Pink. Yellow. Blue. Colors flew this way and that, the dressing room bustling with squealing women. "A wedding." A wedding. A wedding. The excitement was palpable; the bride’s name remained a mystery.

“He’s watching.” He’s watching. He’s watching. Repeating whispers. More lovesick shrieks. Looking towards the door, opened just a crack, I managed a glimpse of him: Sehun.

Watching. Waiting. Wandering farther than permitted by his peers.

“Did you need something?” I mouthed. He shook his head. Hurt, somehow. Blues; yellows; pinks: all vividly coloring his thoughts. Enamored with dreaming big, I committed to his proposal, “June.” 

Reading my lips, he laughed.

Compromise: the word of the day. Murmurs passed across the court room. I, the mindreader, had a good giggle fit at the attempt at secrecy. All were in agreement aside from the big, bad man himself — “bad” a subjective adjective. Vernon Milford, appointed leader of the Council, gardener of the Capital, vetoed his brethren’s judgement.

“The Protectors of the Moon shall continue to do what you promised: serve this Council and the people of Exo planet.”

Privy to the firewall Luhan encountered while perusing the Council’s database, I couldn’t very well accept “no” for an answer. “We’re not here to rehash past agreements. If you want my backing in your Open Forum, release Lay and Tao from their supplemental responsibilities to your research” — the specifics of which remained shrouded in ambiguity.

Like Luna Snarr: the Council’s PR officer; skilled in subterfuge and euphemistic language; sent to infiltrate the Boards three years prior. Her reports included details on the daily activities of Henry Lau. Ranging from the eccentric “golf atop a twenty-story building” to the ridiculous “chocolate fondue fountains on special occasions,” the skeptical leader of the Boards saw through her farce. This inept spy became my caretaker nevertheless — yet another method of soiling the Council’s hands should things turn south. Whatever her intentions, I choose to value our short friendship.

“As honorable as you may be, your highness, you don’t have the authority to force our hand.” Milford appeared pleased to say, “Much less the firepower.”

I choose to force change with these two hands; that’s what this title of mine is for, after all.

“A shame the People’s Riot ended so catastrophically for the Capital’s economy. In hindsight, the Council jumped at the chance to bail collapsing food manufacturers out of bankruptcy.” Nobody wanted to point fingers. “Knowledge is as effective, if not more so, as planet-wide bombings.” But, at this point, we needed to. “Ever wonder where all that ‘firepower’ came from?”

Unaware of how far I’d take this, Kai inwardly warned me against proactivity. Our political position split the Guardians in half. Losing my support in this most recent PR scheme, an Open Forum allowing everyday Exotians to address the Council, was but a penny in the piggy bank. With no real power to back up my claim, Milford had no reason to fear me — he did anyway.

Countenance physically tightening, words choked out of trembling lips, “Threatening this supreme Council will prove your downfall, Seeress.”

Filling the balloon to bursting, I huffed and bluffed until the Council saw red. “I’ve already been buried once. And the funny thing is, I’m almost dying to know how it’ll happen next.” I painted a target on my back. “Do strike when I least expect it; spontaneity is the spice of life.” I’d do it over again in a heartbeat.

In the hours that followed, Tao and Lay returned to B2 visibly no worse for wear.

The Open Forum began at noon, two weeks later. Thousands of Exotians, from an array of professional backgrounds, requested personal days to attend. No affair had been larger; even the 70th Seeress of Exo’s funeral procession failed to reach this grand scale. Every inch of street was covered with eager bodies. The collective chatter of thoughts and words almost knocked her highness senseless the moment she emerged from the Court’s towering entryway. 

Friend and foe blended into one. An ill-boding chill crept up her spine — not a product of the stares the Moon Guardians gave her some ten yards away. Doubt, a familiar acquaintance, settled heavy on her shoulders. Enthusiasm for Exotians renewed interest in politics aside, the 70th Seeress of Exo’s track record with crowds proved disconcerting.

Too much could happen when no one was looking.

Deep fog from the morning’s showers fell, stuffed down Vernon Milford’s throat. Coughing, microphone shrill, he greeted, “Good afternoon, my fellow Exotians. It is an honor to hold the first Open Forum since the People’s Riot with all of you today. Only in times such as these can we all come together under the like cause of our future.” 

Cuing to a reporter with golden ringlets, much worse for wear, the first Exotian was given a chance to speak. Lips bumping against the raised microphone, the man’s hunched shoulders shaking, the first question was, “Have you eaten lunch today?” Anger bubbled to the surface of his face at Milford’s answer.

“Just this afternoon, I — along with several brothers — traveled to a local diner and—”

Authenticity is what the Council wanted. Apathy wasn’t what the Exotians wanted.

The man managed to interrupt with “I haven’t” before the opportunity to converse honestly, openly, was yanked away from him by the frantic reporter. She’d seen her share of battles in the recent years to know where this was going. 

Address it. Address it. Address it: her highness willed the wily wizened man. Clearing his throat, Milford continued unfettered by concerned mumbles passing through the mass of living, breathing beings. “Anyone else?” Tears welling up, the reporter passed the torch onto a warbling woman. 

She practically sung to the smog above, saying, “Two years ago, the Tree of Life punished Jingxi for destroying the life the Sun and the Moon bestowed upon this modest planet.” 

The Seeress of Exo perceptively whispered, “Stop her.” Her advice went ignored.

“Everyday, a new building is toppled by shy plates beneath barren soil. Every hour, the city burns with rioters made desperate by the failing glass industry. We’ve made countless pleas to the Council for aid in rebuilding the city’s infrastructure. Each second was, until recently, unbearable." 

Knowing what would lull from her lips next, her highness said again, “Stop her.”

“Until the Seeress of Exo, reborn with a golden aura and boundless forgiveness, brought our grievances to Flior. Alberos. Beleuch. Even Dunai extended a hand. Upon mass migrations with the help of these cities and more, there’s not a Jingxian left without a roof or a warm meal when the night comes to pass.”

Noise gathered at her temples; the crux of the Exotian’s argument would put a bullet in her skull. Third time’s the charm, she tried, “Stop—” She tried.

Voice reverberating, the woman let out a guttural wail, “What has the Council done for us to so freely chain the only hope we have left?”

A vast exaggeration; easily redefined should Milford humble himself to do so. Faced with a fork in the road towards the future, he chose the path less taken. Not out of wisdom, but out of idiocy. 

With one gesture a nearby soldier, meant to keep the peace, struck the woman down. Interested in the few, Milford approached the peaking tension with a hypocritical, “My fellow Exotians.” Laughter, characterized by snorts and sneers, acted as background noise to his defense. 

“Food; shelter; security: all necessities granted to law-abiding citizens by the Rank system. This Open Forum is a grand opportunity to speak directly to your governing body, yet all you bring to me are more complaints. False hope is for the dreaming. Wake up” — and so they did.

Fingers clawed at the reporter for the right to speak, microphone lost, connection maintained. Overflowing “complaints” filled the air. Only Rank 1s can eat grapes; is wanting equality a crime? Millions of pounds of seafood spoil every season, yet my brother in Beleuch starves to feed his children! 

In the Capital, concerns brought forth by Exotians living in Sector A are immediately addressed. Scenes of park construction, garden maintenance, roadway repairs set to uplifting tunes looped on every holovision in sight. Informed outrage erupted into bodies violently clashing and volatile curses flinging from left to right. EXON’s reports on the Council’s daily grace had backfired. Ignorance of the politics of suffering was bliss.

Unable to stand idly, the Seeress left her post. Shoving past the edgy guards proved a challenge. A man in his mid-20s stole possession of the podium from Milford first, knocking the old man to the ground. Someone’s hand tried to pull her back.

“Either you’re born right or you’re born without rights!” 

Bullets tore through his torso. Dead. Dead. Antsy soldiers with trigger fingers panicked. Councilmen evacuated the stage. The martyr’s rally cry fueled the fire of family, friends, and strangers alike. More shells fell. So many dead.

Born right, born without rights, she froze mere feet from her goal: the shrieking microphone. Words escaped her, mind blanking. Stop. Say stop. It won’t stop. Chaos enveloped the assembly. Children screaming. Sky weeping hard and loud.

“Your highness!” This brought her back. “Your highness!” This always brought her back.

While she wasn’t looking, the Guardians whisked her to safety: a grimy alleyway gleaming with the first lightning strike. Blinking until blurred faces took shape, she breathed in. “Give me a minute,” and out, “please.”

“Your highness.” 

Again. And again. Days, hours, seconds, she didn’t have a minute to spare to June. This title was a symbol; it came time to use it again. Another routine extending of the olive branch. The aftermath could wait.

Moving to a stand, she committed herself to a greater purpose, “Do what you believe is right, Suho.” 

Gone with the wind, Suho made a split second decision. His brethren gathered shoulder-to-shoulder, a vote was taken. 12 yeas in favor of saving the day yet again. “Chanyeol, follow the Seeress. Everyone else, canvas the streets and evacuate nonpartisan citizens. Avoid confrontation at all costs.” 

Break!

The Guardians were but a fleeting afterthought. Created by two rocks who couldn’t predict tomorrow. More than the Moon setting, than the Sun rising, she brought hope to this hunk of dirt. The least they could do was stop it from imploding beneath her very feet.

A/N: For a brief look inside my mind regarding this chapter's events, click here. Otherwise, I'll see you next time!