Though already several hundred years old, the emperor appeared as if only a normal human’s fifty or sixty. With plenty of firm muscle and bright eyes that spoke still of youthful vigor, his entire visage was a display of power that was hard to reconcile with the knowledge of his age.

“Why in all the gods’ names would you sneak in like that?!” Astarte yelled, throwing a random object (upon further inspection Leon realized it to be one of her shoes) at the emperor. The shoe hit home with a resounding SMACK, and the emperor rubbed at his head blushing and muttering apologies to his granddaughter.

Leon couldn’t help but smile to himself at his wife’s reaction. It was entirely unhinged, unbelievably disrespectful, undoubtedly a literal crime, and completely like the woman. Chuckling to himself, he felt a bit of tension leave his body. Just a bit, however, as he was still in the presence of his liege.

“I apologize Star, you know how much I enjoy dramatic entrances! I mean, remember during Lucinda-” Hadrian said, before being cut off by his beloved granddaughter.

“When Lucinda had her confirmation, and our gardener was being harassed by Baron Longfellow’s spawn, and I stepped in to stop it. They started going after me, not realizing who I was, and you appeared behind them with their father by the nape of his neck. Yes, father. I remember. You have not let that die in nearly four decades. Everyone knows at this point.” Astarte harumphed, though her smile was radiant.

Whether she cared to admit it so much aloud, she had missed the man who had practically raised her. Astarte was not estranged from her parents by any means, but her father was, and still is, the acting commander and general of the Imperial Army. During her childhood, he and her mother were both constantly on the battlefield. The war against the Island Kingdoms had taken hundreds of years to finally resolve, and as the emperor was all but useless outside of his empire, he was the one to raise her. Well, he and the staff shared the responsibility.

“Honestly, we have had a stressful day. While I love that you never seem to change… or grow up, for that matter, we did not need the extra fright.” Astarte explained, elegantly retrieving the shoe that had somehow crossed the distance between her and her grandfather. After slipping the improvised projectile back onto her foot, she hugged her grandfather tightly.

“I have missed you, papa” She spoke softly to Hadrian, maintaining a long-awaited embrace. “Please, don’t be such a stranger again.”

“I promise, Starlight.” He replied just as softly, hugging her to him fiercely.

Leon stood by his green sofa awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt his dear wife’s reunion. Maintaining a motionless countenance, he tried to become a part of the background. This move was, however, utterly useless, as the brilliant azure and kaleidoscopic visage of Ketsuhl appeared next to him. Ketsuhl draped his wing forward and bowed, the image of a proper gentleman.

“Greetingssss, your majesssty.” The bane of Leon’s existence intoned solemnly. Before Leon could shoo the feathered headache away, he felt the focus of the emperor fall upon him. The man who was looking at him now wasn’t the loving grandfather, Hadrian, but rather the nigh-immortal emperor, Hadrian Aurelius the Third.

“Well, it sure has been some time, Leon.” The emperor said. “I see that your partner has continued his longstanding mission pursuing the apex of resplendence. Tell me, Leon, how have you been?”

Leon was taken aback by the question. He had been expecting… well to be honest he didn’t know what to expect. This was the first private conversation they’d had since his father’s demise. The swift conclusion of the Island Wars that followed led to a surplus of needs in the empire, all of which the emperor handled with single-minded devotion. While he and Leon had met briefly following the events of his father’s death, it was the Imperial Investigators who handled the aftermath.

Realizing he had been pondering for too long, Leon finally spoke. “To be honest, Your Majesty, I have been struggling with my change in station.”

Nodding, the emperor Hadrian flashed forward. It was as if all of reality buckled and gave to his will, decreeing that the emperor had in fact always been on the couch opposite Leon. As the emperor sat, a cup of tea emerged seemingly from nowhere. The steaming tea kettle moved on its’ own, pouring two cups of an amber liquid that smelled of lilac. A third cup appeared on the desk in front of Astarte, a subtle message for her stay where she was. She grabbed the cup and sipped at the tea, capitulating for the moment.

“Leon, I would love to have a long talk with you and sort all of this out, but I know that right now is not the time. Just know that I do not hold any ill will to the Castellane house, nor do I blame you for what happened. Now, tell me about August.” Emperor Hadrian said, sipping at his tea.

“I thank you for that, my lord. I had worried that we were forever estranged, and I can not say enough as to how much your words mean to me and the Castellane household.” Leon said, pushing the cup lightly to Ketsuhl.

Ketsuhl dipped his glowing prismatic beak into the liquid, drinking deeply. Leon maintained his solemn expression, locking eyes with his father-in-law. The strength of a nation rested in these eyes, silver scripts spiraling endlessly within the glowing golden irises. The deep crimson sclera and pupils of his eyes gave the emperor an otherworldly appearance. His countenance was utterly mystifying.

“Think nothing of it, Leon. Adelaide told me that you suspected August might be earning a feat today. What happened?” Hadrian asked, putting his cup down. He nodded along as Leon recounted the tale, but his gaze sharpened when Leon described the actions of the water sprite. Astarte also focused her attention on Leon, who had yet to share this part of the tale with her.

“The water sprite bowed to him, and dissipated herself?” Hadrian asked, wanting to ensure he had heard correctly. Upon receiving a nod, he continued. “What was the title he was trying to earn?”

“Fairy lord. It grants a moderate increase to stats, along with increased elemental and spiritual affinities. This is one of the first titles that Castellane children will earn.” Leon said, hiding nothing from his liege.

“That is… well, a substantial title, and I can see why you would choose it.” the emperor said, crossing his arms. He paused a moment, thinking things through. Finally, deciding on a course of action, he lifted his left hand to the sky, surrounding the three of them with a crimson bubble.

“You are correct, what August earned was a feat.” He said, then lowering his hand, he beckoned his granddaughter forward. She walked towards the two men, the crimson bubble shrinking behind her as she stepped closer. Finally, she sat next to her husband, taking his hand in her own. The moment of loving connection a beacon on stormy seas.

“So, his system initializing. Is that from the feat?” Leon asked though he was all but certain of the response he would receive.

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“Yes, Leon, it is. Feats are… well they are complex. A feat is something only an individual can earn, and even with all the resources in the world, one may never accomplish it. With such harsh requirements, the resulting gains from earning a feat are just as gargantuan. Within the empire, before August, there were only five feat holders. Just a year ago, that number was three.” Hadrian said.

“I know that you yourself hold a feat. What does this mean for August?” Star asked her grandfather, concern evident in her expression.

“It will most likely put him at the center of the Imperial power structure. That is a topic for a much later discussion, however. Short term, he will probably be feeling fairly ill. The bodily changes that he will go through will be harsh, as he will, quite literally, be remade. His mind will be sharper and stronger, his insight into the world around him will increase heavily, and his sensory organs will also rise in potency.” Emperor Hadrian supplied. The emperor was hard to read at the best of times, but his face now was an inscrutable mask.

“Is he in any danger?” Leon and Star asked simultaneously, leaning forward, ready to spring to action at any sign of confirmation. Perfectly in sync, they did not question or even look at each other, confident in their unity. A small smile broke through the façade on the emperor’s face, the sight bringing warmth to his old heart.

“To be honest, if it was just that statistical gains, I would be able to confidently answer no. However, affinities are another story. Affinity increases are a rarity and unheard of outside special rewards for major events, long-held titles like the one in your households, or certain godly boons. This means that knowledge of their impact is limited. I will handle the confirmation issue, but I suspect that it would be a good idea for us to visit your son.” Hadrian said, abruptly standing and dissipating the crimson bubble around them.

As the concerned duo stood as well, a boy in brown robes appeared hurriedly at the entrance to the study. The boy, Leon thought he remembered the boy’s name to be Dietrich, entered sweaty and breathing heavily from exertion.

“Your grace, please come at once! Your son needs you!” The boy exclaimed, rushing to kneel. As he did, the tall imposing form of the duke was upon him like a flash. Astarte rushed out of the room, sending her dawn-colored aura through the halls of the manner, searching for August. The duke scooped up the servant boy and glanced around for his father-in-law, who had seemingly vanished. Finally, sighing, he simply asked the boy “Where?”.

“His room, my lord.” The boy said, and with a yelp, he found himself a passenger on the duke’s shoulder. Holding on for dear life, he felt the world around him morph into a series of green, blue, and orange blurs. He heard the duke say “his room, Star” before his world fell silent, and his consciousness left him.

----------------------

Isaac awoke begrudgingly to the sound of a fist pounding on his chamber door. Slowly, his body creaking with effort, he rose from the small cot in the corner of the small room. As he stood, he reached out and grabbed his staff, using its’ steady weight to help him right his balance. With great effort, he straightened his back, pops and clicks sounding in a cacophonous clamor. He reached his aged hand out to the door, pulling it open to see a boy in brown robes similar to his own, bouncing up and down with a sense of urgency.

“Where and what, boy?” The old healer said in his somewhat raspy baritone. He showcased a kind and patient smile to the young man in front of him, while he checked over his condition. He had been tending to the commoners in the city yesterday and had spent himself thrice over dealing with the aftermath of a collapsing tenement.

“August is desperately ill, sir. Mr. Quacksworth sent me to grab you and the duke. He is in his room, but I am to use the servant paths, so I came for you first. I do not have much information other than that. I shall be on my way, lord Isaac.” The youth said in a rush, promptly returning to task with the speed and vigor of youth.

“I am no lord, child,” Isaac said, though certain the boy was too far away and far too weak to have heard him. Closing his door, he walked to a shrine at the center of his room. A small red sphere hung in mid-air above a basin, rotating slowly. Wrapped around the sphere were the roots of a withering tree. The tree rose from the sphere until it was at eye level with Isaac. Its’ leaves were a dull and lifeless gray, and its bark a gnarled black patchwork of decay. Beneath the sphere was a small wooden bowl, empty once again.

“I honor my God and Patron, Jivan, Healer of the People, and Arborist of the Tree of Life. As you will, I supplicate myself to the sanctity of life and offer my body as sustenance to the Sacred Tree. Take my blood as water for thine roots, my flesh as mulch, and my soul as fertilizer. Grant me the wisdom to see thine will, and the strength to carry its burden.” Isaac intoned, bowing before the red sphere in front of him.

Without hesitation, he pushed his hand into the sphere. The sphere grew in luminosity, becoming a violent assault on the senses. Isaac felt as the roots of the tree burrowed inside his hand, writhing, and squirming down his arm. With agonizing slowness, the wooden protuberances finally pierced into his heart, drinking freely from his vitality. As they drank, the rotted bark and lifeless grey leaves of the tree before him gained new life. The leaves became the vibrant green of nature, the bark solid and unmarred.

Moving of its’ own volition, the tree came undone, following its roots into Isaac's body. The mass of wooden strands wrapped around his spine, becoming one with it. Branches erupted from the base of Isaac's neck, exploding outward, tearing the flesh from him, and knitting it together again in a painful cycle. Finally, those same vibrant green leaves bloomed on his shoulders, creating a mantle that wrapped around him in a glowing verdant cloak.

The ball that Isaac had placed his hand into solidified, becoming a blood-red gemstone, dropping into the empty wooden bowl. As the gemstone met the wood, it could be seen but for a moment. The wooden bowl, which should be a lifeless husk of the materials from which it was born, became newly endowed with life. It slowly wrapped itself around the gemstone, bringing it to the core of its’ being.

“Thy will be done.” Isaac intoned, the agony finally subsiding. Though he had done this ritual since he was but a boy, he was disallowed the numbing grace of perpetuity. As a healer, specifically a priest of Jivan, his life was that of a servant. He was to serve all people and could not take in the luxuries of life. He held no rank other than a priest, no status other than a servant. His existence was simple, his room empty but for the heartwood altar and his cot.

Stepping out of the small room, he walked down the hallways of the servants’ quarters, passing as just one of many in the bowels of the mansion. He moved his frail body with purpose, and though he was not as fast as the youths around him, he moved quickly enough. Arriving at the marbled black floors that marked the start of the nobility’s personal rooms, he slowed his gait as he arrived at August’s door.

The large set of oak doors stood closed, barring outsiders from entry. Knocking on the sturdy entryway, Isaac could hear the soft raspy utterances of Mr. Quacksworth.

“Who’s there… Oh, it’s you Isaac, come in.” Mr. Quacksworth shouted, answering his inquiry before Isaac had a chance to respond. Suddenly, the doors in front of him creaked open, revealing the scene within to Isaac.

August was sprawled upon the bed, his body wrapped in a layer of water, which itself was encapsulated in a layer of spatial mana. The ministrations seemed to be an attempt to lower August’s temperature, but it was not working well. Somehow, even from the several-meter distance between them, Isaac could feel the heat billowing off the boy. The ambient temperature of the room was even raised, being several degrees warmer than the outside hallway.

Looking over the boy, Isaac saw his body twitching and spasming, his eyes swollen shut. His hair had only small patches remaining, the rest having fallen off at some point. What remained was stark white. His hands were bloodied, seemingly from his fingernails digging into his palms. His tunic was torn and covered in bile. As Isaac watched, it dawned on him that though he was surely in agony, it seemed the boy was still conscious. Rushing to his side, he placed a hand on August’s forehead.

“I ask Jivan, that you grant me guidance.” He intoned, pulsing his emerald mana through the boy. Shockingly, his mana was driven away by another. Whirling around, the healer was ready to spit vitriol at whoever had stopped his diagnostic. He would have, except his eyes locked on to the unmistakable crimson and golden eyes of Emperor Hadrian Aurelius the Third.

“There will be none of that, Isaac. The boy will be fine.” The emperor said, settling his presence over Isaac. The weight of his aura carried such magnitude that it applied physical pressure to Isaac. His bones creaked against that weight; his body being pushed to kneel. Isaac, however, refused to kneel before anyone. Life’s sanctity was above all, and he would not bow to any but his deity.

They locked eyes, struggling at the myriad mixed emotions between them. Isaac had so many things to say to this man, but right now he needed to focus on August.