Chapter 6 – The Handover
The hall still carried the weight of the vow. Sunlight cut across the stone floor where the storm had broken, and for a long moment no one dared speak.
The stillness broke not with movement, but with a voice.
The Central Union envoy did not rise. He sat with arms folded across his chest, a faint smirk bending his lips. His words came low, unhurried, each syllable sharpened by contempt.
"Foolish. Even after so many years, you cannot change anything. Not before. Not now. Not ever."
The remark drifted through the chamber like smoke, bitter and thin. To most of the delegates it was nothing more than arrogance, another insult from a great power unwilling to let go.
But the scarred veteran heard it.
He did not rise. He did not flare. He let out a long breath, the faintest shake of his head, his scar catching the pale light. His reply came quiet, almost weary, carrying no anger.
"You speak as if the land itself would answer you. To have fallen from the pedestal, yet still thinking you stand upon it."
The Union envoy's smirk faltered, the mask slipping for the briefest instant before it returned. His arms tightened across his chest, as if bracing against the dismissal. The veteran's gaze had already turned away. The exchange was over.
The chamber did not linger on it. Gaule's delegate shuffled his papers. The Federation general shifted in his chair, posture rigid and eyes forward. The Southern Commonwealth envoy dipped his pen again, scratching neat notes into the margin of his draft. The Crown remained as he had been, still and unreadable.
The scribes, reassured, returned to their furious typing. Keys rattled, pages stacked, aides whispered. The air of awe was gone. In its place came the rhythm of procedure.
Gaule's delegate lifted his voice, calm and deliberate.
"We have heard the vow. We have heard the silence. It is time we turn to the matter of handover."
The Federation general slid a folder across the table, his tone clipped. "A transitional council, drawn from minority representatives. Oversight to remain until stability is secured."
The Southern Commonwealth's envoy added, "Funding will be structured through loans. Not as shackles, but as scaffolding. Growth requires a frame."
Gaule's delegate tapped his pen against the table. "Markets will be opened in stages. Stability must come first. Without it, all else fails."
The veteran sat through it in silence. His oath had been spoken; this was no longer his contest. His scarred hand rested still upon the table, his eyes lowered, unmoved by the machinery that churned around him.
The Central Union envoy gave no proposals. He remained seated, arms folded, smirk fixed but brittle. His silence carried weight, but it was silence all the same.
At last, the Crown delegate raised his hand. The chamber stilled. His voice was calm, precise, every syllable measured.
"Then let the record show: the matter is before us. Are there any objections to recognition?"
The air tightened.
Gaule's envoy shuffled his notes but spoke no word.
The Federation general's hands remained clasped, eyes fixed forward.
The Southern Commonwealth envoy bowed his head once, silent.
The Imperium leaned back, indifferent, offering nothing.
All eyes turned to the Central Union.
The envoy did not move. He sat with arms still folded, his smirk faint, eyes fixed on the veteran. The silence stretched long enough that the scribes' fingers hovered above their keys, waiting. Then, with the faintest exhale, he leaned further back in his chair.
Nothing.
The Crown delegate lowered his hand.
"Hearing no objections," he said, voice firm, "let it be entered into record. The transfer stands."
The scribes bent to their machines, keys clattering in furious rhythm. Pages were passed, stamped, sealed, stacked in careful order. The sound of ink and iron pressed the moment into permanence.
Beyond the tall windows, the last of the stormclouds drifted apart. Rain had ceased. Sunlight poured through in unbroken beams, striking the chamber floor in broad gold strokes. The shadows that had clung to the walls vanished. The air felt sharp, new, as though the land itself had been washed clean.
The handover was recognized.
And with it, a new beginning stood before them.