“Checkmate once again. It turns out, none of your pieces can even stand up against my imperial might. I win.” Cerydra said confidently with a hint of arrogance in her voice, one that you were beginning to become increasingly accustomed to as you’ve learned her morning habits, favourite dishes, favourite articles of clothing, colours, preferences in people. But before the train of thought could continue, she laid a hand atop yours still hung to the chessboard. “Dux Stupid Servant, I don’t pay you to gaze into the nothingness like a crazed philosopher thinking about grand, meaningless answers. Tell me. Dear subject, what’s on your mind?” She spoke in a commanding, haughty tone she always imposed, far from an exception to those dearest to her such as Dux Gladiorum.

A beat of silence passes, and the serenity of the throne room sits still awaiting for an answer. The view outside these delicately carved, deep-blue windows ornate like ones in a church reveal a bustling Okhema filled to the brim with activity: The hollering of grocery merchants attempting to sell their goods in wooden stands, children playing ball at the square, clumsily kicking them in fits of laughter at each other’s incompetence tied in shared camaraderie, and the scholars debating the viability of genetically-modified square shaped eggs for easier transportation and storage efficiency versus the side which stood against it on an ethical basis; arguing that even chickens have rights inherent to themselves and the modification would be akin to modifying human babies to be more intelligent by giving them two brains— All of this information reveals itself with a brief listen, a soaking in of the Holy City’s brilliance. Then, the person whom even the Imperator gazed with a smirk spoke:

If none of this will last, what’s the point?

Her dark-teal eyes widened, and the lit flame above her crown flickered dimmer for a split-second, like the inanimate object could react to such a bold, prophetic statement. Her eyebrows drooped, but then bucked into place like a spring-loaded mouse trap, a stern gaze directed into your soul. “There is no room for doubt. To advance is to reach into the world beyond the sky and conquer all that comes before us. Where there is opportunity, we must grasp it or risk stagnation. Do you understand?” She points the imperious blue wand at you accusingly, a scene similar to when the Imperator personally “dealt” with the blasphemer at the Month of Strife. There is no other purpose but to move forward.

…

She was thrusted backward into the river when the violin-sword of Hysilens pierced the centre of her chest, her life slowly fading from those eyes that burned in determination with golden liquid splayed across her torso. Hysilens kneeled down with one knee, tears falling slowly and delicately from eyes filled with regret. She was silent with the exception of faint weeps emanating from her throat. Although the servant inched closer with every step with dread and shock imbued in their eyes, Hysilens made no effort to draw her weapon against the defenceless individual.

“She… She wanted to obliterate the universe for us. So that we would be able to rule empires and play God. I… Before… She had made an ultimatum to either sacrifice my own life or hers, but to think that the Tyrant would fall by my hands after everything… It breaks my heart.”

Suddenly, the bleak atmosphere of the Imperator’s resting place changes to a familiar scene, one situated in the palace in a chess match— Her before you, sitting with her legs straight beneath the chess table and no sign of harm done. The Dux Gladiorum Hysilens stands near the wall, keeping a watchful eye on the Imperator and her servant, wearing her typically stoic expression. Like a long-gone memory from thousands of system hours past, the crown tattoo imbued onto your hand rekindles and glows.

“Where I am, so you shall be. Dux Palladium.” Her commanding tone echoes throughout the room, yet her mouth remains unmoving.