Still contemplating the weirdness of the system, Tatehan didn't notice when he arrived at the Red Crest Clan base.

Well, he did notice. Technically. His eyes registered the familiar gate, the guards nodding as he passed, the corridors leading to the commander's office. But his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought, so time seemed to move way faster than normal. One moment he was stepping out of the transport vehicle, and the next he was standing outside the commander's office, Lyra beside him, Riven and Torvan just a step behind.

How had he gotten here? Had he walked? Had someone led him? He genuinely couldn't remember.

Tatehan shook his head slightly, trying to pull himself back into the present.

Focus. He needed to focus.

The door to the commander's office slid open, and they filed inside.

The commander stood behind her desk, her posture as rigid and authoritative as ever, her hands clasped behind her back. But there was something softer in her expression now, something that hadn't been there during the crisis. Relief, maybe. Or perhaps a kind of restrained pride.

Or was it anger?

No, not anger. Not quite. Soft anger, maybe?

Soft anger was a crazy concept, Tatehan thought absently. This weird emotional state where you were pissed off but also too exhausted or relieved to fully commit to the feeling. Like you wanted to be mad, but your body just didn't have the energy for it. So instead, you settled for this vague, simmering irritation that sat just beneath the surface, never quite boiling over.

Yeah. That was probably it.

Tatehan, Lyra, Riven, and Torvan lined up in front of the desk, their armor retracted, their faces streaked with dust and sweat, their clothes still smelling faintly of smoke and scorched metal.

The commander looked at each of them in turn, her gaze sharp but surprisingly friendly. There was warmth there, hidden beneath the layers of military discipline and responsibility.

"Good work," she said. "All of you. What you did today saved this city. It saved lives. You should be proud."

Tatehan nodded, though he didn't feel particularly proud. Just tired. Bone-deep stuff, exhausted tired. The kind of tired that made your limbs feel like lead and your thoughts sluggish and slow.

The commander continued, her tone shifting slightly, becoming more businesslike.

"The meeting with the other cities has been scheduled," she said.

Tatehan's attention sharpened slightly.

"Two days from now," the commander added. "Neutral ground. All five city leaders will be in attendance."

She pulled up a holographic map, the glowing image materializing in the air above her desk. It showed the entire surface of Mars, with cities marked as bright dots scattered across the planet's terraformed landscape.

The commander zoomed in on one location near the center of the map, a settlement called Crosspoint.

It was marked with a distinctive symbol, different from the others. Not aligned with any particular faction. Just... neutral.

"Crosspoint," the commander said, gesturing to the hologram. "It's a neutral territory. No allegiances and no political ties. It's one of the few places where all the city leaders can meet without feeling like they're walking into enemy territory."

Tatehan studied the map, his tired mind slowly processing the information.

Crosspoint. A place specifically designed for meetings like this. A city that existed purely as a middle ground, a buffer zone where treaties could be negotiated and disputes could be settled without anyone feeling like they had the home-field advantage.

Mars really was a weird place.

Tatehan was certain the rulers of the various cities didn't trust each other enough to visit one another's territories for meetings. The politics were too complicated, the grudges too deep, the competition for resources too fierce. So Crosspoint existed to make things easier. A safe space where leaders could gather without worrying about assassination attempts or political coups.

He wondered what the place would actually look like. What kind of architecture would a neutral city have? Would it be bland and utilitarian, stripped of any cultural identity to avoid offending anyone? Or would it be a chaotic mix of styles, a melting pot of influences from every settlement on Mars?

And what about the city rulers themselves? How friendly would they be? Would they even want to cooperate? Or would they see Tatehan's proposal for an alliance as a threat to their independence?

Nah, that shouldn't be it, them agreeing to meeting meant they actually want it.

Crosspoint…

The center of Mars. Crazy stuff.

For some reason Tatehan imagined it as a cross on a point. The thought made him laugh in disappointment. How could someone with the knowledge points he had imagine a city called 'Cross point' to be a cross on a point.

'Pathetic' he thought.

But then, in those little seconds of this crazy thought in his mind, Tatehan decided to experiment how other names would be like if he took them literally.

WAYTHON HOLLOW would be 'Way torn (or thorn?) hollow.

He almost laughed out loud at this.

'This is ridiculous!'

The commander's voice pulled him back to the present.

"You'll be representing the Red Crest Clan," she said, her eyes locking onto Tatehan's.

The locking was intense. Like an actual lock clicking into place. Her gaze didn't waver, it didn't blink either, it just held him there…

"This is your chance to convince them to work together," the commander continued. "To form an alliance against the Obscuron."

Tatehan stared at the holographic map, his mind already turning over what he'd say, how he'd approach it, what arguments would be most effective.

Two days.

Two days was insane. He hadn't expected the meeting to be scheduled so soon. He'd thought he'd have at least a week to prepare, to strategize, to figure out how to navigate the politics of convincing five independent city leaders to set aside their differences and work together.

But no. Two days.

The commander dismissed them with a single nod, and they filed out of the office one by one.

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