Ibris reclined in the fast-moving transport, the quiet ride a welcome respite from the past few days of havoc and ambrosia. The vehicle's smooth lines glistened in the late afternoon light, console lights casting a mild glow around him as it navigated the route effortlessly. Beside him, Yoshua sat silently, face stoic, his gaze fixed on the sprawling autumn landscape outside.

The landscape was a cascade of gold and amber, fiery reds and burnt oranges splashed across the hillsides, a vibrant display that softened the city's outskirts. The trees, like fiery torches, stretched up to meet the sky, their branches heavy with the colors of fall. Flocks of birds wove through the treetops, disappearing into the dense canopies, while a few darted across the clear sky in elegant formations.

"I appreciate you coming to Bayhan City," Ibris said, noting Yoshua's tension. Yoshua had spent nearly a day resisting the trip, unwilling to leave baby Kiran and especially hesitant to leave his niece, Kaya, behind in the Underworld. Ibris' numerous assurances about their safety had clearly failed to ease Yoshua's concerns.

Ibris had put on a crisp black suit for the occasion, tailored perfectly to his muscular build, the sharp lines of the fabric accentuating his frame. He had encouraged Yoshua to wear a suit as well, but Yoshua had declined, opting instead for something more casual—a comfortable green sweater and simple black pants.

"I should be with Kaya and Kiran right now," Yoshua murmured, almost to himself, shifting uncomfortably in his new clothes.

"You're exactly where you need to be, my friend," Ibris replied, turning away to hide a smile.

Yoshua huffed, his wolfish instincts visibly bristling. "Of course. You got your way, as usual, Ibris."

Ibris shot him a curious glance. "What's Kiran to you, anyway?"

Yoshua clenched his jaw, as he turned to Ibris fully. "He's family." He said, with conviction. "When a child is orphaned in our tribe, someone steps up. No one is left without a family, without tribe. Fate brought Kiran to my home—he's my responsibility, my tribesman."

Ibris nodded slightly, though disbelief lingered in his expression. "Your tribe certainly has some nice ideas," he said, thinking back to when he'd believed in things like loyalty and fate, back when he still served Ava Nori. How naive I was, he thought bitterly.

Yoshua's voice interrupted Ibris' reverie, pulling him back. "You don't have to like it, but you do need to respect our customs."

Ibris held back an eye roll. "Right, of course," he said dryly.

Yoshua gave a short nod and turned back to the window. Flocks of birds darted through the bright treetops, and a few glided gracefully across the clear fall sky.

After a long silence, Ibris spoke. "Besides," he said with a smirk, "Marcus Sumeri isn't the sort of man to bring nieces around."

Yoshua scoffed. "You're not the type of man to bring nieces around."

Feigning offense, Ibris placed a hand over his heart. "Well, that was hurtful." He added, more seriously, "I need your help with Marcus."

"I thought Marcus was living in Alemuria now," Yoshua said, his mind drifting back to their time together during the war. He couldn't help but recall the sky god who had outwardly aided the halfbreed rebellion.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Ibris replied with disdain and resignation. "After launching his cerebral bridge technology in Alemuria and its neighbors, his profile skyrocketed internationally. The Atlantean Parliament is all over it now, given its success abroad. Word is, there's a ten-year plan to integrate the tech here—and make it mandatory."

"Great Mother!" Yoshua exlaimed. "They're going to tie the use of credits to this evil, aren't they? No one will escape it."

"Probably," Ibris said, shaking his head, grimly. "There are also whispers that Parliament is still divided over Marcus' status, especially with the charges against him. But political support for the tech keeps growing, and now there's talk of amnesty."

Yoshua stroked his shadowed beard, lost in thought. "Does this have something to do with that cold-hearted sky god scum—his brother, Senator Marcellius Sumeri?"

"I've met Marcellius," Ibris muttered with a bitter laugh. "And he cares for no one but Marcellius. I'm sure he's utilizing the opportunity to gain favor in Parliament."

"So the renegade, genius sky god is back," Yoshua said, crossing his arms. "But I'm surprised you're even speaking to him."

"Yeah, me too," Ibris sighed.

"I don't understand you, Ibris," Yoshua snapped. "Why would you work with him again after what he did? After he abandoned Serene and you?"

Ibris' jaw tightened. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse." The memory of Marcus refusing to help secure Ashaelix and other halfbreed treatments from Alemuria still stung like a fresh wound. The resentment in his voice was unmistakable.

Yoshua raised an eyebrow. "What kind of offer?"

Ibris glanced away. "That consciousness drive in the Clinic, it's from Alemuria— that version of the tech isn't available in Atlantis, and it's not exactly legal either."

"Well, you're walking right up against the laws of Humrab," Yoshua said, tense with concern. "You know how dangerous it is to mix human consciousness with A.I. Last time Atlanteans tried making thinking androids, they nearly wiped out Southern Atlantis."

"I don't need a history lesson," Ibris snapped. "I'm well aware of the dangers."

Yoshua pursed his lips, the memory of android Zeru dismembering Jahui's body and feeding her nervous system into the consciousness drive still vivid in his mind. The thought made him nauseous. He turned away, staring out the window of the moving transport. "What did you do for him in return?"

Uncomfortable, Ibris shifted.

Yoshua turned back to his friend, his stoic demeanor faltering slightly. "Well?"

Ibris cleared his throat. "Marcus' company has developed a system that monitors real-time movement of any life forms across all Atlantean borders. He's picked up strange activity in the Eastern and Southern borders."

"Animals and sea life?" Yoshua asked hopefully, fearing the worst.

"No," Ibris replied, darkly. "He asked if I could investigate movement of trade—"

"Are the halfbreed traders back in business?" Yoshua interrupted, sitting up as his posture stiffened.

Ibris gave a quiet nod. "I'm not convinced they ever went entirely out of business."

"Great Mother! The war changed nothing." Yoshua cursed under his breath, slamming his fist into the dashboard, his face contorted with fury. "People are never going to change."

"Most people never change," Ibris agreed calmly, though fury bubbled beneath the surface, a muscle twitching under his skin.

Yoshua huffed, feeling betrayed. "So it sounds like you and Marcus have a good working relationship again."

"Barely," Ibris replied. He was interrupted by the sprawling Bahyan City skyline that stretched before them, its towering structures gleaming in the distance. The city, nestled just west of the floating islands, gleamed under the unfiltered sunlight, far from the constant shadows that shrouded the Underworld. It was a pristine haven for the continent's elite, a place where every corner seemed polished to a shine. Stately buildings lined the streets like jewels, towering with graceful stone facades, trimmed with gleaming metalwork, and topped with rooftop gardens that mirrored the colors of fall. Narrow sidewalks were crowded with impeccably dressed pedestrians, all moving briskly, their gazes sharp, their strides purposeful, creating a pulsing energy that filled the crisp autumn air.

As their transport entered the city, Yoshua couldn't help but notice how the familiar wide avenues and manicured parks stood in stark contrast to the gritty Underworld, where neon lights flickered through layers of smog and shadow. Bahyan City was a city of luxury, where the wealthy behaved like lesser sky gods, each with their own expansive apartment or estate, taking pride in a lifestyle of indulgence and rarefied privilege. Bayhan City's markets overflowed with high-priced imports and fine-dining establishments. It was a place designed for the powerful and privileged—those who couldn't claim the birthright of the sky gods but lived as close to their realm as wealth would allow.

Yoshua watched in awe as vehicles passed by and lined up along the streets.

Seeing Yoshua's reaction, Ibris smiled. "Those transports are beauties, aren't they?"

Yoshua had always loved Bayhan City and its transports. He'd spent time here during his military service, working as a mechanic tech specializing in the repair of both ground and air vehicles during combat. It was in this city that he first fell in love with transports.

Yoshua let out a quick breath, casting a glance at Ibris. "I do miss Ishtar." He fondly recalled his small, green transport, which he named Ishtar. She was a high-performance collector's item that Dariq and he had built together while stationed here. Later, Yoshua had used her during the war, losing her along with so much else in the war.

"Mm, she was something else," Ibris said, his mind briefly drifting to the fond memories of the past. "Did you notice Mazi's collection of transports? He modified most of those by hand."

"I did notice," Yoshua replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he remembered the villa. "It's unfortunate he had to destroy them."

"Standard protocol," Ibris said. "You remember how we had to live during the war. For my line of work, not much has changed."

"That's unfortunate," Yoshua muttered.

Ibris' transport pulled up to the base of an imposing skyscraper. Yoshua and Ibris stepped out, and Yoshua instinctively looked up, gauging that the building probably had over a hundred floors. Its majestic architecture gleamed in the sunlight, with curves and mirrored glass that stretched high into the sky, reflecting the bustle of the city below.

As they approached the entrance, people hurried by, their attention drawn to Ibris and Yoshua—the two halfbreeds who clearly didn't belong here. Near the financial district, well-dressed professionals moved with practiced importance, casting lingering glances at Ibris' horns and Yoshua's wolfish features. Yoshua shifted uncomfortably under their stares, his posture stiff as he scanned the crowd. Ibris, on the other hand, moved with the ease of someone accustomed to attention, entirely unfazed.

"Ignore them," Ibris whispered to his friend, fully aware of Yoshua's discomfort.

Yoshua followed Ibris, avoiding the curious eyes of those around them.

Upon reaching the entrance, Ibris was greeted by a gold android in the building lobby. "Good day, sir. Who are you here to see?"

"Marcus Sumeri," Ibris replied.

The android tilted its head slightly. "And who are you?"

"I'm Ibris Mansa," Ibris answered, then turned to Yoshua. "This is Yoshua Imenti."

"Very well," the android said monotonously. "Follow me to the elevator."

As they ascended in the spacious elevator, the android made small talk about the latest financial updates. "Papaya stocks are on the rise, sir, have you heard?"

"No," Ibris replied, curtly.

"The streams suggest this might also raise the price of black spice."

"How terrible," Ibris said, sarcastically.

Yoshua quietly stifled a laugh as he took in the elevator. It was enormous, with a panoramic glass wall offering a sweeping view of Bayhan City.

"Well, the export industry will not be thrilled, especially since Kemp can produce black spice at a fraction of the cost here in Atlantis." The android continued to ramble on.

"Yeah, why do we even bother, right?" Ibris continued to toy with the machine.

When the doors finally slid open, they were greeted by a vast, open office space, bathed in soft, artificial light. "Well, here's your floor. Have a good day, gentlemen." With that, the elevator doors closed, and the gold android vanished behind them.

The employees inside the office paused their work, their eyes widening as they took in the sight of the halfbreed men. Whispers fluttered through the room, the tension was palpable.

"Didn't think we'd be making such an entrance," Ibris said under his breath.

Yoshua grunted in agreement.

Just then, Marcus appeared, descending a wide staircase with deliberate, purposeful steps and a familiar smile. A man of genius, effortless charisma, and striking looks, Marcus was in his late thirties. With light honey skin, flowing brown hair streaked with silver, and piercing green eyes, he embodied the archetype of an Atlantean nobleman. Impeccably groomed, his shoulder-length hair styled back, he moved with regal elegance. His sharp features, softened by natural confidence, exuded both approachability and undeniable command.

He wore a perfectly tailored suit, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to highlight his lean build. The dark color of the suit contrasted against his complexion, while the sharp lines and immaculate tailoring conveyed power and sophistication. His outfit was finished with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, the kind of outfit that effortlessly demanded attention without seeming ostentatious.

"Ibris and Yoshua" he said, smiling widely. "So good to see you after all these years." Marcus said, warmly, extending a hand. "I trust the ride was pleasant?"

Yoshua hesitantly shook Marcus' hand, his grip firm but reluctant.

Ibris nodded stiffly, but didn't offer his hand. "It was fine," he said, flatly. "Let's get to business, Marcus."

Marcus was born into the infamous Sumeri household of noble lineage, but he never flaunted his heritage, he rarely spoke of it. While the sky gods showcased their abilities as symbols of power and status, Marcus appeared to embrace anonymity. He walked on the ground like an ordinary man and never moved objects without physically touching them. At times, Ibris wondered if Marcus even possessed the noble-born gift.

"Right then," Marcus said, cheerfully, as if seeing old friends. "Follow me, gentlemen."

Marcus led them up the staircase to a stunning office that overlooked the city below. It was a space that radiated power and wealth—regal furnishings arranged with impeccable taste. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a breathtaking view. Expensive artwork adorned the walls, and the furniture was made of rare wood and stone. Every detail of the room spoke to a life of privilege, a place where decisions that shaped industries and futures were made. An office fit for a sky god.

"I'm surprised you're back in Bayhan City, back in Atlantis," Yoshua said, breaking the silence.

"Grateful to be home," Marcus said, scanning the city skyline. The amber light of the setting sun reflected off the buildings, casting a warm glow across his features.

"How did you do it, Marcus? Get them to let you back in?" Ibris asked, bluntly.

Marcus walked to a small bar near his desk, showcasing the finest ambrosia. He reached for an elegant decanter and poured two glasses of golden liquid, the rich aroma filling the room. Turning back to them, he offered the drinks. "Ambrosia?"

Yoshua shook his head. "I don't drink," he muttered.

Ibris nodded stiffly, though his lips curled in a scowl of disdain.

"This is Alemurian," Marcus said, as he handed a glass to Ibris. "It's infused with aromatic spices. I think you'll love it."

Ibris took a sip, his bitterness unshaken even as the drink's flavor delighted him. He hated how delicious it was. "It's not easy to have charges of treason dropped," he said, resentfully.

"I don't like what you're implying, Ibris. My family had nothing to do with it," Marcus replied, his jovial demeanor fading. "If Marcellius had his way, he would've made sure I could never come back." He let out a small laugh, though sadness lingered in his eyes.

"So the rumors about the cerebral bridge are true then?" Yoshua asked, curiously.

Marcus said, trying to suppress a smile. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Right," Ibris muttered, setting his glass down. "If it happens, you'll become the most recognized face in Atlantis."

Unlike most Atlantean sky gods, Marcus was known as a benevolent figure. He had become a global celebrity—a wealthy Atlantean genius revered by many nations as the savior of the human race. In recent years, his fame had soared across Alemuria, fueled by the success of new biotechnology innovations from Sumeri Industries, the corporate empire he built there. From biotechnology and mass food production to infrastructure development and military communications, its influence reached nearly every corner of Alemurian society.

Marcus shrugged, calmly. "It's not about me. It's all the great minds at Sumeri Industries."

"And the Alemurian Queen, I hear," Ibris said with a sly smile. "I hear she's as beautiful as she is sharp, and wicked good in bed."

"Like I said, this isn't about me." Marcus took a sip of his drink. "I'm in it to solve humanity's greatest problems."

"Perhaps you don't include halfbreeds in that equation," Yoshua said bitterly, stepping forward with a clenched fist. Ibris quickly placed a restraining hand on Yoshua's arm. "Maybe that's why you refused Ibris those medical shipments when he needed them most."

Marcus' polished demeanor faltered, a shadow of sadness crossing his expression. "Listen, Ibris," he began, with regret. "I couldn't get the Ashaelix to you from Alemuria. I didn't have that kind of influence there. Believe me, I tried. I even petitioned their Senate to let me export emerald quartz at my own expense—taxes, tariffs, everything included—but they refused. The two nations were on the brink of war that year. Surely, you remember."

This was the first explanation Marcus had ever offered. Two years ago, when the situation unraveled, he had gone silent, leaving Ibris to assume the worst.

"I see," Ibris said, tersely.

"Your explanations won't bring Serene back," Yoshua cut in, his tone hard. "Without those medications—she's dead because of you."

Marcus froze, his usually composed demeanor faltering in a rare moment of shock. "No," he whispered, "not Serene." His sorrow was unmistakable—he had cared deeply for her.

"Ibris' son too," Yoshua added, his words landing like a blow.

Marcus staggered back a step. "Ava Nori," he whispered under his breath. "I didn't know... I didn't know Serene was expecting."

"What difference would it have made?" Yoshua said, bitterness dripping from his words.

Ibris stood silently between the two men, his posture tense, before finally speaking. "That was the darkest time in my life—especially after everything that happened during the war. After what Dariq did for you—"

"I owe Dariq my life," Marcus said, taking a deep swallow of his ambrosia.

Yoshua stiffened at the mention of his brother, caught off guard. The memory of Dariq taking a fatal hit to protect Marcus during the battle in the Underworld was seared into his mind. He glanced at Ibris, curiously, attempting to discern his friend's motive.

"But let's put the past behind us," Ibris said with calculated practicality.

Marcus' demeanor darkened, his intuition as sharp as ever. He recognized the prelude to a business proposition and fixed Ibris with a grave, measured look. "What's that going to cost me?"

Yoshua glanced at Ibris, his stomach turning. You menace, he thought. You brought me here as a pawn—to leverage my dead brother for a business deal.

"I just got an offer from Donatello Cavialli," Ibris said through pursed lips, ignoring Yoshua's reaction. "He claims to have access to a manufacturer overseas that works with quarzolene."

Yoshua stood silently in disbelief. This was the first he'd heard of it, and his shock was plain.

"Ibris," Marcus said, shaking his head, "the Cavialli family is not to be trusted. They're scum."

"I know their reputation," Ibris shot back, defiant. "But how are they any different from the sky gods? Are they scum just because they're average walking, ungifted Atlanteans who figured out how to work the system in their favor? They're richer than most of your kind."

"That's not it, Ibris," Marcus countered, his voice tight, "they're potentially involved in—"

"Who cares about their involvements?" Yoshua interrupted, annoyed. "Can you get Ibris a pharmaceutical manufacturer in Alemuria to do the same?"

Marcus hesitated. "I can try," he said at last, before turning back to Ibris. "But listen to me—Don is potentially involved in halfbreed trafficking in Monika City and in the South."

The room fell silent, the revelation heavy, as the three men exchanged tense, charged looks.

Ibris frowned, thinking carefully. "What evidence do you have?"

"I've been hearing that the Yucan government officials believe Atlantean pirate trafficking networks are active along the southern and western borders," Marcus replied, carefully. He often had more insight into international matters than the Atlantean Parliament. Ibris assumed it was a result of his extensive dealings outside of Atlantis.

Ibris shot him a sharp glance. "How do you know that translates to Don's men?"

Marcus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Given his family's history in Monika City, I suspect it has something to do with the Caviallis."

"My contacts in the South haven't reported anything of the sort," Ibris retorted, sharply.

"I'm aware you suspect the Southern Mountain Order of Dawa's involvement," Marcus replied evenly, "but how absurd would that be? Monks assisting in something as vile as halfbreed trafficking?"

"My people are gathering evidence as we speak," Ibris said, his voice tinged with irritation.

"Sure," Marcus shot back with a faint smirk.

Ibris scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "Well, that's reassuring." His frustration was evident—he resented Marcus using him as a tool to validate his own theory.

"So, you'll get him a pharmaceutical manufacturer in Alemuria?" Yoshua repeated his earlier question, now understanding the role Ibris intended for him today.

"I'll try." Marcus leaned in, his voice steady but pressing. "Your contacts in the South—did you inform them about that incoming... whatever it was?"

"It's one of mine," Ibris said, curtly.

"Is your man a halfbreed?" Marcus asked.

"No," Ibris replied, curtly.

"Not a man, or not a halfbreed?" Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ibris remained silent.

Yoshua glanced between the two men, confused.

"What could move that fast through the air and not show up on military radar?" Marcus continued, grabbing a tablet from his large wooden desk and handing it to Ibris. "Does your contact have a ship that's invisible to military technology?"

Ibris said nothing, his silence heavy with implication.

Yoshua stiffened, the pieces falling into place. Esa.

"Alright, fine. Don't tell me," Marcus said, dismissivily. "But if this movement is connected to the Yuca at the Southern Border, I need to know. We can mobilize the military and put a stop to it."

"Oh, I'm sure the Dawa are going to love that," Ibris retorted. "They really enjoy outside involvement in their affairs."

"They'll learn to deal with it. They're still Atlanteans."

"I'm not so sure they think so," Ibris said, meeting Marcus' green eyes with intensity.

"I don't understand their outdated customs," Marcus said, pausing briefly in thought. "I'll get you another consciousness drive with the latest software."

"This isn't right," Yoshua said, shaking his head in disapproval at the mention of a more advanced consciousness drive. "The laws of Humrab clearly forbid—"

Marcus cut him off, unfazed. "And I can arrange a small shipment of Ashaelix, but I can't promise a manufacturer that deals with quarzolene immediately."

"Okay," Ibris nodded in agreement. "That's good enough for now—"

Suddenly, the door to Marcus' office burst open. A young woman with straight dark hair and fair skin rushed in, visibly out of breath. She was dressed in a sage green sweater and a black pencil skirt, her professional attire slightly rumpled from her hurry. She bent forward, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. After a moment, she straightened up, pushed her glasses back onto her nose, and spoke with urgency in her voice.

"Marcus, you've got to watch the news streams right now," she said.

"Thanks, Amavda." Marcus quickly crossed the room, his brow furrowing as he reached his desk. He punched in some information on his tablet, which projected multiple news streams onto the blank space of the wall opposite his tall windows. The images flickered to life—different aerial views of a Yucan ship, split in half as though torn apart by two massive hands. There were numerous dead Yucan mercenaries scattered across the wreckage, while several halfbreeds were being loaded onto rescue ships. One of the headlines read, "Illegal Yucan Ship Discovered Split in Half at the Southern Border."

"Illegal Yucan ship?" Yoshua said, his usual composure slipping. "How about illegal halfbreed trafficking Yucan ship!" he added, angrily, as he glared at the projected images.

Marcus turned to Ibris, his brow furrowed. "Is this the work of one of your contacts?"

Ibris shrugged, smiling nervously.

Marcus sat back in his chair, his fingers steepling together as he studied the streams on the wall.  After a moment, he straightened, meeting Ibris' gaze. "Well," he said calmly, "whether the Dawa like it or not, the Atlanteans are coming."