Anthem's Fall

Chapter Six

 Sejeroreich was the capital city, the most well fortified place in Anthem. If the Epsilon Palace were to fall, what chance would the empire have at survival? What chance would the Primus have?

 A deep alarm began to drone, echoing off the walls and the high ceiling, and a series of thunderous booms resonated from just beyond the palace. The walls shuddered and weighty decorations fell to the floor. Panicked shouts were heard in the corridors surrounding War Hall.

  Councillor Harken’s face turned pale. “The Felixes.”

 “Is the army assembled?” Emperor Faris called over the clamor to General Portid.

 “The entire Imperial First Class is assembled and ready to fight,” there was not a trace of fear in General Portid’s worn features. “Permission to lead them, my lord?”

 “Go!” Emperor Faris ordered as a dozen mammoth Royal Guards stormed into the hall to protect him.

 “My lord,” Councillor Harken shouted over the rising calamity and raised a forearm against falling debris from the lofty ceiling. “You must call for the Prince! There is too much at stake here to risk the absence of Vengelis!”

 “Yes!” General Barlow called. “Prince Vengelis must be summoned at once.”

 Emperor Faris’s mouth moved to speak, but no words came. He rubbed his aged hands together. The calluses of his palms were dry and worn from long years of use. A poignant expression claimed his features, as he suddenly realized his time had passed. His men were looking to another to protect them. He nodded in heart-rending agreement and turned to a member of the Royal Guard. “Send word to my son. Inform Prince Vengelis to return to Sejeroreich immediately. His people need him.”

 The soldier nodded solemnly and sprinted out of the hall as a closer rumble rattled the ceiling far above. Emperor Faris considered the faces of the War Council. Aside from the stoic members of his Royal Guard, every one looked shaken. The alarms continued to roar as a massive quake shook from beneath the emperor’s feet. He craned his head and looked up to the faces of his ancestors. They stared down with their aloof stone gaze, as they had for two thousand years. For two millennia the children of those stone faces had known no fear. Yet now fear rose, unfamiliar and sickly, in the back of the emperor’s throat.

 “If you aren’t a warrior, leave the palace at once! Sejeroreich is to be evacuated,” Emperor Faris Epsilon shouted, pulling his gaze from his great forefathers. “If you are a warrior, follow me!”