If you’ve ever felt the world slipping between your fingers, try managing a global tour, a secret war against an imprisoned elder dragon, and the bureaucratic labyrinth of the Corporate Court—all at once. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.
August 20–24. Seattle. Global. Everywhere.
They say Lofwyr gives good advice. What they don’t say is that he expects you to obey it.
And I didn’t.
Despite his explicit warning, I’ve begun building a coalition to guard Mount Rainier. Not because I want to rebel for the thrill of it (though let’s be honest, I probably do), but because I felt it—deep in my bones. The mountain is changing. Velaxas is not just whispering anymore. He's breathing.
So I reached out to every power bloc I could:
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Saeder-Krupp, grudgingly aligned through sheer pragmatism
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Aztechnology, thanks to Teq’s continued sponsorship of my bizarre life choices
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The elves of Tir Tairngire, old-world mysticism with new-world teeth
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The First Nations, at least the ones who will speak to me
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Vivek in Samarkand, whose support is less overt and more esoteric
Together, we’re establishing a multinational security force. Orbital surveillance, obsidimen guardians, and a rotating cadre of top-tier mages. A thousand and five hundred of them. Which we don’t currently have. But we’re building the infrastructure to train them—fast.
A Zürich-Orbital Treaty now exists. Quiet. Sealed. Filed away in the depths of the court’s AI-guarded vaults. The kind of document that will shape history—if it works. If not... well, it’ll be someone else’s problem.
August 25–26. Houston, CAS
Texas. Lone Star pride in its full synthetic glory.
The public concert was a celebration of the independent spirit, with Halo rendered in desert golds and wildfire reds. She praised innovation, resilience, and the defiant refusal to be ruled by outsiders.
At the intimate concert, we leaned into dynastic myth. Guests included Samuel Huston and Alexa Austin, both descendants of names so iconic they might as well be brands. Halo's performance blended historical allegory with modern politics in a way that left even the cynical Texans misty-eyed.
September 2–3. Atlanta, CAS
If Houston was about independence, Atlanta was about unity. The cultural heart of the CAS.
Halo’s show here felt like a diplomatic mission. Songs of Southern legacy, freedom wrapped in tradition, and the enduring will of the people to chart their own course. It was effective—almost too effective.
The intimate concert quietly tried to smooth over CAS-UCAS tensions and even touched on the old dream of a greater American harmony. The feeds loved it. Texas? Less so. But isn’t that always the way?
Meanwhile, in the background: the price of influence is time.
I am spread far too thin. Every call leads to another obligation. Every alliance carries expectation. The political machine demands more than I can give. And still, the Matrix hums.
Wizkid is active constantly. Posts. Probes. Counter-measures. Messages. Deals. Rumors of a new Matrix cult. Someone—something—calling itself Velaxas has started appearing in technomancer spaces. Friendly. Curious. Entirely too interested in simulated reality.
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