Magi of Sinlung [ GameLit Political Fantasy]

The hasty footfalls echoing down the tile corridor had finally shattered the silence of Xenxoa Blues. In the doorway of the study where Larin, Tyrs, Mynta, and Ted sat deep into their latest experiments, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fear, stood a young attendant.

"Ambassador," the attendant said breathlessly, "you have visitors. They seem. important."

First was Tyrs, rising with the smooth, unflustered mien of one long battle-experienced. "Important?" she asked.

The attendant nodded. "They are waiting in the main hall."

They all shared a look with one another. Larin carefully closed his journal, which was still full of all the new learning from their time spent on studying magic and language. His heart was pounding fast as they followed along the long great hallway leading out to the door.

As they entered the main hall, the view before them confirmed the description of the attendant. Myrith Crestfoam and Lysara Tidecrest stood center, framed in the ornate carvings of the Xiaxoan architecture, their presence as commanding as it had been at the Governor's event.

They wore military suits: formal, yet practical, with sharp lines and muted shades of blue and silver that seemed to ripple like the surface of a deep ocean. Subtle glyphs covered their gear and pulsed faintly, hinting at enchantments layered within the fabric. They were not dressed for battle, but there was no mistaking the readiness in their posture or the efficiency of their design.

"Ambassador Shylo," Myrith said, her voice smooth as flowing water. Her tentacle-like hair rippled lazily as she leaned forward in acknowledgment.

"Guests honored," Ted said, moving forward, practicing the international bow of polite diplomatic acknowledgement. "You lend us honor today, standing amongst Xiaxoan Blues. Why have you favored us with such an event?

Lysara smiled with warmth in her eyes but calculation. "We are curious about your people. Our brief conversation at the Governor's hall piqued our interest. The Xiaxoans are. different from the others here. We wish to understand why.".

And thence into the inner garden, with Ghostshade orchids soft-blossomed and ghostly shining in the failing light. Tea was brought out by a servant, steaming gently up toward the cooler dusk air.

"Ah, well," she began to say, the words rolling in a melodic cadence from her throat like curiosity. "Your people live in harmony, I would gather, with the very soil. Do not conquer it, as others would, but rather walk with it.

"Sinlung," she said softly. "It's more than just a philosophy. It's how we exist.

"Sinlung," Lysara repeated the word, feeling the taste on her tongue. "Tell me more."

Larin took a deep breath. His mind was racing through all this conversation—the things to share, the things to keep under lock and key. "It's a link," he explained. "A joining between the people and the world that they're in. We do not impose our will onto it. We listen to it, and in doing so, we become part of its flow."

"Fascinating," Myrith breathed. "Your magic reflects this connection. Fluid, adaptive. Unlike the rigid constructs we often encounter in other lands."

"Rigid systems break," Tyrs said, a slight edge to his words. "We prefer flexibility."

Myrith's tentacles shifted, an expression of amusement. "And yet, flexibility can be exploited. Fluidity can be harnessed."

Lysara leaned forward. "In many places, the land is seen as a resource-something to be bent, extracted, or shaped to serve power. In Xiaxo, it is treated almost as an equal. Why?

Ted's voice was calm but firm. "Because power without balance devours itself. Empires grow, but they also collapse under their weight. Our ancestors fled such a fate long ago."

"Ah," Lysara said, her eyes bright with interest. "The wisdom of small things."

As their conversation deepened, the Auquans' questions grew sharper.

"How do you maintain such autonomy?" Myrith asked. "The Kirat Empire is vast. Why has it not consumed Xiaxo?"

"We're already annexed in their Empire," Mynta said. "But we know our forests, our valleys, our streams. Every person, combatant. Every city, a place that can disappear overnight if needed. We resist them in everyday life, and wholly."

"Fascinating," Lysara said once more. "Such adaptability. But does it not fatigue? Always to run, always to hide?

She looks him in the eye, unflinching. "The point is this: We don't run. We persevere. There's strength in knowing when to show up and when to stay out of the way. In understanding that living is, itself, a triumph."

The Auquans exchange a glance with one another that is quiet enough to carry on a conversation.

The night passed. The tea had been allowed to cool before the words began to be obscured – philosophy, governance, the notion of freedom.

"Your world is quite a bit different," Myrith said. "Don't you ever speculate as to whether it might benefit from. some direction? Some governance of a more orderly system?"

Tyrs' eyes tightened. "Direction often comes bearing shackles."

"Shackles can be stabilizers," Lysara said quietly. "Not every structure is a dungeon."

"And all freedoms are not chaos," said Larin. "True freedom is responsibility. It is being aware of its place in things and moving according to it - not against the flow."

And the silence spoken was full of unspoken words.

As the Auquans prepared to leave, Myrith spoke once more to Larin. "We would like to visit Xiaxo one day. There is much we could learn from each other. Perhaps your people could find an end to your hunger for resources and stability which we could provide."

Larin's smile was civil but had a barb in the tone. "Xiaxo has always looked out for itself."

"Perhaps," Lysara smiled, "but tides change.".

And with a final bow, they vanished, their figures swallowed up by the shadows of Monarek as night fell over the city.

When the gates closed behind them, Tyrs let out a long breath.

"They want more than knowledge," she said.

"They want to know how we resist," Mynta agreed. "And how to use it against us."

Ted nodded. "We must walk softly. They admire us now, but adoration can soon turn to conquest."

"And conquest," Larin said, her voice barely above a whisper. "is already knocking at our door."

The four sat in silence as night deepened into the mournful sounds from the garden with what soon would be their future.