To say that Clarke was nervous as their little group of three approached the outskirts of Polis was an understatement. Intellectually, of course, she knew that her secret was safe, with all the proof that might reveal who she was and where she had come up from having quite literally gone up in smoke. Sure, the Grounders had an exact description of her, thanks to her great-grandmother's 'prophecies' (which Clarke really wanted some more details on, because neither one of her parents were nor ever had been as blonde as she was, so how the hell had someone predicted her appearance so perfectly nearly a century ago?!), but she really doubted that she was the only blue-eyed blonde in the lands of The Coalition. Without knowledge or proof that she had 'fallen from the sky', she could probably stay under the radar for the time being.
What she knew intellectually, however, and what she felt were two entirely different things. What she felt was that everyone would immediately recognize her on the spot and start piling responsibilities and expectations that she was nowhere near prepared to fulfill or carry out onto her already-heavy shoulders. Responsibilities and duties that would inevitably conflict with her responsibility to the people in orbit, waiting (mostly unaware) for her to save them from a grim future and pointless death.
She had to admit Polis was impressive, though. Oh, it certainly wasn't the gleaming sea of steel and glass that the cities of the Old World had been in all the images that still existed on the Ark, but in many ways she preferred Polis' sturdy, natural, wood-and-stone construction. And what construction it was! Clusters of farms and houses, connected by roads of both ancient pavement and new dirt, were scattered around the base and outskirts of a large, sturdy-looking curtain wall. A wall that was dotted with towers and battlements, like some sort of medieval fortress-city from the history books, and despite her utter lack of experience or practicable knowledge, Clarke was positive that this wall was no paper tiger.
Polis wasn't small, either, that much was obvious from where they sat astride their mounts, a good handful of miles from the base of the walls themselves. If she had to guess, the city was a dozen square miles or more, maybe twice that depending on how deep it was compared to it's width. This, she could have known even at a glance, was the capitol of a nation, not a scraped together settlement of some neo-barbarian kingdom.
"Thank the Maker. Nearly home." Costia sighed, a warm and genuine smile of relief and happiness creasing her lips as she stared across the distance between the trio and her home, before glancing over at her two blonde companions and frowning slightly. She didn't speak, seemingly content to contemplate something for a long moment, before giving a soft huff and kneeing her beloved mount into motion once again. Clarke exchanged a confused glance with Niylah, who simply shrugged in response before following, leaving Clarke to pull up the rear. While she was able to ride on her own now, she was still far from a professional rider, being mediocre at best. She had found herself loving it though, and she had found herself becoming quite fond of her mount as well. Getting attached, she knew, wasn't the wisest course, but she couldn't help it.
She grimaced, working her shoulder slightly and shifting in the saddle. The biofoam had started to wear off quite some time ago, and she hadn't thought to bring more. A stupid, thoughtless mistake that she put down to exhaustion, and while she could have asked her two companions for one of their two canisters, she was quite frankly too proud to do so. Too proud, and too reluctant to show more vulnerability than she already had in front of people who were still very much strangers to her. She doubted that they intended to do her harm, but she wasn't going to bet her life (or, far more importantly, the lives of those on the Ark) on that fact. For all she knew, in their tribal warrior society, displaying that sort of weakness would put her in danger once they found out who she was descended from.
She probably wasn't giving them enough credit, she was willing to admit, but that wasn't actually going to change her decision.
As the three of them trotted towards the city, she inspected the area around her with an eye that was rather more curious than critical. There were a great many people in the area, a large and constant flow of people flowing to and fro. There was an incredible amount of diversity as well, which Clarke put down to the upcoming 'Conclave', in both appearance and garmenture. It was readily apparent that many of the people she was passing were from different tribes that lived in very different environments. Heavy furs, light robes, and everything in between them. They seemed to have a unified language though, two if she counted English, and she recognized several of the words as ones that littered Costia and Niylah's conversations in English. As far as she could tell, it was a sort of pidgin language, heavily based on English (and therefore all of English's own roots) but with even more loanwords than English had already, which was saying something.
There were also a lot of soldiers patrolling the roads, and she witnessed more than one argument getting broken up by a passing unit before it had the chance to escalate.
"It's forbidden to bring conflicts, whether amongst clans or between individuals, to Polis or it's territories, even more so during a Conclave. This is a place and a time for all the clans of the Coalition to be together as kin, regardless of how little we might get along elsewhere. Blood feuds, clan rivalries, personal vendettas…all are irrelevant, all are forbidden." Kostia explained after one such intervention, between what seemed to be two women fighting over a child.
"What was the argument about? I could pick out a few words, but it wasn't enough." Clarke asked curiously, glancing back to see that the patrol was actually still there, and a rather indepth conversation seemed to be taking place.
"Those women were both Companions to the same warrior, who was killed on a ripa hunt. They live in different villages, and each wishes to raise the child of their fallen husband in their own home, and each is unwilling to budge on the matter. Likely as not, Leksa will have to settle the dispute during one of her audiences, unless the patrol captain can convince one of them to move." Came the response, and Clarke frowned thoughtfully.
"Is that really the only solution? The child can't travel back and forth, or one of the women agrees to travel instead?" she queried, and Kostia gave her a very strange look, shaking her head.
"No, of course not. It would not be right to drag the child hither and yon, from one village to another, simply because his surviving parents cannot come to an agreement. It is no fault of his, and the disruption to his life and the stresses to follow would harm his growth." She refuted firmly, though she tilted her head in consideration. "It is not unusual for a parent to travel if circumstances truly demand it, but they are both Trikru. It is far wiser for them to simply share a single household than travel, and it is better for the child to have his parents present as much as possible, not only when travel and circumstances allow."
Clarke didn't have anything to complain about with that approach to raising children, certainly. She couldn't imagine preventing a child from seeing one of their parents for any reason, save those that made is totally required for the safety of the child, like a parent that beat them or something of the sort.
"What would your ideal solution be, then?" she asked, and Kostia took on a thoughtful mien for several quiet moments, clearly considering the situation carefully.
"Well, I don't know all the nuances of their situation, of course, but I would suggest that the two women were to move mutually to a village equidistant to those they live in now, between them. That way, they can each easily continue to visit their families of birth and the communities which they know best, but neither has an advantage over the other and the child is in a stable home." She said finally, which struck Clarke as an eminently fair method of handling the situation, and she said as much, to Kostia's obvious if humble pleasure.
When they finally got within perhaps a mile of the closest gate, a horn rang out from the wall, and Clarke could see movement on the parapet. Kostia groaned, Niylah giggled, and at Clarke's look of confusion her fellow blonde explained.
"Whenever Kostia goes out on a mission, the gate guards have orders to send word to the palace when she returns, so that Heda Leksa can meet her at the gate and welcome her home."
"It's undignified, the Heda shouldn't go wandering out of the palace every time her lover gets back to the capital. Heda summons people before her, she doesn't go out to them." She grumbled half-heartedlty.
"It's romantic, the people love it when she does that. It helps make Heda relatable. I don't know why you complain about it so much, I would love to have a domina that would do that sort of thing for me." Niylah retorted, sounding distinctly unimpressed with her friend's complaints, before her voice took on a distinctly wistful note. "Mind you, I would love to have a domina in general."
Kostia just rolled her eyes and kneed Mist into a canter, clearly as eager to be away from this particular conversation as she was to be home again. As before, Niylah and Clarke followed suit, and a bare handful of minutes later they were pulling their mounts to a walk a few yards from the gate, carefully dismounting and leading them through the portal and into the city itself.
"Kostia Trikova, word has been sent to the palace. Heda Leksa should be arriving shortly." The guards that greeted them on the other side said respectfully, looking over their tired selves, tired horses, and full saddle-bags. "Anything to declare?"
"Nothing for myself and Klark, but Niylah kom Trikru has her merchandise for sale during the Conclave festivals." Kostia denied with a shaken head, waving the tradeswoman forward. The saddlebags were quickly unpacked into a small cart that seemed pre-positioned for just this sort of thing, and Clarke was reminded of the old video footage she had seen of travel safety inspections from before the Last War, as everything was carefully searched and catalogued by the soldiers.
Movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention, a large number of bodies moving in their direction, and she looked up just in time to meet the blue-green eyes of one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen before in her life.
"Leksa!" Kostia cried in greeting, even as everyone around them halted and either bowed or saluted out of respect, and Clarke swallowed slightly under the intense gaze of the leader of the Coalition.
#############################################################################
She was beautiful.
That was the first thought Leksa had when she had laid eyes on Klark the Mystery. Quite possibly the second most beautiful person she had ever seen, after her Kostia, and if she was willing to be a smidge more impartial than was her wont when it came to comparing women to her lover, perhaps it was closer to a tie than anything else.
Her beauty, with long locks like spun gold and eyes of bright, shining blue, were not actually the only thing of interest to her, of course. She also looked, and this was a word that Leksa had never had cause to use before, quite dashing. Bedecked in her strange armor, covered in straps and pouches and tools and weapons, and (most curiously of all) a large fayagon in a holster, riding about halfway down her right thigh.
She was also obviously still injured, though she was moving fairly well in spite of that, and sore from a long ride as well. Well, it would be easy enough to solve both of those problems, and she glanced over at Anya.
"Detail a few of the guards to keep watch over Niylah kom Trikru's stock, and have someone see to it that she has a stall established for her in a place of honor at the markets." she instructed, and her general nodded sharply and gestured to one of the unit leaders, who approached and listened as orders began being dispensed.
"Heda, you honor me, but there is no need for you to go out of your way." Niylah protested politely, wringing her hands slightly, and Leksa gave her a warm smile.
"I'm not. You are a good friend to Kostia, you lost all that you owned to the Maunon because you helped Kostia and Klark escape from their grasp, and you have always been a loyal citizen of the Coalition. Ensuring that you don't get robbed by some unscrupulous thugs and have a shop in the city to rebuild your life is small payment for such a thing." She reassured the tradeswoman genuinely, before half-turning and making an inviting gesture back the way she had come. "Now, please, join me at the palace. You've been on the road for some time, and all of you are clearly in need of bathing, food, and rest. Not to mention the fact that Klark needs to be checked by the fisas."
It was worded as an invitation, and polite one at that, but it was obviously more an instruction, one that was given with every expectation and confidence that it would be followed. Kostia obeyed immediately, of course, setting off with the easy confidence of someone who was on their way home, and Niylah followed on her heels, looking uncomfortable still but unwilling to disobey despite not being comfortable with the instruction or the attention. Klark, however, waited for a long moment, long enough Leksa was wondering if she was going to make an attempt at leaving, before giving an all-to-visible huff and setting off after the pair of Trikru, leaving Leksa and Anya to take up the rear.
"Strange that she was so uncomfortable with idea of coming along. Even Niylah, despite everything, obeyed quickly enough, but I was sure Klark would try to make a run for it." Anya commented quietly beside her, the both of them watching the blonde stranger as she made her way through the streets of Polis, occasionally speaking with Niylah as the other girl seemed to be narrating the trip. "I don't like the idea of bringing her back to the palace, Leksa. We don't know anything about her. And she has a fayagon."
"If she's in the palace, we can keep an eye on her and have it seem natural. If we put her in an inn somewhere and try to have her watched, all it will do is spook her, and maybe then she really does try to disappear." Leksa responded just as quietly, enjoying for a moment the swaying of the blonde's hips before shaking her head. "As for the fayagon, when she is going to be bathed and then visited by the fisas, she'll be separated from her weapons. They'll be secured."
"We can keep an eye on her in a cell, as well." Anya grumbled half-heartedly, fully aware of the fact that it was fruitless, and understanding why. She would even have agreed that Klark had done nothing to deserve that treatment and that it would have been unjust, not to mention been guaranteed to sour her towards them, but none of that changed the fact that this meant a fayagon and someone who knew how to wield it would be in the same building as her adoptive sister and Commander.
Not to mention the not-so-little problem that anywhere a Coalition citizen took a fayagon was soon thereafter removed from the map by the Maunon, though at least that was less of a concern at the moment. If they could destroy Polis with their sky-fire, they would have done it a long time ago.
All that aside, though, it was her job to protect and advise Leksa, to temper her bouts of idealism and to support her when the pressures of ruling started to get to her. Admittedly, that latter task was far more frequently Kostia's duty, given the nature of their relationship, but Anya put her time to the task often enough as well, if in a rather different way.
It hadn't escaped her notice, the expression on Leksa's face when she had first seen Klark at a close enough range to truly see what she looked like. It had been a surprise, though, because she knew better than most that Leksa wasn't swayed by beauty alone. There were plenty of incredible women amongst the clans that had sought to catch the Heda's eyes one way or another, but all of them had failed. Honestly, even when Leksa and Kostia had still been children, long before they had reached anywhere near their current lofty heights, they had only ever had eyes for one another.
Now, Leksa definitely was seeing someone else for the very first time, and it occurred to Anya that perhaps Kostia was as well. It would certainly explain the oddities in Kostia's message, how she had talked about keeping Klark close. If the two girls were interested in this stranger, though, it would only make Anya's job harder, because she would have to work around their feelings to some degree. Hopefully they would be practical enough to stay out of her way, and Leksa certainly seemed to be trending that way, but it was early days yet.
As talented a stateswoman and warrior, as ruthless a strategist and tactician, and as kind and sweet a girl as Leksa could be, there was a lot of things that she just hadn't had to experience in her life thanks to the people around her. In many ways, especially in regards to emotion, she could be astonishingly naïve. She hadn't experienced having her heart-broken by a bad break-up, for example, nor even had a particularly bad fight with Kostia at any point. The worst thing that had ever happened to their relationship had been Kostia trying to exile herself back to their village of birth, and that had been more of an attempted romantic self-sacrifice that had strengthened their bond more than anything else.
It was, perhaps, the most fascinating dichotomy that made up the human being that was Leksa kom Trikru, called Heda the Reunifier. It was also the most stressful.
The rest of the walk to the palace was a fairly quick one, even with the frequent stops and pauses Leksa had to make to respond to citizens that called out to her or addressed her. The children, especially, loved to pepper her with questions, and Leksa loved to answer them, though today she was willing and able to keep things short by explaining that Kostia and Klark had battled the Maunon and needed to be checked by the fisas at the palace as soon as possible.
By the time they got to the palace, it was obvious that Klark was flagging badly, her gait no longer quite so smooth nor her course quite so straight, and she wasn't entirely upright any longer either. She was self-splinting her injured arm as well, cradling it close to her body and occasionally even bracing it with her other hand as if to take the weight off of it. The climb up the staircase into the palace interior finally proved to be too much for the girl, and she collapsed not three strides past the threshold. Only Leksa darting forward and catching her around the waist kept her from a painful encounter with the floor.
"Kostia, Niylah, help me get Klark to the baths so we can wash her down before taking her back to my wing for treatment. Anya, I want you to make sure the palace fisas are ready to see to Klark immediately in one of my guest rooms, with everything they need for fayagon wound treatment…" Leksa started giving instructions immediately, only for Klark to start shaking her head.
"Don't need doctors, I used the biofoam…" she muttered, causing Anya and Leksa to glance at each other in confusion, confusion that grew when Kostia shook her head and responded.
"Klark, that stuff had been in storage for over a century. Miraculous Old World fisa-tek or not, you should get checked out, and somehow I doubt that it was meant to last forever." She said firmly, and Klark grumbled a bit before admitting that it wasn't meant to last more than a handful of hours, a half-day at the most, and Kostia growled in exasperation. "Klark, that means that your wounds are open again and you've been riding all day! They're probably caked with sweat and road-dust!"
Further protests from Klark, such as they were, were entirely ignored as the three Trikru hustled their injured guest to the palace baths. They were, admittedly, magnificent. Far better than any of the public bathhouses out in the city proper, though they were far from ostentatious or crass in their display of wealth and luxury. Several small, shallow baths all fed into one larger, far deeper one, which in all honestly greater resembled a pool, and there was a thick and warm cloud of steam permeating the entire room, drifting and venting occasionally at the breeze that came in through the small windows set in the exterior walls.
Stripping the blonde wasn't a quick task, though it was fortunately a fairly simple one. Well, it was simpler, perhaps, thanks to the prior experience Niylah and Kostia had from doing the same thing back when she had first been injured near the bunker. Her equipment and clothing was carefully piled to the side, where they would quietly and quickly be swept away for cleaning and placement in a secure, locking chest. For their own safety, of course, from the curious or the enterprising.
Kostia hissed discontentedly as the last layer was peeled free to reveal the pilgrim's torso, or rather (of more immediate importance) the two bullet wounds to her upper body. They were reddened and irritated, lined with grime and dirt, and even without being trained in the medical arts, it was obvious that Klark needed medical attention quickly.
Easing her gently down onto a submerged bench in one of the smaller side pools, the other three women did their best to ignore the look and feel of Klark's body as they set to work carefully and thoroughly cleaning her, paying special attention to the areas around her wounds.
"So Klark, tell me more about yourself. Kostia wasn't able to tell me much in her message, only that you're on some kind of pilgrimage out of respect to Aleksia Pramheda, and you saved Niylah during a storm by opening an Old World vault?" Leksa asked, both to distract the flinching, groaning girl from the sting of the soapy water on her wounds and to try and ferret out some more information from this person-shaped enigma when she was too tired and in too much pain to easily hold her tongue.
"The Ark is dying. My father wanted to bring us here, but they killed him for trying to warn the rest of the population about it. I tried to do the same thing, but they couldn't execute me, so I volunteered to see if it was safe." the mumbled response had three sets of hands stuttering to a halt briefly as the three Trikru exchanged wide-eyed glances over the semi-functional girl's head. "Course, we didn't know about the fucking Mountain Men."
She descended into unintelligible mumbling at that point, too tired and in too much pain to be able to speak properly, and the trio assisting her sped up their efforts, all of them thinking about what they had just heard, all of them concerned about Klark's rapid descent into poor health. She must have been running on adrenaline and will to have gotten this far if this was the shape she was in so quickly after reaching relative safety. Certainly not an unusual reaction in most people.
In the end, when they were finished with their efforts, Klark was essentially asleep. It took some doing, getting her down the hallway to the infirmary, but between the three of them they managed without dropping her or aggravating her injuries too badly, though all four of the wounds were weeping blood by the time they laid her down in the crisp, clean linens of the largest bed in the room.
The palace doctors, who by their very nature and position meant they were amongst the most talented and best trained, not to mention experienced, in the whole of the Coalition moved forward as the trio withdrew, carefully inspecting the injuries with both the naked eye and various tools of magnification, sniffing at them and prodding at the edges carefully, murmuring to one another in low voices.
"It's a good thing that she was brought to us when she was. While the wounds have not festered and there is little chance at this point of rot setting in, that likely would not have been the case with much more time on the road, and the wounds have definitely grown larger from the stresses of travel. We will pack the wounds with healing poultices for the next couple of days, then clean the wounds again and, most likely, stitch them shut. Her recovery at that point is, as you all well know, very much on a flexible timeframe." The ranking gentleman finally said, sounding quite pleased with the results of the inspections and consultations, his coworkers nodding in firm agreement.
"Superb, thank you doctor. We will leave you to your task, then. Inform me immediately if there are any changes or if you need anything to see to her health." Leksa ordered, pleased, before glancing at Niylah. "My friend, while I'm glad to see you well and would like to speak with you later on a number of subjects, might I ask that you see to the stall I ordered established for you? I must speak with Kostia, and I wouldn't want to leave you at odd ends in doing so. One of the staff will show you to a room so you can change, then have one of the guards take you to the stall."
The tradeswoman bowed and departed to get dressed, unoffended by the polite dismissal and more than happy to get everything ready to try and rebuild her financial fortunes, rather than awkwardly standing about in the Heda's palace waiting to speak with Leksa.
A handful of minutes later, Kostia and Leksa were ensconced in their rooms, embracing one another and kissing passionately. To Leksa's surprise, however, it was her lover (who was not known for putting a stop to romantic activities when she had the opportunity to indulge in them) who broke the kiss and pulled away, putting space between them.
"Leksa, we need to talk about Klark, but first I think we need to visit The ORACLE." She said softly, and Leksa stared at her with an unfamiliar sensation gathering in the pit of her stomach.
"The ORACLE? You know as well as I do that it's useless, no matter who has attempted to make use of it. Only Aleksia Pramheda could make it function, we don't even know it's purpose!" the current Heda reminded her lover with something very close to a scoff, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what was going on.
"I know, Leksa, but I'm asking you to trust me. We need to visit The ORACLE." Kostia reiterated, her eyes on Leksa's so that her love could see the steel, the seriousness within them. It wasn't often, outside of official business, that Kostia looked at her or spoke to her in such a way. That, more than anything else, made it clear to Leksa that this wasn't a whim. Kostia knew something, or at least had a very, very strong suspicion.
"Of course I trust you, Kostia. If you think you've figured something out, I'll follow your lead." Leksa assured her, taking her lover's hand and starting to walk. Together, the pair made their way to the apex of the palace, a small tower filled with Old World technology that not even the Flamekeepers truly understood. Technology that was, by decree of Aleksia Pramheda, carefully and ritualistically maintained.
Stepping up to a small table placed in front of the main body of the device, Leksa carefully picked up the bracer-like object that rested there and slipped it on. Before she could do anything else, however, Kostia stepped up beside her, and in one outstretched palm sat a small, silver-white triangle.
"What's this supposed to be?" Leksa asked, taking the offered device and turning it over in her hands with a confused frown, her frown deepending as Kostia took it back and brushed the hair near her right ear out of the way, pressing the device to the side of her head. It stuck fast, which was strange enough, but what really caught Leksa's attention was the soft chime that came from the bracer. "What was…?"
Her vision was suddenly filled by floating images and text, causing her to startle badly and lash out at them, yet her hand passed through them without any apparent effect.
"It's something I found in the bunker Klark took us to. She has a wrist-device, just like the one Aleksia Pramheda had, and can use it. But she also has one of those ear devices, called a Focus, and she told Niylah that the two of them paired together could let her do incredible things. Detect weapons, track people by their body heat, talk to someone on the moon…and, perhaps most importantly of all, see how to repair Old World technology and operate it properly." Kostia explained gravely, the weight of the words having an almost physical impact on Leksa, and she turned her gaze to The ORACLE and walked closer, understanding just what the redhead was implying and suggesting with her words. Reaching out, she pressed the power button, as she had dozens of times before, and as it had before the machine hummed to life, screens and controls flickering with light, and as always the main central screen showed nothing but empty light. This time, however, with the 'Focus' in hand, she saw so much more.
O rganic
Regenerative
Atmospheric
Cleansing
Life
Environment
System,
Online.
Administrator MERCS detected.
ERROR.
MERCS User undefined.
USER: Alexia Griffin undetected.
Calculating…
100 standard years have passed since USER: Alexia Griffin was last detected.
High probability that USER: Alexia Griffin is deceased
Does USER: Unknown with to engage Inheritance Protocols?
[YES] [NO]
Leksa stared at the words floating in the air before her, and wondered how many times they had been there before, but she simply hadn't been able to see them. Reaching out tentatively, she tapped [YES] with her hand, only to frown as nothing happened. A thought occurred and she tried again, this time reaching out to tap it with the hand wearing the 'MERCS'. The word flashed and faded, and new words replaced the previous ones, cascading down through the air.
Inheritance Protocol initiated.
ALERT: Sunfall declared
ALERT: Kingmaker Contingency has been enacted.
ALERT: Inheritance Protocol detects USER: Undefined is not beneficiary of Kingmaker Contingency.
USER: Undefined, self-identify.
It took a moment to parse that last line (she couldn't even begin to guess what the rest of it meant.), but when she did she cleared her throat and spoke her name aloud.
"Alexandria kom Trikru, Heda of the Coalition, Steward of the Throne and Successor to Alexia Griffon, the Most Revered Pramheda." She said, using one of the shorter of her formal introductions, and there was a moment of still silence before more writing appeared.
User: Undefined has self-defined as Alexandria kom Trikru.
All other statements logged as epithets.
Is this correct?
[YES] [NO]
Leksa tapped on the yes again, and once again it flashed and vanished.
USER: Alexandria kom Trikru logged.
Handing over Administrator Access.
Welcome, Administrator Alexandria.
ORACLE System operational status, 87%.
ORACLE System cannot be initialized without beneficiary of Kingmaker Contingency.
ORACLE System accessing Kingmaker Contingency logs.
Kingmaker Contingency confirmed successful.
"What in the Maker's name is the 'Kingmaker Contingency'?" Leksa grumbled, once again cursing Sheidheda for the library purges that the blighted cunt had carried out, quite sure the information she needed had been somewhere within them, or been known to the Flamekeepers that she had murdered. To her surprise, the ORACLE seemed to hear her, and answered.
Kingmaker Contingency: In the even of sudden, catastrophic depopulation of the United States of America in response to a global threat (Sunfall, et al), sole and total executive power is to consolidate in a single defined individual to ensure survival, continuation, and propagation of the nation.
All Kingmaker Contingency assets confirmed deceased.
Legacy Protocol was enacted.
Direct Descendant of Supreme Commander Alexia Griffin was confirmed at Joint Base Andrew.
"And what is the name of Alexia Griffin's descendant?" Leksa breathed, her mouth dry as she glanced over at a solemn Kostia, knowing the answer but wanting confirmation. An answer that, it seemed, her Shadow had already known well, an answer that explained everything odd about Kostia's messages.
Kingmaker Contingency identifies Direct Descendant as Clarke Griffin.