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912 - New Development IV
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 09:40:20 +0000 UTC"Enough!!!!!!!" the Grand Xor’Vak bellowed, his voice going through the chaos of shouting and accusations like a blade, silencing the chamber as if a switch had been thrown. Every representative, big and small, froze mid-gesture, mid-word, the weight of his voice settled over them. No one dared speak.
The Grand Xor’Vak didn't need to say more. He simply turned his massive head, his gaze locking onto the hologram of the Zelovera leader. A single, almost imperceptible nod. That was it. You. Speak. The message was crystal clear to everyone present. And just as clear was the unspoken addendum: anyone else uttering so much as a syllable without an exceptionally good reason would find themselves, and their entire civilization, learning the true meaning of Xor’Vak’s displeasure.
The Zelovera leader stood calmly and addressed the room, his voice carrying a calm but firm conviction.
The Zelovera leader rose, a picture of calm amidst the lingering tension. His voice, when he spoke, wasn't loud, but it carried a steady, firm conviction that cut through the residual fear.
"Some of you," he began, his eyes sweeping across the faces of the lower-fifty representatives, a hint of disappointment in his tone, "seem to think this is your chance. A chance to throw reason to the wind, to let your raw frustration do the talking, believing there's safety in numbers. But let me be clear: this is not the moment for emotional theatrics disguised as a quest for justice."
He made a subtle gesture towards the images of the attacking ships, still shimmering in the air.
"This 'evidence' you're all so worked up about? They're still images. Snapshots. Nothing more. Yes, I can see how, at a quick glance, you might jump to the conclusion that the top fifty are your culprits. But if you'd paused, just for a moment, to think..." He let that hang in the air. "You'd realize something rather obvious: anyone with a decent shipyard can mock up the outer hull of our vessels. A convincing copy isn't proof of anything.
And let's entertain your theory for a moment. If we were behind these attacks, if we'd gone to the trouble of developing some new design of ships to cover our tracks, why in the blazes would we then be foolish enough to include our own easily recognizable, signature ships in the very same attack fleets? What kind of clandestine operation advertises its perpetrators?"
He paused, letting the simple, undeniable logic of his words sink into the stunned silence.
"It makes no sense. It's illogical. It's sloppy. And more importantly," his voice dropped slightly, carrying an almost chilling certainty, "it's just not how we do things."
The Zelovera leader let his words linger for a moment before he said, “If we were truly the ones orchestrating this, believe me, there would be no shadows, no whispers, no fabricated evidence. We would have descended upon your capital systems directly, taken your leadership into custody, and this 'campaign,' as you call it, would have been over before it truly began,” reminding everyone in that chamber exactly why the top ten in the Conclave were deeply feared.
He scanned the holograms again, his eyes like chips of ice. “So, I ask you: why would we bother with all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense when we have absolutely nothing preventing us from acting openly? What possible tactical advantage is there in being subtle, when none of you," and here his gaze was particularly pointed, "could muster a defense quick enough to matter one way or the other?”
“……………”
A heavy, thoughtful quiet filled the chamber. The raw anger that had fueled the initial accusations was draining away, replaced by a dawning, uncomfortable clarity. With cooler heads, the lower-fifty representatives started to see the holes in their initial, panicked assumptions.
It was understandable, of course. They’d just learned they were under a coordinated, system-wide assault. The gut reaction was to point fingers at those with the power, the fleets, the potential motives – the top fifty. But now, with a moment to breathe and think, the cracks in that theory were becoming gaping chasms.
“If… if it’s not you,” one of the leaders finally managed, his voice hesitant, breaking the thick silence, “then who is it?” The atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically. The lower-tier leaders, no longer so sure of their enemies, now looked distinctly anxious. A new, more terrifying thought began to take root: they might have been railing against the wrong powers, while the real threat was still out there, hidden and watching.
“Before we even try to answer that,” another leader interjected, his tone firm but reasonable, “I think we need to clear the air in this room completely. No lingering doubts.”
No one argued. He had their attention. Everyone had a pretty good idea where he was going with this.
“Your points are well-made, Zelovera representative,” he said, nodding respectfully. “But we can’t entirely dismiss the possibility of… deeper, more convoluted motives we’re not privy to. Since we are all the ultimate authorities for our civilizations, there’s a way to settle this beyond mere words.” He paused, then laid it out: “I propose we all take a mana oath. A carefully worded one, airtight, leaving no room for misinterpretation. An oath swearing that none of us, nor anyone under our command, nor our governments, had any hand in these attacks, or aided those responsible in any way, shape, or form.”
“I second that,” a voice cut in sharply. It was one of the leaders whose system had been hit. His immediate support was like a spark.
A wave of agreement rippled through the chamber. First, those who’d suffered losses, their voices tight with the need for certainty. Then, others from the lower rungs of the top fifty – those who’d also felt the sting of suspicion but knew their hands were clean.
Soon, it was a chorus. The logic was brutally simple: if you were innocent, the mana oath was just words, a formality. It wouldn’t harm you. But refuse? Refuse, and all eyes, all suspicion, would lock onto you, perhaps permanently.
Sensing the momentum, and perhaps eager to ratchet up the pressure, the leaders quickly hammered out the wording of the oath. It was a masterpiece of magical legalese, meticulous, designed to close every conceivable loophole, covering every possible angle of complicity. There was no time given for debate or delay. One by one, the leaders of the lower-tier civilizations stepped forward and swore. In less than half an hour, every single one of them had taken the oath.
Now, only the top ten civilizations remained.
The two powers tied at rank ten, Elara and Feryn, didn’t miss a beat. They swore the oath without hesitation. The Zelovera leader, true to his earlier stance, followed suit, his expression unreadable. Even the Trianrians, known for their strict regulation of wormhole access, took the oath, prompting a collective sigh of relief from many in the room.
And then there were two.
First, the Valthorin leader. For him, the very notion of such an oath was an affront, a deep personal insult, a stain on Valthorin's pride. Second, the Grand Xor’Vak himself, who hadn’t so much as twitched an antenna in acknowledgment of the whole proposal. Despite the unspoken pressure radiating from every corner of the chamber, a palpable force in the silence, neither of them flinched.
But here’s the interesting part: their refusal didn’t immediately brand them as guilty.
Everyone knew the Grand Xor’Vak. He was a creature of brutal honesty. Subtlety, deception, backroom deals? Those were games for lesser beings. If the Xor’Vak wanted you gone, you’d know it. He’d tell you, right before he vaporized your fleet. No theatrics, no scapegoats.
And the Valthorins? Their pride was the stuff of legend, almost a religion. Yes, they looked down on virtually every other civilization, but that very same towering arrogance meant they’d never, ever stoop to framing someone else. To do so would be to admit another was worthy of carrying a burden meant for Valthorin's shoulders – an insult so profound it would shatter their honor. Any Valthorin leader even thinking about such a thing would face an immediate, violent challenge to their rule, branded a disgrace to their bloodline.
So, their silence wasn't an admission of guilt. It was a statement of who they were.
The same leader who’d been interrupted by the proposal for taking a mana oath spoke again, his voice calmer now. “Back to my original question. If it’s not any of us… then who?”
The room, finally purged of its internal strife, fell into a different kind of silence. A tense, focused quiet, as every mind turned to that single, chilling question.
Someone out there had played them all. Framed the most powerful civilizations, used their reputations against them, and nearly threw the entire Conclave into chaos from the shadows. And if it wasn’t anyone in this room…
Then who possessed that kind of terrifying reach?
Who harbored that level of audacious ambition?
And, perhaps most frightening of all, who had the sheer capability to pull off such a masterful, flawless deception, all while remaining completely invisible to the most powerful, most paranoid minds in all the Conclave?
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Jade
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