-Two and a half years ago, in a distant corner of Italy-
In the halls of Venice, far from Vitus and its living dead, a new death came to pass.
Il Doge, in his old age, had been feeling this coming on for years. Countless, hateful years, feeling his body become weak, his once-acute mental faculties wither away. Why had it come to this? All his life, he had felt cursed - cursed to live in the here and now, far distant from Italy's treasured, storied past... Cursed to live in a world where cruelty was endorsed, and pain and violence were the only languages that could truly cross the barrier of culture. In the West, and the Far North, and even the South, few could understand his mother tongue. Everyone, however, could parse the meaning of a baton to the teeth.
As he sat upon his litter, frail form concealing the integrated machinery which helped him live, he thought of Luca. His son. In many ways, Luca reminded the doge of himself: he was perceptive, full of the vigor of youth but the caution to not exert it too forcefully, and he was wise beyond his time. A sigh rattled from the old man's throat at the final point - this world would make that of a man, make him less of a man, and more of a machine, even from an early age. At this point it was surprising how literal that may be.
The doge had always eschewed the augmentations so popular with other feudal powers. It was against the will of God, to modify oneself with metal and rubber, silicone and plastic. Man was made in God's image - even those whose ideals may go against traditional Catholic views, they were still the children of God, and perfect by design. His allies didn't see that, or if they did, they purposefully ignored it: opening themselves up and tearing free beautiful flesh made with His grace and divinity, and replacing it with the cold product of the Earth.
His Luca, too, had been altered, though not by choice. When Luca had been young, he had been a pariah, his parents secularists in a non-secular land, killed in an act of arson by unknown perpetrators. Luca, too, had nearly died, and much of his organic body was ruined as a result - to give him a chance to live a full life, and know the joys of this world, he had needed extensive augmentation.
Skin shorn away, never to return; natural musculature replaced with polymer prosthesis; lungs ruined by the flame's breath cast off to make room for new, artificial replacements. While he was open, they took more from him still, and gave in turn - most of his natural organs were entirely removed simply for convenience, and so he was allowed to enter a new life, one of synthetic perfection, far from God's initial grace. He had been perfect in one way, and had become perfect in another.
The doge had taken him in, then - a show of love for one whose fate had been most cruel. Even now, the doge couldn't deny that it had been, at first, a political move meant to show his subjects just how caring and benevolent he could be. Nowadays, however, he wished that Luca had died in that fire - not out of hatred, but out of love. If he had died in flames, he could be with his true parentage, both natural and deific. The doge had no doubt that Luca would have been safer with the Lord than he would be on this pitiful earth.
And so Luca grew, prosthesis replaced every few years to allow for a more natural approximation of growth, all of the costs fronted by the doge. He became a fine man, a beautiful man, a powerful man - spiritually and physically, strategically and ethically. Luca's heart, though made of the blood of the planet's depths, was full of love and benevolence for all around him. The doge had always feared that his son would grow into a tyrant, like those heirs of other feudal powers, abusing their subjects for simple self-gratification; he was calmed and thankful that the boy had grown better than that.
Now, he thought, Luca was a more than apt successor. He was benevolent in a way that few were, and truly cared for the people of Italy - even that girl he had brought for the crusade, Esthrielle, had been the lowest of the low, and yet Luca saw greatness in her. He was always like that, looking for the best in those around him, and in that way, the doge was jealous of him. He hadn't been raised as il doge had... He had been allowed to foster that kindheartedness within him.
A pain shot through the wizened bureaucrat's chest, and forced him to fold over on his throne. Oh, it was coming... coming soon, very soon. Il doge knew it, despite what his personal doctors said: the cancers in his body, borne from the byproducts of industry and a life of luxury, were too far progressed for even ERFS surgeons to remove. In a way, il doge had been anticipating it eagerly - to die, to return to His kingdom, to meet the Lord face-to-face.
To let Luca truly come into his own, and bless Venezia with his guidance.
This would be the end of the doge's line, when his death came to pass. He had told everyone, Luca included, that he was giving the boy gene-infusions so that he would be able to continue his adoptive father's lineage... But the truth was that they were placebo. Simply falsified procedures, performative in their entirety, meant to instill trust in his spiritual heir - by having the doge's blood, surely it was Luca's divine right to lead, was it not?
The pain came shooting again, lightning arcing its way haphazardly down the fibres of an old and venerable oak. His organs, kept functioning only through a constant infusion of various medicines, were beginning to truly fade despite everything. That was good. He would die here, in his beloved Venezia, a natural death.
A button was pressed on the small remote he kept hidden within his robes - a call for his son, for Luca. It took mere moments for the tall, tanned heir to appear, his olive skin aglow with artificial health and robustness to shame the doge's own pallid tone. Luca rushed to his father's throne, eyes sad but mouth smiling; he knew what was coming just as much as his father did.
"Yes, father? Do you need me to adjust you in your seat? Bring you something to eat? Call for the house musicians to serenade you?" Luca's dulcet tones rolled through the air, creamy and warm like the finest espresso, with just a hint of real milk. Even hearing his son's voice helped the aged noble's pain fade, if but for a moment, and set a smile upon his weary face. Tears came, slowly but surely, as if his very body had forgotten how to cry.
"Luca, my son... My beloved, blessed son... You are intelligent. You always have been. You know I am dying, though we have never conversed on such topics before. You know, too, that I wish it - I wish to die, to be done with this Hell of mankind's design, to return home to our heavenly Father..." He began to continue, but was cut short by a sudden fit of coughing. Luca's smile never wavered, and in his heart, il doge knew it wasn't for Luca's own benefit that his smile held fast. In his heart, he was crying, but such emotion would spoil these last moments.
The doge began again, managing the strength to prop himself pathetically in his litter. "I fear that time may come soon, very soon. I wish to gaze upon the city one last time, and hold my son's hand. I wish to meet the dawn as I first did, so many years ago. It has been so long since I have stood... I wish to stand, one final time, and greet Saint Peter as a friend." His desperate smile widened, faltering only for a moment as the agony of death returned again, his torso wracked with spikes of sudden pain.
Luca said nothing, but he simply nodded. His hands went to lift his father from under the arms, gentle to not damage him in any way, the heir's mechanized form easily drawing his kin from the throne. The sound of cords coming unplugged and jacks clattering to the wooden seat of the litter came beneath the distant echo of bells. Dawn was coming, or frankly, already here - and with it, the great bells sang out not a dirge, but a revel.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The doge's feet were unsteady as they tread upon the ground for the first time in decades, his body easily held aloft and upright by Luca as they headed towards the balcony. Below, so early in the day, the city's main plaza was empty - it was simply the two of them, looking out over the city, basking in the light of the sun.
The entire city of Venice had undergone great renovations since the formation of the ERFS. To reclaim cultural heritage, and in an effort to solidify pride in one's own home nation, the old structures of steel and polymer had been torn down - and then, new structures of traditional styles had been constructed in their place, all across the ERFS. Without the cultural and economic influence of much of Asia and the entirety of the UNAC, the ERFS had taken great strides to attempt to rebuild cultural identity, and restore lands and rights to their native peoples.
And so, Venice itself was lovely to gaze upon, for none moreso than its leader. Modern brickwork was laid in time-honored designs as far as the eye could see, in vibrant colours, reds and whites and yellows and browns and oranges, auburn shingles laid atop them. And between the rows of buildings and cobbled streets, the canals of old were as blue as they had ever been, the water restored to its former glory after centuries of global pollution. Venice was beautiful this morning.
Luca held his father's hand with one hand and his shoulder with the other, turning his frail form so they could share a final embrace. Only now did Luca allow himself to cry, and his tears were hot and steady, a stream of sorrow deeper than words could describe. His father felt them fall upon the robe he had been dressed in, but it mattered not - it was good to know that Luca felt this sorrow, even after all his time on this cruel earth, and it was a comfort that of all the times Luca could have cried, this final time was for him.
They turned then, as the hug ended, to meet the sun. Its warm orange glow gave the land a comforting glow, and in many ways, it was exactly what the doge had needed to see a final time. Pictures and video feeds could never do such things justice. And so, then, it was his time to go - Saint Peter called for him, one more time, and the seasoned ruler let himself be taken to those pearly gates. Luca wept openly as he felt his father go limp.
-
From then on, Luca was the leader of Venezia, and while his love for his father lingered in many ways, the two did not see ruling in the same way. The new doge of Venice, Luca Esippardi, set about making the changes he saw fit. No longer would his rule be so absolute - a great number of bureaucrats were drawn up from the lower classes, instructed to set about matters of land and state, tearing down the institutions of old that had brought their civilization to the regressive system of peasantry and nobility it had become.
True, they couldn't dismantle it completely - none would agree to this, save the lowest of the low, and it would be seen as weakness byfrom other feudal powers in the region. But social welfare was bolstered tenfold, with the assistance of the church, and many such structures were set in place to allow the poor and downtrodden of Venice to flourish despite their birth. The economy flourished at this, despite grumbling from the upper-classes - schools were filled, homes were inhabited, labour and pay increased dramatically, and it seemed that Venice was entering a golden age of sorts.
However, in his time alone, Luca thought little of Venice. His mind drifted often across the ocean, to the UNAC; specifically, to Vitus. A city of the dead... An entire city-state in its own right, almost entirely devoid of the love and light of God, shorn from His grace by man's designs. He sympathized with il Papa in many ways as to the necessity of a crusade against the wicked in that distant land, those who would steal God's children from Him... But mindless slaughter of the victims and the perpetrators alike was not the answer.
He thought, too, of Esthrielle. He had loved Esthrielle since the first moment he laid eyes upon her - not a romantic love, not the desire a man holds for a woman, but the love of a kindred spirit. Where he had been too occupied with his duties to go, she had gone in his stead, as his champion... and now, where was she? How was she holding up, in the face of such sin and degeneracy? Was she even still alive?
The questions ate away at him as rats ate upon the dead, and in time, his mind was made up: he would visit her to see it all for himself, to speak with the people that the church had told them to hate, to once again hold his friend in his arms. He was not a violent man, but he would make war personally, if only to see if such war was worth the pain.
It was not hard to find passage to the West: despite their hatred for one another, the occasional shipping vessel still made the journey from East to West and vice versa. Immigration and tourism still existed, too, albeit in extremely limited numbers from both sides, and so it wouldn't have been too odd for him to arrive with a vehicle and some personal possessions... Or so he assumed. In truth, from the moment he set foot in the southern UNAC, he was immediately singled out as an outsider.
But still, despite initial difficulties, he made his way northward - the funds of a noble are without peer, except perhaps among the megacorporate entities of the West, and so Luca's trek was softened by luxury. Finally, he arrived in Vitus - disgusted by what he saw, and disheartened by the poor excuse for life that the people here suffered. He made his way quickly to the convent that Esthrielle had been assigned to, now more eager than ever before to see her in the flesh.
Luca exited his vehicle, a long, sleek black vessel made with vestiges of a hearse, to help him blend in. There was also a certain poetry to himself and his compatriots using that made to carry the dead to get around this city of the dead. The convent itself was extensive, located in the heart of Vitus yet concealed ingeniously, and as he parked and walked in, it took little more than a look from those within to recognize him and rush to greet him.
Esthrielle was not among them.
The mother abbess informed him, trepidation clear in her voice for fear of retaliation from someone so important, that Esthrielle had been missing for nearly a week. She had fallen in with some of the locals, and was doing reconnaissance, or so she said. In truth, they had their doubts, especially after she had made known that she was feeling some sympathy for the damned who inhabited this blighted metropolis. Sympathizing was the first step to defection, after all, though the mother abbess was tactful enough to not say that aloud.
Of course, this answer poorly suited Luca - his face never wavered in its gentle smile, but worry was painted within his mind. Est was, of course, emotionally-inclined. She had always been docile and loyal to Venezia during her years of training and acclimation, but now, a foreigner in a foreign land, her heart bared to strangers who may lead her astray? Hearing that she felt sympathy to the commoners here was reassuring, in some ways, but overall it set Luca ill at ease.
"So, where is she? I will go speak to her myself. I will ensure her loyalty and safety. She will listen to me, no matter what." Luca's voice transmitted through the minds of all nearby Waywards, lips unmoving, but internalized emitters projecting his words directly into the Knights' augmented grey matter. The mother abbess looked nervous, but gestured to another Knight, and a small device was procured.
"This will locate her, your lordship. She's kept her tracker on, and so she won't be hard to get to, but... Should someone of your stature not remain here, in safety? Let one of us go, I beseech thee, if only so that your noble hands need not lift a finger to secure your ward..." The mother abbess's own transmission was weaker and less robust, but it was still clear and audible. Luca raised a hand to gesture away any further thoughts she may have on the matter.
"No. I will go, and only bring a driver to accompany me. Before I became a doge, I was a warrior - I have felt the warmth of a firearm in my hand, the touch of a mechanized raiment upon my flesh, and the hum of a blessed silver blade in my grip. I need no effort made in my stead; I would not have ventured here if I needed such things." He nodded solemnly, and every nun in the building nodded in response, each of them silently scuttling off to try and look busy.
Only one, a woman of frosty pallor and hair so blonde as to be nearly white, remained. She stepped forth, her traditional habit replaced with the slender mechanized raiment of a Knight, a helmet in her hands. She inclined herself in a deep momentary bow, and then, boldly, spoke aloud. "I am Angelien Van't Heghtyck. I volunteer to be your driver, and if it comes to it, your sister in arms. We may go when you are prepared."
Luca's solemn expression broke into a wide grin, lips curling upwards at the edges, down at this bold, serious woman. The guts it took to speak aloud to a member of nobility were admirable, and she seemed serious and driven... And so, Luca thought, who better to trust than a woman so determined to prove herself? He simply nodded, and beckoned for her to follow. They were going to bring Esthrielle back, and then, who knew? Maybe he would stay, he thought to himself as they donned their trench coats and began to make their way to the vehicle.
Once inside, no small talk was made, but the silence was preferable. It allowed them both to think about what their goals were for the evening. They weren't as different as the two may have believed.