Wax melted, light extinguished,
Shards of black are everywhere,
After thunder’s echos there,
Rises from ruins, bursting with vigour,
The new old, full of rigour,
Empire gilded, hope unrelinquished
The Imperial Guard, led by Brahm at the front, marched up and entered the city. They came in through the gate of the south-western Zeer Bastion, the transit of which had been made possible by the emperor’s magical removal of the rubble that lay in the way. The last smoulders and simmers of the fires still lingered deep inside the ruins, which they were now passing. A burnt stench was in the air, although there also were other, even more pungent “scents”. Everywhere one looked, only destruction. The eyes of the first company of the Imperial Guard fell on this sad outcome of the preceding day. The soldiers were clearly affected by what they saw here, but tried not to show it, just like their ruler, who was now leading them through the streets here.
As they made their way towards the centre of the town, more and more people began to emerge from its remains, presumably from cellars where many had sought shelter. While there were only a few at first, they gradually became more numerous as the army train was heading towards the municipal administration. Not long before they would have arrived there, however, the mayor and his retainers rode out to meet them. “Hail, Melgar!”, proclaimed His Excellency, without realizing how appropriate this age-old greeting now actually had become. His Holiness only acknowledged the man with a terse wave of the hand. In his place, Brahm took over the conversation with the gentlemen.
“Good morning, Your Excellency! I will have to apologize in advance. His Majesty is not here to be informed about the state of Greifenburg. As urgent and serious as this matter may be, His Highness's concern is limited to one thing at the moment: The whereabouts of the originator of this chaos. Could you tell me where she is?” The men questioned conversed briefly and at a low volume with each other. Then they replied to the commander of the guard, “The one you are looking for was last seen at the palace. We do not know if she is still there. No one has dared to go there yet. It would probably be advisable to exercise a great measure of caution in that regard.” - “His Majesty is well aware of this. Rest assured that our Emperor fears nothing but God!”
After he had made such a strong statement, the other gentlemen fell silent for the time being. Brahm approached his sovereign to tell him the information he had received, but he didn't get far as he realized that his lord had overheard what had been said anyway. While the men all were standing around like that, larger and larger crowds of people began to flock towards them. From every hole, survivors seemed to crawl out just to get closer to his Holiness, to catch a glimpse of him. But was that really the reason for this? There was fear and uncertainty in the eyes of the people gathering around the Chosen One. The devastation of their city had shaken them all to the core. It was definitely fear that dominated them, but something else was about to show itself right then and there.
Entirely unprompted, the first ones began to shout, “Long live the emperor!”, “Hail, Melgar!”, as well as other slogans from the revolution, which at this point dated back 17 years. Although quiet at first, they became louder and louder. His Highness looked on with interest, but gave no reaction to what the crowd was chanting. The people obviously still had great faith in their ruler. No one held him responsible for these recent events. Immediately afterwards, the Imperial Guard was ordered to slowly head towards the destroyed Greifenburg Palace. Right after that, however, the Chosen One took off and flew ahead alone in the direction of the aforementioned destination. Incensed, his wife could be heard shouting after him, but this was drowned out by the increasingly noisy chanting of the masses. Without consulting her, he had simply set off and left her behind. Commander Duenitz noticed her anger, but didn't know how to calm it down in the moment. Together they all set off towards their destination, dragging a huge tail of people in their wake.
Wenzel wanted to prevent a possible confrontation between his beloved and Viktoria. That's why he was now getting a head start on the others. He would be the very first to speak to his daughter. But what would he say to her? How could he approach the young lady, whose mental state was already as far gone as hers? All kinds of lines he could speak were now going through his head. As he crossed the sky on his way to her, he sensed nothing. It was only when he had almost arrived, that it had wormed its way through the convolutions of his brain, which seemed to be operating unusually slowly today, that he could not detect the girl's aura. She was unable to suppress her aura, though. This fact made him feel nervous, even though he was already in a state of high tension. He caught sight of the disastrously battered grand building and lowered himself down right in front of it. What a disgrace how ruined this edifice was, however, did not occur to him at the time. For now, all that mattered was Viktoria.
He walked through the former palace. A collapsed roof, countless toppled walls and smashed windows. Its condition was within the realm of expectations, unfortunately. As he traversed the corridors and rooms in danger of collapse, he began calling out her name repeatedly, “Viktoria! Viktoria!” He couldn't help himself at the moment, as he still wasn't able to sense her magic. There was no reply. He walked on. Finally, he reached the dining hall. Its doors had been blown off their hinges and everything in here seemed to be completely ruined. At his feet, he then suddenly found a strange object, which he immediately picked up with curiosity. It was a ring with a few spikes on it, which presumably were supposed to give it the appearance of a crown. Next to it was a large table that had fallen over, blocking part of his view. Wenzel took a few steps forward, only to stop once more. He came to a complete standstill.
Behind the piece of furniture that had prevented him from seeing the entirety of the floor here, it now revealed itself to him. He looked at it, but instantly looked away again. The eyes did not see it. No, they didn't see it! His mind grasped it, but at the same time it didn't grasp it. It didn't want to grasp it. The wizard did not move. He continued to stand there, without any motion. Some time passed, then the Guard, including his wife and Brahm, could be heard approaching. They too would see it and not see it, grasp it and not grasp it.
A dark grey cloud cover loomed ponderously over the sky, manifesting the elegy of the occasion. The remnants of the Melgarion Palace around them looked almost ghostly in their abandoned state, yet they protected those present from unwelcome spectators' eyes. All of them were dressed in black, the women wearing the customary full veil. The very small number of mourners stood in front of a grave, which was currently being filled in. The priest had just finished speaking and the ceremony was already over. There was an oppressive, melancholy silence. At the very front stood the imperial couple and close behind them Ylva and Brahm, followed by Irnfrid, Marzia, Eleonore, Peter and Amalie's parents. It was, therefore, a very intimate funeral in the closest circle of Their Highnesses. Shovel after shovel of soil material was deposited into the pit by the gravediggers and onto the roses, which had been thrown down after, while everyone just stood there silently.
“Viktoria von Althun - True love is unconditional”
Such read the inscription on the gravestone. It stood all by itself in a former courtyard of the once magnificent building. There was only one other gravestone right next to it, on which the names of Wenzel's adoptive parents were engraved. Unlike Victoria's, their remains had never been found, which is why this was only a cenotaph. All this was weighing heavily on all of them. Ylva, the woman who was always supposed to look after the princess, was visibly grieving. One could also plainly hear the emperor's wife weeping, even sobbing, behind her black veil. Her husband had his arm tightly around her. Nothing could be heard from him.
His Majesty just continued to watch as the grave, which lay under a tree that had been torched in the palace fire, was being filled in. He seemed to be the only one to remain steadfast. But then something unexpected happened. Suddenly, the magician approached the gravestone and fell to his knees in front of it. He had turned his back to the other people present, so no one could see his face. However, the man could be seen bringing his hand up to his face. Everyone knew what was going on. Then everybody present felt how the atmosphere seemed to change. The two young girls, as well as Peter, looked around a little confused until they realized that the Chosen One was the cause of this strange sensation in the air. The first drops fell from the sky, and they quickly became more and more.
Next, the empress came closer to her beloved to be by his side. Even Irnfrid and others who did not know how magic worked recognized that the emotions of his Holiness, which he could no longer contain, were the cause of this weather. In deep sorrow, everyone waited. Even if outsiders may not fully have comprehended the gravity of these events, at least the mourners here did. It was a terrible tragedy. Actually, it were multiple tragedies that had taken place here at the same time. Both the empire and the imperial house had suffered heavy blows. It was a deeply personal crisis, as well as a political one.
The latter was probably more on Chancellor Rubellio's mind at the moment. Everyone else was dominated by their grief over the emperor's daughter. Nonetheless, he was already pondering all these other things while they were all getting wetter and wetter from the steadily increasing rain. Water also flowed down from the emperor. In various ways. It was a day of great tribulation, which marked the end of something major. What that was would only become clear to them later.
“The budgetary hearings have not even begun, and it is already clear that they will devolve into a mudslinging contest between the princes and the representatives of the army. The apocalypse that has befallen the country due to the visitation of that angel of death is a huge problem. Our tax revenues have plummeted, but we need a lot more money to finance the reconstruction. Who is going to pay for all this? Raising taxes in such a situation is impossible, because it would create great discomfort among the wealthier classes. And you can only work the peasants up to a certain degree, you know? It is, therefore, completely unclear how we can proceed here.”
A man in bright yellow robes was sharing his concerns with a man dressed in identical attire. The other one was leaning against a pillar in the corridor, twirling his moustache almost smugly as he listened to what his counterpart had to say. The curly hair of this member of the Imperial Diet peeked out from under his chaperon and the house crest of Di Alduino was displayed on his chest. Finally, Fulco replied to his interlocutor, “I know that all these things always require negotiation. Nevertheless, I wonder how the matter should be viewed now that the army under the new Supreme Marshal will be nothing more than His Majesty's lapdog. Does the military still have a voice of its own, or has it already turned into a mere instrument?”
“You see, I understand that your resentment over the revelations in Translimesia, which have brought your brother into disgrace, is also resounding in this. The Holy Army has always been officially subordinate to the Sovereign as the Commander-in-Chief. The fact that it asserted its own will against the Chosen One was solely due to the unshakeable authority of Theodor Kuhn, who has now become a martyr. This was not a normal state of affairs.”
Not particularly pleased with such a riposte, Fulco retorted, “Resentment you say? Yes, I am angry, but the exposure of my house has nothing to do with it!” This was an obvious lie, but his listener simply left it at that and did not contradict him. “The great noble houses of Ordania, nay, of the whole empire, have always been able to come to an agreement with the armed forces in the post-revolutionary period. With Lord Ferenc, this seems to have become considerably more difficult, if not almost impossible. Something has changed. And both you and I know what that something is: the newly appointed Supreme Marshal is merely a puppet of the Emperor. That is why the princes, counts and barons of all lands will have a very difficult time from now on.”
As he listened to this, his conversation partner kept turning around to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping on them. No one there. The statements that the head of the Di Alduino dynasty had now made were true. The wind in the empire had turned and the great houses now had to worry about their future power and privileges. He also shared this concern. Thus, he then returned to the lord:
“It would be advisable to confer with the Lord Speaker on this matter. With the changes of the last few weeks, a new era seems to have dawned and we, the nobility, will probably have to reorient ourselves.” - “I will sit down with him, yes. But that certainly won't be enough. First, we should consult with as many other members here as possible,” the Camenian replied. Then he brought up one further idea, “I have been told that the widow of the late Supreme Marshal does not speak well of His Highness. Making contact with her could also be of use to us here. However, I do not have the personal connections to do so.” The other gentleman immediately understood what he was getting at and said, “I know someone. Leave the matter to me. I'll see what I can do” – “Very good!”
Private residence of Ulrich von Lohr, early afternoon
Four people sat together in a room with a high ceiling. The wallpaper, on which a pastel pink pattern with lots of flourishes was constantly repeated, was a real eye-catcher. The other fine pieces of furniture, such as the large pendulum clock near the window as well as the exquisite leather armchairs arranged around a tiny table, also made quite the impression. The general's sumptuous home had obviously been spared the destruction; a fate not shared by more than half the building stock in the metropolis.
Four important people had now gathered in the seats here for a meeting. They were Irnfrid Kuhn, the widow of the martyred Supreme Marshal, Fulco II. di Alduino, the prince of Translimesia, whose reputation had now been tarnished by the disgrace that his brother had brought upon the whole house by attempting to raise an insurgent army, Ulrich von Lohr, a general of the Holy Army, who had been booted out with the appointment of Ferenc as Theodor's successor, and finally Xaver von Duenitz, the eldest son of the Duenitz dynasty, the territorial lords of Cislimesia, who was known not to be on good terms with his brother, Brahm.
“Von Rauttenstein is on our side, I could ascertain that personally. He has an exceptional reputation among the members of the Imperial Council. He is guaranteed to be followed by a large number of deputies,” Fulco explained to those gathered. The black-robed woman, signalling that her mourning period had not yet come to an end, nodded reservedly and made no comment for the time being. However, it seemed that a little more emotion had returned to her face, which of course did not mean that her opinion had changed. Xaver, a proud man with strong masculine features, then took the floor, “My house also has many connections in all the southern lands of Ordania. These people can definitely be described as allies and I'm sure I will be able to convince them to vote en bloc with us.”
This seemed to sweeten the mood for both Fulco and Ulrich. Either had been sceptical of this heir of the Duenitz at first. This was no wonder, since he was closely related to the Chosen One's personal bodyguard. They soon found out, however, that he thought nothing of his younger sibling. They didn’t know the exact reason for this, as it was a best-kept secret that had been buried during the days of heretical Alethian rule. The answer to this didn't matter regardless. The one thing that was certain was, that this man, just like them, advocated the privileges and power of the upper nobility.
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“I am delighted at the ease with which our new coalition is being formed here. It seems almost too easy to me,” the Camenian shared his feelings with the other conspirators here as he took a large sip of his tea, which he then placed back onto the table. Irnfrid responded, “Simple? I wouldn't quite call it that. We had to meet here in secret because the walls in the Reichstag building seem to have grown more and more ears.” - “It's only got to do with the Emperor's temporary accommodation in its premises. The additional presence of the Diamonds has simply made you suspicious and put you on edge, that is all,” Fulco said in response. But the lady immediately countered, “No, that's not true. The way they're suspiciously creeping through the corridors, they're probably snooping around and spying on us.” The nobleman let out a breath through his nose and did not continue the conversation on this topic.
Finally, Ulrich saw that his moment had come, and he raised his voice, “I think that the fair lady here is not unfounded in her concerns. Over the years, His Highness has increased the size of the Imperial Guard and tried to transfer more and more authority to them. With our strong man, Theodor, the Emperor's attempt to expand his power fortunately failed, but all that may indeed change under the current circumstances. Of all of us here, I know best what the Holy Army is capable of and that it is willing to carry out any order! We should not underestimate what His Majesty can do, and we should not allow ourselves to be deceived into thinking that he is 'a kind man' that would never take revenge on his political enemies, who have been blocking his plans in the Imperial Council all these years!” The others quickly realized that Ulrich was just trying to instil fear in them.
“And what are you suggesting here? A coup d'état against the Chosen One?”, the Prince Di Alduino asked him in a snide tone. “Against the one who was appointed by God to rule over Kaphkos, against the one who stood up to the demon in Meglarsbruck and who devastated the entire city in the process? Do you dare challenge such power?” The man said what everyone here was well aware of. They had all learned a new form of respect for the emperor after the events of the day prophesied by Wenzel. Or rather, it was fear more so than respect. Nevertheless, the mention of this fact now silenced the resentful, indignant general. He knew that Fulco was right. They all knew it. On top of that, there was the fact that none of them knew what kinds of things he could do with his magic. Even Irnfrid no longer presumed to have such knowledge, given the events they had all witnessed during the destruction of the capital. In his younger years, she had been able to witness a little of Wenzel's wizardry with her own eyes, but that had been a long time ago and the former apprentice of magic was clearly no longer a rookie.
“No coup. That is doomed to fail,” Xaver stated, then adding, ”We should concentrate on what we can do with the utmost certainty. Blocking any measures that could diminish our power is within our capabilities.” Irnfrid and the Camenian agreed with the guy on this. Ulrich hesitated, but then also conceded his point. What else could he do? Everyone here was fully aware that Wenzel, but above all Ferenc, who was under his command, would never do anything as reckless as resorting to violence against the elites. Simply going on the defensive here was surely the strategically soundest option, even if it meant political deadlock.
After their meeting, the ladies and gentlemen said goodbye to each other and then went their separate ways. Irnfrid and Xaver went back to the Imperial Diet, while Fulco would pay his cousin another visit. Mister Duenitz strode ahead at a brisk pace and soon left the lady far behind him. He walked through the streets and along wide promenades towards his destination. It had become warmer than it had been in the morning. Nevertheless, it had taken quite a while for the early morning mists to clear up completely. Beneath the rows of lime trees he passed, from which the first leaves were already beginning to fall. Autumn had tangibly set in.
Unfortunately, many of the trees had not survived the fires here. Everywhere he looked there was nothing but devastation. Even if the streets were already cleared, to all sides, one could see workers toiling, hauling away the rubble to begin reconstruction. In some parts of the city, this had already begun. Countless day labourers, but above all serfs doing their socage work, were swarming through the streets to bring the imperial capital back to life. While strolling along the pavement, Xaver slowed down as he became distracted by the things he was watching. The omnipresent smell of horse dung filled his nostrils, the droppings of the animals, which trotted along the avenues in huge numbers to transport people and goods.
To his right, he spotted a stall run by the “Gracious Sisters of St. Elisabeth”, where a line of bedraggled-looking people was queuing up to get a bowl of hot food. He could often see the same organization handing out clothes and providing spiritual care. These women did none of this for their own benefit. They simply wanted to help the victims of the disaster, of which there were still many at the present time. Religion was not just an ideology to mobilize the masses against or for something, there was also good in it. When the nobleman became aware of these circumstances, the wish arose in him that such charity would also come from the rich and powerful in Ordania. A pipe dream.
Before long, he reached the government building and strode inside. Past the guards and up the stairs he went. However, he did not take a turn in the direction of his chambers, instead climbing another flight of stairs. There was someone he had to share something of great importance with. “Knock, knock!”, it came from the door. After a few seconds of waiting, a voice sounded from the other side, “Come in!” Xaver followed the invitation and then closed the door behind him. In front of him sat a man at his desk, wearing glasses, short black hair and a posh outfit. Imperial Chancellor Peter welcomed the visitor right off the bat.
“Mr. Duenitz, what is your business?” The addressed person collected his thoughts for a moment and then replied, “Your Most Serene Excellency, I have news of the most explosive nature for you!” - “Oh? And what would that be?” He then went on to tell him about his conversation with the circle of conspirators. “It seems that the Reichstag and the elites are very unhappy with recent events, which is why they are now plotting in the background. The Imperial Diet, led by Speaker von Rauttenstein, is planning to oppose any political initiative by the emperor out of concern for its privileges. The former Vice Marshal is also among them. I was able to deceive them into believing that they can count on my support along with my allies. Of course, I will not take their side! House Duenitz was the first great noble house to join the Holy Revolution. We are loyal allies of the Chosen One.”
This information made Peter Rubellio visibly nervous, and he started tapping his feet on the floor and scratching his face. “Thank you for the tip-off!”, he thanked the nobleman. Then he voiced his concerns, “If they are planning something illegal or violent, I will have to inform the military immediately to put a stop to it!” - “Hold on there, my lord! The people concerned have explicitly and clearly discussed this among themselves and have come to the conclusion that they do not want to, or cannot, stage a coup. They still have too much reverence for his Holiness, in order to do that,” Xaver intervened instantly to prevent hasty overreactions.
To this, Peter replied, “Phew, that's a relief! If it's just an intransigent stance in the Imperial Council, we'll survive it.” Secretly, however, he was also very happy about this clarification from the Cislimesian, because he could not be sure whether the army would actually have taken action against the Reichstag. He knew Ferenc. Not as well as Wenzel, but well enough to know that the man was loyal; but he still considered the stability of the empire to be his top priority. Such a destabilizing act would probably be very much against his sentiments. In addition, there was also the Imperial Guard, but Peter knew that Wenzel would never order his soldiers to do something so problematic, even if they would carry out his orders without batting an eyelid. Fortunately, such a sticky situation had not arisen anyway.
The chancellor stood up, and in his state of agitation, walked over to his bookshelf and back to his desk, where he rested his hands on its surface, while remaining standing. “Large parts of today's high nobility are just opportunists anyway, who submissively sided with the new masters in Meglarsbruck after the revolution. They had and still have no true convictions and simply converted back to true Teleiotism. All that mattered to them was their own subsistence. That hasn't changed. They don't want confrontation; they just don't want the privileges they got after the overthrow of the old regime to be taken away. This runs counter to the goals of His Highness, but I know our sovereign well enough to assure you, that he will not do anything foolhardy here. Nothing will change. Everything will remain the same.”
What he had heard now reassured Xaver to a considerable extent. Both gentlemen then talked for a while longer, slowly coming down from their initial discomposure. “I will inform His Majesty about what you have shared with me,” the head of government noted. “You are kindly requested to do so,” Mr. Duenitz returned. Finally, he thanked him and left the Chancellor's office. Although there still seemed to be tension in the air, it appeared as if a crisis, ultimately rooted in the destruction of two of the empire’s major cities, had been averted for the time being.
Lonely and dejected, the Chosen One was sitting in his dim room, curtains drawn. In his gloom, he contemplated everything that had befallen him recently, as he had been doing for many days now. “I wanted to help her. I really did want to help her, but in the end, I wasn't up to it. Could I have done it at all? I don't think so. Yes, I believe that I have now finally understood that things had developed which were beyond my control. Viktoria was blessed with all the power in the world and yet she was so terribly cursed! She was suffering from all of this; I could see it too. But in my wishful thinking, I was probably lying to myself about the true situation. I couldn't help her. There is far too much I don't know about the human soul, about the world, and that I probably never will know.”
Amalie entered the room discreetly. With deliberation, she approached her darling and then sat down right next to him on the edge of the bed. He was still deeply affected by his daughter's death, just as she was. But because he was usually the one to remain steadfast, the emperor's melancholy worried his wife to a considerable extent. For a few minutes they just sat quietly beside each other without talking. Eventually, however, he spoke up:
“You know, so many scenes from the hoary past are playing out in my mind's eye. The great revolt of the Kaloportian plebs, the images of which replay over and over in my head all throughout the whole night. The fervent screams, the ghastly stench of blood, the savage battles between the lynch mobs and the forces of that heretical minor kingdom. There is no end to it. Everything is coming back into my consciousness. Melgar's memories, they have become part of me, he has become part of me. No, it's probably more than that. I am becoming more and more like him, until perhaps one day there will be nothing left of me.”
Every day now he had told her about this process, that night after night more of Melgar's memories were returning to him, ever since he had been possessed by him on the day of prophecy, when their souls had fused. All of this weighed on him as an additional burden to the events with his adopted daughter. His wife reassured him, “Don't worry! You are Wenzel, my Wenzel, and you will always remain that, no matter what memories may enter your mind.” Although, she didn't really believe this statement herself. Her husband had undergone a massive change, and by God she couldn't tell whether it was due to Wenzel's growing possession by the spirit of Melgar or whether it was simply owed to the plethora of appalling events that were now chipping away at him. “Let's hope so,” he simply returned. “I don’t even know myself who I actually am anymore.” Afterwards, they spent a bit more time together, tenderly and quietly. A little later, Amalie departed again, leaving the wizard in his sleeping chambers.
Having carefully closed the plush white door behind her, she turned around to walk away. From a distance, however, she could already see Balduin, the baldy, approaching. She moved up towards him and then positioned herself directly in front of him, demonstratively blocking his passage. In a hushed voice, she conveyed to him, “What do you want here? Leave my husband alone! He doesn't need marplots like you at the moment. Whatever your troubles are, you can tell him about them later. Now go!” In response, the military man wrinkled his nose in annoyance. But he didn't raise any objection and obeyed Her Majesty's orders.
Now all alone, Wenzel continued to ruminate about various matters. This time he deliberately tried to not concern himself with the past, which was currently haunting him on a constant basis. In the present, he had also received all kinds of news that were extremely alarming. Peter had sent a messenger to relay to him, that the incidents with Victoria had created great political tensions, which were now causing the high nobility to scheme against him. While his friend strongly emphasized to the emperor that the elites were not planning an uprising against him, he was not at all convinced by this. “With the death of my daughter, my bloodline appears to have gone extinct. This will give these people a good reason and attest, that I can be deposed. They would probably be able to cope with the consequences of that, as there is no one, not a single sorcerer in existence, who could take over my role. Many of these turncoats were already part of the power system in the days of the Ordanian Confederacy. They only do what is beneficial to them, these thugs!”
Eventually, he let his gaze wander over to his bedside table. The sword with a fiery red stone in its pommel rested on the top. The men of the city garrison had found it and delivered it back to him. Now he reached for the object, then waving it back and forth a little. Of course, his eyes immediately fell on the sparkling jewel again. It concerned him very much. “The last piece is still missing,” the magician uttered cautiously. Soon dusk fell and it was time for him to go to sleep. As expected, visions came to him in his dreams once again. Though this time, they were visions of a different nature than usual.
The dark receded and he found himself in the middle of a city. It was an urban settlement so strange and different from the ones he was familiar with, that he didn't quite know what to make of it all. He was looking at a street that was not paved with cobblestones, but had a continuous stone surface, as if it had been cast in one piece. He didn't understand how this was possible. Large residential buildings towered on either side, nothing special, even if they were very tall. There were all kinds of vehicles on the road, which, however, were odd and even downright disturbing. All sorts of what appeared to be carriages of iron moved past him, squeaking and roaring. Incredibly, they were not pulled by horses!
This fascinated Wenzel so much that he stepped closer to a carriage parked at the side of the road and took a closer look. Evidently, these were not even intended to be moved forward by draft animals. What propelled them instead was a mystery to him. Now he began to understand. This was the distant future. Had ways been found here to run vehicles with magic? Probably..... well, or perhaps not. The wizard admitted that he understood none of this. People walking past him in this dream were dressed in strange clothes. This scene was both peculiar and intriguing. As he took the first step to explore this extraordinary place even further, he was suddenly torn away. The vision was over.
Not too long thereafter:
Blown around by autumn winds that swirled up the colourful foliage, the walls of Auersbach Abbey stretched tall and lofty towards the sky. It was one of the most important monasteries in Ordania, which was also reflected in its expansiveness and the height of its protective wall, which surrounded the entire monastery grounds. There was much going on inside, where a considerable number of bishops, cardinals and other church representatives had gathered. The occasion: the conclave to elect the new patriarch. There was a lot of young blood mixed in with the countless old faces today. A new generation had come of age and Damianos was one of them. That was the name he had chosen for himself; his real, civil name was of no importance here. He was in his early twenties, and yet he had already managed to rise to the rank of bishop.
He had straight, black hair, which disappeared completely under the tall hat he wore in this role. His heart was full of ardour and a thirst for action. The cleric was one of the young men who had experienced the revolution as a child and had been shaped by it. He had seen for himself how powerful the belief in Teleiotism was, how it had inspired the people to create a new world, a new empire. In his light blue robes with yellow decorations, he now strode forward and into the voting hall. At the start of the conclave, it would be locked and only reopened once a new head of the church had been elected! The dark corridors here, which had little to offer architecturally but were partly occupied by vivid paintings, stretched on for a quite a while. Soon the bishop entered the hall together with a large crowd of other electors.
“I swear to select the most suitable candidate for the office to the best of my knowledge and belief and without outside influence or interest,” they all swore in unison. The assembly concluded the oath with, “So help me God!” Then it was time to cast their votes. Damianos entered the race as one of the leading candidates. He had the strength and drive to usher in a new era and perhaps even initiate important reforms. It only took two rounds of voting to decide the winner. It was the frontrunner, Damianos, who then took to the podium, thanking the Commune for its trust and briefly summarizing an ambitious programme in his inaugural speech.
As everyone present clapped at the end of the speech, however, something absolutely unbelievable happened. From behind a curtain and from one of the smaller side rooms, a gentleman, who no one had expected, entered out of nowhere. This person...... they couldn't even be here, not necessarily because they weren't allowed here, but because it didn't make any sense that they were here now in the first place. The door was sealed. Besides, this person had to have been somewhere else at the moment. How was this even possible?”