The soldat to the left of Felizia stretched back in his chair with a grin towards his comrades on the other side of the table.

“Well, at least we can agree on that! Anyways, I’m done, see ya.”

He grabbed his bowl and spoon and squeezed out from his chair. With a jolly flap of wings, he took off. Felizia didn’t see where exactly he went, her eyes were pointed downwards, towards her bowl. She scrapped her spoon along the bottom of the bowl to collect the last remnants of the purple soup, before tipping it back in a moment later.

She wasn’t interested in whatever they had been talking about, her thoughts were elsewhere. What was she to do? This was a plot against the Empire itself she was now privy to. Her thoughts bounced across her mind, never standing still. When she tried to explore a train of thought deeply, the chatter of the hall in the background became deafening, and she lost it.

A series of flaps signalled the arrival of a new griffon, but she didn’t notice them, nor did she notice the clunk of a new bowl on the table. However, when she heard the unmistakable sound of wood - specifically a chair - scraping on wood directly on her left, she lifted her head in reaction. The mess hall was full to the brim. It was designed to accommodate hundred of griffons all wishing to fill their bellies at the same time, but at some point they had given up trying to pack more into it, and so there were hundreds more eating out in their camps or even just outside the hall. From wall to wall, griffons sat at large square tables with the middle 50% cut out to allow more seating. Felizia’s table was near the back wall. Flight was practically the only way to get around, which the nine metre tall ceiling was designed to allow. The room felt to her like an ocean of griffons with no shore in sight.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,” Atlas said as he pulled out the chair.

Felizia’s mind snapped into the her and now at his voice. She shook her head “Don’t worry, the previous occupant just left.”

“Yes, I watched him go. Are you alright, Felizia?”

“I’m… fine. For now, at least.”

“Are you enjoying the soup?”

She became aware of the remnant of the sweet taste of beetroot on her tongue. A tinge of onion crept beneath the blanket of the beet, but couldn’t hide from Felizia’s now attentive senses as she probed to produce a genuine answer.

“It was… well, I can say it is not terrible, just a little less than.. well, yeah.”

“I can understand. How are you… doing?

“I’m fine, absolutely. Just thinking about the… the.. uh.. figures from the meeting.”

Atlas surveyed the table. The only seat empty was directly across from him: griffons chattered or ate in silence all around. On the far side of Atlas a group of four - two on each side of the table - were in general catch-up conversation. The griffon across from Felizia sipped at his soup, whether he was paying attention to something or not was unclear. On the far side of Felizia a group of friends joked about the colour of the soup and the colour of a common friend.

Atlas laid his spoon over his bowl, suspending it above his soup. “I think we all need a bit of time to reflect on those; I can understand.”

Felizia scrapped the last of her soup into her spoon again. She took a few glances at the nearby griffons, none of whom seemed to be paying much attention - if any- to their conversation.

“Did you want to talk about anything? Was there a reason you came over here?” she asked after a moment.

“I just saw you were uneasy, I thought I might give you some company.”

“Well.. thanks, I guess. I’m uncertain more than anything. He seems dead-set, utterly convinced about this. I… well.. it’s disturbing for me.”

“One hundred percent, it’s not the most reassuring thing.”

“What are your thoughts, should we…” Felizia placed raised her claw over her head and spread out her fingers like a comb, their adopted sign for the nobility. She watched Atlas squint his eyes in confusion. She repeated the action, this time first signing the unmistakable sign for speaking.

This time she properly conveyed her question: should we report this plot to the authorities? In the process, she also drew the amused attention of a few of the griffs sitting near them. Atlas drank a spoonful of soup, and closed his eyes, letting the taste of beet soothe his thoughts. The griffs near them soon lost interest and resumed their previous attentions.

“I didn’t say what I said out of hasty fear. I think that what he said is true, although I am inherently sceptical about anything’s that involves anything of this sort. But… he’s right.” He released his spoon on the side of his bowl, and placed his elbows on the table, bowing his head, it was unclear whether in contemplation or prayer.

“I’ll ask you this,” he said after a few more moments, “what happens when you plant a flower?”

Felizia furrowed her brow. “It grows?”

“All the time?”

“Well, if the soil is right for it, if it gets enough sunlight, if it gets enough moisture.. then yes, it will.”

Atlas took another sip. “So conditions need to be right?”

“Yes...” Atlas had made it very clear previously that he had no interest in botany, or agriculture of any sort. This set of questions was hence doubly confusing for Felizia.

“What if they aren’t right then?”

“Hey, Major Hengsbach!” a griffess shouted from down the table. She drew near, sneaking past the shifting tide of chairs instead of flying.

Atlas shook his head, “Not now, leutnant.”

“I’ll be out of your plumage soon, but I believe you owe me a gold one. So just toss it over and I’ll go.”

“I don’t believe you.” He exclaimed. But he thought a moment more, and realised she probably wasn’t lying. “How many of the 61st were incapacitated?”

“What’s this about, sir?” Felizia interjected.

The leutnant answered for him. “Ma’am, your partner here owes me an idol for a little wager we made. I bet that in this morning’s exercises that the 5th Turmwache Battalion would beat the 61st Infanterie Battalion. The 5th won - fair and square I might add - so I’m entitled to my money.”

“The Turmwache are hardly what I’d consider to be a well-drilled deployment.”

“Oh I heard one of them made a sprint across the playing field to order a crucial redeployment that saved their feathers. You can check it out for yourself.. sir.” she quickly added.

Atlas muttered grumpily as he patted some of his pockets. “Oh what a surprise, I don’t appear to be carrying any.” he said. “Again, talk to me later, I’m busy right now.”

The leutnant nodded once before she turned and left. “Yes sir.”

Atlas sighed. Felizia watched the leutnant leave, a smirk slowly growing on her beak. “Well well well, I certainly didn’t expect to find out today that you’ve been gambling with Gitta’s troops.”

“Today’s been a day for unexpected surprises, hasn’t it? I promise it’s not a big thing, it was just a casual discussion that turned into a bet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t dwell on it.”

“Thanks.” Atlas said. He tapped the end of his spoon for a bit as they fell silent again before continuing. “So where were we?”

“Uhh… I think you had asked about conditions not being right?

“Umm… yeah I think that’s about right. Give me a moment to collect my thoughts.” He finally picked up his spoon, and stirred his soup. He drank a spoonful of the soup, then creaked this head to one side. Gitta turned and listened to the ambience of the hall.

The group just over from them on the right was discussing something about the tanks the changelings had brought. From somewhere she faintly heard an angry curse being exclaimed. When it died down she could hear distant singing from somewhere, a faint melodic “Gefahr!”

“Ah, yes, I’ve got it.” Atlas announced. He put down his spoon and turned back to face Gitta. “So what would you say would happen if a flower wasn’t planted in ideal conditions?”

Gitta picked at a knot in the table. “Well, the flower either outright doesn’t sprout, or it grows a few millimetres before dying. Maybe it does grow, really that’s dependent on a variety of unknown factors.”

“That makes sense.” Atlas nodded. “But with that in mind, are the conditions for the flower ideal?”

“Ummm.. what?” Felizia gave a forced chuckle, confused.

“What we’ve been stressing over this whole time; that flower. Is that flower growing in ideal conditions?”

It took her a moment, but then her eyes widened, she realised what he was asking.

“Oh… well, I don’t know. What would ideal conditions to grow said flower be?”

“I wouldn’t know either, I don’t exactly have experience in this either. But… I’ve known him- we’ve known him for many years now. And while…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “I do think he’s slightly unstable on this matter, I do trust him. I wouldn’t want to push you to any conclusion, however.” He leaned back, and took another spoonful of soup.

Felizia nodded slightly. “Yeah.. I guess. Hey…-” she pulled out a pocket watch from her uniform, “- I really should be going. I’ve got to finish up what I was doing before I’m needed for anything else.”

“Just… give it some thought and reflection, let me know what you come to.”

“Thanks Atlas… for…” she struggled to find the correct words to articulate. “Thanks” was what she finally settled on.

“You mentioned your studies, how are they going?”

“You care about that stuff now?”

“No, not really. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Keeping me here, are you?”

Atlas made an explanative gesture with his claw. “I didn’t want to end conversation with you without talking about something normal.”

Felizia laughed. “You’re good that way, thank you. But I do need to go. Since you asked, I’m finishing up the final dissertation for last year’s work. Then I can start on this year’s.”

“Shouldn’t you have finished last year’s last year?” Atlas joked. “You can tell me about that later. I’ll see you tonight, perhaps.”

“Alright, that sounds good.” Felizia said as she pushed herself out. “Thanks again, sir.”

[h]

“Welcome back, ma’am!” was becoming tiring to listen to. Gitta had only been gone for a week, and yet it seemed every soldat and Unteroffizier and C.O was acting like she’d just come back from a circumnavigation of the entire known world! The first few times it had been alright, but even preoccupied griffs had been dropping what they were doing to come greet their commander.

“Yes, thank you, Leutnant Rieger.”

“Thank you, Soldat.”

“It was fine, thank you for asking, Hauptmann.”

At this point, there was only one griffon she wanted to hear those words from, but he was in town. She wished she had had time to stop by when she’d arrived, but plans rarely worked out like that. Right now she was sat at a table with two of her Hauptmanns. They were bringing her up to speed on the situation

“The Oberstleutnant also told me to give you this.” said Matthias Stelzner, a yellow-plumed migrant from the Griffonian frontier whose accent refused to say his ‘E’s with their long sound. He passed over a clipboard with several large pages. “Events and drills and everything in between, where you have to be, minus all the extra stuff that pops up when Ferdinand feels a company is getting a bit too comfortable.”

Gitta picked up the clipboard and gave it a quick glance. Meanwhile, the other Hauptmann, Erika Redwing, circled some important sections on another piece of paper. She was from Vinnin, like most of them. Her green neckfeathers stood out on her white-grey plumage.

“I only had to highlight a few things, but there you go. Our current logistical issues on the first page, and general reports for your consideration on the third and fourth.” She passed more pages over to Gitta.

“Good, good. I’ll look over these. Pass on the logistical report to….” she paused . It had only been an hour at most, yet looking down at the papers she was back in front of the stolen papers in Ferdinand’s office. She didn’t like it, but Ferdinand had made the situation clear to her, there really wasn’t any other option.

100 days…

For a moment, it seemed a tangible, physical distance, yet one that stretched over the horizon and out of sight, shrouded in uncertainty. Like the smaller tremors that follow the large quake, the weight of the situation bombarded her again. Her mind raced, would the plan still hold together after that long? A third of a year was a long time in such a political climate. But at the same time, was it enough time?

“Major?”

Erika’s voice brought her back to ground.

“The Warenstamm.. that’s it. Send the report to the Warenstamm.”

“The Warenstamm’s been usurped in his role, ma’am.” Erika said.

“Logistikmeister Torsten has replaced him.” added Matthias, providing context.

Gitta’s eyes raised. “Torsten Blackcrest? Scheer’s chick?”

“Yup. Don’t know how you missed it, ma’am: he’s gotten an entire hut for his work assembled by the road coming in, and one of his . The Warenstamm isn’t at all happy about it, but Ferdinand agreed to keep paying him half even though he’s not working currently.”

“Ok then.. pass the reports on to the Logistikmeister.” she asked Erika.

“Yes ma’am.”

[h]

Ferdinand paced the width of his office, a well of frustration like a bubbling pit of tar slowly building up within him. In one claw he held a list of all the major Griffenheim officers present in the encampment. He hadn’t really thought about whom he might try to persuade to join, but he was realising now that he hadn’t the foresight to realise how few griffons he actually knew closer than the acquaintance status. He hadn’t circled any names yet.

He punched the air, and resisted the urge to swear.

“Saints of the sword!” he exclaimed instead, invoking the Arcturian saints in frustration. He paused, a thought fluttered into his mind. His eyes found their way to the left wall, where his special Arcturian sword sat on its mounting: a straight, steel blade shorter than a typical longsword. Engraved along the blade was a silver imprint in the image of the sword itself with a three-star-pronged crown hovering above the pommel: the symbol of Arcturius.

Ferdinand carefully lifted the sword from it’s mounting. Each sword was a holy artefact, tradition held that the method for forging steel swords was taught to griffons by Arcturius after he was disappointed with the bronze weapons they were swinging around. Ferdinand had forged his own when he was still a student in the Archonate, and he respected it as if Arcturius himself had forged it.

He held it in his grip. It fit a lot better in his claw than it had when he had forged it when he was still a chick in the Archonate. He took it back to his desk, swinging it in a downward-slicing motion as he turned around, almost into the wall.

Heh, still nippy.

He placed his list on the table, next to another just like it, just with the names of the non-Griffenheim officers. He sat back in his chair, grasping the sword in both claws and holding it upright. He closed his eyes, he emptied his mind of distractions. He prayed:

“Mighty Arcturius, protector of empire, guardian of the righteous, and prince of holy light, may your name be blessed. Give… keep me - your servant - from the darkness, and help direct my walk, my walk in righteousness. May my heart be inclined towards good, and may my heart seek to ultimately bring glory to the gods. In keeping with such, reveal to me those whom I am to ally, reveal to me those similarly minded: those who see the truth as I do. By the saints of the sword, blessed be your name, blessed be Boreas’ name, blessed by Eyr’s name.”

Ferdinand gave a moment before opening his eyes. He didn’t know what he expected to see, a sign of sorts maybe. But he was left disappointed. He slumped back, still holding the sword, which accidentally drop slightly. The tip of its blade bounced on the desk. He quickly pulled it back up, and leaned over to inspect the desk for any damage. The blade tip had landed on his list, and so he had to remove it to inspect the impact point. A small dent had been made in the wood, not terribly noticeable, but not insignificant. Ferdinand was about to curse when he had another thought. He checked the list, and found that the sword had punched a tiny hole in it, right in the middle of a name, a name he vaguely recognised.

“Aras Seeliger...” he thought out loud, trying to remember the face.

He reached for his pen.

[h]

“A toast to our great victory, courtesy of our Oberleutnant!” The bright-blue griffon raised a bottle of wine as high as he could to a round of cheers from the group of griffons gathered around Aras Seeliger as they sat around a board of wood in the middle of their tents.

Aras was a tired-looking griff, his grey/blue plumage only darkening his exhausted countenance. His bowl of soup was only half-empty: he just couldn’t find the energy to pick up his spoon anymore. The top buttons on his uniform were undone, so that his top chest feathers were visible. His heart had calmed down, but it ached with pain, as did his lungs, his wings, and his head. He did manage to pull through a smile in response, though.

The blue griffon cheerily poured some of the wine into a canteen and laid it in front of Aras. He took a collection of the present ‘non-coms’ (non-commissioned officers) canteens and poured them some as well.

“Who are we?” he asked.

“Griffenities!” was the collective cry from the crowd.

“Does that make us any less than other units?” he shouted, continuing to raise his volume.

The ‘Nein’ that followed could have been heard from the other side of the camp. This was, after all, the griffons of the 5th Turmwache, rejoicing in their recent victory over the 61st. Their worth was assured: they were just as capable as an outer-garrison, even if they had the cushy job.

“Thank the gods for Aras, best com’ I’ve ever had. To his health, and to the 12th!” With that the non-coms raised their canteens in toast, some of the soldats even joining in with their water.

Aras gave a tired but thankful smile, probably the eightieth today. He took a small sip of the wine. “Thanks, but please.. stop. I’m going back to my tent.” he managed to say. He took one last sip of soup. He stood up, and turning around started an unsteady walk back to his tent. Before collapsing onto his sleeping mat, he tried to measure the time of day by the sun’s height. He’d be able to have a few hours of rest.

Author's Note

Sorry for the inexcusable delay on this one for only a 3000(ish) word chapter. I kept cutting bits and pieces, and throwing out ideas for more parts because I was worried about oversaturating the story with characters and flipping too much and too rapidly. But it’s here, enjoy!