Chapter Text
To the Grand Councilman, Waldridge of the Hidden City
Many hundreds of years ago, a man called Xanthippos Draxum was joined by numerous other prominent alchemists of the day, and commissioned to erect the wards for what would become the Yokai Capital. I know this, and you know this. You were there. And I know, too, that even then the old alchemists knew their time was nearly up. The art was considered esoteric, dangerous, and unpopular even back then. It’s practitioners, even more so. Now, it seems like I’m the last one. I’m sure the Council is thrilled.
In many ways, it is a good thing. I never got to say what I wanted at that hamfisted ceremony I’m sure you would all refer to as a “hearing.” And so, in the interest of securing an arrangement, I’d like to say it now. To force sapience upon a creature that never wanted it and never asked to exist is cruel, to then inflict experimental torments upon these cosmically tortured beings is wrong, and to use, abuse and irrevocably transfigure a man in pursuit of these acts is nothing less than barbaric. I can agree with you on one thing, Councilman. It was a terrible thing. That doesn’t change the fact that it happened.
Even as we speak, the Hamatos have forged a home for themselves in the overworld. I ask you this, Grand Councilman: does anyone ask to be born?
I am the last of the Lord Alchemists. My ancestors built and maintained your walls for centuries. I know their inner workings, and I know how to sabotage and destroy as well as I can refurbish and repair. I bear no fealty towards the city. But perhaps, for old times sake, I’d like to see it last another century or two.
In return, I request only this: leave the Hamatos be. If the Grand Councilwoman Mensah is so livid they still exist, simply pretend they don’t- let the turtles be dead to you, if that’s what it takes. But keep your distance. I meant what I said before, I owe the Hidden City nothing.
Please respond with convincing reassurances that my family will be left alone, and I can start work upon the wards in November. Or don’t. But you should know they’re pretty much being held together with duct tape and prayers at this point.
Sincerely,
The Baron Draxum