Christian has to force himself not to take a step back when he sees the being standing before them. Where they had come from, Christian has no idea, but they were definitely not there when he had come through the Gateway. The Gateway disconnects in that moment, taking with it the low humming and buzz Christian had pushed to the back of his mind, leaving the hall feeling strangely silent.

The Amean seems to shed its own light in the absence of the light spilling from the Gateway, a faint glimmer of warmth in an outline around its vaguely humanoid shape. Christian has never seen an Amean before, but he was not expecting this semi-corporeal wisp that seems to cut from the fabric of space—if the backdrop of space had been a deep gold instead of black. Pinpricks of light shimmer across its entire surface like stars, taking Christian’s breath away. They’re smaller than a regular human, but not by much, and there doesn’t seem to be any kind of gender markers. Would you need one if you’re not a corporeal being?

Christian shakes himself internally and returns his attention to the Amean, who has started to speak again. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. We understand the inconvenience this must have caused, but we promise that we have a good reason for this. We are still waiting on one other delegation to arrive, so I will take you to the wing we have prepared for you. You may leave your belongings there and freshen up as you see fit. I will come and get you when the High Circle is ready.”

Murmurs break out amongst the delegates, even the soldiers who are still standing in rank and file have turned to whisper to their neighbours. Before things get too out of hand, though, General Iscan steps forward, bowing slightly to the Amean representative.

“Thank you for your welcome. We are honoured to be here. Please, lead the way.”

They follow General Iscan and the Amean, who flickers in and out of being as they move. The non-military delegation falling into step quietly behind them while the soldiers bring up the rear.

The corridors outside of the hall are more of the same deep bronze material with even more gold detailing and accents. Double doors line the hallway on either side of them, but the Amean passes them without so much as a glance, only stopping when they get to an intersection with more long hallways branching away on either side.

The same fire-that-isn’t-fire light source keeps the hallways lit, but in a way that blankets them with a soft, warm light. Everything about this place feels gentle, and Christian feels like he would have been lulled into a false sense of peace if it weren’t for the ever-present thought that this is an emergency situation and not a holiday.

Their guide leads them down the right-hand corridor, and Christian can’t help but notice the emptiness of it all. Where are the other Ameans? Is the emergency so bad that they’re all tied up? Or maybe they’re actually all around them but just invisible to the human eye? He doesn’t know if they can remain that way for long periods, but then again, Christian knows almost nothing about them. He really should have read up more.

They’re deposited in a foyer-like area behind one of the doors, which seems to lead to a suite of rooms, if Christian is interpreting the quiet gasps and snatches of conversation correctly. General Iscan dismissed them just before, briefly instructing that the soldiers would be rooming in pairs while the rest of the delegation would be allowed their own rooms unless there are none available, which is a relief. Christian can barely imagine sleeping in a room with someone he knows, let alone a complete stranger.

He stays out of the mad scramble for the rooms, though. He doesn’t know what it is, but he has a feeling they won’t be on Amea long enough to need them. General Iscan seems to have the same idea as she remains in the foyer, silently watching as everyone disperses.

Christian gives her a moment, dumping his bag on one of the low benches that line the hall before returning to where she seems to be frozen in place.

“General?”

She swivels towards him, eyes widening for a split second before her brain catches up with her reflexes. “Dr. Son.”

He can’t help but wince at the title. “Please, just call me Christian.”

There is an amused twinkle in her eye as she regards him. “Sure, Christian. Not going to fight for a good room with the rest of them?”

“Do you think I need to?”

“Does it matter what I think?”

“From a professional standpoint, yes. I don’t see you gunning for a room either.” He pauses. “You don’t think we’re going to be here for very long, do you?”

“I’m hoping we won’t. But, we’ve never been able to read the Ameans. This could be anything.” There is a tired edge to her voice, calling to attention her years of seniority over even his father. Not that it isn’t already obvious in the lines on her face—crows’ feet, always the first signs of aging to appear once your MICRO bots start to degrade. Christian doesn’t know how old she is, but if he had to guess, he’d put her at just the right side of three hundred. Give or take a decade.

“You sure you wouldn’t like to rest, ma’am?”

She glares at him but gestures towards one of the benches. “Don’t you ma’am me. General is fine. Or Elle. But seeing as you won’t even call Alvaro by his name, I’m going to assume you won’t be calling me by mine either.”

Christian can’t help the faint amusement that tugs at his lips as they’re both reminded of earlier that day and his near blunder at thinking the General a man. Has it not even been a day since the gathering in the Council room? It feels like a lifetime.

They take a seat, and Christian allows the undercurrent of human noise to wash over him as he takes in their surroundings.

“General it is then. Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not usually involved in the regular bureaucratic meetings the Council has with the Pantheon. And those are usually held on a neutral planet. Not even when Humanity was inducted into the Pantheon was it held on Amea. But I wasn’t the Chief of Defence then, so don’t take my word for it.”

“What do you—“

Christian is cut off by the sudden appearance of an Amean, materialising in the middle room without the slightest hint that they came through the door. A chill runs through Christian. Were they there the whole time? He pushes that thought away as soon as he thinks it. It wouldn’t do to go into this meeting with them thinking the worst. They were given a private suite of rooms, and he can only hope the Ameans respect the sanctity of them enough.

The Amean bows. “The High Circle is ready to see you.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The High Circle is waiting for them in a wide, colosseum-like hall on the other end of the building they are in. It is unlike any other place they’ve walked through so far, which had been windowless to the point that Christian had convinced himself they were underground somewhere. 

This hall, however, has a curved dome ceiling made of a clear material revealing the presence of a golden sky beyond it. Christian finds himself enraptured by the wisps of pink and white clouds that do nothing to prevent the light from reaching them. Is this what having an actual sky is like? An actual atmosphere? Being able to look up and see something other than the stars and the blackness of space?

A part of him is already thinking about whether something like that can be simulated on Hyperion, but he doesn’t have the time to admire it more as they are led to a row of seats overlooking a circular platform set in the middle of the arena beneath them.

The platform is also unlike the rest of the Amean architecture they’ve seen so far—made of white and gold and raised above a few steps that lead towards the outer edge of the arena.

Other delegations file in from the various other entrances around the arena and Christian watches, fascinated by the sheer variety of races present—some of them humanoid, others more beast-like. One of the races looks like they could be almost human, but one of them opens their mouth and Christian is greeted by the sight of rows of fangs, twin forked tongues, and eyes that flash a brilliant red before dulling back to a black. He suppresses a shiver and returns his gaze to the platform below them.

There’s nothing and no one on it at the moment, but as the seats start to fill around them, so does the platform. The Ameans materialise out of nowhere, six of them standing along the edge of the platform the shimmer of their semi-corporeal bodies catching and reflecting the natural light in a beautiful dance. With them all lined up, Christian can see that there are subtle differences between them—differences in height and size and even overall body shape, despite them all being androgynous in type.

But the Ameans aren’t the only race to sit on the Pantheon High Circle, and just as Christian is starting to wonder how the other representatives are going to get down there, a section of the wall slides away to reveal the Calytolians—tall, humanoid figures with skin like shadow and tusks the colour of ivory that curl back from their foreheads. Their gleaming, bright yellow eyes take in the Ameans and the growing crowd.

They take their places in the spaces left for them between the Ameans, filling the platform with their presence despite there being only three of them. Christian swallows as he takes them all in. These are the heads, the ruling body of the Pantheon. And he can see why. There is a power to their beings, a weight that makes their presence in the hall more tangible despite the fact that they are outnumbered by all the other delegations.

One of the Calytolians raises a hand, and the murmur of voices that had been swirling around the chamber fades out. A sole Amean steps forward to the center of the platform, slightly larger and stockier in structure than the one that had shown them to their room.

“Thank you for coming here today.” Their voice is gentle but loud, rich, like the vocal equivalent of a brass instrument. “It is difficult to have made preparations on such short notice, and yet you have done so. It makes us proud to have you as members of our Pantheon. We shall not, however, waste your time with more pleasantries. You are here because we have called for an emergency meeting, and you must be wondering why.”

They wave their hand, and the walls around them become a large screen, displaying what has to be the full version of the looped clip Christian had seen earlier. His blood grows cold as he sees the giant warship bearing down on the planet. “I’m sure you are aware by now that one of the Pantheon alpha worlds has been attacked. What you are seeing now is the reality of the situation. That world was completely decimated.”

As though the Amean had timed their words perfectly with the playback, the mushroom cloud appears on the surface of the planet before brilliant cracks of white rip through it, and the planet is blown apart. The video feed cuts out, but Christian feels like a piece of the planet must have come through the screen and lodged itself in his throat. Why would anyone do something like this? 

Harsh whispers have broken out in reaction to the video but the Amean continues. “What might not have been clear at first glance is that this attack was carried out by a Coalition war vessel.”

The whispers around them rise in volume, and Christian hears a quiet “Fuck” come from General Iscan, who he hadn’t realised had sat beside him. Christian presses his knuckles into the pressure points around his eyes, trying to relieve some of the tension that has been building up since the council meeting. 

The Coalition has destroyed a whole world. An entire planet. For no apparent reason, as far as Christian’s spotty knowledge of current affairs goes. 

The Amean glides around the stage, drawing Christian’s attention back to them. “I know what you are thinking. That this is impossible. That the Coalition could not have done something like this. But they have. And we cannot, will not, allow attacks like this to continue and more worlds to be lost. That is why we have called you here. As of this moment, the Pantheon is at war.”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆