Matabar

At times, Ardi would drift into wakefulness. It would seem that he was riding on the bench of a truck, which rolled lazily over the cobblestones, causing him to bounce up every now and again. To his left and right sat Cloaks, holding him steady so he wouldn’t tumble to the floor. On another bench at the front of the vehicle, more agents from the Second Chancery were traveling with him.

Or perhaps it was all just a dream. In any case, when he finally managed to open his eyes fully and shake off the remnants of drowsy musings, he found himself… still on a bench. But this time, he wasn’t in a truck; he was in a vast hall, one large enough to encompass an entire city square.

The walls, stretching out into the distance around him, were covered in scaffolding, and here and there, mosaics adorned with saintly faces covered the stone, their figures flowing upwards like streams of water, where they merged into high, ribbed columns. These columns rose to meet the vaulted ceiling and domes above, which were painted with scenes from the scriptures of the Face of Light. Here, saints were depicted amid their ascension, miracles being revealed by the Face of Light to his Prophets were shown, and much more. Some of the frescoes were still unfinished, with scaffolding beneath them.

Ardan’s gaze fell lower. At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing, but then he realized that beneath a layer of amber — yes, the entire floor was polished, smooth amber, and spread out like a carpet to protect the treasure it held — lay shields, swords, banners, shell fragments, broken rifles, and old muskets. He recognized the crests of various kingdoms conquered by the Empire ages ago alongside more recent emblems. All these relics of victory and hardship formed a single shape outlined across the temple floor: a two-headed white phoenix, wings spread out wide. In one claw, it held the Sword of Kings, and in the other, an oak leaf.

The phoenix glowed in the light streaming through exquisite stained-glass windows, where warriors were shown with their swords, sabers, muskets, rifles, and standards, each bearing a triangular symbol above their heads — the sign of holiness in the Church of the Face of Light.

And beyond the altar, with a scripture in hand, rose a towering bronze figure covered in gilding. It appeared to hover there, cloaked in amber. Fifteen meters tall, it should have inspired awe and reverence through its sheer size alone, and yet… Instead of that, its face showed sorrow, its gaze nearly tearful as it looked down at its future congregation.

Ardan knew where he was.

This was the Temple of the Holy Warriors, which had begun construction decades ago at the command of the future Emperor, Great Prince Pavel. It was a building so grand that it had already been declared one of the new wonders of the world.

He wondered why they’d brought him here.

"Do you know what the Second Chancery’s officer’s mark is, Ard?"

Ardan turned sharply, nearly forgetting how to breathe. Beside him on the bench sat a man Ardi had hoped never to see again. Especially not in person.

The man wore a plain three-piece suit made from cheap but sturdy wool, cut practically and without embellishment. None other than the Emperor himself sat beside him, leaning on a heavy cane.

This was Pavel IV Agrov in the flesh. Up close, he looked even smaller than he had at the celebration. Ardan noted the lines etched into his face, and the circular scars from shrapnel that were not being covered by powder or talc, ones that disfigured half his visage. Red hair streaked with gray framed deep-set black eyes.

The Emperor kept his gaze fixed on the altar, at the feet of the giant figure of the Prophet.

A watch ticked upon his wrist, his plain shoes revealed the wood of his prosthetic leg, and his shirt seemed pressed by hand; a few tiny burn marks hinted as much.

Ardan, still stunned, jerked back a little too quickly, and a dozen Cloaks emerged from the shadows in response, but the Emperor gave a subtle wave, and they melted back into the darkness.

"Y-your Majesty… I mean, Your Imperial Majesty… I…"

"Do you know or not?" The Emperor asked again.

It was a simple question, spoken in an ordinary tone. The man was of medium height, perhaps a bit over one meter and eighty centimeters, with a slight build, and missing a leg. And yet, even while the Emperor was seated and leaning on his cane, Ardan felt as if he were standing at the foot of the Alkadian peaks — a towering, unyielding fixture of reality that seemed ready to challenge the sky itself for the right to touch the stars.

He was an immovable force. Monolithic. And unmistakably real.

The words to describe him came naturally, just from looking at Pavel’s face and eyes: resolute, unwavering.

"No," Ardi replied, inching back cautiously.

"Long ago, Ard," the Emperor’s tone was calm, even slightly dry. "When the King of Gales lost one of his first battles against the army of Ectassus, he found that he had nothing to pay his warband with upon his return. All that remained in his treasury were ten coins. Ten coins for an army of three thousand and five hundred swords. And he offered those ten coins to his men. And they… refused. They did not refuse to serve him. They refused the payment, telling their king that their reward would be the liberation of their homeland from the oppressors’ rule."

Ardan kept his mouth firmly shut. Interrupt the ruler of the New Monarchy? He’d just narrowly escaped one noose and wasn’t about to stick his neck into another.

"This began a tradition," the Emperor continued after a brief pause. "When the king, in the final battle, defeated the King of Ectassus, those few of his warband who’d survived to reach the Ectassus capital had already perished. They never saw the dawn of the new world… And those coins… or as they are called now, officer’s marks, they became a symbol, Ard. A symbol of absolute loyalty and service to their homeland. Only ten such coins exist in the entire world. Anyone caught stealing one is executed. The same goes for anyone attempting to forge one. They are passed from one benefactor to another as a testament of trust."

The Emperor extended his hand, placing the coin on the bench.

"Officer Kornosskiy passed this to you, deeming it necessary and right," Pavel turned his gaze back to the altar. "Now this coin is your burden. And it’s your or your descendants’ duty to pass it on to someone else you deem worthy, someone whose word will be heard, regardless of circumstances. But it will only be heard once, Ard. You may never use this coin for yourself again. You can only give it away."

Carefully, Ardan picked up the coin and placed it… in the pocket of his jacket. He only then realized that they had changed him out of his robe and back into his own clothes.

"So that means…" Ardan murmured, "That for five centuries, the crown has been paying its debt, and…"

Ard, who was, as usual, lost in the maze of his own thoughts and riddles, had forgotten where he was, who he was with, and most importantly — why.

"And it will continue to pay it," the Emperor nodded. "It’s the least the blood of Agrov can do for those who gave their lives for the homeland."

They fell silent. It wasn’t that Ardan didn’t know what to say. He just… wasn’t sure if he should.

"You’re resorting to your silent strategy again?" The Emperor’s tone softened, or so it seemed to Ardan. "The Colonel reported that you excel in that regard."

The Emperor… was joking? Or was it just his way of speaking? Either way, Ardi would have preferred to face off against the elf again, or even two of him… or three if he had to, rather than being here.

"I have a few documents with me," the Emperor reached over, picking up a folder next to him. On its cardboard cover, Ardan saw the red seal of a service memo: "To the Head of the Second Chancery. File of Ard (full name restricted to highest clearance) Egobar. Compiled by Yonatan Kornosskiy." Setting the folder on his knees, Emperor Pavel pulled out a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. "Height, weight… not important. Where is… ah, here it is: Cunning, careful, rarely makes hasty or reckless decisions. Sometimes this works against him — can display indecision. Observant. Excessively so. Possesses a lively mind and a remarkable ability to learn. Brave. Reckless in critical moments. My conclusion — Ard Egobar is currently not a danger to the state. But in the future, he may pose a serious threat. Recommendation: execution."

The Emperor closed the folder and set it aside, but Ardan noticed that there were several other papers inside it, not just Yonatan’s report.

"The Colonel said that your first impulse was to stab him with a knife, and yet the next officer reported that not only did you identify him, but in a deliberately created scenario, you showed no inclination toward impulsivity whatsoever."

A deliberately created…

What…

"My time is not unlimited, Ard," the Emperor suddenly said firmly. "You’d best start talking."

"You… You’re the Head of the Second Chancery!" Ardan almost shouted.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Not quite the answer I was looking for… What led you to that conclusion?"

"I was supposed to be delivered specifically to the Head."

"I might have found it necessary to speak with you myself instead."

"One of the Cloaks…" Ardan hesitated. "I mean, one of the Second Chancery agents once mentioned that there was no greater honor than serving the royal family… At the time, I thought he was just saying that… Then there was the fact they sent the Second Chancery for me instead of marshals or guards. Okt… Her Imperial Majesty told you everything, and-"

"It would be better to focus on the two events that interest me more, Ard," the Emperor — the Head of the Second Chancery — cut him off. "The incident in Baliero and the bank bombing."

Ardan told him his story. He did so in as much detail as he could manage, because he felt — he knew — that his life and his family’s well-being depended on it.

"That sounds absurd enough, Ard, that I’m inclined to believe you," the Emperor gestured slightly, and a Cloak emerged from the shadows to lean in close and listen to some whispered instructions before vanishing silently. "Now, Ard, can you explain to me why I would call these events absurd?"

Ardan swallowed hard, loosening a collar that suddenly felt too tight.

"Because neither the Dandy nor the Orcish Jackets would involve themselves in something that could remotely attract your attention."

"Precisely," the Emperor nodded. "Because they would be eliminated instantly."

Inwardly, Ardan added that if those gangs still operated in the heart of the Empire, there must’ve been a significant reason for it. What reason? He didn’t really care — he honestly didn’t want to even think about it.

The sooner he got out of the Metropolis, the better.

"So, that means they were framed," the Emperor continued. "The Orcish Jackets support the Firstborn. The Dandy serves as a mediator for factory workers. Crime, Ard, cannot be destroyed, but it can be harnessed. We use it on one side, while our enemies try to use it on the other… If we bleed these gangs dry, first, there will be unrest. Then the void left in their wake will quickly fill with new elements. Ones unknown to us."

"Your Imperial Majesty!" Ardan interjected hurriedly, lowering his gaze below shoulder level. "I can’t control my Witch’s Gaze, and-"

"It’s no more dangerous to me than a mosquito, Ard," the Emperor waved a hand dismissively. "I hear its irritating buzz, but it doesn’t concern me."

Ardan slowly raised his gaze to the Emperor’s. If the ability hadn’t affected him, then why…

"The dossier described me as a coward," Ardan whispered. "Smart and cowardly… Such people, they…"

"Don’t meddle where they shouldn’t," the Emperor confirmed his hunch. "And they also flee at the first opportunity. A person with such a trait inspires no desire in others to use them. They’d be too unreliable."

The dossier… It had been intentionally crafted to "hide" Ardan right in plain sight. And, seemingly, to also act as bait, to reveal those through whom it might leak into enemy hands.

But why such intricacy? Wouldn’t it have been simpler to send him away immediately after the coronation?

"Your Imperial Majesty," Ardi suddenly realized. "I need to tell you something else."

Pavel turned his head slightly toward him.

"Ard, the fact that you are just now mentioning this — whatever it may be — immediately tips the scales far from your favor," the Emperor replied after a moment’s pause, his tone low and steady.

Swallowing hard, Ardan began recounting the events of that night at the Palace of the Kings of the Past, where he had inadvertently become an eavesdropper to a conversation clearly not meant for the likes of him.

The Emperor listened in silence.

"Would you be able to identify the room where you overheard these gentlemen?" He asked after a moment.

"No," Ardan admitted honestly. Not only had too much time passed, but the labyrinthine passages, staircases, and corridors would make retracing his steps nearly impossible.

The Emperor nodded, calling over one of the Cloaks again. A few brief words were exchanged, and then the agent slipped back into the shadows.

Silence fell once more. The ruler of the Empire kept his gaze on the altar and the holy scripture laid upon it, while Ardan… weighed his chances of leaving this place alive and intact.

"Do you know why I decided to build this temple, Ard?" The Emperor asked suddenly, and Ardan, understanding the nature of rhetorical questions, didn’t respond. "Because, like every Emperor, after my death, I won’t get to see the Eternal Angels or the Face of Light. Only the abyss of hell awaits me for all that I’ve done and all I’m yet to do. But this temple, Ard… Perhaps it will make the people think of something bright and hopeful and associate it with my name. It might even turn into something that could outweigh all of my sins."

Ardan wasn’t entirely sure what the Emperor was talking about. The people adored their new ruler, seeing him as nearly a second coming of the Prophet. The same couldn’t be said for his older sister, Isabella. The Grand Princess had frequently made newspaper headlines, finding herself embroiled in scandals, or she’d been inappropriately drunk in questionable places — she’d even had an affair with the son of a foreign ambassador.

Then she’d vanished in a yachting accident, and the line of succession had passed to her younger brother, Pavel.

And now…

Ardan’s thoughts scattered, jumping around like restless rabbits, leaving him unable to capture them and hold them still. Answers to some questions surfaced, only to be replaced by even more unanswered mysteries, like the latest realization that struck him — a truth so large he could barely think it, much less say it out loud.

The Emperor and the Head of the Second Chancery should not be the same person. Such a union of roles invited inevitable corruption and abuse of power, something the Empire, at times even to its own detriment, had long strived to prevent.

But just like the role of Emperor, the position of the Head of the Second Chancery (which was always kept secret from the public) was a lifelong appointment. Which meant Pavel Agrov had commanded the Cloaks even before his coronation.

And now… Recalling all that was known about his older sister who’d perished in a so-called accident…

"The Head of the Second Chancery is always the Emperor’s second-born, Ard," the Emperor gripped the head of his cane tightly. "For who better than the ruler’s own blood to guard the Empire? The Second Chancery shields our homeland from threats invisible to the common citizen. From challenges that the guards and the army cannot answer. We wear black because we act in the shadows. We are the shield. But not a harmless one, Ard. Each of us who wears the black is condemned to hell for the darkness we wield — a necessary evil. Without it, our country would have long been torn apart by our enemies, both external and internal."

Ardan felt like he couldn’t breathe, as though he would suffocate at any moment. He tried to keep his composure but knew… He knew the Emperor had understood.

Pavel understood it all…

"Isabella was a threat to our homeland, and I made the only decision that could protect us," Pavel’s voice was firm, resolute, yet filled with a quiet sorrow. "We removed that threat, Ard. Just as we will find those behind this new conspiracy and destroy them as well. And those who will come after them, and the ones after them. Every enemy of the Empire, every single one, we will kill them, Ard. We will cast them down into that abyss, the one into which we ourselves will descend someday, to kill them again. That is the Second Chancery — the heirs of the warband of the Kings of the Past. So long as there is an enemy, Ard, spare them no mercy. Destroy them without pity or doubt. To the very end. To the last drop of their blood."

Ardan swallowed. He now understood the darkness he had glimpsed in the Emperor’s eyes. And he knew why it had seemed like if he looked into them for too long, he would be devoured by the ravenous fish lurking in the depths of those black pools.

Emperor Pavel IV loved his country. His homeland. He loved it so deeply that anyone standing in Pavel’s way was fated to meet one singular end.

And that was why the Lord-General had paled. He understood this, too, and so did the other confidants of the Emperor, the man who was publicly considered a soft-hearted ruler, one focused on enlightenment and progress.

"We live in a world with newspapers, books, railways, and airships, Ard," the Emperor seemed to read his thoughts. "This is a world of accessible information. But in a world of accessible information, the truth itself remains beyond the reach of the majority."

Ardan looked away. He had found the answer to his question. Whatever happened from here on out, he would not leave this place the same man who had entered it. Who would let a man walk free after he knew such truths about the Emperor that…

And yet, why had he been told all of this? The Emperor would never reveal this without…

"I’ll tell you two stories, Ard," the Emperor said suddenly. "After which, you’ll board a train and head for Delpas. Hug your mother and brother. Shake your stepfather’s hand, maybe even play with your sister if you feel like it. And then you’ll decide for yourself — will you stay there, or come back here? Now listen carefully, for I won’t repeat myself, and when I’m finished, we likely won’t ever speak again."

Ardan became the very embodiment of attention, eyes fixed on the Emperor, absorbing his every word.

"I’ll begin in a somewhat roundabout way, Ard," the Emperor leaned back against the bench, eyes half-closed. "An enemy, Ard, if they are a true enemy, one who seeks your demise rather than merely to take something from you, will always act the same way. First, they’ll take away your god, for without a celestial law, what guide is there to reveal earthly laws as unjust? How do you know a person in power is wrong if there is no god above them? So, Ard, be wary of those who try to slay your gods."

For a moment, Ardan wondered if the Emperor might be rambling, but Pavel had said that he would be going at this in a roundabout manner.

"The second thing your enemy will take from you is your family. For if you have no family, why should you care if the decisions of others, or any new changes for that matter, affect the children or families of strangers? After all, they’re not yours. Both humans and the Firstborn, no matter how noble, will always see things through their personal vision," the Emperor continued. "And the last thing your enemy will take is your homeland. They’ll smear its history, and you along with it. For if you have no homeland, Ard, then what difference does it make what happens to the land you live on, correct?"

Ardan simply remained silent. He didn’t understand where the Emperor was going with this.

"You see me as the enemy, Ard," the Emperor raised a hand, stopping Ardan from saying anything. "Don’t deny it. I know the truth already. You think I killed your great-grandfather, that my ancestors destroyed your people — or at least half of your people. Because, if my sources are correct, your mother is descended from the Galessians?"

Ardan nodded. Indeed, his mother’s lineage traced back to the Kingdom of Gales, as did that of over half the current Empire. But what did that have to do with this?

"But if a true enemy, Ard, first seeks to take away your god, then tell me — do the Firstborn not still practice the faith of the Sleeping Spirits?" The Emperor asked unexpectedly. "Tell me, Ard, have any shrines been burned or sanctuaries destroyed by the state forces in the Alcade? Are the Firstborn forbidden from taking human wives, hoping their blood will prove stronger? And has anyone ever denied the borders of your lands?"

"But the Matabar were slain," Ardan blurted out.

The Emperor nodded solemnly.

"Now consider what would have happened if you hadn’t been allowed to tell your story, and the Second Chancery hadn’t started investigating the framing of the Orcish Jackets and the Dandy. Yes, precisely, an investigation will still happen — don’t think I’d blindly believe you, Ard, though I see no reason for you to lie, as any falsehood would be exposed, and you’re far too clever not to realize this."

"You’re suggesting that the extermination of the Matabar was someone’s-"

"I’ve said what I intended to, Ard," the Emperor cut him off. "But that was only the introduction. I promised you two stories, and so I will tell them. The first story, Ard, begins over two centuries ago. At that time, Emperor Gabriel VII had his first son. The boy grew up intelligent and strong, a worthy heir to his father. Soon, he also had a brother — Jacob."

Ardan remembered those names. Great Prince Jacob had been the younger son of the Empire’s ruler back then, the one who’d died in the battle against the Dark Lord’s army at the fortress of Pashar.

"But Jacob entered this world physically frail, and the healers weren’t certain he’d even live to see his second birthday," the Emperor continued. "Gabriel searched for a solution, and eventually, he found the courage to turn to those he had once hated and despised. He sent for an Aean’Hane from the ranks of the Firstborn, hoping he could save Jacob. And in response, surprisingly, they answered his plea. A wise man arrived in the Metropolis and lived in the Imperial Palace for two years. Then, when Jacob grew stronger, the wise man disappeared as suddenly as he’d arrived. Perhaps he’d hoped this would improve the plight of the Firstborn… But it did not. Gabriel continued to fear the Aean’Hane’s power, which, at the time, still exceeded the capabilities of our technology and Star Magic. And so, the Emperor, striving to protect his country, continued his policy of repression."

Ardan still recalled his history lessons on this period. Teacher Parnas had described the internal politics of that era in great detail.

"Jacob grew up, and Gabriel had more children: two girls and another boy," Pavel set his cane aside, leaning down to unfasten the straps on his prosthetic leg. He set it aside without any self-consciousness, revealing the disfigured stump left behind by an artillery blast. "They taunted Jacob, who couldn’t fight back. His beloved older brother had already entered the military and couldn’t defend him. And so, Gabriel decided to send Jacob as an envoy’s apprentice to Castilia. There, Jacob spent the next seven years, writing monthly letters to his older brother in which he expressed his desire to return. He found Castilia fine but boring."

This part, Parnas had not covered… Perhaps not out of a desire to leave it out, but simply because such details wouldn’t appear in any schoolbook.

"After returning home, Jacob, who was now much older, spent his time haunting the new Grand Library, which my grandfather would later transform into the Imperial Magical University."

"So it’s not called the Grand because of its size?!" Ardan couldn’t help but blurt out.

"Not at all, Ard," the Emperor allowed himself a faint smile. "Anyway, Jacob became close with the chief librarian. They would often debate, spending hours together, until Jacob realized that the chief librarian was the same wise man who had saved him in his childhood."

"And then Jacob asked the sage to teach him the art of the Aean’Hane. And, as it turned out, despite being an ordinary human, he possessed an astonishing, unparalleled aptitude for both the Firstborn’s art and Star Magic. In less than ten years, Jacob became so powerful that he could no longer conceal it. And so, he went to the heir to the throne, his older brother, to reveal his vision of the future. He said that our country would never be strong and resilient as long as we denied the wealth of knowledge possessed by the Firstborn. He argued that, if we had an alliance with them, rather than constantly fighting against them, we could reach heights beyond imagination. But his brother… Though intelligent, he was still shackled by the vision of their father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and the many ancestors of the Agrov line who’d remembered the horrors wrought by the Kingdom of Ectassus and the cruelties inflicted by the Firstborn upon humanity. And he refused to listen. Just as their father refused to listen to Jacob."

"So Great Prince Jacob… acted by himself?" Ardan felt like his words were as heavy as stones.

"Precisely, Ard," the Emperor nodded.

The weight of this knowledge pressed down on Ardan, as though the walls of the temple were collapsing onto his shoulders, the distant ceiling ready to bury him beneath the enormity of the truth unfolding before him.

"The Emperor’s second child is always the Head of the Second Chancery..." Ardan whispered. "But the Second Chancery, which was disbanded after the incident with Lady Talia on the Enario border, was not reconstituted until after the defeat of the Dark Lord..."

"To stop a man from finding the truth, Ard, place him between two lies. He will begin to seek the truth among them," the Emperor confirmed. "The Second Chancery never disbanded, it only retreated into the shadows. But that’s not the point... Jacob asked the wise man for a chance to speak to the heads of the Firstborn. And the wise man helped him. Jacob outlined his plan, and the Firstborn agreed to an alliance. This was the message he brought to his father and brother. That there would be no more oppression. That they could try, even if not immediately, even if it took a lifetime, to live together. But his dear brother and his sensitive father were once again blind and deaf to his arguments. And then... Then Jacob made the only right decision. He put his country before himself and his family. He dressed in black and rebelled."

Ardan just kept opening and closing his mouth in silence.

"Great Prince Jacob was the Dark Lord? A mere human?"

"Whether he was any kind of ’mere’ or not, that’s a question for the Eternal Angels," the Emperor replied curtly.

"But Jacob died at Pashar Fortress! And the Dark Lord was executed in the Metropolis!"

"Two lies, Ard, two lies," the Emperor reminded him. "It wasn’t Jacob who died at Pashar Fortress, but the Dark Lord… and it was your great-grandfather, Aror Egobar, who killed him. With his own two hands."

"What?!" Ardan jumped to his feet in shock.

The Cloaks surged forward again, but as before, the Emperor raised a hand, and they retreated.

"Jacob had become drunk on the power he’d wielded," the Emperor continued calmly. "When his older brother saw the horrors he had unleashed, he was ready to negotiate. But Jacob refused. He wanted to eradicate all dissenters and take the throne himself to resolve every issue by his own hand. He believed that was the right course. But power, Ard, is a slow poison for which there is no cure. Sooner or later, it corrupts us all. I only hope that whoever succeeds me as Head of the Second Chancery will have the strength to make the right decisions, even if those decisions involve me… But let’s return to the story."

Ardan’s mind reeled as he struggled to reconcile another crucial detail. Emperor Pavel IV had no official heirs other than Anastasia. Official being the operative word there…

"Aror Egobar, after realizing that he had created a monster, destroyed that very same monster," the Emperor went on. "There, at Pashar Fortress, he defeated the Dark Lord in a duel of magic. He took the Staff of Stars and the Sword of Darkness, hid them, and afterwards… presented himself in the Metropolis," the Emperor paused to rub the scarred remains of his leg, and then continued. "By then, Pavel II, my great-great-grandfather, had already concocted a tale about how his younger brother had perished heroically, while a convicted criminal, whose identity remains unknown, was executed as the Dark Lord. And so, the people of the Empire were placed between two lies. Never forget, Ard, that the masses must never learn the truth, for it would only bring catastrophe."

Feeling utterly drained, Ardan sank back onto the bench.

"But why?" He whispered. "Why did my great-grandfather return to the Metropolis… Why did he… what…?"

Ardan stumbled over his words, the questions now so numerous he couldn’t decide which to ask first, each seeming more pressing than the last.

"I don’t know, Ard," the Emperor said, "and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, because it would be your family’s story, not mine," he began reattaching the prosthetic to his leg. "Still, perhaps you can now see how the Egobar and Agrov families embarked on the same path centuries ago… My great-great-grandfather, Pavel II, made every effort to realize his younger brother’s vision after ascending to the throne. Sadly, he encountered fierce resistance — not only from the system, but from the common people who couldn’t understand why their ruler had suddenly embraced the ideas of the defeated Dark Lord. And you already know the rest of the story, Ard."

"The era of reforms began," Ardan murmured.

"And continues to this day," the Emperor finished fastening his prosthetic and let his pant leg drop over it. "It’s no easy feat to overcome millennia of enmity, Ard. Jacob believed it could be done within a single lifetime, but he would have drowned the country in blood in the attempt. Pavel II thought differently. He figured that it would be better to enact gradual, nearly invisible changes so they would take root in the system without triggering massive upheavals. As for the smaller troubles, we could manage those."

"Who became the Head of the Second Chancery after Jacob?"

"Great Princess Antonina, Gabriel VII’s third child," the Emperor replied calmly. "This brings the first story to an end, Ard, and begins the second. This one started over thirty years ago, on our border with the Principality of Fatia. A young and inexperienced cavalryman went to inspect a frontier fort. Though he had been trained since childhood to become the Head of the Second Chancery, somehow, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, he overlooked a spy within his ranks. That spy led the cavalryman and his soldiers into an ambush, trapping three hundred men against a Fatian regiment of two and a half thousand. Along with his troops, the cavalryman took cover on a hill, in an old, abandoned castle. They held the enemy at bay for three days until reinforcements arrived — reinforcements in the form of the Sixth Division of the Third Army’s Special Reconnaissance and Diversion Corps, led by Major Hec Abar. I lost my leg, but kept my life."

"My father?!"

"I only recently learned that Hec Abar and Hector Egobar were one and the same, Ard," the Emperor closed his eyes, gripping his cane tightly. "By then, you were already in the capital. And that’s where my stories end."

"But… but…" Ardan could hardly hold back his questions, bursting with them as he was. "Why did my great-grandfather return to the capital? Why did my father help you when the Empire had exterminated the Matabar? It can’t just be a coincidence that it was my great-grandfather who came to treat Jacob! What if Jacob wasn’t even sick, but was poisoned instead? It’s extremely strange that Jacob decided to usurp power... So, the Fatian Massacre happened because the Fatians wanted to capture you? And why did my father fake his death…"

As Ardan paused to catch his breath, he looked at the Emperor, who remained impassive, save for a brief, calm response:

"I don’t know, Ard," he said. "I don’t have the answers to all your questions."

One last question lingered — the question Ardan dreaded asking, though he knew he had to.

"Why did you tell me all of this?"

"Because, Ard, there is no record of a command to exterminate the Matabar in the archives of the Second Chancery," the Emperor replied. "Such an order could only have come from the Head. And every one of my predecessors, myself included, keeps a journal of events that… do not make it into the history books. In these journals, I found no such record. And yet, as we both know, it was indeed the Second Chancery that led the punitive mission in the Alcade."

"I… I…"

"You don’t believe me," the Emperor noted, sparing Ardan from voicing the doubt he didn’t dare to express aloud to the ruler. "And you have every right to feel that way. I’m no mage, Ard, nor am I Firstborn. I’m a soldier and a guardian who was never meant to be Emperor. But people like us, Ard, we don’t choose our fate. I was born with Agrov blood, and so I serve my homeland and my people, bearing the weight of my family’s history. You, Ard, carry Egobar blood and bear your family’s history… As the mountain hunters would say, the leader of the pack isn’t the one who’s the strongest, but the one who…"

"Carries the heaviest burden," Ardan completed the phrase.

"Your upbringing has taught you to protect your pack, Ard," the Emperor, supporting himself with his cane, rose and traced a triangle symbol across his chest with an open palm — a gesture that went from one’s forehead to their shoulders and back again — as he bowed to the altar. "I invite you to look beyond. Your pack doesn’t end within the Alcade’s depths. Why not see the entire country as your pack? Think about that. Think of the good you could do."

"You-"

"I’m offering you a place in the Second Chancery, Ard," the Emperor replied without hesitation. "I’m offering you the chance to uncover who orchestrated the Matabar massacre and to investigate this current conspiracy."

"But…"

"In your dossier," the Emperor gestured toward the folder on the bench, "there’s a wealth of information suggesting that you would make an excellent investigator, though only after years of practice. It’ll most likely take years of training, too… And we’ll have to deal with your rising academic standing at the Grand, though the Colonel is already daydreaming about how that might be put to use. So, to conclude our conversation, Ard, go to Delpas. Celebrate. If you choose to stay there, I’ll know that I was wrong. But rest assured, no one will strip your family of what they have been given. You fulfilled the conditions of our deal, albeit in a rather unusual way."

The Emperor paused, and Ardan seized the moment of silence, mindful of not interrupting him.

"But then why was my great-grandfather executed? He…"

The Emperor looked at Ardan… and he seemed a little disappointed.

"Have you really not figured it out yet, Ard? Then I fear it will take a little longer to train you if you decide to accept my offer."

And Ardan understood.

"You spent so long searching for us… Your wife couldn’t give you a precise location beyond the Alcade itself, vast as it is… And Yonatan couldn’t tell the Empress Consort about our family problems… Not unless… Not unless if he knew it beforehand. From somewhere else. Even before Empress Consort started to bargain… The story of the sawmill and the Ley-wolves… Only Cassara mentioned it. And Cassara knew my great-grandfather. That means… That means I was choosing between two lies."

"Exactly," the Emperor confirmed Ardan’s insight. "Aror himself somehow had a word with Cassara and, through her, made a deal with me. He offered his own life in exchange for me presenting your family’s amnesty as a reward for his voluntary departure from this world. That was his wish. That’s all I know. As for my wife, her initial sloppy remarks in an attempt to keep you incognito were a coincidence. It happens sometimes. And once she understood that your existence was no secret, she did what she could to provide your family with some additional benefits that were not originally agreed upon with Aror. But the fact that the Crown made a deal with Aror is classified information, so my wife still believes that your arrival here is her fault. And unfortunately, I have no way to lighten her burden."

Ardan felt his throat tighten… His great-grandfather… His father… why? Why had they both…

The Emperor picked up the folder and adjusted his hat.

"Whatever you decide, as I said earlier, we’re unlikely to meet again. A meeting like this would attract far too much attention."

Ardan looked from the Emperor to the altar and back again.

"Why a temple?"

The Emperor paused, and the Cloaks who had gathered around the Head of the Second Chancery and ruler of one sixth of the world’s landmass and one fifth of its population stood still.

"How else can I know if I’m wrong unless I anchor myself to a law higher than any other?" The Emperor replied without turning. "When I enter a room, Ard, the Face of Light enters ahead of me. How can I then show weakness before Him? When I negotiate, the Face of Light listens to me. And when I make decisions, the Face of Light watches. Only in this way can I hold myself back from the fate that befell Jacob. Or I can try, at least… Farewell, Ard."

Along with his Cloaks, Emperor Pavel IV left the temple, leaving Ardan alone with the sorrowful bronze-and-golden visage of the Prophet. And Ardi was sure that if he could find a portrait of Great Prince Jacob somewhere, it would become clear whom the sculptor had modeled the face of the Prophet after.

Ardi remained seated for a long time, nervously toying with the black coin in his hands… He felt so unsure. Unsure of what, exactly? At that moment, he felt as though he knew nothing at all.

Over the past three seasons, his life had been flipped upside down so many times that he often felt as though he were living on a carousel — a cruel carousel that never let him plant his feet on solid ground.

"Don’t hold it against Yonatan," a familiar voice told him.

Ardi turned and saw Cat sitting behind him. This was the same Cloak who had once taken Ardan to the Grand. Only now, instead of gray hair (Ardi must have been fooled by a wig before), he sported a short, modern haircut and had black hair. His cheeks were also not as chubby as before — they’d likely been padded then.

Otherwise, Cat hadn’t changed much. He looked to be around thirty-five.

"What?"

"Yonatan," Cat said, lounging back with his hands behind his head. "He recommends everyone for termination. He even tries to get Cassara executed at least once every quarter. It’s his paranoia, which is a side effect of his mutations. Doesn’t trust even his own shadow. But that’s probably why he’s one of our most effective operatives… and investigator."

"Uh-huh," Ardan managed to mutter.

"In shock, huh? Understandable… The Emperor may be the Head of the Second Chancery, but it’s really the Colonel who runs things day-to-day," Cat spoke of the rank as if it were a name. "His Imperial Majesty doesn’t have time to deal with Chancery affairs. The Empire and all that… But if you feel like blabbing — don’t. No one would like it. It’s an open secret, really. Everyone who needs to know is already aware. But the general public isn’t. Let them continue living without any extra worries."

"Uh-huh," Ardi repeated.

"Yep," Cat clicked his tongue, standing up with a smooth spin of his hat before placing it on his head with a deft movement. "Come on, Magister, let’s get you out of here. This time, I’ll play driver again, but instead of heading to the Grand, we’re going to the station. Good thing they finished building a direct line to Delpas."

"But my things…"

"Please, Magister, give me some credit. Everything’s already loaded in the car."

Ardan rose, nearly stumbling back onto the bench.

"What about Top Hat?"

Cat took a second to process his question before bursting into laughter.

"You’re calling the Lord-General that? Well, that’s a hoot!"

"The Emperor must have known that he was sent to interrogate me, which means that… This was done to determine where the Upper Chamber stands…"

"Oh, we’ll definitely train you in less than a few years," Cat slapped him on the shoulder. "But don’t aim so high. We operatives and investigators handle simpler matters. Politics and court intrigues are for other people who are much better suited for it than we are."

Together, they left the temple and climbed into a car. It was a somewhat battered, old vehicle with a less-than-pleasant interior. They drove off the construction site, which, curiously (or not curiously at all), was deserted that evening. No one was around, not even the guards.

They drove through the streets and avenues. Snow fell outside, and people bustled about, preparing for the holiday. Storefronts glowed. Lights flickered. People flitted from shop to shop. And Ardan looked at it all, unsure of what to feel, unsure of what to think.

He was leaving the Metropolis. Cat, chatting cheerfully as he did so, was driving them toward the station, while Ardi gazed at his own reflection in the foggy glass, knowing… nothing.

Around him, the city prepared to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. In a few days, families would gather for festive dinners, bringing out their finest and rarest foods. People would dress in their best suits and gowns. And, of course, there would be decorated trees festooned with ornaments.

As for Ardi… he was barely aware of the fact that he’d crossed half the city with Cat. He didn’t even notice the time he’d spent waiting for his train’s departure in the crowded waiting room, and finally, just as they parted ways, he heard:

"Hope to see you again, big guy," Cat winked, helping Ardi hoist his satchel and duffle bag onto the train step.

"Your ticket, please," asked the conductor.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Cat slapped his forehead, handing over a brown document.

"That’s the seated carriage for Firstborn… Eternal Angels, the separation was canceled a month ago. I keep forgetting. Just a seat, bench fourteen," the conductor clicked his metal puncher, leaving two holes in the ticket. "To Delpas."

Ardan couldn’t even remember if he’d said goodbye to the Cloak. He made his way down the narrow passage, finding himself in a crowded carriage filled with passengers. Instead of cozy compartments with cushioned seats, tables, and cabinets, there were rows of double-sided, wooden, lacquered benches, all of them occupied by people awaiting departure. Above them, their luggage rested on metal racks secured by straps.

Ardan placed his duffle bag and satchel up on the rack and sat down in his assigned seat, wedged between two rather large women who were loudly discussing the price of pork. Children chattered nearby. Exhausted parents scolded them. Someone was drinking. Others clearly hadn’t bathed in a while and couldn’t afford perfume.

As for Ardi… He just looked at the city receding in the distance as the train pulled away with a whistle and a cloud of steam.

He was going home to his family.