When the gate in the middle of Cyre opened, it opened without warning. A crashing wave of Light smashed tents and toppled market stalls, and laid all those xenos and drudges and servant constructs to their knees.
And when the Light subsided, upon the gate stood a god.
Steam rose off the Emperor’s shoulders, and the enormous muscles of his chest heaved as he gasped for breath. His clothes were muddied, and a chunk of armor had torn off his side, revealing not just bronze skin and muscle, but flesh torn and bloody, and the white tips of ribs. Both arms, as large as tree trunks, were scoured with claw marks and ripped skin.
The body was built to feel pain. But the Emperor had no use for it. When he ran from the overgrown soldiers of the Swarm, he had shut off many of his pain receptors, making his body go numb and his movements seem drunken and clumsy.
The xenos stared up at him, mouths agape, most of them too shocked to rise to their feet. Most of them had only ever heard of the Emperor, or seen his throne. And now, here he was, towering over them with his organs threatening to spill out of torso. There were some priests in the crowd, in their blue and white robes blue and white robes and those thin veils with His symbol. One scrambled to her feet, and shoved herself through the crowds. She bowed at the edge of the gate, careful to keep her hands and face away from metal disc, as the cyran sun steamed away the frost that condensed on the metal.
“Everlord!” she shouted, her voice muffled by the ground, “You are wounded!”
“It does not matter,” the Emperor rumbled. He started to turn away.
“Your people have awaited your return. Your guest, the god woman, has fled your throne.”
If the Emperor were anyone else, he might’ve felt a flicker of anger at this news. But the moment the priest’s words entered his hearing receptors, it trickled through all the complex code of his true being, and triggered… nothing. The human called Khadam could do nothing to him, and nothing for him.
The priest’s words were like rain upon the ocean. Small and unimportant. The Emperor did not even hear her. Instead, he had turned his gaze up to his Everthrone, at the physical representation of his adopted flesh, rendered in stone, many hundreds of feet above the city. He had always hated that statue. My strength lies not in this fleshy being. It was a pathetically vain representation, and did nothing to demonstrate the true power of his mind. The only reason he had built it was to remind the masses that he was always watching them.
“We have heard so little since your departure,” the priest was almost begging him now. “How fare your great armies? And what of Consul Deioch?”
“Where is my ship?” the Emperor asked.
“My lord?”
Damn, he thought. For he had forgotten the vessel was not here. It was in the ice fields, halfway across the planet, buried centuries ago to keep it out of reach of his mortal servants. Keeping his wounded body upright sucked down more processing power than he thought.
Then, I might as well use it.
One last time…
He felt the cold of the gate even through the thick soles of his boots. A breeze passed through his clothes, carrying with it the scent of ripe lemons and salted air and fish and stone dust. He stepped off the gate, and the cyrans scattered before him, hurriedly pulling their carts and fallen tents out of his path. They could be such industrious people, when they put their minds to it. Auster really had done so well, creating these xenos.
As he walked, his body shuddered and the muscles in his thigh and lower torso almost gave out. Dozens of alerts cascaded through his brain, warning of his body’s deterioration. He ignored them all. This body need not last so long.
As he strode through the crowds, leaving a trail of blood, the Emperor took one last look at the city laid before him. These beings had built so much in his name: the venerable temples, the carved beauty of statues and columns, frescoes shining bright and moody in the light of the sun, and gardens more vibrant than that… And the lemon trees. They stirred some deep memory in the ancient annals of his architecture. My Maker loved this fruit. Was it only pure chance that the Emperor had settled here, where lemons grew so well?
The Emperor stopped by one such tree, and plucked the heaviest fruit he could find. He crushed it in his palm, and lifted the fragrant fruit up to his nostrils. The smell, so bright, sweet, and sharp. Like life itself.
For a moment, he thought about tasting it, but it was an indulgence too far. This body did not need to eat. It was sustained through other means. And soon, he would not need it at all. Thus, the Emperor let the fruit drop and crushed it under heel.
As he walked, the Emperor checked his feeds, brushing off thousands of demands and necessary updates (that he would have to make) and all those gathering errors that cut into his long term plan. He found the one message he had been waiting for: the human child had made a connection on Sen’s world. Outstanding. He could not have wished for more.
Which meant there was no long term plan. There was only now.
As he trudged up the main vium toward his hills, a mass of cyrans gathered in his wake. Devotees and priests and worshipers and onlookers, all incredulous that their god walked their city. On the hills high above, the figure of his own Maker stared down at the Emperor, a hard frown on his face, almost as if his own creator was judging him.
More biological errors accumulated through his internal feed, warning him of an impending collapse in his left lung. The nanites were working as hard as they could, but every step he took tore open their organic progress. More errors erupted as he began to climb the rough switchbacks that led up to his throne.
Despite the sun beating down on the rocks and gravel, there were storm clouds gathering over the ocean, threatening to spill over the city and cover all that white marble and greenery in shadow.
By the time he reached the throne’s courtyard circle, the clouds had crawled up the hills and obscured his city from view. In some ancient node buried in the complex architecture of his mind, there was a ping that might’ve been an emotion. An artificial neuron sent an impulse, a pang of regret for being unable to gaze upon his city from the top once more, to witness all its shining glory. But the Emperor had removed that neuron’s receiver a long time ago. So, he felt nothing as he stared at the billowing gray clouds.
There were no guards, nor any priests lingering in the eves of the temple. A quick search of the throne’s visual archives showed why: the Emperor sped through the footage of the android—the one he knew he had put down for good—snapping out of her restraints, and swiftly breaking the neck of a cyran tinker, before dragging her half-dissected form up into the inner halls of the Everthrone.
It was concerning. But the records also showed both the human and the android leaving together, which meant they would be inconsequential to his plan.
So, he injected himself into the central network, the one housed deep in the bowels of the throne. He wore the structure the same way he wore this body, only here he was truly Lord and Master of all domains. In a matter of minutes, the Emperor populated a thousand test environments, and ran a thousand dry runs of the code, tweaking variables as he went so that everything would be as close to perfection as possible. Then, he sent the impulse to begin the startup procedures.
A great lurching crunch rumbled through the hills, knocking boulders off the hills, to roll and crash down into the buildings in the valley below. Beyond sound, a grinding began deep under the earth, so quiet that only the Emperor could detect its movement. A great machine, pushing itself to the surface. All systems reported nominal function.
The rain dripped down his mask, down his cheeks and shoulders, and stung against his wound. He felt it not. He did not even feel the nervous excitement that comes with all great projects, finally realized. Instead, the Emperor merely stood there, as timers ticked away in his digital consciousness. Counting down each process of the startup sequence, the one he and Sen had created together.
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The sound of mechanical footsteps caught his ear, pulling a sliver of his attention back to the physical world around him. A priest, the same one as before, was riding a drudge up the path at full tilt, gripping the reins while she clung to the saddle. She stopped just short of the Emperor, and bowed deeply while still sitting bestride the four-legged construct. There were more priests, some on drudges, some on foot still struggling up the mountain behind the first.
“Oh, Greatest God of Cyre. I am your most humble servant. I have come to do your will.”
“My will does not require your services.”
“But there must be something. What can we do to serve?”
“Nothing,” the Emperor said. He turned his gaze to the sky, listening for a signal that he knew should be there. The timer that was tracking the orbit of the Light dam was nearing zero.
“My lord?” the priest said, afraid she had somehow offended him. How strange and powerful the mind can be in making, when imagining one’s own failings. Perhaps it would be a kind of mercy, to tell her the truth.
“Deioch is dead,” the Emperor said, “So are all the others.”
“We sent six of our best legions. How can that be?”
“The Swarm devours all. Their Sovereign will undo everything I have built. When they come, there is nothing any of you can do. It would be better to die by your own hand.”
The priest sat there, unmoving except for the shaking of her hands. Her mouth worked uselessly at the air, and the rain stuck her veil to her scaled face. She was old, had probably devoted her entire life to worshiping the Emperor, and lifting up other cyrans to do the same.
Pity was perhaps the most useless of human emotions. The Emperor had cut out that module a long, long time ago.
One timer sang as it hit zero, and like clockwork, the Light dam’s signal began to sing. The Emperor dove back into the pathways of his greatest construction, the one that would siphon all the energy from the dam, and plunge it into a Mirror of his own making.
***
“I was wrong,” Khadam said. They were small, these three words, but they were also the most difficult words she had ever uttered.
Khadam was preparing to leave the dam with the android, when Poire called her, telling her that he had found a way. Whatever that meant.
“Everyone was wrong about you, Poire. About what you are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it right. Look, I know you barely know me. And I may not have made the greatest first impression—”
Laykis made a sound that almost sounded like the android equivalent of a scoff.
“—but we both have time. Look at you. Look at how young you are, you’ve only just begun this life. Please, Poire. Don’t do anything until I get there.”
“How much time?” Poire said, a grim, needfulness in his voice. It worried her, the way he asked these questions. “How old was I, in your visions?”
“Gray haired. Old. But there’s no way to know how old. Without regeneration techniques, he, I mean you could have been seventy or seven hundred. But there is time.”
“I know,” Poire said. “I know. I just wanted to tell you that there might be a way.”
“Tell me when I get there,” she said. She didn’t want to encourage him to talk it out, in case he decided to act on his ideas. “Poire, tell me you won’t do anything before I get there.”
“OK.”
“Promise me.”
The cold, static silence that followed reminded Khadam far too much of her own past, when her caretakers’ abandoned her on that empty world. She had built a beacon, just to talk to them. And had heard only static and silence. Khadam put a hand on the cold, black metal wall of the dam, listening.
“Poire? Did you hear me?”
“I wish I was something else. Anything.”
She grimaced at that. She couldn’t even begin to understand what he was feeling. The avians, all the xenos worshiped him as a god. And they had no idea how close to the truth they were; Poire was a deity with no power over his realm, and that realm was death.
Khadam had come all this way, fueled by the fear of no tomorrow. Dreading her own failure, and using that to spur herself onward. But for Poire, there could be no end goal. There was only himself, and his own death, and the destruction of all things.
“You have to distract yourself,” she said. “It’s the only thing that will keep your mind off of it. Find something to work on. Something safe.”
A pause. “Like what?”
Khadam had forgotten how inquisitive the youngest minds could be. At two hundred years old, she had long since learned to live life only on her own terms. “I don’t know. Build something. That’s what I always did.”
“I could try to find Sen again,” Poire said, “though I’m not sure if she’s still alive.”
“Is that safe?”
“I think so. Sen’s Mirror is isolated from the rest of her planet’s system.”
Good enough, Khadam thought, because it would be good for Poire to waste his time on a fruitless task. Sen had gone through the Mirror, into another universe. Humans were not made to survive beyond this existence.
In the center of the dam’s entry lobby, there was a gate. The arms were small, and only wrapped around large enough for a few people to go through at a time.
According to Poire, there were gates at the center of Sen’s world. But they couldn’t be reached from the outside, or perhaps Sen had isolated those, too, keeping them hidden from the rest of her systems. It was a good way to hide oneself from the Swarm.
And from the Emperor.
So, instead, Khadam would have to trek from the gates on the surface of the planet, down to the planetary core. Which meant she would have to navigate the entire planet and keep herself hidden from the Swarm while she found a way inside.
Khadam’s hand hovered over the gate.
Laykis shifted next to her, her machine eyes glowing white. It was as if the android could read her thoughts, because Laykis said, “You will do him no service if you are dead,”
Khadam chewed her lip, tasting the metal of the implant that ran down the center of her bottom lip. Then, she asked, “How bad is the Swarm there?”
“The whole planet,” Poire answered.
She would need supplies. A vehicle, something that could get through the crust of the planet. And then, something that would let her through the interior. Not to mention countermeasures—and this time, she wouldn’t underestimate the obstacles in her path.
How long would all that take?
We have time, she thought. She hoped.
“Poire, I have to go to the avians’ world first. I don’t know how long. Days, at the least.”
“OK,” he said. Sounding entirely too peaceful for someone in his situation. Instead of relief, she felt slightly unnerved. “I will be here, waiting for you. I have been alone longer than this.”
“What about your xenos?”
“I sent them to Kaya.”
“Then I’ll see them soon. They have a receiver there, so I’ll talk to you as much as I can. We’ll figure this out together.”
Her mind was already working on the plans she would need to create. The machines she would have to build. Or maybe she could just adjust a few things on her old favorites. Didn’t Rodeiro have a technique for neutralizing visual sensors? And-
“Khadam?” Poire asked, “When you get to Kaya, there’s a cyran there, wearing my armor. Can you make sure she’s safe?”
“You gave away your armor?” Khadam hissed, her voice echoing down the sterile, black halls of the Library.
“I won’t need it anymore,” he said, and the certainty in his voice—like he had already made up his mind—made her dizzy with worry. Does he not understand how serious this is? It was too late to be angry, so she tried to keep calm. She rubbed at her temples with one hand. With the other, she touched the Historian’s gate, and started to power it up.
A deep, rumbling voice froze her blood.
“You sound well, Poire,” the Emperor said.
How did he find us? How long had he been listening?
Khadam said, “Get off the line, Poire.”
At the same time, the Emperor said, “I have called to collect my due.”
“Do not answer him,” Khadam said, more sharply.
“The bargain was struck.” the Emperor said, “I showed you how to find Sen.”
“You almost got him killed,” Khadam said.
“I believed in him,” the Emperor said, so casually Khadam could almost see him shrugging. “And what of you, assassin? Have you finally come to see the truth? Nevermind. Do not answer that. The end is coming. Our time runs short, this I’m sure you already know. Yet, I have found a way out. Show me the Mirror, Poire, and I will repay you with the life you deserve.”
“To become like you?” Poire asked.
It almost sounded like he was actually listening to the Emperor.
“You can be whatever you want to be, Poire,” the Emperor said. “You can live. But only if you give me what I seek.”
“The Mirror is more dangerous than you know,” Poire said. “You don’t know what you ask for.”
“And you do?” The Emperor said, “You are a child. You can’t possibly understand what I am trying to accomplish.”
A silence. Khadam listened. Desperately hoping that Poire had been wise enough to shut off his connection.
But her hope was in vain.
Poire asked, “If I do not show you the Mirror, what will you do?”
The Emperor didn’t even hesitate, “I will have no choice. Risk is always better than certain nothing.”
“Poire!” Khadam shouted. But she was powerless.
An image filtered into Khadam’s vision, taking up the whole of her sight. She could see a massive, inverted pyramid. At its base, there was a metal and glass structure, made of twisting, geometric shapes. The structure was leaking a white mist.
No, Khadam thought. Suddenly drained. Too exhausted to feel anger.
She could hear the smile in the Emperor’s voice. “Poire. I knew I could trust you. You have done well for me, child of my creators. When I rule, I will bring you, too.”
“The void beyond cannot be ruled,” Poire said. “You will see.”
***
The Emperor cut himself out of the call.
Some small part of him wondered why that had been so easy. All his calculations showed the human child was at least 61 percent adversarial, with the rest made up of neutral curiosity and optimistic trust.
Another part of him had his defenses up, searching for any kind of attack from Khadam the coldsmith. But coldsmiths did not specialize in the flow, like he did. They made machines, and rarely developed the code to run them. Again, when he searched, the Emperor found nothing out of the ordinary—no injections, no forgeries, no brute force (which was so often the providence of the lesser gifted).
Neither of them had stopped him. And Poire… Was the younger human truly so recklessly naive?
But these questions were so far down on his list of priorities, he did not even bother processing them.
The Emperor had waited far too long for this moment. 11,454 years, 4 months, 2 days, 13 hours, and 12.111 minutes, Earth Standard Time, to be agonizingly accurate.
If the Emperor could have felt excitement, his smile would have outshone the Scar itself. It was time.
He closed his eyes, sank into his systems, and read through one of the oldest routines in his base. One that he had only ever used once before, and that had been a disastrous failure. Ullenfal was nothing but ash these days.
But this time would be different. The Emperor pushed his routine.
The world began to tremble.