On first impression, one would scarcely believe that the environment surrounding the Archon and his Adjutor could be located deep within one of the most redoubtable citadels on any fortress world. The Supreme Archon and his Adjutor strode through a serene and unsullied landscape: a snowy forest of mighty cedars. The warm light of Versila's yellow sun peered through the snow-covered boughs, casting dappled light upon the powdery drifts through which the pair strolled. Between the colossal trunks of this wintry vale, one could see a glassy lake of deep cerulean, whose mirrorlike waters reflected the snowcapped rim of the caldera in which this vale was situated.
But indeed, this was the home of the Supreme Archon Velian himself. The Archon had chosen a dormant volcano on a small island in the northern reaches of Versila Prime's hyperborean ocean as his seat of power. Outwardly rustic and remote, the island's rugged and forested shores concealed a complex that was part fortress and part palace. The numerous ravines and canyons running down the mountain's slope housed landing bays and silos that allowed starships access to the fortified underground citadel just beneath the roots of the island's forests. Point defense systems were scattered across the isle and a network of massive orbital cannons positioned on the coasts of the surrounding continents assured the Archon's citadel virtual impregnability, to say nothing of the garrison fleet orbiting the planet at this very moment.
But within that serene vale, there was no sense that this seemingly wild place was merely the courtyard of a Concordance citadel. Archon Velian strolled through the forest with a slow and thoughtful gait. Clad in a pressed tunic of ivory-colored fabric, broad pauldrons of white orthocarbonate, and a flowing ivory cape that splayed out upon the snow behind him, the Archon was an impressive figure indeed. Even among these mighty and stately trees, Velian seemed to dominate the forest. Attention fell upon him as naturally as cosmic detritus falls into the gravity well of a planet, his aura likewise seeming to warp space and time. The Archon would go for hours without uttering a single word, but keeping those in his presence anticipating the most mundane utterance all the while.
"There are those that say I have chosen poorly in selecting my home," Velian said without prompt as he wandered between the trunks of the cedars. His lone companion, Adjutor Alvasis Andraste, was caught off guard by the sudden musings of his Archon.
"How so, Supreme Archon?" Andraste asked.
"Versila is a garden world, as you surely understand, Adjutor. This was a barren, desolate world when our forebears first established settlements on its surface. Our ancestors crafted this world in their image - a perfect world befitting a perfect race." Andraste nodded in response, following along beside the Archon.
"As Archon, I could have selected any locale on this world to be my home. I declined the jungles, the coral seas, and the wildflower prairies of the meridional continent. I favored this solitary island just below this planet's arctic circle. There are those that ask me why I selected this island as my home in lieu of the more agreeable climes that abound on this world."
"It must be that you are fond of the snow, your excellency," Andraste surmised.
"Indeed. I appreciate its purity. I have visited several hundred worlds in my years, Adjutor, and I have witnessed meteorological marvels beyond imagining. Even so, I have yet to encounter a substance as pure and clean in appearance as freshly-fallen snow."
"Cleanliness is, of course, abundant throughout our galaxy. Space itself is pure in its emptiness. The ashes of a burnt world, purged of its inhabitants, may be appreciated for its sterility. But I am not interested in empty voids and sterilized slag."
The Archon strolled onward for a few moments before stopping in a small clearing amidst the snow-mottled cedars. At the Archon's boots, the blanket of snow had been disturbed from underneath. Violet buds sprouted upward to poke above the white blanket; one had already blossomed into a vibrant purple crocus.
"This is the purity with which I am fascinated," the Archon said, gesturing down to the flower buds below. "The purge of winter, clearing the land of the weak and lowly vegetation to give rise to the strong and vigorous. For come the spring, the narssicuses and hyacinths sprout all the more bountiful and fragrant when the chaff of autumn is laid low by ice and snow."
"Our people are the crocuses," Andraste concluded.
"Indeed," the Archon replied somberly, continuing his stroll. "The desiccated stubble of the previous era chokes us, holding us back from our potential. The Mandate zealots, the Palathyn, Llyrian survivors; they are all obstacles our people will not tolerate for much longer."
"And so we shall lay
them low," the Adjutor added grimly.
"You recognize immediately what must be done," said Velian. "I appreciate that in you."
The pair meandered silently through the woods for a time, stopping when they reached the gravelly banks of the caldera's glassy lake.
"I trust that you are aware that the Galactic Council will soon convene."
"Yes, Supreme Archon." Adjutor Andraste responded as he stared out across the snow-capped lip of the volcanic crater. "In three days time, Adjutor Dyassis will lead the Concordance's delegation to the Galactic Council. I am aware of this."
"Not true," Velian contested. "Our delegation will indeed arrive in three days, but not under the command of Adjutor Dyassis."
"For what reason, Supreme Archon? Adjutor Dyassis had led our delegation for six years now. He is a capable diplomat."
"A capable diplomat to be sure. For the past six years, he has represented our people admirably and has done much to restore our reputation among the Galactic Council. But the usefulness of diplomacy is quickly drawing to an end."
The Archon drew breath to speak, but as the air went into his lungs, his chest heaved as he gave a rasping wheeze. The Archon coughed and hacked for several moments, holding his hand to cover his mouth until the coughing fit had subsided. The Archon stared for a moment at the inside of his palm, until his eyes met the Adjutor's anxious gaze.
"Are you well, your excellency?"
Poor health was unheard of among the Golgotha. Genetic disorders and chronic illnesses had been eradicated among their race decades ago, before there was ever a Unity Accord that could prevent the rampant gene-rewriting that the Golgotha carried out in their eternal quest for biological perfection. The helicase tanks that allowed the Golgotha to rewrite their genome on a whim were strictly outlawed; all records and schematics for their construction had been purged from the libraries and databases by Unity Accord observers. But any Golgothan born before the War of Retribution carried within their cells a genome that would allow them to age gracefully for two or even three centuries. To see the Archon himself coughing so violently was a startling sight to be sure.
"Of course," the Archon replied, returning his hand to his side. "Merely the cold air at these altitudes."
"As I was saying, the time for diplomacy is fast ending. Our delegation does not need a diplomat, but one who recognizes what must be done for the sake of our people, and is not afraid to take the necessary steps. I have elected to withdraw Adjutor Dyassis from the Concordance delegation to the Galactic Council, that you might represent our people in his stead."
Andraste nodded in accord. "It would be my honor to serve in this capacity, your excellency. I confess, however, that this is such short notice, and there is much I must be briefed on. I must be informed if I am to represent our people well."
"Time is of the essence, Adjutor. I recognize this fact better than anyone, but fret not. I can assure you that you shall be seen off with a thorough understanding of what must be done as emissary to the Galactic Council."
"So walk with me for a time, Adjutor." Velian requested, turning away from the lake and heading back into the forest. He stared at his open palm, looking down upon the spittles of blood he had just coughed out. "Though I recognize better than any of our people that now is the time for action, there is no call for such haste that we must forgo our stroll through the woods."
