In the cold stone halls of the Empress's Palace, Libro's footsteps echoed loudly. The click of his heels hurt his ears, made worse by the haunting silence that surrounded him. He didn't remember entering the Palace, nor could he recall what he had been doing moments prior. All he knew was the endless hallway stretching before him and the gnawing chill.
The Palace was always freezing. Libro knew that much, at least. In the handful of times, he had entered the magnificent stone structure, the chill of the air had left him numb until he'd returned to the outside world. Many speculated as to why, but deep down, Libro felt that he knew.
It was the Empress. Her presence sapped the very heat out of the air. She was the opposite of a motherly figure, radiating cold instead of warmth, and yet for Libro, she was the only maternal figure he had. The Green Fever had seen to that.
The hallway ended suddenly before a set of double doors. Much like everywhere else in Byzantia, the dark wood contained the Empress's visage looking down on him. Her eyes watched unblinking behind the featureless mask she wore behind the veil draped at her sides. Atop her head was the golden crown, taken from the former Emperor, painted in exquisite detail.
Gently, Libro pushed open the double doors and walked inside. The narrow hallway opened up into a large sitting room. Furniture of varying types lay strewn about atop a large woven carpet. Tapestries hung against the walls besides banners and trophies. Braziers burned about the place along with a roaring fireplace nearby, and yet the chill from outside remained. Farther on, Libro could see a balcony. A familiar figure stood with her back to him.
The Empress, Libro, realized in terror.
What felt like a bolt of lightning suddenly shot through him. He felt his legs move of their own volition. Stepping past the furniture, he entered the balcony before stopping beside the Empress. The cold he had felt before was even more bitter in her presence.
"Majesty," Libro quavered. He tried to fall to his knees and bow, but his legs would not do his bidding, as if frozen with fear. All he could do was stand there quivering like a misbehaved child awaiting punishment from his mother.
The Empress said nothing; her attention fixated elsewhere. She held the crook of her elbow in her left hand, the right placed upon her chin in deep contemplation. For all the dark rumors said about her, she appeared serene and majestic like any other noble lady.
The reality was that Libro had never been this close to the Empress in the eight long years he'd served in the Vangen. He'd only caught a few scant appearances of her during parades or heard her muffled voice behind the closed door to the throne room. Now, standing so close to her, all he could think about was how unnaturally tall she was.
"Quite the view, isn't it?" The Empress spoke without looking down at Libro. Her voice caressed his mind, as clear as crystal and as sharp as a blade. It almost hurt to listen to her.
Libro looked down. The city of Byzantia loomed out before him. Pyres as tall as the Palace pockmarked the streets, burning as bright as hellfire. More of the pyres burned beyond the city walls in the Ashen Plains, billowing black smoke that even from so far away still nipped at Libro's lungs. The stink of char wafted past his nose, along with the unmistakable stench of death.
"Do you hear that?" The Empress asked.
Libro winced and strained his ears to hear. Past the roaring fires and happy celebration, he could hear something else. Screaming, agonized screaming. A cold shiver ran down his spine, colder than the air around him.
"Yes," Libro responded, his voice practically a whisper.
"That is the sound of ten million people celebrating my ascension," The Empress cooed. "And ten thousand dissenters cursing my name."
The screaming grew louder, fueled by flame and ire. From behind the mask, Libro could see the crinkle of a smile forming against the Empress's jawline. His heart sank. Only now did he realize where he stood, or more precisely, when.
Pyres Day. The day the Empress stole the Emperor's heart and usurped his throne, but that had been twenty years ago. Libro had only been a boy then. He'd been too young, too naive, to understand the gravity of the situation, of what the Empress had done to those who'd questioned her rule. His stomach began to churn as nausea settled in.
"What is this place?" Libro asked. "Am I dead? Has my soul been cursed to Gehenna?"
"No, my sweet child," The Empress stepped towards him, her movements fluid and precise. "You are not dead. Not yet. I will not allow you to die just yet. Not when there is still so much to do."
"Then, where am I?" Tears began to streak down Libro's cheeks. A sharp pain squirmed behind his eyes, gnawing deeper with every word the Empress uttered.
"A memory." The Empress bent down to cup Libro's cheeks in her hands. Her fingers burned like cold fire against his skin. She lifted his head, Leveling his gaze with hers. From behind the mask, two pinpricks of gold light stared into him.
"A reminder," The Empress continued. "Of what will happen if you fail."
A sudden new pain seared through Libro's mind like the scratchings of an ink quill. From this pain, the memory of the Sanguine Bridge's collapse returned to him. He had fallen into the cold icy tendrils of the water, sucking him down into the brackish mire until only darkness had remained.
"I should be dead."
"I will not allow you to die." The Empress repeated, her calm voice began to take on a new tone. Where once her voice had been crystal, now it boomed like a deep brass bell. "I will never let you die. Not until you have served me fully. Not until my Empire spans the four corners of this rotten world."
The Empress' grip tightened as she reached into his mind. She sifted through every loss, every defeat, every painful memory Libro had experienced and ripped them from the roots of his mind like weeds in a garden. He felt naked, exposed, unable to fight back. She revealed his shame and failure, all that he had hidden away laid bare before her. And so Libro screamed. It was all he could do.
And then the pain was gone. The Empress released him, and he crumpled to the floor. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and tried desperately to hold back the wracking sobs coursing through him. He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up.
The Empress was standing at the balcony's edge now, peering down into the city once more. The veil around her face stirred as a gust of wind whipped past, revealing a shapely pale neck under her snow-white hair. Even after all the pain she'd caused him, Libro could not help but marvel at her beauty.
"The Black Ministry cannot be allowed into the Palace." The Empress's voice was crystalline once more. Softer now than ever. Her words felt like a cooling salve to Libro's burning thoughts. "You cannot let them take me. You cannot let them destroy all that I have strived to create. All the planning I have made. The steps I have taken. The sacrifices I have made for my dream to become a reality."
"I won't," Libro croaked. He stood back onto his feet. "I promise I won't."
"I know you will," The Empress nodded. "The blood of the Keevan Ras courses through your veins. Such loyal blood. Noble blood. It's what makes you strong."
Libro opened his mouth to speak. Instead, only water came out, splashing onto the balcony floor. He clutched at his throat, choking as the liquid began to fill his lungs. He fell to his knees, scrabbling for breath as his vision began to fade.
The Empress turned to him. "Now awaken, my sweet child. Awaken and fulfill the oath you gave me those many years ago."
The first thing Libro did when he woke up from the dream was vomit. Dark, salty water erupted from his mouth onto the cold, wet stones. He shuddered, wretched, and shivered as his body purged the water from his lungs. With one final wretch, Libro rolled onto his back and sucked in his first real breath of air.
Somehow, he was alive. He shivered uncontrollably. His nose and eyes burned from the saltwater, and every part of his body ached beyond all reason, but he was alive. By Nido, he was alive.
Libro pulled himself into a sitting position, pressing his wet back to an already damp wall. No, not Nido, He realized—the Empress. The dream from before lingered in the back of his mind like a bad hangover. The Empress had pulled him back from the jaws of death. The question now was where he had ended up.
Libro wiped the cold damp from his face and took in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Rot and filth permeated the air, quickly replacing the taste of salt in his mouth. He was in a room, somewhere underground. Rows of columns lined the room across a vaulted ceiling, stretching farther on towards a narrow corridor. Water rushed by in a stone sluice, lower to the ground then where Libro sat.
The sewers. Somehow the river he'd fallen into had sucked him into a nearby sewer grate, but how he'd ended up on the main floor remained a mystery. He racked his brain, but his thoughts only returned to the Empress and what she had said. Libro's work was far from over, and so the Empress would not allow him to die. Not yet.
Libro shuddered, and not because of his wet clothes. A life of soldiering had left him hardened to being wet, hungry, and tired, but nothing could prepare him for Magick could do. He'd seen Magus in action before, using his power to aid Dux back at the city gate. It was an impressive feat, indeed, but what the Empress possessed was entirely different altogether. She had brought him back from death, or as close to dying as he was. The very thought left him grateful, and yet he could not help but feel hollow as well.
Instinctively, Libro's hand reached down to touch the spine of the Archive and suddenly stopped. He ripped the tome from the satchel belted to his side and pried it open.
"No...,"
Tendrils of black ink streaked down the pages of the Archive. All that was Keevan Rahs, their history, their victories, their defeats, washed away by the dark waters of the Bosba.
Keevan Rahs. Before the Empire had assimilated the land, it had been Libro's ancestral home. The loose confederation of tribes that lived there had flourished in the magnificent rolling hills and temperate forests. An emerald landscape draped in Rasa Sage and Vinthe Peonies, overlooked by the natural stone bastion that was Mount Elbus.
But that was a long time ago. Keevan Rahs no longer existed. Its people were scattered, absorbed into the Empire, and a hundred other kingdoms. Only the seven hundred warriors hand-chosen by the Emperor of old remained. Those that founded the Vangen, their blood ran through Libro's veins, and their history now dribbled into his lap.
Libro shut the tome, slid it gently back into the satchel, and closed his eyes. He laid his head against the cold, sewer wall and pondered what to do next, and all he could do was weep.