Doe

1.2

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The explosions went off with a loud enough pop that one could believe they were under cannon fire, if not for the small clouds of pink and blue smoke that appeared in mid-air.

Another round of fireworks went off, a collision of red, white, blue, pink and bright green clashing with the overcast weather. Faintly, the sound of trumpets and drums drifted from the port all the way out into the water as the Maiden's Breeze slowly pulled closer.

Even though there were easily over a thousand feet away from the port for now, the sheer size of the crowd and the volume of music was clearly apparent to everyone aboard the ship.

Persa loved it.

"This is so sweet," she said softly. "The Empress would be flattered."

"It's too loud," Sabra said grouchily, pacing back and forth, never keeping her eyes off the oncoming port. She had her mask on, fists clenched, and looked like she was ready to start a fight.

Milian piped up cheerfully, "Ena has a long history of throwing extravagant greetings for foreign dignitaries and emissaries of the Empress! I have a quote from the great Niihae philosopher Huan Jao on his arrival over two hundred years ago, where he wrote of the Ena showering him with rose petals and pouring wine from the rooftops."

"How lovely," Persa said wistfully. "I prefer the colorful clouds though. And the music."

"Loud," Sabra repeated. "This isn't right."

"In terms of customs-"

"Not for this mission," Sabra interrupted the boy. "You both should know better than that."

That dampened the joy either of them felt immediately.

"Sabra," Persa spoke up. "Would you like to take us off the ship by rooftop? Avoid the hassle of the crowd? You can see that far, especially with your mask, yes?"

Sabra considered it for a moment before sighing, "No. Our duty as her agents is to be seen. As convenient as it would be, we must face down this… parade."

She said 'parade' with all the disdain and disgust as someone who stumbled upon a decaying body. A feeling Persa was quite familiar with, growing up to use and master her Blessing after all.

More than a few awkward conversations had been had back then, before she realized what she had been seeing.

Bad times then. Don't think about it.

She shook her head slowly, turning back to her guardian killer.

Persa still found herself somewhat amused at the word choice Sabra had. 'Facing down' the crowd of jubilant citizens, people celebrating them - and by extension the Empress - as though she were about to wade into battle.

Persa was very, very, very careful to not let any of this show on her face.

"It is good that you are thinking in that direction," Sabra said. Her tone was approving, "Follow that example, Chronic."

"Yes, Honored Aisan."

She nodded, "Good. I will talk with the Captain. I want to double check that vault and have them make preparations for armaments, as well as our supplies. I will return shortly."

The huge woman didn't wait for a response, having deemed the conversation over and done with, heading off to the captain's quarters.

Milian turned to look over at the closer port now, more colorful fireworks filling the air.

"I like to hear your facts," Persa said to the boy. "I don't know much about trivia such as you do, so it feels nice to know someone worldly is with me."

Milian gave her a small smile.

"Can you tell me about how the colorful smoke is made?"

"I don't have that specifically," Milian said, perking up. "But I can make some educated guesses based on what I do know of gunpowder and dyes."

"Then please, educate me."

Persa let the boy talk, hearing him rattle off factoids about gunpowder, reactions to heat, and how colored dye was handled. She didn't care for much of it. Almost none of it really. In her mind, she felt it ruined the magic of something as simple as a happy parade.

In her heart, however, it meant that the little boy tasked to serve them was able to feel good about himself.

It didn't take long before Sabra returned, but it was enough that Persa had forgotten more about ancient cannon techniques than she would ever remember. The new captain was behind her, arms crossed, glaring at the oncoming port.

All of the sailors were armed and ready, now. Not that they were going to storm the port or anything insane such as that, but the situation had changed due to the traitor's demise.

The ship was now carrying cargo worth more than a small army and that meant they had to treat every situation as though they would be raided. Almost all of them carried bolt-action rifles, longer than Persa's arm, alongside holstered revolvers and knives much like Sabra had on her person.

Some of the heftier sailors bore giant barreled scatter guns, which Persa assumed could double as clubs when they ran out of shards to fire.

Only a fair few had swords, such as the new Captain and his trusted guard.

Persa hadn't missed the new sour tone of the ship. Not only had their trusted captain of many years been a heretical traitor, but now they were guarding the Blessing that tempted him so much in the first place.

She did not blame them for their attitudes, for they never turned unkind words upon herself, Milian, or Sabra. Well, not that she could believe anyone to be brave nor foolish enough to try and mouth off to the hulking woman.

There were gangs of raiders, heretics and worse out there that were less terrifying than the Masked Aisan.

"Your mask," Sabra said as they neared closer to shore.

Persa nodded, feeling a heavy weight on her heart as she retrieved it from beneath her coat.

Her mask was gold, which was the only pleasant aspect of its gruesome sight. A grinning skull looked back up at her, telescopic lenses similar to Sabra's filling the eye-sockets, with vents between the teeth for air and volume. The crown at it's temple was small, but she could peer into the craftwork and see eyes swirling at the spires.

A moment's hesitation, looking at the skull and thinking about the headless victim of the heretic, before she placed the mask on her face, straps around the back of her head.

It was cold against her skin.

Cold as a corpse.

She shivered. From the concerned look that the captain gave her, it was noticeable.

"Lense check," Sabra noted.

Persa followed the command, looking at Sabra while her hands adjusted the dials around her eyes. Brief clicking sounds as the scope brought Sabra's face closer and closer, to the point that lenses of her own mask seemed to take up all of Persa's view.

Like this, it's almost as if we are staring face to face, Persa thought. Slowly, she turned the dials back to normal, looking out at the port, and doing the same for the parade. It did not go far enough for her to see in high detail, only ten times the sight normally, but that was enough to see people jostling around at the edge of the piers, waving large flags and cloth banners of what looked to be the Empress's eyes.

She could see the tops of the buildings too, with lush greenery draping over every top in sight, and she could imagine it being a beautiful cascade of colors on sunnier days.

Persa sighed, pulling back her sight to normal.

Milian did not wear a mask, instead having a pair of spectacles over his eyes, so large and heavy that Persa worried they might permanently droop his facial features.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Presentable," Sabra said with approval. One of the rare, obvious, compliments Persa had received.

Persa looked down at her feet, wiping her hands at her sides.

"In a few minutes, we will cease being humans," Sabra said with authority. Persa recognized this speech from their lessons. "We will become Masked and Chronic. Honored Aisan, Honored Oidan, Chronic Milian. Our only allies are ourselves, the Empress, and the Heavenly Eye."

"I am he who watches and reports," Chronic Milian answered dutifully.

"I am she who seeks and scours," Honored Aisan Sabra continued.

Honored Oidan Persa let out a deep sigh, "I am she who raises and fells."

"For the Empress."

"For Heaven."

"Against the Pits of the Deep," Persa finished. "Gaze into salvation, for we are windows to the soul."

"Iybaul." They prayed as three, completing the ritual.

Persa did not need to look back to know every sailor had closed their eyes, and cast their gaze into the Pits of the Deep under protection of the Empress and her Heavenly command.

👁️

The sound of the boarding deck hitting the port bridge was drowned out entirely by music, and even that was drowned out by the cheers of the common-folk of Ena.

In any other circumstance, Persa would have loved to spend hours under the bright mood and good will sent her way.

The first line of people in the crowd took notice of her mask and flinched back, or paused their cheers in shock. One couple had brought their young son to the front line, sitting on one of the fathers's shoulders, and he broke into tears when she looked his way.

More looks of surprise, some horror, and cheers turning to quiet murmuring.

It was the silence that was the most powerful of reactions.

As she walked further down the path, that silence slowly grew, an invisible fire that was sweeping through the forest of people. It progressed only slightly faster than her own foot-steps, just enough so that she could almost track the change in the crowd like a physical force.

Smiles turned to frowns, clapping hands went to crossed arms, and some waving their Heavenly Eyed Talismans so jubilantly before were now praying fervently to the Empress.

Those ones did not dare to meet her gaze.

She could not blame them, even as her heart hurt to hear the stutter of instruments, as even the band members noticed the change in the crowd. Or simply saw her face for what it was.

Who among any would not feel fear at the sight of Death visiting their port?

Sailors followed behind her, Sabra, and Milian, carrying trunks of various clothing and supplies. A small group of them had been given direct orders to serve as a personal troop of guards for the duration of their stay, and Persa wasn't sure how to feel about that. The Maiden's Breeze would remain docked for the month or so it took to finish their work, but suffice to say that it felt ominous to carry with them the crew of a heretic along with them, as unwilling as the poor souls had been to their former captain's treachery.

Still, they had been picked based on information Persa and Milian's Glimmers had been able to divine, judging them to be the least likely to have heretical ties. It was some assurance at the least.

A tall, thin, bald man in a deep sea-green robe and silver hooped earrings stood at the end of the path, a beautiful open-air blue carriage pulled by similarly colored horses waiting behind him.

If he was surprised by the skull, he did not show it.

Once they had gotten close enough, he bowed, "Honored Masked. I am tasked with escorting you to the Governors manse. We have been excited for your arrival, and they have much to discuss with you. Shall we?"

Persa's heart sped up at the thought of riding within the fancy carriage. There had been few horses at the temple for her to visit, as they had mostly been for ranch work or patrols, but she had always thought them beautiful animals.

When they weren't enraged, of course. That had been a particularly memorable sight.

Persa stepped forward-

Sabra grabbed Persa's arm, bringing her back to her side and away from the carriage. "No."

Persa looked from the gloved hand on her skinny bicep to the tall woman's mask, confusion hidden behind her own.

The guide paused, mouth open, before closing it soon after. He considered Sabra for a few seconds before smiling, "No?"

"Not that carriage. You may take it, but we will need to make use of one with a proper canopy and door. The smaller the windows, the better. The guards will be your escorts and within the carriages behind us."

Sabra and the guide looked at Persa.

What is wrong, Sabra? What did I miss?

"Please," Persa said, looking at the man. "It would be appreciated if you would follow our Honored Aisan's directives."

He bowed, "Of course, Honored Oidan. Your wish is our command."

Sabra released her grip and Persa felt very aware of the pulse on her arm from how tight the hold had been.

It'll pass, she told herself. Always does.

It took a bit of a moment for him to arrange it, moving carriages around, and Persa felt the gazes of the much quieter crowd at her back. The music was still going and she could hear some people still trying to cheer, but it felt… forced. Strained.

Perhaps the governor had paid people to keep the mood going? She appreciated the thought, if true.

Eventually a much less visually appealing carriage arrived, closed off with tiny windows, and the guide helpfully opened its doors. Persa went first - a feeling of surprise when Sabra took her hand and gently guided her into the seat - and was then followed by Milian beside her, with Sabra bringing up the rear.

The sailors and the supplies trickled into the other carriages, and soon they were off, riding down the cobblestone path. They all took their masks and goggles off; fancy though they were, it got stuffy over time, and they were not in the public eye anymore.

Once she felt they had traveled in relative silence for a long enough moment, Sabra spoke up, "You are probably wondering why I chose this carriage instead."

Persa nodded, but decided not to mention that she would not have asked in any case.

"Are we approaching stealthily, Honored Aisan?" Milian asked. He sounded quite excited at the prospect.

"In what manner could we possibly approach with stealth, now that we endured that horrific parade?" Sabra bit out more than a bit testily. "It's very likely that it's what the governor wanted that crowd for. He would know that Masked must stand as a statement of the Empress's presence and intent."

Persa thought about it for a moment and then raised her hand.

"Why are you raising your hand?"

Persa lowered her hand, looking down at the gold skull in her lap, embarrassed.

A moment passed before Sabra spoke in a softer voice, "I did not mean you could not ask me a question. I was simply asking why you were raising your hand, Persa. You are the Honored Oidan."

"Oh. Um, I had a question. May I ask?"

"I-" Sabra paused. Her face looked conflicted.

Milian reached out a bit, cupping the side of his mouth with one hand as he tried to whisper, "I believe she is aware of you having a question, Honored Oidan. She is more upset that you do not assert yourself."

Oh. Oh that made sense.

"Do you want me to ask instead?" Milian asked.

"Do not," Sabra growled out. "Chronic, sit back down."

Milian did so quickly.

"And do not lean against the carriage doors. Accidents happen and it's a quick way to earn a broken neck."

The young boy moved away from the door as though it was on fire, eyes wide.

Persa raised a hand, caught herself, and shoved it hard into her lap as Sabra whipped her head back to her.

"Question."

"Ask," Sabra stressed.

"This is because you did not feel comfortable being exposed?"

She nodded, "Exactly. We have protections, I have my Blessing for a quick escape if need be, but there were too many factors that could go wrong. We did enough to show the public our true faces, we need not completely endanger ourselves any more than we have to. A closed carriage offers some potential protection at the least."

Persa pursed her lips, "It was an ill-omen to be traveling with a heretic for so long."

"Indeed," Sabra nodded. "And it gives credence to the information in our mission brief. Where there is one heretic, you will find a gaggle of them hiding in the dark."

It did bother Persa that even that cretin captain had been worried about Ena, but she did not voice it. It was best to disregard anything a heretic would say.

"We will be relying on your Glimmers," Sabra told Milian and Persa. "We will vet our so-called hosts and then continue with our investigation of the colony."

Persa was surprised, "But they were the ones who authorized that letter in the first place! It had their seal!"

"I do not suspect them," Sabra said. "Not yet. However, as we have learned, a lack of paranoia leaves us open to manipulation. Never again will I allow a heretic to stay breathing beside me for so long as that captain did."

She's galled, Persa thought. Insulted by what had happened.

Persa could relate, silently nodding to Sabra.

The rest of the trip was quiet, all of them ruminating on their thoughts.

It didn't take long to reach the governor's manse. Even through the small windows, it was a gorgeous blue building with greenery piling down from atop the roofs, with shrubbery cut into the shapes of various sea animals.

"How serene," Persa breathed as they drove by.

Sabra shrugged.

Not one for the fine arts, Persa mused.

The circuit did not take them into the manse interior, instead pulling them along a winding path along the back garden area, with the shrub creatures slowly replaced by hedges taller than the carriages themselves.

A dizzying amount of time later, the trip finally reached its end point, for their carriage at least. As the guide opened the doors and helped guide Persa down the steps, she saw the other carriages moving on.

"They will be giving your guards supplies and directions to their Inn of choice," the guide said. "Or your choice, as it were. They will inform you of what the governor has supplied, after the meeting."

Sabra did not object to any of this, so Persa took that as permission to accept that gratefully.

The guide escorted them further into the garden and it wasn't long before they found their hosts.

There were three men situated at a wooden table, carved lovingly with the eyes of the Empress along the edges, with the center of the table shaded in browns to emulate the broad map of Ena atop it.

The Governor was easy enough to identify, the bronze pin in the shape of Ena attached to his outfit obvious enough. She could imagine that when the heavenly gleam of day shone upon it, it would shine with great polish.

His outfit was that of high fashion: He wore a striking long sleeve top, the right side flowing down gracefully to almost reach his right knee, creating an asymmetrical silhouette. The left side, devoid of a sleeve, revealed a toned arm marked by a serious burn on his bicep. The left hem of the shirt was tucked neatly into his waistband, adding a touch of structure to the outfit. His pants were puffier than anticipated, contributing an unexpected volume that balanced the sleekness of the top.

In contrast to his professional attire, his hair was wild, only pulled back in the most broad sense of a pony-tail, stings of hair covering his smiling face. The only thing wilder about his hair was the look in his eyes and the grin that stretched his cheek bones, as though he were a child and the Masked were a wink of a gift for a year of service.

The glasses over his eyes were a tan shade, cut in that bizarre style of having the upper half cleaved away, so half of his eyes could be seen over the shades. Persa had seen it many times in the temple, usually by visiting dignitaries or influencers of various courts, and she had never understood the appeal of only shading the bottom half of one's eyes.

Then again, it had been quite a long time since she had ever needed protection from bright lights. Perhaps she was out of touch in more than just fashion.

The other men at the table wore matching outfits, the one on the left being a portly gentleman with beautifully braided hair that reached the small of his back, several bells in the shape of eyes attached by ribbons at set intervals in the braid.

The man on the right looked near a child, his face young, but with a brutal hole in the right cheek that exposed the shattered remains of his teeth. The entry hole on the other side of his face was cleaner, but nonetheless ghastly. His hair was clipped short and his face had long lines of stress and exhaustion.

The amount of muscle on him made him look intimidating, tired or not. His one exposed bicep looked like it could lift Sabra off her feet.

None of the men were that important though, not in the immediate sense. Persa's eyes flickered to the two figures standing a polite distance away, both wearing light breastplates, helmets, and pauldrons over the uniforms sporting Ena's green-blue colors. A short man and a woman matching Persa's height.

More importantly, they wore thick rimmed goggles - the glass completely black - each one so large and dense that any normal human wearing them would be utterly blind. To those who were Blessed, however, it would merely be blurry or indistinct.

It was not rare for there to be Blessed who were not in direct service of a temple or the Empress's understudy, such as Persa, Sabra, and Milian were. After all, to become a Masked was an honored choice by the Empress herself, and many would instead be turned away to join administrative affairs, transportation, or simple guard work.

Before he had been outed as a heretical traitor, the old captain had been given such a task with his ship, serving as quick transportation for high-profile Masked across the sea. Different from these two, however.

It made Persa's stomach churn to think of herself as high-profile, but not as much as the appearance of these two guards. Look-Outs as they were called by the public, Blessed who were permitted to work for hire, be it contract work or in service of the Empress's duly appointed officials. Although all Blessed served the Empress by natural right, they were not strictly part of her religious order, and as such could potentially live among the common folk if they so desired.

As such, according to how Sabra and Milian explained it, it was courtesy of them to blind themselves to some extent when officials such as Masked arrived. A show of deference and lessening of tension, in case negotiations and investigations proved… troublesome.

Oh please Heavenly Eye and Empress of All, do not make this troublesome, Persa prayed. Being around Sabra could be scary enough at times, she did not want to deal with uneducated folk who could not completely embrace the Empress's will.

The guide bowed, "I present the Honored Masked, from the Empress Temple of Anquarus."

The governor waved him off, "Thank you, Chaeta, that will be all. Please stand by for refreshments and treats, kindly."

"Of course, sir."

The tall guide - Chaeta - was quick to move off to the side, where a platter of tea and cakes had been set aside.

Oh Empress, actual treats, Persa bemoaned. It has been too long.

"Governor Irmas, I presume," Persa said with an incredible force of will to not stare at the food table.

He bowed, wild tail of hair falling down his shoulder, "A pleasure, Honored Masked. Honored Chronic."

Milian gave him a small smile.

"The Chronic has no honorifics," Sabra corrected. No anger, simply matter of fact.

Persa could see the boy deflate, shoulders lowering, even though he kept the smile on his face.

She wished she could give him a gentle pat or kind word. Outside of Sabra's gaze, of course.

Stick to the script, she chided herself after the group was silent for a bit too long, "Your associates?"

The Governor nodded, unphased at the correction gesturing to the gentleman, "With me are Sir Nothar, head of colony security, militiamen, and naval defense." To the injured young man, "And Director Allam of the labor authority and civil management."

Persa was happy that her ghoulish mask hid her expression. She half expected the governor to laugh and acknowledge the jest or mix up in occupation.

Both men bowed, confirming his statement and making Persa incredibly conflicted. Not that the governor noticed, gesturing back to the two Look-Outs, "And our guards, Lorne and Baer."

The Look-Outs bowed their heads respectively.

"Well met, gentlemen. Brother and Sister Blessed," Persa said diplomatically. "We have received your letter, and the Empress has sent her agents as representatives. Her will is upon Ena."

The governor smiled, "With love then, we welcome the Empress's will to Ena. Let us begin, shall we?"

"Yes," Persa agreed, activating her Glimmer to once more glimpse the dead. "Lets."