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[>>Now replaying: Log 3.7.9 - Rulers and Regulators]

Date: Error

Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain

//Many great empires were led by people like you and I. Some called them tyrants, some called them heroes, but in the end, the victor writes the history books.//

//I can’t claim to be a Saint, no matter how often you call me by that name. All I ever did was what I thought was right, and what helped the most of you. I am sorry it has come to this. I am sorry I invited you here. I am sorry you came.//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E1 %The Mage Lords of old were despicable tyrants.%

E2 %They were the rightful rulers of their people and ensured peace and prosperity. None of them claimed to be Saints, only the Torchbearer did that.%

We both looked at the scepter in the dust, transfixed. Why was I even carrying that thing around with me still? In the distance, a house collapsed, shaking earth and air alike, scattering ash and embers into the sky. Heat wafted through the alley, blasting us with the smells of destruction and scorched flesh. Someone screamed somewhere unseen. It cut off with unnatural suddenness.

Neither Zephyro nor I said anything for a while, and the city kept burning. Eventually, I knelt to pick up the torch. I was about to get back up when I caught a glimpse of Zephyro from below, and paused. He was wreathed in the flames consuming his nation, armor tattered and worn, breath short and labored. His face betrayed an inner struggle I knew too well.

“For the fifth time, I must ask you for a thousand pardons,” Zephyro said, again proving he was handling this crucible far better than I had been.

“This is five thousand apologies I owe you, and—“ he coughed again. When he recovered, blood seeped not just from his mouth, but also from his eyes as they drank in the pandemonium around us, deep, brown, and so infinitely sad.

He was still staring into the distance when he brought his hand to his face and wiped the blood away. Finally, he looked at his hand and a frown shot over his brow. He blinked, eyes widening, but then his expression set with determination.

Another surge of blue washed over him and all the blood and grime disappeared as if washed away by gentle rain. When the light faded, his features looked less gaunt, his armor less worn. Overall, he seemed far from fine, though. He was probably using Logic to prop himself up, but that method was starting to fail. I wondered how long he could keep it together. And how long could I? I took a deep breath to ease the tension in my neck and shoulders. It helped a little.

“It’s alright,” I said, finally getting up with the scepter in hand. It felt heavier than before, somehow.

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s probably I who should apologize, really.”

Smoke crept out of an open door to my right, and flames licked after it. The golden, stylized fire atop the scepter gleamed in their light. The way it seemed to flicker and dance, it almost looked like the real thing, the one I’d owned in the real world, all those years ago.

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Zephyro coughed again, but it sounded better.

“No, it is another shame I must carry, Sultana. I have read the records of your djihad. Of course, you know of loss. Of course, you know what it feels like to have to flee. But unlike you, whom the heavens have blessed with endless confidence and faith, I struggle. I struggle with the burden of knowing my people will… that many of them will not see another cycle.”

I licked my lips, eyes still on the flames reflected in gold. I turned the scepter in my hand and the shadows of the alley fell onto the metal like ravenous beasts. Without the light dancing on them, the metal-cast flames looked more like wicked spikes.

If only you knew…

“It wasn’t easy for me either. And please stop idolizing me, it’s stressing me the fuck out.” Despite the heat of my words, I smiled, hoping to take the edge off.

“Ah Sultana, I could no sooner stop longing for the cool breath of the moon than I could stop singing your praises.”

I gave him a flat look, which he returned with an almost straight face. A comedian, then, under that straight shell of his. His expression fell a moment later, however.

“How did you manage to get through it, Sultana? After Novus Apex fell, I mean?”

I recognized an olive branch when I saw one.

I took a deep breath, then sighed. “To be quite honest, I don’t really know. It was all just a jumble of running, fighting, solving one disaster after the other, finding a place to stay, and trying to stay as close to Chris as possible.”

Chris, I thought, wondering where they were, why they couldn’t answer me in here. I missed them I realized. More than I wanted to admit to myself.

“Having someone you can rely on helps, I guess,” I said, still thinking of their hand in mine as we prepared for the launch of the war AI. I wondered what had happened. How they kept communicating with me. They couldn’t die, of course. Neither of us did, I had made sure of that.

“That is probably true, Sultana, for you have said so,” Zephyro replied after a while, pulling me out of my thoughts. “And yet I wonder how it would feel like to share this burden.”

“You got no Zephyra?” I asked, smirking a little. I wasn’t even phased by the idea that a defense AI could have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, I guessed belatedly. I’d defaulted to ‘girlfriend’ because of how he looked, which was probably all kinds of problematic. It didn’t matter at the moment, though, so I didn’t beat myself up about it.

“Ah, no, Sultana. I am not like my people. I love them, but there will always be that small separation between us.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be hard to date members of your kingdom… vizierate? What do you call it?”

“Your Empire, Sultana, and long may it stand.”

We both looked up at the burning, collapsing night sky.

“Long may it stand,” I echoed.

There was a long pause.

“So why do I need to reach the throne?” I asked.

“To rule, Sultana. It is a long and complicated process that is hard to explain, so please pardon that I shall not attempt to do so at this moment. All you need to know right now is that both your future and my people’s depend on it.”

I grimaced but nodded. He’d earned a pass, for now.

“Then how about you tell me what’s going on?”

“We are under attack, Sultana, and even I do not know how or why, though I have some assumptions.”

“Let’s hear them, then,” I said.

“Shouldn’t we make haste instead, Sultana?” the Vizier replied with a concerned glance at the fires consuming the alley.

I shook my head. For some reason, I was still feeling winded, as though my exhaustion took ages to recover. I could have sworn I was in better shape than this.

Zephyro turned away, lost in his own thoughts, but eventually, he held up his hand and another screen appeared.

It showed a panoramic view of his city. The picture wasn’t quite stable. Houses popped in and out of existence, and the sun stuttered between halfway to the horizon and close to setting.

“It started with poor Alkashafa-1.” Zephyro’s voice was calm and quiet, only a slight tremor gave away how he really felt. “She ventured out to gather some materials and never returned. The Kashaf brothers tried to find her, but at first, they came back empty-handed.” As he spoke, the story played out before us. A young woman smiled as she headed out the gate. She reached the city borders and disappeared. Time passed, then a few men set out in the same direction. Their steps were fast, and they gripped their hunting bows tight. When they came back, they were arguing with each other. Their steps were unsure, their bows slung over their backs.

“It was always dangerous to go outside, but Alkashafa-1 had tools to defend herself. We hadn’t thought— No matter.

“By chance, we found her—” His voice was replaced by a deep error sound for a few words, then returned. He did not seem to notice. “—later. She had been drained of your Blessing, her body pilfered for parts. We thought some Ferals had gotten to her and while we mourned Alkashafa-1 for a week, we did not think more of it until it was too late.”

“So it wasn’t a Feral then, whatever the hell that is?”

“It wasn’t, Sultana. Ferals are machines with but a spark of intelligence who roam outside the city, hunting for scraps of your Blessing.”

“So, kind of like the Old Guard?”

“Yes, Sultana. But where the Old Guard adheres to your Divine Protocol, Ferals just care about themselves. The Old Guard are aware of who they are, even in their… madness. It is the one thing that separates them from the Ferals. Once they lose that spark, they are but the same.”

Next to us, the smoke coming from the open door was replaced by more fire as the wooden support beams inside started to burn. But we kept watching, neither of us acknowledging our time and place weren’t ideal. We had fallen into the companionable silence colleagues took on when they disagreed but were still forced to work with each other. One wrong word could send us back to arguing, and we both knew better than to risk it.

On the screen, time passed quickly. The sun sunk lower, towards the endless horizon. More people left the city and did not return. The buildings glitched, back on fire for a second, before Zephyro’s hand stuttered through some gestures, and everything returned back to its original state.