They came while the crickets sang the city to sleep.

Poire wouldn’t have noticed. He was dead to the world, trying to sleep off the exhaustion of fighting back his visions. He had learned, by now, how to push them back. But not to make them go away.

It was quiet here. There were few people around, and somehow, that made it easier for the visions to subside. And so, when he laid down on the rickety bed, he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Only a few seconds passed - that’s what it felt like to Poire, at least - before Laykis was whispering into his ear, urging him to wake up.

“Divine One,” she said, “There’s something wrong.”

That rhythmic shaking of the walls. That was no vision.

The ground was trembling beneath the march of a hundred boots.

Poire ran to the window. His heart sank.

Twin lines of torches snaked down the hill, towards the House. Soldiers. Maybe a hundred of them. Wasn’t Laykis watching? Why hadn’t she said anything until now? At the front of those twin lines, walked a figure in simple crimson robes. There was a symbol painted in white on the dark veil that covered half of her face. Seven circles, surrounding some geometric symbol.

Laykis was at his shoulder, leaning out. Staring out of the same window, directly at the imperial soldiers forming a perimeter around the House.

“Do you see anything?” She asked, concern tightening the clicks of her voice.

“You can’t see them?”

“See who? The street is empty. But my sensors say elsewise. There’s something wrong.”

The figure in crimson robes was holding a long, delicate-looking rod in one hand. A metal ball pulsed white light at its tip. It was human made, Poire could tell the moment he saw it. Nothing else made light like that.

A machine shroud?

I didn’t know those were real.

Laykis was still peering out into the dark, trying to detect a whole host of cyrans, that somehow she could not see. As if they were all rendered invisible, just to her.

Poire grabbed the an-droid’s hand.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

He impulsed a command: Override the shroud.

And she blinked, which is to say her eyes flashed dark, just for a moment.

“Oh,” her voice caught with surprise. And then, her core started to hum. “Poire, go out the back window. I will delay them for as long as I can.”

“No, it’s too late to run. See there? They’ve surrounded the House.”

Laykis said nothing for a moment, as she scanned through all the soldiers, now standing in two concentric rings around the inn. Her eyes settled on the figure with the scepter, the machine shroud at its tip.

“Look there. Look at that symbol on her veil. She belongs to the Emperor. How were we discovered?”

Poire thought about the merchant. But he cast that thought aside as quickly as it came. It didn’t matter anymore.

“They’ve come for me.”

The question was… Why?

The priestess lifted her rod, waving her hand dramatically over the ball at the tip, making it glow brighter. A tiny star, shining furiously in the night. Laykis winced, and Poire clenched his hand tighter around hers. Even his armor began to react at that, though it seemed to stiffen around him, as if preparing for an assault.

The priestess turned to one of her soldiers who nodded, and then strode toward the inn. The soldier’s chest was tall, and proud, as if he’d waited his whole life specifically for this glorious task.

He disappeared under the roof of the House, and a few minutes later, Poire heard footsteps outside the door to their room.

A scratching sound, as an envelope slid under the door. Followed by a polite, firm knock. Rap rap.

Poire almost didn’t want to move. His heart was hammering in his throat now, and he tried to swallow it down. To steady his breathing. How bad is it? How bad did we mess up?

He picked up the envelope, soft paper with a crimson wax seal. There was the imprint of that symbol: the seven circles, and some complex geometric icon.

His fingers were shaking as he tore it open. His eyes raced over the words, growing wide as he read the invitation - from the Emperor himself.

And then, another question. Thousands of years. And yet, I can read this? How?

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Laykis,” he said slowly, “How… how old is the Emperor?”

“No one knows. He was here when I first came to Cyre, back when it was still just a city.”

Oh, Poire thought. Oh. And then, he could not contain his anxious excitement anymore. “I think I’m about to have a very bad idea.”

Laykis’s eyes flashed with light, her head cocked curiously to the side. “You are human, Divine One. How can you have a bad idea?”

“I think we need to go with the soldiers. Now.”

“Oh.”

***

A score of soldiers, standing just out of earshot. Only the priestess stood in the center, waiting for Poire and Laykis.

Maybe they could have run. Maybe they both would have survived, too. But how many of them would die, before he got away? More than ‘none’ was too high a price.

Perhaps his status as a god would be enough to keep this - whatever this was - from going poorly. So Poire clenched his jaw, lifted his chin, and set his gaze on the robed priestess.

She was called Ansos, and she was called a Heirarcha. To her soldiers, she was severe and demanding. She spoke sharp orders, and when she did, their reactions were immediate. But when she spoke to Poire, she was quiet. Not a false politeness, just quiet and reverent, as if she could conceive of no holier moment than this one.

She bowed on the ground before Poire, all her robes fallen about her and her forehead pressed against the dirty stones.

“O, Child of the Stars,” She said, and many other titles besides. She named him Great and Ancient Maker, and Youngest of the Old Ones. She kept speaking, until Poire raised his hand.

“Please, stand up. I know you mean well, but... please.”

As she stood, the veil that covered her eyes swished back and forth. The robes draped so heavily over her body made it hard for Poire to judge her age, but the severity of her voice made him think she was old. Or older than most cyrans, at least.

“If you are ready,” Poire said. “Take me to him.”

“Of course, Purest One,” She said hurriedly, bowing deep, “The Emperor of All Things awaits you.”

As she began to walk, the whole square of armed soldiers moved in synchrony with her steps.

The square changed shape to adjust for the buildings. A few cyrans ran ahead, their torches disappearing into the night as they cleared the road ahead. The Heirarcha said not a word, though whether she had been instructed to stay quiet, or out of reverent fear, he could not tell. But her eyes were wide, and focused only on him, and Poire didn’t think she blinked, not even once, by the time they made it to the top of the hill.

A rig was waiting for them, the wind knocking the huge, air-filled envelope so that it bucked against its restraints. Eight heavy ballast sacks weighed the rig to the ground. A gondola was attached to the underside, its outside made of some deep-brown wood, polished to a shine.

“Purest One,” she said to Poire, “I fear your servant machine may be too heavy-”

“She isn’t,” Poire said. “And she’s not a servant.”

He had only meant to correct the Heirarcha, but she seemed stung by his comment. She cleared her throat, and said, “Yes, of course, your Divineness. As you say.”

And gestured for Poire to step inside.

He could see two couches facing each other, both made of some kind of some material that glossed with slickness (leather, he thought they called it, but he wasn’t sure). There were six round windows around the sides, but still. It was so cramped.

“Purest Divinity, it may be small. But I promise you, it is the swiftest way to the Emperor.”

He turned around to look at Laykis. He impulsed a thought at her.

Is it safe?

But when he pushed the thought out to her, the an-droid jerked so violently that a few of the soldiers lifted their rifles. The Heirarcha hissed at them, and they lowered the guns.

Laykis narrowed her eyes at Poire. “Did you do that?”

Yes, Poire impulsed again, earning a smaller jump from her. Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.

“How?” Laykis said, her eyes fixed on him. Glowing with interest. “No, I don’t have to ask. I already know how. Simply incredible. What else do I not know about you?”

Is this safe? He impulsed again.

“Assuming they’re using the appropriate lifting gas, this airship appears to be flight worthy. As to the situation that lies ahead,” her eyes flashed, meaningfully, “I have my doubts.”

“Yeah, well,” Poire said, out loud this time. “You can’t shut Pandora’s box, can you?”

“Who is Pandora?”

“It’s an old story. Nevermind. Come on,” stepping inside the lushly furnished gondola.

***

The rig jumped and rattled as it climbed, and the floor vibrated under his feet. He was grateful for the noise of the rig’s engines. But the growing distance the ground and Poire’s body made him feel ill at ease.

There were five other cyrans squeezed in the gondola with them. Two guards, sitting on either side of the Heirarcha. And two pilots in the cockpit, which was almost close enough that Poire could touch them.

The guards and the Heirarcha could not take their eyes off him, and for the first time since they’d come here, Poire wished he was still wearing that redenite mask. At least then he could hide his face.

The cyrans looked like they wanted to talk to him.

And Poire wanted to believe that they were good people. He wanted to believe that the Magistrate had been a corrupted outlier, a black sheep among his kind.

But there was something about her scales. Azure blue, and the odd golden scales scattered up the sides of her neck.

Did she know the Magistrate?

Did she know what he had done to all those people?

Soldiers. So many soldiers.

Poire had known only one soldier, back in his time. In his home.

And Marsim would never point a weapon at an old man, lying face down in the street. The red on his gray feathers.

Poire had to look away. Had to look out of the window. Down below, the dark scenery shrank away as they rose over the hills, up to the tallest hill sitting at the back of the city, where a towering shape hoved into view. A statue?\\

A monument.

The rig shuddered and thumped as they landed, though it never felt like it was completely secured to the ground. Poire gritted his teeth against the swooping feeling in his stomach.

“Your Divineness, we are here.”

They had landed on a flat floor of stone, a ring in front of the enormous monument. A massive human - is he human? - man, sitting upon a throne, leaning back. The monument’s head was so high up that even the roaring flames in their braziers could do nothing to illuminate its dark face, high above.

He could just make out the bottom of its face, looking out over the sea.

Bands of metal laced the stone, reinforcing it in some places. Leafing it, in others. It was a material Poire had seen often in his past. Every droid. Every machine. The towers of his home city. All of them had been made of that metal. It was strange, how just the sight of that human-made metal made him long to see his old home again.

What did it mean, when a person made a statue of himself?

The gondola’s door was pulled open from the outside. In front of Poire, leading all the way up to the steps at the foot of His statue, and even beyond that, hundreds of robed figures lay prostrate on the ground, lining the path.

And there, in the shadowed eaves of the temple, stood a man taller than any Poire had ever seen before.

Laykis, he impulsed.

She looked at him, her eyes glowing fiercely.

In case this goes poorly, he impulsed, be ready.

“I am never not.”