Systems In Chaos: Dissention

Chapter 3

The Queen sat in back in her throne and stared at the top of Rogan's head through weary, almost distant, light blue eyes. The lines of her face were starting to show her age. Her long light blond hair hung down her shoulders as she rested.

The throne was made out of steel and was coated in gold, which, with the red cushioning, gave it a royal look. A duet of colours that had been used together so many times before in history, but it seemed fitting. Her throne sat in the middle of the rebuilt throne room inside the half destroyed palace of Kalorin. The eight large, white, stone pillars that lined the room were all damaged in some way. Some had their opal encasing cracked or chipped, others had massive chunks blown out of them, and two of the pillars were, quite literally, half destroyed. Nothing from the midpoint up existed, only dents in the floor at their bases where the debris fell as the palace had been bombed.

There passed thirty seconds of silence between the Queen and her High-General. Neither of them wishing to break the quietness as they both reflected on the recent weeks. Their lives had changed so much, so quickly. The Empire was savage in their attack on Kalorin. It took them mere hours to completely decimate the Kalorian forces and destroy the capital city. And where was the United Alliance? They hadn’t come to help liberate the planet from Hadi hands. Perhaps they were occupied elsewhere, defending a planet that hadn’t already fallen.

The Empire came. They saw. They conquered.

The silence was finally broken, but not by either of the two of them. The throne room doors screeched open loudly, as the door strained to slide its way past the bent frame; one of the many reminders of what the Hadi had done to the palace. A noble walked in, a man. He was wearing his bright blue and yellow, satin, robes. It was probably the only thing the man had left in his wardrobe that hadn’t been damaged in some sort of way, because he wore it every day.

Both the Queen and Rogan looked up at the nobleman, his hair was brushed back and his head was held high. The man wore a frown on his face and his green eyes were strained and tired. He was walking up to them quickly, at first, but soon slowed his pace as he noticed the grim mood about the two of them. A look of disappointment crossed his face as he already knew the answer to what he had come here to ask.

“No progress then?” he assumed, irritably.

The Queen shook her head. She could understand his frustration well. As her daughter’s foster father, he had raised her since birth; he loved her just as much or even more than the Queen did herself.

“Why can’t you soldiers do your job properly? Hurry up and find her,” the noble accused Rogan harshly.

“I beg your pardon, Ser Ethon Hart, but the Empire has really done their best to make sure they hide her well and not leave any trail. But my men are on it, and we are following up a possible lead,” Rogan told him.

“You have a lead? Why didn’t you tell me, Rogan?” the Queen asked confused.

Bowing his head slightly, a sign of apology, as he replied “I did not wish to arouse false hope if it turns out to be nothing. We have had dozens of ‘leads’ already, but all of them have led to a dead end... or dead citizen.”

“Oh, alright... thank you for your consideration,” she sighed.

Turning to face Ser Hart, who was calm now, she asked him a more immediate question, but did so slowly “When will the funeral take place for your wife? I was very sad to hear that she passed away yesterday. Her wounds must have been quite terrible. I’m so sorry. If I had of known her life was in danger I would have come to see her again in her final hours.” Sorrow and grief gilded her voice, it was clear that she really did care for her daughter’s foster mother as a close friend.