Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 9 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Before the Storm

The thirteenth day of the eighth month of Imperial Year 1026

Cladius, capital of the Grantzian Empire, was the beating heart of human prosperity and one of the oldest cities in Soleil. More commonly known simply as “the imperial capital,” it famously never slept. The most popular destination was the central boulevard, where merchant stalls boasted wares from the farthest corners of Aletia, delicious scents stoked the palate, and merry voices issued from all sides every hour of every day. Parents looked on contentedly as their children ran around the square, toys in hands.

Such was the city’s reputation, at least, but even places that would normally have been bustling did not match it now. Night had fallen. The clouds were one with the darkness, and stars shone through the gaps between. The moon’s gentle light emerged to succeed the sun’s fierce glare. Yet while the stalls’ popularity usually endured long into the evening, they were as silent as the grave. The night was so still that one could have heard a pin drop.

A somber silence hung over the boulevard. The air had a gravity that made the townsfolk feel unwelcome, as though they were trespassing on sacred ground. No one dared draw near. Only the twelve figures lining the sides of the road remained to keep vigil—the statues of the Twelve Divines.

Zertheus, the First God.

Mars, the War God.

The Valditte, the God of Beauty.

Corpal, the God of Smithing.

Belvard, the Guardian.

Carall, the Sage.

Orlaga, the God of the Harvest.

Banietta, the God of Commerce.

Vulcan, the God of Arms.

Parla, the God of Medicine.

Urall, the God of Music.

Seldra, the God of Water.

Ten were emperors who had brought glory and prosperity to the empire. The remaining two goddesses had never sat on the throne, but they had been deified nonetheless in recognition of their feats. All were rendered in minute detail. While the turning of the years had left them pockmarked with small imperfections, their majesty remained undimmed.

The moon shrank behind a cloud, and the statues receded into darkness. At the very same moment, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. The newcomer was the only individual in the empire permitted to enter this place. Her hair shimmered like flame in the gloom, endowing her with a presence that she could not have hidden if she’d tried.

With a clack of boot on stone, she came to a halt before the statue of the Valditte. This was Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz, sixth princess of the empire and, now that she was first in the line of succession, empress regent.

“Sister to the first emperor and the first archpriestess to shepherd the people...”

In life, the Valditte had risen up alongside her younger brother, Artheus, to free humankind from the yoke of zlosta tyranny. In addition to being a courageous warrior, she had contributed to the forging of the Spiritblades. In short, she was one of the architects of the empire’s first victory, and the legends spoke of her in terms no less glowing than those they used for the War God.

“Celia Rey Sinmara von Grantz...”

Blessed by the Spirit King’s favor, she had brokered the alliance between the humans and the álfar and even treated with their mutual enemies, the zlosta. All five peoples of Aletia had loved her, and when she died young from illness, all five had mourned. Consensus among historians was that she had accomplished a great many other feats that had never been recorded, and Liz agreed. It would have taken no less for someone who had never sat the throne to earn a place in the pantheon.

“I don’t understand... Why did I see you in my dream?”

Two years prior, when Liz’s heart had been on the point of breaking from losing Hiro, the woman had come to her with words of comfort. Only on returning to the imperial capital had Liz’s nagging suspicions crystallized and she had realized she had spoken to the Valditte. She could have laughed then, as she gazed up at the statue. The real thing had been so much more beautiful than her likeness, she almost felt jealous.

“I had so many questions for you...”

Liz hoped the woman would visit again. They had a great deal to talk about. She wanted to ask about Hiro, about the feats he had accomplished a thousand years ago, about the sides of his story she did not know. What had he gained? What had he learned? What had he lost? And what had called him back to this world one thousand years later?

She had never found the courage to confront him about his true identity. The fear that she would lose him had been too great. It was only thanks to the fragmented memories of the first emperor, Lævateinn’s original wielder, that she had been able to piece her theory together at all.

“For the longest time, I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. I was scared, I think. Too scared to face the truth.”

She pressed a fist against her chest and breathed a small sigh. As a figure of legend, his presence had been unmistakable, an uncanny aura that he could never fully conceal. But she had pretended not to notice, afraid of what accepting the truth would mean. The War God had been her idol, and yet she had run from him.

“But that’s not who I am anymore. I’ve sworn to get stronger.”

And now she wanted to know just what it was that drove him.

“Do you know the answer?”

She did not truly expect a reply from the statue. She waited even so, hoping against hope that the woman would appear again, but all that came was a warm summer wind. She smiled wryly to herself and shook her head.

“I thought something might happen if I came to see you, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking.”

Reluctantly, she turned away. At that moment, a presence nearby made itself known—a light footstep in the dark where the moon did not shine. She swept her gaze around, eyes narrowing, but sensing no animosity, she lowered her guard.

The newcomer stepped forward, the moonlight casting her tender features in silver. “It is dangerous to be out alone so late at night, Your Highness...” She trailed off, looked around, and nodded to herself. A faint smile spread across her face. “I see. Unseen, yet always within reach. Your subordinates are quite proficient.”

Liz’s eyes widened. She too looked around. Within the darkness lurked several figures, alert but not hostile. “I’m impressed you noticed them,” she said. “They’re the finest of my royal guard.”

“Hide as they might, my eyes are not so easily fooled.” From anyone else, the claim might have seemed arrogant, but if anything, the figure sounded humble.

Liz smiled, a little defeated and a little impressed. “I should have expected as much from the archpriestess and her Far Sight.”

She turned back to the figure—the archpriestess. The woman’s pointed ears marked her as an álf. She had the youthful figure of a girl in her late teens, but that proved little. Past a certain point, the álfar did not age, and it was not uncommon for humans to address them as peers only to be shocked when they displayed the wiles of somebody far older. Her eyes were a rich, sparkling blue, proof of her favor with the Spirit King. Their clear depths seemed to pierce through everything they looked upon.

“What brings you here?” Liz asked.

The archpriestess rarely left her home in Baum, but she was known to take up residence in the empire under extenuating circumstances. As empress regent, Liz was well aware of the factors that had brought the woman to the capital. That was not what she was asking, however—she wanted to know why the woman was here, now, on this street.

The archpriestess did not reply. She only stepped closer to gaze up at the Valditte, as Liz had been doing only minutes before.

“The same reasons as you, Your Highness. It is not often that I have the chance to visit my predecessor.”

That was believable enough. Liz looked around. Where the boulevard would typically have been lined with stalls and heaving with crowds, the two of them were now the only signs of life. The area had been cordoned off in preparation for Lord Surtr’s impending visit. That was also the reason for the archpriestess’s presence: she had come from Baum in anticipation of his arrival.

“It’s been a long time for me too. Since I’ve had the chance to look so closely, at least. I never thought my next visit would be alongside the archpriestess.”

There had been no king in Baum for a thousand years. Surtr’s appearance had been a proverbial bolt from the blue, not just for the empire but for all of Soleil. The empire had even gone so far as to protest his appointment, although fear of worsening relations had kept it from following through on its words. Tensions still had not quite cooled to this day, and now that the archpriestess was in the capital, they had once again bubbled to the surface.

“This fortuitous meeting would not have occurred if not for Lord Surtr,” the álfen woman said. “I daresay I owe him a debt.”

“So do I,” Liz replied. “He’s putting my people through their paces.”

The imperial palace had been a hive of activity for days now. Its officials, normally well accustomed to entertaining monarchs and other dignitaries, had lost their composure to an almost comical degree. Much like the attack on the palace two years prior, they had been slow to respond to emergencies. Peace had made them lax. Evidently, their arrogance was so deep-rooted that repeated upsets were not enough to excise it. It was a vexing problem, but not one that Liz could afford to ignore. Adapting to the unexpected was a skill they would undoubtedly need in the weeks and months to come.

The archpriestess watched her ponder for a while. Eventually, she spoke. “Did you know that the first archpriestess has no known burial site, Your Highness?”

“Of course. Everybody does.” The change of subject took Liz slightly aback, but she quickly switched gears. “But Mars founded Baum on the land she loved as his tribute to her, or so historians think. The whole nation is her grave.”

The first archpriestess was almost as enigmatic a figure as the War God himself. Mars had maintained a clear presence in history for a short period, but then he had abruptly vanished, only reappearing to succeed the throne after the first emperor’s death before passing away a year later from unrecorded causes. The first archpriestess had also disappeared young from the historical record, passing away suddenly from illness. The enduring mystery surrounding the pair was part of why the people found them so captivating. Even in the modern day, countless scholars combed dusty tomes in the hope of shedding some light on their lives.

“It is because there is so little known about her that the people of Baum visit the imperial capital,” the archpriestess said. “They wish to lay eyes on this very statue, hoping to catch some glimpse of her true self.”

One could only imagine how they felt to see Baum’s spiritual ancestor raised up as the god of another nation. That said, they made no attempt to build their own statues of the Valditte. Adherents of the Spirit King could not acknowledge a foreign deity within his own domain.

“I heard that Lord Surtr’s ascension didn’t go entirely smoothly.”

“Indeed. Many stood opposed to him taking stewardship of the country, but they could not ignore a revelation from the Spirit King himself.”

“No. I’m sure they would have had no choice but to fall in line.”

The archpriestess’s word was law to the people of Baum. If she claimed the Spirit King had gifted her with a revelation, the truth was irrelevant.

“Do you doubt my word?” the archpriestess asked.

Liz only shrugged. She would be lying if she said she didn’t, but there was no way to prove her suspicions. Only the archpriestess was privy to the word of the Spirit King. She smiled and shook her head, taking care not to let her thoughts show. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

“I see. Well, if you have any more concerns, I will do my best to enlighten you.” The archpriestess’s smile never faltered, and her eyes never left Liz’s face. “That is the least I can do to honor our nations’ thousand-year history.”

A chill crept up Liz’s spine. The álfen woman’s smile seemed cold beneath the moonlight, and so faint that it was hard to tell whether it was really there at all. That said, the archpriestess’s role—the role of any ruler—was to make the difficult decisions that ensured the survival of her nation. In that sense, Liz almost admired her cunning.

“You must have to be strong,” she said.

“Not at all. Influence I may possess, but I am not even free to leave Baum of my own volition. It would be no exaggeration to call me powerless.”

The archpriestess could not act lightly. Indeed, the weight of her actions was what gave her value. Baum was said to be small in breadth but large in stature, and that was a large part of why. Liz was beginning to find herself in a similar position; she could no longer act as freely as she once had, nor could she speak to soldiers or townsfolk as casually as she used to.

The archpriestess broke the silence. “You seem troubled, Your Highness.”

Liz flinched a little in surprise. “Was I that obvious?”

It was dark—too dark to make out the details of someone’s expression, even with the aid of the moonlight. But then the archpriestess gestured to her eyes, and Liz realized her mistake.

“Human hearts are like open books to the Far Sight. You have grown more adept at hiding your colors than you once were, Your Highness, but not enough to fool me yet.”

There were three great arcane eyes in the world of Aletia: Caelus, the Leonine Sight; Uranos, the Empyreal Sight; and the Far Sight, which was passed down through successive generations of archpriestesses. It rendered emotions visible as colors, allowing its bearers to perceive the smallest change in heart. Concealing one’s thoughts from them was next to impossible.

“I have heard much of you, Your Highness. Of your efforts as empress regent too. No doubt the empire’s vastness has impressed itself upon you anew as you have settled into your role.”

The álfen woman looked up at the sky. Liz followed her gaze. The swift wind had ushered the clouds on, revealing the moon. The stars glittered around it, trying to outshine its gentle glow with their own fierce light.

“You fear that you will assume the throne only to fail to bring the lion to heel.” The archpriestess’s expression was inscrutable. “Is that not so?”

For a long time, Liz did not reply. That was not the whole of the matter, but it was certainly a great deal. Should she acknowledge as much or try to conceal it? It did not take long to reach a decision. There was no fooling the archpriestess’s eyes, and it would be inconvenient for the woman to look deeper than she already had.

With a faint smile, she admitted the truth—or part of it, at least. “I really can’t keep any secrets from you, can I? Yes, you’re right. I worry that I’m not fit to be empress.”

Now that she was closer than ever to the height of power, she could see the empire’s woes more clearly. Despotic nobles abused their power, and resentment smoldered in the bellies of the commonfolk. The fires of war spread by the day. Many of the empire’s neighbors wished for its downfall, and more than a few were working in the shadows to speed things along. None of that was new, however. It was simply the accumulated sins of a thousand years of rule coming home to roost. The previous emperors must have been plagued by similar worries as Liz was now, terrified they would be the ones to pull the wrong stick from the pile and bring the whole affair crashing down.

“Do you know, my predecessor once told me that His Majesty Emperor Greiheit felt much the same.”

“He did? Really? My father?”

In his youth, Emperor Greiheit had set out to unify Soleil, aspiring to make himself the thirteenth Divine. Many smaller nations had fallen prey to his ambition, and many more had capitulated through force or revolt. He had been arrogant, ruthless, and even more bellicose than Stovell, or so the stories said. Liz herself remembered him champing at the bit to invade Faerzen since her early childhood.

“It may be hard to believe, perhaps, but he visited Frieden many times to seek my predecessor’s counsel.” The archpriestess’s gaze softened as she looked up at the imperial palace. “She said he was a kindhearted man. Far more so than the world gave him credit for.”

That was an unexpected appraisal, to say the least, and one that was hard for Liz to fully accept. The archpriestess seemed to see her confusion and lifted an amused hand to her mouth.

“Are you familiar with his Fifth Spring, Your Highness?” she asked with a giggle.

That was a particularly famous anecdote of Greiheit’s rule, a short period before Liz’s birth when there had been no war in Soleil. As he had been among the most warmongering emperors the empire had ever seen, the time had been remarkable enough to be christened with a name.

“That was when he met your mother, Lady Primavera. We call it his Fifth Spring in the interests of preserving his imperial dignity, but the truth of the matter is that he was stricken with lovesickness.”

Liz knew her father as more monster than man. It was difficult to believe that he had even been capable of falling in love. Her mind struggled to grapple with the idea, and she could do nothing but stare at the archpriestess in surprise.

“Their meeting was a tumultuous one to say the least,” the woman continued. “I am told she struck him across the face—with muddied hands, no less. She had been working the fields, you see.”

The southern territories had been saddled with heavy taxes at the time, leading to discontent with Greiheit’s rule. He had been touring their cities in an attempt to alleviate the people’s frustrations. In time, he had grown weary of traveling and stopped by the town of Linkus with only his royal guard in tow. He and his entourage had descended on a tavern, emptied it out, and proceeded to grow rowdy with drink. Disgusted by their conduct, Primavera—the daughter of the then-margrave, Liz’s grandfather—had lost her patience, walked up to Greiheit, and punched him.

“‘What kind of emperor carouses while his people suffer?!’ she shouted, or so I am told.”

Liz paled. “She’s lucky she wasn’t executed for that...”

“She was fleet of foot, it seems. And those present were naturally slow to respond.” The archpriestess gave a small giggle. Judging by the trembling of her shoulders, the cover of night was all that saved her from descending into gales of laughter. “But she could not flee forever. Her beauty and willfulness were famous throughout the south, you see. Her identity was soon uncovered, and she and her father were obliged to visit the imperial capital to make a formal apology.”

Even that, however, did not proceed as planned. Perhaps deciding that she was doomed to execution no matter what, Primavera had lambasted the emperor in front of all his nobles and officials.

“Yet even then, he did not execute her,” the archpriestess said. “Indeed, not only did he forgive her transgressions, he furnished her with an abundance of riches.”

“Maybe she hit him a little too hard...”

The archpriestess blinked. “Do you know that she said much the same thing?”

Primavera had not accepted the emperor’s gifts. She had asked for them to be divided among her people and returned to Gurinda empty-handed. The nobles had been outraged at her impertinence, but that, too, Greiheit had forgiven with a smile. In the following months, he reviewed his tax policies and set about reforming local governance, throwing his support behind the southern territories with particular vigor.

“For perhaps three years, His Majesty sent Lady Primavera letter after letter and traveled south whenever he could spare the time from his duties. She could not resist his advances forever. Eventually, despite her low standing at court, she acquiesced to be his fourth empress consort.”

The archpriestess said no more. She looked back up at the statue of the Valditte as though to signify that her story was over.

Liz did not need to ask why she had fallen silent. Spring had not lasted long for the emperor. Shortly after Liz’s birth had come the Tragedy of the Rear Palace, perpetrated by none other than the first empress consort.

Greiheit had been traveling at the time, surveying the north. He returned to find the rear palace burned to ashes. Both the first empress consort and Liz’s mother had been pulled from the wreckage, their bodies unrecognizable. Miraculously, Liz had managed to escape harm due to being in her grandfather’s care, but he had followed his daughter shortly after. Kiork, Liz’s uncle, had succeeded the title of margrave, but it had proved a heavy burden for his young shoulders, sending Gurinda into a period of decline. Without his support, Liz had been ousted from noble society, setting her on the thorny road that had brought her to the present day.

“It hasn’t always been easy,” Liz said, “but my mother made sure I wasn’t alone.”

She might not have had any clear memories of her mother, but—perhaps sensing that her time might be short—Primavera had left behind a wealth of letters.

“She gave me the strength to keep dreaming until I met Tris and Dios. And then I found Hiro to teach me, and Aura, and Scáthach, and so many more...” With one last look up at the Valditte, Liz turned her back on the archpriestess and began to walk away. “I have to go. The palace will be in uproar if I’m away for too long. You should head back as well. I’m sure it’s the same for you.”

“I will return in due time. I thought I might stay a little longer.”

Liz stopped and looked back, cocking her head. “Would you like me to leave my guard behind for you?”

“Thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

Hearing that, Liz cast out her awareness and was astonished to discover the presence of several people nearby, watching the proceedings. She hadn’t even heard them breathe. They blended into the darkness so perfectly that they were barely distinct from thin air. It seemed the archpriestess had her own capable guards.

“So I see. In that case, good evening.” Liz’s footsteps were muffled as she walked away, perhaps in consideration of the late hour.

The archpriestess breathed a sigh as she watched her depart. “Perhaps you do not realize how extraordinary that was, Your Highness,” she said in a whisper too soft to hear. “Even a Spiritblade’s chosen should not have been able to see them.”

Astonishment lingered in her gaze for a long time, even after her initial shock cooled. In time, her expression turned to sorrow, and she raised her eyes to the sky so no one could see.

“The time of her awakening is close. Whatever shall I tell Lord Surtr...?” She shook her head in vexation before looking to the brightest star in the sky. “Or could this, too, have been planned?” Her voice took on a pleading edge, audibly hoping to be told that she was wrong. “Oh, great Spirit King... What is it that you desire?”

No answer came. The archpriestess’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She cast another glance after Liz, but there was nothing there now but darkness, a black abyss that only exacerbated her unease.

“Do you know why Emperor Greiheit was so taken with Lady Primavera, Your Highness?”

The summer wind warmed the air, but it brought her no relief. An icy chill settled over her, sapping the warmth from her limbs, and as her anxiety grew, a knot of terror tightened in her chest.

“Because of her crimson hair.”

The wind snatched her fears away before they could take shape, and they melted into the dark, a tangle too tight to be unwound.

＊＊＊＊＊

In the center of Natua, Baum’s only city, rose the square structure of the Spirit King’s Sanctum, where the Spirit King dwelled. The building had a long history. Erected when Mars founded Baum one thousand years ago, it was as old as the palace of the Grantzian Empire, and on account of Baum’s influence over the affairs of Soleil, it frequently played host to rulers and other dignitaries come to pay their respects to the archpriestess. Now that Baum had a king, however, it had fallen under the control of Lord Surtr—that was to say, Hiro.

“How the archpriestess ever managed to entertain all these visitors by herself, I’ll never know,” Hiro murmured.

He gazed up at the moon through his chamber window. The writing desk behind him was piled high with books and other documents. He had turned his chair away as if trying to avoid looking at it.

“Not pointless, not unimportant, but so low priority that attending to them is a waste of time. Those are the worst kind of tasks, don’t you think?”

“So you would prefer to pretend they don’t exist?” replied a curt voice. “I daresay you spend more time concocting excuses to avoid your duties than they ever would have taken.”

The voice issued from Hiro’s bed. A woman lay beneath the covers. Most of her form was swathed in darkness, but her eyes gleamed with a bestial sharpness.

Any ordinary person would have been intimidated by the intensity of her gaze, but Hiro only gave a nonplussed shrug. “I’m not pretending they don’t exist; I’m just putting them off. It’s hard to be enthusiastic about doing chores when they’ll cost me sleep.”

He picked up a sheet of paper by his feet and pulled a face. Had it been a petition from the people of Baum, the imminent problem might have given his mind the jump start it required, but it was only a letter from a Lichtein noble. The contents were simple: an offer of marriage to his daughter, with documents and a portrait included. Similar proposals had arrived from Draal, which never seemed to take no for an answer; at least their persistence assured him that Baum would not want for paper anytime soon. More than a few of the remaining letters were clearly written by people hoping to use Baum for their own ends, begging for spirit stones and the like.

“Maybe paperwork could be enjoyable in its own way during peacetime,” he said, “but not with war on the horizon. We need to think about what the future will look like, not how to spend the present.”

“Then why not leave it to that blockhead you named the king’s counsel?”

She was referring to Garda Meteor, a lilac-skinned zlosta. Dutiful and loyal, he served as Hiro’s right hand. Indeed, Hiro relied on him so heavily that Baum’s affairs would likely have fallen apart without him. He had earned the trust of the people too, to the point that they had recently begun to approach him with gifts as he made his way about town.

“I tried. He refused. In his words, he already has enough on his plate, so I could at least do my share.”

“Then how about your two shadows? I don’t doubt they would both jump at the chance.”

This time she meant the human siblings Huginn and Muninn. They were no less indispensable than Garda, frequently infiltrating foreign nations to gather intelligence on Hiro’s behalf. Even allowing for personal bias, Hiro was quietly confident that the unit of spies they had assembled outclassed even those of the empire. The pair could lack a little for formality, but he often found their candor refreshing in the course of his royal duties.

Thinking of them left him smiling a little. “Huginn is away on reconnaissance, and Muninn’s busy as well. Besides, they’re hardly state officials. Baum wouldn’t last three days with them in charge.”

With them and Garda indisposed, the only remaining candidate was the woman on the bed.

“Don’t even think about foisting your duties on me,” she said.

Although she showed no sign of emerging from under the covers, she watched his every move from the darkness. She was Luka Mammon du Vulpes, a former princess of Six Kingdoms. She had entered Hiro’s service after losing to Liz in battle, and for the past two years, she had spent every minute of every day looking for an opportunity to take his head. It was all too clear what would happen if he delegated any matters of state to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. If I left you in charge of Baum, we’d be at war by tomorrow.”

With an irritable scowl, Luka lay down and retreated under the covers. Evidently, no help was forthcoming from other quarters. Hiro turned back to his desk, already composing tactful rejections to his marriage proposals.

At that moment, there was a thud from the door.

“Don’t mind me.”

A colossal man clad in heavy armor entered. He had not waited for a response to his knock. It was Garda. Just my luck, Hiro thought sourly. He’d finally worked up the energy to get to work, only to be interrupted before he could start.

Garda drew closer but stopped, conscious that Hiro was staring. “If you’ve something to say, take that mask off to say it. You’re too hard to read with it on.”

“No, never mind. It’s nothing.” Hiro pushed his mask back into place and looked at Garda afresh. “What do you need?”

The zlosta raised a hand containing two parchment scrolls. “Reports from the siblings. Should I start with the good news or the bad news?”

“Let’s go with the good news.”

“Huginn, then.” Garda unfurled the scroll, heedless of Luka’s eyes flashing in the dark beneath the bedcovers—an impressive feat, given that if looks could kill, he would probably be dead. “She’s succeeded in infiltrating the Anguis troops occupying Faerzen. Gotten herself hired as Queen Lucia’s assistant, no less.”

Hiro blinked. “How did she manage that?”

He had never even considered she might position herself so well that quickly. Normally, it would have been unthinkable. His highest hopes had been for her to find a placement as a military clerk.

“Lots of unemployment in a war-torn nation, and a lot of dead men leaving their positions open. Seems the queen’s letting women and Faerzen citizens cut to the front of the line. A calculated move, of course, but it’s working out for her.”

Winning the people’s hearts was a vital part of establishing order and stabilizing a nation’s affairs. By preferentially promoting women to official roles, Lucia was trying to do just that. Her strategy would take time to pay off, but it was well considered. The people of a war-ravaged nation wouldn’t care much if she had ulterior motives as long as she could put clothes on their backs, food in their bellies, and a roof over their heads.

Hiro rested his elbows on the desk, folded his hands, and rested his chin atop them as he expelled a troubled sigh. “It’s going to be hard for the empire to take Faerzen back if she starts winning its people’s loyalty.”

The empire might have had Scáthach, the last of Faerzen’s royal line, but however righteous her cause, it would mean nothing without the will of the people behind her. Retaking Faerzen would be one thing; ruling an unwilling populace, quite another. Nobody wanted to see the crown reinstated if it meant more bloodshed. Their affection for the royal line came a distant second to the interests of their own families.

“Huginn might have overreached this time,” Hiro mused. “It’ll be hard for her to act freely when she’s so close to Lucia.”

That was another problem to consider. It was hard to tell whether Huginn’s success had been a stroke of good fortune or a poisoned chalice. What was true for her, however, was also true for Lucia. The queen of Anguis had put herself in a position where she could not act on idle suspicions without consequence. Even if she had appointed Huginn knowing her true identity, the woman would be safe from any careless retaliation for the time being. In Lucia’s position, Hiro mused, he would try to use Huginn’s talents as best he could, especially considering the current state of Faerzen and the hard times facing Soleil. Whether Lucia was quite that shrewd, however, remained to be seen.

“We must have other agents trying to infiltrate the Anguis forces. Leave the intelligence-gathering to them while Huginn focuses on her duties. Tell her to prioritize avoiding suspicion.”

Playing this wrong would destroy all they had gained. For now, the best way forward was to prioritize winning Lucia’s trust and securing Huginn’s position.

“Understood.” Garda cupped his chin in his hand and nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to see about finding a more secure line of communication.”

Huginn’s situation might not have been ideal, but at least she was now something of an ace in the hole. Still, if that was the good news...

“What’s the bad news?”

“Word from Muninn up in the north.” Garda’s voice lowered, and his eyes turned steely. A chill wind blew in their depths, advising Hiro to brace himself. “House Scharm’s lost control of the northern nobles. House Brommel, one of the other big players, has seized power.” He fell silent, regarding Hiro steadily as he waited for a reply.

Hiro didn’t need any help processing the information; he had already expected it. “Chancellor Graeci’s death dealt a heavy blow to House Scharm’s authority. I suppose they must never have recovered. Still, I wouldn’t be too quick to count them out entirely.”

Second Prince Selene was still alive and well. While he had been injured in the attack on the imperial palace, he was still the next likely candidate to succeed the throne after Liz.

“The north’s alive with whispers that the little lady is certain to be empress,” Garda said. “And with House Kelheit and House Muzuk dominating affairs at court, it’s little surprise the lesser nobles are turning on their leaders.”

Selene had always insisted that he had no interest in the throne as long as the north was secure. Now, it seemed his love for his homeland had come back to bite him. With House Scharm’s grip on power shaken by Chancellor Graeci’s death, the northern nobles must have seen the writing on the wall.

“Let’s talk about House Brommel,” Hiro said. “What do you know about them?”

He had heard the name on several occasions during his time in the empire. They were an old and powerful household with a pedigree to match House Scharm’s, but that had seemed to be the only noteworthy thing about them.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the north these past two years,” Garda said. “They’ve been biding their time for a long while, but it seems they’ve seen their chance.”

“Have they been pushed into this by their peers, or were they pulling the strings from the start?”

“The latter, I’d wager. They’ve too much sway to be figureheads.”

Hiro nodded. He concurred. “Now, the real question is what their next move will be. Dialogue or force, do you think?”

“The north’s kept its hands clean of the fighting so far. They’ll not bother with talking when they have whole legions unscathed. At the very least, they’ve the strength to lean on the empire’s leaders if they wanted to.”

Hiro lowered his gaze, his mind churning. With the imperial leadership’s eyes turned to the occupied Faerzen, most of their forces were away from the capital. He couldn’t afford for anything untoward to happen while they were distracted.

What’s Selene playing at, letting the north fall apart so easily?

Hiro removed his mask, pinched the skin between his eyebrows, and sighed. “I suppose I’d better do something. This is as good a time as any to put our queen to the test.”

“Are you certain? I thought you had decided the time was not yet ripe for that.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, especially in times like these.” Hiro settled back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “I’d hoped to wait a little longer before intervening in the north, but there’s no point putting things off if the empire falls in the interim.”

I can’t expect everything to go to plan, anyway. People are unpredictable. Something will always go wrong somewhere.

His mind made up, he flashed Garda a grin. “Let’s take this as an opportunity. I’ve been hoping for a chance to adjust my plans anyway.”

“Then I may leave this in your hands, One-Eyed Dragon?”

Hiro’s smile widened. “Of course. Let’s keep it between the two of us. I’ll take care of matters in the north.”

“And what of Muninn? Shall we let him continue his work?”

“Let someone else look into House Brommel and the northern nobles. Send Muninn on to Friedhof.”

Friedhof, the Spirit Wall, was a great barrier built across the western border of the northern territories. It divided the empire from lands populated by the so-called wild races: archons, yaldabaoth, and monsters. The former two had appeared five hundred years prior, a discovery that had stricken the region with terror. Fortunately, the twenty-second emperor—who would later be known as Vulcan, the God of Arms—had recognized the threat they posed and used the power of the spirits to drive them to the farthest reaches of the north. Those untamed lands had become known as the Sanctuarium. Even now, they remained sealed behind Friedhof’s bulwark, with one of the empire’s five high generals charged with maintaining its defenses. Several incursions had been attempted over the centuries, but thanks to the brave efforts of generations of high generals, the wall had never been breached—or so the empire claimed, anyway.

“I want to know what’s going on up there,” Hiro said. “The instability in the north could affect Friedhof’s defenses. If nothing else, I want to know the local nobles aren’t going to switch their allegiances.”

The empire’s current domestic situation was complex. From Hiro’s point of view—situated outside, but with knowledge of its internal affairs—it was clear as day that there were enemies within as well as without.

“No harm in being too cautious, I suppose,” Garda grunted. “I’ll send our best to look into it. Any messages for Muninn?”

“Tell him not to hesitate to come back if he thinks he’s in danger. The same to the rest.” Hiro’s voice took on a more serious tone. “There’s something rotten in the north. I’ve sensed it for a while.”

Garda nodded in agreement. “Troubles ever piled on troubles. One look at your desk would attest to that.” He grinned at his own humorless joke.

Hiro smiled wryly. “Oh, that’s right. We’re marching in two days, aren’t we? Are the men ready?”

“You’ll have a guard of two thousand Crow Legion. I’d hoped to field more, but we’ve no Knights of the Spirits to maintain order while we’re away. Between that and our deployments in other lands, two thousand is all we can spare.”

The archpriestess had gone ahead to the empire in order to receive Hiro upon his arrival, and she had taken all of Baum’s knight-priestesses and Knights of the Spirits with her as her guard. All told, they barely numbered fifteen hundred. Armed with spirit weapons, they could give a much larger force a run for its money, but they were still a light guard, considering the renown and influence of their charge.

“I’ll send the archpriestess back to Baum as soon as I arrive,” Hiro said. “The people will be anxious without her here. Until then, you’re in command.”

Garda opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Luka’s languid voice. “Leaving a zlosta in place of the archpriestess? The people will riot. This oaf’s head will be lying in the town square by tomorrow morning.”

Garda jabbed a thumb in Luka’s direction with a scowl. “Is it truly wise to bring her with you, One-Eyed Dragon? Even if there was no risk of her being recognized, that tongue of hers is a diplomatic incident in the making.”

“What choice do I have? If I didn’t take her, she’d only follow me.”

Luka thought of nothing but taking Hiro’s life, and he had a feeling that her attempts had only been growing more frequent in recent weeks. The prospect of war between the empire and Six Kingdoms seemed to have roused her bloodlust. Garda was right—it was risky to take her to the empire in that state—but there was no telling what she would do if forced to remain in Baum. If he was lucky, she might only demolish her chambers, but he didn’t want to risk coming back to corpses.

“Leave me behind with this oaf,” Luka spat, “and his head will be lying in the town square by tomorrow.”

Why she was so fixated on Garda’s head ending up in the square, he could only guess, but there was no doubt she meant what she said. He shot her a conciliatory smile and turned back to Garda. “Sounds like I don’t have a choice. I don’t want blood all over the streets.”

“So it seems. Well, I’ll not complain about you taking the shrike off my hands. I’ve no wish to bloody these floorboards either.” The sour look on Garda’s face made it clear that he had no intention of assuming responsibility for Luka.

“It sounds like we’re settled, then. You’re in charge here until I get back. I’ll do my best to clear my plate before I leave.” Hiro looked at the mountain of documents and portraits on his desk and sighed. If he didn’t make an effort to reduce the pile, it would be several times higher by the time he returned.

“Very well. I’ll see myself out. I’ll send word if anything happens.” Garda turned and exited the room, waving over his shoulder as he departed.

Once the zlosta was gone, Hiro stood up from the chair and glanced at the bed. Luka had retreated into the dark beneath the covers. He turned away again and walked to the window, gazing up at the stars. Even as turmoil gripped the terrestrial world, the glimmering ocean shone on, as beautiful and indifferent as it ever was.

“Light would not be so brilliant without darkness. And the moon would not be so beautiful without the stars.”

The two were bound together forevermore, companions through years, decades, centuries, and on until eternity.

“And yet they’ll never meet. The moon can’t reign over the skies forever. Sooner or later, it has to yield its throne to the sun.”

A summer breeze caressed his cheek as he opened the window, stoking the conviction in his heart.

“Only one can rule. The moon and the sun cannot occupy the same sky.”

He had fallen short one thousand years ago. Even now, he could only stare from across a vast distance. But soon that would come to an end.

“I will reach out far enough to touch the stars. I will stretch out my hand until it grasps the moon.”

Darkness could not defeat light, no matter how hard it tried.

“When dawn breaks, the sun will burn me away.”

And the moon could not replace the sun, no matter how wistfully it dreamed.

“Grow stronger, Liz, until nobody can match you. Slay the gods. Make all one.”

The sun stood alone, burning those within its orbit and blinding those without, far beyond anybody’s grasp.

“This world has no need for five Lords.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The empire’s northern territories lay under the control of the northern nobles and their leaders, House Scharm. As the climes of the far north were bitterly cold, most of the population resided in the comparatively temperate south, home to the belt of fertile land that formed the backbone of House Scharm’s wealth. Their seat of power was the Whitesteel Castle of Riesenriller, located in the center of the region.

Summer had no meaning in the Whitesteel Castle. The north knew nothing but winter all year round. Nobody was foolish enough to be out in the streets at this late hour, and the night was quiet but for the rattling of windows and the howl of the gale. The castle gate was locked shut, cold and impassive as ice. Fur-clad guards patrolled the battlements, stopping occasionally to peer down with torches in hand.

The interior of the castle’s snow-dusted walls was under such heavy guard that it may as well have been wartime. Numerous soldiers patrolled the grounds, their faces stern and their eyes alert. Not so much as a mouse would get past them unnoticed.

There was one place, however, without a guard in sight, and that was the private chambers of Second Prince Selene. He was currently bedridden, as he had been for two years since the attack on the palace. He had lost an eye as well as his uncle, Chancellor Graeci, and was yet to recover—or so went the official story, at least. The truth was a little different.

“Lord Graeci’s remains have been discovered, Your Highness,” one of his retainers said regretfully. “They were found beneath his chambers.”

The speaker was Herma, one of Selene’s trusted Twinfang Generals. Thirty this year, he was a man of slight build, but beneath his armor, his muscles were hard as steel—he was in perfect shape, with not an ounce of fat on his body. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, softened with sorrow as he bowed his head.

“As I suspected, although I take no joy in being correct.” With half of his face swathed in bandages, Selene cut a sordid figure. He sighed, making no effort to conceal his dismay. “What state was he in?”

“Only his bones remained, Your Highness. It appears that he passed away a long time ago.”

Flesh took a long time to rot in the frozen north—longer than a year or two, at least.

“When did my lord uncle last return to Riesenriller?”

“Around three years ago, Your Highness. I believe His Majesty was preoccupied campaigning in Faerzen, and Lord Graeci took the advantage of the lull in his duties to return home for a while.”

“A rare opportunity to elude Gandiva’s sight,” Selene mused. “Still, it’s hard to imagine he could have been killed beneath his own roof. Perhaps he was waylaid on the road...”

Even that seemed unlikely. Graeci had been an exceptionally cautious man. Any vulnerability he displayed was in truth safeguarded by dozens of traps designed to ensure his safety. It was hard to believe that anybody could have managed to assassinate him—and yet it was evident that somebody had.

“If my lord uncle truly was killed and replaced within Riesenriller, there can only be one explanation.” Anger and sorrow did battle in Selene’s voice. “There is a traitor in our inner circle.”

Herma’s breath caught. He looked appalled by the very possibility. It was hard to blame him—the north had been bound as fast as iron under Graeci and Selene’s leadership. The northern nobles had admired both deeply, to the point that they banded together to insist that Selene was worthy of the throne.

“Believe it or don’t, the truth will not change,” Selene said. “And if you look around us, you’ll see that it must be the truth.”

The enemy must have been spinning their web for years, if not decades, taking care to evade his and Graeci’s notice as they waited for their chance. That much was clear to see from the northern nobles’ actions over the past two years.

“No sooner am I wounded and my uncle struck down than the whole north falls apart.” The second prince’s voice took on an edge of contempt. “Everybody acting in their own interests, without a thought for duty or compassion. Such is the age we live in now.”

Herma frowned. “There is truth in what you say, Your Highness, but the world will not reward the unfaithful. Lord Graeci often said that the people of the north were like his own sons and daughters. Every noble in these lands owes him some manner of debt. To turn on him so callously...” The man was clearly holding back anger. His teeth crunched like grinding stones.

Selene tried to think how to convince his loyal subordinate, but found little of substance to offer. “Don’t forget,” he said finally, “House Scharm are only custodians of the north. It’s the royal family that rules. Besides, our nobles may be loyal to the throne and grateful to my uncle, but they owe me nothing.”

He had forgotten that when he turned his eyes away from the capital. It had been arrogance to assume they cared for him as he did for them. Perhaps this was his punishment for that misstep.

Herma, however, was not so resigned. He struck the floor with his fist. “Are you not the second prince? They have let House Brommel cajole them into turning their backs on the royal family!”

“Who would call them traitors for supporting Liz? Her blood is as royal as mine.”

Anyone would choose the princess who had won a victory in Steissen over the prince who had been outfought by ne’er-do-wells. More to the point, while officially she was acting at the bedridden emperor’s behest, in practice she and her aides were already ruling the empire. She was surrounded by veteran nobles who had seen all the glory and shame, all the rise and ruin, and all the highs and lows of life under the sun. They would be attentive to the slightest change at court.

“We were naive. We thought the security of the north was all that mattered, and it cost us.”

“Nobody could blame you for loving your homeland, Your Highness. And besides, with Friedhof to our west, we are harder-pressed than the other territories.”

Herma had a point. It was no exaggeration to say that the stability of the north was the stability of the empire. If the wild races were to breach the Spirit Wall, the tragedy of five hundred years ago would spill out afresh across imperial lands, and the modern empire had no champions like the twenty-second emperor with three Spiritblades at hand. Indeed, Liz’s Lævateinn was the only one that remained in imperial possession.

“My father is dead. My uncle is no more. The west is in tatters and the central territories are in turmoil. Only the east and the south still stand strong. The north is dry tinder, and there’s no telling when it will catch fire.”

Selene sat up on his bed and gazed out of the window. The north saw snow even in summer, and the chilly air pricked at his empty right eye socket. Still, he had grown more mobile in recent months, and that was progress.

“It won’t be long before I’m fully recovered, and then I’ll be able to put these rebellious nobles in their place. It’s just a matter of whether we have that long.”

“House Brommel has been entertaining the prominent noble families with nights of feasting, Your Highness,” Herma said. “Their intent to curry favor is plain. It seems they are set in their course.”

“I still think we ought to speak with them.”

“With respect, I fear the time for talk may have passed. The old head may have been willing to listen, but the same cannot be said of the new. He thinks only of his own ambitions, Your Highness. He will make you his puppet if given the chance.”

“Perhaps, but I owe it to the old head to try. Maybe we’re fated to oppose one another, but we might still find some common ground.”

Selene still had no intention of taking the throne, even knowing his lack of interest was fuelling his nobles’ discontent. If he couldn’t even hold the north together, he certainly wasn’t qualified to shoulder the weight of an entire empire. And what was more...

“I have no right to be emperor. Not like Liz does. I’m no Spiritblade’s chosen. I can’t even be certain that I’m a legitimate heir.”

“You must not lend your ear to such wicked rumors, Your Highness. Plenty of emperors did not wield Spiritblades.”

“Yes, the twenty-eighth, the thirtieth, and the thirty-sixth. And do you know what they all had in common?”

Herma looked puzzled. “They did not even know how to wield a sword, or so I hear.”

His failure to grasp Selene’s point earned him a sharp glare from the second prince. He stiffened, realizing that he had answered incorrectly.

“Everybody talks about their lack of martial skill,” Selene said, “but for a long time, every emperor was chosen by a Spiritblade. Until three hundred years ago, that is.”

A particular theory was gaining traction among the nobles: that the imperial family no longer bore the blood of the first emperor. While it had only surfaced recently, the central elements had existed for much longer. The key claim was that the first emperor’s lineage had ended with the imperial assassination three hundred years ago. The recent deaths in the royal family had galvanized the theory; its proponents claimed that generations of illegitimate emperors had invited the Spirit King’s wrath, and the empire was now bound for an unprecedented crisis. Even the commonfolk had begun to whisper of the darkness within the house of von Grantz.

“For that, you would yield the throne to the Rose Princess? That pernicious speculation?”

“Crimson hair is as holy as black. It is the mark of the God of Arms.” Selene shot a dumbstruck Herma a glance before turning his gaze out of the window, where a fierce wind was blowing. “They say that was why Father took Liz’s mother as his consort. And of course, she was chosen by Lævateinn, its first wielder since Emperor Artheus himself. There’s enough evidence to convince anyone.”

“I still cannot believe it. The commonfolk are too quick to credit rumors in this nation, just like they were with Fourth Prince Hiro.” Herma’s voice was growing firmer and his gestures more animated, unable or refusing to believe what Selene was saying. “And even if it were true! Even if the royal family no longer bore the blood of von Grantz, have they not steered this empire for three hundred years?!”

“Not everybody feels the same. The citizens of the empire take pride in being ruled by descendants of the divine. People place weight on history, and most of all on blood.” Selene turned away from the window and leveled a stern gaze on Herma once more. “What do you think the commonfolk would do if they learned the present royal family was descended from those who slew the true heirs?”

“Y-Your Highness, surely that cannot be...”

“They would want to restore the rightful heir. Or perhaps they would simply avert their eyes from the truth.”

In the worst case, paranoid commonfolk could even be incited to uprising by foreign agitators.

“I don’t want the throne if it will mean the collapse of the empire. I’d be glad to give it up to Liz.”

Three years prior, when Stovell and Brutahl were still alive, few people would have flocked to Liz’s cause. She might even have split the empire in two. Now, however, no one would object to her taking the throne.

“The darkness within the royal family must never be brought to light.” Selene spoke the words with such force that Herma could not object. A small but conciliatory smile spread across his face. “Now, what about Phroditus?”

Phroditus, Herma’s sister, was the other of the Twinfang Generals. While younger than her brother in years, she was a hot-blooded warrior who reveled in battle. She was currently stationed at a fort on the Lebering border, keeping a watchful eye on the kingdom during its recent resurgence.

“It seems she has been scouting out Lebering’s movements, but her work is mostly done. She means to return tomorrow.” Herma did not seem pleased by the prospect of his sister’s homecoming. His shoulders slumped in undisguised dismay.

Selene offered the man a consolatory smile. “I’m guessing she hasn’t been very successful.”

“Many nobles to the east are deep in bed with Lebering. And Baum holds sway over them as well...” Herma spoke like he had something caught in his teeth.

Selene’s lips curled in a self-effacing smile. “I see. I left House Brommel unattended for too long, and they lost patience.”

Lebering had been growing rapidly in strength ever since the coronation of Queen Claudia. Perhaps that was only to be expected—the zlosta had once ruled Soleil, and they easily could again under the appropriate leader. By contrast, the north had grown weak, and its nobles—particularly those with lands near Lebering—lay awake at night worried for their livelihoods. Fear of the zlosta had sent them running to save their own skins.

“They will all be justly punished in due time, Your Highness. I will make sure of that.”

“Before then, we must short up our defenses. Once Phroditus returns, assign her to keep watch over the lands around Riesenriller. I want her alert for the slightest movement from House Brommel or Lebering. This is a strange time, and war may spark in strange ways.”

“Understood, Your Highness. I will see to it.” Herma bowed low and, with one final worried glance at Selene, left the chamber.

Once he was gone, a deep sorrow came over Selene’s face. He turned to look out of the window once more.

“The Demiurgos... The dream-wracked Faceless King... Ngh!”

A twinge of pain ran through his right eye, and he grimaced as he bore it.

“Did you know this was coming?”

He recalled the last time he had seen the fourth prince, just before his fateful departure two years prior. In retrospect, there had been a hint of foreknowledge in his resolve—but had that been knowledge of the present crisis, or of something else entirely? In any case, how shameful to have presumed to caution him, only to end up like this.

“Forgive me, Hiro...”

A chill wind rattled the window, exacerbating his unease, filling the chamber with fear. The clouds were gathering, and the whirling snow steadily obscured all sight.

＊＊＊＊＊

The northern territories were home to a great many prestigious houses, but the oldest were House Scharm, House Heimdall, and House Brommel. All three had produced empress consorts, and their ties to the royal family ran deep. While overshadowed by House Scharm’s prominence in recent years, House Heimdall had defended Friedhof for generations, and its current head, one Hermes von Heimdall, was one of the five high generals. His children proudly served House Scharm as the twin lieutenants of Second Prince Selene. House Brommel, on the other hand, had almost fallen apart two years prior with the death of its former head, but his firstborn son and heir had turned its failing fortunes around, making it into a power to rival House Scharm.

The center of House Brommel’s power was Logue, one hundred sel—three hundred kilometers—to the east of Riesenriller. It was one of the largest cities in the north. In recent years, however, Lebering’s prosperity had drawn the attention of the merchants, leaving a sullen cloud hanging over Logue’s streets.

In the center of the city towered Castle Himinbjörg. Soldiers filled the grounds, training intently, and the air was so tense it could easily have been mistaken for wartime. Guards clad in heavy armor patrolled the interior. Nowhere was more heavily protected than the private chambers of the head of the house—and yet the sentries at the door were oddly dead-eyed, their faces hanging slack.

A curious gathering had assembled inside the room. The candle on the table wavered in the windless air, casting their shadows across the walls. There were seven in all, each wearing a hood that obscured their face.

“Oh lord, blessed lord, father to us all...” The figure’s voice quavered as they spoke. “How fares your body?”

The question was directed to the man seated in a chair by the window, sipping from a glass of wine. His attention was not on the figures around the table, but on the moon outside—or perhaps, judging by the distant look in his eyes, on something farther still.

The man’s name was Typhos von Brommel, and he had become Duke von Brommel at the age of sixty-seven after his father passed from old age. Despite taking his position so late in life that he had briefly become the talk of the court, he looked hardly a day over thirty-five, and his blond hair and golden eyes radiated a dignity that lent him an aura of grandeur. Noble as a lion, his presence filled the room with solemnity.

“Well enough,” he replied. “But it may be prudent to ready replacements.”

“What of your old vessel?”

“It is too steeped in curses to be of use. Even I would struggle to wear it now. I wonder how I ever did.”

Typhos’s tone was unsettlingly lacking in inflection. His icy demeanor was not even cruel, but simply vacant—it sounded like every emotion had been shorn from his voice. He could almost have been talking to himself as he addressed the hooded figures. Perhaps even more unnervingly, they did not seem to find that remarkable.

“The threat to your life must have been great, my lord. Great enough that you had no other choice.”

“And yet, it ended as it ever does. Naught more than bluster, incapable of dealing a fatal blow. And as ever, our sole recourse was to retreat to the shadows, bide our time, and plot our foes’ torment.”

Even then, Typhos’s voice took on no emotion. The hooded figures, on the other hand, began to simmer with hatred. The accumulated loathing of centuries radiated fire enough to warp the air.

“Yes, my lord! Oh, yes, indeed! But now, the time for waiting has passed!”

The man spoke with theatrical gestures, as though he were a player on the stage, although even that was not enough to draw Typhos’s interest.

“The Spirit King is nowhere to be found, his power lost! The Faerie King, too, suffers the ravages of age!” The man’s voice grew wilder as loathing twisted his lips into a bestial growl. “Surtr, the Black-Winged Lord, once proud equal to our Father, was bested by a lowly human! Now, only the Iron Monarch remains, keeping his quiet watch across the sea to the north!”

His oration became so wild toward the end that he forgot to breathe. As he finally concluded, Typhos waved a dismissive hand and looked around the room.

“It brings me no pleasure to see a sibling fall. Yet at last, this war that has continued since antiquity will come to an end, and the world will become one.” He kicked the wine from the table and watched the unbroken bottle roll across the floor. His empty eyes never wavered from the indigo liquid. “The central territories will soon collapse without our assistance. They no longer require our attention. By the time we reach our full power, the humans will be ripe for the slaughter.”

He gestured idly with his hand. The spilled wine reformed into a map of the world.

“Let us not be too hasty, lest we trip over our own feet. Better to corner our prey slowly and surely.”

He rose, kicked the bottle aside, and stomped down on the northern continent. Wine splashed high, but he paid it no mind, crushing the land underfoot with visceral hatred.

“First comes the northern continent and the Iron Monarch.”

The hooded figures bowed as one, quiet but radiating zeal. Their lips curled into grins of equal parts anticipation and delight.

“Of course, my lord,” one said. “Our preparations have already begun. They have built quite the curious culture for themselves, one that was no small matter to infiltrate, but our work is almost done.”

“Good. Let us show the little folk what a true Lord is capable of.”

“As you command.” With that, four figures vanished without a sound.

Typhos turned his attention to the three who remained. “I have not forgotten you. Nemea, you will go to Lebering; Khimaira, to Six Kingdoms; Hydra, to Faerzen. You are to undermine those nations to the best of your ability.”

The man named Hydra stepped forward. “May I take that as permission to intervene in the war, my lord?”

“Do as you will. I would not stop you from taking pleasure in your work.”

“As you command.”

“I ask only that you do not force me to intervene. I will not suffer a repeat of the second prince.”

“Of course, my lord. But, if I may...what of Baum?”

“They are of little consequence. Let us leave them alone. Allow them to enjoy a fleeting peace.”

“Understood, my lord.”

With that, the three figures vanished. Silence fell once more. The room was empty but for Typhos...and one other.

“My curse grows in strength, Ladon.” Typhos lowered himself back into his chair, crossed his legs, and cast his eyes to the floor.

At that moment, a crash rocked the room. The bottle had exploded—and yet no sooner had it shattered than it began to repair itself, the splattered wine lifting from the surroundings to return inside the glass. Before long, it had reverted to its former state. Yet it was far from a perfect reproduction. Typhos grasped it by the neck and lifted it up to the candlelight. Impurities swirled within the wine.

“Death, life, and antipathy intertwine, and they would ripen into foul fruit. The upstart would surpass the deity.”

“What would you do, my lord?”

“Better to leave well enough alone. Extend ourselves on one side, two sides, three sides, four, and soon enough we will spread ourselves too thin. We cannot afford to repeat the mistakes of the past.”

“Perhaps it would behoove us to keep a closer watch, my lord. Several persons have caught my attention. I will include them in my operations.”

“As you will. And do not neglect to submit your selection. Those most fit to receive my power.”

“What of the troublemaker? Shall I retrieve her?”

“Leave her. She will return to the fold soon enough. Besides, she is a known quantity, not strong enough to stand in our way. Let her have her fun. Better that than to earn her pique.”

“As you command, my lord.”

With that, the final figure disappeared, leaving Typhos alone, gazing at the bottle of wine.

“Black-Winged Lord. Mars. Dáinsleif. Hero King of Twinned Black. All these names you wear. The hour when I wring your neck with my own hands is not so distant.”

With no one around to hear, Typhos finally let his emotions loose. The bottle shattered anew under the weight of his wrath, and the sound of wrenching air echoed through the room. At last, he let slip hatred worthy of a human—more than worthy of a human. So great was the shame he had suffered so long ago, a grudge that festered even after a thousand long years. He would wash clean the humiliation of his past. It was for that reason that he had clung to life.

“I will take your head, I swear it.”

An icy smile spread across his face as he rubbed feverishly at his neck.

＊＊＊＊＊

The fourteenth day of the eighth month of Imperial Year 1026

The northern quarter of Frieden was cloaked in silence, and the guards who usually patrolled its chalk-white corridors were nowhere to be seen. The Knights of the Spirits, Baum’s elite troops, were all in the empire, attending to the archpriestess. With them absent and the common soldiery forbidden entry, the place was an empty husk ruled by quiet. Yet none would dare intrude—not while it lay under the watchful eye of King Surtr of Baum, the strongest and most fearsome guard in Soleil.

Hiro walked through the corridors of Frieden with Garda by his side. The clatter of the zlosta’s armor broke the silence, ringing loud enough to obscure both of their footfalls. At last, the pair reached their destination.

Garda breathed a sigh of admiration. “Now there’s a sight. Like stepping into another world. To think it was hidden away in Frieden’s belly...”

“This is where the Spirit King lived. Only a chosen few were ever allowed inside.”

“Hm.” Garda blinked. “And you’d allow a zlosta into such a sacred place?”

Hiro spread his arms wide and smiled mischievously. “The archpriestess might not like it, but she isn’t here right now.”

He cast a sideways glance at the foot of a tree where Luka sat. The woman was staring fixedly at the ground, muttering under her breath as she jabbed feverishly at the earth with a stick. It was a disconcerting sight, but not a new one. He turned back to Garda, who was looking on with a slightly pained expression.

“More to the point,” he continued, “nobody will overhear us here.”

Garda glanced around warily. “You suspect enemy spies in Frieden?”

Hiro shrugged, then lowered himself into a garden chair facing away from the door—the same chair that Claudia and the archpriestess had used. “I don’t know what they are. But something means us harm.”

He seemed oddly relaxed, enough to persuade Garda to sit opposite him, although the zlosta did not lower his guard.

“So?” Garda leaned closer. “Why have you brought me here?”

Hiro closed his eyes and cupped his ear in his hand. “A great many spirits reside here. Can you see them, by any chance? Or perhaps hear their voices?”

“You should know as well as anyone that I cannot. But I feel their pull on my mana.”

There was a power at work here that was anathema to mana. As a zlosta, Garda would be able to sense that most keenly of all. He would feel as though his reserves were being forcibly drained, even though he was not consciously using them.

Hiro removed his mask, revealing his face. “There is only one such place in all of Aletia.”

Garda leaned back, his breath audibly catching. The boy’s right eye gleamed gold, and his left swirled with the uncanny black light of the abyss. Both of them were trained on Garda, suddenly intense.

“Its name is the Forest of Anfang.”

That was the same forest where Hiro had first appeared after being summoned back to Aletia; the same forest where he had stumbled upon Liz returning from bathing. In other words, it was the site of their first meeting.

Hiro silently indicated behind Garda. The zlosta stood up and turned around. Ahead rose the statues of two of the Twelve Divines: Zertheus, the First God, and Mars, the War God. A shining sphere floated in the air between them, beneath which bubbled a small, clear spring.

“This is very much sacred ground. One that, as I said, only a chosen few were ever allowed to enter.”

Garda turned back to Hiro. “What do you mean by—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Hiro thrust out a hand, interrupting him.

“You may not believe it, but this is imperial soil.” The corners of Hiro’s mouth pulled into a faint smile, as if to say that the time was at hand. “You’re no fool. I’m sure you have an inkling of what it is I’m hiding. What it is I want.”

His eyes filled with sorrow, as though he were cursing himself—as though he were confessing to a grave sin.

Garda drew himself up, his expression stiffening. He sensed the weight of the words to follow, that once he heard them to the end, he would have no choice but to follow Hiro until his life was spent. But he did not falter. He only stared back.

“It began a long, long time ago. Longer than you might even believe.”

Seeing Garda’s resolve, Hiro had no more reason to hold back. His voice almost sounded apologetic as he began his tale.