The Merwyn High Chief arrived without haste, and that was how Tobias knew the meeting mattered.
The palace had received notice hours earlier through channels that did not carry urgency, only certainty. A delegation would come from the reef-cities, led not by a Speaker or a diplomat trained to soften conflict into pleasant words, but by the High Chief himself. Merwyn power moved like the sea moved—patient, heavy, and inevitable. Tobias stood at the edge of the inner court as the reception was prepared, feeling the air change as it always did before events that would reshape the future.
Duke Archimedes waited nearby, leaning lightly on his cane, expression calm but watchful. He looked stronger than he had a week ago, yet the weakness still lived in him, hidden beneath the discipline of posture. Duchess Satine stood with him, regal and immovable, her gaze sharp as she assessed every detail of the court's arrangement. Trace and Cassian flanked Tobias at a respectful distance, while Kvasir hovered close to the data consoles with his slate already prepared, as if he could write a treaty in the time it took others to speak a greeting.
The delegation entered through the open court gates as water mist rose from the fountain channels.
Merwyn guards moved first, their armor crafted from layered shell and treated duralloy, shaped into elegant plating that looked grown rather than forged. Their weapons were slender and strange, built for thrust and precision rather than brute force, and their eyes watched with a quiet steadiness that did not need intimidation. Behind them came the High Chief, taller than most humans, draped in deep blue ceremonial cloth threaded with bioluminescent strands that pulsed faintly with each step. His features bore the ancient stillness of someone who carried memory like a crown, and the court's murmurs died the moment his gaze swept the gathered Hawthorne household.
He did not bow.
He did not need to.
Instead, he inclined his head once toward Archimedes, then once toward Tobias, as though acknowledging that in this palace, authority now had two centers. The gesture was subtle, but it landed like a bell struck underwater, reverberating through everyone who understood what it implied. Tobias felt prescience stir in him, a faint branching of possibilities, and he held it back before it could become distraction. This was not a moment to see the future. It was a moment to shape it.
The High Chief spoke in a measured tone, translated through a small cocooned device worn by one of his attendants.
"House Hawthorne restored what was broken," he said. "You returned our homes, our paths, our sanctuaries beneath the tide." His words held no warmth, but they held recognition, which in Merwyn culture was more valuable than praise. "We do not forget wounds, but we also do not ignore truth. The truth is this: the sea is calmer under your rule than it was under House Mordred."
Archimedes inclined his head. "We did what was right," he replied evenly, voice carrying the steady authority of a Duke who had survived an attempt at erasure. "And we intend to keep doing it." Tobias noticed the slight strain beneath Archimedes' control, the way his fingers flexed once against his cane as if reminding himself not to overreach. The Duke's gaze shifted to Tobias in silent signal, a quiet concession of leadership. Tobias understood immediately that Archimedes would not lead this negotiation.
He would witness it.
The High Chief's eyes turned fully to Tobias, and for a moment Tobias felt as though he were being examined by a force older than any human house. "Our interest is not friendship," the High Chief continued. "It is survival. The deep remembers House Mordred's chains, and it remembers the rigs that tore our nurseries open. We will not permit that return, not from House Mordred, and not from anyone who would come after." The Merwyn guards behind him shifted slightly, not threateningly, but as if aligning themselves with the gravity of his statement.
Tobias stepped forward half a pace, posture formal, voice calm.
"Then we are aligned," he said. "Because No'aar will not be secure unless its oceans are secure, and its oceans will not be secure unless the Merwyn stand as partners rather than prisoners." He saw Trace's approval in the corner of his eye, subtle but present, and Cassian's still attention like a blade held ready. Kvasir's slate remained poised, ready to capture language and precedent the moment Tobias gave it shape.
The High Chief's expression did not change, but Tobias sensed interest in the stillness.
"Words are the surface," the High Chief said. "We seek what lies beneath. We seek a charter." He lifted one hand slightly, and an attendant brought forth a slim container crafted from sea-glass and shell. Inside, folded like a relic, lay a sheet of treated fiber marked with Merwyn script and seal. "A binding of convergent interests," the High Chief said, "for daily operations and for defense of our homeworld."
The court moved from ceremony into negotiation.
They convened in the war chamber, though it had been softened for diplomacy with banners and formal seating. The hololith was dimmed but still present, its quiet glow reflecting off polished stone like a promise of consequences. Tobias sat at the central table with the High Chief across from him, with Archimedes slightly behind and to the side, positioned not as the lead voice but as an anchoring presence. Duchess Satine took a place near Archimedes, her expression calm and attentive, while Trace and Cassian stood close enough to speak when needed. Kvasir positioned himself beside Tobias like a shadow of ink and memory.
The High Chief began with conditions that were not negotiable.
Merwyn ancestral homes would remain under Merwyn governance, free of Hawthorne interference except by invitation or mutual defense emergency. Deep sanctuaries would be protected zones where no drill rig, no sonar mapping, and no military passage could occur without Merwyn consent. Merwyn labor within Dust operations would be voluntary, compensated fairly, and structured so that no Merwyn could be forced into surface servitude through debt or contract manipulation. Tobias listened without interruption, because interrupting would have been a display of dominance rather than understanding, and dominance was what had built Mordred's graves.
When the High Chief paused, Tobias nodded once and turned to Kvasir.
"Draft language that binds those protections to Hawthorne law," Tobias said, and Kvasir's fingers moved instantly, pulling archived treaties and imperial charter templates from Cocytus vault standards. "Use clauses that prevent loopholes," Tobias added, "not merely clauses that sound pleasant." Kvasir smiled faintly, pleased to be asked for precision rather than ornament. "As you wish, my lord," he replied, and began laying down legal structure like a foundation.
Trace spoke next, his tone careful.
"Defense," he said, glancing toward the hololith. "If we're binding interests, we need joint protocols. Merwyn scouts can move where human sensors fail. Humans can reinforce where Merwyn cannot hold against orbital threats." The High Chief's gaze sharpened slightly, and Tobias felt the room tighten into seriousness. The Merwyn did not fear skirmishes in water; they feared annihilation from the sky. Tobias understood that if this treaty did not address that fear honestly, it would be worth nothing.
Cassian stepped forward when Tobias nodded to him.
"Command and coordination," Cassian said, voice steady. "If an attack comes, we can't spend hours negotiating who responds first. We establish a joint defense council. A Merwyn representative and a Hawthorne representative have authority to declare coastal lockdown and reef defense activation." He glanced toward Tobias, then added, "We structure it so neither side can be dragged into unnecessary conflict, but both can respond fast when it matters." Tobias watched the High Chief's eyes narrow, not with suspicion, but with calculation.
Tobias felt his prescience stir again, branching into futures where this alliance saved the capital and futures where it failed because pride made it brittle. He did not chase the visions. He followed the shape of the room, the intent beneath words, and he let leadership be something quieter than prophecy. "We will draft a charter that does not make you subordinate," Tobias said to the High Chief. "But it will make you bound to us in defense of No'aar, and us bound to you. If the sea is struck, the House responds. If the capital is struck, the Merwyn respond. Not as servants, but as allies."
The High Chief studied him for a long moment, and Tobias held still under the weight of that gaze.
"You speak like one who understands that binding is mutual," the High Chief said at last. "Not one who believes he can hold the rope alone." His eyes flicked briefly toward Archimedes, then back. "This is why I came now. The Duke is strong, but the future speaks through you." Tobias felt something tighten in him at those words, because they were too close to prophecy and too close to responsibility. Archimedes did not react outwardly, but Tobias sensed the Duke's quiet satisfaction like warmth beneath stone.
The drafting took hours.
Kvasir assembled clauses and precedent with relentless efficiency, speaking softly as he offered options that would satisfy Imperial legal structure without violating Merwyn sovereignty. Tobias chose carefully, rejecting anything that sounded like control disguised as partnership. Trace pressed for operational clarity, insisting on measurable protocols rather than vague promises. Cassian contributed military language that framed defense as mutual necessity, not obligation imposed. Duchess Satine spoke rarely, but when she did, her words carried the authority of someone who understood how treaties could become weapons if written poorly.
Archimedes remained mostly silent.
He listened, watched, and occasionally asked Tobias questions that seemed simple but were designed to probe consequence. "If a Merwyn sanctuary becomes a hiding place for a Mordred infiltrator, what does your charter permit?" he asked once, voice calm. Tobias paused, considering, then answered without rushing. "Joint investigation authority," Tobias said. "Merwyn oversight present, Hawthorne investigators present. No unilateral breach." Archimedes nodded faintly, as if satisfied.
Later, Archimedes asked, "If the Imperium demands greater Dust quotas, and the Merwyn claim it harms the deep, whose voice carries weight?" Tobias felt the trap in the question, not malicious, but real. He met Archimedes' eyes. "We build an environmental threshold clause," Tobias replied. "Measured. Recorded. If quotas exceed thresholds, we petition the Emperor with evidence. The alliance requires we defend No'aar, not strip it." Archimedes' gaze held steady, then softened by a fraction, and Tobias knew he had answered as a Duke would.
By evening, the charter lay complete.
It rested on the table between Tobias and the High Chief, its language clean and binding, its clauses structured to prevent corruption through subtlety. The Merwyn seal was etched into the top corner, and beneath it Kvasir had placed the formal Hawthorne crest in Imperial standard. Tobias read the final lines aloud, voice steady, making certain every word was understood, because treaties were not ink. They were promises that killed people when broken.
The High Chief touched the charter with two fingers, then looked up at Tobias.
"One condition remains," he said.
The chamber grew still.
Tobias kept his face neutral, though he felt tension tighten in his chest. "Name it," he said, voice calm.
The High Chief's gaze held the weight of the deep. "A seat," he said. "Not in your household, not in your private councils, but in your governance of No'aar." His voice remained measured, but the demand carried inevitability. "A Merwyn seat on the planetary defense council, and a Merwyn voice in decisions that affect the sea." He leaned forward slightly, bioluminescent threads along his robe pulsing faintly. "We will not be protected as children. We will be bound as adults."
Tobias looked to Archimedes, and Archimedes did not speak.
The Duke only watched, eyes steady, allowing Tobias to choose without shelter. Tobias felt the moment as a hinge in time, because refusing would fracture trust before it formed, and accepting would change Hawthorne governance forever. He did not consult prescience. He consulted the truth he had learned the hard way: stability built on exclusion was not stability. It was delayed war.
"You will have it," Tobias said.
The words did not echo, yet they felt as if they had altered the room's shape. The High Chief's eyes narrowed slightly, then he inclined his head in a gesture that carried more weight than any bow. "Then the deep will answer when you call," he said. Tobias nodded once, because this was not friendship and not sentiment. It was alliance forged in survival.
They sealed the charter beneath the palace's open arches as night fell.
Merwyn attendants brought a basin of seawater, and Hawthorne staff brought a bowl of heated wax, and together they performed a ritual that blended tide tradition with Imperial formality. The High Chief pressed his seal into the charter, and Tobias pressed his own, and Kvasir recorded the signing with redundant verification as if expecting history to attempt erasure. When it was done, the sea wind rose through the arches, salt and cool, and Tobias felt something inside him steady.
After the delegation departed, Tobias remained alone in the war chamber.
Archimedes approached quietly, cane tapping softly, then stopped beside him without taking the chair of authority. He did not congratulate Tobias with flourish or offer empty reassurance. He simply looked at the charter on the table, then at Tobias, and Tobias felt the weight of his father's gaze like a mantle settling into place.
"You drafted it like a Duke," Archimedes said quietly.
Tobias exhaled slowly. "I drafted it like someone who doesn't want to repeat House Mordred," he replied.
Archimedes nodded, and for the first time in weeks, the silence between them felt like peace rather than distance. "That," Archimedes said softly, "is what makes you ready." Tobias stared at the hololith of No'aar's oceans, glowing faintly in the dim chamber, and he understood what Archimedes had been doing since waking. He had not been clinging to authority. He had been ensuring continuity.
Outside, No'aar's seas rolled beneath the stars, and the alliance settled into the world like a new current. Tobias felt the future press against him again, not as dread, but as obligation. He knew Mordred would not accept this quietly, and the Lunan Corporate-State would not ignore a strengthened No'aar. SCORPIO would continue to watch, and the Emperor would continue to measure, because the board was widening beyond any single planet.
Still, for the first time since arriving on No'aar, Tobias allowed himself a single thought that was not strategy.
The deep had chosen to stand beside House Hawthorne.
And that meant No'aar could endure what was coming.