The clock ticked once.
Then it changed its mind.
Silence smothered the room, thick as fog and twice as cold.
**Eirene sat alone in the presidential chamber—**not as a guest, not as a subordinate.
Like a blade sheathed in velvet.
Motionless. Composed. But undeniably sharp.
Her legs were crossed, one heel tapping soundlessly beneath the table—not out of nerves, but rhythm. Precision. Control.
Her eyes didn't wander.
They waited.
The door clicked.
Swung open.
A man stepped in—older, taller, draped in the gravity of his title.
But his shadow didn't reach her.
It was President Adim.
"Welcome, President," she said before he could speak, voice level, tone glacial.
"Why have you summoned me?"
No small talk.
No smile.
Just a direct shot to the center of the board.
The president blinked. Not startled—measured.
He gestured to the seat opposite her.
"Would you like some water before we begin?"
Eirene's eyes narrowed—only slightly.
"I didn't come here for hydration."
A pause. A breath.
"No, thank you."
She didn't look rude.
She looked like someone who'd memorized every rule of etiquette—and chosen which ones to break.
The president sat down slowly. Then, in silence, rolled up his sleeves.
"Very well," he said, matching her gaze, steel meeting steel.
"Let's talk politics."
The room shrank.
The silence returned.
But now it had a pulse.
This wasn't diplomacy.
This was war—with suits and chairs and words for weapons.
The silence was political. Heavy, but practiced.
The kind that didn't dare break until it had purpose.
The president leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table.
His voice was calm—but it was the calm of someone too used to carrying storms behind his smile.
"Listen, Eirene…" he began, his tone laced with familiarity and warning.
"Our party has been in power for nearly fourteen years now."
Eirene didn't interrupt. She nodded once—sharp, economical.
The nod of someone who had already considered the direction of the next twelve sentences.
He continued, standing slowly, walking across the room with deliberate steps.
He bent down and pulled open a drawer from a polished cabinet in the corner.
A folder hit the table. Neat. Unassuming. Weightless.
But it landed like it could crack the floor.
"This manifesto," he said, tapping it with two fingers.
"You know exactly what's in it, don't you?"
He looked at her now—not as a colleague, not as a leader-in-the-making, but as a risk.
"You can't gamble our party's election chances over… your ideals."
Eirene didn't flinch.
Her voice followed a breath like a scalpel.
"If we both know what's written in there," she said, eyes steady,
"then let's stop dancing around it."
A pause. Cold clarity.
"Yes. If I win—I intend to return the Kuri District to Indra."
"To ease tensions. To start over. To move forward."
The air in the room shifted—barely—but enough.
The president's brows narrowed.
He picked up the manifesto again, as if hoping the text might change.
Then dropped it with an exhale and stepped forward.
"You submitted this after being named our official candidate," he said.
"Tell me—was that the plan all along?"
Eirene's lips curved—just slightly.
A smile that wasn't a smile, just a calculated display of self-possession.
"No," she said plainly.
"But if you're considering removing me from internal party voting… feel free."
She leaned back—not in defiance, but with certainty.
"Just know that announcing my candidacy and then pulling me would be worse for ZLF's image than my policies ever could."
The president's fingers twitched—barely. Just enough to betray a flicker of irritation.
He sat back down, slower this time. The chair creaked.
"You weren't there during the war," he said, quieter now, but firmer.
A thread of old fire buried under restraint.
"You have no idea what happened twenty years ago. We bled for that land. Our ancestors died to take it—
And now, a future leader wants to give it away?"
Eirene's expression didn't shift, but the air around her cooled further.
"There's a difference," she said slowly, "between reclaiming what's ours… and annexing what never was."
Her tone didn't accuse. It explained.
"That patch of soil has kept two nations chained in bitterness. It doesn't honor the dead to keep it—it prolongs their war."
The president leaned forward, voice dropping lower.
"And what guarantee do you have," he asked, "that giving Indra what they want will suddenly make them forget history? Forget hatred?"
Eirene didn't answer immediately.
She let the question sit.
Then, with voice steady as stone:
"No guarantees. Only choices."
"But someone has to be the first to make one that isn't shaped by fear."
The president exhaled, long and tired.
"Don't tell me..." he said, rubbing his temples,
"...you've fallen into their dual god mythology too."
Eirene didn't blink.
But the silence that followed gave him his answer anyway.
---
Narrator (brief interjection):
The rift between Indra and Zaherra wasn't just carved by borders and bombs—it ran deeper, right into the heavens themselves.
Indra believed in two divine beings—male and female—who created and nurtured the world in balance.
Zaherra held to a single, all-powerful, genderless force: timeless, unshaped, indivisible.
Two faiths. Two stories. Both claiming the light.
---
Eirene:
"No," she said calmly.
"And even if I did, someone's god—or gods—should never come before their people. One day, they'll all understand that. Because whichever divine being you believe in—"
She looked him dead in the eye.
"—I doubt they want their creations killing each other just to prove a point."
There was a stillness. One of those rare silences in politics that didn't feel like a game.
Then the president's tone shifted—frustrated, yes, but grounded now.
"And what about the economics?" he said, his voice low but firm.
"Do you have any idea how much global tourism that region brings us? The cultural exports? The natural reserves? We've sunk millions in development. That land's not just symbolic—it's strategic."
Eirene gave him a look—part disappointment, part challenge.
"You should've waited," she said.
"My next manifesto would've answered all of that. But since we're here—"
She rolled up her sleeves.
"Let's talk numbers."
She stood, walked to the window, hands behind her back. Then turned.
"First, the treaty to return Kuri would come with strict economic clauses. Not a giveaway. A structured transition."
She began listing, eyes razor-sharp:
"One: Both Zaherra and Indra agree to free civilian movement—no border passes. That alone boosts microeconomics and trust."
"Two: Kuri citizens stay exactly where they are. No displacement. Taxes from the district will be split—proportionally—between both nations until Zaherra is compensated for its inflation-adjusted development costs."
"Three: We negotiate agricultural imports from Indra at inland prices. I plan on expanding our existing trade agreement—currently restricted to corporate entities—to include both government-level contracts and public-private partnerships."
"Four: Zaherra becomes Indra's main textile and refined metal exporter. We shift focus towards finished goods rather than raw materials. We scale our factories, boost employment, and increase export margins."
"Five: A joint port built within Zaherra, co-owned, co-governed, co-profiting. An equal export hub—for both our futures."
"Six: Any citizen in Kuri may choose which country to align with. Those who wish to return to Zaherra will be welcomed. Those who stay under Indra's control stay there, without issue. With free travel in place, this border won't divide lives anymore."
Then, one final strike:
"This isn't about giving land away."
"It's about investing in peace, and getting interest in return."
She crossed her arms, expression hard to read.
"Sounds fair?"
Eirene:
"Last but not least... we'll be disbanding the ZU's existence."
President: (Eyes narrow)
"That much... for Indra? You do realize the ZU has the support of the hardline right. They won't take this lightly."
Eirene: (Leaning forward slightly, composed)
"The right wing hasn't liked me since I first spoke in Parliament. But the majority of this nation wants progress—not stagnation draped in nostalgia.
Peace, prosperity, and forward motion while honoring our roots, not being shackled by them."
"Disbanding ZU isn't an attack. It's a step forward. What they do in the name of cultural pride is not preservation — it's poisoning.
They don't teach the essence of our roots. They fuel hatred toward Indra under the guise of nationalism.
Instead of uplifting Zaherran values, they spend their breath dragging another nation down."
"They build orphanages not to nurture, but to indoctrinate. They don't raise children — they mold weapons, programming them from a tender age to hate what they've never even seen."
"That's not tradition. That's terrorism in disguise. And we're better than that."
"I'm not blind — I see the pulse of this nation.
This is the moment. Right now."
"The next reign will have something rare: massive support from a generation that isn't bitter — they're better.
Better informed, better connected, and ready to build something instead of burning everything that's different."
President: (Still, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Doubt? Respect?)
Eirene:
"Don't misunderstand, sir. It's your reign that made this possible.
The groundwork—the Equinox Series alone brought millions across borders.
It let Zaherrans and Indrans celebrate something together, even if only for seven days a year."
She continues. Calm, resolute.
Eirene:
"There's bitterness in the old guard, sure.
But the next generation—normal citizens, students, travelers—they're spreading something stronger than ideology.
They're spreading familiarity."
President:
"And yet familiarity doesn't stop bullets."
Eirene: (Coldly, yet not without heart)
"No, but unfamiliarity starts wars.
One misstep, one domino falls near the Kuri border... and everything we built in the past decade will collapse.
We've accepted Indra's ceasefire terms for ten years.
We've maintained peace.
But that peace is fragile. If war returns—it won't be the extremists who bleed.
It'll be the children of both nations."
She stands slowly.
Eirene:
"So let's end it now... before someone else tries to finish it violently."
President:
"Alas... you have strong ideals. I will keep an eye on you."
Eirene: (Closes her eyes, hands folding in front of her. A faint smile touches her lips—barely there, but unmistakable.
"My pleasure."