11th of Marsie, 0000 AC

Morning

The Ravissant Parliament, Peacock Road, Ravissant Brotherhood

Pierre Rakhine strode into the meeting room, apparently the last one to come. Seating himself next to the president, he asked, “Why did you call us for an emergency meeting, Your Excellency?”

Roi Knox looked haggard, like he hadn’t sleep for a week. “Remember the tax we imposed on the citizens, so that we could maintain the public facilities?”

“Of course,” the Secretary of State answered. “The citizens were fine with it, as it was as low as 3% of their salary.”

“Yeah, well…” the president droned. “The department of accounts called me yesterday, and it turns out we’ll have to increase the tax to at least 44% if we want to maintain this city.”

“That’s crazy!” an MP exclaimed. “People will riot in the streets! It’s unfair to everyone!”

“How are we going to tell them?” Pierre asked. The president looked him straight in the eye. “I was hoping that maybe you could do it, Pierre.”

“Me?”

“Of course,” Roi Knox gushed. “The public loves you. They’ll accept anything you say.”

“Very well,” Pierre got up ominously. “But whatever happens, it’s on your head.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

11th of Marsie, 0000 A.C.

Noon

Noble Apartments, Freedom Avenue, Ravissant Brotherhood

Pierre entered his home to the smell of Saejonian cuisine simmering away in a pot. Jacques was busy preparing lunch. It had been two months since his category was selected, and now he was a fully-fledged, Elite Warrior, whose name was well known in the city as the genius newbie.

He wasn’t at home much, leading operations all around the continent, discovering new territories, etc.

“It’s good to see you, son,” Pierre smiled as he seated himself at the table. Jacques brought over a steaming pot of fried Camelian curry, and a pan of cheesy pasta. “What’s going on with the warriors nowadays?”

“Well, dad,” Jacques smiled uncomfortably. “I’m not at a liberty to discuss details, but we found a new territory, which was inhabited by Vedhas.”

“Vedhas?” Pierre was puzzled. “Who’re they?”

“They’re people who’re less civilised than us,” Jacques stated, spooning a large amount of pasta onto his dad’s plate. “They don’t have any technology. They’re basically hunter-gatherers.”

“So are you taming them?” Pierre asked, inquisitively. Jacques raised his palms in defence, “I’m not allowed to say anything else. We’re only allowed to inform the president.”

Pierre let it slide. “So…” he looked at Jacques. “You look like you’re doing well without me.”

“Oh yeah,” Jacques gobbled down his food. “We get really luxurious quarters, and free food, and we save so much money because of the low tax rate.”

Pierre felt bad for him. “Son,” he began. “Listen, there’s something you should know about the tax r-” Someone banged onto the door. It was Roi.

Looking at Pierre solemnly, he nodded. “It’s time.”

“Very well,” Pierre quickly finished his meal, and picked up his cloak.

“Wait dad,” Jacques butted in. “What’s going on?”

Pierre looked at him. How many people like his son would be able to survive a larger tax rate? How many people would lose their jobs?

“You’ll find out soon,” Pierre replied before leaving after the president.

Shrugging, Jacques finished eating, and donned his Warrior cloak. He had to meet up with Jeanne to decide mission rankings for the novices, and he wanted to be back by 5 p.m.

As he left the apartment, he couldn’t help but wonder about what made his father so worried. Is there going to be an invasion from a foreign nation? Have we run out of resources?

Whatever the reason, Jacques was confident that Pierre could fix it in no time.

11th of Marsie, 0000 A.C.

Noon

Ravissant Trade Market

Falcon walked down a passageway and entered a brightly lit shop. The shop was fully constructed of timber, and the wooden panels were polished so well they shined in the reflected light. There were various types of merchandise, from armour and swords, to clothing and books. It was quite crowded even at this time of the day, so it was definitely a very necessary, and successful business. Falcon grinned with the knowledge that this shop, was his.

When the customers paid for their items and left, Falcon closed the shop for lunch, and sat at his table with a plate of rice and curry. Just as he was about to dig in, there was a knock at his door. It was a dark, strong-built man.

“Henry!” Falcon, overjoyed, opened his door. Henry came in, looking around with wonder at what his friend had achieved in a few months.

“I promised that I’ll visit your big shop,” he grinned from ear to ear.

Bringing a chair for Henry, Falcon sat down to eat. “So,” he asked between mouthfuls. “How’s your shop in Forsynthia doing?”

“Good, good,” Henry answered, still looking around in awe. “Damn, how could you afford to make this shop with timber?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, timber is extremely cheap here,” Falcon laughed, seeing his friend’s reaction. “You could take some home if you want.”

“Ooh, definitely.” Henry smiled. “Hey wait, what’s happening on the television?”

Falcon switched off “mute”. It was a press conference with the president and vice president of the Brotherhood. They looked quite grim.

“Dear citizens,” the vice president began. “We have faced an unexpected issue with maintaining the city. It seems that the citizens are wasting too much electricity, fuel and food, so we are lacking funds to sustain the tertiary sector. Therefore, we have to, temporarily, raise the tax to 44% of your salary.”

The audience started to boo and throw things at the leaders, who simply brushed it off, and, apologetically, left the podium.

Henry looked at Falcon, who’d turned white with shock, the implications predicting a dark future.