11-27-2025, 09:23 PM
Nikolai kept his gaze fixed on Eliot, ignoring the peripheral damage and the lingering scent of fire. He didn’t need to look at Ninacska; the deed was done, the message delivered, and the brief, sharp feeling of order restored was settling. He had not expected such an immediate demonstration to be necessary, but the transgression was so blatant. A direct, public challenge to his command that anything less would have been interpreted as weakness. He was not a weak man.
He registered the faint smell of smoke, the subtle shift in the Dominions' posture and the silence that followed the lightning strike. It was a cold man, indeed, that could watch that execution, the immediate and violent end of a human being, and then immediately turn to his own agenda. It was a cold man who would put the integrity of his proposed deal above the life of the soldier who had, however misguidedly, facilitated their entrance.
He watched Eliot move forward, wheeling the chair. The man was a channeler, a self-proclaimed Praeceptor, yet now he looked less like a figure of authority and more like a petitioner at the foot of an indifferent throne.
Nikolai finally allowed his eyes to flick toward Helena Asquith. Was she merely another piece of the man's performance, or genuinely the intellectual force he claimed? She was pale, composed, her expression unreadable. She lacked the immediate, reactive shock of a normal human, or even the slight, self-preserving flinch of a cautious channeler. She had the same cold, distant countenance as her fiancé, perhaps even more so. Did she share his indifference to the price of their audacity?
The irritation that had been simmering beneath the ice in his veins flared again. They had lied. They had concealed her involvement. Eliot had claimed he could not be bothered with the small talk of logistics, yet she was "integral to the proposal." It wasn't about whether she could come or not; it was the deception that rankled. It made Eliot seem either untrustworthy or incompetent. If Lady Asquith was so vital to the success of this plan, her name should have been included from the start.
Nikolai spoke, his voice carrying an edge of iron, directed solely at Eliot.
“Your gamble on my curiosity was well-placed, but your attempts at manipulation were amateurish, and they cost a life. Let's not waste any more time."
He discerned their core purpose, their grand design, from the sheer weight of their presence: they wanted to police the rogue monsters and channelers; the ones already difficult to contain, the ones that had once been their own. They sought to leverage their Atharim roots and unique knowledge for legitimacy.
“So. You are here to tell me you want to do the Atharim's job in a new way. You want to hunt the things that go bump in the night and do so with the Custody's blessing, perhaps under the guise of 'transparency,'” Nikolai articulated, his voice flat with skepticism. He stepped forward, reducing the distance between them.
“You have risked a great deal for this meeting, brought an uninvited guest, and witnessed the consequence of disobeying a direct order. What, precisely, do you expect from me? My blessing? My authority? My resources? Be precise, Praeceptor. What do the New Atharim want from the Ascendancy?”
He registered the faint smell of smoke, the subtle shift in the Dominions' posture and the silence that followed the lightning strike. It was a cold man, indeed, that could watch that execution, the immediate and violent end of a human being, and then immediately turn to his own agenda. It was a cold man who would put the integrity of his proposed deal above the life of the soldier who had, however misguidedly, facilitated their entrance.
He watched Eliot move forward, wheeling the chair. The man was a channeler, a self-proclaimed Praeceptor, yet now he looked less like a figure of authority and more like a petitioner at the foot of an indifferent throne.
Nikolai finally allowed his eyes to flick toward Helena Asquith. Was she merely another piece of the man's performance, or genuinely the intellectual force he claimed? She was pale, composed, her expression unreadable. She lacked the immediate, reactive shock of a normal human, or even the slight, self-preserving flinch of a cautious channeler. She had the same cold, distant countenance as her fiancé, perhaps even more so. Did she share his indifference to the price of their audacity?
The irritation that had been simmering beneath the ice in his veins flared again. They had lied. They had concealed her involvement. Eliot had claimed he could not be bothered with the small talk of logistics, yet she was "integral to the proposal." It wasn't about whether she could come or not; it was the deception that rankled. It made Eliot seem either untrustworthy or incompetent. If Lady Asquith was so vital to the success of this plan, her name should have been included from the start.
Nikolai spoke, his voice carrying an edge of iron, directed solely at Eliot.
“Your gamble on my curiosity was well-placed, but your attempts at manipulation were amateurish, and they cost a life. Let's not waste any more time."
He discerned their core purpose, their grand design, from the sheer weight of their presence: they wanted to police the rogue monsters and channelers; the ones already difficult to contain, the ones that had once been their own. They sought to leverage their Atharim roots and unique knowledge for legitimacy.
“So. You are here to tell me you want to do the Atharim's job in a new way. You want to hunt the things that go bump in the night and do so with the Custody's blessing, perhaps under the guise of 'transparency,'” Nikolai articulated, his voice flat with skepticism. He stepped forward, reducing the distance between them.
“You have risked a great deal for this meeting, brought an uninvited guest, and witnessed the consequence of disobeying a direct order. What, precisely, do you expect from me? My blessing? My authority? My resources? Be precise, Praeceptor. What do the New Atharim want from the Ascendancy?”