The Lion and the Eagle

[Pelasgia]

Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

Andreas Papavasileiou was happy. His jovial smile, his wide-eyed gaze at the world around, his quick pace and upright posture, everything about his person attested to that fact. Indeed, why in the world would Andreas not be happy? The skinny, pale lad of fifteen had had veal for dinner on Sunday. Back down south of the White Mountains, in the impoverished regions that formed the deep inland of Pelasgia, red meat was a luxury, to be consumed only a few times a month. His native town of Vrysoules, home to some twenty thousand souls on the northern foothills of the Akritika Mountains on the country's southern border had only seen cows introduced to it some twenty years prior. The massive beasts had been imported to southern Pelasgia from Vrijpoort at a considerable expense as part of an agricultural development programme, and Vrysoules, being far from such major urban centres as Petralona or Ioannopolis, had been one of the last places to receive them.

Like most lads in the Themes of Bucellaria and the Metaxadon, Andreas had grown up thinking of the high cost of red meat as just another fact of life. "Beef is for rich city people and the butcher's son," his mother, Kyriaki, had always told him. "We make do with fish, white meat, and the occasional pork." Of course, most days, they just ate beans or some kind of grain or vegetable-based food—but, again, that was just a fact of life. Even the school textbooks, which exalted the Meridian Diet as the healthiest in Europe, attested to Pelasgians' rare consumption of red meat. Yellow cheese was an even bigger rarity, along with cow milk; dairy was, by and large, the product of goats and sheep, not the precious beasts hauled to Pelasgia from the green pastures of Gallo-Germania.

Then, one day, Andreas received notice that he had been admitted to the Great School of the Nation in Propontis. It had been two years ago, just as Andreas was set to start middle school, or gymnasium as the Pelasgians referred to it. From then on, he had been granted the privilege of red meat every week of his life, sometimes even more than once a week! Whenever he returned to Vrysoules for the holidays, he was by far the tallest in his town, and clearly the best fed too—and he noticed just how older the people seemed than their same-age peers in Propontis, no doubt due to the harsher life of a region that lived off farming, mining and small industry, for the most part.

Even years later, Andreas still enjoyed red meat as if it were a delicacy, along with all that splendid yellow cheese these people from the capital seemed to consume at insane quantities. Gone was tasteless mizythra or salty feta—kaseri and graviera were the name of the game! Cow milk was the one thing the young lad could never get used to; goat milk still won that contest, being tastier and (allegedly) healthier. Not that Andreas or his farmer father had to pay for any of that—the Imperial Chancellery and the Patriarchal Chancellery (the twin Sakellareiai as they were called in Pelasgia) covered all his expenses, right down to the brand-new leather shoes and pristinely ironed uniform that he wore to school every day. Of his books, food and lodging, not even a question was posed—how could the brightest children in the Nation, its future elite, study if those basic needs were not covered? And so, at a mere twelve years, Andreas had come to call home a dormitory whose build and size would have appeared rather luxurious to even many middle-class Propontines, let alone the working poor of the inland south. As for the view... Why, the red-brick castle that housed Europe's oldest boarding school stood perched on the hillside of Propontis' Cathedral District, a stone's toss from the area's namesake Patriarchal Cathedral and with a full view of the old city down to the golden waters of the Propontine Straits. This was some prime real estate.

Having soaked in the view as he exited his dormitory, Andreas clutched the straps of his schoolbag and raced down the stairs to get to the morning assembly before class, zooming through the gate to the main hall and- Bang!

The fourteen year old boy fell to the floor, collapsing atop the body of another student about the same height as him but of a much thinner build. His head not bruised only by a miracle (but his pride immensely so), the native of Bucellaria Theme raised his fist at whatever felon had caused him such embarrassment inside the school's most central area! Yet, as he prepared to raise his voice and go into an angry tirade, Andreas opened his eyes and took a long, good look at the person opposite him: a skinny, pale (even for a Propontine) girl, with pale blue eyes and reddish brown hair. She was almost as tall as Andreas, but by her face (and her uniform) he could tell that she was two years his junior, having only just been admitted to the Great School.

"What..." Andreas hummed. "What... What are you doing, just standing there? Shouldn't you pay attention?!"

"I'm sorry..." the girl answered. "I was looking at the paintings."

"Paintings?" Andreas asked honestly. He looked up, above the clock at the edge of the great hall, and noticed the two portraits: one of the Ecumenical Patriarch in his simple black robes and the other of the newly enthroned Emperor in his ornate admiral's uniform with golden epaulettes. "Have you never seen a painting of the Emperor before?"

The girl blushed. "I- Well, never a real one! Only photos or prints!"

Andreas blinked. Wherever she went to school before must be even poorer than Vrysoules... he thought to himself. He played the girl's words again in his mind and noted that, though her grammar and syntax were perfect, they were a bit too formal for everyday speech... Her accent, too, seemed weird. She scanned the girl from head to toe once more, before voicing his conclusion. "You're not Pelasgian, are you?"

The girl blushed even more. "I- I will be one day!"

Andreas could not help but laugh. "Yeah, and I'll be Prime Minister one day too." He softened the grip on his fist, which he had been holding up this whole time, and smiled faintly. "My name's Andreas. What's your name? And where are you from, anyway?"

"My name's Viktoria!" the girl hissed, before remembering her manners. "Pleased to meet you. I'm from Kipest, though my family live in Aspropol now."

"Pleased to meet you too, Viktoria," came the reply from the older boy. "We have to get to the assembly for morning prayer. You can stare at paintings later. They have them in every classroom."

"I..." Viktoria tried to answer but her voice failed her. "I'm not Orthodox, I can't pray with you. Not yet, anyway."

Andreas shrugged. "Then come for the announcements! You just have to stand there, you know. The Ecumenical Patriarch will be there, along with Sebastos* Basil Vatatzes and his wife, the Despoina** Alexia Kourou."
*A noble title equivalent to "Augustus", reserved for living siblings of a reigning Emperor
**Lady

A bewildered Viktoria stared at Andreas with wide eyes. "A Despot?! Why?"

A deep sigh sounded from Andreas' side. "Why, to announce the new scholarships to celebrate their baby, of course! A few very good students from both the boys and girls' section of the School will even get to go on exchange abroad for a few weeks. The Sebastos himself will give the prize!"

Rather than the excitement most other kids would have at news such as these, Viktoria's face seemed saddened. "You don't want to meet the Sebastos or the Despoina?" Andreas demanded with both honesty and a tad of indignation. "He's the handsomest man in the Empire, and she's the fairest lady all around! Or so everyone else says."

"I don't qualify," Viktoria explained. "I'm Catholic, remember?"

Andreas frowned. She really doesn't know how things work here, he figured. For some weird reason, he saw a bit of himself in her. I gotta help her, he reasoned. None of these pampered capital pricks will otherwise—they didn't help me, and I'm Pelasgian! "That doesn't matter!" Andreas barked at her. "You can still get a scholarship from the Sebastos' sister, Sebaste Anna, the one who's married to some Catholic from @Radilo. Of course, the Sebastos will be the one giving the prize, but you could thank her once you get to Radilo. If you get there that is—you need to apply and get accepted."

Viktoria's gaze hardened—she had her goal in mind, and she finally had the means to achieve it. She would get that scholarship no matter what.

"Hey!" Andreas shouted after her. "Where are you going?"

"To the assembly," Viktoria answered.

"It's the other way! Morning assembly is in the main courtyard!" He run up to her and took her by the arm. "Just follow me, I'll show you!"

"I don't need your help!" a blushing Viktoria answered. "I can find my own way!"

"Yeah, I can see that," Andreas retorted, and he pulled her toward the other hallway. "You almost walked into the Rector's office! No women are allowed there."

---

​

Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

The clouds over Propontis slowly cleared, offering an opening for the sun to shine down and into the great internal courtyard at the front of the Great Palace. In the courtyard itself the slow cadence of military drums persisted like the hum of crickets on a summer's night, as the otherwise silent marble and tile space stood still. A whole regiment of the Emperor's Life Guards, including both Pelasgian Guards in their dark blue winter coats and Varangian Mercenary Guards from @Skånskelag in their characteristic all-grey livery lined the square. On the caps, uniforms and banners of the Emperor's men appeared his monogram: a great, golden capital alpha, crowned and surrounded by a laurel wreath, along with the letter zeta (which functioned as the traditional Pelasgian numeral for seven—ordinal numbers being one of the few remaining uses of such numerals).

Surrounded by all these guards with their colourful standards and their shining bayonets, arranged in neat columns like a living fence, were a group of six visitors to the palace. To the left, dressed in the ceremonial blue uniform of the Imperial Pelasgian Army, was General (and soon to be Marshal) Leontios Sideris, whose heroics in the southern half of Himyar had earned him the monicker of the Hero of Central Himyar, and had made his characteristic handlebar mustache famous the whole continent over. General Sideris was flanked by two of his aides, who had served alongside him in as part of the Pelasgian Peacekeeping Force. The other half of the delegation consisted of three men dressed in simple civilian formalwear. By their physique and their standing at attention for failure of being directed to be at ease, one could clearly deduce this latter trio to be military men; and yet, they wore no uniform—for they were not men of the Imperial Pelasgian Armed Forces, or of any other military. No, two of these men were Epaminondas Lazarides and Stylianos Papadias, the field commanders of the forces of General Security S.A. and Aegis Defence Solutions, which were among Europe's largest and most feared private military corporations. The third man was Eleftherios Savakis, a tall and dark-skinned veteran of the Imperial Special Forces who acted as the head of the International Auxiliary in Central Himyar—the shell company that grouped together all the international mercenaries employed by the Pelasgian Krypteia in Central Himyar.

To say that the State military and the mercenaries thought little of one another would have been a monstrous understatement. For men like General Sideris, the mercenaries were naught but whores and stray dogs, willing to sell their soul and kill for whoever threw them a dime or a bone. For men like Lazarides and Papadias, the official state soldiers were the tools of pencil-neck bureaucrats, far too constrained by red tape and the corruption of the bloated government to do what needed to be done. And yet, the two men stood together comfortably, almost amicably—they had served far too many months in the hellish bush of Central Himyar on the payroll and orders of the same master to hate each other. Even the rag-tag soldiers of fortune represented by Savakis had managed to earn some sympathy and respect by their Pelasgian colleagues, for these denizens brought in from every corner of the world had shown remarkably courage in the face of a fierce and often merciless foe. This newfound, battle-forged camaraderie could be attested to by the one thing that was common to all six men's uniforms: the Great Star of the Order of the Grey Crane, bestowed upon all of them by Central Himyari President Kinuani himself.

Soon, another decoration would be added to them men's chests. As the doors of the primary complex of the Great Palace opened, the cadence of the soldier's drums picked up, being followed by the brass brand's singing of the

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, along with a host of other fanfares and tunes. Emperor Alexios VII Vatatzes, dressed in his own dark blue military uniform and flanked by a whole host of military and civilian advisors and attendants emerged, his personal standard following close behind him—a Tyrian purple labarum with his monogram, which hanged from a golden staffed topped a large Chi-Rho.

"Akoúsate, akoúsate!" cried a herald following the Basileus, using a phrase akin to the old Engell-Frankish oyez, oyez. "Our most pious and majestic Sovereign has decreed as follows: We, Alexios VII Vatatzes, Basileus and Autokrator of the Pelasgians .... " The herald read out the long decree, written in complicated and frankly arcane ancient Pelasgian for a few minutes more, until, finally, he fell silent. Once that formality had been observed, with all those in attendance standing in attention, Emperor Alexios walked over to the six men before him to shake their hands and decorate them.

First and foremost was General Leontios Sideris, that tall, skinny and admittedly pale man—the striking image of an Old Pelasgian—with deep seated, pensive and almost predatory eyes, which contrasted with his otherwise serious but gentle face. His unmoving, stern visage formed a genuine smile as he shook the hand of the Emperor whom he had served for some twenty years now—and as he received the Grand Cross of the Military and Imperial Order of Saint Tiberius the Great, along with the title and batton of the Marshal of Pelasgia. Gripping the majestic velvet and gold-coated symbol of his newfound authority, the Empire's now most senior military officer respectfully bowed. "With Our thanks for your service in southern Himyar," came the laconic reply from the Emperor.

The newly enthroned Pelasgian leader then went on to decorate the other men, each with a lesser class of the same order: the Grand Commander's cross for each of officers accompanying Marshal Sideris, the Commander's cross for Messrs. Lazarides and Papadias, and the Gold Cross for Mr. Savakis. This reflected the official hierarchy of the six men in the operation—and it was a great honour, far greater than any of them could have dreamed of when they had departed their native country two years prior in pursuit of what seemed at the time to be a near-suicidal feat.

As he turned to walk back into the Palace, the Emperor invited the newly decorated men to follow him: a banquet had been prepared in their honour, and he would lead them to it personally. The newly created Marshal of Pelasgia, Leontios Sideris, took advantage of his status to walk at the Emperor's side, as was allowed to all Great Officers of the Empire.

"I hear that Your Imperial Majesty will be heading to the Holy City of Hierosolyma soon," the Marshal said, during their hashed smalltalk.

"Your hear well, Marshal," Alexios replied. "I believe that your old classmate from the academy, Antistategos* Mardochaios Costis, will be the one to show me around. He is Our military's most senior Jewish officer, if memory serves."
*Lieutenant General

"Indeed, Your Majesty, that is so. He is the Commander of the Eastern Military District, and one of the best officers I have had the fortune of knowing. His son, Ioseph, served with me in Central Himyar, and I believe he is now a Colonel in Tephanon. I have never met a more loyal subordinate."

"I am pleased to hear you say that," the Emperor noted. "The loyalty of our officers must be beyond reproach, and it must be seen to be so, by any who would seek to divide the Empire."​

 

[Pelasgia]

Propontis, Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

A cold fall night’s breeze swept through the cloistered gardens of the Great Palace of Propontis. As the last few lazy night birds of the season sang, and the noises of the big city surrounding the palace complex echoed in the distance, a sole figure traversed the lush, ancient pathways that the Propontine Sovereigns had built to escape from the strains of daily life. Under the faint light of the moon in a clouded sky, a slender, tall and pale figure of a woman in her early thirties slowly went around the palace; the occasional light shined on the woman’s long, blond hair, and the moonlight sparkled inside her bright blue eyes. Far too tall to be a Pelasgian woman, her face was decidedly foreign and characteristically Germanic. This description, of course, could only belong to one person on these premises, as could the ornate silken cloak with the golden sown motif of a double-headed eagle that warmed the woman’s body: Empress-Consort Hildegard von Görisburg.

At such a late hour, when the moon was at its highest and the night at its deepest, one would have expected the wife of the most powerful man in the whole country to be soundly asleep, calmly resting amidst velvet sheets and feather-stuffed pillows. And yet, in a manner that nearly escaped her own recollection, the Rheinish noblewoman had somehow turned up in this very garden. She had not slept well in days, not since news of her husband’s upcoming visit to the Holy City had reached her. Hierosolyma had a deadly way with the House of Vatatzes, having claimed the life of the Emperor’s grandfather—and it was now, thanks to the summer’s religious squabbles, more unstable than it had been in a long time. “To set foot right into the cauldron is something only a madman would do,” Hildegard had told her husband, speaking both as a loving wife and as the mother of three young children and another yet to be born. Nevertheless, Alexios had given her the same response as always, taking on that soldierly tone which so characterised his line of warrior-emperors: “It is a matter of State, dear—it cannot be helped. The Basileus cannot be seen to be afraid to set foot in his own Holy City.”

Alexios had been right of course—he always was, being both infallible and inviolable by law, and, much as she hated to admit it, far more familiar with his own country than she could ever hope to be. “The Foreign Empress,” the people called her. “The She-Barbarian in Purple.” Alexios was loving enough a husband to assuage all these concerns and to comfort her; but, deep down, Hildegard was smart and aware enough to know better. Her marriage, happy as it was, had been a political one, and the best she could do to keep it was to produce healthy heirs and to remain beyond reproach. “Caesar’s wife must be above suspicion,” her grandfather had always told her, back in the @Rheinbund. Now that she had become the wife of Caesar (or Kaisar in good Pelasgian), Hildegard had finally grown to understand her grandfather's point. Still, try as she might, she was far too removed to be loved by the populists, and far too informal too be respected by the conservatives; her lifestyle was simultaneously far too opulent to be appreciated by the politicians of the Boule, and not nearly majestic enough for the likes of the nobility. At least she cracked out babies—though, even then, not nearly often enough for the Church to be happy. Waiting two years between births “sent a bad message to the faithful” according to one popular Bishop. No matter what Hildegard did, it was not enough. Even her beauty was far too exotic to be appreciated by the womenfolk of the land—perhaps it threatened them?

“It pains you, does it not?” came the sound of an unknown feminine voice. Hildegard knew not who the speaker was—and she knew almost everyone in the Great Palace. Moreover, she did not like the tone of the woman addressing her: imperious, haughty, almost befitting royalty.

“Who might you be?” Hildegard demanded in her slightly-accented Pelasgian, turning to face the interrupter of her thoughts—only to be taken aback. The woman in question was slender and fair—another Germanian, and with the unmistakable manner of a noblewoman.

Though Hildegard did her best to hide her shock, the mysterious woman could still detect it—and she smiled. “I am the Empress of Pelasgia—or, at least, I was. Before your husband’s grandfather—my cousin—took my husband’s Throne and sent us to Caria.”

The Empress of Pelasgia? Hildegard thought to herself. She must be Claudia von Homburg-Gosta, wife of Andronicus I Notaras—the last Carian to occupy the Sublime Throne! Shaking her head, the Empress Consort refused to believe such an absurdity—for the woman in question, cousin to Grand Despot Alexios VI Vatatzes, had died long ago. “Who are you really?” the Empress said accusatively. “Tell me, or I shall call the guards at once.”

“Call the Varangians and the Pelasgian Guards too,” the so-called Empress answered dismissively. “They cannot detain me where I am now. But, know this: Pelasgia abhors a foreigner. These people think themselves better than any so-called barbarian, no matter how esteemed. I found this out when my husband ascended the Throne and did his best to endear himself to the people of his new land; and you shall find that out soon, too, Hildegard. For [thy Lord God is] a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers*…”
*Deuteronomy 5:9

With that, the woman disappeared into the foliage, passing through it like a spectre.

“Wait!” Hildegard cried after the phantom-like Empress. “Wait!” Thus she kept shouting, until her husband shook her awake, sweaty and near-delirious. She had fallen asleep on her reading chair, with a book on the lives of the Pelasgian Empresses before her.

“Is everything alright, my dear?” Alexios asked.

“Yes, yes,” answered Hildegard after a moment’s hesitation. “It was just a bad dream.” She looked out the window, into the garden, where her dream had taken place. The whole placed was deserted—except for an all-white owl. Truly, a rare sight in Propontis, ever since its urban sprawl had cut down most of the surrounding forests… but then, not entirely unseen either. For a moment Hildegard's mind brought forth peasant tales about owls as ghosts or bad omens, but she chose to ignore such trifle. After all, the people who spoke such nonsense largely still believed in nymphs and nereids. Then again…​

 

[Pelasgia]

Navigating the bowels of the Church of the Holy Apostles, one will quickly find themselves lost in a maze of marble and stone, with a succession of inscriptions in Tiburan and Pelasgo-Carian lining the walls in progressively less antiquated fonts. It is then that one can know for a fact that they have reached the Imperial Polyándreion, the cemetery or crypt housing the tombs of the Propontine Sovereigns from the days of Tiberius the Great himself (337 AD). [...] Among the many sarcophagi, those that stand out of the most often belong to some of the Empire's most well known rulers and their families: Tiberius, for instance, is known for his exquisite red marble sarcophagus, which is surrounded by motifs of laurels and triumphal cavalrymen. [...] Conversely, other tombs catch the visitor's eye for their own reasons: near the end of the segment of the catacombs that has already been filled, in the area reserved for the reigning House of Vatatzes, there stands a single, tiny shroud, no bigger than the size of a stack of books. No name is attributed to the sepulchre by the inscription above—merely a prayer. Inside this marble box, which is topped by the figure of a grieving angel, are the remains of the daughter who would have been born to Emperor Alexios VII Vatatzes and Empress-Consort Hildegard, but for the acts of a lone radical in the outskirts of Hierosolyma on one cold day of September 2022. [...]
​

- Prof. Tiverios Kantakouzenos, An Exploration of the Propontine Imperial Crypt, 3rd ed., Magnaura Academic Editions, Propontis, 2047.​

For the moments that followed the attack, Empress Hildegard had stood still, silent like a marble statue, her pale skin shining like all-white marble being scorched by the Philistaean sun. Her elegant white dress only added to this impression, especially as she held her hand against her own busom, almost like a figure of antique sculpture. It was at the point where the Imperial Consort's hand met the fine fabric that the oppressive, all-encompassing dryness of the locale seemed to dissolve into a liquid sensation—the touch of the dark red blood that had been sprinked on the Empress' clothing and body in a diagonal line running from the lower right hip all the way to the chinline. This was, perhaps, the only thing that departed from her otherwise unliving stillness—and which reminded her that she, in fact, still alive.

"Your Majesty!" cried Antistategos* Mardochaios Costis, the military officer who had been accompanying the Imperial Couple on their tour of the model settlement of Theodoropolis, on the outskirts of the Holy City. "Your Majesty, watch out!"
*Lt. General

In spite of Costis' warnings, Hildegard remained motionless before the figure of the slender man who would have shot her husband dead, but for the intervention of one of the gendarmes standing by the scene. Lying bloodied on the ground, the man stared into the unmoving woman's eyes with a pure, visceral hatred, the likes of which Hildegard had never seen—and the reason for which she could truly not comprehend. Spitting blood onto the ground, the man opened his coat, exposing a trio of grenades, and then pulled a rope tying their pins together, arming the explosives.

"Your Majesty!" the officer cried once more, before spitting out blood himself. Costis had taken a shot in the Imperial Couple's stead, and it had fatally wounded him—but, a soldier to the last moment, he still focused on his duty.

"Hildegard!" followed the familiar voice of Emperor Alexios as he threw his own wife to the ground. An explosion roared, drowning out all the sounds around the Empress, and filling the air with fire and dust. Once the blackness and flame of the carnage had cleared, a crater alone stood were the attacker had previously lied—and Antistrategos Costis was a half-burned, lifeless husk of his former self. Emperor Alexios' back had been burned, but he had thankfully been spared any more severe wounds or any shrapnel impacts, most likely thanks to the sacrifice of the loyal officer who had thrown himself in front of the two royals.

Nonetheless, Hildegard had no time to turn her attention to her own salvation, or to any of the damage done around her. Instead, her blood-renching cries filled the air, as her all-white dress started to turn red with blood anew, this time near the bottom. "Mein Kind!" the pale woman shouted in her native tongue. "Mein Kind!"

Few of those spoke German, and yet they all understood her meaning quite clearly. Alexios himself only barely held back tears—more so because he was too busy shouting for a doctor. By that time he got there, the Empress had fallen silent, and the matter was clearly quite settled: the explosion had caused her to miscarry, and the remains of her would-have-been baby girl now littered the ground. The imperial visit was cut short, a new period of mourning was proclaimed, and the matter of federalising the Empire's more distant regions was left to the politicians—who would instead now turn their attention to permanently assimilating Pelasgia's minorities with renewed fervour, suppressing any and all separatism or opposition to the central, imperial rule of Propontis.

Indeed, no less than a week after the tragedy at Theodoropolis, a government MP from Tiberias would proudly proclaim that his vote in favour of a bill to outlaw public advocacy against the monarchy as treason felony was "nothing less but Philistaea's minimal act of restitution for the life of the innocent Despotess, who was murdered in her mother's womb."

All of this did little to console the grieving mother—or her husband, for that matter. Outwardly, Alexios went about his tasks normally, even with twice the normal fervour when it came to the government's national unity policies. He had been raised that way, after all, and he understood that the Purple left no room for emotion, no matter how strong. Hildegard, on the other hand... She was not the daughter of a Soldier-Emperor who had seized his Throne by the bayonet, but the princess of a small, quiet part of Germania turned Empress of a foreign land. She had not known such adversity before, nor ever been forced to remain in the spotlight in spite of her emotions.

And so, she hid, remaining essentially silent for days on end after the death of her expected child. In truth, Hildegard von Görisburg's whole attitude to the matter of her child's assassination and its aftermath could be described as "standing still". Then, one day, as the Bishop of Selymbria (her erstwhile confessor and closest spiritual adviser in Propontis) had come to pay his respects, her eye had caught a glimpse of a white owl sleeping comfortably on a tree in the Imperial Gardens. It was then that the Empress broke her silence. "... visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me."

"Your Majesty?" the Bishop had asked, appearing perplexed.

"Deuteronomy 5:9," the Empress answered, as if the Bishop had not immediately recognised her words. "I fear that the Lord punished my child for my father-in-law's seizure of the Throne of Pelasgia."

Having studied in the Rheinbund, Bishop Spyridon was fluent in German—and he judged best to use it. "My Empress, the Lord works in mysterious was. We must not hasten to attribute to Him punishments for wrongs that we did not commit—or even for those that we did commit, for that matter. His Justice is not of this earth."

"I do not hasten, Father," the Empress explained. "I have been considering this for some time—and I am resolved that the Lord punished the House for Vatatzes for the sins it committed to seize the Throne from the House of Notaras-Vatatzes." As Hildegard spoke, her despair turned to anguish, and her anguish into resolve. "As I am certain, Father, that He will now punish those who took my child's life and who dared harm their divinely-anointed Emperor."

The Bishop blinked, not believing his eyes. Was this the same shy woman whom he had first met some six years ago, barely an adult and cast into a strangle land out of a marriage made as much out of love as out of duty? Was this the same woman who, for all her regalia, seemed as lost and as in need of guidance as every housewife that ever came to see him—if not doubly so? Something had changed in Hildegard, and Spyridon was not sure whether it was for the better.

"Your Majesty," he started, with some newfound hesitation. "I have heard that you spoke to your husband about the new legislative proposal aimed at uniformising education throughout the country. Is that so? I did not know you to have an interest in politics."

Hildegard shot a harsh, unapologetic look at the Bishop. If one did not know better, he could perhaps even call it disdainful. "I am not intersted in politics, Father, no; but it seems that politics has an interest in me. And so long as I am alive, Philistaea shall remain Pelasgian—even if not a single man is left there who speaks anything but Pelasgian and prays to any other God but ours by the time me and my husband are sent to meet our daughter and the Lord. I owe her nothing less!"

So I was right! The Bishop reasoned, in a sudden but profoundly sad realisation. Her heart has turned to stone. Woe unto thee, Holy Land: your bushes and olive groves shall burn anew, and the Fig Tree, which was once cursed, shall be uprooted.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Kalamba City, Central Himyar

In her eight months in Central Himyar, Elena Nomikou had seen much. Upon having first landed at New Ncuna City international airport, the Central Himyari capital's main aerial link to the rest of Europe, she never could have predicted the things she would later live through. Looking back, she thought that the airport in question (then only recently deprived of its monicker "Joseph Kisani", after the country's erstwhile dictator) was a perfect summary for the country: a retro-futurist concrete terminal, built on the ruins of the old Engell colonial aerodrome using the wealth of the Glorious Decade, which had been left to decay and rot since the beginning of the troubled 1990s. The half-fallen plaster covering the building decaying walls contrasted sharply with some of the high-tech security devices and utilities given to the airport by Pelasgian corporations as part of their investment strategy—it was on the surface of these "gifts" that Elena first recognised the familiar logos of the Pegasus and Koressios Conglomerates so many thousands of kilometers away from home. And yet, as she departed the airport, with its underpaid workers, corrupt cops, and neatly segrated rich, mostly foreign passengers and labouring locals, Elena found the country as a whole substantially the same. Never in her life, however, could she have expected the things she saw.

It had been near the outskirts of Kalamba City, the country's (and perhaps all of Southern Himyar's) largest inland city that Elena had first come into contact with the reality that would put her on media radar back home, and, indeed, all over Europe. With the tall, recently built spires of Kalamba City's business district towering in the distance over the endless mass of slums and poorly maintained 1980s concrete building (with the occasional colonial leftover), the 9 am train from Kalamba City to Nzuavi zoomed toward its final destination. "Zoomed" was an appropriate word, for the old, colonial tracks left behind by the Engells and wrecked by three decades of civil strife since the end of Glorious Decade had given way to relatively modern (though certainly not high-speed) rail technology, brought to the country by OSPE, the Pelasgian railway monopoly. Officially, this modernisation of Central Himyar's rail network had been a heartfelt gesture in the spirit of international development; unofficially, as Elena quickly discovered, it has been a largely selfish move on the part of Pegasus and Koressios. For, whatever money Pegasus, Koressios, or even OSPE sunk into this nearly free railway upgrade, they made back tenfold almost instantly by tapping into one of Himyar's wealthiest regions: the Central Himyari heartland. In the diamond-shaped area between Kalamba City, Tsavo, Urbo-Ushangi and Oubangui, one could find enough rare earths, precious metals, precious stones and other resources to buy entire countries over—not to speak of the region's immense natural gas and coal deposits, some of Europe's largest.

Having completed her thesis on journalistic coverage of the Pelasgian Far Southern Company's activities in the Far South of Himyar, Elena knew quite well what she was looking at the moment she had set foot off the train: colonialism, plain and simple, and without even the formal assumption of responsibility that had accompanied the original. Thus, it came to her as little surprise that, for all the talk of liberation and democratisation that the death and removal of President Joseph Kisani had brought the rest of Europe, to the people of these deep heartlands of Southern Himyar, very little change was apparent. Elena realised as much on her way to her hotel room, at the far end of the city from the rail station: a small march by workers demanding safety rules after an industrial accident at a mine had killed several dozen of them was met with violent attacks by scabs; when the workers tried to fight back, the scabs' pinkerton escorts brandished their weapons, dissolving the crowd. Thoughout the whole affair, the police merely looked on, only coming close to acting when it seemed that the workers were on the verge of gaining the upper hand.

"This is nothing, Miss," Maria, the short but nonetheless domineering middle-aged woman who owned the hotel had told Elena. "You're lucky this was in town, where people are watching. If you really wanna see how these things go down, Nzuavi-town, into the mining fields and the gas plants. There you'll see how the corpos work."

Without hesitating, Elena followed her hostess' advice the very next day—she had not come to Central Himyar to write another panygeric anyway, or so she had told herself, in spite of what her editor put on the visa forms: "Reporting on economic progress and development". Thus, she rose before the sun, and made her way to the heartland with the workers, trailing the crowded buses and trucks that took them to work in a taxi. In what proved to be one of the wisest and luckiest choices of her whole life, she asked the taxi driver to stop a kilometer or so away from the gate, and then she continued on foot, camera in hand, arriving in the vicinity of one of the local uranium mines. Some of the workers seemed determined to continue the last day's protest, this time at their place of work. Unsurprisingly, the local security guards showed up—and Elena watched in blood chilling fear as one of them drew his weapon and shot one of the complaining workers in cold blood. The others dispersed—and the rest of the workers went of as if it were a mere fact of life.

Elena had been so paralysed by the whole matter that she had neglected to even take a picture. She had run back to her taxi, almost missing it—in no small part because the driver had hidden the vehicle behind an abandoned gas station, for fear of being spotted by suspicious security. On the way back, she had passed columns of private security contractors heading to that location, and one had caught her eye in particular: a dark blue Pelasgian APC bearing the markings of General Security S.A., Pegasus' PMC subsidiary. Digging deeper and deeper into the whole matter in the weeks since, she would find Pegasus and GenSec deeply involved in the whole affair, owning both the mine and the local security firm responsible for the killings through a subsidiary. More concerningly, she would discover similar arrangements tied to Koressios, Pegasus' main competitor, and Aegis Defence Solutions, Koressios' own mercenary firm. Soon after, she would see with her own eyes GenSec and Aegis exchanging fire in the heartlands of Central Himyar, fighting an all-out turf war for resources in the region—with government security forces mostly looking on, and serving to keep the locals in check. Just before hitting the eight-month milestone of her stay in Central Himyar, Elena would publish her findings in the Propontios Logothetis, her country and Himyar's largest daily newspaper of record.

The article would make it to the front page, propelling Elena to full, tenured journalist status—and doubling her resolve to uncover the causes of this generalised lawlessness that plagued Central Himyar. It was with this resolve that she waited eagerly for her editor, Ioannes Papastavros, to join the online meeting that she had set up on the surprisingly decent internet of one of Kalamba City's few world-class hotels, all the while enjoying a cold cup of coffee. As Elena's gaze veered off the laptop screen and onto one of the chattering businesspeople who crowded the hotel's lounge, with its panoramic view of the city and the surrounding countryside, a familiar beep interrupted her thoughts.

"Good morning, Elena," Papastavros said, with a microphone icon appearing next to his profile picture. "I judged it best not turn my video on, to avoid last time's connection issues. How's everything on your end?"

"Good morning, boss," Elena answered. "I can hear you well, and the lag is pretty tolerable. I also activated the anti-monitoring software you sent me."

"Good," said Papastavros, in such a way that Elena could imagine him nodding per his habit. "Good. Elena, I need to talk to you about this last report you sent me—about the links between the PMC firms and the Krypteia, as well as the international mercenary front company they had set up during the anti-insurgency operation, the International Auxiliary."

Elena's face beamed with pride: she had done some first-rate journalistic work—one would even dare call it detective work—and she had not hesitated to put her life on the line. "Yes, sir, I think I can prove the link definitively. I'm on my way to New Ncuna City to speak with a source-"

"I reached your source," Papastavros interrupted. "Or, rather, I tried. He seems to have vanished from the face of the earth. Elena, listen to my advice: You've done all you could, all we can expect of you. Now leave this for another day, and come back home. Go to New Ncuna City, and take the first flight to Pelasgia, preferably to Propontis, where there's more eyes watching."

For the first time since the incident at the uranium factory, Elena was taken aback. "Sir, what are you suggesting? Do you think the Krypte-

"The Krypteia," Papastavros interrupted again, "is not a word I'd say that openly, if I were you—nor a force on whose bad side I'd like to get. Come back home, and don't cause too much trouble. We have a shortage of good reporters, of real journalists who aren't just stenographers. There's big events happening back here, so I need you—alive and in one piece, preferably."

"Yes, sir," Elena replied, after a few moments' hesitation. "Understood." Of course, that was what Elena said—but, in her heart of hearts, she knew that she was still an international correspondent, and not a political journalist. Papastavrou was pulling her out and giving an excuse. She would go to New Ncuna City, and then to Propontis alright... but she would not hesitate to pick up a lead or two along the way, if it could be helped. If all went well, she would not even be in GenSec and Aegis' crosshairs. What could be the harm?​

 

[Rheinbund]

Neckarbrück, Rheinbund

Crown-Prince of Tirolstein Pippin von Görisburg knew the feeling. His first wife was diagnosed with a cervical cancer while being pregnant. The cancer was in such an advanced stage, that her uterus complete with foetus had to be removed. Crown-Prince of Tirolstein Pippin von Görisburg knew the feeling.
The operation was carried out too late; the cancer had already metastasised. Crown-Prince of Tirolstein Pippin von Görisburg was a widower at age 28.
Nearly 50 years later, he lost his granddaughter before she was born. Crown-Prince of Tirolstein Pippin von Görisburg knew the feeling.

“Isn’t it too much to you, dad?”
“Don’t worry, Karl. Your mother and I can handle this. But even if it would be too much to us, Hildegard needs us now. Her father and mother. It is our duty as parents to go.”

In the end, it was a heavy delegation that flew to Pelasgia. A heavy delegation to pay tribute to the man who gave his life to save that of a descendant of a Rheinian sovereign family. Lieutenant-General Costis was to be knighted; something that could only be done by the Ritter-Großkreuze of the applicable orders. King Philipp V von Homburg-Costa was the Ritter-Großkreuz of the Ritterorden des rheinischen Adlers. As the Prince-Regent of Tirolstein, Pippin’s son Karl was the Ritter-Großkreuz of the Hausorden der Ritter des Hauses Görisburg. Medieval tradition, but now in a country that had its roots 1000 years earlier in history.

The Pelasgian-Rheinian company Daedalus Aviation ceased production of the quadjet

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in 2011, but the Rheinian government still used one as a government plane. It was this plane that landed at Würzwald Franz-Karl-Strauss to collect the Tirolsteiner delegation. The landing strip of the airport of Neckarbrück was too small to handle this plane, so the Tirolsteiner delegation had to board in Würzwald.

In the end, the Rheinian delegation consisted of King Philipp von Homburg-Gosta with the Queen-consort, Crown-Prince of Tirolstein Pippin von Görisburg with his wife, Regent of Tirolstein Prince Karl von Görisburg with his wife, and Minister of Foreign Affairs Gustav Kohlschreiber with his wife. Also security personnel, officials and other people flew to Pelasgia.

“Grüß Gott, Eure Fürstliche Hoheit, mein Beileid,” King Philipp said to Crown-Prince Pippin when the latter entered the plane.
“Grüß Gott, Eure Majestät, danke,” Crown-Prince Philipp replied.
Both men were from the Southwest of the Rheinbund. Their German was the standard German, without the typical Southwestrheinian accent. The only things that identified them as Southwestrheinians were their greets: “Grüß Gott” as formal greet, and “Servus” as informal greet. The same applied to their wives, and to Prince-Regent Karl and his wife. This in contrast with the greets of Minister Kohlschreiber and his wife, who originated from the city of Grefrath (Wetterau); they used “Guten Tag” and “Hallo” as greets.

The plane took off from Würzwald-Franz-Karl-Strauss and landed in Pelasgia two hours later.

 

[Pelasgia]

New Ncuna City, Central Himyar

Sometimes caution is warranted—other times, fortune favours the bold. Thus reasoned Elena Nomikou, her light-brown-dyed-blonde hair flowing in the wind behind her as she triumphantly emerged from the steel-snake-like body of the train that had ferried her from the centre of Southern Himyar almost to its coast. Rather than go directly to her destination, she had made a few stops along the way: Kamolando, Gombona, and even Kalina City, on the coastline to the west of New Ncuna City. She had moved about with care, and yet she had found no reason to be careful: apart from the normal hazards inherent in her sort of journalism, the normal caution of some guard or corrupt official here and there, her work had proceeded so smoothly that she had begun to question precisely why her boss had seen fit to recall her to Propontis in the first place.

Exiting the train and climbing down the stairs into the main area connecting the various platforms, Elena noted just how similar this train station was to the one in her native Aspropol—not a coincidence, most likely, given that Aspropol New Central Station had served as a blueprint for many other stations built by the same conglomerate. Her eye, too, caught a familiar ad: “Pan-Himyari Airlines: From the Dune Sea to Propontis, and beyond!” Or, at least, that’s what she assumed the poster said, for it was not only in Engelsh, but also in various local languages and dialects—certainly not in the Pelasgian that she was used to.

A single glimpse of the pink lion logo of Pan-Himyari was enough to send Elena out of the train station and into the parking lot, where the car her boss had rented for her awaited. A Pegasus 90, Elena noted, recalling that she had mentioned how it was her dream car once at a work party. Is Papastavrou trying to woo me?

She thanked the local car rental employee (of the almost comedically pompous “Golden Lion Car Rentals”), and then headed to the automobile, unable to conceal a smile as she took out her keys to unlock it. Beep beep! sounded the car’s unlocking sound, and, before long the engine was on and the vehicle was on its way to New Ncuna City International Airport.

Elena was in the middle of shuffling through radio stations to find the local hit (and acquired personal favourite of the season) “Imbali, imbali” when she heard the all-too familiar noise of a gun safety being removed—and felt the blood-chilling sensation of a muzzle against the back of her neck.

“Take the next left,” the man said in perfect Pelasgian. “We’re going to the eastern suburbs.”

The dyed-blonde woman gulped. “Please, I-

“One more word, and I’ll blow your brains out,” the man answered authoritatively. “Take the damn turn.”

Elena complied. Little did she know it at the time, but the employee of Golden Lion Car Rentals was the last man who ever saw her in public—and she could not even recall his face.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Kalina City, Central Himyar

Constantine Mukumbi stared down into the ditch. "Pity," he said out loud, as he removed his cross necklace from inside his shirt, kissed it, and then put it back through the unbuttoned top two buttons of the garment. He stared at the charred corpse one last time before trading looks with his subordinate, Detective Constable Julius Ngoy.

"Think it's her, Sergeant?" Ngoy asked, looking up at Mukumbi.

"Of course it's her, Julius," the more senior of the two detectives answered, almost shaking his head at the pointless question. "Call the Pelasgian Consulate and let them know we found their journalist."

Ngoy frowned. "I don't get it, boss—why would they leave her out here? Why not make it impossible for us to find her?"

"Because they wanted us to find her, Ngoy. They wanted to send a message."

"Then why burn her?" Ngoy insisted.

Mukumbi put on his hat. "That's the message." He turned around and started for the unmarked SUV he drove around town—a gift by Pegasus Motors, ironically.

"Where you off to, Sarge?" a curious Ngoy inquired, almost instinctively following.

"Where else?" came the reply from an annoyed Mukumbi. "Pegasus Tower—I've gotta get some answers."

Where it anybody else, Ngoy would have grabbed him by the arm, but he knew better than to do so with his Sergeant. Instead, he raised the tone of his voice. "Sarge, that's suicide! You got a death wish?"

Mukumbi sighed. "No, kid, I don't. What I do have is an oath and a job—and I intend to stay true to both." He turned around, beyond the edge of the rundown slum where Elena Nomikou's body had been dumped, and faced the skyline of Kalina city, where Pegasus' fancy new corporate tower stood proudly over the other buildings. Koressios had limited itself to New Ncuna City, not daring to set up a real rival presence in Central Himyar's largest port, which was clearly Pegasus territory—or "turf" as Sergeant Mukumbi always put it. "If the Pelasgians want to kill each other, they can do so back in Pelasgia. In Central Himyar, we're not just a corporate playground for their conglomerates: we have laws. They'll have to learn that sooner or later."

---

Propontis, Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

A royal visit was always a grand occasion in Propontis, even in times of crisis or mourning. Store owners and residents decorated their storefronts, balconies and windows with flowers in the colours of the Laskarid Black-and-Yellow banner as well as those of the visiting country's flag, while banners, flags and all sorts of double-headed eagle motifs adorned every public-facing surface of the city's downtown streets. This was not at all forced or even encouraged by the authorities; it was merely a long-standing tradition of a people who loved to treat their capital city as a living organism. To the outsider, it might have appeared peculiar, eerie even: one day, Propontines protested against Emperor Alexios' new censorious law, and the next they plastered the city with flags and symbols, making sure the Emperor's guests were warmly welcomed. To a Pelasgian, however, this appeared most natural: the ancient Pelasgian rite of philoxenia (or "hospitality") superseded all other woes and concerns; just as a mourning family or a bickering couple set aside their grief and grievances to decorate their home and welcome a guest (especially a foreign or distant traveller) and to host him as best as possible, so did Propontines make sure their city was as welcoming and beautiful as possible during a foreign visit. Once the foreigners were gone, the bickering and mourning could continue; not before, however—that was a matter of honour.

As for the visitors in question, who consisted of practically the cream of the crop of political leadership of the @Rheinbund in general and the Lordship of Tirolstein in particular, centuries if not millennia-old protocols and traditions dictated the formality of the visit. For His Majesty King Philipp and His Highness Prince-Regent Karl, a visit with the Emperor and his whole family was in order, both before and after the funerals of the late Antistrategos Mardochaios Costis and the unborn child of the Empress. On both occasion, the respective heads of government were in attendance, and a short meeting between them was also in order—all these meetings taking place at various places within the expansive grounds of the Great Palace complex: the royalty met at the main building of the Great Palace, while the accompanying government officials met at the Senate House and the Grand Despot's Palace (which housed the Council of State), two of the most well-known satellite buildings within the complex. With these formalities concluded, the majority of the Rheinish delegates were free to depart, allowing their Pelasgians counterparts to resume their duties—and the students and disgruntled citizens to return to their protests and personal woes. After all, even philoxenia had its limits, and a visitor staying for the long had to adapt to the realities of his hosts—this was a truth that Empress-Consort's parents and brother would have to live with as the only Rheinish delegates to remain in Propontis after their King's departure. Anyone else would have quickly discovered why the Emperor had dark circles from long, sleepless nights of work and stress while meeting the leaders of his wife's native land; but, in truth, it was doubtful whether they would care enough to notice such petty political squabbles.

No, Prince-Regent Karl and his mother and father were in Propontis for a different reason altogether, one that made the funerals, knighting and even the pomp of the official visit pale in comparison: they were there to console a hurt family member. The family member in question, Empress Hildegard, was to be found in the heart of the palace, inside a small guest house overlooking one of the lakes of the Imperial Gardens. Staring blankly out into the gardens, Hildegard seemed to lapse into the world for a moment, and then back out of it; she was not so much reading the poetry book that she had been holding as she had been clutching it in her hands to keep them occupied. The moment the Empress' relatives walked in, the two ladies-in-waiting who had been at the Empress' side knew right away to curtsy and vacate the room. They left the family members to trade looks for a few moments—before Hildegard left her book on the table beside her, almost dropping it, and then run up to her mother to embrace her, holding back tears as best as she could. "Mutter! Vater! Karl!" came the cries from behind the door. The two ladies-in-waiting knew to pretend not to hear; they really were quite well-trained, loyal followers.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Hagios Valantios, Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

A barely distinguishable echo of chanting reverberated through the forested land near the border of Propontis Metropolitan Prefecture and the Theme of the Optimatoi. In the distance, the light of the monastery of Saint Valantios (the namesake of the town) flickered through the trees. Compared to the sprawling metropolis whose spires rose above the horizon to the west, Hagios Valantios seemed like an untouched islet of pristine, traditional beauty—a window into Propontis and Pelasgia's pre-modern past, as it were. Here, the architecture and rural way of life of the Southern Tiburan Empire were well-preserved, so much so that overland power lines, parked automobiles and railroad tracks seemed out of place.

This impression was particularly strong on October 10, the feast day of the locality's patron, when locals and pilgrims from across the country joined together in a quiet nighttime procession illuminated only by the light of handheld candles. Near the head of the procession, somewhere between the priest and the local dignitaties, a most-illustrious party walked: the Emperor, along with the Prime Minister and several other important government figures. Notably absent, however, were any of the other member's of the Emperor's own family—for they had remained in Propontis during the occasion, on the excuse of welcoming the Empress' family.

"Your Majesty," said Prime Minister Raptes in a hushed tone. "I understand that Her Majesty is in a difficult state, but her absence from public events is damaging her popularity and that of the monarchy as well. People are starting to forget their sympathy for her, especially at a time when the political situation is not... advantageous."

The Emperor kept looking ahead as he answered. "I will give my wife as much as she needs—once her family fly back to the @Rheinbund, I am sure she will have been encouraged enough by them to return to her duties." He paused and thought it best to voice his own concern with the absence of another dignitary, this time from the Prime Minister's circle. "I see that your coalition partner, Mr. Lazarides of the National Liberals, has not deigned to honour us with his presence either. That could paint your coalition as... fragile, Mr. Prime Minister."

Raptes breathed out nervously—he had hoped it would not have to get to this. "That would be an accurate perception, I am afraid to say, Your Majesty. Your Majesty's refusal to accede to liberal demands to limit the Throne's prerogative powers have alienated many of the National Liberal Union. Themistokles- I mean, Mr. Lazarides is only trying to keep his party together." Raptes lowered his voice to the point of a whisper. "Should your majesty go ahead with overturning the Council of State's decision, there is a good chance he will either have to withdraw from our coalition or face a mutiny in his ranks."

"So, you think I should concede?" the Emperor asked earnestly. "Do you think that I should be the last of the Propontine Sovereigns to reign as befits God's Epistates* in Europe? That I should become almost an ornament, like the kings of Gallo-Germania? Look around you, Konstantinos. I am what you see here: tradition incarnate; true, deep, old Pelasgia, not yet overtaken by the tides of modernity. If I concede to this, it will be the beginning of the end for all that the Throne represents. I cannot, in good conscience do that; I cannot destroy the legacy my father left me, nor disinherit my own son."
*Viceroy

The Prime Minister gulped. He was moved by the Emperor's arguments... but he also had to face cold political realities. "For better or for worse, Your Majesty, most of our country no longer looks like Hagios Valentios, and it has not in a long time; our monarchy has also changed as much as our country's landscape. Whether we like it or not, we need the support of the Boule to keep a coalition that is supportive of the Throne in power. That requires concessions, Your Majesty. I ask you in earnest to reconsider—precisely because I want Your Majesty's heirs to maintain the unbroken succession of our imperialdom."

Alexios, for his part, did not seem moved by the Prime Minister's words; instead, they seemed to have flown right past him, as if he had been expecting them and had already discarded the quality of such argumentation. "I think," the Emperor said, after a few moment's silence, "that your analysis is not entirely correct, Mr. Prime Minister. The Throne does require a Prime Minister to govern through, yes; but the Throne still has the prerogative to name him. And there is nothing in our constitution regarding his needing to be of the lower house of the Koinoboule."

Prime Minister Raptes' jaw almost dropped at the suggestion. But who?! he thought. He mind shot back to earlier that night, where he had spotted Count Gomenes, whom he never recalled having recalled from his diplomatic posting at the European Forum. Then, he thought of the pro-monarchy article authored by the widely respected Count (one of the Senate's dominant figures), and it all came together... By God! Raptes figured. He will plunge the country into a constitutional crisis!

---

Pyrgos, Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

A bolt of lightning lit up the grey sky over Propontis; a few seconds later, roaring thunder followed. In between such bolts of lightning, the downpour of rain over the Pelasgian capital continued, the perpetual sound of rainfall joining with the ceaseless noises of the sprawling city below to create a cacophony of urban life. Fall had finally arrived in Propontis—of that much, Aristarchos Ploumides was certain. Propontis was the only city he had ever known, and its seasonal patterns seemed to be the only "correct" ones in the world. Even Camp Hill, @Natal, that beloved city where he had spent a single semester on exchange, seemed "off"—and that was his favourite foreign city in the world, perhaps due to having an almost ideal climate to Pelasgia.

"Mr. Ploumides," said Alexia, Aristarchos' assistant. "They will see you now."

The thirty-something Propontine turned around. He was his father's striking image, the very clone of Stephanos Ploumides—except for his tall, slender figure and his striking blue eyes; those were both the legacy of his mother, the late Anastasia Ploumidou (at least that was how the Melingian woman had been known in polite Propontine society).

"Thank you, Alexia," Ploumides answered. The young woman opposite him seemed to nod so deeply as if to bow, before moving back a step and out of the way. An aide took her place and opened the door to the boardroom; and Aristarchos adjusted his tie and abandoned the stunning, panoramic view of the seventieth floor for the overbearing seriousness of the corporate building's beating heart. Walking into the room, Aristarchos adjusted the blue pin on his coat lapel, which featured a white pegasus—the emblem of the Pegasus Conglomerate, and the same emblem that proudly stood above the entrance to the chamber, and again at the centre of the table, this time in the form of a holograpgic glass statue.

No sooner had Ploumides set foot into the heart of Pelasgia and Himyar's largest corporate conglomerate than all those surrounding the large meeting table had stood up as they waited for him to take his seat at its head—the "presidential" seat, as it was called in Pelasgian.

"Gentlemen," Ploumides said—for no self-respecting Pelasgian conglomerate had a woman on its board; "Please be seated." The request was heeded, allowing him to continue, but the atmosphere in the room remained dry and serious. All listened to the young man's words closely, but they displayed no clear emotion. "I come here today on behalf of my father, Kyriakos Ploumides. As you all know, his health is very poor at the moment, and he has to remain in the care of his doctors. He wishes me to convey his thanks to you for your understanding, as well as the continued welfare of our group in these trying times." (Aristarchos' transmission of his father's message begot respectful nods of the head from all those assembled.) "Now then, let us proceed to the matter first on our list: Central Himyar. I believe that Mr. Vardis of General Security would like to update us on that matter."

"Thank you, Aristarchos," said the man in question—a wide-shouldered and slightly chubby individual with a chiseled face somewhere in his fifties. "I assume you're aware of the reports I gave to your father?"

"It's Mr. Ploumides to you, Mr. Vardis," Aristarchos answered. "And yes, I have. I actually wished to inquire about one item in those reports—this 'Detective Mukumbi' who's been causing trouble and digging up corpses left and right in Kalina City."

Vardis leaned forward. "Well, as I wanted to explain to your father-

"You can explain it to me," Aristarchos cut him off, this time severely. "In so far as any of you are concerned, I speak with my father's authority here. Pegasus belongs to the Ploumides family, and, in my father's absence or incapacity, I am the head of our phatria*."
*A traditional extended family group, akin to a clan.

"Very well then," Vardis continued, now blushing. "While it is true that he has caused some antics, such as attempting to arrest our corporate head for Central Himyar and to seize documents in evidence, I can assure you that a quick intervention of the local police and prosecutorial authorities—who owes us great loyalty for generously funding and equipping them—were enough to nip his initiatives in the bud. Now, if he were to push the matter further... accidents could happen."

"Accidents such as the one that happened to Ms. Nomikou?" Aristarchos asked.

"Perhaps," Vardis retorted. "Does our handling of the matter displease you?"

Aristarchos sighed. "I don't know, Alexandros, what do you think? Instead of quietly removing this trouble-maker from the picture, you make an 'example' out of her, as if the whole continent doesn't know we own Central Himyar; and then, when the consequences of your short-sighted errors come back to bite you, you conduct a thorough rape of the Central Himyari judiciary. Would you also like to set off a fireworks display reading 'We're criminal scum' outside the local PAHINA offices while you're at it?"

"You cannot rape a whore," Alexandros Vardis answered. "The Central Himyari judiciary is a joke, and it's a joke that we fund—so we can do with it as we like. And if anyone has any trouble with that, we'll deal with them to."

"Your methods are good for dealing with CHCP* peasants, not for handling a quasi-state. If we want to have a say in Central Himyar's governance, we have to legitimate our rule to the locals. Pegasus Motors' donating trains and buses for local public transit does that; broad-daylight murder and humiliating of local law enforcement do not. Is that understood?"
*Central Himyari Communist Party

At this, Vardis dropped all pretense of politeness and his face turned sour; the two men stared each other dead in the eye for a few instants, until the head of GenSec relented. "If you so wish, Mr. Ploumides... I will make arrangments for our operational protocols to be amended."

"You will do no such thing," Aristarchos noted. "Mr. Antoniades of Internal Security will replace you. Propontis has taken flak for your reckless actions, and they have turned their sights on us. Heads need to roll—and better yours than mine."

A red-faced Vardis stood up at once, towering above even Aristarchos. "You- You have no right! The board-

"I am the board!" Aristarchos shot back. "And the board wishes nothing further to do with you. Now take your golden parachute and go, before I have your own ex-subordinates escort you out."

Vardis groaned, but he was wiser than to run his mouth then and there. He complied, exiting the room and passing his replacement as he did so. The pale figure of Leandros Antoniades, dressed in the dark blue, laconic dress uniform of a GenSec "officer"*, appeared in the room. His figure caught the eye of many of the board members, for he bore a striking resemblance to his father: the late Chrysanthos Antoniades, the head of a failed phatria of shipowners whose entreprise was bought out by the Pegasus Conglomerate but still (rather generously) allowed to keep some social standing by being hired as executives by Stephanos Ploumides.
*GenSec and Aegis Defence follow a rank structure akin to that of a militarised police force, with corresponding uniforms, albeit much more simplified.

"You called for me, sir?" Antoniades inquired.

"Please, take a seat, Leandros," Ploumides explained. "You are to join the board as the new head of Pegasus' security subsidiary, General Security S.A.—unless there are any objections, that is?" Silence, accompanied by a few negatory shaking heads were all the response the heir to the Ploumides family empire got. "Excellent. Now, you are familiar with the Central Himyar file, I trust?"

Antoniades set aside his peaked cap and sat at the table. "Yes, sir."

"Then you will see to it personally. The board wants this handled by a professional."​

 

[Pelasgia]

Somewhere in the Basilisk Sea

O gasmoulos engonos enos nothou. "The half-breed grandson of a bastard." That, in a single phrase, was how Attalos Laskaris had been seen throughout his life. In truth, he took no shame in the description: He was the grandson of no ordinary bastard, but of Attalus Laskaris-Komnenos, the Great Bastard of Propontis: the man after whom the mighty city of Attaleia was named, in honour of his near successful revolt against the Carian Dynasty in the late 1950s. Back then, everyone seemed to have forgotten that he was a bastard, until, one day, the Pelasgian nobility found it convenient—and gainful, thanks to the Carian King's coffers—to remember, thereby invalidating his claim to their loyalty and to the Throne (never mind that previous Propontine Sovereigns had done just fine without legitimate birth or even a certain birthday). Likewise, Attalos was not a common half-breed or gasmoulos, as the Pelasgians pejoratively and indiscriminately called all those born to a Pelasgian and a foreign wife of "Western" (especially Catholic) background; nay, he was the son of a noblewoman, whose elopement with Eumenes Laskaris, the noble son of Attalus Laskaris-Komnenos, had nearly been the stuff of popular legend—so much so that the late Emperor Theodore, a personal friend of the Great Bastard's son, had allowed Eumenes to legitimate his son and make a proper nobleman out of him, if only a mere patrician (as opposed to the hereditary Dukedom of the Laskarids).

Attalos denied none of those charges, nor did he consider them "charges" or "blights" in any way; in his eyes, they were simply facts of life, a complex, unique experience, which could not easily be distilled into dry-cut rules. As for his person, he proudly displayed the gifts his unique ancestry had gotten him: from his father, he had received an imposing, masculine physique, with the characteristic virile manner of his line and the strategic mind that had made them indispensable officers and officials for the dynasties that had preceded and succeeded them; from his mother, he had inherited the gift of fair, softer features, along with the elegance and social intelligence that only a noblewoman of the Continent could possess; and from the union of this distant duo, Attalos had been gifted with a sharp mind and great wit (at least according to Pelasgian tradition, which held mixed offspring to be the smartest, healthiest and most gifted, taking the best of each line and retaining the worst of neither).

If one were to perceive Megas Doux* Attalos Laskaris as stood firm atop the deck of the amphibious assault ship** Alexios Vatatzes and observed the great blue mane of the Axshaina Sea all around, one would perhaps struggle to believe that he was the bastard's half-breed that others made him out to be—or, more likely, he would find those those epithets to be as irrelevant as Laskaris himself did, finally understanding why: To a man so sure of himself, and so accomplished as to be rightly confident, these immutable details that made him who he was seemed either entirely encyclopedic or actually rather beneficial. In so far as Attalos Laskaris was concerned, he had started life as the son of a titular noble who could barely afford a middle class lifestyle (thanks to the Carian authorities' seizure of much of his property)—and he had risen to the highest military posting in the entire Empire, winning the trust of one who should have normally seen him as a threat.
*"Grand Commander", the title of the Great Officer whose function corresponds to Grand or Fleet Admiral.
**The Pelasgian Navy's designation for a light aircraft carrier, like their Archipelago class.

"Admiral, sir," said Commodore Efstratios Zephyraios, Laskaris' first mate on the ship. Zephyraios had omitted the honorific "my Lord" per his superior's express instructions—Laskaris firmly believed that respect and authority had to be earned, rather than inherited, despite being one of the seniormost aristocrats in the land.

"Yes, Efstratios?" came the calm reply from the Megas Doux, who continued to stare into the waves.

"There's an urgent message from Propontis, sir—Senator Gonemis wants to speak with you."

A few moments of silence elapsed as Attalos pondered his answer; as always, he chose not to reveal much with his words, preferring deeds. "Does he now? I suppose one can't refuse the PM-designate." He turned and headed for the ship's interior, with Zephyraios following. The Megas Doux's blue eyes and silver hair seemed to glow with renewed excitement, and slight blush coloured his pale face: This was bound to be an interesting discussion, if nothing else.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

Every home in Pelasgia had the same heart: its hearth. Since the ancienmost days, the hearth, the estia, the fireplace at the centre of the house, formed the symbolic (and, often, literal) sense of the household. The Great Palace of Propontis, for all its size and splendor, was no exception—after all, what is a palace but a home, albeit a very large and opulent one? The heart of the Great Palace was a majestic thing, built wholly out of marble and decorated in the sort of unique mix of ancient Pelasgo-Tiburan and medieval Propontine floral motifs and carvings that characterised Pelasgian monumental architecture. At the heart of the hearth was a marble plaque of four angels supporting the arms of the Pope and the Crusader King of Propontis, an object seized from the large catholic cathedral which the Crusaders had only started to build when the City was recaptured by the Emperor's troops.*
*The Church in question is approximately at the site of Church of the Holy Trinity, in the Cathedral District.

As the heart of the home, the hearth was reserved for members of the family, and only the closest or most honoured of guests; in the Great Palace, this was usually other royals somehow related to the House of Vatatzes (such as those of the @Rheinbund and the Empress-Consort's family), personal relatives or close friends of the Emperor, or the most senior of state officials to be received and hosted there. To be photographed beside the Emperor near the hearth was the sort of thing a Pelasgian could only dream of; to have a private meeting with the Emperor there, infinitely more so. Even for a man such as Count Antonios Gonemis, a patrician of the highest noble birth from a family claiming direct descent from Old Senatorial families, and a successful diplomat and professional respected throughout the Empire's civil society and international diplomatic circles, to stand with the Basileus by the Great Palace's central fireplace seemed like a far-fetched dream.

Upon its realisation, one should have been ecstatic—and yet, as he felt the warmth of the hearth's heat touch his skin through his silken clothes, Count Gonemis was anything but ecstatic. Reserved, would be the word, perhaps; even pensive. But certainly not ecstatic. True, nobles were always supposed to be reserved and unmoving, but this was a wholly different level of coldness, that of man trying to hide great concern, and even greater sorrow. For what else but sorrow could fill a man who had to announce the death of an idea, of an institution, which he hold most dear?

"Your Majesty," Gonemis said after a long pause—one of many that had interpuncted the two men's conversation that night. "It is with great sorrow that I might inform you that I cannot accept my appointment to the premiership without one condition which could make governing the country possible."

A flame flickered in the Emperor's eye; it was almost identical to that which burned in the fireplace opposite him, and whose likeness was reflected in the glass of the liquor that he held. Almost, that is, because it bore the additional flame of all the emotion that the Basileus himself was holding in, much in the same manner as Gonemis. For, though Alexios VII Vatatzes was young and perhaps brush, he was not naive or dimwitted; he could see very well what the Prime Minister was getting at, and, indeed, he had been expecting this moment from the moment he had sat on the Throne. Alas, politeness required that he feign ingorance. "What condition would that be, my Count?"

"That your majesty abdicate," came the quick reply from the Count, like a quick cut to avoid drawing out the pain. "Though I am a committed believer in the Imperial Idea," Gonemis added, after speaking a beat, "I must confess that it appears to me, and to many in Propontis, that, by directly politicising the Emperorship, as Your Majesty has, it has become impossible for your to reign above politics, and to thus carry the impartial respect of all. Where I to become Prime Minister by your appointment under such conditions, my premiership would be likewise tainted from the start... making it impossible for me to unite the country, as your hope for me to do."

A deep sigh came from the pale man in the ornate naval uniform, who was, by the Grace of God, the Viceroy of the Divine on Europe. "To you, Gonemis, the Emperor's Purple is an 'Idea', as you said; an institution. To me, it is my family's inheritance, the legacy of my father and his father before him, and so on for hundreds of years. To give it up would be like demolishing this hearth—the gravest treason a man could commit against his ancestors."

"The Emperorship requires many grave sacrifices, Your Majesty," Gonemies retorted. "The higher one rises in society, the more men they have under their care—and the sacrifices that an Emperor makes, as you know, are many: being told whom to marry; being told how to behave and live; being saddled with duties from the first to the last day of one's life; and, sometimes, to give up the Emperorship itself, for the good of the country."

Finally, Alexios turned and faced his would-be Prime Minister. "Do you not think that I know this, Gonemis? I know this better than most—than anyone else, really. I have not even had time to mourn my father yet, or my own child; even my wife has been granted that courtesy, and she is no commoner." He paused and looked back into the fireplace, at the marble plaque taken from the Catholic invaders so many aeons ago, to be displayed as a trophy, and to remind the Propontine Sovereigns of all that their predecessors had to go through to preserve the Throne. "My concern is precisely for the country: I have no heir; none of age, anyway, and we both know that since the Emperorship is not fully hereditary, the Senate will never accept an infant. My wife, God bless her, is a foreigner, and therefore unfit to take my place. And as for my siblings, my sisters of them are married to foreigners, my brother Ioannes is a cleric... and you know quite well that Basil is unfit for the publicity that the office begets."

"I understand that, Your Majesty," affirmed Gonemis, who by this point felt like a broken record. "Nevertheless, I also ought to remind you that the solution lies precisely in the character of our monarchy: It is not hereditary. A relative of yours, perhaps quite distant, or someone from another branch of the Laskarid Dynasty, could take the Purple. For instance, the Megas Doux is seen by many as a respected and sufficiently apolitical figure to that end."

Alexios tightly gripped his glass with rage. Normally, what Gonemis suggested would amount to treason; and though the Count was right, the Emperor could nonetheless not bear such an obvious suggestion of handing his charge, his inheritance, to a distant relative, the son of the Great Bastard who would have been Emperor were it not for the plot in which his grandfather and great-grandfather had been leading figures. It would be almost a betrayal of his whole line's design, all the way to before the Restoration—a whole century's worth of work, of careful political maneuvering, undone. No, he roared within. I cannot! And so, he turned to Gonemis again. "I am afraid that that would be impossible. The Great Bastard's grandson may not even be a noble, according to the way many interpret our laws."

"The nobility itself is moribund, sire," Gonemis said. "I say this as a scion of New Tibur's oldest nobelissimoi. If Your Majesty does not act quickly, the monarchy may join it."

The Emperor's reply was quick but firm. "I shall be the judge of that, Gonemis. You may leave—I wish to further dwell on the matter by myself."

Dwell quickly, the Count thought to himself as he bowed and offered his thanks for the great honour done him. Or else, you may not have a Throne to abdicate from.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Propontis M.P., Pelasgia

The rhythmic beating of the drums and the synchronized slamming of spiked heels on the ground was a recurring, familiar sound in central Propontis: it was the sound of Sunday. Or, rather, it was the sound of noon on Sunday, for the morrow belonged to the chiming of the massive bells of the city's countless churches. It was at noon, of course, that the guard of the Great Palace changed, a ceremony which was carried out twice at the same time: once for the Pelasgian Guards, and once more of the Varangian Mercenary Guard Corps, the force of far-northern Scanians who had served the Emperor personally for some one thousand years now.

Overseeing the ceremony, ordinarily, was the Emperor, or his oldest male son or relative, in full military uniform and looking on from the balcony of the Great Palace. On this Sunday, however, the people of the Imperial capital were amazed to see that the procession was not led by either the Pelasgian Guards or the Varangians (who alternated on leading the ceremony every week), but by a ceremonial detachment of the Imperial Navy, specifically the General Staff, judging by its insignia. The flags and banners which often lined the fencing and the gardens surrounding the Basileus' monumental residence, as well as the surrounding buildings and streets, had been changed out from the Laskarid gold-and-black into the white-and-blue, the Pelasgian national colours; the medieval Laskarid eagle motif (used by both the mainline Laskarid Dynasty and its cadet branches, such as the reigning House of Vatatzes) had given way to a more modern design in gold, like the one used by the Government of Pelasgia.

Then, as the ceremony started to approach the Great Palace and the doors of the balcony at the centre of its marble facade opened, two figures emerged, clearing the matter up for all: to the right, dressed in his well-known ceremonial uniform, was Emperor Alexios VII Vatatzes; to the left (that is, to the more senior position), was a tall, slender and pale figure in the uniform of a naval admiral. Soon enough, the crowd recognised the man to the right as the Megas Doux, the Grand Admiral of Pelasgia, Attalos Laskaris; and they also noticed that the great collar of the Imperial and Military Order of Tiberius the Great, which normally adorned the neck and torso of the Emperor instead hanged around that of the Megas Doux. The message was clear, and well known to Propontines: Alexios was naming Attalos as his successor. The shock, however, was no less strong, in no small part because Alexios had gone to such great lengths to ensure his proper succession to the his father's Throne not so long ago.

Looking back at the crowd, the two men appeared stoic, as they exchanged a few words, discretely enough for none but themselves to be able to tell.

"I hope," Alexios said, "that be handing the reigns of power over to you, I have not abandoned Pelasgia to the mob, and to the demagogues and liars of the Koinoboule."

"Rest assured, Your Majesty," Attalos answered, "that I have no intention of abandoning Pelasgia to any such fate. I love our country as dearly as do you, and I would sooner see the Carians back than hand it over to the rule of a collective dumb tyrant led by the nose by whatever flatterer rules the day. Changes will have to be made to the fatherland's Constitution to ensure its survival, yes; but a strong, unified leadership structure must be maintained, that much is certain."

Alexios' gaze rose slightly above the parade, toward the distant structure that housed the Koinoboule. "I have no doubt about your intent, Attalos. What concerns me is whether the liars in question share it—and whether they will be willing to listen to reason and be convinced by you."

In turn, Attalos' eye caught the reflection of the otherwise cloudy day's sunlight against the bayonet of the leading contingent of troops. "I will do my utmost, Your Majesty, as will Count Gonemis and our faction's political allies; and if all other arguments are exhausted, we have parading before us the ultima ratio regis—the means to finally and decisively settle all disputes."

Attalos breathed a sigh of relief. "Then I am glad that Pelasgia is in the hands of a competent and resolute man, who is willing to do what duty demands. And I hope that these men will be as loyal to you, as they have been to me. They have certainly known you better in service than me—and so, they see you not only as a leader, but as a father. That is a bond that is difficult to break."

The word 'father' instinctively made Attalos look toward the Church of the Holy Unmercenaries, that massive edifice built from the start of the 20th century all the way to the early 2000s, large and impressive enough to rival the Hagia Pronoia. It was in the crypt of that church that his own father and grandfather lied buries, as was common with high-born bastards, whom the Holy Unmercenary Saints would never refuse. "Indeed, Your Majesty," came the reply. "Indeed."​

 

[Pelasgia]

Palace District, Propontis M.P.
16/10/2022

There were many places that Alexios considered at the moment of Count Gonemis' departure: the crypt of his forefathers; the comfort of his owe study; perhaps, even, the Throne room, or the private chapel of the Propontine Sovereigns, each a symbol of the Throne's authority in its own way. These places were all accompanied by faces, faces belonging to those who could help the Emperor ponder the grave question left to him by the Count: the stern but wise complexion of the Ecumenical Patriarch; the pale and aged visage of the Prosecutor General; the virile, strong-willed and chiseled face of the Marshal of Pelasgia. And yet, of all these places, Alexios could think of none better than his wife's reading room—and no better face than his wife's rosy and endearing, albeit increasingly aged, likeness.

Entering the semi-circular room with the tall domed ceiling and pillasters that constituted the study in question, Alexios wasmet a familiar sight: beside the massive bookshelves that lined the room's walls, a lone feminine figure was perched above one of the reading tables. It had been almost a month since their son's death, and by this point Alexios had become frighteningly accustomed to seeing a depressed, almost resigned look on his wife's visage. Only two occasions had proven an exception: the time during which the royal family of the @Rheinbund had been hosted at the palace; and this evening. Wearing the same simple blueish-green nightgown as every night, and with her hair in a simple braid, Hildegard von Görigsburg looked up at her husband with a gaze of sheer determination.

"I hear that we are to be evicted for our home," Hildegard said, speaking in ancient Pelasgian—it was the tongue that the two had first spoken in when they first met, and she still reserved it for their most intimate encounters. "I wager I'd have to take a trip to see my son's remains."

Alexios was taken aback—all these weeks, the Empress Consort had scarcely given him more than a few phrases, and now she was on the attack. "I think not," he answered, stuttering a response. "I am sure that some solution can be found to-

"To keep us as ornaments?" Hildegard cut him off. "No, your actions have ruled out all possibility of that, I think*."
*Hildegard used the verb θαῤῥώ, which comes from θεωρώ ("to observe"), and roughly means "I suppose" or "I imagine"

A lightning bolt went through the Emperor's backbone. What does this woman want? he wondered. Must she torment me too? He threw his weight on the chair opposite his wife's and shrugged. "Isn't this what you'd want? To be able to go home—your home, anyway—and live a peaceful life."

A thunderous sound echoed through the room as she slammed shut the book she had been reading—The Chronicle of the Lives of the Propontine Empresses, yet again—and she walked over to her husband's seat, taking his hands into her own. "You think that this is what I want? Some farm or estate in Tirolstein to live out my days as a small-town country lady?" She shook her head emphatically. "I did not sacrifice every pleasure in life, every freedom to duty, to be reduced to this by a bunch of pencil-neck lawyers in a hemicycle. Our son died because he was the son of an Emperor and we didn't get to mourn him properly because he was the son of an Emperor."

Almost instinctively, Alexios rose to his feet and freed his arms, taking his wife by the shoulders. "Dear, I-

"No, it's not your fault, I know," Hildegard said, cutting him off for the second time that night, and the second time their whole marriage, really. "I don't mean to blame you. What I mean is this: We each have a lot in life, and therefore we must adorn it.* Ours is the Purple. I did not live to be the wife of an Emperor and the mother to a Grand Despot to die a glorified country bumpkin. There is no better burial shroud than the Purple—so let us be buried in it either in victory, years later, or in defeat, in a week's time."
*An ancient laconic saying: Sparta is your lot, therefore adorn it.

A deep breath went through Alexios' nostrils, almost as if he was drawing his first breath anew. He looked his wife in the eyes and nodded. "So be it. The Purple to the death, in victory or otherwise." He kissed Hildegard in the mouth, and then stormed out of the room to convene his men, the Marshal of Pelasgia first among them.

---

Senate Square, Propontis M.P.
16/10/2022

"Constitution! Constitution!"

Thus echoed Senate Square, as the large public space beside the palatial compound that housed the Koinoboule, Pelasgia's bicameral legislature, was known. Originally, the cry had been "Long live the Constitution!" or Zíto tò Sýntagma, but that had gradually been reduced to "Constitution" or Sýntagma as the week's protests had continued.

Throughout the week, the ever watchful eyes of the Imperial Police, unsure from whom to take orders, had watched careful to keep rival crowds apart, as students, workers, and various other groups came out both to back the Throne and the Boule in the ongoing political row between the two. For days and days, the blue wall of shields and helmets had stood idly by, content to keep an eye on the masses on either side of the divide, calmly waiting for the political actors to resolve the dispute. Then, all of a sudden, just as the eight day of the protests had turned, the police cleared out, to the confused cheering of the protestors.

"They're leaving! We must have won!" said one. "Did he abdicate? Or did the Boule concede?" asked another.

Pretty soon, the blue wall gave way to a green wall—the Imperial Gendarmerie, with its armoured vehicles and its military-style uniforms and gears. "In the Name of the Throne," proclaimed one gendarme through a loudspeaker, "the present protest has been declared to be an affront to public order under the Delictum Sui Generis Law. All those assembled are directed to dissolve immediately, lest force be used to apprehend and charge with offences against the integrity of the State."

The officer had not even finished his sentance by the time that the monarchist crowd had mostly cleared out; at the mention of the Throne, it was clear to them that the gendarmes had been deployed by the Emperor, and they were thus on their side. As for the parliamentarians, this invocation of imperial power had the opposite effect: booing, jeering, and the occasional throwing of stones, bottles, and all kinds of objects. Without a moment's hesitation, the gendarmes responded with a volley of their own: teargas, stun grenades, and the occasional rubber bullet. All of this preceding a well-organised baton charge, supported by water hoses. A mere two hours later, the square had been cleared, without any fatalities, though with many injuries, and many more arrests.

The officers went on to surround the Senate House, forcing the parliamentarians to put an early end to their session: the Emperor had prorogued parliament, and he had called a referendum to push through his measures. Following the referendum's results, parliament would be allowed to reconvene and to deal with the people's expressed wishes directly.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Aetina, Propontis M.P.

“And for having usurped the Sublime Throne of Propontis contrary to God's wishes, the Lord punished the House of Notaras gravely, first by driving it from Propontis in shame, and then by abolishing its own Kingdom at home, in Caria. For our Lord, God, is a jealous God, and he visits the sins of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generation.”

Iakovos gleamed with pride as he finished this perfect recitation from his textbook. He stood half-perched on the radiator behind him, in the kitchen where his mother always cooked or washed the dishes as she examined him in the manner that most Pelasgian parents examined their children: repetition of textbook passages learned by heart through rote memorisation.

“Well done, Iakovos,” answered Alexia Theodoropoulou, her eyes fixed on the potatoes that she was peeling with great boredom. “How many chapters did Mr. Sphantanakis ask you to read?”

Iakovos blinked. “Mother, Mr. Sphantanakis teaches history—we’re studying theology.”

A deep sigh came from Alexia Theodoropoulou’s side. She dropped the potato she had been holding into the strainer and turned to her son. He’s so very much his father’s image, she thought, her eyes now fixed on the photo of her husband, which hanged above the kitchen radiator, for her to look at while she did her kitchen chores. Or should I say his late father? He’s been gone for so many years… And who’s to say that those letters aren’t fakes sent by the Krypteia… At once, Alexia’s mind flew to the distant arid islets of the Archipelago, the xerae, whose naturally uninhabited lands had been turned into open-air penal colonies for the Empire’s katerga or “hard labour” system.

“Mother,” exclaimed Iakovos, interrupting his mother’s silent pondering. “Can I go play now? That was the last passage.”

With another sigh, Alexia Theodoropoulou nodded and dismissed her son.

“Also,” Iakovos said, turning just as he was about to exit the apartment’s small kitchen, which might have seemed cozy to some but claustrophobic to others. “Do you mind if grandfather picks me up from school later tomorrow? The kids who went on exchange to @Radilo are coming back, and we’re having a little celebration.”

Alexia wore her brightest smile and nodded. “Of course, my child.”

“Thank you!” cried Iakovos, and he stormed out of the kitchen to his room triumphantly and jovially.

Left by herself, the lady of the house went over the kitchen and she turned it up, raising the volume to its loudest and putting on PERT 1, the public broadcaster’s flagship news channel. Under reports about the Senate inquiry into corporate abuses in Central Himyar, a faint wail filled the kitchen. He’s dead, isn’t he? Alexia murmured under her breath. I can’t admit it to Iakovos, to my father, or even to myself out loud—but he has to be dead. All for investigating that damned Duke’s disappearance!

Alexia cursed the moment she had asked her husband to come to Propontis—to that city where nobody could pronounce his real Muntenian name, and where she could tell that he had always been a stranger. At least in Aetina*, we won’t have my parents or yours bossing us around, she had reasoned. Alas, her reasoning had rung true… but Propontis had proven itself to have greater woes for the wife of a journalist than the quaint old suburbs of Edessa. If only we had never left!
*Aetina (Ἀετίνα, "She-Eagle") is a residential district on the edges of Propontis proper, standing between it and the suburbs. It is a middle-class area largely made up of apartment buildings, with some smaller houses and greenery in its wealthier parts. It is also known as Aïtina (Ἀητίνα) and Aetomana (Ἀετομάνα, "Eagle Mother").

---

Cathedral District, Propontis M.P.

A pile of documents was strewn about the inner courtyard of the main building of the Megaron or Palace of the Asphaleia, which still retained the name of its inaugural tenant. The crude Kratiki Asphaleia or “State Security” of the Carian Dynasty’s apparatus had long given way to more refined agencies, from the omnipotent and omnivorous Imperial Secret Service, the Krypteia, to the twin agencies that both preceded and followed it: the Internal Security Directorate (DEA), the spiritual successor to the General State Security Directorate; and the Foreign Intelligence Directorate (DEP), the heir to the Special State Security Directorate. Hardly changed on the outside, save for new antennae and communications arrays, the simplified neoclassical edifice that occupied a whole block of downtown Propontis stood as gray and oppressive as one the day the Throne’s commissioned builders had laid its last stone.

The internal courtyard at the centre of the main building was a sea of green in this otherwise sombre complex, which stood halfway between a sanitarium and halfway between a military headquarters. It was this building that housed the DEA, whose detainees sometimes managed to… fall out a window, while gazing upon the beautiful garden and catching a breath of fresh air, in between aggressive interrogations. And it was from here that, on occasion, thick columns of smoke rose from the centre of the complex, when the DEA pretended not to be burning shredded records, and Propontines collectively pretended not to notice. With the advent of the smartphone a few photos of such smoky pillars had reached the internet, but they were always blurry, rare, and from such a distance as to be useless. The facility was technically on military ground, which made unauthorised photography illegal—and Pelasgian law enforcement were rather zealous in their enforcement of this regulation.

Thus, as the DEA’s inaugural director, recently promoted and retired Lt. General Rigas Kavallaris observed his men set up another such bonfire of forbidden knowledge, he could calmly go about without having to worry about the press raising a fuss about the incident. Circling around the fires that consumed piles of documents related to the late Emperor Theodore VIII—documents containing truths that the new Emperor had deemed should follow his royal father to the grave—the Director occasionally caught a glimpse of what was being burned.

Here there was a draft decree of proscription for several senators; there, there was a report on the personal lives of foreign royals considered as marital candidates for the Depots and the Despotesses; further down the courtyard, beside another pile, was a half-shredded report on the close friends of Sebastos Basil Vatatzes, a General in the Imperial Army and (as implied by his title) brother to the reigning Emperor. A young corporal, dressed in the DEA’s characteristic olive drab uniform, picked up the document to glance at it before consigning it to the fire—but Rigas instantly seized it from him and threw it into the blaze himself.

“Some things are not meant to be known,” Rigas told the young man. “Discretion is the most important trait for someone who wishes to have a career in this service.”

The other nodded, half-relieved to have been let off with a reprimand, and half-stunned to interact the Director himself. “Apologies, sir. It will not happen again.”

Rigas looked over to the burning pile, where the report had now been reduced to cinders. “That it won’t—for now, at least.”​

 

[Pelasgia]

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PROPONTIS DISTRICT COURT
CRIMINAL DIVISION​

Judgment № 1779/2022​

November 4, 2022

[RHODITES, VLASTAROU, SPATHARIOS JJ.]

His Majesty the Emperor (Propontis District Procuratorate),​

Plaintiff,​

v.

Pegasus Corporate Holdings S.A.,
Pegasus Motor Company S.A.,
Ploumides Chemicals S.A.,
Pegasus Electronics S.A.,
Pegasus Defence Systems Ltd.,
Bank of Pieria S.A.,
General Security S.A.,​

Defendants.​

_ _ _ _ _​

D. Michalopoulos & Th. Papandreou of H.I.M. Public Prosecution Service, for the plaintiff.
A. Patriotou & L. Markellis of Propontis Law Offices LLP, for the defendants.

_ _ _ _ _
The judgment of the Court was delivered by
Rhodites J.
_ _ _ _ _


J U D G M E N T
​

RHODITES J.: The case at bar concerns the criminal indictment of the defendants, collectively owned by the defendant Pegasus Corporate Holdings S.A. ("Holding Company") and known with that Holding Company as the Pegasus Corporate Conglomerate ("Conglomerate"), by His Imperial Majesty's Public Prosecution Service ("Throne Prosecutor") for numerous alleged violations of Chapter 115 of the Imperial Code of Statute Laws (Protection of Free Competition). This case is connected to but separately tried from the criminal indictments of the defendant Conglomerate for violations of general penal law in both Pelasgia and abroad, as well as the criminal indictments and veil-piercing actions brought against the Conglomerate's controlling shareholders, S.P. and A.P., by the Throne Prosecutor.

Briefly, it is alleged under the heading of indictment filed with this Court (№ 1177/Ε/2022) by the Throne Prosecutor that the Conglomerate violated arts. 1, 2, 42, 48, 50, 101, and 102 of C. 115 Imp. Cod. repeatedly and in multiple instances. Per this indictment, the Conglomerate stands charged: (i) that it violated general and overarching provisions protecting freedom of competition and outlawing anticompetitive behaviour within Pelasgia (arts. 1, 2); (ii) that it did the same with respect to Empire-wide scope and inter-industry provisions (arts. 101, 102); (iii) that it consolidated its corporate holdings across multiple industries in a manner that rendered any separation between its subsidiaries illusory, thereby causing risk to economic stability (art. 42); and (iv) that it consolidated its holdings in industries where such consolidation is explicitly proscribed (arts. 48, 50).

The Court will deal with these charges separately. [...]

With respect to charges (i) and (ii), the Court cannot but accept the Throne Prosecutor's submissions. It is patent that the Conglomerate's expansion into practically every industry and market of the Pelasgian economy, a well-known and documented aspect of its corporate strategy, operated to harm freedom of competition, since the Conglomerate was able to use its surplus profits from other industries to suppress competition and engage in a variety of anti-competitive practices. [...] The same can be established with respect to the Conglomerate's activities not only in metropolitan Pelasgia, but also in the Exarchates. [...] This finding serves to aggravate the Conglomerate's crimes, since it proves that its activities were not only noxious to free competition within any one industry or locale, but across the Empire as a whole, and in practically every domain of economic activity. [...]

With respect to charge (iii), the Throne Prosecutor has produced a great deal of evidence attesting to the fact that, though the Conglomerate was nominally organised as a group of distinct companies held by a common owner through the Holding Company, in actual fact, it actually operated as a single, hydra-like corporation, whose tentacles extended to the production, transportation, and sale of every good and service in the Empire, without any actual separation between the subsidiaries owned through the Holding Company. [...] The most concerning evidence produced by the Throne Prosecutor perhaps is that concerning the direct pooling and sharing of funds between nominally distinct subsidiaries, as well as the way in which management between the various firms seemed fully integrated, with directors and executives often even dispensing with the semblance of running distinct firms or acting in distinct roles. Though the common controlling shareholder of the Holding Company and the Conglomerate may not have voiced any concern, as noted by counsel for the defendants, the Public still has a legally protected interest in avoiding economically dangerous consolidation, and it is the role of the State to safeguard that interest. [...] The danger of such consolidation becomes particularly acute when considering the evidence adduced to prove charge (iv), which concerns consolidation in domains where it is explicitly outlawed (including private security firms and banks). [...]

In light of these findings, the Court must conclude that all the impugned acts were indeed committed by the defendant. Such a finding would naturally lead to a guilty verdict; nonetheless, counsel for the defendants posits that the short window between the underlying law's passage and the filing of charges did not allow the defendants to bring themselves into compliance with C. 115 Imp. Cod. [...] Though such an argument could have potentially had great merit, were it made in good faith, the Court must note (as it was indeed asked to note by the Throne Prosecutor) that the defendants were aware of the law's progress through the legislature for a long time; that they had still taken no steps to bring themselves into compliance should the law pass, despite repeated notice to that effect by the appropriate authorities, except for attempts solely directed at lobbying against the law's enactment; and that the impugned acts were already largely illegal under existing laws, which C. 115 Imp. Cod. only served to uniformize and standardize. [...] Therefore, the Court finds the defendants guilty of all charges.

Pursuant to this ruling, the Court is required by the law to impose an appropriate sentence, taking into account a number of factors detailed within art. [...] C. 115 Imp. Cod., including [...] public interest, risk of recidivism, best protection of free competition, [...] and proportionality [...], as well as general sentencing criteria outlined in the Penal Code. [...] Given the size and complexity of the corporate structure contemplated in this case, the Court shall, for convenience and clarity's sake, outline a detailed plan for mandatory restructuring of the Conglomerate in Schedule A to the main ruling. The purpose of this plan is to break up the Conglomerate into smaller groupings, so as to bring the defendants into compliance with the requirements of C. 115. [...] However, irredeemable elements of the Conglomerate, including the Holding Company and the defendant General Security S.A., are to be suffer legal proscription, given that their general object and organisation are inherently contrary to C. 115's fundmanetal provisions, and therefore in flagrant violation of public order. [...] The changes in ownership resulting from this restructuring and partial liquidation are to be carried out per Schedule B, with a view to shifting the Conglomerate's former parts to public ownership, as expressly preferred by C. 115. [...] In addition to these changes, a series of financial and other penalties are to be imposed on the defendants, which are to be largely covered by the liquidation of the two proscribed defendants, as outlined in Schedule C. [...]

We order accordingly.

Defendants Pegasus Motor Company S.A., Ploumides Chemicals S.A., Pegasus Electronics S.A., Pegasus Defence Systems Ltd. and Bank of Pieria S.A. to be restructured per Schedule A. Defendants Pegasus Corporate Holdings S.A. and General Security S.A. dissolved and liquidated per Schedule B. Fines and other penalties imposed on all defendants, totaling Ø6,300,000,000, imposed on defendants, to be paid per Schedule C, pursuant to the liquidation plan contained in Schedule B.

​

AN. RHODITES J.

(L.S.)

---

Kalina City, Central Himyar

Constantine Mukumbi and Julius Ngoy felt like strangers in their own country: they were practically the only two Nethians on the entire upper half of Pegasus Tower, the 32-storey skyscraper that was Kalina City and Central Himyar's tallest man-made structure.

"Up here, even the janitor's Pelasgian," remarked Ngoy, hastily fixing his tie as the duo prepared to exit the elevator.

"I believe he's Pannonian," a stoic Mukumbi corrected him.

"Whatever," Ngoy retorted, finally satisfied with his tie after three tries. "These foreigners are all the same!"

A loud beep announced the elevator's arrival at the very top of the skyscraper: the penthouse. The locale (which was, in truth, big enough for two floors) was so secluded that it was served by its own, separate elevator from the 31st floor. Stepping out onto the pristine marble floor, Ngoy remarked at the bright white surroundings, which resembled classical Pelasgian architecture in terms of their themes and overall structure but were decidedly stylish and modern. "These foreigners sure know how to design a place..." he let out in his native dialect, fixing his eyes on the simplified pillars that stood between a crystalline glass wall.

Mukumbi remained silent, keeping his stone-faced composure.

"Good day, Detective," came the overly friendly greeting from the familiar face of Stephanos Gorgos, who seemed both fatter and balder than usual to Mukumbi. Beside him was the slender figure of a man in a high-ranking GenSec officer's uniform. Most likely Chrysanthos Antoniades, the Central Himyari detective reasoned based on the reports he had gotten.

"Good day to you too, Mr. Gorgos," Mukumbi answered coldly but professionally. "You called us?"

The rotund Pelasgian corporate executive half-turned and showed the two police officers toward a conference room. "Would you care to join us? I know we have had our differences, but I think we can work together—for the benefit of everybody involved."

Turning to look at his superior's reaction, Ngoy nearly jumped in shock: For the first time in two years working alongside Mukumbi, he saw the Detective smile while on duty.

"Work together?" the beaconing Mukumbi asked, half-laughing. "Who would I be working with? Last I checked, your whole company got broken up into a thousand pieces by a Pelasgian court back home." (Mukumbi shifted his gaze to Antoniades.) "And your GenSec mercenaries are being pummeled so hard by Aegis that they're running to the Pelasgian Army's bases near New Ncuna City for protection."

At once, Gorgos turned pale as, while an enraged Antoniades blushed. Mukumbi, for his part, however, kept on smiling.

"It is true that we have fallen upon hard times," Antoniades admitted. "But we will recover! Pegasus is prepared to do whatever it takes, to remind Propontis that it needs us."

Mukumbi frowned. "Really? So those rumours about you being in talks with CPCH* holdouts to destabilize my country were true after all? Only, I am sorry to disappoint you: You were really just dealing with your own DIE from back home. You only succeeding in doubling their support for Aegis."
*Communist Party of Central Himyar

"I knew it!" Gorgos blurted out. "Those whoresons must have been supporting Aegis; otherwise, we'd be mopping the floor with them!"

"You're still doing a good enough job," the grinning Mukumbi said. "Good enough to weaken Aegis enough that, by the time it's Koressios' turn to be on the chopping block, they can be swept aside easily."

Antoniades nodded. "We're the strongest of the two, so they'll weaken us first. Smart, I'd have done the same. Then, they'll suppress us both? Subsume us to PEAN*?"
*The initials of the

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(Pelasgiki Etaireia tou Apo Notou).

It was Mukumbi's turn to nod, almost triumphantly."You guessed well—they can't trust the private sector with this, so they'll have a State-owned conglomerate take over. You threaten the only monopoly that governments really care about you see: their monopoly on the lawful use of force. As for me, I can't say I'm mad that you 'whoresons', to use your colleague's language, are getting what you deserve." Mukumbi turned around and started back for the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Gorgos, by now visibly sweating, demanded.

Mukumbri shrugged and kept on walking. "To work. When this is all over, I'll have to arrest the lot of you—those who're still alive and in this country, anyway."​

 

[Pelasgia]

Palace District, Propontis M.P.

Every woman deals with pregnancy in her own way: some lean too heavily on sugar and others on salt; some become depressed and others hyperactive or neurotic; some wish to always stay indoors and others yet are inspired to be active like never before. Anna Riga (née Geraka) had no such issues: all her neighbours, from the stout Kyriaki Papadopoulou, a second-generation Propontine and a mother of three, to the short and skinny civil servant, Stathis Lambrinos, agreed than in both terms of disposition and diet she remained the same as ever: active, jovial, and with a taste for the sour. Wine she had to abstain from, but she had never been a drinker (or a smoker, for that matter), so that was not an issue. What had changed, however, was her desire to suddenly parttake in the all the sightseeing activities normally reserved for tourists in her own native cities.

"I didn't know people from Scutari got free admission to the Imperial Museums," Rigas remarked as he helped his recent wife up a flight of stairs—she had only been pregnant for a couple of months, and yet he already treated her like the baby would pop out the and there if she so much as stepped the wrong way. "Suburbs of Propontis, I understand, we all pay for it through municipal taxes—but Scutari is in a whole different Theme*!"
*The Themes (Θέματα) are Pelasgia's primary administrative regions.

Anna shook her head as if to say 'You've only been a Propontine for a year, and you're already lecturing me on who's a native!' She smiled before answering. "Scutarians still pay the same tax, it's part of an agreement with Propontis. It's why I was able to use the same metro pass as everyone else to get to the City when I was younger and lived across the Strait. But my life, I don't think I could make that tunnel again..."

"At least we finally found one touristy thing you won't be doing before the little one pops out," a grinning Rigas noted.

Anna could not help but laugh—now free from the seriousness her uniform and upholding her father's name in the service had imposed on her, she had, gradually, become her private self in all contexts: happy, pleasant, and slightly less silent. Seriousness, alas, remained. It was for this reason, perhaps, that Rigas had been surprised when his wife named the museum she wanted to visit this time. "Paintings or statues?" he had inquired, only to see his dilemma denied. "Dinosaurs and sharks!" had been the answer.

And so, having passed by the Imperial Historical Museum and the Imperial Museum of Fine Arts, the couple had made their way (very much above ground, by tram and by foot) to the most peculiar of Propontis' jewels: the Imperial Museum of Natural History, housed in a monumental structure of a thousand columns and pilasters that once housed various government offices and courts, before those were moved to the Government Quarter and the Judicial District, respectively.

But a few steps into the first exhibit hall, Anna paused, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. "What is that? A great white shark?"

"A whale shark," Rigas replied.

"You knew that just by looking at the skeleton?" Anna asked, looking at her husband with a frown. "I didn't take you for a shark guy."

Rigas shrugged. "I was a boy sometime, you know. Aren't all boys into sharks?"

---

Aspropol, Pelagonia

A ferocious three-headed dog appeared on screen, its figure instantly recognisable as the hound of Hades: Cerberus. Quite unlike the depictions seen on ancient pottery or persisting folk tales, the mythical beast was neither threatening nor particularly terrifying... if anything, it resembled a children's cartoon, except in 3D. "CERBERUS cards give you access to premium benefits and cash return options—so you can enjoy life, before you come meet me!" Then, the even more known figure of Charon, the cloaked boatman of Hades, emerged, throwing a ball at Cerberus and causing his three heads to comically fight over which one would catch and fetch it.

Viktoria sighed loudly and switched off the TV. Everything is so sanitized here! she thought to herself. Looking out the window of her suburban home in the outskirts of Aspropol, she noted just how lifeless and boring her surroundings seemed. Certainly, she could not complain, having been given a sturdy roof and a warm hearth after fleeing Pannonia from refugee camp to refugee camp for the better part of a year... and yet, for the first time, she admitted to herself that this quiet, perfectly symmetrical and planned housing development was entirely uneventful. This was both its greatest blessing and its greatest curse. The refugee within Viktoria appreciated it; the adventurous teenage girl abhorred it.

I wonder how Andreas must be doing, Viktoria pondered silently, thinking of her slightly older friend from the Great School. He, too, had taken advantage of the holiday that was the Feast of the Holy Archangels to return to his hometown for the long weekend, to see his family. His mother, his siblings... and his cousin, Grigoris, who had joined the ranks of the green-clad gendarmes who patrolled the ragged frontier of the Akritika Mountains on the Empire's southern border. "Ours is a vast unatamed land, like a wild horse refusing like a wild horse refusing every would-be master who dared try to saddle it," Andreas had once told Viktoria while speaking to her of his homeland. "South of the White Mountains, this illusion of civilisation, of control, that the coastal provinces no dissolves; down there, we all know that Himyar could swallow us whole in a heartbeat, unless we always stay vigilant and keep it out—or should I say, down."

At least Andreas must be having a good time, Viktoria reasoned. Her eye caught the shining blanket that she always used to sleep on the couch—a gift from one of many charities aimed at the Pannonian refugees—and she shook her head. Blushing, the pale, freckled girl felt sick with herself. How spoiled I am! My family are still buried in a ditch somewhere back across the Meridian, and here I am, wallowing in self-pity that I'm not having fun! Maybe that exchange trip was not a good idea... Maybe I should have stayed here, for the Great School gave me too many big ideas...

"My dear!" Nagyapa* Péter's loud voice interrupted his granddaughter's thoughts. "Where are you, my dear? I'm home!"
*The Pannonian word for "grandpa"

At once, Viktoria jumped up and instinctively fixed her hair, wearing it like she did before leaving for the capital. "I'm here, grandpa! In the living room!"

The crouched figure of the tall, slender man with the sharp nose and eyes appeared. His eyes were pale blue, the same that Viktoria had inherited; and he still wore his employee uniform for the local power utility, EIP*, one of DOI's many subsidiaries. Behind him emerged the small figure of a boy whose face and overall appearance was quite like Viktoria's, save for his darker hair and lack of freckles.
*The initials of Epicheirisis Ilektrismou Pelagonias ("Pelagonia Power Corporation").

"Joszef!" Viktoria cried out. She rushed and kissed her grandfather on the cheeks, before seizing her younger brother and raising him—she still could, but it was harder now. "How you've grown! I hope you've not put on weight..."

"Relax, Nagyapa Péter's practically made a vegetarian out of me," the other moaned half-seriously.

"Red meat isn't as available down here as it was in Germania," the elderly man retorted. "But then, I do think we'll get more of it once we move to Propontis..."

Viktoria's jaw dropped, and she nearly dropped her brother too. "Once we- Grandpa! You mean you got the job?!"

A deep nod was Nagyapa Péter's answer. "I did, my dear, I did; it took some convincing and a lot of overtime, but we'll be joining you in Propontis."

The young girl was ready to cry. Again, she embraced her grandfather—whom she had by now sligthly outgrown in height—pressing a complaining Joszef in between them: "Hey, watch out, you'll crush me! I wanna make it to Propontis too!" Thus they continued for a few moments more, until they split up to set to table, each having a task: Nagyapa Péter would get the alcohol from the living room, Joszef the plates and cuttlery, and Viktoria the food. Pausing to examine a pack of crackers that she fetched from the kitchen, Viktoria noticed an inscription on its back: Prodotto di Radilo - Product of @Radilo. I wonder, Viktoria almost said out loud. How must Aria be doing? At least I have Nagyapa Péter and Joszef... She has no one. After food was served, Viktoria had decided to pay a stop by her favourite local business, if one could call it that: the post office. A postcard was in order.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Cathedral District, Propontis M.P.

It often happens in life that two siblings turn out very different in terms of looks, but quite alike in terms of personality. Sometimes, however, the opposite also happens. Theodosia Geraka was, in all outside respects, the mirror image of her sister, Anna: tall, pale and with slightly golden brown hair, and with the characteristic hawk-like golden eyes of almond shape that had gained the family its name*. Indeed, even the two women's dress was alike, dictated by a mix of the inherent cosmopolitanism that their foreign mother brought into their lives, as well as the strict expectations imposed upon them by being raised as the daughters of a military officer in a largely conservative society. Each had found her own way to gradually escape the succession of long dresses and solid colours that had long cloaked her body: Anna had followed her father's footsteps and put on a uniform; and Theodosia had gone abroad to work as an scientific researcher, a profession which necessitated more practical, weather-proof clothing.
*Gerakas means "He-Hawk"; Geraka, the feminine version of the name, means "Daughter of the He-Hawk".

This stark different in paths chosen, one dominated by duty and family tradition, and another wholly rejecting both and seeking to escape as far as possible in the pursuit of knowledge and progress, was characteristic of the two women's starkly different characters: Anna was serious on the outside, cold and serious, though somewhat warmer to people she came to know, especially since becoming a wife and mother-to-be; she was a woman with high standards for others and even higher standards for herself, practical and disciplined—in short, she was her father's daughter: a soldier, even after setting her uniform aside. Theodosia was anything but that—she took after her father alright, but more in terms of his determination and bravery; in terms of personality, however, she was more like her mother, and her mother's own archaeologist father: jovial, adventerous, open and loud, and always quick to befriend and charm others. Two years older than Anna, she had already lost her virginity before her sister even thought of kissing a boy; by the time Anna moved out, Theodosia was already on a different continent, pursuing studies there. She never did come back permanently...

Nonetheless, in spite of all their differences, the two sisters remained good friends. Whenever she heard that her sister was on her way to visit, Anna could feel her heart beat twice as fast, and the sun seemed to shine twice as bright, even in the dead of winter: only with Theodosia there did she feel at home, especially since their parents had passed away. For her part, the older sister tried to keep her arrival a secret until the last minute... she wished to spare Anna the work of all the preparations she knew her younger sibling would go through to welcome her.

"My visits are meant to help you relax, not make you work more," Theodosia told Anna as she sat across from her at the kitchen table of the spacious and elegant fifth-floor apartment overlooking Metaxadon Street, near the border between the Cathedral District and the seaside borough of Antipyrgos. "Yet here you are, cleaning the house like father is coming to inspect, and rolling out the red carpet!"

"Perhaps knowing that you are comfortable is what relaxes me," Anna retorted, setting aside the teapot after pouring some tea into a pair of elegant gilded glass teacups. "That, and knowing that those whales you go hunting haven't eaten you yet."

"They're mostly harmless to humans," the eldest sister noted before sipping her tea. She set it aside and added a bit of honey to sweeten its taste.

"Almost," came the natural reply from Anna.

"Have you decided what you're going to call her yet?"

"If it's a girl, we'll name her Theodora, after Rigas' mother," Anna answered, pouring some honey into her own teacup. "And if it's a boy, it'll likely be Vasilis, after his father—as is tradition."

Theodosia rolled her hawklike eyes and shook her head. "Tradition! And what of our own father and mother? Ought you not honour them at least with a name?"

"That's what the second child is for," the younger sister sternly replied, taking back the empty caps to clean them. She stood up to to fetch desert—baklava, a traditional Propontine favourite—continuing her reply as she moved back and forth across the kitchen. "The firstborn must always be named after the father's line, as must the first son; and, besides, Rigas is an orphan. He ought to honour his dead parents somehow."

"Hmph," intoned Theodosia, crossing her arms. Thus she remained for a few instants, not touching her deserts. "You and your tradition! The world is changing, Anna; this medieval system, this Empire with its Throne upon which sits one man who decides everything for life is part of a dying past. More and more, Pelasgia is becoming an urban, modern society, where tradition and superstition mean very little, and where people judge things by their outcome. After all, if it were up to tradition, our father would have never married a Carian Catholic!"

Anna sat down, patiently waiting for her sister to finish her rant before touching her own desert. It was at times like these that Theodosia could not help but silently admit that their mother assessment had been right: "Theodosia, my dear, you are the eldest in terms of age, but Anna acts the eldest in so far as maturity is concerned." Another hmph followed and silenced reigned for a few moments... until the eldest sister slowly and begrudgingly began to devour her slice of baklava. "This is good," she noted after a few bites.

"Thank you," Anna answered with a smile. "I made it myself, using grandmother's recipe." (Here, she carefully omitted the word 'traditional' which the grandmother in question often ascribed to her cooking.)

"Mmmmm," came the pleasurable noise from across the table, where Theodosia mooed like a cow enjoying the finest of grass. "Yes, this is clearly grandma's cooking!"

Anna waited for her sister to savour the dish for a bit more, before continuing the conversation. "So, how long are you staying for? Are you heading back to @San Jose or perhaps @Gran-Occidentia sometime soon to examine... sharks? Rays?"

"To @Corrientes ," Theodosia clarified, wiping her mouth in a manner the scarcely befitted a doctor of biology and a world-class marine life researcher. "River dolphins!"

"River dolphins," Anna repeated, nodding slowly. "Now that does sound fun."

---

Akritika Mountains, Metaxadon Theme

A cold breeze passed over the bald peaks of the smaller mountains at the base of the Akritika Mountain range. In the peaks above, snow had started to appear, reflecting the light of the early afternoon sun, past the mountains and down onto the wide, fertile plains below, which were watered by wide rivers and narrow streams, and dotted with cool freshwater lakes.

"For centuries," Sergeant Grigoris Papavasileiou said, "these mountains, which bear the name of the medieval Akritai, the citizen-soldiers who guarded the Empire's frontier, have been the border between our country and the vast untamed lands of Himyar. It is here that our civilisation truly ends—and that indigenous, unconquered Himyar begins."

Beside the Sergeant, in his olive drab uniform, stood a boy of no more than fourteen, whose eyes and ears watched and listened attentively as the constable of the Imperial Politarchy delivered every word of his history lesson. Standing atop the barren hillside of one of Himyar's tallest mountain ranges, the duo seemed almost like a pair of lonely trees, the only ones of a forest to survive a landslide, such as the ones that periodically swept aside the flora lining the lower hills beneath. "Today, it falls upon me and my colleagues to guard it—and upon the men of the local towns, who, as members of the Civil Guard auxiliaries that succeeded the akritai, periodically assist us in securing the border. That includes our hometown—and you, if you ever come back to us."

"So do you think I should come back?" Andreas asked, looking up directly at the face of his cousin. "My mother wants me to, but she won't say it. Father always wanted us to have a good education you see."

"It's one thing to leave physically," Grigoris answered, after a few moments' ponderance. (He knew that the boy looked up to him almost like an older brother and second father, and he was careful not to lead him astray by saying careless things.) "It is another abandon your homeland, you lot, spiritually."

Andreas' reply was quick and confident, partly because he had been taught it at the Great School of the Nation, in Propontis. It was the same response that all kids in Pelasgia learned—but seeing that Andreas and his classmates were to one day rule the Nation in question, their teachers took great care to ensure that they understood and genuinely believed it with every fiber of their being. "Pelasgia is my homeland."

The Politarch could not help but let out a faint laugh. "Pelasgia is an Empire. It rules lands so distant and alien to us here that our ancestors did not even know they existed until a couple of centuries ago—and which have yet to be fully settled or explored. Pelasgia is your Nation—our Nation. But the Metaxadon, the land of the Akritai, is your home. Do you understand me?"

The boy's head sunk. He did understand—he always had. Unfortunately, he had tried to hied that realisation from himself, to feign ignorance, as if every belly full of beef and every comfortable ride on the metro with wifi and comfortable heating did not draw him further and further from the only life everyone else in his family had ever known. "You studied in Propontis, too, Grigoris; how did you manage not to abandon your home?"

"I kept reminding myself that strangers could be my friends or even my comrades, but never my blood," Grigoris answered, glad that the boy had taken the conversation where had wanted him to. "And if that applied to men from different Themes of Pelasgia... it would certainly also apply to comely Pannonian Catholic girls from across the sea."

Andreas blushed—He knows! But who told him? How could he know? Blushing even harder, Andreas staggered through a reply. "She's just a friend; I'm too young to marry and mix blood anyway."

"Too young to marry perhaps," Grigoris answered. "But just at the age where boys and girls start... discovering that sort of thing. And each other, for that matter. Now, you can make as many friends as you want, and I believe you; but you must understand that, whatever comes, you are still a man of the Metaxadon—an akritas. Your duty is to guard this land and to maintain it, whether here, on this frontier, or in Propontis, in the great centres of power where the Empire that rules our land is steered. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," Andreas answered with a gulp. "I do." He did, or so he hoped... and yet, within him, a doubt persisted. Was Viktoria not a Pelasgian by now? Was she not his friend? What was the point of having a country if everyone was locked in their little silo, perpetuating some regional tradition from an age where people still seriously debated the size of the angels' wings?

"Good," Grigoris answered, softly clapping the boy's shoulder a couple of times to reassure him. "Now then, enough soaking in the view. Let's climb down the mountain before night falls and the wolves and jackals start howling. Or have you forgotten what they sound like, up there in the Capital?"​

 

[Pelasgia]

Τὸ ψωμὶ εἶναι 'ς τὸ τραπέζι
The bread is on the table
τὸ νερὸ εἶναι 'ς τὸ σταμνί
the water is in the pitcher
τὸ σταμνὶ 'ς τὸ σκαλοπάτι
the pitcher is on the steps
δῶσε τοῦ ληστῆ νὰ πιῇ
give the thief to drink

Τὸ ψωμὶ εἶναι 'ς τὸ τραπέζι
The bread is on the table
τὸ νερὸ εἶναι 'ς τὸ σταμνί
the water is in the pitcher
τὸ σταμνὶ 'ς τὸ σκαλοπάτι
the pitcher is on the steps
δῶσε τοῦ Χριστοῦ νὰ πιῇ
give Christ to drink

Δῶσε μάνα τοῦ διαβάτη
Give, o mother, to the passerby
τοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ τοῦ ληστῆ
to Christ and to the thief
δῶσε μάνα νὰ χορτάσῃ
give, o mother, to satiate his hunger
δῶσ' τοῦ ἀγάπη μου νὰ πιῇ
give him, my love, to drink

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about hospitality, unknown author


Cydoniae, Evosmos Province, Theme of Lycaonia

Hospitality had always been a traditional virtue in both Pelasgia and Caria. From the ancient myths of Zeus disguising himself as a poor, old traveler to judge men based on how they treated him when he appeared at their threshold in need, to post-Christianisation folk tales of Christ disguised as a beggar roaming the countryside in a similar manner, the concept of philoxenía had become quasi-sacrosanct among the people of Himyar's northernmost country. Indeed, even in the poorest parts of Pelasgia, it was not uncommon for courtyard door to be unlocked, allowing passersby access to the fountain of the home, next to which some treats or fruit were often left in a covered pot. In less urban areas, even the entrance to the home itself was left unlocked, for neighbours to borrow whatever they needed—Cydoniae was such an area. A humble fishing village which had grown rich in trade after being exempted from taxes when its seamen saved an Imperial Admiral from drowning and his fleet from wreck during the Archipelago Wars in the 19th century, Cydoniae remained rellatively small and not particularly urbanised. Single-family homes with short fences and sidewalks lined by trees still made up most of the town, even as it approached upward of seventy thousand residents, if one were to consider the smaller nearby towns and villages that had been placed within its municipal jurisdiction for administrative reasons.

Nonetheless, the fair coastal town was still a symbol of Old Pelasgia: safe, peaceful, and unchanging with aeons. The same stones lined its small pedestrian streets as had once been laid by the Tiburans—and the same church were no less than two Propontine Sovereigns had been baptised during the Catholic occupation of Propontis still stood, serving as the local Metropole or "cathedral". It was in the shadow of this Church of Saint Michael the Archangel that Despoina Neroula stood—or, rather, leaned—over her vegetable garden, picking a few tomatoes that had been slow to grow before the onslaught of the country's admittedly mild winter. Thus her slender, pale figure remained, her dark blue dress contrasting with the beige stone and white marble of the buildings around her in perfect stillness—until a sound thundered from within her home: the sound of a pot crashing on the floor, followed by the loud barking of her dog, Argos. Sighing, Despoina gathered the last few tomatoes of the season into her apron and headed into the home.

"Please, good lady!" came the voice of a man from within the kitchen—or, rather, from atop the shelves that lined it, where he was out of the enraged dog's reach. "I only meant to get some water and grab a bite!" No sooner had he finished his sentence than the dog roared almost like a jackal, startling the man and causing him to drop the piece of bread that he had been hiding in his clothes.

Despoina shook her head and stared her dog in the eye. "Argos, be quiet now! Go back to the yard." And with a couple of claps, the dog silenced itself and obeyed. "You may come down now, my good Christian," the Despoina then said, turning to the startled man. "Or are you afraid that I will bark at you as well?"

The man nodded, his eyes and mouth still wide open with disbelief—but he came down, sitting himself at the kitchen table. After placing a cup of water before him, Despoina turned to the kitchen stove and opened a large pot, which had been sitting there under the light of the room's window. That same light now shined upon her too, illuminating the pale and wrinkled, but otherwise warm and friendly face of the Lycaonian woman, with her slightly aquiline nose and her large, brown eyes. "You should have come yesterday, when I had made octopus with spaghetti—today, I only have phasolada*."
*A soup of white beans and vegetables; the national food of Pelasgia, and the staple of its peasantry.

As she sat across from the stranger in her home, Despoina got a closer look at him: He seemed to be slightly younger than her, though the hard country life and the strain of five pregnancies would make it seem as if it were the other way around. Despite his clearly Pelasgian features, he was remarkably tall, which meant that he and his family had been well fed—A Propontine, then, Despoina reasoned. His torn clothes—rugs, really, the remnants of some simple workman's outfit—revealed burnt and badly tanned skin, alongside extremely pale spots at the man's tan-line. And an educated one, though life has treated him harshly. The man, for his part, had no time to observe his host; he merely devoured the soup before him, with his face practically inside the bowl. The sight brought a smile to Despoina's face, for he reminded her of her sons when they were younger.

"Tell me," the lady of the house asked once the man seemed to have satiated his hunger. "Have you been abroad for long?"

The man, whose features had gotten softer, shook his head calmly. "I haven't left the country in ten years."

"Then what prison did you escape from?" Despoina asked him next, startling her guest. At once, his eyes turn to the door, to the windows, even to the tiny skylight used to dry figs and the like—"How to escape?" his eyes seemed to shout. But, putting her hand on his, Despoina reassured him. "Fear not, my good man; I will not denounce you. It is why I have not asked your name! Nor will I... Philoxenia, sacred hospitality, forbids it. But then, it also means that I would have fed you had you asked, and instead you chose to sneak into my home like a thief. Only one who has been away from society for far too long would forget that—and since you have not been abroad..."

The stranger's head sunk. "Megali Xera. I was condemned to penal labour in perpetuity."

"Megali Xera?" Despoina asked, gazing at the man as if he were a ghost. "But that desert islet is in the western Archipelago, just off Zakros!"

"Indeed. The current carried me and I washed ashore—to be honest with you, I'm not even sure how I ended up here. I am lucky to be alive."

"That you are." Despoina almost asked the name, but now she was certain she could not—If they come asking, I can then honestly tell them I have never heard of anyone by his name, she reasoned. "What were you in for?"

"Journalism," the escaped convict answered, his words coming out as an exasperated sigh.

A small, bitter smile shined on the woman's face. She was pretty—even with all those wrinkles. A moment later, she stood up, having made her mind. "Go shower—I have some warm water left from this morning. And throw those rags away, too; I'll give you a new set, some old clothes that my eldest son no longer wears. Shoes as well, of course."

"You needn't-

"Nonsense," came the stern retort from Despoina. "You are my guest, and this is all well within the limits of hospitality. Provided you leave tomorrow, of course. Tonight, you can sleep in my eldest son's bed; he's doing his military service, so he's away from home for the rest of the year, anyway. If the current carried you here, you probably have a couple of days before they realise where you ended up. So a bit of sleep won't kill you."

"Thank you," the man said, struggling to believe what had just transpired. "I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing. Megali Xera has nearly made a beast out of you—it is up to the rest of us to make you human again. Humans don't demand thanks to help one another."​

 

[Pelasgia]

Despotia, Propontis M.P.

But a boy of five, Grand Despot Theodore could scarcely comprehend his station in the world, or why every man, woman and child that he came across felt the need to bow before him and address him in plural, a courtesy generally only afforded to grown ups. He knew that his father was "Emperor" and that he was set to take on that title one day, after his father—but, in truth, he understood very little about what that actually meant. Mostly, in his mind, Kings, Emperors, Presidents and the like figured in the imaginary wars he waged with his toy soldiers on the battles that he sketched on pieces of paper, more often than not being synonymous with "commanding general" or "biggest toy soldier around"; beyond that, the term was meaningless. And yet, taking after his mother, who had been a gifted singer and musician mastering the piano and two more instruments by age twelve, the young princeling could not help but sing the tunes that his teachers had so carefully taught him. One of them was a folk song telling of the rise of his own dynasty to the Pruple—and vernacular as it was, it was, perhaps, the best way for the young Grand Despot to familiarise himself with the tale of his family's rise to power, if only gradually.

Σὰν πρόβαλε ‘ς τὸ Κούριον
Once he appeared at Curium
ὁ Ῥῆγας τῆς Καρίας
the King of Caria
μόνος μὲ μιᾶς κηρύχθηκε
alone proclaimed himself
Κύρης τῆς Πελασγίας
Master of Pelasgia

Φούσατα ξένα ἐμάζεψε
Foreign armies he gathered
με Κᾶρες καὶ μὲ βαρβάρους
of Carians and barbarians
νὰ τυραννᾷ τοὺς Πελασγούς
to tyrannize the Pelasgians
ν’ ἀρπάζῃ τ’ Ἅγιά τους
and to usurp their Holy places

So echoed the halls of the Palace of Despotia, the capital (if one could call the town that) of the isle of Despotikon, just off the Pelasgian capital to which it was administratively subsumed. The town's name and that of the island both reflected their belonging to the Grand Despot: the former meant "Princely Highness:: and the latter "Island of the Prince", in reference to the heir apparent to the Sublime Throne. The Palace itself, a rather laconic and moderately sized structure compared to the massive complex of the Great Palace of Propontis, only hosted the Imperial Family for a few short months during Winter; but with the Feast of Saint Andrew coming up on November 30th, the Imperial Family traditionally relocated to the isle for the remainder of the month, to honour the co-patron of the island (alongside Saint George), of sailors and mariners (alongside Saint Nicholas), of the Ecumenical Patriarchate nd of the Propontine Metropolis (alongside the Virgin Mary). Thus, the servants who staffed the Palace became anew accustomed to the little boy's singing, which often disturbed his little sister and brother.

Μιὰ σηκώθηκε ὁ Ἄτταλος,
Once, Attalos rose,
ὁ Νόθος τῆς Εὐξηνίας,
the Bastard of Euxenia,
μὰ δὲν μᾶς λύτρωσε αὐτὸς
but he delivered us not
λόγω τῆς Προδοσίας
by reason of the Treason*

Δυο σηκώθηκε ὁ λαός
Twice, the people rose
‘ς τὰς πύλας τῆς Γερουσίας
to the gates of the Senate
κι ἔτσι ἔγιν’ ὁ Ἀλέξιος
and thus became Alexios
Ἄρχων τῆς Πελασγίας
Lord of Pelasgia

The child who did not seem bothered by the Grand Despot's singing, however, was the least expected offspring of the entire House of Vatatzes: the newborn son of the Sebastos Despot Basil Vatatzes, brother to the reigning Emperor Alexios and son of the late Emperor Theodore, and his wife, Lady Alexia Kourou. The unlikely couple had named their even more unlikely son Angelos after the lady's father, breaking with the tradition of naming a first son after his paternal grandfather. "The lady's father had died soon before the boy's birth, and she deeply mourned him," had come the explanation from Despot Basil, the soldier-prince; no objection had come from the Emperor, himself mourning his own father and more glad that his brother had become a father than aggrieved at his choice of name, so no one else dared raise any objection either. And though the little boy had been conceived more out of duty than out of love, the boy's two parents were admittedly more than caring, bonding over him in a way that their frankly non-existent marital life had never allowed them to. That the duo had no feelings of romance for each other (or for any of their spouse's sex, for that matter) was a common secret among the Imperial Household; and yet, that they had taken it upon themselves to be exemplary parents to their sole offspring was also beyond dispute. It was this little princeling, not yet fully capable of speech, who happily hummed and moved rythmically along with Grand Despot Theodore's singing.

Τρεῖς καὶ ὁ Ῥῆγας ἔτρεξε
Thrice, and the King fled
‘ς τὰ Ἀνάκτορα τῆς Ναυπλίας
to the Palace of Nauplia
μὰ ἄφησε πίσω τοῦ τὸν γιό,
but he left behind his son,
Ἀνδρόνικον τῆς Καρίας
Andronicus of Caria


Νὰ βασιλέψῃ ἤθελε
To reign he** wanted
‘ς τὸν Θρόνο ἀπάν’ νὰ κάτσῃ
Upon the Throne to sit,
μὰ ἔριξέ τον ὁ Στρατός
but the Army cast him down
τὸν Βάτατζη νὰ στέψῃ
to crown Vatatzes***

So his singing reverberated through the halls of the Palace, briefly catching the attention of the Emperor himself for a moment, who was sat behind a hermetically shut door in the small chamber that housed his Privy Council, the Anaktoboulion, during the Imperial Family's short sojourns on Despotikon Island. A moment later, Emperor Alexios turned his attention back to the words of his interlocutor, who was no other than his brother, Sebastos Despot Basil.

"That wretched slanderer has escaped custody, brother," Basil Vatatzes said, hiding his annoyance and apprehension behind that faceless, emotionless shroud that military men so quickly learned to always wear. As always, he wore his olive-green officer's uniform.

"Don't worry brother," the Emperor replied. "I will only say that that is within our plan: We need information, not just guns, to win this war; and men such as him can provide that, if properly incentivised." On this point at least, though Basil was not precisely certain of what his brother Alexios meant, it was clear enough that the Throne had not completely allowed things to go to chance over such a valuable prisoner.

"Were it up to me, we would have disposed of him like certain other offenders again the Throne's dignity that I dare not mention." (Here, the General-Despot paused as if to say 'Alas, it is not.') "In any case, I trust that you have the matter in control. Let us then turn to my immediate charge: the question of Central Himyar."

"Central Himyar is a burning garbage dump," the Emperor admitted without hesitation. "If we can clear it, however, there is a rich goldmine beneath. I will not hide it from you that I have apprehensions about the whole affair, ironically quite close to those of Our former Premier, Mr. Angelopoulos; and yet, Mr. Andreades assures me so far that it is his intent to pursue this war and to win it, and that that lies entirely within our capabilities, even if at their outer limit."

"I hope so brother," Despot Basil answered. "I, for one, wish nothing less than to see our armies victorious; apart from the strategic benefits, it would do wonders for our morale and our battle-readiness, many times over what that short policing action against the CPHC**** did. Nonetheless, I cannot help but express my concern that, were we to lose, the whole future of our House would be on the line—to speak nothing of Pelasgia's imperial dignity and hegemonic ambition on the Continent."

The Emperor nodded. "I agree—which is why we must pursue this war to the bitter end. Nonetheless, if the Carian King's own war against the Great Bastard Attalos in our own land is anything to go by, victory might not lie perhaps only in military superiority as much as it may lie in moving the Fighting Cranes' own people to fight against them. We cannot hope to move a sufficient army into Central Himyar to win that conflict without seriously upsetting our own people; but we can certainly try to incentivize some of the higher-ranking men of the so-called 'Commander-in-Chief', those with hopes and aspirations and chances of leadership to stab him in the back."

The Despot felt a shiver go through his spine. "Many would call that a dishonourable way of doing war—foreigners especially."

"Barbarians are fools," Alexios answered, standing up and walking up to an ornate yet outdated globe that decorated the room. "Our Empire did not survive for nearly two millennia by waging foolish crusades and wars of honour for young nobles to satisfy their bloodthirsty urges, but through careful diplomacy. They lambasted us then, too, and yet here we still are, while their lands have largely given way to mob rule and base republicanism. I say, a ruler's duty is first to his Realm, then to his own sensitivities about his own self-image."

The Despot paused and listened at the door, where the little Grand Despot was singing again. "Is that why you betrothed your son to the last heir of the Great Bastard's line?" he asked.

A nod from the Emperor was his answer. "It is. He is five, but one he will grow, as will his betrothed; and they will have a child whose very conception shall extinguish any division about the true inheritance and legitimacy of our line. He might not love her any more than I loved Hildegaard or your loved Alexia when our Father secured our engagements therewith; and yet, what does it matter? We've learned to love them, and our families, since then in our own way, and the Realm has prospered. So much for petty emotion."

"So much indeed," came the only answer from the Despot. He had only recently learned of the death of a certain Duke in the bowels of the Naval Fortress of Rhodokastellon... and he still did his best to make peace with it. "So God wills."

Footnotes
*The Treason of Edessa, wherein the Pelasgian nobility betrayed Attalus the Great to the Carian King’s men in exchange for recognition of their privileges. Ironically, the House of Vatatzes was among the conspirators, since it feared that Attalus would usurp its place of seniority among the entire aristocracy and its claim to the Throne.
**Meaning Andronicus.
***Meaning Alexios VI or Theodore VII Vatatzes, depending how literally the song's lyrics are interpreted.
****Communist Party of Central Himyar.​

 

[Pelasgia]

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Judicial Senate of the State
| Judgments
​

Constitutional validity of imperial law purporting to abolish the peerage without the consent of the peers​

03/12/2022

ΔΓερ 177/2022, Dept. IV (Const. Rev.), Three-Member Panel No. 4
Presiding: Demetrios Aspropolites, JS VP*
Referrer: Stamatios Nikopoulos JS

Action petitioning the Senate to set aside a legislative act of the Common Parliament purporting to abolish the peerage of Pelasgia by reason of the non-consultation and non-consent of the peers. Action founded on Art. 20 Const. (right to prior hearing in court, right to challenge administrative or governmental decisions before the judiciary). Petition denied by the Court as lacking legal foundation.

Art. 20 of the Constitution recognises the right of all citizens to a full and fair hearing before a competent court in order to challenge decisions affecting their rights and freedoms prior to the execution of such decisions. It also entitles citizens to challenge such decisions after they have been executed, and to seek adequate relief for both the decision and any resulting harm. This right is reinforced by Arts. 7 and 8 which respectively safeguard the right to not face punishment without a trial and the right to a fair trial by an impartial tribunal. The relevant jurisprudence already recognises that violations of rights that can be impugned or assailed under Art. 20 may also constitute violations of Art. 7 (see ΔΓερ 373/2015, ΔΓερ 55/1999). The test for whether a governmental decision or act violates Arts. 7 and 20 is whether the decision or act in question operates to deprive the aggrieved party of a right which they hold under the law even though the right in question cannot be properly abrogated or modified by the means undertaken by the government (see ΔΓερ 129/2019, which dealt with a ministerial order being used to deprive a religious community of a right held under statute). By contrast, Art. 8 was deemed inapplicable here, as a tribunal only became involved in the matter when plaintiff brought suit before the Senate and the courts below.

Per the standard stated previously, the Court examined the rights that the plaintiff alleged that it was being deprived of—namely, the existence of the peerage, along with the corresponding privileges. The peerage is not an inherent part of the law of Pelasgia, as the Empire has never formally had a feudal system, nor was the peerage such a system; instead, it was a system of honors, similar to the orders of merit in that it was bestowed upon a person by the Sublime Throne in recognition of public service or contribution, but distinct therefrom in that this honour was hereditary. As with orders of merit, the peerage was thus created through legislative enactment, following a parliamentary study into various foreign systems of this kind, which resulted in Law 29/1869. From this fact, it becomes evident that plaintiff's argument regarding the inherent constitutional nature of the peerage as a fundamental part of the jus commune cannot stand, given that the peerage itself was introduced as a modernising mechanism overriding the jus commune. Nor does the prior existence of the patrician class of the Empire relate to a peerage—the patricianate is not affected by the impugned law, and it is not, in any case, a legally recognised category more than it is a social status with occasional mentions in various laws, none of which purport to give it legal effect. Therefore, the Court concluded that right in question was established by a statute of the Imperial Parliament and could thus be only modified by such statute.

In the case at bar, the impugned law (Law 149/2022) is nothing more nor less than a statute of the Imperial Parliament, duly drafted, tabled, debated and approved by both the Boule of Representatives and the Council of State, and then assented to by His Imperial Majesty. With this in mind, and given the lack of any convincing proof adduced by either party as to the need for a higher or lower means of modification, or for another process, the Court was prima facie satisfied that the legal requirements imposed by Arts. 7 and 20 have been met by the government. Furthermore, the fact that peers themselves were consulted in 1869 was found to be of no legal effect for two reasons: first, because before the 1869 Law was actually enacted, there were no peers to consult; and second, because those who were consulted were not consulted in any capacity as nobles, but as members of the upper house of the legislature. That the said house of the legislature itself was, at the time, filled with nobles is immaterial, as it is the same legislature (under different but no less valid rules governing its makeup) that has approved and enacted the impugned law.

For these reasons, the Court concluded that the plaintiff's claim is legally unfounded in so far as Arts. 7 and 20 of the Constitution are concerned. The Court affirmed that the impugned law was validly enacted and that it thus has full legal force and effect throughout the territory of the State.
​

_______________________
*JS VP and JS stand for "Vice President of the Judicial Senate" and "Judicial Senator", respectively.

 

[Pelasgia]

Nauplia, Polity of Naupliotica, Caria

Leon Grammatikos crossed the vasilopita—the traditional New Year's cake dedicated to the day's patron, Saint Basil—three times with a knife, and the started to cut it into slices. "One for Christ," he said out loud. "A second for the Virgin Mary, a third for Saint Basil; one for grandpa, one for grandma, one for the father of the household..." thus he carried on, until the ringing of the phone sounded in the far side of the house. He ignored it, focusing on the ritual at hand, as his eldest son, Gerasimos, named after his own father as was tradition in the Pelasgo-Carian world, eagerly awaited for the slices to be distributed, so that it could discovered who had won the coin contained within the cake—and the year-long good luck that came with it. Instead, he allowed his wife to go and pick up the phone as the lady of the household.

"My love," she said, just as he had cut the last slice—the household's. She leaned closer and whispered into his ear. "It's the Minister of Defence; he says it's urgent."

Sighing, Leon placed a swift kiss on his wife's cheek and headed for the kitchen, where the family's primary landline was located. "Yes?" he said.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Prime Minister," the Defence Minister, Stavros Protopapadakis, said. "With long health and prosperity to you and yours."

"Unto many years," Grammatikos responded. "To what do I owe to pleasure, Stavros?"

"Sir, I wanted to update you on the situation in Central Himyar. It seems that our attack on the peace talks was a success: the rebel leadership has been divided, and though half of them have accepted the Pelasgians' peace offer, the other half have gone back into the jungle some of their remnants to keep up the fight. Our Southern Thaumatic Company has been able to provide them with some arms shipments, though the closure of the border with @Azraq has made things more difficult."

"Good news," the Prime Minister conceded, albeit with a reserved tone. "What about the Pelasgians? Have they figured out it was us?"

"Nothing concrete yet," the Defence Minister answered. "They won't know until later, when we've started confronting them more openly—if we do so at all."

"Not for a while, for now. We just need to destabilize them, shift their attention; tell me, Stavros, how are our preparations for the Far Southern expedition going?"

"Very well, sir," replied the other. "The first wave has made landfall and they are setting up the basis for the next ones. If all goes as planned, we'll be able to establish an entrenched presence before the Pelasgians have a chance to oppose us."

"Excellent," replied Grammatikos. He heard excited cries from the dining room, and paused. "I think I'll have to call you again later, Stavros."

"No worries, sir; it's all I had for now. We'll talk more on Tuesday." No sooner had the two men exchanged pleasantries and hang up than Gerasimos had ran up to Leon to announce happy news, all while holding a small plate of cake with a coin beside it.

"Dad, look! You won the coin! That's good luck for you for a year."

Grammatikos embraced his son and kissed him on the forehead. "For me, for you, for our family; and for Caria. It certainly is great luck."​