Prehistory, Earth

"None of this makes sense." the Prince moans as his horse whinnies in distress. The beast's hooves dig at the ground restlessly as it senses the growing desperation of its master.

In the Prince's hands is the map the Treasurer had given to him, a cracked, ancient thing, one stiff breeze away from crumbling to dust. When the prince realized just how old the map was, he quickly concluded that his sister was most likely correct, that the story of the Grand Magi was most likely hogwash and that the Treasurer had been trying to deceive the siblings all along. Even in the best case scenario, all it meant was that the Treasurer himself has been tricked by whomever sold him the map. The map's age made it certain that the Grand Magi was either long dead or a senile old fossil by now. The quest that the Treasurer had persuaded the Prince to embark on was a fool's errand from the start.

The smart choice would be to turn back and surrender himself to the Emperor. But the Prince had an instinctive revulsion towards that option, no matter how sensible it seemed in his head. It all boiled down to the Priest and the memory of that "man" undressing before the Prince's eyes during the night of the escape. The shaved body and most of all, the scarred crotch, that exercised a near hypnotic influence over the Prince. It was something so utterly wrong, yet the Prince felt an almost obscene compulsion when he saw the Priest's ruined manhood, the primal urge to submit his own body to the same defilement. And if what the Treasurer said was true, the Prince's own father had embraced the same process. The Emperor had allowed his imperial body to be debased in return for power.

Swallowing hard, the Prince firmly shoves the idea of surrendering to the back of his mind. Feeling his crotch and the reassuring weight there, the Prince heaves a sigh of relief. He would never allow himself to turn into a monster. Or whatever it was that the Priest and presumably the Emperor had become. But the path of resistance had left him with few options. The vastness of the Empire had allowed the Prince to evade his pursuers so far, but that was merely delaying the inevitable. As his father mobilized more and more resources to the chase, the net would begin to close. The Prince had already noticed the patrols along the roads becoming heavier and more vigilant. He could make his way by cutting across the wilderness, but the net was closing. A decision had to be made.

The Prince could not go to the other nobles for support. Not only would he be forced to run the gauntlet of patrols to make it to any town of significance, the nobles were all terrified of his father. The Emperor had built a reputation as a merciless conqueror. At best, no one would give aid to the Prince and risk incurring the Emperor's ire. At worst, the nobles would have the Prince put in chains to earn favor with his father.

Hiding in the countryside was a tempting option on the surface, but the Prince quickly realized that idea had complications of its own. A stranger suddenly arriving in a quiet village was guaranteed to draw attention. The Prince's own fine manners and educated speech would quickly set him apart from the people around him. It was only a matter of time before someone talked and the pursuers homed in on the scent again.

So that left the Prince only one way forward. To seek out the Grand Magi as had been tasked by the Treasurer. The map may be old, but it still bore the rough geographic contours and landmarks the Prince was familiar with. It was just enough for the Prince to navigate by. The horses had been thankfully packed with supplies for a long journey, the Prime Minister no doubt intending to flee the Empire completely. The Prince didn't know if the supplies were adequate for that task, but he had no choice but to put his faith in these preparations. For the map indicated that the Grand Magi had been exiled beyond the borders of the Empire, in the dark reaches outside of the light of civilization.

"Damn it." the Prince mutters, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. At his back was the Empire and before him were the unknown lands which spawned the vicious nomad raiders. The Prince's knowledge of the world ended at the Empire's border. If he continued to quest for the Grand Magi, he would be wholly at the mercy of the Treasurer's map from this point onward. There should be enough supplies to reach the Grand Magi, if the map was accurate. But that was a big If. Time would have changed the terrain, even if the map had been originally drawn accurately.

"Nothing for it then." the Prince sighs, his nerves raw from the constant unrelenting stress. Turning back was unacceptable. That made marching forward the remaining choice, no matter how foolish it was.

The Prince shouts in exultation he does not feel, urging his horse forward, to whatever might await.

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.....

And the Prince's worst fears came true.

The map had referred to this place as the Emerald Ocean, a never ending grassland. Lush but lonely. A fitting place for the cradle of a nomad civilization. But the further the Prince rode, the more barren the land became. Green fields were soon replaced by stretches of baked parched earth, with occasional spots of scraggly unhealthy grass dotting the landscape. The streams and lakes marked on the map had dried out, with nothing but dust lining their basins. It was as if this land had been subjected to a cataclysm, driving it to near destruction. Dust settles over the body of the Prince's horse as it gallops doggedly onward.

The nomads attacked the civilized world not to conquer, but to survive. Their lands now yielded no food or water. No wonder the nomads fought with such strength. But the answer to the mystery of why the nomads invaded gave the Prince no comfort. The map had indicated that the place of the Grand Magi's exile had been right at the center of the Emerald Ocean. The Order of the Invisible Hand had enough of the man's antics and sentenced him to live among the barbarians for the rest of his life. Now there was the real possibility that the Grand Magi perished in whatever crisis had overtaken the Emerald Ocean.

The Prince's horse pauses its stride to chow hungrily down on a few stalks of yellow grass. Patting the beast's mane, the Prince tiredly takes a gulp from a rapidly deflating water skin.

"This was a mistake." the Prince groans. Getting attacked by raiders would be preferable at this point. More than the harshness of the environment, it was the sheer loneliness that was starting to get to the Prince. There were no towns or villages in the Emerald Ocean. Not even travelers passing by. It was as if the Emerald Ocean disgorged all its inhabitants at the civilized world in one orgy of violence before falling eternally silent.

The horse abruptly crashes to the ground hard, throwing the Prince off. Before the Prince realizes what is happening, the horse begins to hack furiously, blood flecked phlegm oozing from its mouth. With a long shudder, the beast lets loose a death rattle, its eyes going milky white while a sinister gray spreads over its coat like a shroud.

"Poisoned?" the Prince whispers to himself. The horse was tired, but nowhere near death. Stray bits of yellow grass are stuck between the animal's teeth, now stained with blood. Death had seeped into this land and it had claimed another victim.

"Can't turn back now." the Prince sinks to his knees in despair, squinting across the barren, featureless vista.

An arid wind blows and the map begins to crumble. The Prince desperately folds himself into a fetal position, desperately trying to protect the dubious treasure. If he lost the map now, he would have literally nothing. Flakes of parchment fly off into the distance as the map turns into powder and seeps through the Prince's fingers.

"East." the Prince shuts his eyes and tries to recall the route from memory, "Keep heading East, to the heart of the Emerald Ocean."

Staggering back to his feet, the Prince begins picking up the remaining supplies from the carcass of his horse, packing as much as he can carry. He would see this venture through, come what may.

He had no other choice.

....

Days passed.

The food and water had run out. But the Prince kept stumbling forward, by now a mindless automaton. All he knew was that he had to keep walking East. What he was looking for was awaiting him there. Whether it was the Grand Magi or just plain release from this suffering. The sun beats down on the Prince's, blow after blow raining on the Prince's head.

And finally he has had enough.

Like a defeated titan, the Prince falls face first into the dirt.

"Really comfortable." the Prince moans in delight, a knot of tension releasing in his body. It would be nice to just stop here. Stop and rest.

Forever.

The Prince's eyes dart about the landscape, taking in his final resting place. The heat haze rises once more, sending a shimmer across the horizon. As the horizon wavers, the heat haze parts, and the Prince sees a man, old but hale, sitting cross legged right in front of him, eyes closed as if in slumber.

"I did it." the Prince breathes.

The man stirs at this commotion, his hazel eyes lazily opening before sharpening in a look of annoyance. The man's clothes a rich but worn, and a thin gold chain binds him at the wrists and ankles.

"And just what did you do boy?" the man asks, his voice urbane and refined.

The Prince reaches out and his fingers brush the silk of the man's long sleeves, leaving behind a trace of dirt. The man's face twists subtly in distaste but watches in silence. The Prince clasps his hands in supplication, gazing at the legend before him. Parched lips open and address the man in a cracked voice which take nothing away from the awe in its tone.

"Grand Magi."