All the officials turned to Carlisle, waiting for his response.
After a moment of silence, Carlisle spoke slowly.
"If Tana II is genuinely willing to negotiate, then of course we are prepared to participate in peace talks. However, we have one condition."
"What condition?" Silvermoon asked.
"They must first withdraw all their forces from the asteroid and issue a formal apology for the massacre of our personnel," Carlisle said firmly. "That is our bottom line. It is absolutely non-negotiable."
Rowan and Silvermoon exchanged a glance. They both understood how complicated the situation had become. Tana I's demands sounded reasonable on the surface, but they were likely conditions that Tana II would never accept.
"We understand your position," Rowan replied diplomatically. "We will convey your demands to Tana II. However, we also hope your government can demonstrate some goodwill."
"What kind of goodwill?" Carlisle asked cautiously.
"For example, suspending further military operations and halting additional troop deployments," Silvermoon suggested. "That would help create a more favorable atmosphere for negotiations."
The military general immediately objected.
"Impossible! Until Tana II withdraws its forces, we cannot lower our guard. Their fleet is stationed at our borders. How can we be expected to disarm ourselves first?"
"We're not asking you to disarm," Rowan explained calmly. "We're only suggesting a pause in offensive military actions."
"But we haven't launched any attacks," Carlisle said with genuine confusion. "We've been acting purely in self-defense."
"Yet your government has also deployed nuclear weapons near the border," Silvermoon pointed out. "From Tana II's perspective, that is also a threat."
The Minister of Economy spoke emotionally.
"That's because they threatened to bomb our capital first! Our nuclear deployment is entirely defensive!"
The atmosphere in the conference room grew increasingly tense. Rowan realized that continuing the discussion would only worsen the situation.
"We understand everyone's concerns and positions," Rowan said as he stood up. "Today's discussion has been extremely valuable. We need some time to analyze the information and formulate a more detailed mediation strategy."
"Of course, of course," Carlisle replied immediately, his warm smile returning. "We've arranged the finest accommodations for both of you. Please don't hesitate to contact us if you need anything."
"We'd also like the freedom to investigate the situation ourselves," Silvermoon added. "Perhaps interview ordinary citizens and visit relevant facilities."
"No problem at all," Carlisle answered readily. "We'll arrange personnel to accompany you and ensure your safety and convenience."
After the meeting, Rowan and Silvermoon were escorted to a luxury hotel.
The service was impeccable, and the accommodations were excellent. However, Rowan quickly noticed that despite the hospitality, their movements were being subtly monitored.
"They're being friendly on the surface, but they're still keeping us under surveillance," Silvermoon remarked once they were alone.
"That's only natural," Rowan replied thoughtfully. "Any government would be cautious with outsiders. The real question is how much of what we heard today was actually true."
"Do you think they lied?" Silvermoon asked.
"Not necessarily," Rowan said after a pause. "But they definitely omitted certain things. Everyone describes events from their own perspective. The truth usually exists somewhere between different versions."
"So what do we do next? Tomorrow they'll probably continue trying to persuade us to support their side."
"We need more objective information," Rowan said decisively. "Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we'll find a way to learn what's really happening. Official statements alone aren't enough."
The next morning, a light sea mist still covered Harbor City.
Rowan and Silvermoon woke before dawn. They intended to investigate the real situation before the government's scheduled activities began.
"Today's official itinerary includes visits to military installations and economic development zones," Silvermoon said while reviewing the schedule they had received the previous evening. "Exactly the sort of places they want us to see."
"Which means we need to act before then," Rowan replied, already dressed in ordinary civilian clothes. "We need to hear what the common people actually think."
To avoid attracting attention, they decided to split up.
Silvermoon headed toward the commercial and market districts, while Rowan chose the harbor area, where large numbers of workers and sailors gathered. Such places often revealed truths that official channels concealed.
"Remember," Rowan reminded her, "we're only listening. Don't ask sensitive questions directly. Drawing too much attention could expose us."
"Understood," Silvermoon nodded. "We'll meet again at Central Square in two hours."
Leaving the hotel, Rowan walked along the coastal streets toward the harbor.
Harbor City was already bustling despite the early hour. Citizens exercised by the waterfront, street vendors sold breakfast, and workers hurried toward their jobs.
Yet beneath the appearance of normal life, Rowan sensed a pervasive tension.
Government mobilization posters covered shop windows, urging citizens to support the war effort. Large electronic displays at street corners continuously broadcast reports about the "threat posed by Tana II."
Most telling of all were the patrols.
Soldiers stood watch in nearly every district. Though their expressions remained polite, the weapons they carried served as constant reminders of war's looming shadow.
The harbor district was one of the city's oldest areas.
Its stone docks and wooden warehouses reflected centuries of maritime history. Fishing boats returned loaded with fresh catches while merchant vessels unloaded cargo from distant ports.
Rowan selected a modest-looking waterfront tavern.
Places like this, frequented by sailors and dockworkers, were often where the most honest opinions could be heard.
The establishment was called The Wavecrest Tavern.
Its weathered wooden sign had been worn by decades of sea wind and salt.
As Rowan pushed open the heavy door, the scent of alcohol, tobacco, and seawater filled the air.
The interior was dimly lit but welcoming. Although it was still morning, many patrons had already gathered, most of them dockworkers finishing overnight shifts.
Rowan took a seat in the corner, ordered a local seaweed ale, and quietly listened.
"Damn this war. Prices are going up again," a bearded middle-aged man complained to his companion. "I bought bread yesterday, and it cost thirty percent more than last week."
"That's not even the worst part," a younger dockworker replied. "I heard the government plans to impose a war tax. Everyone's wages will be cut to fund military spending."
"And for what? That stupid asteroid?" a third man said bitterly. "People like us won't see any of the profits. Why should we bear the cost?"
Rowan listened carefully.
Their frustration was genuine.
Clearly, ordinary citizens did not support the war nearly as enthusiastically as government officials claimed.
"Keep your voice down," the bearded man warned nervously, glancing around. "Government informants are everywhere."
"So what?" the young worker protested. "We're not saying anything illegal. Are we not even allowed to complain about prices anymore?"
"You're too young to understand politics," an elderly sailor said quietly. "This war isn't as simple as you think."
Everyone turned toward him.
Apparently, his words carried weight.
"Old Tom, do you know something?" the bearded man asked.
The old sailor, Tom, appeared to be in his sixties.
His weathered face spoke of a lifetime spent at sea.
After confirming no one was paying attention, he lowered his voice.
"I have a friend who works in the government," he said mysteriously. "According to him, Tana II has actually proposed peace negotiations several times."
"What?!"
Everyone stared at him in disbelief.
"Then why hasn't the government announced it?"
"Because our government rejected every proposal," Tom answered bitterly. "Each time Tana II sent representatives, our Foreign Ministry demanded conditions they could never accept."
"What conditions?"
"They demanded that Tana II's supreme leader publicly apologize, pay astronomical reparations, and permanently surrender all claims to the asteroid."
The bearded man frowned.
"That's not negotiation. That's humiliation."
"Exactly," Tom nodded. "My friend says some people in the government never wanted peace in the first place. They want to settle everything through war."
"But why?" someone asked. "What do we gain from war?"
Tom looked around once more before speaking even more quietly.
"Because the asteroid is worth far more than the government admits."
Everyone held their breath.
"The government only disclosed the value of the minerals. But they found something else."
"What?"
"Energy crystals."
The entire tavern fell silent.
"They're a completely new energy source. If developed successfully, they could revolutionize our civilization."
In the corner, Rowan felt a jolt of surprise.
Energy crystals possessed enormous strategic value.
No wonder both sides were willing to fight so fiercely.
"So the government would rather start a war than share them?" the young worker asked angrily.
"It gets worse," Tom continued. "Some military corporations have already begun profiting from the war preparations. They're manufacturing weapons, the government keeps buying them, and they're getting rich."
"Bloodsuckers," the bearded man cursed. "They get rich while we die."
"And from what I've heard," Tom added, "Tana II doesn't actually want war either. Their peace proposals were reasonable. They even suggested jointly developing the asteroid and splitting the profits equally. But our government rejected everything."
"Why?" someone asked in disbelief. "Wouldn't that benefit everyone?"
"Because certain politicians and businessmen want all the profits for themselves," Tom said angrily. "They're willing to risk total destruction just to keep everything."
The more Rowan listened, the more complicated the situation appeared.
The official narrative contained far more omissions than he had initially suspected.
At that moment, the tavern door opened again.
Several anxious-looking people entered and quietly took seats in a secluded corner.
"Did you hear?" one of them whispered. "Another group of volunteers was sent to the front lines last night."
"Volunteers?" another man laughed bitterly. "That's what they call them. In reality, they're being forced into service. My son is only nineteen, and he received his draft notice yesterday."
"Our neighborhood has already received three death notifications," a third person said sadly. "Those kids had barely become adults."
"What about the compensation the government promised?" someone asked.
"Still under review," the man replied angrily. "It's been under review for three months. We haven't seen a single coin."
The mood inside the tavern grew even heavier.
The cost of war was already being paid by ordinary people.
"Do we really need this war?" a young voice asked, trembling. "Is one asteroid worth all these deaths?"
"The problem is that ordinary people don't get to decide," Old Tom said helplessly. "The politicians sit in comfortable offices and make the decisions. It's our children who die."
"If Tana II really proposed reasonable peace terms, why didn't we accept them?" the bearded man asked.
"Because the politicians and arms manufacturers need this war."
A new voice had joined the conversation.
Everyone turned.
The speaker was a plainly dressed middle-aged woman who appeared to be an ordinary government employee.
"I work at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs," she said quietly. "I've personally seen Tana II's peace proposals. They were reasonable. They were even willing to accept partial responsibility for the previous conflict and offer compensation."
"Then why were they rejected?" someone demanded.
"Because Minister Carlisle and his supporters insisted on unconditional surrender," the woman answered angrily. "They believe only the complete defeat of Tana II can permanently solve the problem."
"But what if we lose?" the young worker asked nervously.
"Then we all perish," the woman said heavily. "Mutual destruction. No one wins."
At that moment, the sound of military patrols echoed outside the tavern.
Instantly, everyone fell silent and resumed pretending to engage in ordinary conversation.
"These are difficult times," Old Tom sighed.
"Yes," everyone murmured in agreement.
But on every face, Rowan saw the same expression:
Fear.
After checking the time, Rowan quietly paid his bill and left the tavern.
-------------------------------
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