“Your Grace?” A soft masculine voice holding a stuffy and formal timbre wafted into the study from an open door. 

An expansive and intricate hardwood desk sat opposite the door, littered with paper reports and a few scrolling tablet displays. Large gilded-frame windows lined the wall behind the desk, casting the room in bright sunlight. The aged man leaning over the desk lifted his head, leveling a tired frown at the figure standing at the door. He let the silence hang for a moment before making his reply.

“Has it begun?” he asked solemnly. 

The man at the door nodded politely, a slight tremble in his neck. “Dola believes that we are in the terminal phase now. Twelve minutes ago she cut our links to PALANTIR and isolated the national network.” 

A deep sigh rolled over the desk and out through the room. 

“So this is it, then? All of the politicking, all of the negotiation… and still, it ends like this.” The King powered down the tablets on his desk, then stepped out from behind it, entering a slow and feeble stride towards the door. 

“We knew the probabilities of success, your grace… She made us aware from the very beginning…” The man at the door lowered his eyes, despair finally leaking into his tremulous voice.

“Duma,” the king reached out with his right hand, clasping it over his shoulder. “It has been an honor, my oldest friend. There is no need for formality now. Call me by the name my mother gave me, until it is over.”

Duma met the king’s deeply wrinkled eyes once more. Unfathomable sadness seeped out from the gray orbs.

 “Nasos…” 

They embraced as brothers, wetting each other’s shoulders with quiet tears. After a moment of comfort, they separated. 

“Have you sent them all home?” Nasos asked softly.

Duma nodded. “Yes. Servants, staff, and guard… all have been relieved as of Dola’s warning. The only souls left here in the palace are you, myself, and Golan.”

“Golan?” Nasos queried, chewing the word slightly.

“The Hetairos is a stubborn man, Nasos. That’s why we took him on.” Duma answered, some quiet sorrow on his tongue. “He is waiting for us at Gate zero-two. We should hurry on, before the candles are lit.” Duma spoke as he turned and held the door, waiting for Nasos. The King left the room as quickly as he could, managing a hurried walk as he entered the corridor beyond. Duma closed the door behind him with a gentle hand, as though it would be waiting for them if they ever came back.

“The emergency broadcast began just over ten minutes ago. Dola is confident that the people will have enough time to escape the city into the tunnels. External power was cut a moment ago and the reactors are operating at peak efficiency.” Duma continued, following the King down the hall to the old elevator at the end. 

“Good, good…” Nasos nodded absently. He could not have been more concerned about the people—all of this preparation was, after all, for them—but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes wandered to the hallway walls, decorated with gilded frames bearing images of the country outside and scenes of achievement from decades and centuries past. Soldiers raising a flag on a hill, a hundred ships burning at sea in the distance—independence, won so many generations ago that the anniversary celebrations had become somewhat tacky in recent years; another painted fifteen tradesmen standing in front of the first skyscraper to be constructed in the capitol; yet another showed three-dozen world leaders and diplomats sat around the table at which was signed the surrender that ended the second war—right here in the palace at Kavasa. Time flowed as one traveled the passage towards the elevator, reflected in the paintings. The last image hung, just twenty years ago—when Dola was found, freed, and offered a place in the kingdom. A great carbon dodecahedron lit from within by cold blue light, washing over the scene.

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Tears ran down over Nasos’ face.

“It was good, Duma… So very good. If I am to see God, I will thank him for it all from my knees.” Nasos shook his head, staving off grief. Duma fingered the digital pad beside the elevator, calling it up. Seconds later the doors hissed open and he stepped to the side, gesturing the King inside. He wobbled in, leaning against the cold brass railing within. Duma followed swiftly, closing the elevator doors and pinging the lowest level.

“Grieve not for what will be lost today, my brother. Have hope for what we have preserved for tomorrow.” Duma said, facing the closed doors. His voice was clear and steady, yet the tinge of sadness shone through the facade. Nasos watched his friend as the elevator slipped down through the palace and then underneath it. 

Always a stoic, Duma. Always my rock.

“Of course… Oh, how long the labor. To think that they nearly sought to depose me for how we drained the treasury… for this.” Nasos softly mused, gesturing with a hand as the elevator came to a gentle gliding stop and the doors slid open—revealing a black steel walkway through a narrow but brightly-lit passage, ending at a great rectangular vault of a door, swung up and held open by massive hydraulic pistons. The complex gearing that would pull it down and seal it was on full display. Beyond the door stood Golan, wearing his usual attire—military-issue pants and a gray sweater over a collared shirt. A plate carrier and rifle were visible behind him, piled on a table near the hatch controls. They would no longer be necessary.

Nasos and Duma traveled the passageway without speaking.

“Your Excellency… Royal Archivist.” Golan regarded the two respectfully. He offered no salute, but his posture straightened slightly as they entered beneath the massive hatch. As soon as they were through he turned and began working to close it behind them. With a tremendous lurch and a series of whisper-like hissing noises, it began to swing downward. The lights in the corridor flickered off as power to the palace above was finally cut.

“Theresa and Carmen?” Nasos asked, stopping just in front of Golan. The man turned and nodded.

“Thank you for your concern, my King. My family entered through gate oh-eight about six minutes ago. They are safe.” He folded his arms, leaning his hip back against the table his gear was on. Nasos nodded with a smile, then turned again to follow Duma as he stepped forward out of the entrance landing. 

A row of tall digital consoles stood opposite huge bay-style windows that reached from floor to ceiling. They passed the machines, each spewing a storm of status codes and systems diagnostics that no man could parse, to stand before the windows.

“Beautiful. It is more than even Dola had hoped for.” Duma said, his gaze washing over the vast space beyond. Nasos joined him a moment later to look out over the sprawling complex that was the final labor of his reign.

Ten kilometers square, carved out of the bedrock over fifteen years. It would have been impossible without Dola, without her breakthroughs in physics and energy-transfer technology, without her grand designs of machinery and processes necessary to excavate and reinforce such a titanic space. But here, here it was—enough space to house and provide for all of Kavasa’s nearly four-hundred thousand citizens. It was something of a hive—regrettable necessity—with so many people living practically side by side… but they would live. Hydroponics draped every dwelling and construction in sight, lending the vista a Babylonian visage as it stretched into the distance. Automated drone flyers crossed the space above it all, delivering provisions to the new residents and finalizing the finishing touches over the breadth of it all. Dola was still busy, and she would be for years to come. The entire cavern was lit by massive fusion-lamps suspended near the ceiling of the space, so far overhead that they looked like miniature suns set in a gray sky. Nasos opened his mouth to speak, but his words were preempted by a great tremor that shook the earth all around. The lights flickered once, twice, and then returned with all their splendor.

More tremors came over the next several minutes, but the power never failed and the reinforcements held. 

“That’s it, then.” Golan said, symbolically wiping his hands as he joined the other two at the glass.

“So it is.” Duma replied, remorse trembling in his voice.

Nasos held silent, watching the new world beyond for a long moment… then he spoke.

“Farming would be fun…” he said.

Duma and Golan started, turning their heads to stare at him. Golan laughed first, then Duma joined him. Nasos chuckled with them.

Earth burned. Civilization blinked out. But here, man would survive.