When Xanarona was thirty stars and fifty eight dawns, the doom of the Drafts commenced, and it would be spoken thusly in every age.

She preferred Xana. Xanarona reminded her of her grandmother-Empress whom she was named after. She loathed the woman despite being birthed after her demise. Perhaps, it was because a piece of her grandmother lived in her still. The grandmother-Empress, a Pilgrim, had sought immortality just like the others and had failed just like the others. Or had she?

Xanarona knowing fully the secrets of the body, saved a speck of her life in her offspring and her offspring’s offsprings and Xana had known this somehow. She thought it selfish and uncomely to afflict generations unborn with so odious a burden. And it was why Xana was first of her line to study as a Prophet. However, since becoming a Prophet the feeling that her grandmother grew inside of her only increased.

“It was thrust on her—what she so greatly despised—and in her anguish she levelled to dust a civilization.”

This is however the tale for gullible minds. Hear now Xanarona’s story as her handmaiden here tells it.

***

Xana had received two pieces of news that dawn. First was that she would be crowned Empress-designate in a week and second was about the Iron Emperor, who had been left comatose after an attack. She didn't care for either.

Her dawn always began with music. If she didn't play it herself, she listened to someone else. She wore a black gown, tight at the wrists but flowing generously in every other place. She picked the bow of her instrument, left for the music room and played to her heart's content. Sliding the bow cautiously against silver strings.

“Abyssal Minds.” Bulma, her instructor, said as he came in. “You are perfect with the silver instrument, Xana. And the song…” He took in a breath. “I haven't heard better.”

“You flatter me, Bulma.” She smiled. “I am stars behind your talent. Come. Come dine with me.”

They spoke of songs and arias over cloud fruits and black cakes. And Xana's spirit was merry until Bulma said, “Your grandmother-Empress played too. And she too was marvellous, as you are now.”

No one knew of her spite for Xanarona and it wasn't the first time they were compared. Her mother, the Empress, referenced her grandmother every chance she got. Even once the Empress had said they tie their hair the same and since then, Xana had left hers loose.

“How did you come to have such knowledge?” Xana asked.

“I was only five stars the first time I heard her play. She would sit on her throne with the bow and string and would enchant the Drafts with sweet songs.”

“Did she always do it like that? On her throne” Where everyone would see? Xana wished for Bulma to say yes so that she could have another reason to spite the woman.

“Not always. She was dying and she knew, so she would string a long and mournful tune till she could not. More magnificent is that she was a better Empress than she was a musician. She amended many of your great-grandfather's—” Bulma realised what he was going to say and paused.

“—errors. You can say it. His errors.” She had heard only praises about Xanarona. How she was loved in the Drafts and beyond. Xana knew otherwise.

“She must have been a—” She couldn't bring herself to say wonderful Empress. She mustered up a fake smile, rose from her seat and said, “I have to see my mother. Thank you for the kind company, Bulma.”

“All is good, Xana.”

Xana proceeded to her quarters with quick strides. She also wanted to see her tutor, Prophet Dy'Anne. She put on something more fitting, and added onto it a silver belt and brooch—an eye clasped between two palms—the sigil of the Prophet. She went outside, crossing the wide arena of the Drafts to the Silver Pyramid. It was a stepped pyramid reaching higher than super-terminals, with metal so smooth to feel, and shimmering like silver—for the Silver Pyramid was not real silver, it was merely painted so.

The stone she trotted across was sickly black and that black soothed her well. She only wire silver trinkets to appease her mother.

“You should stop trying to look young.” Xana told her mother as she strode in.

“I am?” The Empress posed in the mirror, beaming.

“You are.”

“Alright. But it's not very obvious, is it?”

Xana drew close to her and used her sleeve to dab at her face. “Your silver dust is too much here. Goodness! You are over seventy stars. No one is looking at you.”

“Who says?” The Empress smiled, lecherous.

“Mother!”

“You are grown, Xana. You have to start thinking of copulating.” She sat down on a stool and put on her regal wig.

“I don't have time for your musings.” Xana helped with the wig. “I wanted to speak to Dy'Anne about something, but I thought you should know first.”

“What is it? You don't want to be Empress-designate?”

“It's not that. It is my dreams.”

“I still wonder why at all you became a Prophet. It doesn't bode well with me. Your brothers are Pilgrims. I am a Pilgrim. Your grandmother and her father too. I could go on.”

“Dreams are not a Prophet thing.” She ceased adjusting her mother’s hair and stood away.

“I have friends who’ve told me otherwise.”

“Don't pretend. You know what this is.”

“Dear, I am a Pilgrim. It's inconceivable what you say. Your grandmother is dead! No one lives forever.”

“She is not.”

“You saw her? In this dream of yours?” The Empress spoke more motherly this time.

“I didn't see her. I heard her.”

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There was silence. Keen but strained silence.

“What did she say?”

“There were no words. Just breathing. Heavy breathing.”

“Were you falling into an abyss again?”

“Yes. Endlessly.”

“I'll tell a maid to get Dy'Anne, then. Wait here.”

The Empress left the room. She cared, and for others too. Xanarona did not, Xana knew it in her heart.

Her mother returned. “Let me have a look.”

She felt her daughter’s beating heart, listened intently and projected her organs. Then she picked at Xana's skull until her brain was exposed. Xana was used to seeing the inside of herself now. Her mother always inspected her for the smallest issues.

“Every part of the brain is involved in dreams” She lifted the folds. “Yours look fine. Nothing of note. Perhaps I would have to examine you while you sleep.” She dropped the display.

Dy'Anne was there in no time. She had been friends with the Empress before they could walk.

“Another one of her dreams,” The Empress said.

Dy'Anne did not look as troubled as the Empress. What could trouble a Prophet who had seen the depths of the abyss?

“I heard her breathing, Dy'Anne.”

“Xanfeil.” Dy'Anne was the only who referred to the Empress by name. “Allow me to take your daughter on a little trip.”

“Return her ready to rule the Belt as Empress-designate.” The Empress stated firmly, rubbing her daughter’s palms and eyeing her lovingly.

Dy'Anne took Xana by the arm and through the halls.

“You believe me, don't you?” She did not reply. “Don't you, Dy'Anne?” Xana released herself from her grip.

“It is irrelevant what I believe, child. There are some things you must know as you will soon be Empress. If you have started hearing your grandmother then you are ripe for telling.”

Dy'Anne had never acted this way. “Telling?”

“I guess it would be more appropriate to say showing.” Dy'Anne said, resigned. She gave up forcing the Empress-designate and only looked back, a hard sneer on her countenance. Two men emerged from the darkness with spears in their hands.

“Xanarona—”

“It's Xana!”

“Start getting used to Xanarona, child!”

I am no child.

“I don't want to have these men drag you along. Be wise. Come yourself.”

Xana turned to leave but the men barred her. “You will not deter me!” They pointed their spears.

“They would. Carry her.”

“I'll scream.” Xana warned.

“Go ahead, child and see if anyone comes.”

The men approached, ready to tug her along with Dy'Anne.

“Tell them to stop. I will come without struggle.” There was vice in her tone, she hated her weakness.

“Come on, then.”

She followed and the reserve-guards lurked behind them. The Drafts was one of the most unusual places in all of Krakas. It had no single abyss for stretches save an immensely gaping one at the centre, famously called The Shunned Deep.

They entered the Steelhouse, the place where the Drafts’ silver was cultivated. Xana had scanty knowledge of the place. She did not like it. She did not like anything wrought of her grandmother. The blood of Krakians was of silvery properties and the silver was harvested to manufacture a plethora of things. However, earlier methods of harvesting depleted the value of it. Xanarona after long and difficult study figured a way to harvest the blood without undervaluing the silver.

That was the turning point and the restoration of the Silver Belt. Xanarona had freed the Belt from the Iron Capital’s grip.

In the Steelhouse Pilgrim workers carried trays of specially milked silver. They wore white from head to toe, moving quietly from one plant to the next. Some even carting off black-veined corpses.

As far as Xana knew, corpses from all over the Belt were brought to the Steelhouse and Iron cards were dug into their spines to remove its fluid. The fluid corrupted the blood. But that was only a part of it. The Pilgrims further manipulated the blood in giant tubular tanks till only silver flakes remained. Everyone who knew the secrets was vetted as it was a matter of sustenance for the Silver Belt.

“What are we doing here?”

Dy’Anne did not answer. They entered another room and one of the reserves tailing them pulled up a control lever. The room jerked a tad before descending slowly. The descent went on for what seemed hours.

“Where are we going?” She asked again, fear seeping into her voice. With all the dead bodies she had seen, it was only proper to be unsure of her fate.

Farther down they went till she heard the soft purr, the persistent hum, the frantic bass if the Shunned Deep. She looked at Dy'Anne and wondered if she heard it too. Dy'Anne seemed to not react to anything.

Prophets reported every kind of sound from the abyss. Some claimed to be able to speak to it, but that was a long haul from a Prophet’s bandwidth. They could see and hear into the abyss, but not speak to it.

Xana had heard the music of the Shunned Deep before, especially at night when all was black and now she heard it louder than ever.

The room finally came to a halt. They departed through the same door that had brought them in. They stopped behind a screen viewing out into what would be Xana's horror.

A body, chained from every limb, was splayed out in the open black space. It was almost skinned to the bone and its blood converged at its feet dripping into the dark. A tube was attached to its back bringing blood to its throbbing heart. However, what sent Xana hurtling back, weeping was the head. It was bobbing weakly, up-down in throes of pain.

“If it consoles you, that person is not in pain.” Dy'Anne said. “The heart is your grandmother’s. The body is a Pilgrim’s. A Pilgrim who knew the cost, don't taint her sacrifice with your tears. Hold her up. Let her see.” The reserves dragged her to the screen and forced her head up.

“You can feel Xanarona inside, can't you? She's already breathing with your lungs. And soon she'll take your eyes, your feet, your womb. Soon, you'll become her and she, you. Don't try harming yourself. You'll be inflicting unnecessary pain. You never listen, so I'll show you first-hand what would happen if you tried. Hand me your spear.”

“What are you doing? What are you doing? Please! Please!” Xana screamed. The men held her still.

Dy'Anne took the spear and rammed it into Xana's chest. Xana fell to the ground, yowling in pain, waiting to die. But she did not.

“Remove the spear.” Dy'Anne commanded.

One of the men retrieved the spear. She whimpered and curled up in her pool of blood, sobbing shamelessly. In a few moments the wound sealed itself shut leaving only a black bruise.

“Lift her. Carry her to her room. Have her maid clean her up. Remain at her door dawn and dusk and make sure she eats. I wouldn’t want Xanarona reincarnating into a frail, starving body.”

Dy'Anne crouched, her robes soaking in Xana's blood. She whispered, “Do yourself a favour, child. Make your life easier while you still have it.”

“You were always kind to me. What happened?” She cried silver tears.

Dy'Anne caressed Xana's densely black hair. “You happened.”