The cheers of half a million Truscans greeted the three Prophets as they waited at the gates of the eternal city. In the city flanking two seas, a lynchpin tying two continents, and the last remnant of Triumph’s greatest empire, an emperor waited and a people hoped as the Prophets hailed the forlorn guards.

“Open the gate!” Sono commanded. Her pure white headband, dangling a pearl from a silvery-white chain near her brow, glistened in the glaring sun on the open, grassy plain approaching the high city walls.

The guards didn’t have to be told what to do. In fact the many musket-wielding soldiers couldn’t even hear the White’s call over the cheers as they rushed to allow the Prophets to enter their city. With a cracking and clanking of iron gears, the massive wood and metal gateway swung outward, inviting the Prophets into the narrow valley between this high stone wall and the next even stronger stone barrier.

“Their defenses seem adequate for a large assault. Three walls, on a narrow plain on a rising hill. The founder of this city knew he had a strong position,” Murel said to his two companions. The Gold held his gauntleted right hand behind his back, a stance that looked like he was constantly about to bow with his locked stature.

“That’s why it’s called the eternal city by its people,” Sono replied.

“True. But I will have to see the approaching army, and that of the defender’s, before I can decide who will emerge victorious.”

Nege felt fear all over the city. It made him harden his grip on his crimson staff, easing his pained thoughts. Choosing to remain silent while his companions discussed the strength of the city’s walls triple-layered walls, Nege took in every expanse of this, the last stronghold of a two-thousand-year-old empire.

Before thoughts of nostalgia and worry could overcome the city’s glory, the second set of gates, a couple hundred meters down the gap from the first, were opened and a regiment of Truscan Legionaries encircled the Prophets, offering escort as their captain shook hands with the three. Sono told the officer, in patient tones, that they were to be led to the emperor as soon as possible.

Relief was the strongest sensation Nege felt as the captain eagerly led them to the palace.

“The Prophets, the Prophets!” chanted the city’s people as Sono, Murel, and Nege walked along the curving, orderly streets.

“Salvation!” chanted more.

Under his breath, Nege couldn’t help but laugh and whisper, “Eternon. The Eternal City,” as he gazed at the so-named city’s monuments.

Eternon, founded fifteen hundred years ago by the Truscan Emperor Eternine. It was a monumental city, not just in its architecture but in its purpose. After centuries of bloody conquest and ruthless domination throughout the continent of Gloria, the Truscan Emperor Eternine faced a civil war that threatened to rob him of his title and possibly destroy his continent-sized empire. By a miracle, so he said, Eternine was victorious in this conflict.

Because of this victory and because of that emperor’s fascination with the Sevens Prophets, Eternine had a vision for his reclaimed empire. That vision was held in the grasp of Infinity, so he claimed. Under Eternine’s guidance, that grand empire became strident worshipers of Infinity, claiming it was It’s will that allowed Eternine to triumph under such sorrowing odds.

Nege heard bells ringing from a high tower, the highest point in Eternon. The massive, swinging chunks of brass echoed their cries that would normally call Truscans to worship Infinity, now chimed a call of celebration for the arrival of the Prophets.

The sight calmed Nege’s uncertainty as he watched the bells swinging from the largest dome on the planet Triumph, known as Infinity’s Wisdom. A marvel of the usually uninspired planet, this building itself was responsible for converting tens of thousands to the Truscan faith. Three hundred feet tall, adorned with gold and intricate designs on the outside, Infinity’s Wisdom dominated the city’s center and was visible for miles, a potent symbol of Infinity’s presence and favor for the Truscans and their empire.

As he passed the building’s doors, Nege couldn’t help seeing the irony in that one belltower was empty, its instrument melted down to make more cannons to defend the city.

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With this new religion, upon Emperor Eternine’s conversion, came a new purpose. No longer would the empire simply acknowledge Infinity’s existence, as even Mother-dwellers did. The Truscan Empire would worship and bow to the will of Infinity, whose will the emperor himself interpreted.

But every great following had to have an adversary, so Nege understood. The Truscan Empire fully controlled the entire continent of Gloria. But across the Tolian Bridge, the thin strip of land on the northeast corner of Gloria, lay the vast continent of Estia. Known as Anat to its natives, Estia was a far larger, far more barbarous land than even Gloria had been, or so Eternine claimed. It was Infinity’s will, the humble emperor announced, that the Truscan Empire bring this grand faith to the entire world, starting with Estia.

Nege looked up to the near hundred-foot-tall column occupying Eternon’s city square. While merchants, shoppers, and cafés lined the ground, a magnificent bronze statue of Eternine rode above them all on his bronze horse. His sword raised and his crowned head facing east, Nege noted that the statue was less a monument and more a call to arms, a confident message that the Truscan Empire would follow him into Estia.

A short distance past this thousand-year-old column, the Prophets turned uphill and approached the palace. Not a palace of particular magnificence, nor one any of the Prophets would compare to the halls of Cawnia or even Ver, it still had a strong, practical grandeur to it.

“There are very few guards at these walls,” Murel noted as they approached the edge of the palace compound.

“The emperors of the eastern half of the Truscan Empire always felt it unnecessary to guard themselves from the citizenry, unlike their contemporaries in Trusc,” Sono said.

“Or they can’t spare taking men from the outer walls to protect the emperor. That would be my assumption.”

“It could be.”

The iron gates of the palace swung outward before the Prophets came even close to entering.

“Wow. It’s not hard to see why Eternine put his palace here. You can see everything,” Nege noted as he took a quick glance across the city. He saw Infinity’s Wisdom, Eternine’s Column, and the harbors on either side of the city. Massive ships, some from Trusc, some from Prush, even a beleaguered ship from faraway Nardor, bobbed in the waves as prows and sails mingled together while a nemesis approached from the east.

The waters of the seas on either side glistened in the afternoon sun, easy currents and light breezes combining in this perfect harbor. The city of Eternon sat at the thinnest point on the Tolian Bridge. A distance of four miles separated the two harbors that fed the merchants on both seas, fed both oceans, and exported both culture and gold across all of Triumph. It was for this the city was founded, for this the city was desired.

“The navy is miniscule. They will not be able to face the Teljuk fleet on numbers,” Murel said.

“The Teljuk boats are much smaller and more poorly manned, Murel,” Sono noted.

“I was not finished. The Truscan navy will be sufficient to block the Teljuks from launching a naval assault.” Murel pointed at the lower, weakly-manned seawalls that bordered either side of the deep harbors. “This will allow them to move more men to the main walls. However, they will not be able to defeat the Teljuk navy, eliminating any chance of flanking the invaders or receiving reinforcements.”

“But will it be enough to save the city?” Nege asked.

“That has yet to be decided.”

Two thousand years of history. Nege could feel it. He could feel the very soul of this aged city, a sensation that didn’t require his Mother-dweller sense of empathy to burn in the front of his thoughts. The Truscan Empire may have been founded and grown hundreds of miles away, in Trusc. The Truscan Empire in all but name may have fallen a thousand years ago. The people here may have lost all the territory but the city they walked in. But the still called themselves Truscans. They still called their leader emperor. The empire may have died centuries ago, but it might be here, in the last vestige of Triumph’s greatest people, that their civilization would finally die.

The thought both frightened and intrigued the Red as he walked, his red-tinted staff clack-clacking against the stones leading to the emperor’s palace.

“Be warned,” Sono advised her companions as they entered the palace compound, leading to a wide, golden door and archway that led to the palace’s antechambers. “This emperor does not take well to manipulation.”

“Politics should not be of concern in this situation,” Murel noted. “I don’t think the emperor has the luxury of such subtleties.”

“It’s not about what choice he has. You’re right; he has none. But many eyes are watching this event, eyes of the entire planet that will multiply as the years progress. Mark your actions, for what we do here may impact the Prophets’ influence on this planet for generations.”

“I don’t like history staring me in the eye,” Nege said, having an imagined psychic connection with the millions who would read about this one day.

“You should be used to it by now, Nege. Mark your actions and your very words. We must be as delicate as if we were balancing a crystal on the tip of our finger.”

“Follow our example if necessary, Nege,” Murel added. “Your kind of power might be strong, but it will not be needed.”

“Does that mean you’ve decided—” Nege tried.

“No. It means that we all need to be uncharacteristically reserved, especially you. Keep that staff as it is.” Murel nodded toward Nege’s weapon.

With a loud crash that overcame even the noise of the echoing bells and only now softening cheers, the wide wooden doors to the palace chambers swung open, revealing the emperor.