The Emperor was human.
At least, he had a human body. A human head. But the top half of his skull was … well, it was something else.
The mask was bolted into his skin, into the bone of his skull. It folded over the bridge of his nose, and ran all the way around both sides of his head. Rounded polygons of human-made metal were fitted together, suggesting the curvature of the top of his skull and the bones of his cheeks.
Where his eyes should have been, there was a visor made of a hundred separate plates of reflective metal that glittered as he turned his head. And when he did turn his head, Poire could see a variety of tubes feeding out from the mask, plugging into the back of his skull, and into his spine.
A wreath of laurels, forged from gold, was seated on the top of the mask itself, in a kind of crown.
But the rest of him was human. Hard, curving lips. A square jaw with smooth, sun-touched skin. A nose with a long straight bridge, perfectly symmetrical - even where it turned into metal.
Only, Poire couldn’t see his light. Even Marsim’s remains had light…
Where was the line? How human was human?
By every measure, the Emperor was a living giant. His shoulders looked like they were carved of the same stone as the statue. And even when he bowed, his head was still higher than Poire’s.
“Kindred.” The Emperor’s voice was as slow and heavy as an avalanche. “At last. You are so much younger than I thought you would be.”
The Emperor put out a hand, gesturing at all the priests and soldiers bowing there, on the stone landing beneath his great statue.
“Leave us,” he said softly, though his voice carried clear through the salted air.
There was a shudder through the ranks. All the soldiers and all the priests who had gathered there, at the foot of the Emperor’s Statue, receded in waves. Dispersing into the night. Until it was only the Emperor, and Poire, and Laykis. And the wind from the ocean.
Braziers lit the foot of the Emperor’s Statue, and now Poire could see the temples that had been carved into that gargantuan monolith. Carved into the throne itself, facing out towards the city.
“Will you join me inside, kindred?”
He beckoned with one massive hand. And Poire followed.
The Emperor walked with slow, measured steps, but still Poire had to rush to keep up. He followed the giant into the open air temple, at the bottom of the statue. Columns reached up, supporting soaring ceilings made of concrete. Fountains lined the numerous causeways, burbling at their feet. Bronze braziers hung from ceilings or stood on tall, metal poles, each one sputtering with flame.
And yet, it felt empty. There were no statues or busts or shrines to pray at. No icons or frescos painted across the walls. Even the plants, hanging from baskets or planted in stone boxes, were all dead or dying.
The Emperor stopped suddenly, at the base of a set of stone steps that led up, somewhere deeper into the temple.
He was looking at Laykis, his mouth sealed in thought. And then, he turned to Poire. When he spoke, his voice rumbled, even through the stones, “You have come to my city. Why? I thought the avians would not risk their prized possession.”
“I am not a possession.”
“Are you sure that’s how they see it? Regardless, there was great risk for you to come here.”
“And what risk would that be?” Poire said.
“You don’t know?” The Emperor stared at him a while longer. It was so difficult to read him, with the mask covering the place where his eyes should have been. “Well. Rest assured, kindred. No god, nor servant of humanity,” he nodded at Laykis, “Shall be harmed in my city. Why have you come?”
“I’m looking for answers. I want to visit the Black Library.”
The only sign of emotion the Emperor gave was a slight, but sharp, intake of breath through his nose.
“Ah,” he said, “Then it is good that I found you first. The Library is a damned place. And you, kindred, may never enter it.”
“Why not?” Poire asked without thinking.
The Emperor was a giant, towering over him, and the longer Poire stared at him, the less certain he was of the Emperor’s humanity. As a biologist’s ward, Poire had only known other biologists, but even they augmented themselves heavily, though rarely with so much inorganic tech.
The cold smiths, on the other hand... They were obsessed with external mods. Or so Poire had heard.
“You,” the Emperor said, “Have had the vision.”
“How did you know? What is it?”
“An accident. A lie. The death of all things, some say. Or, a new kind of beginning. It all depends.”
The Everlord of the Cyran Empire leaned down, until his face was just above Poire’s. Poire tried not to squirm, but the liquid armor was writhing under his clothes, testing at the nape of his neck. Ready to slide into place. Could it match the Emperor’s strength? He didn’t want to find out.
“I will tell everything I know, kindred. But first, I would hear your name. Have you chosen one, yet?”
“They named me Poire. I am not old enough to change it.”
The Emperor stepped back, as if to take Poire in all at once. His lips twisted into a confused frown, “Then you are still young. But that is unlikely, isn’t it. When were born, Poire?”
“What do you mean?”
“The year.”
“Why would I know that?”
What an odd question. They never marked the years in Poire’s conclave. At least, not that he could remember. They would celebrate seasons, special occasions. Birthdays. But why would anyone keep track of the years?
How would you even do that? How would you know what year came first?
The Emperor lifted his chin. “Mmm… Hmm..”
That was all he said for a long moment. The flame from the braziers reflected on the many planes of his mask. Glowing orange in all that silver. Poire swallowed hard. The question that had been lingering ever since he’d seen the Emperor’s statue was ready to boil over. He was ready to ask it. And afraid of the answer.
“Are you human?” Poire asked.
The Emperor laughed, a roaring sound that seemed to shake the walls. “Am I human?” And then, his laughter was cut short, as he took a more somber tone. “I am, and I am not. Long ago, that was easier to answer. Come, let me show you. And let there be no secrets between us.”
The Emperor did not wait for Poire to follow. His huge strides carried him easily up the stone steps that led up into the temple. Before Poire could follow, Laykis stopped him.
“I do not know him,” she said. “And I do not know his motives. The Historians did not speak fondly of the Emperor, Divine One.”
“Did they speak fondly of anyone?”
Her eyes flashed, as she parsed the question. “None but you, Divine One.”
“Then let’s hear him out. Is there anything wrong with listening to him?”
A gray light blossomed across the sphere of her eyes. She was still hesitant.
But I have to know.
Poire headed up the stairs, and Laykis was close behind.
They found the Emperor waiting for them on the highest level of the temple. He leaned on a stone balcony that overlooked the hills.
Up here, there were new vines beginning to trail up the columns. Marble beds filled with soil, and tiny, green sprouts. Long veils of fabric broke up the temple, waving in the breeze that blew in from the balcony.
Below, the hills rolled down into the ocean. Inky, black, and shining with the light from the stars above. And a single constellation that shone so bright, Poire thought it was a moon at first. A jagged scar of light that cut through the night sky. It was beautiful, a soft light that glowed at its fringes.
The Emperor pointed at the scar, “Do you see that black speck, traversing across the scar? That is their library. The Historians.” There was a note of disdain in his voice. “It sits far too close to the scar.”
“What do you mean? What is that scar?”
“Oh?” There was a question in the Emperor voice. “You really don’t know how humanity fell?”
A dormant spark inside of Poire’s chest caught fire. Inflamed his whole body. Suddenly, he was burning with the need to know.
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“My caretaker saved my life. Something happened to our city. She threw me in a cold chamber and when I woke up, everything was gone. My city. My conclave. The grid. That is all I know.”
Eyes or no eyes, the Emperor was watching his every movement. His heavy fist rested on the stone banister. His other hand was stroking his chin, as if he was not used to the skin there.
“You should know. If they were going to hide you in the dark, they should at least have given you answers,” His fingers gripped the stone. He almost sounded angry when he said it. Then, he relaxed his grip. “But I will do my best to explain. Everything began when we discovered the light. When we discovered that we were not alone... Change is inevitable. Perhaps we should have changed faster. But let me start at the beginning.”
Poire wished again that he could read the Emperor’s face. Or at least, to see his aura. But there was nothing there, nothing to see. Nothing to sense.
A warm breeze flooded through the temple, as though the whole world was sighing. A cooling breeze made the flames in the braziers gutter and dance.
“Long ago, before you or I were born, humanity was locked to the surface of a single planet. Through the ages, we learned to reach out and touch the stars. But the space between was vast, and our vessels were painfully slow. Humanity learned how to live - not just one - but many lifetimes. Thousands of years, and more.
“We crept towards the limits of our reach. We discovered the edges of our reality, slowly moving apart. And just when we thought we knew it all… We discovered something else. Or, perhaps more accurately, something revealed itself to us. There were thin places in our universe.”
“That light in the sky?” Poire asked. “That scar?”
“The scar is but one of many. Once, we had mapped them all. But now, who can say? What I do know is that the scars, long ago, were very different. Faint. Invisible to the naked eye. It was pure luck that we even found the first one. Luck, or fate, or providence. We began to study them. We discovered a great many things about our universe. About life itself. There is so much that could not exist, without those scars. The gates,” He nodded, at the center of the city. Toward the gate. “Your an-droid. Even your conclave might not exist, were it not for what the light allows us to do.”
Poire came to the edge of the balcony. The wind slid over the tight curls of his hair, but he didn’t feel it. His mind was only focused on the Emperor.
“We began to learn from it. To harness it, even. Some of us worshipped the light. Absurd. We didn’t even know where they came from, what it was. We still don’t, though one of the theories must be correct., I suppose people always worship what they don’t understand. Worship, or scorn it. Certainly, the scars are full of power. And the bravest among us ventured towards the light. To know it better. To touch it. Some of them went through.”
There was a hint of wistfulness in the Emperor’s voice. Envy, maybe.
“What did they find?” Poire asked.
“They never came back. First, it was one explorer. And then, many. That is when Humanity began to fracture. There were endless discussions, and we were split in so many ways. What were we interacting with? What physical laws did these scars follow? Without clear answers, the discussions turned to disagreement. Became bitter. And worse.”
“What about you?” Poire asked. “Where were you?”
“A good question,” he smiled at Poire, though Poire could see no joy in his face. “I was curious, too, but more cautious than most. You cannot deny the danger of the unknown. But you cannot wallow in ignorance either, and expect everything to remain the same.” He was gripping the banister now, his voice filled with eager passion. “What is up there? What is on the otherside? And most of all, what will they become? There is so much we don’t know, Poire. Some said we were never meant to know. I say otherwise. We are human. We are meant to know everything.”
His fingers were clutching the banister so fiercely now, the stone was beginning to crack. Noticing what he had done, the Emperor breathed out a heavy sigh and let go of the stone.
“But I was too cautious. And there was war,” The Emperor said. “There were so many wars. The truth is, we were broken before the fighting began. You asked about your vision? That was how it began. With a vision from the seeds.”
“The seeds?”
The Emperor looked at him, his lips pressed together in thought. He was analyzing Poire again, and the young human felt exposed before that indecipherable gaze.
Then, he turned back to the balcony. The light in the sky, Poire noticed now, had a slight movement to it. A blurring at the edges. He thought it was the clouds, but the cotton strands had cleared away and now only that dimly glowing light rippled, high above the planet.
“I was not there when we found the first seed. From what I understand, they came through the scars. The first and the only things to ever come out of the light. It was early enough that we considered them gifts. Proof that there was intelligence on the otherside, and proof that it wanted to talk with us. Those who worshiped the scars - for there were many of them, by then - glorified these seeds. They built cities around them. Magnificent architecture, designed to harness the powers within - and to prevent it from growing too rapidly. Your Black Library, among them.”
“Why call them seeds? What were they?”
The Emperor shrugged, a heavy motion that lifted that enormous breastplate up from his chest. His shoulders were bare, except for the crimson silk that padded under the armor.
“They called them seeds because they changed people. Whoever studied them too closely, began to have visions. Of course, with so many people studying them, one prophet, became many. They claimed to see the future. A piece here. A fragment there. They began to stitch together a narrative of what was to come. But while they were busy in their cities below the scars, the rest of humanity… was starting to dream. Even those cast out, furthest from the galaxy. All of humanity. All, the same dream.”
“The vision?”
“The very same. A light, in the sky, that causes a change. Unmaking everything and every one.”
“What is it? Is it real?”
“A part of it, at least, must be real.”
“What do you mean?”
The Emperor turned to regard him once more. “Have you seen any children, Poire? Have you seen anyone other than you and me?”
Poire’s mind flashed to the chamber, deep below the Cauldron. The Oracle guide had called it the Vault. Filled with seeds, machinery. And cold chambers, filled with long-dead bodies.
And the recreation vats, that were meant to hold human DNA. Empty.
“Some said it came with the visions. Others, that it was a kind of radiation, spewing out from the scars. That if only we had stayed away, we might have saved some piece of ourselves. But I think they’re wrong. I think there was no escape. Even if we had never touched the light. It changed something in us. Suddenly, quietly, we became aware that we were the last of humanity. They tried everything to fix it. Where do you think all of these xenos came from? They even tried to recreate our DNA from the ground up, but the closer we came to humanity, the more it became undone. Biologists and genealogists, searching for a way to correct that which had been unmade.”
My home, Poire thought. My conclave.
Is that what they were doing in all those labs? Trying to undo this?
But that doesn’t make sense.
Poire was born in the conclave. And they had been experimenting there long before he had been born. If the seeds had come, and destroyed humanity’s ability to procreate before he had been born...
“One by one,” the Emperor continued, “The connected systems began to lose hope. It took many centuries. Millennia, for some of the staunchest of us. But, over the years, they succumbed to our own despair,” his lip was curled up in disgust. “They couldn’t see beyond their own failings. They were mired in the past. Weak. They were so caught up in what they had lost, they couldn’t see all the opportunity that lay before them.”
“What opportunity?”
But either the Emperor didn’t hear, or didn’t want to answer. “I found the records of so many wars. Chaotic. Self-destructive. They lost sight of who they were, splitting themselves further and further apart. And then… well, it’s hard to follow after that.”
“The visions. Do you see them? What do you see?”
“I don’t,” he said simply. “That part of my mind is gone, kindred. Much of what I know comes from the Historians, who dole out their records like misers with coin. I think they must have access, up there, to the words of the old human prophets. The Historians have an uncanny ability to predict certain events. But they are not perfect.”
“Why don’t you go up there, then and find out for certain?”
“Never. You must never go near there. I must tell you the truth, now, kindred. This world is not safe with you upon it. For now, it must be fine. But the longer you linger here, the more the scar begins to change. The Library was built so very long ago, and I don’t know how much time it has left. If you go up there, I can not be certain it will remain. I will never claim to be your master, kindred, for that is not our way. But if you try to go near that library, I will do everything in my power to stop you.”
Poire leaned on the banister, and put his head in his hands. He felt so helpless. Like he was facing - not a wall - but a sheer cliff, dark as night. And there was no way to climb it.
“I don’t know anything. How do we fix this? The vision. The scars. What am I supposed to do?”
The Emperor smiled at him, a soft smile, and Poire felt suddenly as if he had been led down this path. As if the Emperor had been waiting for him to ask this very question.
“Not you, but we, kindred. You are not alone. Do you know about the Protocol? Good. They taught you that, at least. It was a plan of desperation. Created when we were already on the brink of death. A hope beyond hope, right at the end. But they did get some things right, and for that we should be grateful. The Protocol seeks to restore humanity. There are systems in place, waiting to be awakened. If we could find more of us - more humans - we may find a way to contain this. To undo what has been done to us. And so much more.”
“Others?” Poire said. Hopeful. Far too hopeful. “You think there are other humans still out there?”
“The universe is vast, and humanity has gone far. There is a planet called Thrass et Yunum. Have you heard of it? No. Not surprising. I have taken every pain to reclaim this planet. For centuries, no one has held it. But Thrass et Yunum is key.”
“Why?”
“The Grid, Poire. Thrass is the old heart of the Grid, and I believe it still survives. Why else would that world fight us so dearly? If we can reclaim it, if we can bring it back to life, then we may once more connect all the stars that Humanity ever touched. That is how we will find them. That is how you will find them.”
The Emperor’s gaze was heavy on Poire. Expectant. The Emperor’s cheeks were flushed, his deep breaths slowly lifting the armor on his chest.
“I must ask you a favor, kindred. I must ask you to go to Thrass et Yunum, to find the old heart that must lie there.”
“Why haven’t you gone?”
“You asked if I was human. I told you, it depends who you ask. Certain artifacts have stricter definitions of human than you or I might. Besides, my Empire needs me. Now, more than ever. I should have never let them have those damned ships… Nevermind. Poire, it has to be you.”
Poire looked over his shoulder at Laykis. Her eyes were glowing, a dull orange. He could tell she was brimming with thoughts, and Poire hesitated to reach out to her.
“I’ll have to… I’ll have to think about it.”
“This is a challenge. I know this cannot be what you were expecting. But I can see no other way. If we want to rebuild, this must be our first step.”
Poire nodded, but agreed to nothing. The Emperor breathed in deeply, clenching and unclenching his hands. Stretching the muscles in his arms.
“Come back to me, when you are ready to answer. And until then, if there is anything you need, you must only ask.”
“The avians,” Poire said without thinking. “What about them?”
“Who? Oh,” The Emperor waved his hand, casually dismissing him. “You mean the ones with the feathers. What of them?”
“They have been fighting for their lives.” Poire said, a twinge of outrage filling his veins. Didn’t he know this?
The Emperor frowned at him. “You must understand me, Poire. I am the Lord of this Empire, and I always will be. I do not want anyone to suffer, but I cannot control every minute detail.”
“Their city was destroyed. There were millions of them there.”
His tone shifted, slightly. He exhaled his annoyance, trying to reclaim his patience. “Kindred, the xenos are not like us. Not even my cyrans. You must understand they live nasty, brutish, short lives. This is not out of turn, for any of them.”
“They are people.”
“I will not try to excuse their atrocities. Nor the misfortune that falls upon them. But you cannot be distracted by the comings and goings of mortal folk. There is so much at stake,” And then he threw his hand up, with a sigh. The leathers of his armor creaked heavily. “Remember what I said. It is dangerous for you to stay here on Cyre, anyway. But, I have heard you. I cannot turn the whole society around in a single generation. Not without breaking it. I have already begun sowing seeds in favor of your xenos - and if it truly means so much to you, I will sow more.”
“Thank you,” Poire said. He wasn’t convinced, but what else could he do?
The Emperor seemed leaned forward on the balcony. Looking out over his city. Looking up where a tear of light - as bright as any moon - scarred the sky. It hung over the ocean, casting a pale, wavering reflection in those endless waters.
“I just wish I could count the time we have left.”