Iktan walked off the back of his dragon with the bearings of a true conqueror. Cipactli was by now adorned in the finest jewels, cloth and treasures he had collected over his quest to reunite his grandfather’s lands, to the point it made the ornate stone pyramid below him seem drab and unimpressive. He would have nothing less for his boy of course, his cultivation had long since passed the point of allowing him to sire any children of his own but it hardly mattered when he had raised such a fine and loyal boy… It seemed just yesterday when he was a small mewling lizard lying helpless against the cold stone floor of that cave, carved by blood parents either too dead or uncaring to attend to their spawn. He affectionately rubbed Cipactli on his massive snout and was met with an excited wave of superheated steam. By now his attendants were well aware of this old song and dance and moved out of the way before they suffered burns even cultivators into the Mutant realm would struggle to heal. Iktan laughed jovially and gave Cipactli one last pet before he went into the Temple-Palace of the old Jade Serpent Sect, seat of power for the Kukulkan clan. Built on a terraced hill overlooking the proud city of Yolitia, adorned with jade, silver and gold, Iktan felt like he understood how his grandfather felt when he marched south with his armies of black-smoke belching machines for the first time and felt as though he had witnessed something truly close to Heaven. Of course there was still that hole he left in the temple walls from his fight with dear old tio Asta… and the bloodstain on the floor… he would have to scold Cipactli over his messy eating habits sometime.

But that could wait, for now he had the part about conquering nobody ever talks about in the tales and songs. The frankly tedious work of actually ruling. Practically slumping into the massive stone throne which would have fit three normal men but was still maybe a size too small for him, he called forth his generals, scribes and lesser Khans to give their reports.

“The petty Khans of Miccaotli, Rotacruz and La Diabla have acknowledged your birthright. They have pledged their support for your cause and have lended their war machines to our army, granting us a total of 6 Land Dreadnoughts, 12 Terror Wagons, 50 Sand Screamers…” Diego, one of his most loyal but unfortunately most droll generals reported. His mutations granted him a fearsome appearance with black plates of bone forming what looked like a permanent set of jet black plate armor glowing with malefic green light… but one did not have to listen to his droning voice long to understand why Iktan always hated these unfortunate necessities in running a khanate.

Suppressing a yawn he gave his most dignified response. “Very well, arrange for them to meet me by next week and move the vehicles and their drivers with the rest of them in the north. Ensure they are rewarded for their cooperation and dismissed. Next.”

Privately he sent a specific psychic message to his spymaster in his nest built under the temple, the communication smoothened by the special formation stitched into his robes. Simple instructions, contact spies within the new additions to his holdings, find and root out any hints of disloyalty and treachery, ensure total cooperation of the army or failing that bring a list of figures to feed to Cipactli so they could fall in line. He resisted the urge to also tap into his mental link with Cipactli, not now, he needed to focus.

The next to address him was Gabriel, a fiery warrior who had served as a personal bodyguard of his father once, though nowadays that fire had dimmed somewhat in more ways than one. Despite his advanced cultivation it was clear the years were weighing on the man, his proud stance hiding nearly imperceptible exhaustion, the coals under his skin dim embers smothered by decades of ash compared to the noble knight he remembered in his childhood. He performed a strict military bow with a single bladed hand placed over his chest and said the words no doubt the rest of the court was too afraid to say.

“While it pleases me to know your success in reuniting the Khanate, I am still troubled by something young lord. We have been expanding at a rate our logistics could not follow. Your growth is exceptional, I see in you everything that made your ancestors great, but I fear you will fall to their follies too. The dragon has made you unstoppable in battle, but that aids not the holding of territory, and if you keep making moves to antagonize the Jackalopes even in their waning state I fear we shall extend ourselves to the edge of collapse.” He critiqued curtly, though with the way his long white hair glowed a fierce orange at the roots Iktan could tell his sincerity.

“Your concern is appreciated, like your service to my family.” He responded quietly, his body suddenly growing very still. “But this is about more than just reclaiming my legacy. You of all people should understand Gabriel…”

He gripped the thick stone armrests with force enough to crack it. Power flooded through him with painful memories melting the damaged rock back together with an imprint of his fingers.

“I still must recommend against this course of act-” Gabriel said before he was cut off by a wave of focused intent.

“Your concerns are appreciated Gabriel, but I find repeating myself tiring.” He admonished.

“Of course my lord.” Gabriel briskly apologized with a nod, though nothing could hide that disappointed flicker in his eyes.

Finally one of his newer vassals, a petty Khan whose significance was so low Iktan didn’t even bother to remember his name. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the wave of useless pleasantries and sycophantic nothings as he listened to the pathetic man.

“-but surely you could lower the taxes in my lands for my humble services, after all such a high food tax simply to feed your pet-”

He didn’t let the man live long enough to issue his pathetic bumbling apologies for his mistake. Gills frilling with rage, a part of him was tempted to simply tear the cultivation from the unworthy bastard’s chest. Instead however he deigned to give the little warlord a taste of real power. The intense radiation seared vocal cords into uselessness before they could even scream, and by the time he calmed himself there was but a pile of ashes where the useless idiot once stood.

“Anyone else?” He asked, steely eyes addressing the crowd.

A formality really, he knew the answer well enough.

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Exactly midway between the extensive complex of the Warrens that made up the beating heart of the Jackalope Sect and the sprawling Imperial Palace which acted as the head of the Empire of the same name was what looked to be a comparatively insignificant building built on the shores of Lake Superior distinguished mostly by towering smokestacks which billowed clouds of white steam into the sky. A closer inspection of course would reveal the symbols of cultivation plastered from the very outermost fence to the very innermost sanctum, the guards dressed in meticulously maintained power armor that hid the faces of some of the most trusted individuals in the Empire and the eerie silence besides the hum of electricity running through the structure. Holy symbols decorated every wall in the deliberately confusing labyrinth that made up the interior of the complex, if one was to gain access to the blueprints of the structure they would find the very plumbing geometrically optimized to funnel Si into powerful reinforcement and containment formations. All of this little more than a poor charade of control over what lay in the heart of the facility.

Jackson Kalu, heir apparent to the Jackalope Empire and a cultivator in the Aberrant Realm now, suppressed his urge to shudder before the final set of blast doors. He had been here twice before, albeit with a different name and as a different person, yet still before the power he could feel behind that door he felt so… small… once more that foolish child who tried to sneak into a box of goods headed for the Imperial Palace. All his preparations suddenly meant very little so close to the Founder…

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A comforting hand shrouded in a mist of living shadow landed on his shoulder, and the man who was his father in every way that mattered rotated his head in the closest thing he could manage to a reassuring smile. Even without his crown that sat between his branch-like antlers and adorned with an unpainted plain porcelain mask rather than the works of art he wore to court he looked every inch the Emperor he was. Reminding himself that one day he very well may bear the weight of the crown he straightened his back and steeled his nerves. He nodded at a camera stationed at the corner of the hall and the heavy metal doors slid open filling the hallway with dense, Si enriched air.

Eerie is probably the right term for the massive circular room, dominated by a pool which held enough water to flood the Capital. Steam still hung in the air from the water only kept from boiling once more by the will of Cunningham, who rose with the sealed metal sphere up the water column until the room was lit up with the sky blue light of her power.

The air stilled before she spoke, every particle preparing to move at her will to form her words. “A decade already? I simply must apologize, I have been so lost in thought as of late I stopped tracking time… You haven’t changed much at all have you now Liam? Well, I suppose there is something… did you gain weight perhaps?”

The man most would know as Emperor laughed, an honest jovial thing shared between friends and comrades only. “Perhaps if you didn’t want me growing fat you wouldn’t have shoved me on that throne Sarah!”

“Hm, point. But while you haven't changed your protege… my my how you have grown! Oh, and looks like you finally figured it out too, congratulations! What is your new name little prince?” With a voice equal parts kindly grandmother and manifestation of the Great Spirit itself Jackson felt Cunningham’s attention turning onto him in his very soul.

“I uh… Jackson now ma’am… you knew? He said breathlessly, his irritation at being talked about and to more like the child he was when he first visited the facility rather than a man now nearing his forties turning minor in the face of his stuttering shock. The psychic prowess of the Founder was of course legendary, but at the time even he didn’t know anything except for an inkling of vague wrongness he never could really identify at the time.

“Don’t worry I can’t read your mind through all this lead and water without you noticing. Call it intuition, or perhaps a sense of kindred spirit from one Changeling to another.” Cunningham reassured. “Now well met Jackson! Name’s a little on the nose there but it’s fitting enough. As much as I would simply like to just catch up I am a tired old woman now, and I suppose you two have some business with me?”

Liam turned his head and looked at him expectantly. The old man long since lost any semblance of a human face, yet he could practically see the tired expression born of countless fruitless arguments. Still, Jackson had to try, surely in a time as dire as this…

“To put it simply lady Cunningham, I fear our empire is at the verge of crisis once more. We face a new threat to the East in the form of mechanical monsters from across the sea, something out of one of the old legends of the Golden Age now into reality. Our spies have reported a change in the dynamic of the squabbling Warlords to the south, they are unifying under the banner of one who claims to be of the lineage of the Red Star, regardless of the truth of the matter the speed at which they are amassing forces and unifying the tribes and warlord states of the region is unmatched outside of the original Red Star Conquests. Ten years ago you agreed to split the clouds over our empire to save our people from the worst of the Great Famine, even still we have been greatly weakened in the face of new enemies unlike what we have seen for centuries. I beseech y-” Jackson regurgitated his well rehearsed speech before the words were silenced in his mouth by the stilling of the very air.

“You are young, you do not understand, nor do I expect you to understand. Nobody really did, except maybe that Hypocrite Priest or the Red Star in the end… so I do not blame you for trying.” Cunningham spoke through every molecule of air in the room. “It is wrong to say I am losing myself, I have already lost myself. I lost myself when I looked into the soul of the Khan when I struck him down and saw… no in truth I merely realized it then… it was only Liam’s pleas that convinced me to choose to remain in this state rather than disappear into exile like the Hypocrite did, or chase that poisoned promise of Heaven like the Tsar did to his last moment.”

Channeling all his power, feathers crackling with psychically infused lightning and blazing with Si, Jackson fought the silence that had blanketed the room. “I… but… we need… you…”

“I have no doubt I could, even after all this time, break all our enemies under my heel again. But you should understand, if you truly need me for victory the Empire might as well be on its last breath.” Cunningham explained, their ‘voice’ strained with emotion and exhaustion. “Tell me, Jackson, what do you understand of the end of Old America?”

Jackson tried to recall the old stories written in dry tomes and shouted by priests in a thousand long half-forgotten sermons. “I don’t understand? It was the bombs, the old stories speak of hubris, mankind sought power beyond the gifts of Heaven and so burned under a fire they lit, but what does this have to do with this?”

“The bombs were meant to be the ultimate weapon, peace bought with the promise that anyone who dares to strike at us would burn worse than the deepest hell. Of course now we know that promise for the folly it truly was… but that does not mean mankind has changed its old tendencies.” Cunningham explained. “Once I too believed overwhelming power bought peace, yet as I faced the Khan in battle I glimpsed into his soul and saw that same thought reflected in his own mind. When you cannot even touch your loved ones without burning them alive and have to rebuild your body at any slight lapse in concentration you stop thinking of yourself as a person and more of a force, a weapon to keep your enemies from those under you… a bomb…”

Jackson scrambled for a justification, searched his mind for the magic words that might just sway the unfathomable force lying just before him. Bereft of other options he made his confession. “I have had dreams… like ten years ago but louder and more vivid… I watched the continent burning and I- i’m desperate! It’s why I begged Liam to take me here, it’s why I practiced these bomb-cursed speeches that he told me would be of no use but what else could I have done? The empire is so vast but our enemies are so many and the prophecies they scream in my skull-”

“I understand, I've seen visions too, though of a different matter than yours. I cannot divulge much, rather I don’t believe I could even describe what I have come to know… information gathered not through images or sounds but scars carved onto my very soul and likely the souls of any who have dared glimpse beyond the veil… but please forgive this old woman this one selfishness and allow her to rest with her secrets just a little while longer. I tired of being a weapon centuries ago, you have my word that I will not ignore you in your true darkest hour, but you will have to prevent it from reaching that point yourself. You think you need my help for that, but trust me, you don’t want it.” The supercritical cultivator spoke partly through the words produced in every spare molecule of air and partly through images of… things. He didn’t understand any of what he saw, but for some reason he felt wet trails streaking down his face, weeping for guilt of a sin he could never know.

A comforting pat on his shoulder centered him back to reality. Shakily he raised his head to meet the blank yet reassuring porcelain face of his master, mentor and most powerful man in the empire, though the last part always did seem more like an act the old man was putting on for the crowds of nobles and petty sects. They bowed politely to Cunningham before taking their leave out those same ancient blast doors.

Liam placed shadowy tendrils across Jackson’s shoulders, supporting him as his knees finally began to cave in. They stayed like that for minutes that dragged on into eternity before finally the old man said something. “I don’t blame you for trying, I did too long ago. I only ever achieved one thing that actually mattered, convinced her to stay on this rock and not go… well I don’t know… I don’t think she knew either to be honest. For a while I was bitter about it too, I didn’t understand, and I don’t think I ever will truly get it. But now I think if I was her would I do much better? And I realized I didn’t have an answer.”

Jackson coughed up some black blood, tasting bitter bile and metal in his mouth. Nonetheless he secreted a long glassy cane of diamond-hard crystal and pushed himself to his feet. “I… doesn’t matter… work to do…”

The Emperor tutted. “You will have your rest first, direct Imperial orders. Honestly I swear I thought I had enough lifetimes of this with Sarah!”

“Won’t… be… like her…” Jackson wheezed. “Will get strong… be better…”

“Like a fucking mirror…” Liam sighed.