The Last Convention

Pacifica
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Part One: Kingmaker

The Executive Mansion in Ta’ana sat on the crest of a hill, looming over the bustling capital of Mitallduk, an imposing symbol of authority and tradition. It is a sprawling complex of white stone and ornate architecture, with marble pillars engraved with scenes of Mitalldukish history adorning the east front side of the building. Three wide balconies overlooked the Mitalldukish capital. The lush gardens and manicured lawns were a stark contrast to the urban sprawl lying just beyond the gates.

Inside, the wall of the East Wing is adorned with portraits of past (1) Mitallarkavas, looming over the hall, casting silent judgment on all those who pass. Three grandiose chandeliers glistened overhead casting a warm glow on the plush carpets and polished wooden furniture. Inside one of the conference rooms adjoining the East Hall, the atmosphere was tense. The air was thick with anticipation, mixed with the subtle scent of cigars accompanied by the faint hum of murmured conversations. Daman Kullan sat at a large oval table in the center of the room. He was a striking figure, tall, slim, and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, flexing his family’s status. His hair was neatly combed, and his dark eyes hosted a gleam of determination. He sat with his hands on the table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table, To his side sat his father, Lukian Kullan, the current Mitallarkava of Mitallduk. Lukianexuded authority with a presence that commanded respect from everyone in the room. His silver hair and deep-seated eyes afforded him a dignified, nearly regal appearance. He spoke in measured tones, his words carrying the weight of his office. Sat around the table were key figures from (2) Kevantza Mitalldukish (KM) party leadership. These were the party powerbrokers, holding the keys to Daman’s political future. The meeting is about the upcoming party convention, scheduled for May 1, where Daman is the frontrunner for the nomination.

Lukian adjusts his posture and sits up in his chair, he opens the rather large binder filled with documents in front of him on the table and begins, “Gentlemen, we’re here to ensure that the convention goes, smoothly.” He paused to cast an intimidating glare at the chairman of this year’s convention, (3) Isik Tib Iskan then continued, “Inska’s delegates hold the key to our success, so it’s crucial that we secure their support before the voting even begins on Wednesday.”

Daman then directed the attention towards his campaign manager, Akana Tponkri, inquiring, “What’s the latest on Inska’s stance? Have we reached out to her people? We can’t risk losing very many of her delegates to Gallai.”

Akana answered, “We’ve made contact. Inska is open to negotiations, but she’s playing hard to get. She’s demanding a lot for releasing delegates, and she’s hinting that Gallai’s camp is offering a better deal than we are right now.”

“Well, we definitely can’t let that happen,” interjected Lukian, “Inska’s delegates are enough to give us a comfortable margin of victory, but we need to make sure she doesn’t sway too many of them to Gallai. What does she want? Let’s see if there is a way to meet the demands without totally compromising our position.”

Akana began to answer but suddenly hesitated and pursed his lip as he looked down at his notes. He let out a sigh before he started again, “Inska wants assurances that her key supporters will be placed in strategic positions within the party structure. She also mentioned something about a plum government contract for one of her associates.” He paused and looked around the table seemingly gauging everyone’s reactions then continued, “I mean… I guess it’s not an unreasonable ask,” he stated exasperatingly. “But,” he added as he raised his right hand with his pointer finger raised as if to tell the table to hold on, “we need to be careful about how it looks. Because, to be honest, I’m not sure I even like how it sounds.”

An uncomfortably long silence filled the room as the table mulled over the potential options. Engage in at the very least what appears to be corruption, or face losing the party’s nomination to far-right populist, Ya’oran Gallai.

Daman inhaled and muttered, “I think…” He cleared his throat and sat up a bit, “I think, we can negotiate with her on those terms. Though it’s imperative that we make it clear that if we agree to the demands, she has to deliver her delegates to us on the first uncommitted ballot. We can’t risk reaching the fifth round and giving Gallai an opening.”

Lukian nodded in agreement adding, “Agreed. Daman, you’ll need to handle this personally. Inska needs to feel valued like she’s part of the team. Take her out for dinner, make her feel important… ya know, the works. Just don’t promise anything we can’t actually deliver on.” Lukian shifted his gaze to the director of the Mitallduk Border Guard who had just entered the room and now had the misfortune of drawing Lukian’s ire. Lukian loudly, seemingly to ensure the director heard, added, “We’ve got enough eyes on us already. Too many stupid mistakes.”

Daman stood from his chair as he said, “Understood. I’ll take care of it. Any other concerns we need to address?”

“Yeah,” Akana said hesitantly, “We’ve been hearing whispers about some of our own delegates getting cold feet. Gallai’s speeches are, apparently, resonating with the younger members of the party. We need to counter his rhetoric and keep our people in line.”

Daman stood looking at Akana silently for a good while waiting for the punchline before his eyes widened as he sputtered, “shit, you’re serious.” He plopped back down into his chair with a noticeably frustrated expression plastered across his face as he rubbed his forehead with his hand.

“Daman,” Lukian patronized, “I want you to give a speech at the convention that reminds everyone what’s at stake. Talk about stability, continuity, and the importance of following tradition. We need to show them that you’re the right choice for the party’s future.” Lukian looked around the table before bringing his eyes back to Daman. “Just remember, we can’t afford any mistakes,” he again declared to Daman. “The convention is just a few days away, and everything we’ve worked for depends on this. Keep your head down, and don’t give anyone a reason to doubt our integrity.” Lukian emphasized as he pushed his chair from the table but remained seated.

Tib remarked as the meeting was coming to a close, “We’ll handle the logistics and make sure everything is in place. Daman, you should focus on the delegates and keep a low profile. The last thing we need is a scandal before the convention even starts. There are already a ridiculous number of protestors in the streets. It took me 2 hours to get here today… I was like 38 blocks away. And, and security wouldn’t let me get out of the car and walk.”

“Ok, um… yeah,” Lukian began as he nodded his head glancing in Tib’s direction with a befuddled look on his face. “Yeah,” he restated as he shifted his attention to literally anything that wasn’t Tib, “now, let’s get to work. We have a lot to do, and not much time to do it.”

The room grew quiet as the attendees absorbed the situation they’ve found themselves in. Lukian Kullan stood and surveyed the room, his expression stern as he reemphasized the importance of maintaining a low profile and keeping everything under control.

“We have a lot to do, and not much time to do it,” Lukian reiterated, his voice carrying an edge that cut through the subdued atmosphere. He glanced around the table, ensuring everyone understood the urgency.

Daman Kullan nodded and stood to leave, offering a polite but tense smile to the party leadership. His earlier confidence had given way to a hint of uncertainty, his brow furrowed as he considered the tasks ahead. Akana Tponkri, his campaign manager, gave him a reassuring nod, but even his usually calm demeanor seemed strained. The others at the table began to gather their papers, some exchanging quiet words with each other. Tib Iskan, the convention chairman, stood awkwardly, adjusting his suit jacket and glancing nervously at Lukian. It was clear that his earlier comments had made him the center of attention, but he tried to play it off with a forced smile.

As Daman moved toward the door, Lukian’s voice stopped him. “Daman, remember what we talked about. Keep your head down, and don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said firmly, his eyes locking with his son’s. “We’ve got too much riding on this convention to let anything go wrong.”

“Understood, Father,” Daman replied, his tone serious. “I’ll make sure everything goes as planned.” He paused, then added, “I’ll make the arrangements with Inska, and I’ll work on my speech for the convention. We can’t let Gallai gain any more ground.”

Lukian nodded in approval, then waved his hand dismissively. “Good. Now go. We’ve both got work to do.”

Daman turned and left the room, followed by Akana, who whispered something in his ear as they walked down the corridor. The echoes of their footsteps faded as they moved further away from the conference room. Back inside, the remaining party leaders exchanged nervous glances. The stakes were high, unprecedentedly high, and the upcoming convention is going to be a pivotal moment for the party, for the country. They know that the eyes of the nation are on them, and any misstep could have far-reaching consequences. Lukian Kullan remained standing, watching as the last of the attendees filed out of the room. He took a deep breath, the weight of leadership settling on his shoulders. The road ahead is uncertain, but he is determined to guide his son through it. The Executive Mansion, with its marble pillars and grand chandeliers, today, felt more imposing than ever. A reminder of the power and responsibility that comes with his position. As he closed the binder in front of him, Lukian thought ahead to the next several days, knowing that they would be crucial in shaping the future of Mitallduk. The convention, the high-price deals, the political maneuvering—it was all part of the game. But he also knows that there are limits to how far they can go before everything unravels on them. With a final glance at the portraits of the past Mitallarkavas, Lukian left the room, his footsteps echoing through the East Hall. The Executive Mansion stood tall, overlooking the capital, but inside its walls, the battle for power had just begun.


Definitions

  1. Mitallarkava/Mitallarkavas - The elected leader of Mitallduk. Selected by a simple majority vote in a national election.

  2. Kevantza Mitalldukish (KM) - A Mitalldukish Nationalist party that dominates Mitalldukish politics.

  3. Isik - The title of elected members of the Ludukza, Mitallduk’s parliament.

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Part Two: What Goes Around… (1 of 2)

Ta’ana was abuzz with excitement as the sun rose over the city on the day of the Kevantza Mitalldukish (KM) party convention. Delegates from all over the country poured into the convention center, a massive structure with gleaming glass walls and towering arches. The streets were flooded with protesters, mostly supporters of Ya’oran Gallai, chanting slogans and waving banners. The sound of their voices echoed through the city, a stark reminder of the rising political tensions.

Inside the convention center, the atmosphere was electric as, delegates mingled in the grand foyer, discussing the upcoming speeches and exchanging knowing glances. Some gathered in small groups, whispering in hushed tones, while others made their way to the main auditorium to find their seats.

Daman stood in the center of the foyer, surrounded by his team. He wore a tailored suit, his posture confident but with a hint of underlying anxiety. His campaign manager, Akana Tponkri, stood at his side, whispering last-minute instructions. The security presence was noticeable, with uniformed guards stationed at every entrance and a few discreetly positioned throughout the crowd.

“Daman,” Akana said, leaning in to be heard over the noise, “the first speech is in fifteen minutes. I suggest you make your rounds and greet the key delegates. You need to show them that you’re in control.”

Daman nodded, his gaze scanning the crowd. He saw familiar faces—party loyalists, long-time supporters, and a few notable figures who held significant sway. He knew that his father, Lukian Kullan, would be watching closely, expecting him to make the right connections and secure the necessary support.

He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering handshakes and polite nods to those he recognized. Every interaction was an opportunity to gauge the mood and solidify his presence as the front-runner. He stopped briefly to speak with Isik Tib Iskan, the chairman of the convention, who seemed slightly on edge.

“Tib, everything going smoothly?” Daman asked, his voice friendly but with an undercurrent of authority.

Tib forced a smile. “So far, so good. But, you know, the protesters outside are getting louder, and security’s a bit nervous. I just hope things don’t escalate.”

“Let’s keep things under control,” Daman replied. “We don’t need any unnecessary disruptions. If you need anything, let me or Akana know.”

As he continued to make his rounds, Daman spotted a familiar figure standing near one of the side exits. It was one of Naprital Inska’s key delegates, a man with a reputation for being difficult to pin down. Daman knew that winning over this delegate could be crucial in securing the nomination on the first ballot.

“Akana,” Daman said, indicating the delegate with a nod, “I need to talk to him. Make sure we have some privacy.”

Akana nodded and moved quickly to clear a path. Daman approached the delegate with a friendly smile, his handshake firm but not overly aggressive. “It’s good to see you,” he said, his tone warm. “I was hoping we could have a quick chat before the speeches start.”

The delegate raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Of course,” he replied, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. “Lead the way.”

Daman guided the delegate, the vice chair of Inska’s delegates, to a quiet corner near one of the side exits, where they could speak without drawing too much attention. This was where the real work began— securing support through personal connections. The speeches and public appearances were important, but the backroom deals and private discussions often determined the outcome.

As they began to talk, Daman knew that every word mattered. He had to be careful not to promise too much while making it clear that supporting him was the best choice. The convention was just beginning, but the stakes were already high, and he couldn’t afford any missteps.

“Thanks for taking the time,” Daman began as they settled into the quiet corner. The bustle of the convention center seemed distant now, muffled by the thick curtains and heavy carpets in the foyer. “I know it’s a busy day for everyone.”

The delegate nodded, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. “Busy, and interesting. It’s not every day we get to shape the future of the party, is it?” He spoke with a touch of irony, suggesting he knew more than he let on.

“True,” Daman replied, keeping his tone light. “We both know that this convention is critical,” he continued, his voice low but confident. “The first ballot will set the tone for everything that follows, and we need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

The delegate’s expression became more serious. The delegate nodded, his expression cautious but interested. “I understand,” he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “But you’re asking me to make a commitment before I know what I’m getting in return.”

“Of course,” Daman said, his smile unwavering. “What are you looking for? I can assure you, we’re willing to be flexible within reason.”

The delegate leaned back, considering Daman’s words. “What if I say no? What if Inska decides to throw her support behind Gallai? How does that fit into your plan for order and stability?”

Daman’s eyes narrowed, his voice becoming more forceful. “That would be a mistake,” he said, his tone colder. “Gallai’s not just a threat to the party; he’s a threat to the entire country. We don’t need chaos right now. We need leadership, and that’s what I’m offering.”

The delegate glanced around the corner, then back at Daman. After a few moments of contemplation, the delegate began, “Gallai’s camp is offering quite a bit. Positions, contracts, you know the usual. What can you offer that they can’t?”

Daman took a step closer, his tone conspiratorial. “The difference between us and Gallai’s people is simple: loyalty. You support us now, you’re set for life. You back him, you’re taking a gamble with someone who’s known for changing sides when it suits him. My father and I, we value loyalty. If you’re with us, we won’t forget it.”
Daman shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “We can negotiate. I’m willing to listen to her concerns. But we need all of her delegates to back us on the first ballot. We can’t afford a long, drawn-out voting process. It would give Gallai too much time to sway people.”

The delegate tilted his head, considering Daman’s words. “Sounds good, but I need something more concrete. The people I represent are concerned about their future, not just in the party, but in Mitallduk as a whole. What can you do for them?”

Daman nodded. “I understand. If you bring your delegates to us, we can ensure that they have a voice in the party’s direction. Committee positions, say in the National Infrastructure Council or the Economic Development Board, are not out of reach. We also have influence in the Ministry of Trade, and there could be some opportunities for your people there.”

The delegate raised an eyebrow, his skepticism fading slightly. “Alright,” he replied. “But I’ll need assurances that these promises will be kept. I’ve seen too many deals fall apart once the power shifts.”

“Fair enough,” Daman said, his eyes locking with the delegate’s. “Here’s what I can promise: if we win this nomination, you’ll have direct access to my father and me. We’ll make sure that your people are heard, and that they get the positions and opportunities they deserve. If we don’t follow through, you can hold us accountable.”

The delegate seemed to relax a bit, his arms uncrossing. “All right,” he said slowly. “I’m willing to consider it. But I need to hear the same from your father. If he’s on board, then we could have a deal.”

“He will be,” Daman replied confidently. “I’ll set up a meeting after the speeches. You’ll get your assurances, and then we can move forward. We can’t risk reaching the fifth round and giving Gallai an opening.”

The delegate nodded, his gaze steady. “Understood. I’ll see you after the speeches, then. Make sure you have something concrete to offer.” The delegate met Daman’s gaze, his expression inscrutable. “Just know I’m not the one to make the final decision, but I can certainly influence it. Let’s just say, I’ll pass along your message. But you should know, Inska values loyalty and… reciprocation. Make sure you don’t promise anything you can’t deliver. That could be very bad for both of us.” The delegate straightened up from the wall. “I’ll let her know what you said. Just remember, Daman, these things can change quickly. Be careful not to overstep, or you might find yourself on the wrong side of a knife.”

Daman nodded, understanding the implicit warning. “I know how important this is. I’m willing to work with Inska to find common ground. But we need her support. It’s as simple as that,” Daman replied, extending his hand for a firm handshake. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch.”

The delegate shook his hand, his grip strong but not overly aggressive. “See you soon,” he said, turning to rejoin the crowd.

As the delegate walked away, Daman took a deep breath, knowing that the next few hours would be crucial. It was all part of the game. And in this game, every move counted. He couldn’t afford any missteps. Not with so much at stake. The first speech was about to begin, and he knew that the outcome of this convention would change everything.

Daman watched the delegate disappear into the crowd, his confident smile masking the turmoil brewing inside him. He knew that securing Inska’s support was vital, but the mention of backstabbing and shifting loyalties left a lingering sense of unease. The stakes were high, and the slightest misstep could tip the balance in Gallai’s favor. He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and turned back toward the bustling convention floor.

Akana approached with a clipboard in hand, his face etched with concern. “Did you get what you needed?” he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting attention.

“Enough for now,” Daman replied, his eyes scanning the crowd. “But we need to be cautious. Inska’s camp isn’t easy to read. We have to keep our cards close to the vest.”

Akana nodded, jotting down notes on his clipboard. “Understood. The first speech is about to start. You’re scheduled to speak in an hour. Make sure you’re ready to address the crowd. Lukian’s watching, and you know he’s expecting nothing but the best.”

Daman grunted in acknowledgment. His father, Lukian Kullan, had a reputation for being exacting and ruthless when it came to party politics. The pressure to meet his father’s expectations weighed heavily on Daman’s shoulders. He could already hear the murmurs in the crowd, the whispers about Gallai’s growing influence and the threat he posed to the party’s unity.

As Daman made his way through the convention center, he caught snippets of conversations. Some delegates were excited, sharing optimistic outlooks for the party’s future. Others seemed more cautious, whispering about the protests outside and the potential for more violence. Gallai’s supporters were growing more vocal, and the security presence was only a reminder that unrest could erupt at any moment.

The main auditorium was filled with delegates and party officials, all awaiting the speeches that would set the tone for the convention. Daman entered through a side door, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. He saw Isik Tib Iskan, the convention chairman, pacing nervously near the stage. The security guards stationed at the exits kept a watchful eye on the crowd.

“Everything set for my speech?” Daman asked as he approached Iskan.

Iskan nodded, but his eyes darted toward the entrance, where security was dealing with a small commotion. “Yeah, but we’ve got a problem outside. Gallai’s supporters are getting rowdy, and there’s talk of them trying to storm the convention center.”

“Are you kidding me?” Daman muttered, his frustration evident. “We can’t have that. Do what you need to do to keep things under control. We can’t afford any disruptions during the speeches.”

Iskan nodded, signaling to a security guard. “I’ll take care of it. You just focus on your speech. Lukian said it’s crucial you hit all the right notes. You need to show strength and stability. We can’t let Gallai’s chaos spill into the party.”

Daman felt the pressure mounting. He knew his speech could make or break his chances of securing the nomination. As he walked toward the stage, he could hear the distant chants from the protesters outside. The tension was growing, and he had to find a way to quell it without escalating the situation.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and stepped onto the stage. The lights were bright, and the auditorium was filled with expectant faces. This was his moment to prove himself, to demonstrate that he was the leader the party needed. The future of the KM party—and perhaps Mitallduk itself—rested on his shoulders.

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Part Two: What Goes Around… (2 of 2)

The auditorium was a sea of faces. Delegates sat in orderly rows, each with a thin stack of papers resting on their laps. Party banners draped the walls, and the stage was adorned with a massive KM party insignia, its vibrant colors catching the lights. Murmurs of anticipation filled the room, rising and falling like waves.

Daman’s polished shoes clicked against the stage as he walked toward the podium. The blinding stage lights made it difficult to see anything beyond the first few rows of delegates, but he knew the hall was packed. A sea of faces, watching, waiting for him to speak. He took a moment to steady his breath, feeling the tightness in his chest. The first speech was always the most nerve-wracking, setting the tone for the entire convention. Daman took his place at the podium, his hands gripping the edges to steady himself. The crowd quieted as the spotlight found him, casting an almost blinding glare. The silence was palpable, a held breath waiting to be released. Daman adjusted the microphone and glanced down at his notes. He had rehearsed this speech a hundred times, but now, with the room’s collective gaze fixed on him, the words seemed to blur on the page.

He cleared his throat, forcing a smile to his lips. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he began, his voice echoing through the auditorium. “Welcome to the Kevantza Mitalldukish party convention. It’s great to see so many dedicated party members here today, ready to shape the future of our great nation.”

A round of polite applause followed, though it lacked enthusiasm. Daman could feel the undercurrent of tension running through the room, the same unease he had sensed in his meeting with the delegate earlier. Everyone knew that Gallai’s supporters were mustering strength, and that any sign of weakness could tilt the balance.

“We stand today at a crucial precipice,” Daman continued, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. “The decisions we make today will impact the course of our country for years to come. We need unity, stability, and strong leadership to guide us through these challenging times. And I believe we have the strength and the vision to lead Mitallduk into a bright future.”

More applause, a little louder this time. Daman glanced at the front row, spotting his father, Lukian, his gaze fixed on him with an intensity that felt like it could pierce through walls. Lukian’s expression was stoic, his eyes unblinking as he watched his son. It was a look Daman knew well— the look of expectation, of stalking judgment. Daman took another deep breath and continued.

“But we also face challenges,” Daman continued. “Challenges from within and from outside the party. The protests outside are a reminder that not everyone agrees with our vision. But we cannot let that deter us. We must stay focused on our goals and work together to achieve them. This convention is our opportunity to come together, to unite under a common purpose, and to show Mitallduk, the world, that the KM party is strong and ready to lead.”

Daman paused to gauge the mood of the delegates that he could see. Some faces were familiar, nodding in agreement, while others seemed more reserved, their expressions cryptic. He glanced back at his notes before continuing, “We stand at a crossroads. On one side, we have those who would lead us into chaos and uncertainty, offering empty promises and inciting division. On the other side, we have the path of stability, tradition, and progress. A path where we build on our strengths and work together for a better future, together.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, but it was not universal. He could see a few heads shaking, a few frowns of disapproval. It was the first sign that the opposition was both outside and within the convention hall.

Daman pressed on, his tone growing more assertive. “We cannot afford to let our party be torn apart by those who thrive on discord. We need to stand united, to embrace the principles that have made Mitallduk strong. We need leadership that understands the value of loyalty and the importance of keeping our promises.”

As he spoke, he felt the mood shifting, the energy in the room becoming more focused. Signs of unity began to emerge, but it wasn’t enough. The true test would come with the second ballot, and the threat of Gallai’s influence was lurking.

As he spoke, Daman could hear the distant chants of the protesters growing louder. Large viewscreens were erected outside the convention center to allow people who couldn’t get into the center to view the convention, he knew they were agitated by his appearance. The security presence in the hall was becoming more noticeable, with guards positioned near every exit. He hoped Iskan had things under control, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut. If the protesters managed to breach the convention center, it would be chaos. Daman took a deep breath, his mind racing as he considered his next words. He needed to inspire confidence, to show the delegates that he was the leader they needed. But he also had to be careful not to provoke Gallai’s supporters further.

“It’s clear that not everyone agrees with us,” he said, gesturing toward the entrance, where the security guards stood watch. “But we must remain steadfast. We must show strength in the face of adversity. Because if we falter now, if we allow chaos to take hold, the consequences will be dire.”

The crowd reacted with a mix of applause and expressions of uncertainty. The balance was delicate, and Daman knew that just one misstep would tip it in the wrong direction. He had to find a way to bring them back, to remind them why they were here.

“I believe in our party, and I believe in each and every one of you,” he continued. “Together, we can build a future that honors our past and embraces our potential. We can lead Mitallduk into a new era of prosperity, but only if we stand together, only if we remember what truly matters.”

“As we move forward with the convention,” Daman said, “let’s remember why we’re here. We’re here to choose a leader who can unite our party and guide our country through uncertain times. We’re here to make Mitallduk stronger, more prosperous, and more just. And we’re here because we believe in the values of the Confederacy. Together, we can achieve great things.”

He raised his voice, emphasizing the last few words. The crowd responded with rapturous applause, the energy in the room lifting significantly. Daman knew he had to end on a high note, to leave the delegates with a sense of hope and determination.

“Let’s make this convention a success,” he concluded, raising his fist in the air. “Let’s show the nation that the KM party is united and ready to lead. Thank you!”

The applause was louder now, more sustained, but Daman knew it was only a temporary victory. As Daman stepped back from the podium, a wave of relief washed over him. He had made it through the opening speech without stumbling, without showing any cracks in his composure. But as he walked off the stage, he knew the real challenge was just beginning.

As he stepped off the stage, Akana was waiting for him, a look of relief on his face. “That went well,” he said, his voice barely audible over the applause. “But we still have a lot of work to do. The first ballot is coming up, and we need to make sure we have the numbers for the second.”

Akana glanced over his shoulder at the stage. “But there’s trouble brewing. The protests are getting larger, and security is stretched thin. You need to be careful. One wrong move and this whole thing could blow up.”

Daman nodded, feeling the pressure mounting again. The convention was a delicate balancing act, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to ignite. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the hours ahead. The game was far from over, and every decision counted.

Daman took a moment to gather himself, the applause echoing in his ears. As he moved away from the stage, the convention center seemed to shift in focus. The faces that had been merely a blur moments ago came into sharper relief, each delegate’s expression a reflection of their loyalty, uncertainty, or skepticism. The next few hours would determine whether Daman could secure enough votes to win the nomination on the first (1) open ballot, or whether Gallai’s supporters would gain the upper hand.

Akana reappeared by his side, now with a clipboard in hand, and a frown etched across his brow. “We need to meet with the Inska’s Vice Chair again,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Gallai’s people are getting bold. I’ve heard rumors they’re offering substantial incentives directly to delegates to sway votes.”

“Substantial?” Daman replied, his tone clipped. “Like what?”

“Contracts, positions, even cash.” Akana shook his head. “They’re not playing around. If we don’t counter their offers, we could lose a significant number of delegates on the second ballot.”

Daman nodded, his mind racing. It was all about leverage, about finding the right balance between promises and threats. He couldn’t afford to be seen as soft or uncertain. If the delegates sensed weakness, Gallai’s camp would capitalize on it.

“Alright,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We have some time before the first ballot. Let’s start with the high-priority delegates. We need to make sure they’re with us, no matter what. And get word to my father. I need him to back me up on this.”

Akana nodded and gestured for Daman to follow him. They weaved through the crowd, which was growing denser by the minute. The main auditorium was filling up, the delegates finding their seats in preparation for the voting. But there was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a sense that the situation outside was becoming more volatile. As they approached a small alcove near the rear of the convention center, they found a group of key delegates waiting. These were the powerbrokers, the ones who could sway others with a word or a gesture. Daman forced a smile as he approached them, extending his hand in greeting.

“Thank you all for meeting with me,” he said, his tone warm but firm. “I know this is a busy day, but I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page before the first ballot.”

The delegate leading the (2) Tadukallai delegation, Yatzik Iban, a tall man with a gray beard and piercing eyes, nodded. “It’s always good to get some clarity,” he replied, his voice gruff. “I’ve been hearing things, Daman. Whispers about quiet deals, some promises that might be hard to keep. Are you certain that everything’s under control?”

Daman didn’t flinch. He knew the game they were playing, and he was ready to play it. “I can assure you that we’re in control,” he said, his eyes locking with the Yatzik’s. “We’re committed to ensuring the success of this convention and the stability of the party. I need your support, and I’m willing to work with you to make sure you get what you need in return.”

The delegate raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. “And what exactly does that mean? What are you offering that Gallai’s not?”

Daman glanced at Akana, who gave him a subtle nod, confirming that the others in the group were listening. “Gallai’s people might offer short-term gains, but we’re talking about long-term relationships. Positions in the party, influence over policy, opportunities to shape the future of Mitallduk. If you stand with us, you’ll have a say in the direction we take. If you don’t… well, I can’t guarantee what the future holds if Gallai gains power.”

The Yatzik stroked his beard, contemplating Daman’s words. “You’re asking for a lot, Daman. And you’re not the only one making promises. How do I know you’ll deliver?”

“Because my father and I have a history of keeping our word,” Daman quickly replied, his voice steady. “We value loyalty, and we reward it. Stick with us, and you’ll be in a position to make a real difference. Back Gallai, and you’re taking a risk with someone who’s known for unpredictability. Do you really wanna bet on a wild card?”

The Yatzik considered this, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I’ll talk to my people. But you better make sure you’re as good as your word. I don’t take kindly to empty promises.”

Daman nodded. “Understood. And thank you for your support. We’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

As the delegate walked away, Daman felt a mix of relief and anxiety. He’d secured a crucial ally, but it was only the beginning. The first open ballot would set the tone for the entire convention, and he needed all the support he could get.

Akana leaned in, his voice low. “That went well, but we’re not out of the woods yet. The situation outside is escalating. Security’s asking for more reinforcements. Gallai’s people are getting aggressive, and there’s talk of them actively trying to breach the convention center.”

Daman’s grip tightened on his clipboard. “We can’t let that happen. Tell security to do whatever it takes to keep things under control. We need to maintain order, or this whole convention could fall apart.”

Akana nodded and hurried off, leaving Daman to contemplate the road ahead. The stakes were high, and the pressure was mounting. The success of the convention—and his future as a political leader—rested on his ability to navigate the treacherous waters of party politics. Every decision he made could have far-reaching consequences, and he knew he couldn’t afford any missteps. Daman watched Akana vanish into the crowd, his heart pounding. The voices of the delegates around him grew more fragmented, their conversations peppered with rumors and speculation. He knew that if security couldn’t contain the protesters outside, the entire convention could unravel, very likely taking his political future with it.

He glanced toward the stage, where the next speaker was preparing to address the delegates. The applause had died down, replaced by a low hum of chatter. Daman took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He needed to meet with a few more key delegates before the first open ballot to ensure their loyalty. He couldn’t afford any surprises. As he turned to leave the alcove, a commotion erupted near the entrance. The sound of raised voices and shuffling feet filled the convention center, followed by a sharp crack—like a gunshot. Daman froze, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise. Security guards rushed toward the entrance, their radios buzzing with frantic chatter.

A wave of panic swept through the delegates, their orderly rows breaking as they turned to see what was happening. Shouts and screams filled the air, and the sound of breaking glass echoed through the hall. Daman’s instincts kicked in, and he ducked behind a nearby pillar, his heart racing. In the chaos, he caught sight of Akana, who was pushing his way through the crowd, his face pale with fear. “Daman!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the din. “We need to get you out of here. Now!”

Daman nodded, his mind racing. He had to find a way to calm the crowd, to prevent a full-blown riot. But as he stood to follow Akana, he saw a group of masked protesters bursting through the shattered glass doors, their fists clenched and their eyes lit with rage. The convention had erupted into chaos, and Daman knew that the choices he made in the next few moments would determine the future of the KM party— and his own.


Definitions

  1. Open Ballot - On the first ballot of the convention, each delegate is bound to vote for the candidate they were assigned based on the votes of KM members in their respective provinces. On the second ballot, the delegates may vote for whomever they wish.

  2. Tadukallai Isles - A province in Northern Mitallduk, Daman won this province handily. There are 533 Daman delegates in the Tadukallai delegation.

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