Over the course of three intense and eventful days, the people of Asgartha turned out in large numbers to cast their votes in six consecutive ballots. Following the announcement of the results on Sunday, several sociologists and political analysts were quick to highlight the possible emergence of a new paradigm of power within the Peninsula. Indeed, the popular vote clearly favored civilian figures drawn from among the common people, at the expense of the long-established lineages traditionally accustomed to holding the highest offices of government.

Somayeh Bahman — her name is on everyone’s lips in the wake of the elections. This Wednesday marked the swearing-in ceremony of the new Basilissa, held in the presence of the outgoing Basileus, Avkan ruun-Heshkari. In accordance with the will of the people, Bahman already plans, in the coming weeks, to visit the capitals of every Province to meet with regional Governors, and discuss the political future of the Peninsula. To face the transformations that are sure to shake Asgartha, she will need all the support she can rally — both within the Asterion and beyond its walls.

Preparing for the discontinuation of the Floret, and finding a viable alternative to currency to ensure fairer resource distribution. Stabilizing Caer Oorun while completing the consolidation of the rest of the Peninsula. Continuing the Rediscovery Endeavor, while granting more authority to regional councils, whose enthusiasm toward the global initiative remains cautious. The equation is a complex one — some would even say unsolvable. Yet this is the puzzle the new resident of the Asterion will have to solve…

She lets the newspaper fall into the wastebasket and closes her eyes, trying to center herself in the moment. The entire day has been a whirlwind of meetings—planned and impromptu—of well-wishers, embraces, and handshakes. She hasn’t had a moment to herself. When the doors of her chambers finally closed behind the guards, the relative silence that fell upon her felt as violent as it was welcome.

Somayeh sets upon the dresser the tarnished golden crown, where the Kiss of Aysun glimmers faintly in the diffuse light of the kelonic candles. The gleam of the perfectly faceted amethyst dances across her pupils as the new Basilissa gazes at her reflection in the cracked, spotted mirror. Among the other objects resting on the lacquered furniture, the royal crown itself looks like a relic—a vestige of a bygone age.

She turns away, and slowly her hand drifts, almost absently, across the large map that dominates the great central table. Some regions bear the weight of years—cracked, frayed—while others are freshly painted, still bright with color. In just a few years, the Known World had expanded: Caer Oorun first, then Caer Nilam, the City of Scholars… It was only the beginning, of course. Nothing but the beginning.

She wanders through Avkan’s chambers—no, her chambers now. She studies the tapestries, pausing before the hanging that depicts Chiara Caceres presiding over the March of the Sahankas. Annoyed by the heavy ceremonial train of her gown, she lets it slip carelessly to the floor. Then she removes her jewelry—bracelets, pendants, and ornate necklaces, as heavy as chains—and leaves them scattered in her wake: on a cabinet, a console, a writing desk, a side table… as she moves from room to room.

The day had been long: rising at dawn to prepare, climbing the steps of the Asterion, then the ritual of the transfer of power. On that occasion, Avkan ruun-Heshkari and she had secluded themselves for nearly an hour in his boudoir, so that he might offer her a few final words of counsel—or perhaps simply to take her measure.

Then came the investiture ceremony itself, during which the departing Basileus placed the diadem upon her head, followed by the people’s acclamation and the pealing of the capital’s bells. After that came the parades, the tributes, the military honors—all leading up to the royal banquet.

A bath would do her a world of good.

She throws open the doors to her bedchamber, still cloaked in shadows. As the Kelon lamps slowly flicker to life, she begins to make out the heavy curtains of the canopy bed, freshly prepared for her; the vanity; the folding screen. Almost immediately, her gaze drifts toward the stern portrait of Ayxas, the one Avkan had mentioned that morning during their brief exchange. He had hung it there as a constant reminder of temptation—a memento of the corruption any ruler might succumb to during their reign.

Opposite him, reflected faintly on the facing wall, hangs the portrait of his twin brother, Aysar, the other son of Aysun—the one who had chosen humility, and oblivion.

‘It would have been glorious, wouldn’t it? The two branches of Aysun’s lineage, finally reunited—a symbol of reconciliation…’

The man sits cross-legged on a sofa beneath Aysar’s portrait. His hair, once brown, is now almost entirely white, as are his finely combed mustache and goatee. His left arm, resting casually on the back of the couch, is a Graft—as is his right leg, a mechanical replacement.

‘You don’t win wars with symbols.’

The man smiles as the Basilissa walks to the liquor cabinet and pours herself a glass of wine. She takes a sip, savoring the aroma and the velvety texture on her tongue.

‘Somayeh Bahman, fourteenth Basilissa of Asgartha,’ he says. ‘It has a nice ring to it.’

The young woman studies him with her piercing eyes, then allows herself a faint smile.

‘What can I do for you, Shiramun, Guildmaster of the Fulcrum?’

‘Think of it as a simple courtesy call. I only came to congratulate you on your victory, that’s all.’

The Basilissa settles onto a chaise and sets her glass down on the low table beside her, among the pieces of an abandoned chess game—one that would never be finished. Her fingers pick up a queen and lay it gently on its side.

‘Anuncia had everything in her favor, but she showed her hand far too soon. She thought the danger would come from the dissenters and silenced them by allying with Arundhani. Aveskamp never stood a chance—he entered the race far too late. So Anuncia Synd’s plan worked, partially. But that same alliance was also the seed of her downfall. Those who were perceptive saw it for what it was—a political maneuver—and chose a more genuine candidate instead. The rest simply weren’t moved by her arguments, torn as they were between Arundhani’s camp and her own. When you swing between hot and cold, the result is always lukewarm…’

The techmonk sighs, his metal fingers tapping idly against the arm of the couch.

‘And you just had to step in and charm them with pretty ideas.’

Somayeh nods, a faint, knowing smile on her lips.

‘Reason is nothing but a varnish we apply to ease our conscience. When we vote—or when we choose—it’s always emotion, desire, impulse that speaks first. Anuncia wanted to be reasonable, to offer realistic, achievable solutions. But you don’t win hearts with reason. You win them with a dream.’

At last, the man rises. He picks up his staff, its tip shaped like a complex key, which until then had rested against the wall.

‘Congratulations are in order. What did our opponents call you again?’

Somayeh glances upward, then fixes Shiramun with an amused smirk.

‘I think Wanjiru said something like… the Demagogue.’

‘Yes,’ confirms the Axiom Perjurer, nodding. ‘That’s what I remembered too. Rather fitting, in the end. But tell me—who will watch over the Lyra Clans from within now?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve been training my replacement for years. And you? What will you do?’

The man’s expression grows pensive.

‘Kelsang has transmigrated and chosen a new host. Like us, he’s preparing. We’ve spent too long working in isolation, without coordination. That has to change.’

The Basilissa nods thoughtfully, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

‘So you’ve received additional directives too?’

‘Yes. It’s finally time for the Dominion to reveal itself to the world.’

Somayeh takes up her glass again and drains it in one motion.

‘So be it, then.’