078. Tea With El-Deen

Krellos’ heavy boots scraped the floor as he and Stroth were led through twisting corridors of metallic coral. Masked guards guided them into an incongruously pristine white room, featureless save for a wide table, three chairs, and a window through which gnarled mineral branches framed the depths of the cosmos. Another Ele sat at the table, masked and robed in what Stroth recognised as violet diplomatic garb.

As she and Krellos entered, the diplomat began, serenely, “Welcome, guests. Please sit.” The two did so, eyeing each other cautiously, and the Ele produced a simple tea set, pouring without hurry. Silence dominated.

“I want you to know that you needn’t fear,” the Ele continued, handing out teacups. “Whatever you once were, you are of the Ele now. You’re becoming part of the Metanation.” With careful hands, they removed their mask to reveal a human face, bright-eyed and smiling softly. “So the tea isn’t poisoned.”

Krellos daintily took a sip, confusion painting his face. Stroth felt the same way, and the Ele - the man - took note.

“I was like you, once,” he explained. “I think my name was Deen. Something Deen. A deckhand on a freighter. I was scared, too, but that didn’t last long. Now, I’m of the Ele, just like you. If you must call me something, call me El-Deen.”

“I don’t get it,” Krellos ventured. “Did you… put somethin’ in us?”

“In a sense, yes,” El-Deen nodded gently, steepling his fingers, “but this might take some time to explain.”