I hunched over my desk, squinting at the reports from the frontlines—a quagmire, a mire of blood and treachery.
"The Great Enemy," as I commanded my heralds to name them, had arrived upon our shores, their ships a blot on the horizon, months after the calamity of Hunter’s Hold. They reaved and pillaged the hinterlands of the empire, driving a flood of refugees westward. The price of bread had already doubled since the invasion, and the tales from Asrian settlers fleeing the coastal towns were full of horror. Knowing this turmoil would not cease soon, I ordered the release of emergency grain stores in the capital and surrounding towns before famine could spread. Trade had been severely impacted, and the lanes through the region were entirely cut off. Praise Sol, there were no reports of plague yet, but I ordered measures in all surrounding towns anyway, for who knows what diseases these unshaven animals might bring. The only relatively positive outcome is the reinforcement of Imperial identity among the non-Asrians, a sentiment I must nurture.
Ryst Vibak, may he burn in the Immaterial, thought himself clever. He spun false tales of their savage king's death. The truth, that he died as all men do, did not deter the skalds from Hunter’s Hold to Valenshallen from spreading their lies of his last stand. In turn, he garnered the sympathy of the Rathgari tribes through his machinations. Now, a Great Heathen Army marches on my lands, a plague of locusts defiling whatever their barbarian hands touch. To breathe the same air as such vile and debased people, to know they walk the same earth as I, is a cosmic jest of the highest order. They could not be content in their hovels; they had to spread like a blight upon the land. Sol willing, this war ends with them driven back into the sea.
To make matters worse, as if Inanis heard my lamentations and wished to make me suffer more, reports arrived that the Caorranii invaded Imperial lands through the Reach, illegally occupying several towns. A great betrayal, but the sting was soothed when Prince Gniewomir confirmed that Cailean's failed son was now without his head for his crimes against his own. The Southern Kingdoms, of course, decried the act as "barbaric," as if those who wallow in their own stagnancy had any right to define such acts. But the chaos in my mind left me feeling drained and defeated. I brought my people from the brink of annihilation, led them on great crusades, renewed the Western realms, and expanded them to heights never seen. Yet I am still a failure, for I have put the one thing I care about most into jeopardy.
Lost in my ruminations, I did not notice my son Aurelian entering my tent. Dirt covered his face and armor, likely from laying down the fortifications of this camp.
"Ave, Autokrator," my son greeted me with a salute. "The fortifications are done for the day, and no barbarians have been seen within a league of here. I am pleased to report allied forces have been seen arriving, and legionaries from across the empire flow in daily. Chapter Master Sidereus Nuncius has liberated Portus Aegis for the glory of Aeternum Solis."
"Is that so?" I said, letting the information simmer in my mind for a few moments. "Come, sit," I gestured towards the chair adjacent to my desk. His reaction was immediate; with no hesitation, he followed my order. It made me proud. The boy needs to know how to follow before he learns to lead.
"Aurelian, my son, I wish to... let you know... that you make me proud," I said.
"My Autokrator, I..." he began, but I stopped him with a raised hand.
"I am not done."
"You and your sister are pure souls, unburdened by the daemons of the past... until now," I said with a sigh.
No, I cannot continue without a drink.
I reached for the Telerian Red beside me and poured myself a glass of wine, exacting the tithe owed to me.
"Tell me, Aurelian, why are we here?" I started again.
"For the glory of the empire, my Autokrator."
"Ah yes, ah yes. I remember. You see that map, Aurelian?" I pointed towards the map of the empire hanging on the tent walls. "That is the world which I created. For twenty years, I have conquered, spilled blood, expanded the empire. Be it of the old regime or my own realm. Since I became Autokrator, I have known no years without war—zero years of peace in twenty. And for what? I brought the sword, nothing more."
"Autokrator, your life..."
"Please, please don't call me that. Come here and sit. Let us talk now, together now. Very simply, as a father to a son."
"Father, I don't understand. The men, they fight for you and for Asraniae."
"And what is Asraniae?"
"I have heard of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark. Asraniae is the light."
"Nonsense. You have not seen the beauty that is Caorran, the magnificent city of the Arescods, or witnessed the exotic peoples of Arrakon. You have not seen the rise and fall of kingdoms or lived for almost a decade in nomad camps as you watch your people waste away. You are but a boy, almost a man grown, but you must learn the reality of this world before this vice of gold lands on your head." I pointed to my crown laying in its resting place.
"When a man sees his end, he wants to know that there has been some purpose to his life. How will the world speak my name in years to come? Will I be known as the warrior, the fork-tongued, the tyrant? Or will I be remembered as the Autokrator who gave Asraniae back her true self? There was once a dream that was Mother Asraniae. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper, and it would vanish. It was so fragile, and I fear it will die with me."
"Father, I don't understand. We are immortal, and... and you are the most just and honorable man I know," he said in all sincerity.
The irony of his words was not lost on me. If only he knew what I had done, what I had to do, to revive our people, to revive the very idea of Asraniae, it would crush him.
"Asraniae is at a crossroads, and if we are to survive the coming storm, we must adapt. Just as the Asrians of old lessened the restrictions of the patrician class to allow foreigners, so too must we find ways to weather the storm."
"Alas, it is a task I cannot do, my son."
"Why, father?" Aurelian stood up from his chair. "You are the light of Asraniae. You are Apotheon! Your will shapes the world."
"Nonsense," I said, standing up to meet him.
"I am poisoned by the past. I have... I have this curse within me, and it blinds me. I know it is unbecoming of one of such august status, but I am still partially a man. So it will soon be upon you to lead the people of Asraniae, to be the sword of Asraniae, so that we may protect our way of life against the Great Enemy."
"But I am not a man yet," my son said.
"Yet you still fight, my august son, born in the purple," I said, grasping his shoulders.
"With you at its helm, the empire will be in good hands, my son. But until that day comes when I can hand you the crown, I shall teach you more than I already have done."
Gazing upon him, with his visage reflecting both my own features and those of Grainne, I am reassured in my decision. Aurelian is destined to be an exceptional ruler—he possesses a more open-minded disposition and a measured temperament. He lacks my own... flaws while inheriting my intellect. One day, he will become a philosopher-king, a role our people have regrettably lost. Though, to be honest, I could have contributed more to this legacy myself.
At that moment, the flaps of my tent opened to reveal an excited messenger.
"Ave, Autokrator," the messenger said.
"What is it?" I questioned.
"Mother Asraniae rejoices, for her sons Phaethonius and Gordianus have returned to her embrace. They sent a coded letter with a Lendan stone they acquired," he said, handing the letter to me.
"They will surely be marked for death by the Rathgari... but who isn't?" I chuckled.
"Praise our Lord of Light," Aurelian beamed.
"Indeed," I said, my smile doing nothing to contain itself.