riine* is a day of solemn reflection over the horrors of the Second Declevern Civil War and celebration for its end. However, I spent the day frantically seeking an audience with Raamistau Kìruna. I knew she would be there, and she knew I would be there, so there was no way we could miss each other. Or so I thought.
She gave a speech since Vesper had the honour of hosting Riine Riine this year. Afterwards, however, she might as well have disappeared off the face of Pacifica because apparently no one was able to reach her. I searched the whole of Skierova but couldn’t find her.
By the end of the day, my head was in my hands. When I made my inaugural speech about how Phanama needs to come together like parts of a body or a patchwork quilt, I actually had Vesper and Declevis in mind. Growing up in a community of Civil War refugees, there was a rhetoric that Spiritus didn’t care about us. That the Commonwealth didn’t want us after the Civil War. The squalid conditions and racism experienced by Vespern and Declev people in other provinces were a common justification.
Of course, there have been reconciliation efforts between Vesper and Declevis and the rest of the country. But I don’t know why I can’t shake off the feeling that they were too little, too late.
*Riine is the Phanaman word for six. The date on which the Second Declevern Civil War ended was the 6th of June, or 06/06—Riine Riine—in shorthand.
Ros is not quite sure what he is doing. He’s not exactly playing with the rabbits—he’s more or less just watching them, cross-legged, cradling the occasional bunny that hops onto his lap. Hemva is the one who suggested he go outside and enjoy the light dusting of snow being sprinkled over Spiritus this afternoon. Ros had not even noticed that it was snowing. And he was working right in front of a bay window.
Hemva, as usual, was right. Ros needs some time outdoors, even just within the compound of the President’s Residence. However, Ros wants to go even further out: he’s too cooped up in the capital and has spent far too long without setting foot in Declevis. He’s not exactly excited to leave tomorrow for Riine Riine—it’s not a memorial anyone is particularly excited about—but he appreciates having an official excuse to leave Spiritus for a couple of days.
One by one, the rabbits start hopping towards Ros. But they don’t stop when they reach him, soon forming a river of fur that flows past him. Someone the rabbits actually like must be behind him. If it were Hemva or any of the grounds staff, they would have tried to catch Ros’ attention to let him know they were there. There’s only one other person the rabbits love more…
Ros turns around and none other than Vice President Kai Leandro is standing, smiling, in a tailored winter coat he must’ve acquired during his travels. The two hug, and Ros’ patchy beard scratches Kai’s clean-shaven face as Ros whispers ruefully, “I always knew they liked you more than me.”
“To be fair,” Kai replies, pulling hay and greens out of his pockets, “I cheated this time.”
They sit, laugh and eventually settle into an amicable silence before Ros says, “I thought you would be gone for another month.”
“Well, I missed Riine Riine last year and thought I’d make up this year,” Kai pauses. “Plus, I’m getting tired of these diplomatic trips. I think I’ve already circumnavigated Pacifica. Twice.”
5 June 2025 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as Deputy Raamistau Ananeli Fujarvi walks through the dimly lit corridors, cradling a binder in her arms. The responsibility of hosting Riine Riine alternates between Vesper and Declevis each year—2025 being the latter’s turn—but both provinces’ governments always collaborate closely to organise the annual memorial. Raamistau Volta Kìruna has been working late nights on a “secret” project ever since Ana became her Deputy, so Ana has done most of Vesper’s work regarding tomorrow’s event. But the Raamistau herself must be present in the Kidrihùr alongside Declevis’ Raamisdau, so Ana wanted to fill Raamistau Kìruna in on everything before today’s rehearsal.
Ana steels herself before she approaches the Raamistau’s office and prepares to knock, but she notices light spilling into the corridor. The Raamistau’s door is open. As Ana gets closer, she hears a sound she can’t make sense of. Is that a fire crackling? Is the Raamistau’s TV acting up again? Ana’s tread slows into a quiet tiptoe as she clutches her binder to her chest.
Ana peeks into the doorway. The Raamistau looks like she is opening a package, paper flying all over the room. Strips of paper make their way towards the doorway, and Ana notices words on them. But these are not barcodes, addresses, or advertising for a delivery company. They are entire paragraphs: numbered, lettered, and bulleted. The light is too dim and the type too small for Ana to read anything, but she doesn’t want to linger anyway. The Raamistau probably does not want to be disturbed.
5 June 2025 President’s Residence, Spiritus
Ros runs his hand through the fabric of the Ubatambaa and the Kafuhiko. He hadn’t worn one since he was little, but Ros knew he wasn’t going to wear a suit for this year’s Riine Riine. He wanted to wear something more meaningful for the 80th anniversary of the Second Declevern Civil War’s end. Ros would have made his own clothes if he had his sewing machine and free time, but he left both at his home in Milina, Declevis. He nearly left his culture there too, but another tailor helped ensure it made its way to Spiritus and, eventually, back from whence it came. The designs are familiar, the seams and stitches foreign—yet Ros finds himself enchanted by the handiwork.
Ros puts the garments on, lets Hemva know that he’s set off, and makes his way to the train station.
5 June 2025 Nexus Train Station, Estoria, Declevis
Since he rarely passes through the city in broad daylight, it’s easy for Ros to forget that Estoria is the nexus of the Silicon Streamline. Silver skyscrapers adorned with vertical gardens pierce the sky, providing several obstacles for the Swarm—the city’s drone delivery system. A sleek maglev train lined with solar panels glides along its tracks as it races with the train that occasionally rattles Ros’ coffee, while a troupe of dog-sized robots move in a synchronised dance to clean the city’s streets. The machines dodge the few people on the sidewalk, who all seem to know exactly where they’re going and exactly what they’re going to do there, as they walk past the mostly empty evergreen spaces. Estoria is not only the capital of Declevis but also the capital of Phanama’s tech industry.
Once he’s out of the train, Ros and his fellow passengers move seamlessly through the station via transparent gates by simply scanning their IDs. The tiles beneath glow gently, guiding him down corridors and up escalators enclosed by adaptive displays: the person in front of Ros gets a sneaker ad, while Ros is shown the Coat of Arms and a formal welcome from the Raamisdau. It’s not long before he is face-to-face with the Raamisdau herself at the top of the escalator, wearing clothing as flowing as his.
Ros and the Raamisdau exchange a knowing smile before clasping each other’s right forearms in a firm grip. In a practised motion that everyone of Declev descent is familiar with, the two fold these arms inward between their bodies, while their left arms embrace in a gesture of trust and respect.
“Dauveebièn aze?” the Raamisdau asks as they let go of each other and walk into the city. She literally asked, “How does it flow?”
Ros thinks for a bit as shades automatically extend from the side of the building to shield them from the sun. “Rige,” Ros says. Fast. They laugh before Ros asks, “How are preparations for Riine Riine going?”
“We’re all set! Well, the Raamistau wasn’t present at today’s Kidrihùr runthrough, though I haven’t seen much of her…ever,” the Raamisdau shakes her head but catches herself before her thoughts spiral. “But don’t mind me, I just wanted to welcome you off the train. You have more important things to attend to, I’m sure. I’ll leave you to them.”
5 June 2025 Riine Riine Memorials, Estoria, Declevis Ros’ Perspective
There are four Riine Riine memorials in total—two in Declevis and a similar pair in Skierova, Vesper. The one I visit first is the one commemorating the Declev victims of ethnic cleansing during the Second Declevern Civil War. Not all one hundred and fifty thousand of them are interred here, but my maternal grandparents are.
The graves are arranged in a spiral, in rough order of how the victims fell, with the earliest victims towards the centre. Several families are here, all dressed in white, but a silence rings out over the area: not even the raging waters of the nearby Declever River can truly break it. I drift into the spiral, reading each name as though I know the faces behind them. Near the centre, I brush my fingers across my grandparents’ names, as though this physical connection could help spur an emotional connection that never existed. I pay my respects, though they aren’t the reason I come to this memorial. I keep walking until I reach the centre. I stop in front of a pedestal, a glass orb of water resting on it at eye-level, encircled by white fragments. It represents our goodness, our humanity: the first casualties of the war.
I let time stop as I stare into the still water, the fading light bending through the orb and casting sharp shadows beneath the fragments. Once I can hear the Declever flow again, I take a step back and thread my way out of the spiral. I mostly look down, but once I hear footsteps approaching me, I look up so I don’t block their way. I look up so we can acknowledge our communal grief. I look up and, before we can even make eye contact, my mother steps out of this arm of the spiral as she walks into the next one to bypass me. I sigh and keep walking.
The next memorial stands nearby, honouring the soldiers who died fighting for Declevis in the war. Smaller than the last, its graves are arranged in rows facing the river. Since I was little, I have never been able to unsee the gravestones as an army of ghosts in formation—silent, waiting, ready to attack should foreign soldiers spring from the opposite banks of the river again.
There aren’t as many families here, so it’s not difficult to spot him. In an outfit not too different from mine, and a bottle of liquor dangling loosely at his side, my father stands over his father’s grave. This is possibly the only time and place in Phanama where alcohol is not regarded with disgusted disapproval. And, as if he’s heard my unspoken thought, my father looks up. His expression is halfway between shock and solace. He presses his right hand to his chest as if he is ready to throw his heart to me, but then—just as quickly—he looks away, lingers for a moment, and moves on. I walk towards him, not to stop him, but to start my Riine Riine.
I brush my fingers across my paternal grandfather’s name, yet he isn’t why I’m here either. Lying beside him is my grandmother: the one who taught me how to sew, the one who tethered me to Declevis when we were refugees in Natans, the one who told me that all my dreams were worth chasing. The one who knitted me blankets warmer than a bonfire and tighter than a hug. The one who wanted to be buried beside her husband, even though she didn’t die in the war.
The sun disappears as I take off my Kafuhiko. I turn it inside out, revealing a simpler design, and carefully smooth it over where my grandmother lies, tucking her in like she tucked me in every night she could. My shoulders feel lighter and, as a frigid breeze blows over my bare forearms, warmth courses through my body. I sit down beside her and let my heart beat with the roar of the Declever.
Ros briskly weaves his way between restless families and their silent drums. Ros finds Kai pacing back and forth, but he still greets Ros with a smile, albeit a tight and uneasy one.
“What’s going on?” Ros presses.
“The Raamisdau is in a real state,” Kai exhales. “I thought it was because I accidentally called her the Raamistau, but this looks like much more.”
Ros crosses the broad bridge onto the island. There’s only one small, mostly glass, structure there—where the armistice that ended the Second Declevern Civil War was signed. Ros enters the structure to find three drums, three drummers at their sides, and a frantic Raamisdau surrounded by the Executive Council. Ros doesn’t even have a chance to ask what’s wrong before she launches into it.
“The Raamistau isn’t here. No Vespern Government Official is here!” the Raamisdau throws her arms into the air. “So no one can light the Kidrihu on Vesper’s behalf. If we just don’t light it, well, we’ll be celebrating the 80th Riine Riine without Kidrihùr. And if we don’t have a suitable person from Vesper light it, this will be the first improper Kidrihùr in 80 years!”
As if he is expecting the Raamistau to suddenly saunter onto the island, Ros looks towards the Vespern banks of the Declever. He doesn’t see the Raamistau. He sees almost no one. This side of the river is nearly empty, while nearly every square inch of the Declevis banks is occupied. Ros’ hands find each other and start knotting themselves together.
“Worst comes to worst, the Vice President can light it for Vesper,” the Raamisdau declares, defeated. “These Actorans have blood from all over the world flowing through their veins; I wouldn’t be surprised if his great-great-grandfather’s aunt’s grand-nephew’s step-sister-in-law was from Vesper.”
Maybe Kai’s mistake wasn’t fully forgiven, Ros smiles to himself, as a soldier enters.
“There is a Legislator from Vesper trying to get onto the island,” they begin. “He identified himself as—”
“A Legislator?!” the Raamisdau confirms, bewildered.
“Yes—”
“Bring him immediately,” the Raamisdau dismisses the soldier and turns to Ros with a fire brighter than the Kidrihu about to be lit. “Tradition demands Vesper, Declevis and Phanama be represented—whether by their leaders or through a loophole, we’ll make it work. But I will expect answers from the Raamistau’s office when this is over.”
The Legislator, a small man in an ill-fitting suit, rushes in a minute later. The Raamisdau gives him a rundown of everything that needs to happen, and as soon as she finishes, the first drummer starts a gentle rumble.
A sombre atmosphere settles over the Declever and its banks. The three drummers represent the two provinces and Spiritus. Since Declevis is hosting, the Vespern drummer is the one who starts the rumble before the Declev and Spiritan drummers join in.
The drummers follow a specific routine, but the thousands of people on the riverbanks add their own beat when they wish, as they wish. Even Declev and Vespern people in their homes and abroad are probably beating their home drums this instant. Then, groups of people on either side of the river stop drumming, pick up a wooden item and file across the bridges onto Kidrihùr Island. They place the wood in a designated area on the lawn, and the opposing lines acknowledge each other before moving to opposite sides of the river.
During all this, Ros finds his gaze drawn to the drums. Tendrils of steam rise from the drummer’s backs as their bare skin radiates raw determination, each beat an act of unshivering defiance against the merciless cold. Then—though he witnessed it last year—Ros still feels a jolt when the Spiritan drummer turns, striking the Vespern drum, and then the Declev drum. The rhythm shifts, naturally, but so does the atmosphere in the room. The drumming is nearing its end, and Ros needs to prepare for the final part of the ceremony as the sun’s rays paint a fiery sky overhead.
After one final grunt, the drummers step back and move in a single file. They each place one drumstick at the opening of a furnace, step out of the glass structure, and place the other drumstick on the gargantuan pile of wood outside—the soon-to-be Kidrihu. The Declev drummer crosses the bridge to Vesper, and the Vespern drummer to Declevis. The Spiritan drummer returns to the structure and places a drumstick-turned-torch into the Raamisdau’s palm, then the Legislator’s and, finally, the President’s untangling hands.
They walk out to the pile of wood and stand around it. With measured grace, they add their fiery offerings to the pile. Sparks fly, embers catch, flames devour. The Kidrihu is born.
Everyone watches the fire that will burn up all the hatred amongst Declev and Vespern peoples. The fire that will keep burning until they have learned their lesson. The fire burning in the middle of a river.
6th June 2025 Somewhere in Vesper
Ros needs to return to his presidential duties immediately, so he enters the convoy of electric vehicles commandeered to return him to Spiritus. As the chauffeur tunes the radio to find something interesting to listen to, Ros thinks about the Kidrihu—a fire burning in the middle of a river. He’s been coming to Kidrihùr for over three decades, but that image has never struck him this profoundly.
Seemingly, Ros isn’t the only one thinking of the contradiction. The chauffeur keeps flicking between stations, static punctuating each turn of the radio knob, and then Ros hears it.
The voice is strong, gravelly. Vespern. Ros internalises the meaning, but the accent is so thick that Ros must’ve misunderstood. He translates into Austral. And then he wishes he hadn’t. Because the meaning doesn’t change. It only becomes clearer.
“Their Kidrihu will burn our Declever dry. And Declevis will burn with it.”
Snow falls over the city like powdered sugar. Ana revs up the engine of her newly imported SUV, turning heads as she sails down the streets of Skierova to the Raamistau’s office. The Raamisdau, Jana Haritu, has been giving Ana an earful about Vesper’s absence at Riine Riine, and Ana has had enough. She knows she’ll find Raamistau Kìruna in her office, despite it being a Sunday; in fact, the Raamistau clocks in every day of the week. Sometimes Ana wonders how this affects her family, but come to think of it, the Raamistau never talks about her family.
Ana turns up the volume of the radio because she can, then leans one arm by the window as she steers with one hand. “A great victory has been won for the people of Vesper,” a gravelly voice with a strong Vespern accent booms. “The beginning of our liberation!”
That’s interesting, Ana thinks, but abandons that train of thought as she pulls into the compound of the Raamistau Office Building, spraying snow all over the walls. She doesn’t want to spend any more time than she needs to here, so she briskly walks up to the Raamistau’s office but comes to a halt outside the door, open ajar.
“Excellent work on this week’s broadcasts,” beams a voice that must belong to Raamistau Kìruna. “You will have the extra funding in your account before the end of the week.” A pause. “This week? Highlight the separatist protests that will take place this week.” Another pause. “Trust me, protests will take place this week,” says the Raamistau, shaking fat wads of ramesos in her free hand.
Ana knocks on the door and is called in. She marvels at the Raamistau’s bookshelves, opulent furniture, the Map of Vesper that forms the ceiling, and the floor-to-ceiling window behind her surprisingly empty desk.
“What brings you to my office on a Sunday afternoon?” asks the Raamistau with narrowed eyes.
“Riine Riine,” Ana replies. “The Raamisdau has been giving us grief over our absence at the Kidrihùr.”
Raamistau Kìruna considers this for a moment. Then, she stands up and walks to the window. “Tell Jana…nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Let me ask you, Ana: what good does Riine Riine do? Does that silly dance they make us do across the Declever make up for all the suffering? Does the Kidrihu burn up all our trauma and hardship? No. I thought you knew about as much, since you wrote the broadcast for all Vespern citizens to boycott the so-called ‘celebration’ this year.”
Broadcast? Yes, Ana did write a recommendation for people to boycott Riine Riine due to weather and safety concerns, but she just sent it to the Raamistau, not to any television or radio station…and wasn’t the Raamistau just talking about a broadcast on the phone—
“Besides!” the Raamistau interjects Ana’s thoughts enthusiastically, “it gave me more time to put the finishing touches on my bill. After preoccupying my mind for the past year and a half, it finally reached the Council of States this morning. It has already received some strong reactions. Which reminds me.”
Raamistau Kìruna returns to the desk and dials a number on her landline. Secession? That must be what the radio presenter was talking about on Ana’s drive here. Secession? Like…Vesper leaving Phanama?
“Nearly forgot! Make sure you talk about Oskar Lukianne’s comments on Stream. He scrubbed them so fast that no one knows what he really said. Twist his post to bruise Vespern pride—and ensure Vesperns will want to project that pain onto Spiritus and the Declev. That is all.”
The Raamistau puts the receiver down and dismisses Ana.
10 June 2025 Underground Spiritus, Spiritus
Prime Minister and Chairwoman Elna Sotahuri is wrapping up the week’s National Security Council Conclave. However, she notices that Ros hasn’t spoken much today.
“The President’s mind seems to be above ground today,” she says as she gathers her files. Ros does not flinch, but slowly turns his head to Elna.
“It’s in Vesper, hence my silence.” The air thickens with Ros’s words. Elna opens her mouth to say something, but Ros continues. “Their potential secession is on the floor of the Council of States, and it did not come from a vacuum. We’ve had opportunities to look into the situation in Vesper, to understand, to act. But we waited. And now, we watch. They have radio stations spreading propaganda—”
Ros intended to say more, but he shudders as he remembers the radio. He hasn’t been able to shake off those words he heard on his way back to Spiritus on Friday:
Elna laughs, “These are just political theatrics. When have secessionist movements ever succeeded in Phanama? No province has ever broken away, and Vesper won’t be the first.”
“How is progress on the Vesper report?” Defence Minister Vaske Brookhelm asks. “It was raised during your last tenure as Chairwoman, and it was commissioned nearly nine months ago.”
Silence rings out over the room again.
13 June 2025 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
Ana’s drive to work today wasn’t as smooth as usual. People lined the streets of Skierova and gathered in parks to protest in favour of secession. Ana nearly ignored them because there weren’t too many—and also because she was up late designing new uniforms for the Vespern police. The Raamistau had asked her yesterday, but Ana wasn’t sure why.
Ana now makes it a habit to stop a few steps before she reaches Raamistau Kìruna’s office so she can hear things she wouldn’t know otherwise.
“I want more of you and more violence on the streets next week,” the Raamistau’s voice declares. “Get people’s attention.”
Ana hears footsteps shuffling before the door swings open and amber light floods the corridor. She straightens herself up to greet whoever the Raamistau’s distinguished guest is.
Well…distinguished is certainly one word for him.
He is wearing several mismatched jackets, each sporting several tears and threadbare patches. His unkempt hair merges with his thick black beard, cascading down to his torso like a mane. He bares his teeth at Ana as he stuffs more ramesos than she can count into his jacket. Ana steps out of his way and hurriedly knocks on the Raamistau’s door.
“Have a seat,” Raamistau Kìruna says with an indiscernible expression, engrossed in the three computer monitors on her desk. Ana shakily removes her binder from her bag. She has half a mind to ask the Raamistau who that man was, but the other half of Ana’s mind is still recovering from what happened the last time she pried into the Raamistau’s affairs.
“Here they are,” Ana beams, as she places her hand-drawn sketches on the desk. “I wanted to keep it simple: a dark tone for the pants, a lighter one with the Vespern crest for the top, and a white belt in between.” She begins flipping through the binder. “I coloured them in red, green, blue—”
“Disgusting,” spits the Raamistau, momentarily registering emotion on her face. “Just…leave it. I’ll see what the police department can do about this.”
Ana’s mouth drops open slightly in shock: first, because Raamistau Kìruna has never been this brazen with her; second, because Ana wonders why the Raamistau wants to sic the police on her. Then Ana realises that she was talking about the uniform designs, not her crimes.
The Raamistau regains her composure. “On your way there, please inform the police that they should not intervene in next week’s protests. Dismissed.”
19 June 2025 President’s Residence, Spiritus
Ros hasn’t slept well this week. The Special Session of the National Assembly has been keeping him up each night, but Ros’s stomach has been tying itself into knots recently because today is his turn to speak officially on the Vespern Secession Bill. He distracts himself by getting out of bed and looking out of his window. It’s still dark, but Aviateza Avenue—the road that leads to the President’s Residence, named after Phanama’s most unequivocally outstanding President—is lit well enough for Ros to see him.
With Kai abroad, Ros’s schedule is often such that he jumps out of bed straight into a meeting. However, to maintain his sanity, Ros has opted for slower mornings this week; he intended to spend this time journaling, but he usually just stares out of his window. He began noticing a man with dishevelled hair and clothing choices that put the man’s mental stability up for debate. He has been making a home for himself along Aviateza Avenue, decorating the lawns with discarded flower pots, broken picture frames, abandoned tennis rackets, etc. Up close, Ros has seen the man make art in the shape of circles, rectangles, lines, and abstract shapes. Ros has never seen him asleep, and even now, the man is giving a passionate lecture to what might have been a compost bin in a previous life. Though every time Ros has tried to talk to the man, he simply stares. Sometimes, he even enters the compound of the President’s Residence: security supervise but do not touch him, and the other staff treat him fondly. Hemva says he’s been here longer than any of us.
Anyway, Ros must return to his schedule. He makes his way to the dining room for breakfast and, on top of his daily pile of newspapers, Ros sees a sealed letter: Hemva usually handles his mail and debriefs him in the evening, but for her to leave a letter unsealed at breakfast? Hmm. But as Ros reads the letter and reaches the final paragraph, he understands why.
Ros neatly folds the letter and sets it beside his untouched breakfast. He finds the draft of his speech on his phone and begins whittling it, as tendrils of steam from his tea curl toward the ceiling.
The week after the secession bill failed, the sky hung low and heavy with snow. Perhaps that was a good thing. This veil kept the world from witnessing horrors on the streets of Vesper. Horrors unseen since the end of the Second Declevern Civil War. Horrors alive only in memory, until memory became prophecy.
Nestled in quiet Alterr at the foot of the Valde Mountain Range, a mother wraps herself in a shawl as she watches Vesper descend into chaos. She should have stayed in Declevis and abandoned the allure of the foreign mountains in a land of familiar people: people who now hated her kind, who always did. She hears her son giggling outside as he plays with the snow. She calls him back inside. “It’s not safe out,” she says.
It is rush hour, and the usually bustling bakery that serves Sildenda—just across the Declever from Estoria—is silent. The sickly stench of smoke replaces the sweet scent of bread. Graffiti criss-crosses over what was once a sign. The windows are shuttered, padlocked and boarded up. Cracks reveal the upturned chairs inside. The bakery’s Declev owners have already fled across the river. Silent.
Taende, however, is loud. Pitchforks and profanities rule the streets, insulting and assaulting anyone in their way. A man was lucky to escape with his life and a limp, slipping occasionally on black ice. His shirt and jacket, stiff with blood, cling to him as he staggers towards the hospital. His uneven breathing is shallow by the time he approaches the neon sign, a beacon of hope casting jagged shadows behind him. He pulls himself to the reception and places his Declev identification on the nurse’s desk. Her eyes dart between him and the card before she shakes her head and returns it to him, “It’s no longer safe for you here.”
Not too far away in the capital city, Ana drives by a Declev street food vendor in Skierova. She slows down when she sees a mob surround him. Screaming. Chanting. Hurling stones at him. Ana reverses onto a different road. No police intervene.
Ana arrives at the Raamistau Office Building just before Raamistau Kìruna, standing in front of the veiled structure, goes on air. She is sporting her signature, sleek, grey bun and dark olive pantsuit. Ana finds a place behind the cameras once they begin rolling, but she listens to only snippets of the Raamistau’s speech. The pleading screams of the street vendor fill in the gaps for Ana. This is going to be a long press conference.
“Today,” Raamistau Kìruna begins, “Vesper enters a new age. Those who committed crimes against Vespern identity will be tried…” Across the province, police raid Declev community centres, seizing documents, devices and dignity. Heavy courtroom doors slam shut behind bewildered people, young and old, judged one by one: not for what they’ve done, but for who they are.
“…In this new dawn, infrastructure reinforcements are required…” Ana catches this statement only because, right before the Raamistau said it, a well-groomed man dressed in a dapper suit joins the Raamistau in frame. He shakes the Raamistau Kìruna’s hand, announced as the head of the “National Defence Units of Vesper.” But something doesn’t sit right with Ana. No, he can’t be…can he? Ana tilts her head to the side and squints. Then she’s certain. This is the man who bared his teeth at her two weeks ago. A shudder runs up Ana’s spine, and she looks down at her designer boots, tuning out once more.
“…We hope for cooperation from the neighbouring state of Phanama…” A Phanaman freight truck driving through District 4 makes its way into Vespern territory, but is stopped by police officers—customs officers—at a makeshift barrier erected on the road. Confused, the driver asks what the issue is. The officers inspect her truck before looking up at her, coldly, claiming the goods do not have international clearance.
The Raamistau’s speech reaches a crescendo, and Ana is forced back into reality. Raamistau Kìruna lifts her hands in the air. The cue. Ana signals to the people holding up the veil to drop it. Simultaneously, across Vesper, Phanaman flags are being lowered and replaced by Vespern emblems. Once the veil hits the ground, the crowd collectively takes a sharp breath. Raamistau Kìruna released her bun, but that is not what caused the cheering that followed. She steps out of frame, and Ana watches as the cameras zoom into the new inscription crowning the Raamistau Office Building:
The Sovereign Republic of Vesper, A Nation Unbound
“Everything is happening too fast,” Ana tells herself as she races down the street to the supermarket. She forgot to arrange for her groceries to be delivered to her doorstep last weekend, so one of her maids timidly croaked that they’ve run out of bread. This must be how the street food vendor has chosen to haunt her. “Silly Ana,” she chides herself with the ghost of a laugh. “He can’t haunt you if he’s still breathing.” He is certainly still screaming in her mind.
Ana swerves into the mall parking lot, switches off the engine, and gathers her trench coat about her as she rushes into the supermarket, browses the aisles, and makes her way to the b—bang.
Shelves crash. Carts topple. Shoppers scatter. Screaming. Ana freezes. Boxes soar through the air. They soar towards Ana. Someone shoves her. The crowd presses in. Away from the entrance. Ana dives behind the bakery counter and ducks behind an oven with dozens of others. Flour footprints. Ragged breathing. Dough rising. A baby crying. Shh!
“PHANÓMA HIIGERÈNS!”
(Phanama will fall.)
The lights go out. Ana’s heart pounds louder and louder. And closer. And closer. The people across the bakery cower. That wasn’t her heartbeat, was it?
“PHANÓMA HIIGEVIÈN!”
(Phanama is falling.)
The air fills with tension, a scent foreign to the baby who is stirring again. Ana reaches out to them, to soothe them, to keep them from blowing their cover.
“PHANÓMA HIIGEGÈN!”
(Phanama has fallen.)
The lights come back. The footsteps retreat. All good—DING.
The bread is ready.
4 July 2025 President’s Residence, Spiritus
Ros watches the news. Only snapshots of the violence in Vesper are shown, but if this is only part of the story, how much worse must things on the ground be? That’s why Ros wants to see for himself. A single tear rolls down his face.
He’s tired. It’s exhausting when people you—and everyone, actually—should care about suffer, and all you can do is nothing. It grows your heart cold. But maybe the flames of Vespern anger might be able to thaw Ros’s freezing heart.
5 July 2025 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
Ana tells herself time and again to stop eavesdropping. Nothing good ever comes out of it. But she still finds herself tiptoeing towards the seemingly clandestine conversation being held in Raamistau Kìruna’s office.
“Everything is set?” Raamistau Kìruna asks someone.
“Yes,” a gravelly voice responds. Ana struggles to put a name to this voice. And then shudders when she does: it’s the “Head of the National Defence Units of Vesper.” Ana feels far from safe.
6 July 2025 Central Train Station, Natans, District 4
If he’s being completely honest, Ros does not have a plan. He’s been iffy about visiting Vesper, but Hemva said it’ll build more bridges than it could burn, and Kai responded with a when Ros texted him about it. Ros already knew what the National Security Council would say, so he didn’t even bother telling them about this unplanned trip. He brought a few Security Personnel along with him, so Ros isn’t being that reckless. But with only one stop between him and Skierova, he needs to think—
“Excuse me, President Bjòrandi?” a voice comes from behind Ros.
“Sorry,” one of the President’s Security interjects. “The President is on a tight schedule.”
“The President can also speak for himself, I’m sure.”
Ros isn’t so sure, but he turns around and sees a familiar face that he can’t place: stubble, strong smile, slicked-back hair. None of these features rings a bell, but Ros is certain he has seen this gentleman before. In any case, Ros has always made a point to speak with all of his constituents, especially when they demonstrate dogged determination to see him. And that’s when Ros recognises the man.
“Please go ahead without me. I’ll catch the next connection,” Ros dismisses his Security Personnel.
3 September 2003 Downtown Natans, District 4
Ros glances between the two letters in his hands: in his left, his exam report (the best in District 4) and in his right, the accompanying offer letter from the University of Spiritus (the best in Phanama). A party in his honour is being thrown at school, but parties aren’t Ros’s things. Plus, he knows his small cash prize will not last if he stays there, and Ros wanted to buy something nice for his parents’ anniversary.
His right hand holds one of seven nearly identical letters—one for each District, inviting the topper to study whatever they wish at Phanama’s flagship university. But what would Ros study? He had taken mostly science subjects over the past two years and planned to continue following that route. Economics was fine, but he doesn’t come by money often, so he feared how he’d behave if analysing it became his life’s work. And then—no. No. NO! That wasn’t an option either. Even studying History was a long war he won by a whisker against his parents. He didn’t even look at Politics: he would’ve had his eyes gouged out if he did.
He still has some time to make a decision, but he won’t have enough time to get a gift if he’s dawdling. Ros returns the letters to their envelopes and begins browsing shops before they close. Spring is near, so he can’t help but watch trees try to repopulate the city’s skyline with leaves, flowers peeking to check if winter’s truly ending, and birds reclaiming their thrones on power lines. Ros doesn’t realise he has walked through almost all of downtown Natans without finding anything until the sky dims and he’s alone on the street. Well…not completely alone.
Not too far from Ros, there’s a man with a greying beard wearing a threadbare jacket and a drooping beanie. He’s sat on the ground, gathering burlap sacks around him for warmth as the sun sets. Ros can only imagine how hard winter must have been for the man. President Aviateza might be Phanama’s “Phenomenal President,” but his soaring GDP had little to do with alleviating people’s suffering. Ros’s cash prize is still untouched, and he takes off his coat. It’s his only good winter coat: precisely why he offers it to the man on the street.
“I don’t ask young people for help,” he smiles wistfully. “Your future is far brighter than mine. Making good use of it is the only charity I’ll accept.”
Ros learns Kona’s name, of his life since the Second Civil War made him a refugee, and his favourite colour. Kona is eventually persuaded enough to accept Ros’s jacket and the money inside, and he bids Ros goodbye. Night has fallen and snow is following suit, yet Ros feels oddly warm inside. He’s found his response to Spiritus’s offer: he wants to fix the system and build a Phanama that helps everyone. Studying so close to the National Assembly, he could sit in the gallery whenever the House is in session, get a Representative’s attention and work his way up. But perhaps only in another universe.
Ros makes his way home.
6 July 2025 Kona’s Home, Natans, District 4
Neither of the two gentlemen has spoken since they left the train station. Not when they exchanged the Declev handshake. Nor when Kona ushered Ros into his electric sedan and drove them to his home.
Ros is sitting on a plush sofa in Kona’s living room, studying the diplomas and degrees on his ochre walls. Walls that are standing because of the Affordable Housing bill Ros wrote and passed almost ten years ago, when he finally decided to give his dreams a shot.
Kona enters the room with an omnaavikra for the two of them to share. “Thank you,” Ros whispers, as he helps Kona set the meal down on the carpet.
Kona smiles. “Thank you.”
They sit down, ready to discuss where life has taken them since their last interaction. Kona was returning from an overseas business trip and took a train home from the airport; that’s when he saw Ros—
And that’s when the breaking news hits. And then the news breaks Ros.
He just missed a derailed train. Others were not as lucky.
7 July 2025 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
Ana speeds down the corridor in her stiletto heels to alert the Raamistau that the press conference is about to start. It’s unlike Raamistau Kìruna to be late for an event—if she’s not there by the time it starts, that means she’s not coming—and Ana believes cancelling this press conference would be a horrible PR move, especially since the President has already delivered his and crowds have gathered below the balcony to her what Vesper’s head of state has to say.
Just as Ana’s knuckle touches the ornate wooden door, Raamistau Kìruna flies out. She struggles to hurriedly tie her unruly grey curls into her signature bun, muttering something under her breath over and over again, “Never get your hopes up. Never get your hopes up.”
The Raamistau rushes past Ana, seemingly unaware of her presence. Ana stands there, stunned, clutching her binder. What’s gotten to the Raamistau? During her nine months serving as Deputy Raamistau, Ana has never seen Kìruna appear so…frantic. This prompts Ana to analyse her appearance in the window opposite her, before she tries to catch up to her boss.
“Vespètaa,” the Raamistau begins once she’s on the balcony, only slightly out of breath. “Tragedy has struck our great nation. Saboteurs have placed a stumbling block on our path to true self-determination. They will never succeed.
“We shall not taint our minds with the terror they sought to invoke. Instead, we will honour the twenty-four fallen with twenty-four days of mourning, culminating in a vigil against violence, a vigil for Vesper.”
Applause.
22 July 2025 Underground Spiritus, Spiritus
“In conclusion,” Defence Minister Vaske Brookhelm sighs. “Preliminary findings corroborate the vast majority of eyewitness accounts from the ground: a powerful explosion triggered a massive avalanche as the train rounded a hill, leading to the derailment. Our investigators’ efforts to determine the cause of the explosion have been impeded by Vespern authorities, raising several questions.”
Prime Minister Elna Sotahuri yawns in the otherwise silent room before asking, “What do you suggest?”
Minister Brookhelm crosses his arms. “We infiltrate their ranks and work from the inside out to figure out who needs to be brought to justice.”
“Consider the ramifications. Skierova’s relationship with Spiritus is tenuous at best, so how would Ra-mee-staa-oo Kìruna react if she found out we were intervening in their affairs?”
“No country recognises Vesper as a sovereign state, least of all Phanama: Vesper is a province within our jurisdiction. Besides, even if you want to play the Raamistau’s game and respect her pretend republic, Phanamans lost their lives on that train. We owe it to their families to ensure that their murderers do not go scot-free.”
“Let’s settle it with a vote,” Ros interjects, and the six other heads in the room turn. Ros hasn’t spoken much during Conclaves over the past few weeks; half the Ministers in the National Security Council assume that he is dealing with the shock of a near-death experience, while the other half believe his silence is strategic.
Prime Minister Sotahuri commences the vote. “Those in favour of intervention?”
Defence Minister Brookhelm. Home Minister Oakwell. The four remaining Ministers vote against.
“And the President’s vote?”
Ros clears his throat, “In favour.”
Prime Minister Sotahuri is content with the result. Three against four. However, since Vice President Leandro is absent, the President’s vote counts for two. And, in the event of a deadlock, the President’s vote breaks the tie. Five against four. The Prime Minister’s smile becomes tight-lipped. “Very well,” she sighs. “Let’s begin planning.”
A few minutes later
Once the meeting is over and the National Security Council members start dispersing above ground, Minister Brookhelm makes a point to catch up with the President.
“Thank you for your support,” he says. President Bjòrandi looks at him for a long moment.
“Not at all,” Ros smiles finally. “I’m happy the Council is finally taking action. I might celebrate tomorrow with a sunrise walk.”
That’s an odd thing to say, Vaske thinks. But he’s barely heard Ros speak, so perhaps this is normal. “Where to?”
“Oh, not too far,” Ros scratches his beard. “Aviateza Avenue might be a good place to stop.”
“I’d agree,” Vaske laughs. Ros doesn’t. He’s furrowing his eyebrows.
“I think I forgot my name. What could it be…” Ros trails off. “Ris?”
“Ris?” Vaske asks, confused.
“Ris?” Ros responds.
It takes Vaske a second. Then he understands. “Ros.”
Vaske Brookhelm is pacing back and forth, occasionally pausing to see the latest installation in the resident street artist’s gallery. He mostly ignores Vaske, instead working on what seems to be a wheel with asymmetric spokes. Vaske replays his last conversation with the President in his head. None of it made sense. Could that have been the point?
Vaske doesn’t mind unhinged conversations, but President Bjòrandi has never struck him as unhinged or conversational. That was the first hint that the “sunrise walk” was more than just physical exercise for the President: it was a mental one for the Defence Minister.
The next clue was the distance. Not too far? Why would Ros walk to Aviateza Avenue, right outside the President’s Residence? He wouldn’t, Vaske concluded. That must be where the journey would begin rather than end. And if Ros was speaking in opposites, perhaps to mess with eavesdroppers, then the journey would be very long. And begin at sunset rather than sunrise.
Vaske always spoke in code with his brothers when they were younger, so yesterday he thought he was seeing things that weren’t there. But then there was the whole name thing. Doctors across Phanama would be working overtime if the President had amnesia. And no one can mistake “Ris” for “Ros.”
What the whole Ris/Ros thing actually means
-ris is the Phanaman verb ending for second person singular future tense, while -ros is first person singular future tense. Asking “Ris?” is effectively asking if you are going to do something (think, “Are you in?”) and saying “Ros” is saying you will do something (a bit like, “I’m in.”)
Of course, Vaske could still be completely wrong, and he might’ve wasted a perfectly good evening. But a black car just left the President’s Residence and is pulling up beside him. Ros is inside, waving him over.
23 July 2025 Somewhere in Phanama
After jumping over several mental hurdles to figure out Ros’s riddles, Vaske thought his reward would be a little more than hours of silent driving in the dark. He isn’t even entirely sure where they are anymore—Ros is using roads completely unfamiliar to Vaske, so he lost his bearings once they were out of Spiritus. Ros also asked for Vaske’s phone and hasn’t given it back. Vaske considers for the first time that this could end badly. But no: he trusts Ros because…well, he doesn’t have a reason, but he’s a good guy. Right?
But what really goes on inside the President’s mind? Worse comes to worst, Vaske reminds himself, he could take Ros in a fight.
Seemingly offended by Vaske’s thoughts, Ros brings the car to a halt. It’s an empty, dimly lit parking lot. Aside from the sound of the two men breathing, Vaske thinks he can hear rushing water. The ocean?
“We’re here,” Ros whispers as he gets out of the car. “If you want to go back, no hard feelings.”
Vaske stands up and considers this before saying, “We could be on the southern tip of Crabry for all I know. My legs can only take me back so far.”
Ros chuckles. “You decrypted my cipher, so you deserve the full solution.”
They walk for a few minutes towards a building. Its silhouette in the moonlight seems like something Vaske should recognise from photos, but it doesn’t ring any bells. Ros takes off his glasses for a retina scan, and what must be the back entrance of the building swings open. They enter, and Ros takes Vaske down several dimly lit corridors with twists and turns before stepping inside an elevator. Ros presses a long string of floor numbers, but nothing happens. And then it starts descending. Fast. And then it stops. The doors creak open. The two gentlemen are bathed in light.
“Glad you could make it,” beams Raamisdau Jana Haritu.
23 July 2025 Raamisdau Bunker, Underground Estoria, Declevis
A lot of information follows in bits and pieces. Here is what Vaske manages to gather.
He is currently in the Raamisdau’s Bunker, a mostly white room punctuated by computer workstations and LED screens on the walls, displaying maps, news, graphs, and the like. This is where the President has been spending most of his time since the Soge Derailment, along with the Raamisdau of Declevis and Sama Hauveza (whom Vaske recognises as a former Councillor for Declevis) and other people Vaske doesn’t know yet.
“We’ve been keeping a close eye on developments in Vesper,” Raamisdau Haritu explains. “The President has been helping us with national intelligence, military and humanitarian personnel to scope the ground and help alleviate the violence in Vesper in any way he can.”
“I thought we’d make more headway here than in the National Security Council,” Ros adds with a yawn, stretching out the bags under his eyes. “I didn’t bother sharing any of this with the NSC. You know what they would have done.” And Vaske does: absolutely nothing.
“So,” Vaske pinches himself, making sure the past two days weren’t a dream he was about to wake up from. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you’re the only person in the NSC who seems to care about what’s happening in this part of Pacifica. Plus, it might be easier to solve the mystery behind the Derailment from here. Considering that we’ve already narrowed down our list of suspects,” Ros adds with a proud flourish. “So what do you say? Are you in?”
Vaske is shaking with excitement. He finally gets to do something with his job. He exchanges a knowing smile with the President, “Ros.”
“Excellent,” the Raamisdau chimes in. “We also managed to get hold of a valuable…resource, to aid us in our efforts. Come on in!”
Now, Vaske isn’t quite sure what he was expecting. But it certainly wasn’t this. The sound of heavy footsteps comes from behind him. Ros’s mouth falls open when they stop. Sama looks away.
Because someone has just been rolled into the room, shackled to a wheelchair. And that someone is former Raamistau Ian Aarijuka.
Thunder punctuates Ros’s return to Aviateza Avenue, bringing the nearly two-hour-long road trip to an end. Vaske said he’d take the train back to Spiritus, so Ros left while everyone else was trying to fleece former Raamistau Aarijuka for information: partly because Ros has an early morning meeting, but mainly because the whole thing felt wrong. The Raamisdau assured Ros that the ex-Raamistau was not mistreated, and Aarijuka even seemed enthusiastic about taking down his successor, but still.
It’s been three weeks, but these bunker meetings have aged Ros decades. Taking the train in the day would probably help, but driving at night makes it easier to keep the group’s operations discreet. Lightning forks across the sky. The thunder rolls swiftly.
Ros is a grown man, but stormy nights still make him wish he could run into his mother’s arms. She would enclose him in a tight embrace, shielding him from the thunder and lightning, reminding Ros that they couldn’t hurt him. Now, she can’t stand to breathe the same air as him.
And where was his father during all this? Coasting through life on his own, emotionally absent. Yet, on stormy nights…yes, he remembers. His dad would wrap Ros in his grandmother’s blanket, cooing to coax sleep into Ros’s eyelids. He wouldn’t be there when they fluttered open in the morning, but he would stay until they sealed themselves shut. And now, his father seems to linger at the periphery of Ros’s life, while his mother wants nothing to do with it.
Neither of them called to check in when Ros was allegedly caught in the wreckage outside Soge. His mother was probably clucking, justifying her decision to cut Ros off for entering politics. But would his father have cared? Was his hand inching towards the phone, fear gripping him at the last moment—like it always did his entire life? To the point that he decided he’d rather drown in liquor than swim through the turbulent waves of life? Ros could only speculate.
The gate to the President’s Residence slides open and, just before Ros drives in, he looks at his neighbour’s latest creation: a pie chart. Huh. Maybe the lines Ros always saw him creating were line graphs. Come to think of it, many of the man’s abstract shapes look like maps of Phanama and the provinces.
Fascinating.
17:45 24 July 2025 Raamistau Office Building, Skierova, Vesper
The thing is, if Raamistau Kìruna were more transparent with Ana, she wouldn’t have to resort to eavesdropping. There were several things Ana needed to know to carry out her duties effectively, but she only found out about them by pressing her ear against the Raamistau’s remarkably thin walls. The Raamistau stopped calling in her Deputy to discuss anything ever since the whole uniform fiasco a month ago. What was all that about, anyway?
Ana clutches her gold earrings and pearl necklaces so they don’t make a sound.
“Burning roads and bridges, breaking into Declev buildings, inciting riots…” Raamistau Kìruna sounds like a news anchor. “I’m going to need a bit more from you next week.”
“What do you suggest?” The gravelly voice makes Ana gag.
“The Vigil. Make it absolute chaos.”
Ana’s head deflates. The Vigil? That’s meant to be a solemn time for mourning! Has Raamistau Kìruna been behind everything? All the violence? The Omna Mall incident? The Derailment that killed twenty-four people?
Who is she?
“Come on in, Ana.”
Ana’s blood turns to ice. She considers turning tiptoeing away from the door, but that could end very badly; it would be two psychopaths against her. Ana composes herself before entering.
“Care to tell me why you were eavesdropping on my private conversation?” Raamistau Kìruna is oddly warm, making and maintaining eye contact with Ana.
“I…”
“Not to mention this isn’t a first-time offence,” disappointment laces each of the Raamistau’s words. “I haven’t brought it up before out of the kindness of my heart.”
“I…” Ana doesn’t know what to say, so she goes with the truth. “You’re a monster, Volta.”
Ana plants herself firmly on the ground, steeling herself for the blow that is sure to strike her head any moment now. It never comes. But a heavier hit is about to come. Why else would the Raamistau be laughing? The last time that happened was…
Raamistau Kìruna ducks beneath her desk and resurfaces with a large binder emblazoned with the red seal of Vesper. The Raamistau is no longer laughing now.
“Considering how pale you’ve become underneath all that blush and bronzer, I’m certain this binder looks familiar.” Each word is an icicle stabbing Ana’s heart. She says nothing.
“This time, however,” the Raamistau continues, flipping through the binder. “These are not the receipts of embezzlement from several members of my cabinet. That file was much lighter.”
She closes the binder and pushes it across her desk towards Ana. “All of these misappropriated funds can be traced back to one Ananeli Fujarvi. Imported cars. Designer clothing. Luxurious real estate. Fleets of maids.
“You have stolen more money than all the members of my previous cabinet combined! And you remember what happened to them, don’t you?”
She does. She drops her keys on the Raamistau’s desk, picks up her binder and walks away.
“Out of curiosity,” Raamistau Volta Kìruna pipes up again. “Where are you going?”
Ana stops dead in her tracks but doesn’t turn. Volta is unfazed. “I’m only asking since all your assets were bought with Government funds. And, since you’re no longer a member of this Government, isn’t it only fair that we reclaim what is rightfully ours?”
Sobs begin wracking Ana’s body and she crumples onto the ground.
“Aw, don’t cry!” Volta teases. “I know readjusting to homeless life will be tough, but at least be grateful I’m letting you keep the clothes on your back.”
Ana lets her tears fall onto the Raamistau’s carpet, salving her knees as she crawls out of the office.
“Hmm. Next!” Ana barks at the non-existent student next in line, her eyes transfixed on the dog-eared history textbook deposited on her desk. Declever: River to Ruins. Ana runs her fingers along its aged spine before opening the cover. The ghost of a smile haunts her face as she finds the serial number, written in her own hand from an era long forgotten. How many years had it been since she picked up this book for the university?
She remembers the bookshop from which she collected the book: the fully-fledged, Declev-owned, one-stop shop on everything to do with Declevis. Ana walked by it on Thursday night. The shelves were emptied so the books could be used to fuel a fire outside. The warmth of that raging flame is the only thing that felt real that night.
After crawling out of the Raamistau’s office, Ana gathered the few shreds of her dignity and walked. She walked to her office, but her ID card no longer opened the door. She walked home, but her keys jammed in the replaced locks. So she kept walking.
Until she slipped on black ice. She fell onto the icy pavement and, while she lay there, the hooligans broke into the bookshop. Ana sat up when they set the fire—not to object, but to feel its warmth on her skin. She watched words evaporate before her eyes, but she feared her tears would not be as lucky if she began crying again. So she picked herself up and kept walking.
Her feet took her to Skierova University. She pleaded for her old job and the concomitant university staff housing it came with. It wasn’t a struggle, since most of the university’s workforce disappeared once Vesper descended into chaos. Ana disappeared from the university long before that. Now she’s back, and it’s like she never left.
08:00 24 September 2020 Skierova University, Vesper
“Excuse me? Are you the librarian?” The voice was firm, authoritative, but the accent and intonation were foreign. The librarian looked up from her desk at the elderly lady standing in front of her, grey hair tied neatly into a tight bun. People her age rarely frequented this desk, but the librarian needed a hand and wasn’t about to turn one away.
“That’s right. Are you the new library assistant?” The librarian asks, standing to survey her new colleague.
The lady extends her arm. “Volta Kìruna.”
“Ananeli Fujarvi, but you can call me Ana,” the librarian responds as she takes Volta’s arm. What a polite old lady, Ana thinks to herself.
16:30 26 July 2025 Raamisdau’s Bunker, Underground Estoria, Declevis
“President Bjòrandi?” Vaske asks as he nudges him. Ros has been cracking his knuckles and knotting his hands together since he arrived. His body is here in Estoria, but his mind is in Spiritus. Nonetheless, he has been keeping up with what is going on.
“I think we should believe him,” Ros declares, looking up for the first time all afternoon. “When did you say you met Kìruna?”
“About a year or so before we ran for Raamistau,” Ian Aarijuka responds before adding wistfully, “she was always an enigma, that one.”
“Still!” Raamisdau Jana Haritu interjects. “That should’ve been long enough for you to at least have some understanding of who she is!”
“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past hour,” former Councillor Sama Hauveza groans as she rubs her temples. “Have you considered the possibility that Ian actually can’t read Volta’s mind and tell us what she’s planning?”
“Fine!” Jana throws her hands into the air and storms off to her computer.
“Sorry for wasting your time, Ian.”
“Not at all,” the former Raamistau replies. “Your cause is just, and I, more than anyone, want to see my home province return to normalcy. I’ll be happy to remain part of your secret club as long as you opt for more…” Ian trails off as he rubs his wrists. “Conventional methods of communicating.”
Everyone, except Jana, laughs.
18:45 Traffic in Spiritus
Ros stops at a traffic light and asks his digital assistant to read the Prime Minister’s email one more time:
“I would like to express my disappointment at your late response to my requests for documentation to proceed with the Derailment investigation. Your Presidential duties ought to take priority—”
“Move to trash,” Ros sighs. He’s not going to be put down by someone whose biggest concern for the past year and a half has been his email response times. He is finally standing on his own two feet, and he won’t let words knock him down.
“Email moved to trash,” his phone pipes back. The lights turn green, and Ros drives off. He feels lighter already.
“Surprise,” the voice is not terribly enthusiastic—tired almost—but loud. Since Ros is not expecting it, and it’s coming from within the President’s Residence, there is only one person this voice could belong to.
“Kai!” Ros screams down the stairs as he takes them two at a time and pounces on the Vice President. “Howareyou? Howmanycountriesdidyouvisit? Howmanylanguagesdidyouhavetolearn? Ohmygoodnessyoumustbesotired! Givemeallthedetails!”
“It was…a lot,” Kai ponders as he reclaims his seat across from the President on the dining table. Something seems off about Kai, but Ros’s concerns are allayed when Kai’s smile and humour join them at the table. “There was this engaging climate change conference on new models for temperature and sea level changes in the South Pacific, but if I start talking today, I’ll finish next week! How’s Phanama?”
The sigh leaves Ros’s mouth before Kai finishes speaking. He fills his partner-in-crime in on everything: Kìruna’s failed secession bill, her declaration of Vespern independence, the Soge Derailment, and his intelligence operations alongside Defence Minister Brookhelm with the crew in Estoria.
“Right now, we’re trying to ensure Wednesday’s vigil goes on smoothly without incident,” Ros concludes. “You want in?”
Kai has been looking out the window, seemingly engrossed in the formless darkness outside. Ros tries to get his attention, “Kai? You with me?”
“Yeah,” he shakes his head back into reality. “It’s just…a lot to take in. Plus, remember what happened the last time I joined one of these quests of yours? I might’ve essentially caused all this chaos!”
The memory of the Raamisdau’s crash out on Kai gets only a hollow laugh out of Ros. Maybe all that travelling changed his best friend, he thinks to himself before dismissing the thought. Kai must just be exhausted.
I’ve been focused on school, but I’m on a short break so I thought I’d continue the story a bit.
when Ros texted him about it. Ros already knew what the National Security Council would say, so he didn’t even bother telling them about this unplanned trip. He brought a few Security Personnel along with him, so Ros isn’t being that reckless. But with only one stop between him and Skierova, he needs to think—