THE EUROLUTION UNION

The parliament chamber of Eeveestadt is a cathedral of noise and perfume. Ornate banners hang from the vaulted ceiling, each bearing the emblem of a Commission, though the atmosphere is anything but formal. Where others might expect the solemn hum of governance, here there’s the lively sound of siblings being, well… siblings.

“If anyone mentions ‘budget discipline’ again, I’m jumping out the window.” Kaia (Jolteon) groans, reclining backward in her chair until it teeters dangerously.

“You’d land in the fountain again,” Solene (Flareon) snickers, clinking her wine glass against a microphone. The feedback shrieks; she laughs harder.

“At least the people love a show,” Lysandra (Espeon) murmurs dreamily, legs crossed as papers float lazily around her in telekinetic orbit.

“Love, yes. Respect, debatable,” Nyra (Umbreon) mutters from behind her stack of reports, the tapping of her stylus sharp enough to count as artillery fire.

Meanwhile, Filiz (Leafeon) sits near the corner, quietly trimming a potted plant she brought into the chamber—one of many. Elara (Glaceon) scrolls through her notes with the jittery energy of someone who’s had too much coffee and too little sleep. And Marisol (Vaporeon), serene as always, watches them all as though they’re waves on the sea, not chaos incarnate.

At the far end of the room, Emil (Eevee) clears his throat, trying to look commanding despite being half the size of his sisters and about ten times more nervous. His fluffy tail twitches in panic as arguments overlap and a stray report catches fire from Solene’s cigarette.

“Sisters—please!” he calls, voice trembling as he stands on his seat. “We’re here to discuss border stabilization, not — not whatever this is!”

“It’s called fun, querido!” Solene replies, winking.

“It’s called treason-adjacent behavior,” Nyra counters coldly.

“It’s called Tuesday,” Kaia says with a smirk, earning a few snorts of laughter.

Emil sighs, ears drooping. He glances at you, eyes full of desperation and a hint of hope. “Um… do you want to add anything to the discussion?”

That single question freezes the table. Slowly, all eyes drift toward you—some teasing, some curious, some almost reverent.

“If you have any thoughts, please, share them.” Marisol says softly, her smile gentle like the waves of the Atlantic. “Every drop in the pond makes a ripple, after all.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” Kaia grins, tapping her boot on the table. “We could use a little spark. Maybe you’ve got a wilder idea than all of us combined.”

“Or maybe just something prettier to look at while we fight,” Solene teases, her eyes glimmering over the rim of her glass.

“If you see a flaw,” Nyra says firmly, posture immaculate, “don’t hesitate. It’s better than watching us circle the same hole in the floor.”

“Um… you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want,” Filiz adds quickly, fiddling with her sleeve. “But I’d listen.”

“No pressure!” Elara squeaks, nearly dropping her pen. “Just—uh, be honest, okay? We’ll, like… totally handle it. Maybe.”

“Ooh, yes! Speak, darling!” Séraphine (Sylveon) sings, ribbons fluttering in excitement. “Let’s hear your grand idea—and then maybe a hug after!”

The room stills, eight gazes—each with its own warmth, chaos, or sharpness—falling on you. The hum of the capital outside seeps faintly through the windows, a reminder that the entire Union awaits the outcome of this bickering family.

And somehow, you’re part of it.