B5 Epilogue

High above the capital, the Palace of Ascension floated. An impossible structure, kept aloft by the largest array in the history of the realm, and home to the highest of the Blood.

At the tallest point of this structure, within the most sanctified of its towers and surrounded by platinum ranked Imperial Knights lay the Emperor Elios al Selene, the forty-seventh of that name.

Named for the Goddess to whom his lineage belonged, he slept restlessly, his dreams invaded by thrashing colours and titanic voices roaring in the distance. Rats and Crows and Crones danced around a fire, raising the flames higher and higher while the Emperor fought to contain it, to hold back the flames.

Birds with blood red feathers swooped and pecked at him, their eyes like shining rubies, poking holes in his flesh and drinking deep on the bright blood that flowed from within.

Beneath it all, shadows crept at the edge of his vision, extending further every time he turned his head. Everything the darkness touched began to fade, losing substance until nothing but a ghostly image remained, a mockery of the substance it had held before.

Did they think he didn’t notice? That he couldn’t see?

Anger rising in his chest, the Emperor swept out his hand, calling on the Divine power that was his by birthright. In an instant, everything that troubled him was swept away. No more laughing gods, no more hovering birds, no more creeping shadows.

The only thing left was a black skull, burning with malice, empty sockets staring deep into his soul.

With a start, Elios came awake, sitting up, a trickle of sweat running down his face. For a moment, he was disoriented, not realising where he was, the darkness closing in ominously. After a few seconds, the feeling passed. He knew who he was, he knew where.

He was the Emperor in the seat of his power, the highest authority in the realm below the gods themselves.

Calm returned as the details of the dreams that had plagued him began to tatter and fray. It had been like this often, lately. Restless sleep, tossing in his bed, waking feeling drained and fatigued. He no longer allowed any of his bed companions to remain by his side as he slept, lest there be further incidents.

For someone of his strength, even the slightest of movements could be enough to snap bones and crush skulls.

Moving with care, he raised a hand and flicked his wrist. Immediately, light bloomed throughout the room, conjured by the floating globes that hovered within the chamber.

“Good morning, your Imperial Majesty.”

Softly spoken, yet carrying a clear and enchanting music, the voice caressed his ear. Sitting up, he saw, as he did every time he awoke, a dozen of his attendants, faces pressed to the floor. At their head, his chief stewardess sat upright, the only one allowed to meet his gaze.

Shoulder length brown hair styled in rippling waves ran down her neck and over her bare shoulders, the gown showing off her golden skin. Despite this, it was her eyes that were most captivating. A piercing blue, clear and pure.

Not for the first time, he wondered if it was time he gave Aisha a child. They were related, distantly, but her blood was sufficiently pure to provide an imperial offspring.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

The mere sound of his voice thickened the air around him, causing it to press down on the kneeling girls, who endured as best they could. Divine Authority, as always, hung on him like a cloak. Every action he performed was reinforced by it, every word he spoke was a vessel for its pressure.

Only Aisha appeared unmoved by it.

“Would your Imperial Majesty like us to bring him breakfast now? Or is there some other service he desires from us?”

The Emperor contemplated.

“I will meditate,” he said, once again keeping his voice as soft as possible.

He did not need to specify that they should return in an hour. After two centuries of reign, Elios’ habits were well ingrained. Aisha bowed low, folding gracefully at the waist and pressing her face to the floor.

“We will withdraw,” she said.

As one, the attendants rose onto their heels and stood, keeping themselves folded at the waist and facing the floor. In this pose, they backed out of the room, unable to show him their backs, their hands visible to him and the Knights in the corners of the room at all times.

When they were gone, the Emperor rose from his bed, the silken rugs warm beneath his bare feet as he padded from his bedchamber to an adjoining room.

With its crystal walls and floor, this space gave an incomparable view of the Palace, and beyond that the vast expanse of the Central Province rolling out for thousands of kilometres in every direction.

As the Knights filed in behind him, Elios paid them no mind, folding his legs and sitting in the centre of the room, a precipitous drop beneath him with only a thin sheet of enchanted crystal to support his weight.

A few steadying breaths, then he focused his gaze on the symbols etched into the crystal wall before him. Five symbols, one for each of the gods, but highest among them, the Goddess Selene.

In life, she had been their leader, their captain, the one who had pushed and pushed the others until they had risen to the highest possible heights.

In return, she had demanded, and received, the right for her offspring to rule over the Empire. The Imperial line would spring from her loins, an everlasting dynasty that the others would support and never seek to overthrow.

Hamar, Lofis and Orthriss had agreed, and in the thousands of years since, they had nurtured their resentment.

The result of their discontent was the Imperial Court of today, not that it had changed much for the past twelve centuries. A quagmire of bureaucracy designed to frustrate and restrict the Imperial Seat at every turn, with every drop of power divided into tiny fractions and viciously fought over.

With the fall of Granin, the last of the Kingdoms was wiped from the map, so now only the Empire remained. No competitors, no fear. What did it matter if the Empire stagnated and weakened, was made more inefficient, more wasteful, more corrupt? The gods had nothing to fear except each other.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Mother of Mothers. Ancestor of Ancestors. Allow me to receive your light.

The Emperor tried to still his thoughts and cast away his frustration. It wasn’t always easy for the Divines to reach out and speak in this world. Oracles were raised specially, and received Classes that increased their sensitivity to the words of the gods. As the Emperor, there was none more attuned to the will of Selene than he, and so, he focused, hoping she would speak to him.

For long minutes, he sat, unmoving, unthinking and unfeeling, his eyes open but unseeing, letting time pass while he communed with the heavens above.

He had meditated more often as of late. This was not the first time an entire Province had been purged, but it was still not a common occurrence. The Empire would take centuries to recover, so long that he wouldn’t live to see it. In truth, he would be deposed before another eighty years had passed, the Imperial Seat handed to whichever of his offspring was favoured by the gods.

His successor would see the Empire made whole again, yet for Elios, his heart was troubled. There couldn’t be weakness at a time like this. The Realm was at the crossroads, and the gods would ensure the correct path was taken, yet strength and stability was required.

Once again, he stilled his thoughts, turning his attention inward, hoping to hear the whisper of the goddess.

More time passed, and Elios began to think that his hopes would once again not be answered. That was fine. It was rare to hear her voice, even for him. He would try again tomorrow.

Just as he began to relax his posture, a flicker of light caught his attention. Was it a reflection off the crystal? It shouldn’t be… it was designed to diffuse the light perfectly.

Yet the spot of light only grew brighter, larger, creeping outwards to encompass the entire wall before him.