Atop a great spire of screaming faces, the sky cries. Tears of night and beautiful blue drip down where the tip of the spire pokes through a membrane that is the sky, and when the sun comes by, its flames are reflected in the falling colors that paint the many sides of the spires, which extend and multiply like fractals beyond where the eye can see. Many of its sides hold platforms of sharpened stone, as if the hard-edged material grew from the stone itself, as if some perfect act of destruction and creation made the spire broken in all the right places. A man walks out onto one of these platforms to meet someone already seated there, calmly drinking from a small, delicately painted cup.
“Grandmaster Errath,” the seated figure says. “How good of you to finally make time to visit me, so far from your scrolls and laboratories.”
“When a cultivator of such honor and renown as you calls upon one such as I, it is best to be swift to answer, lord.”
The seated figure smiles, her lips stained a matte black and the teeth behind them a strange off-red color. “So it is. Come, dear. Sit. We so rarely visit nowadays.”
Errath steps forward, his robes flowing behind him and the screaming, supernova stars that take the place of his eye-sockets swirl quietly. Despite his power, the fact his aura alone is enough to pulverize stone to sand if fully unleashed, he walks quietly, his steps small, his hands held politely in front of him. He makes his way to the side of the small tea table opposite his host, sitting without looking. A thing skitters out from a hidden alcove, partially drenched by the dripping colors of the sky, and unfolds itself into a many-jointed amalgamation of chitin and joints of cherry blossom flowers that perfectly mirrors a chair, catching him as if it was always there.
“Tell me then. How are things in our glorious empire, oh Grandmaster?”
“Better than before your arrival, of course, honored lord.”
The woman sitting across from him turns slightly, shifting half-an-inch to put him in her gaze. He takes a breath, low and slow, as the starlight in his eyes dims under her eyes.
“Apologies. Protocol is what it is, lord.”
She laughs, a soft sound that makes the sky-blood ripple silently from her. “So it is.. Your father once spoke to me in that same tone, walked to me in that same way. I think it might make it easier to speak to Its lessers, making every little thing a ritual to be perfected. It doesn’t need to keep up with changing trends, with cultures shifting, with people dying and being replaced. Speak in such and such way, bow and hold your hands in such and such way, and it has you encoded into place.”
“The Emperor is wise.”
“The Emperor is old. Wisdom is easy for the old. Either they see the patterns play out enough times even a child could understand, or they get strong enough that whatever they say becomes wisdom by default.”
“So it is, lord.”
“So it says, and so it is. Pleasantries aside, Errath. How go things?”
Errath nods, breaking the protocol the Empire expects of behavior towards its differing ranks. “Not well, lord. Not terribly either, but not well. The Oracular Division still screams day and night over their prophecy. More specifically, their lack thereof. Two years, perhaps less, and the patterns and streams they see in the pools fall apart into chaos. Little is certain beyond violence, upheaval, and the arrival of something… new.”
“And here I thought that was what your Division was for. Seeing all the angles, no matter how strange or new.”
“It is so. We’ve experienced an uptick in cases, even in just the few centuries we’ve operated in. Some theorize it’s simply our growing proficiency, learning and integrating with our Empire to better find that which is an outlier, but I have doubts. I believe the stability of things can… encourage new thoughts. The Emperor, blessed be its wisdom, has provided food, resources, education, its very aura and Law unto the world… but I wonder if, in this, it has not given the weeds more rain and fresh soil.”
“Likely intentionally, knowing that old thing. Two years, you said? Ugh. No time at all. Might not even finish my tea in time.”
As if reminded, they take a sip from the still-steaming cup again. The painting on it writhes, the delicate brush-strokes changing as Errath watches. In the shifting, he sees faces, some captured in moments of arousal and ecstacy, others a blend of agony and rage. He recognizes none of them, but such is the number of citizens within the Empire’s borders, even within only the first ring.
“Any indication of what might cause it? Any problems that have come up recently?”
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Errath shakes his head. “Nothing that truly stands out, lord. The last few decades have been quiet. The fourth ring has been unruly, but no more than during any greater beast tide, and not enough to break any records. The Garden has been breaking records, they recently presented a fresh batch with the least number of prunings in the last millenia. Other than that… hmm. A stray Emperor realm cultivator, caught by the Third Blade, put up a bit of a fight but nothing too exceptional. I hear the Enchanter’s guild has him, something about the properties of his Manifestations. A minor rebellion in the south, but it got put down fairly quickly, only cost a few cities. Oh, speaking of rebuilding cities, Cragend had a bit of a mess with a divine beast and a Feng child. Had to cease mining for almost a week to rebuild.”
“Hah!” the woman laughs, red teeth bared, her hair shifting strangely as she moves, like it has both less and more weight than it should have. Where it touches the table, the material emits a soft screeching sound as the metal and chitin is sanded down to nothing in an instant. “Ah, the Fengs. Still riding on their patriarch’s shoulders and thinking they’re tall I see. Please tell me he lost, I’d love to have a little treat to tease the old coot with when next we meet.”
Errath shudders, very slightly, at the thought of his lord and the Feng patriarch meeting. The last time… well. They’d contained the fallout and ash clouds eventually.
“In truth, lord… we don’t know.”
The needle above them, piercing a sky that is not the sky and forever-shifting as its colors of day and night meld and flow in rivers, suddenly ceases to change shades.
The sky’s tears hold perfectly still as the world ever so slightly twitches under the attention of one of its lords.
“Really?” she asks, a note of vicious indulgence in her voice. “You? Admitting you don’t know? It’s hardly the most important detail, and yet, I thought I’d never see the day.”
“I’ve entrusted an investigation into the matter to a disciple of mine. A Researcher. He had some experiments at ground zero, as it were, only about half of which were recovered I’m afraid. Apparently, there was a user of the Craft involved, some old drama, but the fate of Feng Gao and the divine beast are unknown.”
The woman across from him clicks her teeth, hissing once. “Ah. Craft. Always admired them for what they did. Riskier, more time consuming, but we really underestimated them. If not for the Emperor and the First Sword, that could have gone on a lot longer. Never met one that could stand up to a proper cultivator, mind, but leave one alive and next thing you know a whole landscape has a brand new kind of sunlight or a new type of fruit that grows through your guts if you think certain thoughts. Softer power, but power nonetheless.
“A pity about Feng Gao, though. He was one of my favorites. So easy to make squirm. Could never tell if it was more arousal or pants-shitting terror with him, but always a joy to watch him try to pretend he could withstand my attention.”
“If you’d like, lord, I can call the one researching the instance.”
The woman with red teeth smiles wide, like a carmine wound behind black lips. “No need. It’s your little pet project, isn’t it? The beastkin. You always did run your favorites ragged, Errath.”
“All the better to find the ones that can withstand the pressure, lord.”
The smile widens. “Sometimes. Seems so in this case, at least. A pity though. I can see the benefits, but you really are holding that boy back. You should taste the weight coming off that Soul of his, crippled though he keeps it.”
Errath nods. “Indeed. It is, always, his decision. I have offered him a higher position more than once, but he insists on his current post. Such are the requirements. A Warrior realm in charge of a single experimental set would be a waste, so…”
“And would have to swear more careful oaths.”
The dripping of sky resumes, the flow of color returning as the spire’s shifting shades fluctuate again and paint over the faces it is sculpted from. Despite this, the woman across from him faces him almost head on for the first time since he sat down.
“He has proven his loyalty time and again, lord. Even now I keep his chains tight, the barbs ready, and he holds himself firmly to them.”
“So he does. And yet, he shies away from any new ones. I wonder if it’s because he knows the weakest links in his current binds better than he would a newer set.”
Errath sits back a bit, and… eventually nods. “Perhaps. I’ve had some doubts, though he is far too adept at producing results to leave me with certainty. He’s been as ruthless as I’d recommend, once or twice even moreso, always to good use. And…
“Well. I can only hope for perfect honesty between us, lord. I am curious to see how much strain it will take to break him. He’s been holding back the formation of his Soul almost forty years now, and yet it remains very nearly awake. One wonders what it might look like when complete… or how long it takes for it to break free of him.”
She smiles. “Ah. There’s my favorite little scientist. Always ready to play with an idea.”
She turns away from him again, sighing softly. He notices, out of the corner of his eye, some of the clouds shift slightly with the breath. “Two more years, hmm?”
“Yes, lord. Perhaps less.”
“Ah well. Something to look forward to. Been a long time since I had anything to play with.”
“I could organize a hunt for you, perhaps. I can think of a few texts I could get into more entertaining hands, provide a greater unbound Daemon. Something from the fourth hell, perhaps?”
“No, no. Don’t bother. I can wait. Might be nice to have something to look forward to. Try and see if your Division can provide any new munitions, yes? I’d hate to lose out on a bet.”
“A bet, lord?”
“Mhm. Told the General I’d have something that could give one of his Blades a damn showing. I’m sick and tired of all those sword-law bastards boring the rest of us with their little one-trick show. See if we can’t get something at least interesting on the roster before all this chaos breaks out.”
“You’re not worried, then?”
The world twitches again as she smiles wider still. Wider than a human can smile, wider than anything can smile, because the teeth are too perfect, too orderly… and yet keep going, further and further back.
“It’s not the first time chaos has come to visit, little Grandmaster. I dearly hope it won’t be the last. We immortals need something to play with every now and then. Why do you think the big boss lets so many of the little mortals grow free-range?”