"What I'm offering you sounds like your old life." Salaark continued. "It sounds nice and comfortable but make no mistake. Your old life is over and there's no place in my country for those who cling to the past.
"In the Desert, I'm the law and here in Jiera, it will be no different. If you decide to come with me, you'll do as I say, when I say it, and how I tell you to do it. There will be no elections. You'll have no representatives but those of my choosing.
"There will be no nobles. Power and authority will be granted to those who I deem worthy. I don't care what title your family carried before the plague. Your blood is red like anyone else's and your last name means nothing to me.
"Your first assignment will be to learn Tyris' universal language. You are free to teach your native language to your children and preserve it, but that's it. You won't be allowed to use it in public or on your job.
"Your countries are dead and if you want to become part of mine, you'll have to ensure everyone can understand you at all times or face charges of sedition.
"Your second assignment will be to share your craft with the apprentices I will give you or learn a useful craft if you don't have one.
"I won't allow parasites to infest my garden. My healers will ensure you have perfect health and working bodies so you'll have no excuse. Your third and final task, if you decide to remain, will be to always respect and uphold my laws.
"Defection is not allowed. Betrayal is not allowed. If you discover that your neighbor, your parent, or your child is a traitor or a criminal, you have to report them. If you don't, once they are captured I'll inflict the same punishment on your entire family.
"Don't try to fool me because it doesn't work. Don't make false accusations because the sentence you'll receive is the same as the crime you report. If you are asking yourself what makes me so sure of my justice system, the answer is that I read minds.
"Plural. It is how I'm talking to you right now. It is how you understand each other even though you speak dozens of different languages. I am Salaark, the Desert's sun, and in case you are still doubting my words, answer me this.
"Have you seen my lips move while I 'talked'?"
It was then that the Jierans noticed that the Overlord hadn't moved a muscle since she had stepped over the dais. They had assumed she was talking because they could all hear her clearly and because they all heard the same things.
Only then did they realize how absurd it was that even while discussing her terms with their compatriots, even though their neighbors kept mumbling, they could still hear the Guardian's every word like she was talking in their ear.
Salaark stood silent for a while, letting the revelation sink.
"Whether you decide to become my subjects or not, I've prepared gifts for you. Feel free to consider my offer over lunch. My treat."
At a snap of her fingertips, the members of her honor guard walked to the assembled human citizens of Zarka, giving each one of them a set of clean clothes, a pair of shoes, and a utility knife.
Meanwhile, her human mages set just a few large tables and chairs throughout the plaza. The Jierans sat wherever they could, afraid to lose their spot and miss their free meal.
Little did they know that Salaark had requested a census of the humans from the city lord.
She knew exactly how many people would attend her speech and had instructed her mages to add more tables over time to incite the rush and have the Jieran split from their compatriots and force them to mingle with their old enemies.
Once everyone was seated and flabbergasted by the fact no one had been left standing, the meal was served. It was a simple soup served with oven-fresh white bread, followed by a steak with roasted potatoes, and ice cream for dessert.
Many were already crying at the soup, tasting refined salt for the first time in years and adding spices as needed. Bread too moved people to tears since if one wanted some, they had to cultivate the wheat, turn it into flour, and then make an oven.
Bakeries weren't profitable because there was no money. No commodity could be bought, only earned through labor that beasts and plant folk deemed useful. At the steak, beer was served, replacing sadness with joy and laughter.
People talked with those sitting beside and in front of them, commenting on the food and discussing Salaark's terms. Beer was another victim of the plague and its return was greatly appreciated.
At the ice cream, the Jierans learned of the Cook Magus whose name was praised until a Phoenix clarified they knew him already as Lith Verhen. People grumbled but licked their cups clean anyway.
Once the meal was over, the magic ended and the chariot went back to being a pumpkin.
Suddenly, no one understood anything the others said. The feelings of camaraderie and friendship born while breaking bread together were replaced by the coldness of frustration and isolation.
"You can be happy with me or you can be free here. If you want to be both, good luck fighting the monster tides on your own." Those were Salaark's last words as she stepped down the dais.
The Jierans understood what she had done, that everything they had experienced had been a trap and they had fallen for it.
Yet most of them didn't care. The thought of eating bland food that night and spending the rest of their lives miserably was too much to bear after having literally tasted the alternative.
Sure, they now had new clothes and shoes, but it was just a matter of time before they worn out and needed to be patched over and over.
Just like the dinner, the clothes were a ticking clock. Salaark had given the Jierans "gifts" only to remind them how much they had lost and how helpless they were without a social structure.
To add insult to injury, the Guardian gave them until dinnertime to make up their minds.
When the recruitment expedition returned to the Flying Feather outpost, about three quarters of the human population of Zarka had followed Salaark. They found small but comfortable houses waiting for them, fresh flowers, and real beds.
That same evening, they begged the Overlord to bless them with mutual understanding again and she granted it. The following day, they all attended the first lesson about Tyris' universal language with a smile on their faces.
"This is unbelievable, Mother." Resaal said while checking the numbers. "At this rate, it will take us just the time to teach the Jierans the common language and basic training to make our magic metal, silver, and gold mines operational.
"While the Kingdom and the Empire have to import their workforce from Garlen, we'll train the local mages and expand our territories with the help of your recruits. The Jierans will build their new country in your image. How did you do it?"
"What I'm offering you sounds like your old life." Salaark continued. "It sounds nice and comfortable but make no mistake. Your old life is over and there's no place in my country for those who cling to the past.
"In the Desert, I'm the law and here in Jiera, it will be no different. If you decide to come with me, you'll do as I say, when I say it, and how I tell you to do it. There will be no elections. You'll have no representatives but those of my choosing.
"There will be no nobles. Power and authority will be granted to those who I deem worthy. I don't care what title your family carried before the plague. Your blood is red like anyone else's and your last name means nothing to me.
"Your first assignment will be to learn Tyris' universal language. You are free to teach your native language to your children and preserve it, but that's it. You won't be allowed to use it in public or on your job.
"Your countries are dead and if you want to become part of mine, you'll have to ensure everyone can understand you at all times or face charges of sedition.
"Your second assignment will be to share your craft with the apprentices I will give you or learn a useful craft if you don't have one.
"I won't allow parasites to infest my garden. My healers will ensure you have perfect health and working bodies so you'll have no excuse. Your third and final task, if you decide to remain, will be to always respect and uphold my laws.
"Defection is not allowed. Betrayal is not allowed. If you discover that your neighbor, your parent, or your child is a traitor or a criminal, you have to report them. If you don't, once they are captured I'll inflict the same punishment on your entire family.
"Don't try to fool me because it doesn't work. Don't make false accusations because the sentence you'll receive is the same as the crime you report. If you are asking yourself what makes me so sure of my justice system, the answer is that I read minds.
"Plural. It is how I'm talking to you right now. It is how you understand each other even though you speak dozens of different languages. I am Salaark, the Desert's sun, and in case you are still doubting my words, answer me this.
"Have you seen my lips move while I 'talked'?"
It was then that the Jierans noticed that the Overlord hadn't moved a muscle since she had stepped over the dais. They had assumed she was talking because they could all hear her clearly and because they all heard the same things.
Only then did they realize how absurd it was that even while discussing her terms with their compatriots, even though their neighbors kept mumbling, they could still hear the Guardian's every word like she was talking in their ear.
Salaark stood silent for a while, letting the revelation sink.
"Whether you decide to become my subjects or not, I've prepared gifts for you. Feel free to consider my offer over lunch. My treat."
At a snap of her fingertips, the members of her honor guard walked to the assembled human citizens of Zarka, giving each one of them a set of clean clothes, a pair of shoes, and a utility knife.
Meanwhile, her human mages set just a few large tables and chairs throughout the plaza. The Jierans sat wherever they could, afraid to lose their spot and miss their free meal.
Little did they know that Salaark had requested a census of the humans from the city lord.
She knew exactly how many people would attend her speech and had instructed her mages to add more tables over time to incite the rush and have the Jieran split from their compatriots and force them to mingle with their old enemies.
Once everyone was seated and flabbergasted by the fact no one had been left standing, the meal was served. It was a simple soup served with oven-fresh white bread, followed by a steak with roasted potatoes, and ice cream for dessert.
Many were already crying at the soup, tasting refined salt for the first time in years and adding spices as needed. Bread too moved people to tears since if one wanted some, they had to cultivate the wheat, turn it into flour, and then make an oven.
Bakeries weren't profitable because there was no money. No commodity could be bought, only earned through labor that beasts and plant folk deemed useful. At the steak, beer was served, replacing sadness with joy and laughter.
People talked with those sitting beside and in front of them, commenting on the food and discussing Salaark's terms. Beer was another victim of the plague and its return was greatly appreciated.
At the ice cream, the Jierans learned of the Cook Magus whose name was praised until a Phoenix clarified they knew him already as Lith Verhen. People grumbled but licked their cups clean anyway.
Once the meal was over, the magic ended and the chariot went back to being a pumpkin.
Suddenly, no one understood anything the others said. The feelings of camaraderie and friendship born while breaking bread together were replaced by the coldness of frustration and isolation.
"You can be happy with me or you can be free here. If you want to be both, good luck fighting the monster tides on your own." Those were Salaark's last words as she stepped down the dais.
The Jierans understood what she had done, that everything they had experienced had been a trap and they had fallen for it.
Yet most of them didn't care. The thought of eating bland food that night and spending the rest of their lives miserably was too much to bear after having literally tasted the alternative.
Sure, they now had new clothes and shoes, but it was just a matter of time before they worn out and needed to be patched over and over.
Just like the dinner, the clothes were a ticking clock. Salaark had given the Jierans "gifts" only to remind them how much they had lost and how helpless they were without a social structure.
To add insult to injury, the Guardian gave them until dinnertime to make up their minds.
When the recruitment expedition returned to the Flying Feather outpost, about three quarters of the human population of Zarka had followed Salaark. They found small but comfortable houses waiting for them, fresh flowers, and real beds.
That same evening, they begged the Overlord to bless them with mutual understanding again and she granted it. The following day, they all attended the first lesson about Tyris' universal language with a smile on their faces.
"This is unbelievable, Mother." Resaal said while checking the numbers. "At this rate, it will take us just the time to teach the Jierans the common language and basic training to make our magic metal, silver, and gold mines operational.
"While the Kingdom and the Empire have to import their workforce from Garlen, we'll train the local mages and expand our territories with the help of your recruits. The Jierans will build their new country in your image. How did you do it?"
