Make-believe

As soon as she approached the assembly, Nysa heard grunts of disapproval.

Groups of men stared at her with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and barely veiled outrage. However, none made any attempts to chase her out.

It wasn't out of timidity or fear—on the contrary, their expressions clearly proved their displeasure at Nysa's presence, but most were too focused on the speaker to pay her any heed.

In the middle of the garden square, standing atop an elevated platform of sculpted marble, a middle-aged man garbed in an elaborate purple tunic grasped everyone's attention like a thespian on a stage. Amidst his eloquent speech, from which Nysa understood very little, he would execute dramatic gestures that made his finely-patterned, golden cloak flutter with theatrical elegance.

Nysa recognized those patterns, narrowing her eyes as she rethought her decision of rashly entering the agora. "The Melissenos family... Bad timing."

"In what way is this bad timing, young woman?" A gentle, elderly voice responded to her quiet mutter. Nysa turned her head to its source, only to find an old man sitting on the grass beside her.

He was balding, with only grayish remnants of once luxurious hair scattered above his ears. Unlike most Hierapetran men, he was clean-shaven, making his wrinkles much more prominent. His obviously tanned skin betrayed long years of labor under the sun, contrasting with the expensive material of his fine clothing.

Nysa straightened her posture, unwilling to show weakness in this place. She was about to answer the older man when his gaze shifted back towards the speaker, his lips slightly curving.

"I see you're much better at handling pressure than your father was, my Lady." He spoke in a rather familiar tone, patting a spot next to him. "Please sit. It is best not to attract too much attention to yourself when the Melissenos patriarch is speaking."

Nysa understood his cue and gracefully took a seat on the grass. "I presume you knew my father. Were you a friend of his?"

The old man merely chuckled at her suggestion. "Me? A friend of Lydus? I'm afraid it's a hard title to earn. Your father was notorious for seeking friends as much as pushing them away when they finally relented. He was a very contradictory fellow."

A strange feeling rose up in Nysa's chest. She figured that her father had been too afraid to befriend those seeking his fortune yet still very much craved the companionship he couldn't find at home. That must have appeared jarring to those who genuinely wanted to stand beside him—like Iphiclus—ultimately driving them away.

After a slight pause, the elder softly added, "I assumed you'd be in mourning, my Lady. News travels fast, especially those of this nature. I present to you my sincerest condolences."

"It's not necessary. Don't Hierapetrans look down upon suicides?"

"True enough," the old man's smile was warm. "But it's only when it concerns our own. We are very prideful, which is why we do not impose our beliefs on people we don't recognize as part of our culture. You will find adequate support in mourning your father's passing, no matter its cause."

Nysa's head constantly moved as she surveyed the groups of listeners, only to briefly meet the speaker's gaze. Aside from a frown, the Melissenos patriarch paid her no mind, though it made her whole body stiffen.

"There's no need for that." Perhaps her wariness made her words come out wrong, but she answered tersely and with no emotions.

The old man seemed to understand and simply leaned back, his eyes landing on the speaker. "He must be quite happy to see you here, my Lady. Your boldness proves his point."

"What point?" Nysa hid her animosity well, though her retort came out just as sharp. "That individual only breeds hatred towards Sethians. He's the sole reason my family has been ostracized in Hierapetra until now."

"The Melissenos patriarch is indeed pushing for a more active approach against the Sethian Empire." The old man thoughtfully nodded. "Still, think of it from our point of view. Sethia is a powerful, expansionist nation that thrived without its Hallowed Sovereign. It's a menacing neighbor whose mere existence goes against all of our values, and we live in fear of it knocking at our doors for a share of our riches."

"The Sethian Empire has shown no interest in expanding towards Hierapetra in recent times—"

"Which is why we've not yet declared war against Sethia," the old man interrupted her. "What you see here is the bubbling zealotry of people that have known peace for far too long. The growing hostility against the Sethian Empire is a consequence, not a cause."

Nysa narrowed her eyes. "I imagine Sethia's recent invasion of Lichtenhimmel's northern coast has exacerbated the issue."

"Certainly, but not by much. The main reason for this restlessness lies in the upcoming Sacrificial Ceremony. Most Hierapetrans look forward to the Gods Beyond's blessing, seeing it as a guarantee that all their endeavors will succeed. This leads them to view our eastern neighbor's bountiful lands with eyes full of greed."

The old man shook his head, letting out a deep sigh. "How ironic. In pursuit of devotion, we have lost our faith. By painting the Nation of Ever-Conquest as a faithless menace, we're looking to excuse our subsequent attack, reaping all the benefits while maintaining the moral high ground. It saddens me that the teachings of the Sidereal Revelations have gotten so twisted."

The Melissenos patriarch ended his speech amid strong cheers. As he stepped out of the elevated platform, another man took the stage, sporting a thick tuft of braided hair styled in a way Nysa had seldom seen in Priene.

"Oh, that would be an envoy from Gangra. One can rarely mistake their braided hair." The old man's mood visibly lightened. He noticed Nysa's puzzlement and added, "Excuse my enthusiasm, my Lady. Gangra happens to be a fortress city near my hometown in the Western Province. They're rash but honest people, and their issues align much more with my vision of Hierapetra's collective good."

"What kind of issues do they bring up?" Nysa asked with mild curiosity.

"They'll most likely oppose the Melissenos' proposals by citing the need to reinforce our western borders. If there's anything Hierapetrans will support more than attacking our faithless eastern neighbor, it'd be oppressing the odious blasphemers from the Profane Lands. There have been rumors of sordid pillaging near our frontiers, and Gangra needs all the help it can get to drive the Profaners away."

Nysa absorbed the information while surveying her surroundings. After making sure no one was coming to chase her out of the agora, she finally relaxed.

"Are you sure it's alright to tell me this? Discussing the course of actions that'll be taken by your nation in front of a foreigner, especially one from a nation directly affected by such decisions, seems awfully bizarre to me."

The old man chuckled again. "You're taking this very seriously. This is a place of public discourse. In short, we're debating, nothing else. It'd be naive to think that we're functional enough to be decisive as a group."

He passed a leathery hand over his balding head, eyeing the other attending men as he quietly spoke. "This is less a decisional assembly and more of a tool to manipulate public opinion. The actual decisions will probably be taken under the close supervision of the Temple of Stars and Her Divine Majesty's companions."

At that moment, Nysa realized why there were no women in the small crowd.

Since Priene was Hierapetra's capital city and held the headquarters of the Temple of Stars, it should have plenty of women with citizenship rights and the ability to attend such discourses.

However, women affiliated with the Temple of Stars would know that these public activities were mere displays and not bother to participate. It was probably the same with men, which explained why no clergymen were present either. The real decision-making would be done within closed doors and supervised by the religious instances they belonged to, rendering this whole charade pointless.

"Is everyone else aware of this?" Nysa couldn't help but ponder about that.

"More or less."

"Why would they bother attending then?"

"I guess it'd be difficult to explain this to a Sethian. Let's see..." The old man marked a pause, seemingly measuring his words. "Sometimes, even the false impression of having participated in our nation's stride towards greatness can inspire a sense of fulfillment. Perhaps it was different once, but in a board controlled by deities, the most we humans can do is play make-believe."

"I see..." Nysa couldn't wrap her head around that notion, instead choosing to search for her target in earnest. She slowly sat up, eyeing the remaining crowd. "If I may ask, what's your name?"

The friendly old man watched her with a smile, his expression oozing the kindness and wisdom of one who has braved much of life.

"My name is Bianor... Bianor of Cebrene."