Marcus Sumeri woke to a throbbing headache in his right temple. He touched it gently, rubbing the spot as he tilted his neck, hoping the movement might somehow bring relief.

The much anticipated inaugural ball had come and gone last night. For Marcus, it was mostly an ambrosia laden blur. But he did recall that it was one of the most lavish inaugurations he had experienced in modern Atlantean history—attended by the who's who of Atlantis and international delegations alike. Marcus survived the ball the only way he knew how—on so much ambrosia that he could barely remember it. So, naturally, he was astonished that somehow he had found his way back to his bed in the Sumeri tower estate.

The Chancellor's office had sent specific instructions to Marcus' assistant the day before that he "keep a low profile" and "do not engage with any international dignitaries" at the inaugural ball. Passive-aggressive as ever, brother, Marcus thought, shaking his head as he remembered the messages. Besides, the only international dignitary he wanted anything to do with wasn't in attendance—the Alemurian Queen Leninashwari. Oh, Lena, Marcus mused, taking a deep breath, as if he could still smell the jasmine oil on her neck, a memory untouched by nearly five years apart.

Marcus shifted ever so gently in his silky sheets and stretched his arms and yawned loudly, only to find that there was a woman in his bed. He sat up a bit surprised. "Oh." He said, slowly leaning over his companion's head to find out who he was the pleasure of getting to know last night.

He smirked. It was Duchess Roxana Banali, the widowed of Fenugal Hinzi, the King's older brother, who had died just two years into their marriage, and she never remarried. It was common knowledge that she was King Erilim longtime consort, a fact made undeniable by her two illegitimate daughters. He briefly regretted that he couldn't recall the royal experience.

With a smirk, he turned to his morning dream journaling on an old-fashioned diary of parchment with an ink pen. It was an old morning ritual of his.

He rarely dreamt when he had ambrosia, but last night was different. He had really vivid dreams of a new form of crystalline technology again. He began writing. His most brilliant ideas came to him in his dreams. He hated drinking ambrosia, but it was the only way he could survive the suffocation he felt on the floating islands.

What perhaps was most baffling was his reputation for being loose with ambrosia and women. That image had conveniently served his brother and business relationships, so he never bothered to correct it. And so, the branding stuck - Marcus Sumeri, perpetual playboy and irresponsible brother of the great Marcellius Sumeri.

"What are you doing, Marcus?" Roxana's sultry voice broke the silence as she sat up in bed, the silk sheets pooling around her waist, leaving little to the imagination.

"Taking you in, my dear." Marcus set his journal aside, his attention fixed on her. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply.

"Oh, Marcus," she murmured, leaning back into the pillow as Marcus followed, his lips trailing hers.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment. "Marcus!" Cilantra called from the other side, impatiently.

Marcus sat up abruptly. "So sorry, Roxy," he said, glancing at her regretfully. "I have to go."

He stood and pulled on a pair of flowing linen pants.

Roxana frowned, reaching out to him. "But—Marcus—"

"You are so beautiful, Roxy," Marcus said, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "I'm going to regret this, but I really have to go."

The knock came again, sharper this time, and Cilantra's voice followed, more insistent: "Marcus!"

"Unbelievable," Roxana muttered, pulling the silk sheets over her head as if to avoid being seen.

"Coming!" He responded, rushing to the door without a shirt.

Despite approaching his fifth decade, Marcus possessed the physique of an athlete in his prime. Though he lacked the supernatural gift that defined his family, he had ensured, through relentless determination to training, that most men could not match his strength or agility.

Outside the door, Cilantra stood waiting, her lips pursed with restrained annoyance. Her fingers drummed against her crossed arms as her sharp green eyes caught sight of Roxana's bare silhouette beneath the sheets.

"Some things never change," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"I guess not," Marcus replied with a sheepish grin.

"There will be a luncheon here, this afternoon," Cilantra began, placing a large tablet in Marcus's hand. "Marcellius has invited his cabinet members, a handful of senators, and a few other dignitaries. By popular demand, you're hosting. Here's the guest list and menu."

"I'm hosting?" Marcus laughed, incredulous. "Last night, he wouldn't even let me breathe near a diplomat, and today I'm hosting?"

Cilantra's expression tightened. "Put a shirt on, Marcus."

Marcus smirked, flexing slightly.

She ignored him. "Unfortunately, I have duties at the Grand Citadel and won't be able to assist. Have Manik help you. It's time he learns the ropes of being a kalasaar."

"I'm no kalasaar!" Marcus laughed again. "This has to be a joke."

Cilantra met his gaze, sternly. "My son needs you. Your family needs you."

"Why doesn't his father teach him what it means to be a kalasaar?" Marcus countered, crossing his arms.

"Your brother," Cilantra began, disdain lacing her tone, "will attend the event as its honorary guest—the Chancellor."

"In his own home?" Marcus asked, pulling on a linen tunic.

"This is your home too," Cilantra reminded him, frowning.

"I'll have my assistant, Amavda, run it," Marcus said, agitated. He desperately needed a break from Atlantean high society.

"I don't care if your pet dolphin puts the event together, as long as you host it," Cilantra snapped. "Inanna and Drake can assist you as well."

"Do the Grand Citadel duties have to happen today?" Marcus asked, noticing the slight pout on her lips. He smiled despite himself, he had always loved how Cilantra pursed her lips close to her small nose when she was frustrated. He had loved it since he was a little boy.

"Yes, they do," Cilantra said sharply. "The duties are tied to the movement of the sun, moon, and stars. We make sacred offerings to Ava Nori. These islands float because of those sacrifices."

"Whatever you say," Marcus muttered, rolling his eyes. I wish I knew what really made this wretched city float, he thought.

Cilantra sighed, turning to leave.

"Alright, alright," Marcus said with a sly grin, bowing theatrically. "Sumeri Industries' finest, at your service, Your Grace."

Cilantra didn't so much as glance back, unimpressed by his antics. Without a word, she floated gracefully away.

"Just because you have the gift, doesn't mean you can just treat me like that!" Marcus said after her.

Cilantra finally looked back at him, smiled, and rolled her large, emerald eyes.

Marcus bit his lip, longingly. How he missed his old friend.

Amavda tapped Marcus on his shoulder, visibly out of breath. "Marcus, I just got your message on my cerebral bridge about lunch, what do you need? And why aren't you dressed? Lunch is in two hours! Actually, don't answer that." She had been his assistant for over a decade. It was because of Amavda, he was able to manage his chaotic life. "I also got word from our people in Kemp," her voice much quieter now, "they still can't locate Ashur after the last—"

Marcus interrupted. "One thing at a time," he said, scanning the tablet in his hands. "Here," Marcus added, handing it to her.

"That royal family is not on this list." Amavda said, relieved.

"Good," Marcus replied, relieved himself. Hosting royals meant endless formalities. "I just need these guests fed, drunk, and happy."

"You got it, boss."

***

The lunch, meticulously arranged by Amavda, was nothing short of grand. One of the formal dining rooms in the Sumeri tower estate had been adorned with flowing gold fabric that shimmered in the sunlight. Amavda and the staff moved swiftly, their precision evident as they ensured all twenty-two guest settings were impeccably arranged.

"Well done, Amavda," Marcus said, surveying the room with approval. His eyes lingered on his place setting, situated next to Marcellius and Manik. He frowned slightly and gestured for Amavda. "Can we rearrange this? Perhaps seat me elsewhere?"

Amavda shook her head firmly. "As the host, you must sit with the guest of honor. It's tradition."

Marcus sighed inwardly. I guess I won't be sitting down today, he thought wryly. Is it too soon for ambrosia?

Just then Inanna, Manik, Drake, and a young man Marcus did not recognize entered the space.

"Uncle, this is gorgeous!" Inanna exclaimed, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Isn't it? I had nothing to do with it," Marcus said, glancing at Amavda.

Amavda smiled nervously and waived at the Sumeri children.

The young man accompanying his niece and nephews inclined his head slightly. "I'm Han'a Khoraz, nice to make your acquittance," he said.

He was of mid-height, his long, thick brown hair flowing neatly over his shoulders. His discerning green eyes hinted at a sharp intellect, and his posture exuded confidence, the subtle lift of his frame suggesting his ability to float. There was an unmistakable air of nobility about him, a blend of grace and authority that commanded attention. Yet, his gaze carried a weight of intelligence, as if he assessed everyone and everything in the room with quiet precision.

"Your Highness," Marcus said, bowing deeply as his sharp gaze studied Han'a. He looked nothing like either of his parents—too kind, too intelligent, too composed for a Khoraz.

Han'a smiled, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I'm working with your father, Unas, on an exciting project using Alemuri technology" Marcus said, "to raise fresh water salmon at an accelerated rate."

"I would like to hear more about it," Han'a said with a measured tone. "I'm planning to study husbandry technology at Bahyan University."

"You are?" Manik's face betrayed his disdain. "I thought you wanted to study fashion." It was rare for noble children to venture to the continent, let alone pursue higher education beyond what high society deemed necessary.

"Father insists I study something useful,'" Han'a replied, pursing his lips slightly. "And your uncle Marcus went to Bayhan University. He studied technology."

"You've done your research." Marcus grinned. "It's refreshing to speak to you, Your Grace."

Han'a's face relaxed, his smile widening.

Manik, however, frowned, "but tell him, uncle, how it is very unsafe for our kind to go to the ground."

Marcus' lip twitched. He did not like Manik's emphasis on "our kind."

"Lighten up, Manik," Marcus said, running a hand through his hair and cracking his neck as if centering himself. "If you keep your feet on the ground, most people won't even notice the difference." He said to Han'a with a faint smirk.

Manik's irritation was evident.

"When will everyone get here?" Drake asked, his young excitement bubbling over.

Marcus checked his cerebral bridge. "Soon, I'm afraid."

Manik groaned and collapsed into one of the chairs. "I hate these events, uncle. I can't believe I have to do this for the rest of my life."

Marcus nodded knowingly. "Buck up, Manik," he said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "There are perks."

Manik sat up slightly, hopeful. "Like what?"

"The women," Marcus replied with a wink. "Every woman dreams of being with a kalasaar."

Manik frowned and sank back into his chair, then glanced at Han'a, who had quietly taken a seat, carefully avoiding eye contact.

Marcus' eyes shifted from Manik to Han'a and back again, then a flicker of understanding crossed his face. "Oh," he murmured, understanding his nephew more profoundly than he ever had before. He stood in silence, unsure how to proceed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, look at this grand hall!" Marcellius's booming voice filled the room as he entered, exuding charisma. He strode in like a man on stage, every gesture grand, every movement deliberate.

Marcus felt a pang of nausea. I'd rather go back to sleeping with the king's mistress, he thought bitterly.

"My family has truly outdone themselves!" Marcellius declared, majestically spreading his arms as though claiming the entire room as his achievement.

"I guess so," Marcus muttered under his breath. You'd better cool it, he thought, dear brother, before people start thinking you want to be King.

Behind Marcellius, a wave of politicians, nobles, and industry leaders poured into the room, their voices blending into a cacophony of power and influence. Marcus sighed, forcing himself to plaster on a welcoming smile. Get it together, Marcus, he told himself.

"Marcus, this is my friend Roberto Cavialli," Marcellius said with exaggerated enthusiasm. "A genius, the brightest mind in modern Atlantean medicine and pharmacy. He funds and runs the largest research facility in Bahyan City—and a few more scattered across the Continent."

"We've met," Marcus said, bowing slightly. He knew Cavialli family operations far too well and their dark reputation. Recently, Cavialli had been rumored to conduct illegal experiments on halfbreeds and AI in the Underworld. "I hear you're pushing up against the laws of Humrab again," Marcus said, his tone baiting.

"Marcus!" Marcellius cleared his throat. "My brother has a...unique sense of humor."

Marcus thought of the whispers—mutilated spines or severed limbs occasionally appearing in Underworld dumps, all traceable to Cavialli's labs. There were also rumors of his supplying aethris and vervain to Underworld mobsters.

"The Caviallis like to take the world by the horns, just like Ava Nori," Cavialli said, grinning as he mimicked holding a bull.

Marcus's smile tightened. The reference to their old mutual contact, Ibris, wasn't lost on him.

"I didn't know you were a religious man," Marcus smiled faintly.

"All great men are," Cavialli scoffed, brushing off the comment.

Marcus could have punched Roberto, but refrained. Eventually, I will close down your illegal labs, he mused.

Marcus was spearheading the development of a new surveillance program to combat crime in the Underworld. However, its implementation had been stalled by Senator Hugo Lancasto, Cavialli's ambitious cousin. Hugo's staunch privacy protection policies had blocked Sumeri Industries' technology from being adopted by the police. Rumors swirled that Hugo had his sights set on becoming the next Chancellor.

"Where is Hugo?" Marcus asked.

Marcellius and Roberto exchanged uneasy glances. "Let me show you to your seat," Marcellius said, steering Roberto away without answering.

Marcus exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay composed. One more night for the family. You promised Cilantra, he reminded himself. At least Amavda had the foresight to seat Roberto far from him—he made a mental note to thank her later.

Then Jenna Ashpari entered the room, her commanding presence turning heads. Marcus left his chair immediately and crossed the room to greet her. "Jenna, what a pleasure," he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

"You won't leave me alone, will you?" Jenna smirked.

"No, my old friend, I will not," Marcus said, snagging two drinks from a passing waiter's tray and handing one to her. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Jenna, did you get a chance to speak with him?"

"I did," Jenna replied smoothly, "but I'm not talking about it unless you get me some rolled tobacco."

"Come, let's step outside. The Sumeris build balconies better than even the royals." Marcus led Jenna onto the balcony and handed her a thick cigarette of hand rolled tobacco. "Specially made for you."

Jenna's grin spread wide. "I was going to find you last night, but you were wasted and practically buried in Duchess Roxana's chest. I figured it wasn't the right moment." She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

Marcus blushed faintly. "I hope King Erilim didn't see us—"

"He probably did. Everyone did." She exhaled a stream of smoke. "Marcus, you've changed. What happened to you in Alemuria? It seems to have made you mad."

Marcus laughed, lighting his own cigarette. "I play the part I need to."

Jenna leaned against the balcony rail, taking in the view of the Kobol island and the continent's horizon beyond. "You're right—your family knows how to build a proper balcony," she said quietly, before adding, "Ibris has his people looking into the black zones."

"Thank you," Marcus said, relief evident in his tone. "How can I reach him?"

"You don't. He'll contact you."

Marcus didn't like the arrangement but gave a reluctant nod. "Let's go back in."

"I saw something yesterday." Jenna said, looking intensely at the grounds below.

Marcus turned back to her. "What did you see?"

"A young red-haired woman," Jenna said. "She stumbled, clearly drugged, and floated into a private room at the party. Several older men followed her in. She might have been on the same drug Mona was given."

"That's disgusting," Marcus said, his temper flaring. "Who were they? I'll have them looked into immediately."

"Marcus," Jenna was silent for a moment and then said, quietly, "one of them was Marcellius."

The words hit Marcus like a blow. He froze, his heart sinking as they stared at each other in heavy silence.

"Uncle," Manik's voice broke the moment as he poked his head onto the balcony. "People are being seated and asking for you."

Marcus nodded absently, his throat tight and his chest aching. He followed Manik back inside. The dining room was abuzz with conversation. Marcellius moved from guest to guest, laughing and making small talk as the staff began setting dishes on the long table. Marcus watched his brother with a growing sense of dread.

A couple of senators were laughing loudly. Marcus caught the words "consciousness drives" and quickly found an open seat beside them.

"If we popularize consciousness drives and make them affordable, the living might forget to actually live, don't you think?" one of them said, sipping his ambrosia. He was a large man with a heavy brown beard. "To preserve the memories of the dead—what a technology! That's probably why the laws of Humrab forbid it," he added, stroking his beard.

"Perhaps there is wisdom there. Aren't they as old as time?" asked another, a much smaller, bald man.

"They're probably as old as the Gab Nori," the first senator said with a chuckle. "But of course, you'd think there's wisdom in that—you're from the frozen North."

The bald senator shook his head dismissively. "The laws of Humrab were established by the ancients to prevent catastrophes like the Android Wars in the South. They preserve humanity."

Marcus leaned forward, "I say we embrace innovation, gentlemen." He added with a sly wink.

"Marcus Sumeri!" the bearded senator exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. "We finally meet!"

"Nice to meet you, as well." Marcus bowed slightly and extended his hand.

"I'm Gin Bani," the bearded senator said warmly. "I can't believe it's taken us this long to meet one another."

Marcus sifted through his mental catalog of names. Gin Bani—he'd heard it before but couldn't place it.

"I'm Arnold Polka," the bald senator said, raising his glass of ambrosia.

Marcus inclined his head, recognizing the Polka name as one of noble standing. "My Lord, your niece Amavda did a remarkable job organizing this dinner," he said, taking a glass of ambrosia from a passing server.

Arnold sighed. "She takes after my sister—the family kalasaar."

Next to Arnold sat a younger man, clean-shaven with sharp features and piercing blue eyes, silently observing until he spoke. "Kurtani Stonis," he said smoothly.

Ah, Marcus thought, another name I do not like. The Stonis family were prominent industrialists, known for their water-based energy technology used widely across Atlantis. He had heard whispers that the Stonis family also began operating a few research labs on human neurobiology—labs Marcus wanted to investigate.

"My pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Marcus said, politely. "Whose seat am I taking?"

"My wife, Kimi, was supposed to sit there, but she couldn't make it today."

Marcus sipped his ambrosia and studied Kurtani's smug smile.

"Kurtani here," Gin said, casually piling potatoes onto his plate, "was just telling us how his company plans to build better consciousness drives than the Alemurians."

Marcus flinched; it was no secret that Sumeri Industries had pioneered consciousness drives in Alemuria before bringing the technology to Atlantis.

"Only if you can take that intellectual property from me," Marcus said with a forced smile.

"Gin, you have an excellent sense of humor," said Kurtani, taken aback and visibly irritated. "Actually, I'm here because I was invited by the Chancellor. I am to be part of his cabinet."

"Oh?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"—as his technology advisor," completed Kurtani, a sinister smile creeping onto his face.

Marcus felt a knot in his chest. His brother certainly had not asked him. "Congratulations, Kurtani." Marcus said, curtly. He had no interest in engaging in this conversation anymore. "Shall we eat?"

(Chapter 5 continues in the next part.)