There was a cool, damp fug in the air. Sitting on a plain wooden chair, Her Highness, for a while, stared thoughtlessly at a long row of oaken wine barrels, which were stored down here. “Drip, drop,” resounded a continuous, soft echo. From some inscrutable crack or cleft, water was seeping down into the old foundation. The jingling of the little bell on Wanja's collar, which had been a bit crushed and, therefore, no longer rang properly, woke her from her short-lived daydream. The little yapper jumped at her, tail wagging, whereupon the lady picked her up and sat her on her lap to stroke her. Then she looked over at Ylva and the abbot, who had given them temporary accommodation here.
The place they found themselves in was the deep cellar of a former underground church, far outside of Greifenburg. Why were they here? Well, a messenger bird had arrived from the capital, reporting about dramatic events in the metropolis. And even this wording was probably still very euphemistic. Though, what really had shocked Amalie were the news that her daughter was the perpetrator. It was hard to fathom! That’s why she and the most important representatives of the court had been evacuated out of the big city and to various secret locations for security reasons.
“Why is Viktoria doing this? Just why?”, she asked herself. The emperor's consort tried to distract herself a little from the terrible reality that had befallen her by cuddling her dog. It hardly helped. Ylva, who was also afflicted by all this, held a gentle conversation with her mistress in a soft tone of voice. She spoke kindly to her and gave her hope that things would get better. This helped Her Majesty at least somewhat more, even if it was only to a limited extent.
Out of nowhere, however, the abbot was suddenly beset by a strange feeling of unease, immediately followed by the two ladies. They all felt something odd, that was difficult to put into words. Then the atmosphere in the old wine cellar seemed to change somehow. It was as if someone was taking a deep breath, which seemed to suck the air out of their surroundings. The people present looked around in bewilderment but could not see anyone or anything. The imaginary undertow then became even stronger, only to cease almost instantaneously. From one moment to the next, everything was back to normal. Or was it really? “Huh! Look!”, resounded Ylva's exclamation. The other two turned around to discover a person who had dropped to the ground right next to the barrels and who had obviously lost consciousness. They had appeared out of the blue without making any sound. Their cloak revealed who it was at once: Wenzel!
An oppressive silence dominated the scene. Still unsettled by the latest developments, the guards stood lined up next to each other with visible tentativeness. “Our task is this: We have to find the patriarch. As we have learned from Deacon Porphyros, his Excellency's condition is currently unknown to the Commune. Now we march to the Cathedral of the Annunciation and search for Elias II. Understood?” - “Yes, commander!”, the soldiers returned in unison. Then the soldiers of the city garrison stomped off. So far, many of them had been acting as firefighters. Now that most of the fires had been extinguished and they were able to pass through the streets (somewhat) freely again, they set out to find the head of the church. They had already learned from the Imperial Diet that almost all of its representatives had gotten away unscathed and that even their assembly building had been spared from the destruction.
The demon that had haunted the city had now disappeared and calm had returned. Unfortunately, it was a very depressing calm. The air was heavy and there had been a light drizzle earlier. The men under Ferenc's command now strode into the city centre. Moving past heaps of burnt-out ruins and gigantic devastation, many of them were shocked by the extent of the destruction. They circled or climbed over some piles of rubble, here and there spotting people desperately trying to rescue survivors out of said rubble. The warriors, who had themselves rescued a few people from the ruins during the fire-fighting operation, knew that the chances of finding them were not good. Nevertheless, it was necessary to at least make an attempt. In this case, however, they were not allowed to do anything. As much as the men wanted to help, they had been given a task and to help with salvage operations now would compromise their mission. The extent of the catastrophe here was simply too big for them to help with everything. They marched on.
Finally, they arrived at the main square. Everything here had been smashed to bits and pieces. But this situation they now found themselves in seemed dire. There was only one thing that was still intact in this place: the statue of His Holiness Melgar the Great. Immediately they began to comb through the collapsed buildings here. “Hello, is anyone there? We're here to save you!”, the young men shouted over and over again. It seemed almost hopeless. After an hour, however, they managed to pull the church's trumpeter out of a mountain of rubble and debris. He looked battered and his leg, which had been trapped, would probably not recover, but he was alive. After this small encouragement, they carried on without interruption.
Hours passed. A young private put aside his worn shovel and briefly stepped away to go and drink some water. The man’s hands, covered in dirt, wiped over his damp forehead. With this he only smeared more dirt across his face. Then he leaned against the well from which he had drawn water for a moment and looked around the site of the great face-off. They had all seen how His Majesty the Chosen One had come to put a stop to the calamity. He was fighting the demon that was laying waste to the beating heart of the Holy Empire. While they were trying to contain the fires, the Emperor himself had joined the fight to save Meglarsbruck. It was just as everyone had always told him: His Highness was one of them, one who personally stepped up and lent a hand, one who himself fought and struggled for Ordania.
After pondering this for a while, the soldier stood up again, quickly brushed off some of the layers of dirt, which his clothes were caked in, and set off to continue his work. And that's when he felt something. The guy stopped dead in his tracks and glanced over at the collapsed remnants of a guild hall. It was difficult to explain, but something seemed to be drawing him in, almost calling to him. The man hesitated at first, but then allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. He walked across the desolate square, taking step after step towards the thing that attracted him. The closer he got, the more clearly he sensed the presence of something befuddling. He climbed in at one of the destroyed windows of the unstable-looking remains of the building, which were still standing but could collapse at any moment. The private lumbered awkwardly through a room littered with wrecked furniture. Then he saw it.
Right next to a fallen cupboard and a broken vase, he spotted a very specific implement on the floor. He immediately went over and carefully picked it up. In his hands he now held a sword with a sparkling red gemstone on the pommel. This stone seemed to attract him almost magically. He imagined seeing a glimmer in it, even though there was no such glimmer at all. Fascinating. The object held him spellbound for another minute or two until his superior finally called him. The soldier was startled and then returned to his unit. He handed the object to the commander before picking up his shovel again and continuing the recovery work. The commander was also unaware of what he had been handed, but he knew it was something special. The higher-ups would surely know.
Not so long afterwards, they managed to uncover the rear section of the holy temple’s right-hand side aisle, the ceiling of which had been caused to collapse by the falling main tower. When loud cries began to resound from several throats, all the other members of the team already had a good idea of what might have happened. The remains of the Patriarch were found under the caved-in ribbed vault, very close to the Prince Alster Altar. As many had suspected, he had not survived these apocalyptic events. Apart from pulling him out from under the rubble and handing him over to the Commune, there was not much they could do. The men all made the Signum and recovered him. No time to pray; that would come later.
When the church representatives who were still alive learned of his death that same day, they were relatively composed. They seemed to have expected such an outcome. Ferenc had come to them personally to deliver the bad news along with the body. This wasn't really anything special or worth mentioning, but the fact that the deacon and the priests of the smaller churches here were expressing their displeasure at the inaction of the political authorities of the Empire came as a great surprise to the Supreme Marshal. This was not only a rarity, it was unprecedented. In fact, Ferenc could not recall ever hearing any criticism from them.
“Esteemed Supreme Marshal, we thank you for your work and your assistance. It may have come too late, but we have at least received some from you. The same can hardly be said of the Most Serene Lords of the Reichstag!” - “Oh? Why is that?”, the military man was eager to enquire. The answer was as follows: “Unceasingly and with the utmost insistence, we petitioned the representatives of the Imperial Council, indeed quite literally begging them to spare a small part of their guard in order to come to the aid of His Excellency Elias II. All our pleas fell on deaf ears! The high lords seemed to be more concerned about themselves. The clergy, the bearers of the message from heaven, evidently aren't worth a straw to them!”
The Supreme Marshal didn't know how to respond to this. He was better off holding back so as not to further inflame the obvious ire of the Commune. “Once again, my heartfelt condolences,” he told them and then departed. He still had all sorts of things to take care of. Porphyros then turned to the other priests beside him to state, “A council is to be held soon to appoint a successor to the head of Ordanian Teleiotism.” The recipients replied with acquiescent gestures of confirmation. Such a council would have been held in the not-too-distant future anyway, considering the advanced age of the head of the Teleiotic Commune. However, this did not diminish the indignation of the church representatives. They felt disregarded and betrayed.
“Nothing there. I can't find any injuries,” it came from the bodyguard. Amalie breathed a sigh of relief. She looked down at her husband's half-undressed body, which Ylva was now redressing in his red-stained robes. At that point, the wife pushed the lady aside to do the job herself. The Zeemarker immediately backed off. She understood how possessive Her Majesty tended to be. When she had finished, she sat back down on her chair next to the pallet on which the emperor had been temporarily bedded. Like the abbot and the other woman present, she wondered what had happened. From one moment to the next, Wenzel had suddenly popped up. Out of nowhere, he had appeared down here. It was wizardry. The only possible explanation for this was wizardry. None of them understood how it worked anyway. Only Wenzel, Viktoria and Silke had any idea of how magic functioned and what rules it was subject to, in spite of this only being the case to a limited extent even for those three.
The lady stared transfixed at her beloved, watching his chest expand from inhaling and then contract again. Some more time passed. Finally, his eyelids opened. His Highness awoke and sat up, visibly disoriented. He glanced around the room until his eyes fell on his wife. From them, two yellow, five-pointed stars shone vividly, piercing through her. Neither of the two spoke a word. Nor was that necessary. Before anyone could utter anything at all, Amalie immediately sensed that there was something completely different about her darling. And, yes, there were the two stars, but she had been aware of those for a long time, even if others had rarely noticed them, because they had never stood out as intensely as they did now. No, something he radiated felt so completely different from what she was familiar with from him.
“Wenzel? What happened? Tell me,” she addressed him. As a result, a pained expression appeared on the man's face. He stood up, only walked a few feet away and then slumped down on the floor with his back against the wine barrels. “Please, give me a little time. I......need to think,” the wizard returned while covering his eyes with his left hand, as if he didn't want to be seen. Ylva and the abbot just stood around quietly, like poodles left out in the rain, clueless as to what they could do here. Amalie also seemed at a loss and even Wanja had her tail between her legs, despite the fact that she usually greeted her master joyfully.
The emperor's wife lingered like this for a while and allowed silence to take hold. For the time being, the Chosen One just sat there silently until the lady finally joined him. She sat down right next to him and gently placed her hand in his. Tired, but at the same time profound eyes fell upon her. Captivated, she stared into them once again. She could feel him, but she didn't know him. Not anymore. Who was this man who now seemed so different from her precious? “What happened?”, she asked him a second time. He pressed his lips together. Then he replied, “Many things.” After a short, almost dramatic pause, he continued, “I failed. I couldn't win Viktoria back. And in the end, I couldn't stop her either. Even though I gave it my all, it still wasn't enough. I let my daughter down and I also let the empire down.”
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His wife hugged him as he continued, “Only I have the powers to solve this problem, but I failed. My failure could cost us everything. But most of all, it could cost the people everything!” The mage's dismay and trepidation rang out in his wistful voice. “If you did what you could, then there is nothing to hold against yourself,” his equally distraught, angst-ridden wife tried to comfort him. It had no effect. She continued, “And don't always tell yourself that only you can solve everything by yourself. You have to learn to rely on others sometimes, to believe in others. The fact that there is no one else who can match Victoria's magical powers doesn't mean that this is the only way to appease her. Who knows, maybe I could try something.”
The man immediately responded by shaking his head frantically. It was a gut reaction. “You don't understand. You can't reason with...... I want to spare you the confrontation with her.” The lady didn't believe him. She would be able to persuade him in this respect, she reckoned. What followed, however, was an unexpected outburst of emotion from the empress, who now clung even tighter to her husband. He just sat on the side, continuing to suppress his emotions, while the other two people in the room turned away from their Majesties in accordance with etiquette and courtesy. Tradition had it that crying was a sign of weakness, which is why rulers were supposed to be above such things. If feelings of this kind were to be revealed, then only in private, where no one could or was allowed to see them. Ylva and the parson assumed that it wasn't befitting, that it even was forbidden, to witness such behaviour from their Highnesses. Using hand gestures, they signalled to the sovereign that they would withdraw from the place for the time being and then quietly left. Meanwhile, they would head for Brahm and Co. who were guarding the church upstairs.
The Chosen One, in the meantime, continued to let his thoughts drift off and brooded in silence, repeatedly holding his beloved's hand and pressing her against him. When Amalie had calmed down a little, he then struck up a conversation on another topic. “Could the usurper have been right after all?”, he muttered in a subdued voice. His partner naturally asked, “Who?” - “You know, Gabriela Cornel, the putschist who held you hostage back then.” - “Oh, her!”, Amalie replied, still a little confused. “What could that monster have been right about?” - “That mages really are a problem for society, that they are a danger, possibly even for the whole of humanity. Our power is simply too great.” This train of thought seemed to infuriate his wife, and she countered him:
“Certainly not! It always depends on how you use your power, not on whether there should be powerful people at all. Otherwise, we would have to persecute everyone who is superior to other people in some way: the exceptionally strong, the exceptionally clever and the exceptionally imaginative. I don't think that would be a good idea. We would be depriving society of those who can contribute most to it if they are treated right. But they must not be excluded. You yourself told me not all that long ago that we need to find a new way to integrate wizards into society. I believe that this is now only more of an impetus to pursue such a course of action.” Wenzel gave nothing in reply. Was he secretly agreeing with her? Who could truly say.
After a moment of tranquillity, Amalie looked at him again, an occurrence that even he now started noticing. He didn't comment on it though. She now decided to do so, however. “You're so different, dear. All your mannerisms, the way you speak, are so different from the way they normally are. Have the events with Viktoria taken such a toll on you?” Consequently, Wenzel's expression became more serious, and he responded, “Even if I can fool everyone else, it probably won't work with you. The slightest hint of deviation would probably already attract my wife's attention, wouldn't it? Hmm.” Thus, he went on to fill her in on what had transpired. “You know, something did happen, or rather I did something that caused something unexpected to happen.........”
By the end of his explanation, the confusion in his wife's mind had only increased even further. “I am yet to decide how I will deal with these new realities of mine. Whether the country is ready to know, will depend on how much they want to believe in Melgar and in God's plan.” Discombobulated, she looked at Melgar. Then she went right back to staring at the cold stone floor, running her fingers through her hair. This surprised even the mage, as she was usually so particular about her hairstyle and her appearance in general.
Finally, she asked him, “How did you get here in the first place?” - “Magic. I teleported here.” Amalie seemed to simply accept his matter-of-fact statement, and that he now had a new ability. She believed him, but how the whole thing had worked troubled her mind. “Only my guard and Balduin knew where I was. How is it possible that you just teleported to exactly the right place when you didn't even know it?” The Chosen One paused for a moment. He took a few steps up and down along the huge wine barrels. After a moment's thought, he replied, “God moves in mysterious ways. I called on him in my time of need and he answered my prayer. Just as He had done on previous occasions, He tore the fabric of reality apart for me and made the impossible come true in order to save me. It doesn't make sense. It cannot make sense. You have to believe in it.”
This left his wife speechless. Subsequently, he sat down next to her again and took her hand to reassure her. They sat beside each other for a while. No one knows exactly how much time passed. Ever so quiet, the muffled rumble of thunder could be heard from afar, even down here. The emperor knew what this meant, but resolutely stayed by his wife's side. His aura was completely suppressed. He was undetectable. “Perhaps we should ask the other two to join us again, what do you think?”, the man asked her. She gave him an estranged, cool look and then said, “Who are you?”
“I already told you.”
As she was flying onwards at breakneck speed, she could see the grey clouds in the distance in front of her turn to solid black. The storm moved on with her. It was her storm. Soaring over the expansive plains, the golden sea of Ordania, she could have beheld the fields, dimmed by the shadow her clouds cast on them, had her attention fallen on them. But it did not. Viktoria's gaze was fixed on the horizon, which would soon reveal the first towers and roofs of Greifenburg. It was the second largest city in Ordania, the “backup capital”. Soon, it too would go up in flames! The sorceress's thoughts presently were dominated by this and this alone. If her revenge could not destroy Melgar, then at least it would destroy what mattered to him! And there it was already.
The first spires appeared with the girl rushing towards them. The town's fortifications, some of which still hadn't been restored, appeared in the sunset before the approaching storm blocked out the sun immediately transforming the coming evening into pitch-black night. The witch drew nearer and would immediately change that yet again. Whoosh! She flew up and set fire to the first large building that caught her eye. It was a Teleiotic temple. Then the vandal moved on and smashed the city's large south gate, which would of course block traffic and thereby also trade. She planned to do the same with all the other city gates. Before long, the bells, warning the inhabitants of the outbreak of a blaze, rang out.
This almost amused the young lady. “Let them try to put out my fires. They won't succeed, those ants!” Then she ascended again and continued to wreak similar havoc to what she had previously done in Meglarsbruck. Her choice of targets followed the same logic as last time. Screams mingled with the ever- intensifying roar of the conflagrations here. Soon this metropolis, too, became one big inferno, one that replaced the darkness of the night sky with a hellish red, while yet again endless flashes of lightning were raining down. Viktoria rampaged on and on. She didn't know how much time had actually passed, but at some point, the noise and the bustle in the city died down. Untold numbers had fled, untold numbers had perished in the flames, in the general chaos or under the rubble of collapsed buildings. It was another catastrophe, and it was another one whose dimensions were difficult to put into words.
But despite all this terror, he did not appear. Melgar, no longer her father, Wenzel, no, MELGAR had not shown up. God's Chosen had not come to put a stop to her. She was given free rein to lay waste to the second most important city of the country. It was simply unbelievable! Not even a hint of any magical aura other than hers could be felt here. Standing on the rooftop of the former royal palace of the Alethians, which she had already half demolished, the mage looked out over the apocalyptic cityscape. She couldn't believe it either. “What's going on here? Is no one stopping me? Is he just going to let me destroy the whole empire unhindered? What the hell!”, she passionately blurted out.
Once more she looked over towards the large library, which she didn't know had only been restored a few years prior. Now the structure was ablaze again. At that moment, something bubbled up inside her. The girl's anger and hatred, which had such a powerful grip on her, seemed to fade out for a brief moment. Drowned out by demented amusement, she suddenly began to laugh maniacally. Nothing, absolutely nothing was funny about this situation, not even for her. But her inner torment was so great that her mind wanted to protect itself from being overwhelmed by it. This protective reaction made her burst out laughing out of the blue. It was a terrifying picture she was making here.
However, she soon came back to her senses. Well, it wasn't really what one would call “regaining one's senses". The witch resumed the dismantling of the palace, which until a few hours ago had housed the imperial court. Now, however, there was hardly anyone left here. She was essentially demolishing an empty building. The luxurious chambers, wide, magnificent staircases, the impressive dining hall and the large patio; she tore everything to pieces with obsessive zeal and utter delight.
After the deed was done, Viktoria sat down in the middle of the freshly vandalized dining hall of the former palace. All around her was a picture of devastation: furniture, tables and chairs tossed around and in disarray, smashed wooden floors which had boasted beautiful inlay work, shattered windows and tumbled-down lustres. The latter now caught her attention. She walked up to one of the chandeliers that had fallen to the floor and looked at it closely. She didn't even know why; there was actually no reason for this. As her aura was leaking out of her body, flickering and flaring upwards like a torch, she looked down at the broken piece of furniture for a moment. It was a crystal chandelier. The frame of concentric, increasingly smaller metal circles supported both the candleholders as well as innumerable smaller, but also bigger, transparent decorative stones, that hung down from it. They were probably rock crystals.
The girl was fascinated by the sparkling object and finally held out her hand towards it. Without physical strength, but using magic instead, she plucked one of the smaller rings from the structure and took it in her hands. She then placed it on her head as a test to see if it would fit. Her sense of proportion had not deceived her, the thing had the right dimensions for her. Therefore, she tried to somehow incorporate the crystals from the lustre into the object so that it had the functions and appearance of the end product she wanted. This process took what felt like an eternity, but didn't seem to work out. The teenager, who had no idea whatsoever about craftsmanship, just fumbled around awkwardly, got irritated and finally gave up. Then she simply bent the metal ring with her telekinesis so that a few prongs were sticking out at the top. With a little imagination, one could see that her creation was supposed to resemble a crown.
From her vantage point, she could still overlook the burning city. Almost proudly, she put on her “monstrosity” of a crown and took in the view for a while. Then she eventually started laughing hysterically again. She was queen of her own kingdom, her kingdom of ruins.
“I have accomplished what I wanted. My retribution is complete. I have won!”, it went through her thoughts as she continued to dementedly hoot. Viktoria had finally given in to the madness. But then something unexpected happened. The mood of the girl with crimson hair abruptly changed. A shock ran through her body. She dropped to her knees and began trembling violently. “Have I won? Do I actually have won? What kind of victory is this?”, it finally began to dawn on her. “I have brought devastation to Meglarsbruck and Greifenburg. I have destroyed the prosperity and development that my 'father' values so highly. I got my revenge, but what did I achieve in the end? Am I happier now? No!” The wizard was now overcome with a completely different set of emotions as she asked herself the question that her immature mind had not been able to consider in advance: “And now what?”
It was apparently only at this moment that she realized the implications of her megalomaniacal actions. “There's nothing left for me. I have destroyed everything: the relationship with my parents, the trust of the country's population, all options for a peaceful life. No one will want to have me anymore, will want to believe me or even talk to me. No one will want to have me around or live with me anymore! What should I do now? Where should I go now? To the ends of the earth? Where is that anyway? And what would I do there? I can't survive on my own. I don't know how to cook or do any other kind of craft. What am I supposed to do now?”
Viktoria lowered her face into her hands and began to cry bitterly. She had begun to realize that she had destroyed everything, especially her own existence. However, it was too late now. She could no longer undo what she had done. No magic in the world could bring back the dead, and no magic in the world could repair her broken relationships. In a most cruel way, she was taught the lesson that magic was not almighty.
The rumbling of thunder stopped, and the storm clouds started to rain down. It was certainly a blessing for the townspeople, who it helped to keep the fires at bay. For the mage, it wasn’t much of a help that she was now getting soaked. Despair took hold of her, started consuming her. “I am a demon. Melgar was right after all. Will he.... could I maybe talk to him? No, I would prefer Wenzel. But does he even exist anymore, or has the so-called Messiah completely replaced him, pushed him out of his own mind? I have no idea! Who else could I talk to? Who else could I turn to? There is no one, absolutely no one!” Her magical aura fluctuated wildly as the precipitation was pouring down heavily. Her face was bright red, the veins in her eyes more reddened than ever.
Viktoria was at the end of her tether. Actually, she had been for a long time, but her recognition of the reality she had now created for herself brought her to a whole new state that she had never been in before. The young lady was on the edge of the abyss. She could no longer move forward, but there was no way back either. There was only the steep fall down into a precipice, the bottom of which she couldn’t see. Only the sheer blackness, the empty void opened up before her. Her world was shattered and had come to an end.