Why does the world always thirst for war? Why should peace be obtained through the blood of others? It’s hard to keep faith for a better world if everything wants to fight you, wishes for your defeat, or is apathetic to your struggle.

  Syndy notices me lying face-first on our bed. ‘Are you moping again?’

  ‘Yes,’ I somberly reply.

  I can’t see it, but I can feel her rolling her eyes at my dramatic state. I suppose it is the only way I can cool down and have a little fun. Even at the expense of her sanity and possibly the health of her sight from that constant eye rolling. It’s a little thing, but it is my little thing.

  ‘Let me guess, the dodads are declaring war?’

  With a shift of my body, I face my lover with a confused expression. ‘How did you find out?’

  She responds by flicking my forehead with her finger. ‘Idiot, I just watched how Simon is sweating like a pig, and Max is running around giving out orders. Plus, she wants me to start building a few hundred crossbows and bolts. Let’s just say I figured it out without you telling me.’

  ‘Huh, I thought you’d be stressed about it.’

  Sydny raises a brow, ‘I believe it is now tradition to expect the worst whenever you have a big day or have to deal with any given problem.’

  I can’t help but chuckle. ‘Am I that predictable?’

  She sits on the bed next to me, ‘it doesn’t help that you always act like a drama queen when things go wrong. Then, when everyone least expects it, you’ll fix it or find a solution. I am starting to grow tired of it.’

  ‘You really think I can fix it?’

  ‘Sure, as long as it makes you move over so I can go to sleep.’

  ‘Helpful,’ I sarcastically reply after I move to my side of the bed so she can get her needed rest.

  She tries to go to sleep, but she turns to face me to say something on her mind. ‘Well, perhaps you should talk to them.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Did you only talk to them today? In that throne room?’

  She is being more sarcastic than usual. ‘Yes, I only talked to them during that time because it is customary.’

  Sydny sighs in frustration. ‘Maybe you should break those customs and talk to them outside of the throne room.’

  ‘And why should I do that?’

  ‘Shit, I dunno, to prevent a war. The throne room is too formal; maybe talking to the bugs outside of that setting might make them more willing to make a compromise. They don’t seem like the sort of people that others will listen to or talk to outside of thrones or war rooms. Perhaps it might be a good change for them.’

  It’s a long shot, but she might be onto something. Perhaps that can work, though I doubt I will get anywhere if the bugs are already set on declaring war on us.

  If Marak is here, what will he do? Will he force them to talk, make them listen? Will he illustrate that war will only end in their defeat? That sounds like something he will do. He is a soldier first and a diplomat last. There has to be a way to prevent war. I can kill them, but that will only make things worse. I’ll talk to them in the morning; perhaps that is the best way to handle the situation. Perhaps, the only one on hand.

  ‘You really take pride in pointing out solutions to every problem, don’t you?’ I say to her.

  ‘I don’t like to waste time or panic over the little things.’ With a smirk, she gently taps my feet. ‘Now get off your ass and get talking. If anyone can get them to change their mind, it has to be you.’

  ‘Are you seriously just hyping me up?’ I chuckle.

  ‘Well, Thorgan can’t do it, and I doubt Simon is capable of talking to people whom he looks down on. Also, do you really think someone like Max is talking to the dodads? No? I thought so.’

  I hop out of bed, dusting myself off before kissing Syndy on the cheek. Alright, love, I’ll make sure to talk to them to see what I can do.

  The Cinari are afraid of the dodads the moment they arrive in the city, Simon refuses to even go near them, even before the declaration of war. Perhaps there is something that I don’t know of. A reason why the two different cultures will rather stay away from each other than be in the same room. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I don’t have that problem.

  I knock on the door of where Trist and A’tesh’s room is. Trist opens the door with a thick blanket covering her body, while her nose is a bright red. I can tell she caught a cold; the poor woman looks too unwell to even be standing.

  ‘Your grace, what brought you here?’ Trist asks me.

  ‘I want to talk to A’tesh, if that is possible.’

  Trist frowns, like she is insulted by my proposal. ‘No, we will not…’ She is cut off when A’tesh clicks her mandibles, either telling or forcing Trist to change her attitude. ‘Fine, you can talk to them.’ Before I can enter the room, Trist places a hand on my chest and whispers into my ear. ‘No funny business, uthren.’

  ‘There won’t be.’ I reply, giving me entry to their room.

  Inside is more minimalistic than I imagined. They strip the place of paintings, furniture, and anything resembling art or craftsmanship. They even replaced the beds with their own sleeping bags made of thin leather. In the left corner of the room are barrels of water, a strange thing to do when drinking water is readily available.

  ‘What did you do to the stuff in this room?’

  A’tesh speaks to Trist, and she relays it to me. ‘We put them in storage, we’ll put them back once we leave.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I smile. I don’t care if they change the room to their liking, as long as they put it back the way they found it, I’m happy.

  The dodad notices me looking around their room, almost enamoured with what they’ve changed. Everything in the room looks as if they can pack it up and leave at a moment’s notice. They are a people that is always on the move and never stop.

  She gestures for me to sit on the floor in front of her, on top of a tattered piece of fabric that resembles a seat. I thank them again for their hospitality, but they don’t seem to care.

  A’tesh gets Trist to sit down next to us while they speak in their foreign language. ‘They ask what brought you here.’

  As I straighten my posture, I take a deep breath to ready myself to bargain and dictate the fate of my people. I still have to show my authority, but to do that, I need to be transparent with them.

  ‘Truth be told, I want to discuss peace between our peoples, but I also want to learn about yours.’

  A’tesh looks at me with a worrisome gaze, like they don’t trust me. Trist, on the other hand, also seems distrustful of what I’ve said. ‘Before we talk peace, why do you care to learn about us?’ Trist relays what A’tesh says.

  ‘Because I believe we have a lot more in common than we realise. We don’t have to be enemies, and I believe there won’t just be peace but also a future for both of us. But for that to happen, I need to understand.’ I point towards their water barrels. ‘Like that, there is plenty of drinking water here. Why do you need to have barrels of water?’

  The dodad looks at the barrels with a long pause before she speaks to Trist. ‘Water is our currency. Where we come from is the only important thing we can trade. We can’t trade water from the oceans or the toxic ponds that the old world left behind. We have to trade and hold on to the source that keeps all life alive. To survive, we have to turn the gift that keeps us alive and turn it into a commodity.’

  ‘Why should you? Why not turn metals into coins?’

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  If I understand correctly, I think A’tesh is chuckling by rattling their mandibles before calming down and speaking to Trist. ‘We don’t have anything of value in Ishtu. It is why outsiders call our home a wasteland. It is hospitable, a prison the world forced us to stay in. They even built a wall to keep us in, to die in a place that struggles to grow food and rarely rains. It is why water is the universal currency there. It is both useful and impossible to hoard.’

  ‘Why were you forced into Ishtu?’ I also want to know how they got out of their home, but also, why weren’t they forced to become slaves like my people? What makes us different?

  ‘It’s a long story, uthren. You’ve asked a question that will require me to detail almost five hundred years of history. In short, the world wants to exterminate us for what we are. The world believes we have no history on this planet, that we were the cause of the Collapse and the Forgotten Era. They drove us from our homes and forced us into Ishtu, the wasteland of toxic lakes and salted earth. Periodically, the world would unite and go on a crusade through our lands, slaughtering my kind for sport or a sense of duty to cull our numbers.’

  Oh, I see. I suppose the world sees them as undesirables, a people to be exterminated, while my people were forced to become slaves. In a way, I sympathise with them; I can see why they will fight alongside the Cinari. They want the world to stop attacking them, to stop the endless slaughter. However, if that is the case, that gives me hope. Because if they are declaring war against me so they can have a chance of a future without pain. I can offer that future, but I need to learn more about them.

  Trist notices my pause and places her hand on my own. ‘What are you thinking?’ She asks me on her own.

  ‘For a people who are persecuted, why do you, a human, live among them?’

  Trist looks to A’tesh, the dodad grants her permission to tell me her story with a simple nod.

  ‘I ran away from home. I come from the northern regions of Dragonna. It was there that I was told I would be married to a man whom I had never met. So I left for the only place that will accept me.’ Trist sneezes, coughing before composing herself. ‘The dodads can’t speak like we can, and they need an interpreter to translate for them to the outside world. It isn’t glamorous, but it is comfortable compared to the life that I was offered back home. Most importantly, it is fair.’

  ‘I met the humans of Dragonna, they were… well… apathetic to put it kindly.’

  Trist smiles, ‘that is too kind of you. Many will say worse things about my home. But you, you are too generous. For a former slave, you speak like a proper diplomat.’

  ‘Thank you, so what is it like working for her?’

  ‘They.’ Trist corrects me.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I reply, cautious that I didn’t say anything offensive.

  ‘This will come off as weird, but dodads don’t follow our concept of gender. Every dodad is a they, they are neither male nor female.’

  ‘So, how do they repopulate? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  A’tesh speaks to Trist, which causes her to stutter. I suppose that topic is on the sensitive side. ‘There are three types of dodads. The common ones are the drones, or the U’ti. They are also the ones without any, well, the necessary parts to make eggs. The queens, or the U’ta. They are the ones that can lay eggs to create more dodads, though most choose not to. A’tesh is a U’ta, in case you haven’t noticed. But the rarest are the kings, or the U’da. They are larger, far taller than any dodad, and they have four arms. They are what you consider the males of the species, but in truth, they carry the seed that makes dodads. The U’ta just process that seed, but they require more than one U’da to make healthy dodads to prevent inbreeding and genetic diseases.’

  ‘Ah, I understand.’ I don't understand at all. So there are three different types of bugs, and one of them has four arms. Such a weird species they are. ‘So I just call A’tesh a they?’

  ‘Preferably.’ Trist replies.

  ‘Gotcha, thank you for the correction.’

  A’tesh gives me a thankful nod before they talk to Trist. ‘They ask if you are willing to begin peace discussions now.’

  ‘I am,’ I respond. With a deep breath, I calm my anxiety. I need to speak clearly to them; I can’t show any weakness. ‘I know that you came here to declare war, but I want to offer a peaceful solution.’

  ‘By your surrender, we hope.’ Trist echoes the response A’tesh gives them.

  ‘No, a promise.’

  I stand up in front of them to pull down the left side of my pants to reveal to them my brand name. The sensation of the hot iron on my skin still burns after almost a year ago. It is impossible to forget the pain of the hot branding iron searing my flesh.

  ‘I am not Alex, that is not the name they refer to me as. To them I am nothing more than a number, R-12:9. That is my true name, it is what they gave me.’ I pull up my pants before I sit down in front of them. ‘There is no future for my people if we lose the war; we are already sentenced to death for what we’ve accomplished. What we are doing here is fighting for our freedom.’

  ‘By making them slaves?’ A’tesh points out through Trist’s words.

  ‘That is not what I wanted; that is by the order of my king. But that can and it will change. I won’t lie, the path to end slavery is a difficult one. There is already enough bad blood between my people and the Cinari that it will take years to heal from this war. But it will end! Already, I am taking steps to abolish the abhorrent system. But for the system to truly be dismantled, we have to win.’

  A’tesh looks away from me and replies in their rhythmic clicks. I don’t need Trist to translate what they’ve said. They’re sorry, they are telling me they are sorry.

  I reach my hand out for A’tesh to grab it, which they did. ‘Please, look me in the eye. Look and tell me you won’t take part in our slaughter. The world made us both suffer for who we are; they forced your kind to die in a harsh wasteland while they forced mine to work underground. Look at me and tell me why they would change if you helped them?’

  They stared directly into my eyes, but they didn't utter a word. Trist sits there in silence, waiting for an opportunity to break this painful silence.

  ‘I promise to change everything.’ I whisper to A’tesh. ‘The world sees this island as the global protectors, guardians of the world. If we win, if we take the throne. I promise to tear down the walls that kept you kind inside Ishtu. I will deliver you water to your homeland so none can ever die of thirst again. What I offer is not the illusion of a better world but a promise of a different one. One where we don’t have to suffer ever again. Please. Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ll prefer peace. Tell me you will not continue this mindless slaughter. We can be better than how the world treated us. It isn’t too late to do the right thing.’

  A’tesh pauses, thinking of what I have said. They untie the piece of fabric from their leg and begin to wrap it around my left hand. They don’t speak a word, nor do I understand the meaning of what they are doing. But it is clear that what they are doing is significant to their people.

  Once they are done, I rip a piece of cloth from my shirt and offer to perform the same tradition to them. A’tesh looks surprised that I will do the same. But they gladly accept my offer to tie a piece of cloth around their hand.

  Trist kindly escorts me out of the room; it seems the meeting is over. War has been prevented.

  ‘Tell me,’ I say to Trist before she closes the door. ‘What does that mean? The tying of hands?’

  ‘A’tesh is telling you that you offer a lot, and that you are a friend of the dodads. What you tell them is they are friends of the uthren. It is a peace offering.’

  ‘Why do you keep calling me or my people uthren?’

  ‘I don’t know, I believe it is because that is what you used to call yourselves. Despite their appearances or short life-spans. The dodads have long memories.’ She shakes my hand with a soft smile. ‘Thank you for listening to them, it is rare to see someone giving them the time and day with respect and dignity.’

  I wave them off, grateful that war is averted. I can rest easy that we won’t have to face the bugs, but I leave with a sense of pride. Because deep down they do care about my people’s struggle, and I can tell they were willing to participate in my re-enslavement just for a glimmer of hope for a better future. Like us, they are desperate for a change after being exposed to so much horror. In the end, I hope I can live up to their expectations.

  Before they leave, I will make sure to give them barrels of water.