“They’re choosing survival,” Senn corrects.
Same thing.
I glance at Jordan. “Your stream did that.”
Her shoulders tense. “Our stream.”
I exhale, approving. “Fair.”
The charter meetinghappens at noon.
Not in the Choir, not behind false walls. In the Nun’s main hall—open enough that everyone can see we’re not hiding. The casino is closed for the first time in years, which makes the place feel like a cathedral after the congregation leaves. The air is still thick with perfume, but without the noise it feels like the building is holding its breath.
Captains, guild reps, syndicate leaders—packed into rows like a jury. Armed, wary, alive.
Jordan stands off to one side, not on stage, but visible. Not tucked away. Not “protected” like a secret.
Equal partner. Whether they like it or not.
I walk to the front with a slate in my hand and a pen that isn’t symbolic but will be, because humans and Grolgath both love the lie of ink making things real.
“Listen up,” I say, voice carrying. “Kaijen is done being a pipeline for other people’s wars.”
Murmurs ripple.
Orin leans forward, skeptical. Nera’s eyes narrow. Father Vahl watches like he’s evaluating a sermon.
I hold up the slate. “This is a reform charter.”
Orin scoffs. “We’re criminals.”
I shrug. “We’re a system. Systems can be rebuilt.”
Nera’s mouth twists. “And what, we become saints now?”
I smile without warmth. “No. We becomestable.”
I tap the slate, and the charter projects above me in crisp holo text.
KAJEN STABILITY CHARTER
Protect trade corridors.
Punish predation—especially against civilians.
Insulate labor and families from political war games.
