Where the Stars DIE

The hours are slowly ticking by. He can tell when he occasionally glances at the clock hanging above the door arch. Every time his eyes fall on the hands on the clock they have moved, but only slightly. And every time he does, he empties all the air in his chest with a massive sigh. Then he goes back to working on the tidbits of paperwork lying in front of him on the desk with minimal focus. It isn’t even high priority paperwork. Oh no, this is paperwork he can afford to be sloppy with. The high profile paperwork is saved for when he has the time, and more importantly, the concentration, to work on it. “''Just where are they? I swear that I asked them to at least contact me with Thought Projection!''” He drums his fingers impatiently against the wood then resumes writing on the papers in front of him. He stacks then, making sure that they are in the proper order, before licking his thumb and flipping through them, checking if the right fields have been filled out. Most of them are, which leave just a few more reports to go. Reports which he, ideally, would finish later, he has some spare time since his colleagues are running late.

His eye strays over to the clock above the entrance again. ''Twenty-three minutes have passed. This is urgent business!'' The elderly gentleman grumbles underneath his breath and pulls at his moustache out of sheer impatience. At least, I swear that I told my secretary it was urgent. Had he forgotten to mention that, and just told Poalo to send a message that the council foreman wanted to gather the rest of the members? Goodness, if this has happened, it won’t be the first time and certainly not the last either.

The man presses on the red button underneath the microphone to the left. “Poalo?” he asks cautiously, as if not to disturb his secretary in case he is busy. There is a slight rustling of paper on the other line before another voice replies. “Yes, sir?” His secretary replies with as all the diligence his education has taught him. It makes the old man’s heart swell with pride, knowing that the military provided such education. “Did I recall mentioning that the message is urgent?” He knows, in spite of his authorial and commanding voice, that this statement would oust him as ancient and perhaps senile in the young man’s ears. He knows that the pause is to be anticipated, regardless of whether his secretary feels pity or just tries to remember their earlier conversation.

The elderly man has always prided himself for being apt at reading people and discerning their proper feelings. But this more or less applies to situations where he could see their faces, read their body language and interpret other miscellaneous signals others might not notice. Not conversations where he can only hear their voice. “Sir, I do believe you mentioned it,” the secretary replies with some hesitancy. “I can find the copy of the letter you dictated, if that is necessary. It would take just a moment.” The old man nods to himself, as if the other person would be in the room. “Yes, I would appreciate that very much, thank you,” he mutters, stroking his moustache. “It will take just a few seconds, sir.”

Vigorous tapping sounds emerge from the other end, as his secretary obviously has started to search whatever Lacrima database he had recently stored the information in. “Kids and their technology,” the elderly man muses, as the hair-twinning pace intensifies. The tapping ceases and his secretary sighs, presumably out of relief. “Okay, sir, you did mention that it was urgent,” Paolo says, spacing out for a few seconds after. A few clicking noises emerges from the other end. “I’m tracking the letters right now, and it seems as if all have arrived at the set destinations. The other council members have been alerted, in other words.” A short, but nonetheless impressed ‘hmm’ escapes his esophagus. Sometimes, it seems, the tech-savvy youth can be handy. When they’re not being confusing and expecting one to understand.

Or worse yet, try to make him him learn. “Can’t they see that books are, sometimes, just as effective as any of those top laps? He ponders, before thanking his secretary and turning off the communication Lacrima. Then what was taking them so long? Poalo had just said that the messages had arrived, meaning that he had successfully contacted his fellow members. “''Are they downplaying the graveness of the situation I conveyed? I don’t even usually call the other members like this, knowing their schedules.''” Irritation brims in his body, his left leg trembling in anticipation, moving up and down in a rhythmic pace. They have had drills on prior occasions to discover just how quickly they could assemble the council in dire times, which left very little to improve. Maybe the drills had just happened so long ago.

The receptor on his desk crackles slightly, before Poalo’s familiar voice emerges from within. “Sir? Lady Salome is here. Shall I let her proceed?” Dumbfounded, the elderly gentleman stares at the speaker for a few seconds. “Y-yes,” he stutters, before tapping the button next to the speaker, activating the microphone on his end. “Yes, please do so at once.” A buzzing noise emanates as both doors in the archway part, opening up the area to the lobby outside. In the middle of the way, a petite purple figure is hovering, face concealed by wells of lilac hair and a hood. In her left arm, she idly holds a massive book, its heavy binds slumping against her sides. Neither of her feet touches the floor as she hovers towards the desk, her neutral facial expression becoming more visible as she approaches. “Salome,” he greets her with a nod. “You’re late. I sent the message precisely twenty-two minutes ago.”

“Ulrich,” she responds, nearly sighing as she approaches him, her clouded eyes looking past him. “I apologize for that. There was business I had to attend to at the research facility. My assistant informed me of the message just ten minutes ago.” She raises her head, gazing at the ceiling. The ragged, dark grimoire in her hands leaves her grasp, starting to levitate instead. It hovers in front of her, its pages turning rapidly, as a purple aura materializes around it. “And you couldn’t just use Thought Projection to contact me?” Ulrich says, hands folded in front of his face, eyes burrowing into the fragile woman’s face. Her gaze lowers, eyes meeting his. “The message said it was urgent. I figured I would come here in person.” The book smacks shut and lands on his desk, causing some of the sheets of paper to land on the ground. Salome floats towards the window behind the desk, eyes closing shut and opening repeatedly, but slowly. “Besides, you shouldn’t chastise me too much. I was the first to arrive, after all.”

“Sorry, but I gotta break it to you, hon!” A booming, cheery voice echoes in the room from no evident source at all. Ulrich’s eyes flicker from right to left, attempting to locate the source. Firm fingers grip the sword strapped to his chair. The book in front of him opens and an eerie aura emerges from within, alongside gnarled whispers and tendrils of darkness. The sound of metal emerges as a part of his sword is unsheathed. An unseen force stops the rest of the sword, forcing the sword back into the sheath, causing the hilt to slam into it. The book slams shut as well, surrounded by orange energy. “Sheesh, you guys!” The voice, clearly upset, is now located in front of them.

A tiny yellow orb hovers back and forth, undulating slightly, as it grows in size. “It’s just me!” The shrill voice’s echoes from within the orb as it starts to invert itself, revealing a pair of hands. “Nugivé!” Ulrich barks, brows furrowed as he rises from his chair, arms firmly placed on the desk. “There is a door here, use it!” Cackles fill the room as the humanoid, feminine shape properly materializes, revealing a blonde with long curly hair, clad in a military uniform. “Geez, Ulrich, I’m sorry!” Nugivé says, puffing their cheeks as if they just were insulted. “You told me it was urgent! I figured using Territory would be more efficient than walking.”

The third seat certainly made a valid point, seeing as the chairman had requested for them to use Thought Projection to contact him. “Urgent business,” he reminded himself. The elderly man slumps back into his chair, stroking his hair back. A sigh, quite akin to a croak, is shaken loose from his throat. “How long have you been in here, then?” The third seat gently taps their cheek repeatedly while looking at the ceiling. “Well, I arrived just before Salome opened the door, so just a few seconds?” Her mouth curls into a smile, the luscious lips covering a significant portion of her lower face.

“You seem awfully cheery considering the circumstances of the meeting, Nugivé.” The dour, dry voice of Salome speaks the truth Ulrich has been waiting for, as she levitates towards the newly arrived council member, away from the window. He solemnly nods, concurring with her whispery accusation. “Really?” Like a schoolgirl, Nugivé tilts their head, eyes wide and lashes dancing. “It just said ‘urgent’, not tragic in the message.” The grimoire hovers over to Salome, resting between her fingers again. Sharlaton’s youthful, sardonic sense still shines through, in spite of her status as an experienced council member.

“Hey, I apologize for being late,” a fourth, masculine voice says, emerging from a see-through silhouette who just appeared next Nugivé. Ulrich smiles at the bespectacled silhouette wearing plain clothing, with scruffy hair. “I tried to reach your office in time, but I was just too far away. I resorted to Thought Projection instead,” the man says, gesturing to the hologram he had created. The elderly man rises from the chair, gazing at the three members who had shown up. “I’m glad you managed to join us in time, nonetheless, Mishka.” The raised moustache signifying a smile plummets, his face turning grim.

“I’m afraid this urgent summoning does not encompass something pleasant,” he initiates, placing his hands on the back. The elderly man closes his eyes, sighing, as his brows burrow deeper into the sockets. “I only summoned the highest-ranking members of the council, as it would take far too long to summon all ten. They will be informed about this in a subsequent meeting.” He meets the hesitant eyes of the three council members, all of whom seem to be anticipating some sort of information regarding just why they had been summoned here in the first place. Releasing the left hand from the grip of the right, Ulrich gesticulates towards the right, a long corridor leading out of his office. “This way, please.”

Salome takes the lead, levitating ahead of Nugivé and Mishka’s hologram. Ulrich himself ensures that he walks the last, ensuring that the three of them would be able to hear him as he lets loose the speech he had prepared. “You are all informed of confidential mission 31: Project ASTALE, correct?” He knows that they obviously were briefed at a point, as they were present when the mission received its classification, but he wants to know if they received the specific details. Mishka is the first on the prowl. “The one involving Chang’e, right?” He adjusts his glasses and shirt, as if knowing that the situation called for some formality. Nugivé’s throat vibrates with a pronounced “hmm”-sound, before they speak. “The covert team that was sent to the jungle, wasn’t it?”

“Project ASTALE, confidential mission 31, parameter #3857, classified with vow of silence,” Salome begins, slowly, repeating every bit of information with her monotonous voice. Ulrich can barely hear her back there. “Covert Corps Commander Linna Fyora, accompanied Covert Corps Lieutenant Dandel Decameron, was assigned this mission, alongside the highest-ranking field agents of the corps. In addition, Covert Corpse Espionage Executive Hazukimaru was assigned to assimilate with the Guild to make the mission easier.” The hallway soon becomes a set of steep stairs, which Salome ignores, instead levitating above the other three who are climbing them as she continues her monologue continues.

“Project ASTALE encompasses the apprehension and elimination of a local Dark Guild that has been harassing a nearby area for worldly gods. Initially, it was an open mission assigned to Officer Monolez Starr, but was later classified as confidential as rumors arose of the Dark Guild housing the infamous rogue, Chang’e.” She pauses, allowing the others to process the information. Ulrich nods in affirmation, for once glad that Salome possesses such an adhesive mind.

“Yes, precisely,” he says, eyes trailing over to Mishka’s hologram and Nugivé. “The operation has been set into motion, right?” Nugivé asks, turning their head to look at the chairman briefly before facing forwards again to focus on the stairs. “Yeah, it has,” Mishka interjects before Ulrich can reply the third seat. “To the best of my knowledge, the last report was two days ago, correct?” Ulrich exhales heavily, maintaining as cool a façade as he can. “Yes, that is correct. Commander Fyora reported that they had successfully infiltrated the targets’ hideout, which turned out to be a massive castle,” the chairman adamantly says, gripping his left wrist with the right hand behind his back.

“And the last report we received from Hazukimaru, via Fyora, was three days ago.” The four of them all reach the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment. The tiny purple woman, whose long hair graces his shoulder briefly, proceeds to land next to them, merely levitating over the floor now. “Where are you going with this, Ulrich?” His eyes trail over to the floating woman’s. Beneath the veiled blue, there is curiosity, morbid perhaps, and a bounty of perplexity. “Whatever you have to say, it doesn’t seem to bode well.”

Ignoring her question, he walks past the other three, continuing into the room beyond the stairs. It is relatively cramped, oval-shaped and centered around what appears to be a crystal atop a table. Ulrich Ärstöchen walks past the table and around it, standing on the opposite side. The other three follow suit. Mishka situates himself to the left, Nugivé his right and Salome on the opposite side. “This recording Lacrima contains footage from an incoming call we received from the team’s communication Lacrima six hours ago.” Ulrich’s gloved finger taps on the crystal’s surface, causing it to crackle and an image to manifest.

Several amorphous figures appear in the distance of the image, the other Lacrima having been turned on in the dark. “Hey, is this thing, like, on?” A feminine voice says on the other end, as the footage tumbles about, as the transmitter is seemingly moved around. Shiny black shoes come into view as the Lacrima faces downwards. “Can we sell this shit or something?” The voice barks at something in the distance. It receives a muffled reply. “Man, who would have guessed that these shits had so much stuff!” The voice’s enthusiasm bumbles underneath.

“Shits?” Nugivé interjects, sending confused look around to the other people in the room. “The team is one of the finest we had put together! How did they-“ Mishka shushes them, the recording playing intently in the reflection of his glasses. Someone is laughing, and the Lacrima falls to the floor. The sound briefly becomes distorted, crackling as the object tumbles about.

The person that was previously holding the camera is now visible from a skewed angle. Long crimson hair flows down her back, almost reaching her skirt. Which they can also look up; she is not wearing underwear. The lady swiftly walks away, towards the other person in the distance. “I think I br-broke it,” the sound stutters, as the Lacrima’s damage becomes evident. “D-don’t wshsh-orry,” the other voice says, with considerable distortion. “We,” more distortion. “Broke… Bitches… Well.” After the fragmented speech, the recording ends.

The council members are left to stare at their own horrid expressions reflected by the smooth crystal. Silence remains for a few seconds while Ulrich presumes that they process the information they had just obtained. It had taken him considerable to sort out just what the recording entailed the first time he had watched it. It hadn’t been alone, as the communicators of the motherboard had too witnessed this strange séance. Yet, they had been sworn to secrecy, by his command nonetheless, as they cannot allow this to come out; that their elite squadron had so easily been defeated by a Dark Guild with a menial reputation.

No, this was something that he had to reserve for the council. The public is not ready for this kind of information yet. They could perhaps release the information after they had dealt with this issue. Salome seems to shift uncomfortably where the floats as she undoes her hood. Sullen, nearly pupil-less eyes maintain their constant indifference, but her brows are raised and her lips are curled into a concerned frown. “Does this confirm their affiliation with Chang’e?” Unlike Nugivé, who still seems to be in shock, and Mishka, who seems to still be processing the entire ordeal, the second seat has already faced reality and is already asking the important questions. Ulrich strokes his moustache, brows burrowing deeper into his eyes, as if deep in thought. “Not necessarily,” he says with a pondering ‘hmm’ accompanying him. “But it does strengthen our suspicions.”

“How do we pursue them?” Nugivé tries to muster past the shock, but their eyes are still visibly shaking in the sockets. “We sorta… Lost an entire elite squadron in the failed ambush.” The inquiries are accompanied by the sound of hand meeting stubble; the hologram of Mishka is rubbing his chin, nigh lost in thought. “We are aware of their location, so we got a strategic advantage in that regard,” he says, with a musing monotone voice. “But we are not aware of their capabilities, which could potentially be detrimental to our success…” He drifts off, mumbling to himself, his face distant. “I doubt we should assault them without assessing what they are capable of,” Salome interjects, placing a finger on her lips as her eyes trail down, focused now.

“But at the same time, accurately assessing them would prove to be a very difficult task.” As usual, their initial discussion had brought them no further than their initial point. But as council chairman, Ulrich has anticipated this; the current assembly is nothing more than a debriefing. They would have time to think about potential measurements until he summoned the entire council.

“Right,” Ulrich mumbles, brows still furrowed. Perhaps it’s time to wrap up this meeting now, he somberly thinks to himself. “Why don’t you three think about the potential outcomes until tomorrow?” The three faces all meet his, each with individual expressions of concern. Mishka’s eyes are hidden behind his thick glasses, but a crease on his forehead reveals him; Nugivé is, as usual, transparent and shows every shade of emotion; and Salome, whose mouth is in the shape of a frown, has contained herself, as per custom. “So you are dismissing us already?” A sharp knife of dull words slice through the formalities of the chairman’s statements as the purple-haired woman opens her mouth.

The elderly man grumbles, and fidgets with his belt. As blunt as always, dear Salome. He sends her the sincerest, faintest smile he can muster in the situation, trying to be appropriate. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he says, taking a step towards Nugivé, still eyeing the witty woman on the other side. “We cannot make hasty judgments, especially since this is a foe that has recently unveiled their presence.” With a gloved hand, he rubs his chin; he is growing some stubble already. “Dark Guilds don’t sporadically appear anymore, as per reform 16”, he continues, closing his eyes. “When they do, we are usually capable of disbanding them with ease. This lot proved to be substantially tougher than we anticipated.” We might even have to send her to take care of them…

“Understood,” Mishka says, scratching the back of his head. He rubs his sole against the floor in a gesture of defiance. “You don’t mind if I disconnect now, do you?” The young man’s eyes primarily rest on Ulrich, but trails over to the other two as well. Ulrich shakes his head, and notices that the other two mimic the gesture. And with that, Mishka’s hologram fades and becomes stray particles.

Half a minute later, Nugivé has also left, having become a bubble of light and mentioned that they needed time to think. Just Salome and Ulrich remains. His senior, despite the fact that her appearance indicates otherwise, generously offered to escort him back to the office. But as he had anticipated, it was all under the guise of excessive probing. “I know what you want to do, Ulrich”, she says nonchalantly, as if they were old acquaintances, not colleagues. “You plan to somehow involve her in this.” Shifty, hollow eyes observe him from the side, perforating his expressions for any details or deceptions. As usual, she knows him better than he cares to admit. “Yes, I have considered the possibility, Salome,” he replies, looking down with a tint of shame over his own predictability. “I don’t have a concrete suggestion yet.”

She stops in her tracks, deadpan expression intact. Even so, her eyes seem fiercer than before, probing not only his face, but his mind as well. “You know how she gets with these Dark Guilds. She’ll think this is the one I’ve been looking for and becomes excessively unprofessional and becomes judge, jury and executioner simultaneously.” Salome’s feathered voice, while harsh, packs little to no power and the impact is minimal; it’s not as much an insult as it is an objective remark with pointy ends.

“I’m just saying it might not be a stellar idea. We should get someone else to examine it first.” She continues to hover with Ulrich tailing her. “We cannot get Commander Ulvbjerk to approach, however,” he says, placing his hands on his back as he leisurely walks alongside her. “He is occupied with another matter.”

The child-like woman’s dainty hand emerges from within the sleeve and strokes away one of the thick bangs resting on her shoulder. “I had someone else in mind. Someone unaffiliated with the council.” The chairman’s left eyebrow darts up in interest.

“And who might that be?”

'''End Chapter. '''