Grimsley's foot drifted around the sand, his toe dragging little lines into it as it shifted beneath him. He would look up from time to time, finding the sun was still around eye-level, finishing its descent into night, and it blazed out across the desert in a final show of glory. A warm breeze, one that had been slowly losing its heat as the evening drew closer, pushed grains of sand back and forth across the expanse, blowing small fragments of rock into Grimsley's hair as it passed by. He had to spit every so often to get the sand off his lips.

The same breeze would rustle the odds bush, a tree here and there swaying under its influence. It was majestic to watch, particularly from someone who had never seen anything like it. The deserts that occupied the south of the Artisan Confederate, which had once belonged to ancient Egypt, mirrored the open expanse of fields that Grimsley hailed from. If one stripped away the green, the result was much the same, and he could look out at the horizon forever, never knowing where it ended.

"We're still a ways off from the Nile." Goulet sent rings of smoke out from his lips between his words. He was resting against a rocky wall, or the remains of one. They had found these ruins during their travels, among many hundreds of others, and picked it as a resting space. A wall that barely rose out of the ground three feet still provided a back rest for the ageing general. "There'll be a few more towns there to cross through on our way into the United Eastern States. If we keep up this path, that is."

"Doubt they would let us in," Sigmeund mused, tossing a coin from one hand to the next, checking the result each time. "Confederate did a mighty fine job of pissing them off the last time they spoke."

"But," Goulet cut in, raising his finger to object, "that was then, and this is now. The East was in some sort of truce with the Enians, who are now in some sort of truce with Artisans, so that might just sneak us through by proxy."

"What if they don't?" Grimsley asked, genuinely curious about the answer, as opposed to the snide remark Sigmeund had clearly had on his lips.

Goulet paused, taking a drag from his pipe. He puffed out a cloud of smoke that drifted upwards into an empty sky, curling around a barely visible moon for a moment. "That's a good question."

"And why would we go to the Eastern United States? The Jahari attacks have largely been focused on Enian and Artisan land." Grimsley hopped down from the wall he had sat on, knocking sand aside around his feet as he landed. He twisted in place, his head swivelling back and forth between Sigmeund and Goulet.

"Why indeed," Sigmeund giggled, flipping the coin once more, final glints of sunlight reflecting off of it.

"That's another good question," came Goulet's follow up, before silence fell between all three.

"I mean, what are we doing here anymore?" Grimsley threw his hands up into the air. He had previously had no issue in following his new mentor, a man who was mysterious, and yet so full of strange answers. Who challenged everything Grimsley knew but also reassured him all at the same time. But now, they had simply returned to wandering the countryside, and at this point, discussions of leaving to a very foreign land made no sense at all. Where once they had travelled down into the pits the Jahari came from, now it seemed they were running from them. "What is your goal?"

Goulet and Sigmeund exchanged a glance with each other before both returning to watch Grimsley. "I would impose the same on you, but yours has been made quite obvious." Goulet stretched his legs out as he spoke, shifting slightly to regain comfort in the sands. "What is our goal? That is a question I may not have an answer to. We choose to spread knowledge, and to gather it. Enlighten and be enlightened, and we see where that takes us."

Grimsley narrowed his eyes at the elder, displeased with the vague answer. "We're finding allies." Sigmeund caught his coin, no longer amused by the game he was playing in his own mind. "We're playing the field."

"Allies?"

"You've seen what happens around us," Goulet sighed, setting aside his emptied pipe and standing up. "Things are changing, shifting away from how things have always been. There has been the Emperor, the arrival of the Jahari, the rise of the rebel factions, everything changes." Goulet grabbed a handful of sand, letting it run through his fingers and plummet back down to the ground. "Nothing lasts forever. The countries, as they sit now in their four-way tie, have existed for nearly a hundred years. Two generations have been born into this situation, rather than watching it form, all of us included. It is all we have ever known. But it does not make it immortal. You can picture the state of the countries like this handful of sand I have grabbed. There is sand in my hand, that much is true, but it just keeps slipping away, more and more, inevitably shrinking and falling apart."

Most of the excess sand had now poured through the man's fingers, leaving just a small pile sitting on his palm as he continued to speak. "This state, right here, this final lump, is what we are rapidly approaching. As you can see, it no longer falls freely through my fingers, but it is tiny compared to what I started with. These are the remnants of once great empires. Throughout history they have always existed, in their final, tattered forms, and they cling to power the most desperately, with the most fury. They will no longer naturally fall away. But really, all it takes to end them, is one stiff breeze." Goulet brought his hand up to his mouth and blew across his palm, scattering the remaining sand.

"We are a breeze?" Grimsley folded his arms, not satisfied with the metaphor. A loud snort echoed through the evening air as Ronald, sleeping nearby, rolled over and mumbled incoherencies. "You wish to see the end of the countries?"

Sigmeund shook his head, stepping in front of Goulet to finish the answer. "We are not. That job is left between the Jahari, and the rebels. They are already in the process of wiping out what currently exists."

"If you're not interested in destroying the balance, then why are you the ones pursuing allies?"

Goulet picked up a stone in response, holding it out in front of him on his palm, mirroring his earlier demonstration. "Like the sand, a breeze does not last. It only comes in to blow away the remaining sand. Something must replace it. Sometimes, most times, it is more sand, or the remains from the previous piling coalescing into something new. In some cases it is water, which flows away even faster and dissolves away without even the force of the wind. But, every so often, it is formed of a rock, and something is created that can withstand the force of a thousand breezes for a thousand years." Goulet paused and glanced up from the stone in his hand at a somewhat confused Grimsley. "This metaphor is starting to turn out goofier than intended. The point is, there is revolution and empire. We are not the revolution; we will be the empire."

"Goulet and I have been at work putting the pieces into place for this for years now. It has taken some substantial work, and a lot of shifting allegiances, but it moved everything where we needed it. Sometimes you need to play with the Confederate, sometimes you played with their enemies, and sometimes you played with the ones in between." Sigmeund had begun moving the coin between his knuckles, shifting it around and watching it move, unable to sit still at any given time.

Grimsley was caught up staring at the money as well, letting his brain absently process away the information that had been shared with him. "Wait, you've set all this up? This whole situation, the Jahari, the wars, the rebels, all of it?"

"We can't really control things," Goulet responded, with his usual quiet demeanour. "When you have a boulder at the top of a hill and you give it a push, you're fairly certain you know it will end up at the bottom, but you can't manipulate it along the way."

"But you're the ones who pushed people into awakening the Jahari?" Sigmeund nodded an answer, never ceasing to toy with his object. "And helped formed the rebel factions?"

"We may have given them some reasons to fight and some powerful pieces to play with, yes." Goulet smiled, trying to calm the visibly growing storm within Grimsley.

"But it's you who brought the Jahari out here? It's you who is behind their attacks near my hometown, it's your fault I live in constant fear that they will strike again and take that place from me, it's you!"

"We don't control the minor details, and we only accelerate things that already were likely in motion." Goulet's response fell to deaf ears as Grimsley began to step forwards, teeth grit and fists clenched, and it would take Sigmeund dashing in between the two to stop an all-out brawl.

"Consider some things, Grimsley," Sigmeund began, trying to calm the situation. "We are not the ones who create this complex web of militarism. Each of the countries have done that all on their own, and they have found their own ways to try and get an edge on one another. It's been the army of the country taking things from you, Grimsley. That's what we want to wipe away and replace. The ceaseless war. It has to go out in a final bang. What has it taken from you? Your father was taken by the wars. Your sister has become a fighter in them. You yourself have lost whatever life you might have had just to take part in conflict. Your town has already been threatened once, not by Jahari, but by war. Your aunt's safety, Raven's, they're always under threat because we are always at war. War can only take and consume. This time, why don't we offer up something to finally satisfy war's insatiability: we offer it war itself."

The young man had finally paused, his chest heaving as he processed the new information with the old, trying to contextualize and understand. He had been with these men for some time now, travelling the countryside, helping people out with their problems, taking part in fights against the Jahari. They had been everywhere, and they had certainly never given him a reason not to trust them. Their intentions seemed pure, and Goulet was certainly knowledgeable enough to know right from wrong. It was also very difficult to imagine that these two men alone had enough influence and power to have set the entire Jahari revival scheme in motion. Like they had said, they didn't make the boulder, but simply gave it a push. Sooner or later the Jahari would be awakened, so why not have it on your own terms, when you are prepared for it? Why not use them to end the eternal struggle and start from scratch?

If what was being proposed was true, it would mean an end to the war that Grimsley was constantly pulled around by. He could return home, return to Raven, fulfill his promise with her. Gretta would come back to him. It would be him in his own town, working on the farm, lazing about, relaxing. There would be no more concern of the next attack, no need for a militia guarding the place, and certainly no need for a Goliath. His father's tank could be laid to rest, a relic of an era that has passed. It would be the end of everything wrong with the world.

Grimsley slumped backwards, falling onto his butt and into a seated position in the sand. He pulled his knees in slightly and folded his arms across them, resting his chin on his new plank. "You lied to Marian then," Grimsley mumbled, his brain still clearly spinning in his head as he tried to comprehend everything completely. "You told him you weren't a threat to them."

"I don't intend to be," Goulet answered. "As I said, we are not the ones fighting. We arrive after and built on the new land that remains. Besides, I do not wish to dismantle the systems that Marian holds dear. Same as with any other person." Goulet paused to refill his pipe, unable to spend large amounts of time outside of his battlesuit without smoking. "People don't really want change. They may want a revolution, and they may want things to be better, but they don't necessarily want change. No matter how bad it gets for anyone, they adapt. Humans are remarkably flexible in that sense. Even in terrible conditions, they grow accustomed and eventually find a sort of happiness through suffering. If you were to suddenly shift them from that scenario, even if it is to significantly more favourable situations, they will lose that happiness at the moment and become frustrated. They will feel lost. Gradual change is what they want. Slow improvements and shifts. They don't want to have to rethink what they've been doing because it's what they're used to. Is it the best possible way of life? No, but it's what they know.."

"That's our promise," Sigmeund interrupted, continuing the explanation with his lack of metaphor and analogy. "We talk to these people, we inform them, and they know it's coming. Everyone can feel big changes, big revolutions. I mean, the ground is literally being torn up as monsters burst out, so it isn't hard to think the landscape will be a bit different after all this. So it's the little places, the town in between, who want you to say that everything is going to be alright, and that you'll take over and keep things as they are for them. Big changes, sure, we might have them, we might have a plan in mind and take the world in a new direction once the dust settles. But just for the little people, the individuals, if you can assure them that in their particular town, things will mostly just go on as they are, well then they're behind you one hundred percent."

"Politically, those who win offer the same, but better." Goulet lit the end of his pipe, the flame now glowing bright as the sky rapidly darkened into night.

Grimsley's eyes shifted between the pair, moving back and forth slowly. It was clear that he understood in some sense. He knew what was going on now, or mostly, though he was still unclear on details and motivations, but he longer actively objected to the notions. Everything had an answer, it seemed. And Grimsley was running out of questions. Was there anything wrong with wanting to ensure a stable form of peaceful government after a devastating war?

"Don't mull it over too much." Sigmeund placed his hand on Grimsley's shoulder. "You've been with us this whole time, you know who we are, there isn't anything evil in our intentions. Yes, we're working behind the government, but to bring prosperity to the world. We've lived under permanent war forever. Isn't it better to build something different?" Grimsley nodded slightly, as he followed along. "Go out and see Ochenkov, give him a little break from watching. Don't know why that guy is so paranoid that he thinks we need a lookout anyways."

The young man responded to Sigmeund's words, slowly standing up and shaking off the sand from his body. He sauntered away to find the burly barbarian, who was some distance away watching the final flickers of the sun on the horizon. His body began to fade into the evening light, becoming a shadowy outline silhouetted by stars.

"He'll be fine then," Goulet said, around his pipe.

"He was never a concern though. He doesn't have experience relevant to our actions. That knowledge doesn't change anything for him, but it'll keep his suspicion from growing out of control or hampering him. It's the other one that's always been a larger concern."

"He is curious though." Goulet blew a plume of smoke up into the air, staring at it as silence passed between the two. "His curiosity may outweigh his anger. But he has talked with me in great detail regarding the Enigma project. That was what you handled, and even you didn't know the exact details of everything."

"I think he would be rather upset when he starts to think about just what I did to him for the sake of pushing this rock Him and I have already had a few exchanges in the past that he takes exception to."

"But he hasn't kill you yet. His curiosity, his sense of morality, those are the things that govern him. He knows something is wrong, but he can't always figure out what it is."

Sigmeund rolled his eyes at his partner, sitting down next to him on the ground. "I am what's wrong, for him at least. I don't think it's in my best interest to have him know any time soon."

"Then you best hope the young boy doesn't tell him about it right now."

"Grimsley?" Sigmeund chuckled to himself slightly. "He's not that type of personality. He'll keep it to himself and just think about it quietly until he wants to do something about it."

"Then you see the same thing as I do in him. Interesting." The two men sat quietly again, letting things settle between them. They had been working together for so long now they knew exactly when they could pause and relax together, and when there would be gaps in their discussions. "So the former general stays on the outside then."

"He's a concern, threat to me personally, but he wouldn't interrupt Project Ethos."

"Agreed."