“For how long have you dedicated yourself to carving these?” the Emperor asked.

Ten thousand stone soldiers stood motionless in perfect alignment before him, each solider an exact copy of the next—every hair, every button, every crease in their uniforms, the details a testament to the mastery of their creator. The image sparked a sense of unease in the Emperor as he walked through their ranks. His retinue followed, careful not to disturb decades of artisan labor.

“Nearly one-hundred years, your Imperial Majesty.” The creator’s face wrinkled as he spoke. “The first soldier took form when I was merely eight.” The Emperor offered an arm to the old man as they climbed the steps to the palace. The man shook his head and continued on his own. His legs trembled upon each step despite the assistance of his wooden staff.

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“You know, your Majesty, when I was a boy, I climbed these very steps. That was a long time ago.”

“During my great-grandfather’s reign, yes?”

“Indeed.”

The pair turned to face the stone army and the man breathed in deep, savoring the moment. His eyes glistened as he looked upon his creations. “I climbed these steps after my father. He was a great stone worker too, you know, but he refused your great-grandfather that day we were summoned.” The man raised his staff and struck the ground. The impact reverberated through the ground and a ring of dust washed over the world. He struck again and the air stilled. And again. The world silenced. “And for that he was killed.”

And he struck the ground once more. The world froze and the Emperor stared back at the man, consternation written upon his face. His stomach sank as the earth convulsed. A cloud of dust billowed up from the courtyards below. And the stone army marched.

“I watched my father’s head roll down these steps from the very spot I now stand. Today I will watch yours.”