Visions of Peace

by Elessar

FF6: Devastated by the Imperial Civil War, a leaderless, divided Empire only hastens the encroaching shadows of another Dark Age. Our heroes fight to ensure peace for all peoples of the world, but can even they halt the inevitable ruin of civilization?

19. To Provoke a Colossus

Author Notes: Well, my apologies for the long delay. I thank all you patient readers, and especially my editor Intrasonic and a few other special folks that kept me going -- you know who you are.

I cannot guarantee any scheduled updates, but I will try. Life has not been kind recently and I have found myself displaced in multiple ways. But, enough drama from me. Or perhaps, more drama from me in the next installment of Visions of Peace.

Enjoy. ;)

PS: A map has been made available at my (sparse) site at http://www.sord.ca/images/VoP-sprite.png

The Nineteenth Chapter - To Provoke a Colossus

"And if you would follow me down Imperial Way, the view is quite phenomenal," she was saying as she rounded the corner. "The rebuilt bridge overlooks the industrial district and also winds back towards the Palace. It's quite popular, even with uphill climb. You're lucky, today it's been cleared of everyone other than selected troops and personnel."

Despite the season, the ground was free of dirt and mud. The road was paved over with a layer of smooth, black rock that had been melted flat; it resisted the rain far better than mere cobblestone.

The two were strolling along a deserted Imperial Way as it rose higher and higher. As the pair ascended, they could glance past the guardrails and see the tips of newly constructed buildings. Those that were finished were a sight to behold, many stories tall with polished marble forming intertwined arches. They had been built in homage to Albrook but redesigned for rapid construction.

The bridge they were approaching was wrought of great steel beams that formed triangular trusses, strung with steel wire and painted a brilliant Imperial Red. Standing guard at both ends were four soldiers wearing ceremonial uniforms. The men straightened and saluted the esteemed guests as they crossed.

"On the northern side," she gestured with a gloved hand, "you'll notice that while empty, the fields are clear of rubble. The Imperial Forum, the Imperial Senate -- where the House of Lords gathered -- and the Magitek Labs used to be there," she pointed out meaningfully.

A frown. "They'll rebuild it, won't they?"

"Actually no, though I wouldn't take that as a sign that Magitek is being given up on. The factory itself was moved somewhere secret while the scientists were divided between there and the Palace."

"It was in a strange place; the middle of a city so crowded that anyone dedicated enough could sneak in."

She suppressed a scoff. "Well the official reason is for an Imperial Garden. The Empress has given approval to fill that space with the most exotic trees and flowers, something for the public to enjoy as well as maintaining the balance."

He pulled his cloak closer, the white-washed cloth was much too thick for the warm temperatures of spring, but it was chilly on the bridge. A northerly gust howled as the pair turned their attention in the opposite direction.

"There are quite a few parks. Vector doesn't look anything like I remember," he remarked. Hundreds of tall buildings had sprung from what was once rubble, and dozens more were in the process of construction. Their metallic, skeletal frames stretched high into the sky where equally tall cranes were lifting massive steel beams to complete the superstructure.

The Imperial Capital was not just recovering, but bettering itself. It was a hurricane of activity, hundreds of thousands of citizens rebuilding the pride of civilization. Thousands more arrived each day, storming the city in search of jobs and business opportunity. Vector welcomed them with open arms and continued to provide the very finest for its growing population.

"Balance is the buzzword," she answered. "With a chance to start anew, everything was pre-planned to avoid mistakes of the past. Those committees alone wasted weeks," she continued with a roll of the eyes.

He looked up into the clear sky. Only in the far distance -- towards Strachan -- did a small, fluffy white cloud blemish the sapphire expanse. "It's so clear," he remarked. "Did they scrap all the factories?"

"The opposite actually -- there are dozens more -- but recent advances in technology and experience gained from cleaning the hellrains have resulted in much cleaner output. Those that work in the factories have been quite pleased and the word has spread, thousands have arrived to look for jobs."

Near the center of the bridge and overlooking the huge urban sprawl that was Vector, his eyes judged the so-called changes to the Imperial Center. The over-concentration of factories and residences was gone and there was vibrant green to offset cold metal and dirty brick. It was still Vector no doubt -- the layout seemed to be the same -- but everything seemed... healthier.

The pair was quiet. No more questions remained and nothing was left to say about work, he had even discussed the weather. They could only stare at Vector for so long.

Someone had to take the first step.

"I'm-" his voice faltered and instead, he quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes darted towards him. "About what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

The guilt had been eating at him for months though. At first, there was always danger and so the opportunity never presented itself. Always the next day, but the days had become weeks and the weeks stretched out into months.

"The past."

"I've already forgiven and forgotten," she answered. But if that was the truth, he didn't know. "The past is just that, right?"

"Sometimes, the past is all that keeps you going," he whispered under his breath. She couldn't hear him of course, and instead he wondered again whether she really meant what she said. On the surface, it certainly looked that way.

After more awkward silence, he decided to leave it at that. "What you've done, what you've made Vector into... it's so different; so beautiful. I didn't think it was possible."

She smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

The pair continued off the bridge, ceremonial guard on the other side saluting them with the same vigour as the first. Imperial Way wound towards the walls of the Palace where flawless, unnatural dark stone towered protectively. The extraordinary material had a glossy sheen, reflecting warm sunlight back onto the road. Palace gardeners had taken advantage of this and planted flowers of all colours along the side of Imperial Way, their aromas mixing together into a delightful, sweet scent that lingered in the cool spring air.

They both took deeper breaths as they strolled beside the walls. He looked out of place, an experienced, militant warrior who contrasted with the peaceful paradise around them. She, however, was beauty personified. A pure white dress made of flowing silk, finely detailed embroidery and intricate lace lappets made for a dazzlingly display. Her train floated in the air behind her, wrought of silver and gold that sparkled in the sunlight. Her pale features were accentuated, long lustrous locks of silver hair fluttering unrestrained in the breeze.

The soldiers guarding the entrance to the Imperial Palace stood taller in their presence, the pair passing beneath an archway of majestic proportions and into the courtyards.

"Strange, I don't see the Imperial Guard," he noted. "Why aren't the black trims guarding the gates?"

She shrugged. "General Donner is still head of the armies that once comprised of the New Order's forces. The Empress was politically-wise; she avoided persecuting the First Citizen's inner circle and actually allowed them to retain their positions. I wouldn't worry too much about the Palace's defence, those here have always been here." Her arms were clasped behind her back, posture straight and proud. "After a while, you don't even notice the difference; Imperial Guardsmen or otherwise."

A mischievous, knowing smirk. "I understand quite well," he replied.

There they climbed hundreds of stairs in silence, for words would betray disbelief at how quickly the Palace had been rebuilt. Every bit as imposing as the walls themselves, metal and stone had been fused together into a domineering symbol. Gone was any hint that the Palace had been attacked. The dead had long since cleared, the rubble removed and Magitek Armor corpses replaced by the latest, most advanced symbols of Imperial Might. The flags of the Empire flapped in the wind, red and black threads bearing the Imperial Emblem.

The Empire was sending a message -- a warning -- to its enemies: its spirit was vigorous, its resolve steadfast, and its strength was undiminished.

Those that ignored it did so at their own peril.

---

"The Imperial Palace itself has been restored as much as possible. Many treasures -- irreplaceable works of art, culture, and various unique creations -- were destroyed in the fires though."

It was left unsaid that with such losses, civilization itself was diminished.

They stopped in an empty chamber of such gargantuan proportions that it could have housed a thousand people and still be considered empty. Metallic walkways that hung from the ceiling or protruded from the bare walls were all that decorated the room.

"As you can see, the Imperial Library was hit the hardest by the fires. Hundreds of years of history have been lost; books that dated back to the foundation of the Empire, the Dark Ages before that, and even some from the War of the Magi," she stopped in her tracks, her footsteps upon metal echoing in the great chamber. "We believe the barbarians took great pains to destroy this place, the desecrationhere was more thorough than anything other than the Magitek Labs."

He was silent, for the imagination could not envision the number of tomes that had been burnt to ash. The idea that so many generations of knowledge was gone forever without recourse; it was a humbling thought.

"Let's head this way; it's less depressing down the eastern wing."

The sound of children's laughter echoed along the corridors, their mischief and hearty spirit spreading good cheer to any who heard it.

Eyes wandered and noted the general quality of the hallway. Their boots made impressions in the soft, plush rugs that ran down the length of the hall. The walls seemed a brighter shade. The air was a little fresher. His attention to detail noted that even the lights were individually-painted, each a work of art in its own right.

"It seems deserted," he noted as he passed empty room after empty room, their doors open to all.

""This wing used to house the officers' quarters; Emperor Gestahl preferred his commanders close by. However, Empress Danielle, though she has not taken away such a privilege, regularly stays on the field with her troops. The commanders have followed suit, but to be perfectly honest, it's not as if many could take a vacation. Halstead, Tzen, Ethelben, Mansfield, Sellenger, Vickers... the army is spread thinly."

The children sounded closer.

They paused in front of two expansive rooms. "You're lucky, the Palace is closed today -- aside from the never-ending line of supplicants," she added under her breath. "Anyways, this wing is open to the public and is normally a crowded mess."

"All of it?"

"Up until these two rooms, which are the highlights of the tour." She gestured and he entered the first room. It was a luxurious suite, bare but clearly once filled with many awards and merits of a high ranking officer. Outlines of medals were burned into the walls, empty bookshelves carefully replaced in their original locations. A lonely wooden desk and plush chair sat in the first chamber and the connected room was no different. An empty closet, deserted bed, and a few trophies of battle were all that made up the bedroom.

It was bounds more interesting than emptiness, but even then there wasn't all that much to see. Now if the prize swords could have told their tales... His eyes wandered across the bare bedroom, halting at an out-of-place object sitting atop a bookshelf. The white, fluffy-stuffed moogle seemed to be staring at him in approval.

"Like the rest of the palace," she continued, "the barbarians stole all that interested them and burned the rest. But time wasn't on their side. They missed a lot, especially in this wing. A couple of her old books were found here, and one of the maids that personally cleaned this suite helped restore the room to its original arrangement."

"Her?" he echoed.

"This room belonged to Celes," she answered as if it was self-evident. "The one opposite was Leo's. By the Empress' decree, both are now enshrined and dedicated to their legends."

His eyes returned to the nigh-empty room; everything seemed cast in a different light.

"Leo's room is even less interesting, so let's continue down the wing," she said as she continued forth.

He left Celes' room slowly, casting one last look at the stuffed animal. Hurrying to catch up, he passed a gaggle of children playing in another large suite.

"Kefka's room," she answered the unspoken question with a raised eyebrow. "I believe it's the Empress' idea of poetic justice."

They shared a quiet chuckle as they continued, finally stopping in front of two, large wooden doors. The great archway could fit many a Magitek Armor within its domain.

"The Emperor's quarters are still cordoned off," she noted as she stared at the magically blockaded entrance. "No one has dared enter and the Empress has decreed that none shall try."

"Strange. Why?"

"Well, the Empress rarely remains in the Palace. As I said, she tends to stay with the army like the soldier-Emperor she is, and so it would be a waste of funds. Now the Throne Room was repaired, but that's because supplicants must be met in a place that's worthy. Her quarters on the other hand, aren't a priority until she deems it. We decided not to argue with the Empress on such minor matters."

"That sounds stupid, wouldn't the usual mass of advisors and nobles have to follow her around the Empire then? Ruling from the road seems like it'd be the waste of funds she fears."

"The Empress rarely intervenes on civilian matters, leaving administration largely in our hands. Her rule has been hands-off for the most part, she is a military General -- born and raised -- and fully understands her own limitations."

A shocked look. "Are you telling me that she gave up her power?"

"Not entirely. All things are still done in her name, but the only active role she plays is in the Armed Forces and we're all grateful for it. The military is quite unstable; grudges from the slaughter and bloodshed of the Civil War don't fade away because the Empress decrees it."

"Who runs the Empire in her name then? A council of sorts?"

"Anson Tilton is the undisputed leader in many respects; he is still the First Citizen," she answered. "While the Empress holds the reins to the Armed Forces, the First Citizen has singly kept the Empire from collapsing. The Civil War was akin to chopping off one's own legs; devastating every corner of the Empire."

A silent nod.

"Not a single family is without someone to bury," she continued darkly. "The First Citizen has done everything in his power to guide the transition from such a dark era. He is highly regarded by all, even his former enemies."

The pair continued through the palace, receiving salutes from every guard they passed until the Marble Square. It was the center of the Imperial Palace, not physically but rather where everyone congregated. The front doors and lobby could be seen if one's eyes were good enough, and both eastern and western wings met here, stairs leading up and down the long corridors bending out of sight.

During the course of reconstruction, the Imperial Palace had been looked upon with the most derision. Gone was any impression that the dark, metallic structure offered superior protection. No longer could one state that beauty had been traded for safety.

A great skylight had been carved into the roof, sunlight streaming down into the Marble Square. A dual-ringed fountain of majestic proportions sparkled under the sun and a rainbow of flowers ringed the edges. There were even three fully-grown oaks that stretched toward the ceiling. In the center was a great statue, a regal-looking man whose sword was raised above his head: one of the founding fathers of the Empire.

Plush red carpet led to the Throne Room, twin doors of imposing iron with the emblem of the Empire branded into the plating. They were gigantic, so heavy that four men were necessary to reveal the spacious chamber beyond. Here, even the walls were wrought with intricate patterns woven against each other, gold and red against dark metal. Spaced pillars around the periphery held up an arched roof from which banners hung in the sunlight.

The Throne was raised, twelve steps above and protected by guardrails. A single seat was set atop lush red carpet.

"I thought you said there were supplicants?" he asked. He looked around the empty Throne Room, eyes glassing over.

She frowned. "I expected Anson to be here with the usual crowd, but I guess with the closure of Imperial Way and the Palace, people decided not to come today."

He advanced toward the throne. His hands were up, palms outward. "The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. This feels oddly like the Emperor's residence."

"Yes, that would be one of the new defences," she motioned back towards the Marble Square. "Shall we have a look from the ramparts?"

"Sure. There's nothing here anyways."

They marched out of the palace and continued along the outside walkways until they found solitude. Staring off at the rebuilt city of Vector, he sighed wistfully. "Thank you for the tour, Terra. I can see that you've been incredibly busy in the last months."

Terra Branford smiled. "Anytime for a friend. I couldn't have some mere lackey show you around."

"The thought is appreciated."

Terra curtseyed. "Now let me take the chance to formally welcome you back to Vector, Colonel Ferdinand, and to thank you for your continuing service. The Plains of Callaghan are in good hands. Your ever-vigil watch has kept the barbarian silent."

Norris Ferdinand glanced away from the majestic, urban sprawl that was the Imperial Capital. He let loose a long sigh.

"Thank you, Sophis. I'm just glad to be back."

---

Anson shot to his feet the moment Terra entered. "How was it?" he asked from behind a desk of papers.

Terra stretched her arms, glad to be out of the dress and back into more humble clothes. "Well, I need to send a letter to Lindsay and thank her for her work. Uncomfortable though, these dresses, but they feel so majestic. They're perfect for these occassions."

Anson chuckled softly as Terra took a seat facing him. She picked up his cup of tea, long since forgotten. "Cold and stale," she remarked as she took a sip anyways.

"Actually, I was interested in our resolute Colonel. He hasn't been back to Vector for several months now, not since the deep of winter shortly after it was sacked. And I'll admit that we didn't exactly part on friendly terms. How is he?"

Terra smiled as she finished Anson's tea. "He was happy and that's all that really matters. You should've seen the look on his face when he saw what we've done with to Vector. Hundreds of thousands back in the city, many more moving here because of all the work, and the improvements in general. Clear skies, fresh air... I'm really fortunate that there was time to take him around personally."

"Yes. We have spent months without a day of rest and yet the moment he returns, you find several hours free. That was most fortunate," Anson agreed with a roll of the eyes. "Anyhow, the Colonel has never lived in Vector. Being in the Special Forces as long as he has, he probably knows more about the Northern Continent than his own capital. Still, little experience is needed to appreciate the scope of our latest reforms."

"He was definitely asking questions that I thought were common knowledge, I didn't realize that he was out and about so often though."

"The Colonel's service records would require a scholar to parse though, he's done so much and gone so far," Anson acknowledged. "He's a credit to the Empire, I've been pushing the House to reward him for all he's done. The nobles are pushing back, of course, but what else is new?"

"He still blames himself, I think," her lip twisted downward. "He was more lively before Fanshaw. After that, I always felt he was spiralling away. You know, he once shared with me that he thought the Sack of Vector could have been prevented had he betrayed Lilienthal and warned you."

"Me?" Anson sighed. "Wishful thinking, we wouldn't have listened to Colonel Ferdinand. Even if we did, by the time you reached Fanshaw, the Maverick's reinforcements had already swung around and engaged Vector. With both the besieging forces from the west and the fresh, victorious ones from the south, Caleigh would have collapsed before anyone could come to his succour."

Terra nodded sadly. "Norris probably knows that, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow."

"The truth is just that. It's blind to one's emotions."

"I hope knowing what we've done here," Terra pointed out the window -- the wide, floor to ceiling glass panels overlooked the revitalized and bustling city -- and then tapped her finger on the many folders of the Empire's status. "I hope it makes his burden a bit easier."

Anson nodded. "On that topic, you should probably know that the magical growth spells you developed aren't working as well as we thought. I've assigned a team to look into it, but expect another week before they finish studying the problem and devise a synthetic solution."

"I suppose that means no fully-grown trees for a while?"

"Not unless you want to go out there, gather the few Magitek Knights enjoying their vacation away from the war, and grow those plants yourself."

There was a sparkle in Terra's eye.

Anson sighed. "Let us wait for a permanent, non-magical solution developed from yours, shall we?"

"Fine, Anson," Terra relented in a teasing tone. "Seriously though, it would really make people happy once those trees are back. Wild grass and flowers are nice, but so many have been complaining about the lack of shade. There's something that fills you with pride when standing beneath the majestic canopy of those towering redwoods."

"The world is not such a nice place that you can dedicate yourself to planting trees, Sophis," Anson mumbled. "There are things out there, monsters, barbarians, and dark shadows that still move against us."

"A little vision of beauty, and it'll spread throughout the world," Terra answered confidently. "We'll lead by example, making Vector the paradise of civilization."

"A beautiful world," Anson quoted her. "It is a lovely dream. I know you'll make it happen, no matter how improbable it seems," he said reverently.

"Only with your help. Without you, there wouldn't even be an Empire to start from. The downward spiral could never have been stopped, much less reversed without you and your scores of capable administrators."

Anson bowed his head. "We have done little more than hold together the alliance you created."

"You don't always have to be so humble, First Citizen. I recall some advice to take pride in one's work. Perhaps you should heed those words and not make light of your own position."

"Wise words, Sophis."

"They're yours," Terra mumbled as she picked up the closest folder in their pile of papers and briefly leafed through it. "So what are the supplicants wanting today?"

"Strangely enough, that never-ending fountain has dried up. I'm not really sure what to make of it."

"Maybe it's the new guards?" Terra leafed through the reports, bored as she breezed over economic analysis of the Imperial Provinces. The latest reform that Anson had passed was revitalizing the industry. The numbers merely reinforced what could be seen if one simply opened their blinds and looked outside.

"Excuse me?"

"When Norris and I entered the Palace, he noticed that the Imperial Guard wasn't in charge."

"Strange, I'll speak with General Donner tonight," Anson planned. "He's probably decided on some weird rotation and the new ones are scaring the citizens away. He was never very good politically; I worked with him and Caleigh long enough to know he's just a military man that only sees things as black or white."

"Just like our Empress?"

"Lady Terra," Anson growled.

Terra chuckled. "I'm just teasing. But you still know it's true, even if she is the Supreme Commander of all the Imperial Armed Forces."

"Well, even if her perspective is decades old, she'll eventually grow more sensible after spending months with my advisors. At least she's intelligent enough to delegate her authority as needed. I can't imagine any other Emperor allowing the existence of a First Citizen figurehead, much less allow me to keep the authority of the position. This current arrangement with Empress Danielle is impressively-"

"-Progressive?" a teasing smile was on Terra's face.

Anson snorted. "Despite the Empress' predisposition for older, more traditional methods."

"She promised she would pass a subset of the Equality Act," Terra pointed out. "Between that and the success of the army at keeping the people warm and fed throughout the winter season, not to mention the campaigns aimed at pacifying the monster hoards from the Floating Continent, in addition to your economic and social reforms, I think we're doing pretty well. It's difficult to believe you two were once enemies, considering the amount of power you two share."

"Don't believe for a moment that civilian authority means anything," Anson quickly corrected. "At the end of the day, control of the military leads to control of the government. She may dispose of my services at anytime."

"That would be an incredible blunder. The citizens adore you and without your support, the Empire will crumble from within. You should be confident that the Empress would never move against you, especially since you're still popular with the Core garrisons. "

Anson sighed. "You would never think that considering how often she and Donner agree on military matters. Even Caleigh would have balked at the recklessness of her policies. We have manpower shortages due to the release of veterans and conscripts who have finished serving their time, so the Imperial Army is spread thinly maintaining order and keeping the Maverick in check. Yet she begins a new crusade to wipe out monster-kind!"

"I believe it's an excellent idea," Terra gestured widely as she explained her reasoning. "Over the winter months, even citizens in the Imperial Core were harassed by monsters -- to say nothing of those in the outer provinces. In one stroke, she keeps the army from idling and commanders from rebellious thoughts while keeping the peace. It's ingenious."

"It's cavalier and ill-advised, even if she's raising new soldiers to replace those we've lost. Between the cost of settling veterans and training new divisions... I've been verbally sparring with the Duke of Mansfield for several weeks now, but even I'm beginning to agree with him. We need the Armed Forces to stop spending as if it were still the Civil War."

Terra shook her head. "Unbelievable; you and the Duke of Mansfield?"

Anson laughed. "I've never been unreasonable. It's the Duke's sense of morality that runs counter to mine. Now that he's seeing the light, of course we would agree."

"You're so modest, Anson," Terra answered playfully. "Will Lord Mansfield-" she avoided addressing the Duke by his first name in order to prevent starting any rumours, "-be coming to Vector?"

Anson paused, tapping his finger against his lip as he reflected on the past. "Actually, I believe that he was scheduled to arrive this week, but that trip was cancelled; some sort of business of grand importance has developed in his home city," Anson shrugged.

"He was coming here?"

"To discuss Donner's settlement policies, as well as the recent shuffling of military positions. I'm surprised that he called it off," Anson remarked. "Still, I don't blame him. Donner is not one to change his mind, even if he's splitting the army apart with his reorganization. Regardless of the Empress's success, the Triskele Rebellion won't be the last."

"General Alysworth is out there though, so the campaign won't last very long. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That the city of Vickers rose against the Empress is already enough. Exercising General Alysworth, Lilienthal's former executive officer and someone the Knights of Odin highly respected, was a stroke of genius though. But that kind of gesture only suppresses the rebellion; it fails to address the underlying issues."

"They take offence at the Empress and call her a pretender. Those aren't exactly deep-seated sociological problems that will set the countryside aflame with outrage, Anson."

"It runs much deeper than that, but I'll explain it another time."

"As you wish," Terra's eyes roved over an opened envelope from the typically independent Brigadier Cassidy. "I see that there is some trouble up in Tzen," she concluded.

"It's a forewarning about shipping routes," Anson answered as he searched through the piles in the center of the table. "Cassidy has kept every bit of news close to his chest; he's personally dealing with the matter. It's likely just hot-air and if not, bad news spreads of its own accord." He grinned triumphantly as he pulled out an envelope bearing the Imperial Emblem. The thick, red wax had an elaborately wrought seal pressed into it; impossible to forge.

It was an official message sent from the Empress' aides, if not penned by Danielle herself.

"What is this about?" Terra asked as she took it and broke the seal.

Anson smiled. "I have an idea, but I'll let the Empress's words speak for me."

As Terra read the parchment, her face became paler and her eyes wider with every sentence. When she finally put the letter down, her fingers were shaking.

"Well then, Duchess, how does it feel to be a Peer of the Realm?"

Terra cleared her throat and waved at an aide for some tea. She sank back into her chair, dazed. "I don't believe it," she whispered. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she asked suspiciously.

Anson shook his head. "Like I said, the Empress is getting quite good at the political game herself, though still a little too blunt. It is, of course, the logical thing to do."

"There's no logic in giving me Remiel's estate!"

Anson laughed. "Of course there is. The Governor's holdings were extensive and the Empress could not show favouritism to any noble house. At the same time, she couldn't simply take or dissolve the peerages and expect the nobles to back her on either course. There's been enough division between herself and what remains of the House of Lords."

"So she's making me Remiel's heir?" Terra groaned. "This is insanity."

"This is the political reality," Anson corrected. "With the dissolution of so many houses due to the Civil War, consolidations of peerages have left a bitter taste in the mouths of all involved; especially after the Driscoll catastrophe. She gained a powerful ally, but the cost..." Anson sighed. "Anyhow, this was probably one of the easiest things for Danielle to do. The Duke of Mansfield enthusiastically supported the measure and with him, most of the nobility."

"And House Sandford?"

"That is an interesting story. Karen Alysworth -- of all people -- noted that you knew the Baron Sandford; I suppose that's a piece of trivia she picked up from Colonel Ferdinand, because there are certainly no official records suggesting anything of the sort. Since those holdings were minimal and the Baron also lacking heirs, giving it to you seemed the easiest way to avoid further outrage amongst the nobles."

Terra moaned. "Ridiculous, I barely knew Marcus."

"And yet you're on a first-name basis with the Baron," Anson teased. "You don't really have to worry. The estates are being taken care of, I've already gone over the details and assigned an aide to the task. It's just paperwork."

Terra let Danielle's letter slip out of her fingers. "So what am I supposed to be now?" she asked, confused by the proper treatment of the matter.

"Technically, while it's possible to claim the Governance, that would be impolitic. Instead, your title would be the Duchess Lilienthal."

Terra felt a little bit nauseous. "I'd prefer to not be called that. It doesn't sound right."

"That's perfectly acceptable. The Baroness Sandford is also available, or any number of other smaller peerages that once belonged to the late Governor. However, few that you meet on a day to day basis will address you as anything aside from Lady Terra and of course, as Sophis and an Avatar of the Goddess, you are far above mere Peers."

The pair thanked their aide as he delivered their pot of tea. Terra poured herself a steaming cup and tasted it. With a frown, she willed it lukewarm and finished her drink.

"You also have another letter from General Starson, carried by bird from the Wilds. That would be the fourth this month, no? My, what a blossoming friendship," he said teasingly.

Terra growled as she poured herself more tea. "It's not like that. We've just never had the time to catch up on everything that's happened over the fall and winter. As well, he's a Major-General now, so he felt it proper to use his privileges and keep in touch with politics of the capital."

"Of course," Anson was clearly unconvinced.

Terra rolled her eyes. "I would do the same if we were separated, Anson. There's too much to learn; I can't waste a moment. Anyhow, unless there's something about being the Sophis that forbids friendship..."

"Actually, I think one of the books might even suggest it would be desirable if you found a close companion," Anson handed over Farin's letter. "Though I am in no position to tell you otherwise -- you certainly are adhering to my suggestion of following your instincts -- I would humbly suggest someone just a mite younger."

Terra swiped Farin's letter out of Anson's hand, glaring at his stately visage with scorn.

"There is one last matter though, before I leave for this meeting with General Donner," Anson's playful grin faded away.

Terra had already opened the letter from her friend. "What is that, Anson?" she asked, suppressing the desire to read and listen at the same time.

"He's back from Callaghan."

Terra's eyes widened and she felt a shiver travel down her back. "What?" she whispered.

"I have it on good authority that he accompanied Colonel Ferdinand back to Vector, probably as an escort."

"Why wouldn't he get in touch with me? Did something happen? Is he hurt?"

Anson shook his head. "Sorry, but nothing seems amiss."

Terra's chest heaved. "Locke..." she whispered.

"I can arrange something," Anson pointed out, concerned by her worry. "So long as they're in the Empire, they serve me."

"No, it's alright. As long as he's safe, then I'm satisfied," she lied.

Anson looked skeptical. "Well, I'll make sure the guards won't hinder him. I'm sure he has a reason and when he's ready, he'll come by."

Terra nodded. "I hope so," she whispered.

---

Locke Cole rolled out of bed. He hit the floor with a crash, moaned in pain, and then got to his feet. He stumbled around, dizzy and certainly nauseous, and managed to pull on a clean shirt.

"Thank the Empress that the Colonel paid for an inn, instead of putting us up at the garrison," Stefan Malsbury's voice was a throaty growl that was punctuated by moans. He was the only one sitting in a chair, though his naked upper body laid across the table in the center of their room.

Locke grunted in acknowledgment as he sat across from the young Imperial Guardsman. The kid's red hair was ruffled, still dirty from the night before. He was unshaven and eyes bloodshot.

"I mean, if we were in the garrison, the Lieutenant would kill us all if the Master Sergeant didn't get us first."

"I believe I am a Lieutenant," came a rasp from the third bed in the room.

Locke chuckled. "Are you going to get up, Sherwood?"

"It's your turn to talk to the Colonel," he growled. "Now shut up before I start pulling rank on you rambunctious peons." Sherwood rolled onto his stomach and pulled the woollen covers over his head.

"How eloquent for a drunk-"

The door opened suddenly, without a knock. The three recovering men barely bothered looking up. Even if it was the Colonel, it was too late to do anything about it. They would be punished and that was that.

"Still suffering from last night I see," Anthony strolled into the room with a pitcher of foul-smelling stuff. He set the white and yellow emulsion in front of Stefan and Locke, the vapours causing both to retch. "You fools do realize it's past noon, right?"

Stefan pitched over the side of the table and started vomiting.

"Right," Anthony pointed at the pitcher. "Start drinking, this will ease the effects of all that ale."

Locke stared at the white liquid, eyes narrowing on the strange floating bits. "I'm good, thanks," he decided as he straightened up.

"Your eyes say otherwise," Anthony poured a glass and set it in front of Locke. "As the only qualified medic in this group of fine gentlemen -- who so bravely went ale for ale with some of the basest, most offensive-smelling lowlifes in our great capital -- I'm ordering you morons each to drink at least a glass of my father's secret remedy."

Locke eyed the flakes floating in a sea of white swirls and shuddered.

---

"Where's Stefan?" Locke asked as he leaned against a brand new street-lamp. His stomach still burned from Anthony's horrid concoction, but at least he managed to keep lunch down.

Sherwood readjusted his leather armor. "He's gone back to the field, his squad's out there and the Colonel's notice was only for half the day. Oh, and Anthony's taken one for the team and he's going to meet the Colonel for us."

Locke nodded. "That was one crazy night," he said, making small talk as he eyed the rebuilt streets of Vector. "Now where to?"

Sherwood grunted. "We're going to the Imperial Palace, even if I have to drag you there myself."

Locke's eyes narrowed. He folded his arms. "I don't remember-"

"They're my orders, not the Colonel's. I have a good feeling why you managed to outdrink me, and it's not because of any of your taunts."

"But I am a bigger man, dear Sherwood," Locke sneered, trying to cover up his anxiety.

Sherwood remained silent as a pair of girls forced their way past, both seemingly in a hurry. The two teenagers were giggling. "The First Citizen and Lady Terra will both be in the Throne Room today! We have to go! They're never there together!" one mentioned.

Locke's heart sank at mention of her name.

"Were you there for the opening of Imperial Way last month? They looked so great together, so regal beside the Empress!"

The two girls disappeared into the crowd and Sherwood pulled Locke along.

"Listen, Sherwood," Locke started.

"You're going to talk to Terra, and you're going to remove whatever wedge that's come between the two of you," Sherwood growled.

"Dammit Sherwood, I don't need you interfering with my life," Locke pulled his arm away from his friend.

Sherwood kept walking through the crowd. "You think I got this rank for no reason? I'm not an idiot, Locke. I know when something's wrong and I think I've been silent long enough. As your friend, I'm going to make sure you get over this mess, because after so many months, I know you're not going to do it without someone forcing the issue. I swear you take the most runabout way in order to accomplish anything! Now stop complaining, you've already drank enough for courage."

Locke opened his mouth, but was speechless. He stewed angrily for a moment as he followed Sherwood. "Damn mannerless Imperials," he grumbled at last.

"Still brainless," Sherwood sneered back.

The two men made their way through Vector, getting lost twice thanks to the twisting roads, but got ever closer to the Imperial Palace. It was hard to truly get lost in the capital; the palace and its colossal black walls were visible from practically anywhere. Had it been overcast and a fog settling in, perhaps the landmark would have been obscured. But it was a sunny day and the skies were a deep shade of blue.

At last they stopped in front of the gates. The grand archway stretched so high that it strained the neck to follow the walls upward.

"That's strange," Sherwood remarked.

"The gates are down," Locke looked around. Guards were on the other side of the gate, solid beams of iron between them and the rest of Vector. Locke waved at one of the soldiers, but they ignored him.

"I thought the Palace was open to the public," Sherwood mumbled.

Locke folded his arms. "Those girls passing by us seemed to imply they thought so as well. I don't see anyone lined up though."

Sherwood shook his head. "The gates are never down, even if the palace is closed. Supplicants always arrive to see the Empress. It's always been that way. It's not like they're lacking the manpower to patrol corridors that would actually be off-limits."

Locke frowned. "Do you think something's wrong?"

"I can't imagine it," Sherwood reasoned. "It's the Imperial Palace. There's a battalion on standby at all times and in addition to that, we've got the Home Division guarding Vector itself. And it's not like the army is sitting idly on its hands. We're still completely mobilized. Nothing gets through."

Locke still couldn't shake the weird feeling. "What if we're dealing with the Guild? They've been quiet for months now."

"That's because we've killed everyone that could possibly function as an infiltration team," Sherwood shook his head. "The Maverick's taken such horrendous casualties outside of his conventional forces, I can't imagine what he could try to accomplish."

"I can," Locke answered grimly.

"Still, there's no evidence that anything is wrong," Sherwood pointed out.

"That's never stopped us before," they shared a chuckle between close comrades. Locke shook his arms from side to side. "Let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

---

Terra was leaving the throne room, still astonished by the sheer lack of supplicants, and stewed over Farin's latest letter. He had succeeded of course; Farin's ability to lead was never in doubt. His latest mission was a simplistic, self-imposed exercise in patience; rebuilding those forward bases in the Wilds had been nothing more than a long and arduous task. But that was over and Farin was finally returning home to Tzen.

No, the problems he was having were of a moral contention and Terra wondered what advice she should give. Certainly he had a point; integrity was important and he had to adhere to his moral code. However, considering his rank it was disturbing at how easily he lost perspective.

"Ah!" Terra exclaimed. She waved at Anson and Pierce -- the long-haired Magitek Knight that was both a Loyalist and one of her staunchest bodyguards -- and quickly climbed down the short steps of the Marble Square.

"Lady Terra!" Anson's head was bowed ever so slightly. He grimaced as sunlight caught him in the eye and found solace beneath one of the great oaks. The other three bodyguards -- two Imperial Guardsmen and one in plain leather armor -- made themselves inconspicuous. "I was just looking for you. There's been a bit of a break in our research; I bring great news from the labs."

"What is it, Anson?" Terra asked. "Or more importantly, on what topic? Your people are working on so many things that I can't keep up. Even the summaries are too technical for me, though I guess I could just read them with a dictionary."

Anson opened a folder. "The head researcher has announced he has successfully duplicated the side-effects of those Floating Continent beams. The material coming out of that controlled environment, the black glass, is of incredible resiliency. We think that with a couple more generations of refinement, one could line it about a chamber and increase the heat contained-"

Terra frowned. "This doesn't sound all that interesting," she interrupted. "Or important for that matter."

"I'm sorry, it's just that this kind of breakthrough rarely happens," Anson excused himself. "I'm still a scientist, even if politics have distanced me from my calling. Such an advance in materials science will bring forth all sorts of improvements to existing machines, like higher-efficiency engines, and allows for the containment of vast amounts of energy gathered during-"

"That's fantastic," Terra interrupted. She pointed back at the throne room. "On another matter, did you speak with General Donner? There have been no supplicants today."

Anson's brow furrowed. "I did; yesterday. He said he didn't know anything about a new troop rotation but would address the problem soon. He thinks it's just some aide overstepping his bounds, but if it's important we could meet within the hour."

Terra nodded. "That would be best; I think we should both have a long chat with General Donner."

As she turned aside though, she felt something else. It was a subconscious vibe, an instinct that inundated her soul with trouble. Without reason, she held out her hands and let the power flow. Ripples of energy pulsed around her hands -- to what effect, even she was unsure -- and the air seemed to waver back and forth as she allowed the spell to gather form.

"Sophis?" Anson asked.

Pierce's sword was already out though, concern for the Sophis' mood being addressed immediately. The three guards with them also drew their weapons, polearms and blades readied.

"Brace yourself," Terra whispered.

A shockwave exploded forth, almost sending the magically-attuned Loyalists and their guards to the ground. But they remained standing and watched as the rippling air blasted down all the corridors of the palace. The oaks bellowed back and the many rows of flowers exploded in a shower of pedals.

Barely ten strides away, five men appeared out of thin air and were sent flying into the walls.

"Intruders!" Anson screamed. A fireball appeared in his hand as Pierce charged forth, muscles bulging as he swung. A trail of black-smoke followed the blade's path, white-hot flames swirling about the deadly weapon.

Terra growled as the feelings of trouble did not subside. "Once again they stealth themselves. Sound, sight, and magic, they're just getting better and better!" she glared down the hall as Pierce and another soldier cut into the off-balance intruders.

Then she felt it.

"The Shroud!" Terra screamed as she spun around.

Of the three soldiers with them, one was halfway upon her. His dagger dug into her shoulder, drawing a scream as Terra's spell vanished in the rush of pain.

The soldier sneered at her, but his eyes told another story that was filled with terror and sorrow. Terra's eyes watered as she glared back, not from pain but from rage.

He gasped, the life seeping from his eyes.

Terra's hands were warm. She looked down in confusion at her blood-soaked arm, her hand shaking as she twisted Farin's dagger with finality.

"Sophis!" Anson shouted. "Pierce, the alarm!"

Pierce cleaved the last man's head off, hungry crimson flames devouring what little flesh it could taste. The Magitek Knight shouted something back at Anson, but Terra was oblivious. Her hand was hurting and she glanced down to see white knuckles of a death grip around the bloody heirloom dagger. She slipped it back into the concealed sheath near her heart as her ears began to ring.

Terra stumbled to her knees. She covered her ears -- that damned noise! -- and wondered why the world seemed to be swimming. Gritting her teeth, she reached up and tore the knife from her shoulder.

Anson scrambled to her side, hands glowing with pulsating waves of azure haze. The warmth of his magic flooded her body as flesh began to mend.

"G-Guild," Terra managed to gasp. Her head was still spinning, but Anson's magic was clearing the cobwebs away. Yet something else was wrong. It was oddly difficult to breathe, and try as she might, her throat felt completely constricted.

A shrill, screeching horn began to blare. Pierce had finally raised the alarm.

"Sophis? What's wrong?" Anson asked.

Terra coughed, struggling to breathe. She opened her mouth with great effort, but barely managed a sound. Her other hand lifted the traitor's dagger.

"Hunter's Dreams," Anson whispered as he examined the thin layer of gauze. "Dammit!" he swore as he called to the Imperial Guardsmen with him. "I need a counter-agent, now!"

Terra blinked twice, focusing her inner strength as she willed herself back to her feet. The power within was stirring to life and she gave into it, providing the conduit it needed to manifest.

Nothing happened.

Terra tried to swear, but even that was impossible.

"Drink this," Anson handed her a small, glass bottle filled with a bluish liquid. "It's just a generic counter-poison so don't expect much, but it will keep the poison from affecting you any further until we get real medical attention. It's nothing to worry about, the traitor didn't have anything exotic and it can't possibly kill you."

Terra forced the foul liquid down her swollen throat. It went down slowly and she had to take small sips lest the liquid choke her.

Anson got to his feet as nearly three dozen additional guards arrived. There were well over a thousand soldiers within the confines of the Imperial Palace at all times, but at the moment, Terra found herself suspicious of many of the new faces. It seemed Anson was no different, he handpicked several soldiers -- all wearing the black trim of the Imperial Guard -- and they formed a barrier between her and everyone else.

"Pierce, we're getting out of the palace!" Anson growled.

The Magitek Knight led the way, his flaming-sword a beacon as dozens of soldiers fell into ranks behind the Magitek Knight. The sound of battle could be heard down the other wings of the palace, but they had been given very specific orders. They stormed as a phalanx through the wide corridors, collecting additional guards and encountering no resistance until...

The entrance to the Imperial Palace was wide-open.

A Magitek Armor toppled to the ground with a colossal tremor, the inside of the Aegis enclosure dripping with blood. Dozens of soldiers had been slaughtered, burnt to ash or blown off the high platform and down hundreds of steps. Several more Armors laid upon those marble stairs, their frames broken into several smoking pieces. Dozens of soldiers swarmed around the metallic hulks and advanced up the stairway.

Terra grabbed Anson by the back of his shirt, her face twisted with anger as she felt the maddening suffocation of the Shroud. He raised an arm and halted their forces.

Catherine -- her short blond-hair so unbecoming that one could mistake her for a man -- gripped her short sword with both hands. It glowed icy-blue as she slew two barbarians before being thrown backwards into the air. She landed in a heap in front of Pierce, the men of the Imperial Palace maintaining formation patiently.

Soldiers of the Empire did not give way. Especially not before the entrance of Imperial Palace, and certainly not when the First Citizen was amongst them!

To her credit, Catherine pulled herself up immediately. She wiped the blood off her mouth, dropping her cloak in the process. Her form-fitting dark-leather armor was bloody but the Magitek Knight seemed not to mind. Her off-hand reached not for the daggers or crossbow strapped to her back, but rather for her second short sword. As she drew the blade, it came alive with red-hot flames.

Terra's eyes narrowed as her mind pierced the gloom.

He wore the grey of the Guild, the first man reach the entrance of the Imperial Palace. Terra's stomach was a pit of fire, the heat rising from the depths of her soul when she saw his grey robes and white sash. He was in the center of that cancerous dark aura, the leader of this curse upon civilization.

The memory of Clarkson floated into her mind. Never again.

Terra pointed at him and willed his death.

"Seconds later and we would've been inside the palace," the Guild member scoffed arrogantly as he stood before the ranks of Imperial soldiers. He was oblivious of Terra's attempted and failed attack.

Behind him, dozens of the barbarian forces fell into ranks as four more grey-robed members of the Guild arrived at the front. "I have to hand it to you, that blasphemous false idol of yours is skilled with what few, pathetic abilities she has, Tilton."

The moustached man glared through the crowd of Palace guards and met the astonished face of the First Citizen.

"Jonathan," Anson whispered. "By the Goddess, what have you done?"

Terra turned to the First Citizen who had advanced a protective step in front of her. This could not have been a mere coincidence; Anson had never served in the army! He had befriended very few Magitek Knights before the Civil War.

"That would be Compatriot Caldwell to you, you insolent savage," their leader growled. "I have been blessed by the Patrician himself, given this Righteous and Holy Crusade to destroy your false prophet. You should be honoured that He would deem thee worthy of being cleansed by a Compatriot."

"You will not use that tone, you treacherous fool!" Anson pointed at Caldwell.

At first, it was imperceptible save to the finest Magitek Knights, but Terra not only sensed it, she recognized the deadly spell cast. She covered her eyes just before a flash of yellow light blinded everyone nearby.

Caldwell chuckled condescendingly as the light faded away. "That was the best you could do?" he sneered. "Perhaps even Enlightenment would be insufficient for you deluded fools!" His hands shot forth and he gritted his teeth... but nothing happened.

"You will find that your tricks of air do not work," Anson folded his arms. "If you think you can break the defenders of the Imperial Palace with your deceptions, you are truly insane."

The sneer vanished, though the scorn on Caldwell's face remained. "Arrogant to the end, Tilton," tendrils of electricity seemed to flow from his fingers, swirling around his body in concentric patterns. "Peers, fellow Enlightened, kill the savages."

The Guild Members were already in motion.

The clash of elements, fire, ice, air, water and lightning smashed into an equally powerful counter-wall, liquid magic splashing to the ground and exploding upon contact. Ripples of energy struck back and forth, breaking upon yellow auras and indiscriminately shearing flesh, bone, rock and steel. Twin beams of brilliant red light, blinding to the eye and nigh-inconceivable in heat, scorched through the line of soldiers and set them all aflame before a horrendous counter-blast of thunder tore flesh from bone.

As the Magitek Knights warred between each other, spells of brilliance and cascades of coloured lights concealing the deadly nature of that conflict, hundreds of traitors upon hundreds of steps charged into the storm of chaos. The stalwart, outnumbered soldiers of the Empire stood firm, rank upon rank, lowered their blades, and greeted their treacherous comrades the only way they knew how.

Terra felt someone pull her back through the collapsing ranks as she railed against the poison coursing through her veins. She screamed voicelessly in frustration as men died all about her, powerless to prevent the senseless slaughter, incapable of even protecting herself, much less exact vengeance for all that had fallen to these barbaric bastards! Blood splattered against the side of her face as one man's side burst apart, the burning fumes of her dying protectors entering her soul.

She couldn't see the bullrush of the Maverick's men, but she felt that accursed darkness. It was a scourge upon the world, a pestilence in the fabric of existence. The white sheen invaded the corners of her vision; seraphic powers swirled about her, but try as she might, they slipped from her grasp.

Damn the Guild!

The stairs began to collapse, the walls melted and the roof above them shattered from the force of magic. Soldiers stood their ground, filling the gaps as the friends before them exploded in a spray of blood, crushed by the falling structure, or pierced by plain old steel. Through all the screams of rage, pain, and death thundering upon the footsteps of the Imperial Palace, one cry pierced through the bloodbath.

"Glory to the Empire!" Anson Tilton, First Citizen, held aloft a double-bladed dagger dripping with gore. A ball of fire twice height rotated above him, crimson flames swirling with need.

With a thundering cry of battle, the defenders of the Imperial Palace charged forward, blades piercing and shields bashing against the wall of treacherous flesh, even as spells were exchanged that tore reality apart and threatened to destroy them all.

The battle had just begun.

---

Locke and Sherwood charged through an iron door that had been long forgotten, even in the recent days when so much of Vector had been closely examined, redesigned, and then rebuilt. What silence there had been in the deep places beneath the Imperial Palace had been broken by the screams of the dying.

Upon the catwalks that surrounded the center of the Empire, with the backdrop of a rebuilt, peaceful Vector that had no idea that its palace was under attack, the two men's footsteps were a steady rumble as they dashed around the periphery.

Locke stumbled.

Sherwood immediately dropped to a crouch, crossbows defending the two men as Locke pulled himself back up. "What happened?" he asked once he was sure they were not under attack.

Locke shook his head. "I'm not sure, I just feel... sluggish."

Sherwood eyed his partner. "If it's the alcohol-"

"No," Locke straightened. He stared suspiciously at his hand as he rotated his arm. His shoulder ached. "It's just a passing feeling," he lied. "I'm fine."

"Good, we can't afford-"

"Let's go already!" Locke interrupted. They couldn't afford to delay any longer!

The entrance to the Palace was rubble, platforms barely standing as the foundations had been blown apart and structural pillars were teetering from side to side. The gap between the catwalks and the entrance platform was easily two men across, and the fall was most definitely fatal. The majestic marble stairway had collapsed on itself, so hot that it had become red, angry molten lava. The huge multi-ton doors had been blown from their hinges and tossed aside like their smaller, wooden cousins.

The two archers drew their bows.

"We should relieve the gate," Sherwood remarked as they saw the eerily familiar scene. Hundreds of dead soldiers laid amongst the rubble, most bodies an unidentifiable mass of blackened flesh, and there were several Magitek Armors torn to pieces. The flags of the Imperial Emblem were burning still, thick knots of black smoke rising into the clear sky.

"There's no way to get down there and then get back up" Locke pointed out. He rolled his stiff shoulder. "Anyways, the burning flags should draw plenty of attention."

Sherwood nodded. He glanced around nervously. "A Guild attack for sure," he grumbled as he examined the bodies from afar. Fire, ice, the scorching marks that both knew belonged to lightning spells, and there were even corpses that had been torn apart, limbs flying everywhere with only a splatter of blood to mark the killing blow.

An arrow shot forth and split a soldier's skull in half. The surprised target collapsed in a growing pool of blood, dead beside one of the broken doors.

Locke shook his hands from side to side and then drew another arrow. "Questions later."

Sherwood was already jumping across the gap, taking advantage of Locke's cover. He rolled to his feet and returned the favour for his partner. Now they were before the entrance of the Imperial Palace, in terrible moods and grimly determined.

The two men charged inside, nocked bows sweeping side to side as each scanned for any sign of the enemy. The polished graphite of the lobby was slick with blood, bodies everywhere and spells from the magical warfare still alive; unnatural fires were actually devouring solid stone. The walls were rent apart, slashed by blades or blown to rubble. Several columns and many marble statues had been shattered. It seemed that a few soldiers had been thrown with such force that their crippled bodies actually broke through stone pillars.

They continued forward, wading around, over and through the sea of corpses without a glance downward. Judging by how the fallen were bunched up in waves, there wasn't much doubt that a fighting retreat had been underway.

A retreat into the palace; the invaders were winning.

Noting the number of holes in the walls, still molten pools of metal, shattered stone and outlines of men burnt into the floor, Locke knew that the Guild had gone all-out this time. His knuckles were white around his bow shaft as his boots sank into the blood-soaked carpets.

The pair approached the Marble Square where both men could see the vanguard left behind by the enemy: a single squadron of soldiers, several wounded and the others too fatigued to continue. It was a pitiful team that should have already been attrited. They leaned against the huge beheaded centerpiece or rested beneath the oaks; hiding from the light of the sun.

Locke and Sherwood rained arrows upon their enemy, striking four before the rest dived behind the desecrated statue. The two men proceeded forward and followed an unspoken plan. They took cover behind support pillars and advanced one at a time, the other maintaining guard. Six more barbarians were down before Locke and Sherwood exchanged a deadly look.

Twin crossbows revealed as sleeves were pulled back. The two men charged deep into their foes and into the sunlight, the tips of their arrows shining as bowstrings were drawn back. Two more fell and bolts maimed the rest. Both replaced their bows calmly even as the few soldiers remaining charged with pointed blades. Daggers flew forth and embedded into those still standing, and then Sherwood picked up an axe and hacked one that had managed to resist the poison of their crossbow bolts.

Reloads were made quickly, professionally. Never once was either man defenceless without the other's cover. They confirmed their kills and exchanged another look.

The Throne Room, of course.

---

Blood-soaked grey robes collapsed to the ground, his head on the other side of the room and his throat aflame. The cadaver hit the lush, crimson carpet and sprawled out. One arm had been frozen stiff, so brittle that it shattered upon hitting the soft, velvet embroidery of the Imperial Emblem. Blood poured out of the former-Magitek Knight's body and leaked all over the black symbol of the Empire.

Pierce's sword was all that was between him and an entire squad of barbarians.

Terra screamed voicelessly as Anson ducked beneath an errant arrow. The Starson dagger took yet another life and Terra stumbled over the corpse. An Imperial Guardsmen reached out and caught her. Her saviour's eyes went wide and blood bubbled out of his mouth.

Anson pulled her aside as he threw a ball of fire into their closest pursuer. He spun towards her, his eyes wide with panic. "The Throne, please!" he shouted breathlessly. His double-bladed dagger dripped with blood as he directed the two men around him -- his last personal escorts -- towards the throne. "You two, the stairs with your lives!"

Terra knew what Anson was going to do. He was going to have her hide behind the Throne, raised and secured from the rest of the room. There she would be safe, behind barriers of magic and secured behind the only remaining chokepoint, while Anson and his men fought a hopeless battle along the stairs.

And she could do nothing to help.

Gritting her teeth in rage, she reluctantly climbed the stairs as both Imperial Guardsmen took their places. There was a moment of resistance -- the air itself was thicker than normal -- and then she found herself before the Throne. Her eyes turned back towards the battle.

They had failed to stop the Guild at the entrance, and what few soldiers had reinforced their position at the Marble Square were insignificant compared to those that joined with the barbarians. From the eastern and western wings came over forty more to Compatriot Caldwell's aid, amongst them an additional four wearing grey robes.

The gates to the Throne Room had been breached by columns of fire, melting a hole through a foot of solid iron. Those loyal and still standing had done the best they could, totally outnumbered and outmatched. Soldiers were blasted through support beams, statues, and even walls.

There were few allies left. In the center, Catherine and two soldiers were surrounded by three grey robes and over a dozen barbarians. To the side, Pierce was alone against a squad of brown-leathers. He danced around the marble supports with his flaming longsword.

Pierce!

Terra tried to scream a warning at him, the long-haired Magitek Knight winded and no longer paying attention to his surroundings. He backed into a pillar, the surprise enough that his blade was knocked aside by a dangerous blow. The white-hot metal deeply embedded itself into more white marble, and then three leather-armored men of the Maverick's pounced on him.

No!

Anson charged from the stairs as Catherine's escort fell. She was surrounded now, with the leader -- Caldwell -- directing lightning bolts into her sickly shield. The carpeted floor burst aflame about her, the yellow hue barely resisting enough energy to keep her alive.

The First Citizen was only seconds from Catherine when he screamed in pain. He flew backwards against his will, but managed to land upright. His double-bladed dagger parried a blow to his spine, and then Anson slew one of the few grunts still standing.

Divide and conquer, Terra's eyes widened when she saw two of the three remaining Guild Members approach Anson.

They were all going to die.

The dozen that had killed Pierce charged up the stairs. Near the bottom, it was as wide as the room but as one climbed, the steps became narrower until there was barely enough space for three men to stand abreast. It was there that Terra's guards stood; two were all that remained to protect her and though they fought with passion, the result was already evident.

Yet with her own death moments away, Terra wanted nothing more than to dive into the thick of battle and tear the enemy apart with her own hands. She thought of nothing but killing the insolent Guild Members that dared strike at them -- the enemy she had ignored for the last three months!

Her hand shot out, her eyes rolling back into her skull as Terra tried again to cast. It was like drawing breath underwater! She collapsed to the ground, gasping from effort, and voicelessly screamed in frustration.

---

Anson knew the odds. He also knew that the Guild was fighting against the clock. They might have managed to sneak into the Palace with their tricks, but they were ultimately outnumbered and surprise long since worn off. His own protective cordon had been slaughtered to the last man but not without a fight! He might have been all that stood between two grey-robes and the Sophis, but Catherine still fought on and the enemy had dwindled to perhaps two-dozen.

"Anson," the Guild Member on his left spoke. "Step aside. We're not here for you, but for that false idol behind you."

Anson stood his ground, constantly surrounded by a yellow-hue for spells were still being exchanged; though none were visibly destructive. "Michael," he shook his head. "You were never a traitor."

"Peer Michael," the former-Magitek Knight corrected. "And you wouldn't understand, not until we show you! Not until you meet him! Please Anson, the offer's still on the table. No matter what Compatriot Caldwell says, the Patrician has always wanted you to join us!"

"Show me what?"

"The error of your ways," was the response. "You're protecting a beast that will destroy us all. She's no Avatar, but a crime against nature."

Anson scoffed. "You were never a believer; the only person you ever followed was Emperor Gestahl. You can't imagine why I follow the Sophis' lead."

"Oh, but we do know about your Sophis and even your secretive, tiny little sect of Loyalists," Michael folded his arms. "We know everything you know, and more! We have been visited, Anson! The Counsellor has returned to us and has shown us the future. She-" a misshapen finger pointed at the Sophis, "-will plunge the world into darkness, and so will this Empire! Only through Enlightenment will humanity be saved from another War of the Magi."

"The Counsellor?"

"The true Avatar; not this mixed-blood aberration," Michael grinned. "The Gods are returning! And we, the Enlightened, are destined to welcome them from their slumber! Join us, Anson!"

Anson quickly looked back. She had collapsed to her knees, the poison attacking her body from within. Yet still, she was watching them. Her eyes took in everything, committing all to memory and never forgetting those who sacrificed for her life. There was nothing there but the desire to help others.

She was his Purpose.

Anson's teeth ground against each other as he saw the squad that swarmed the stairs to the Throne. He had to take a chance.

The one on his right took an aggressive step forward. The Guild Member's hands were aflame, blue-white fire obscuring what flesh there was. His eyes were hooded, but there was no mistaking the stone-face beneath. "Enough talk," he said condescendingly. "This is your last chance, savage. You will join us, or-" the man stumbled forward, coughing.

"Corian?" Michael turned to his fellow Guild Member.

Anson slammed his dagger through Michael's temple. With a final word, he jumped back just as the wound began to glow.

Fire erupted around the bleeding flesh and seared the former-Magitek Knight's face. Michael toppled over at the same time as his stone-faced partner collapsed to the ground, red steam escaping Corian's mouth as his insides evaporated.

Anson muttered a prayer of thanks for their over-confidence as Catherine nearly backed into him. Her hands were out, shield visibly wavering as pulsating waves of electricity washed over her.

He saw the crossbow still strapped to her back, miraculously still in one piece. Without a second thought, he ripped it from her dark leather armor. "Catherine!" he shouted as he combined his power with hers.

The lightning bolts split apart as their united shield hardened against the onslaught. Tendrils of blinding light smashed into the walls and shorn them in half. The palace roof shook as many of its supports were shattered.

Catherine tore at her belt and tossed the bolts to him. He caught two, the rest rolling aside and bursting aflame the moment they left the protective aura of their spells.

"Anson you deluded fool! You can't save the bitch!" Caldwell screamed. The lightning stopped and the remaining dozen men charged.

Catherine met the closest with her dagger, both short swords long since lost in the chaotic retreat. Anson scrambled to load the crossbow, swearing as the mechanism seemed reluctant to pry apart like it always did. With a groan, he snapped the bolt into place and pointed at the mass of men.

The bolt slammed through the leather armor of a nameless, faceless man in the midst of the dozen. It flashed blood-red and then an explosion rocked the Throne Room. A fireball incinerated their enemies before they could scream, and a ring of expanding flame consumed the rest.

Caldwell charged forward through the flames, his cry of anger bringing a smile to Anson's face. Anson reloaded the crossbow as quick as he could. He heard Catherine cry out, but ignored it and instead turned to the Throne.

The men upon the steps were too widely spread apart to kill with one shot. They had cautiously advanced, killing one of two remaining Imperial Guardsmen without letting their emotions get the best of them.

And still the Sophis only watched him; her only concern was for his well-being.

No choice.

Anson's crossbow pointed directly at the Sophis.

She did not even blink.

A green wall shimmered, catching the bolt in the air just inches from the Sophis' face. And then the small, gliphed projectile exploded into flames, reflecting back down the stairs and consuming all in its path.

Anson spun back around.

Catherine groaned, pitching forward with her abdomen split open. She sprawled face-first upon the bloody Imperial Emblem centered in the Throne Room, clutching at her bleeding midsection.

Compatriot Caldwell, moustache singed but otherwise healthy, stood over her. His face was a mask of rage. "Just delaying the inevitable, Anson!" he shouted.

With a wave of the hand, a shockwave blasted towards the throne. The ripple in the air -- distorting the images behind -- melted the ceiling, floor, and walls as it slammed into twin green hues. The reflected magic tore into his rear, Anson groaning as the spell threatened to break him on two fronts. He focused on the image of his Sophis and with a moan, he dissipated the superheated volleys of air.

"Very well," Caldwell's lip twisted. "I will enjoy tearing you apart, and then killing the bitch with my own two hands."

Anson did not have to look back. He knew the Sophis still stood her ground, defenceless thanks to treachery but her spirit as strong as ever.

"You're a fool, Jonathan," Anson brought his double-bladed dagger out. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. "This Guild will fall; it's just a matter of time now."

Caldwell laughed. "The Gods are on our side, you ignorant savage."

Anson's blade pointed at the Guild Compatriot, the crimson sheen coalescing into drops of blood. "Of course, which is why you now face me, your equal in spells and a man whose martial skills defeated Hector Caleigh." He blinked away the sweat that had fallen into his eyes. "I hope getting a dozen of our brothers killed was worth it, Jonathan.

"A Holy Crusade is never without loss. This is but a test of our resolve, our belief in what is True and Just. My fellow Peers knew the risks," the air about Caldwell's hands seem to distort, a wickedly curved cutlass seeming to float in his hands. "It is unfortunate that you will not see how truly deluded you are, for when the Statues shatter and the Gods return, then you will know humility."

Twin spells collided, energy between them splitting upon defensive yellow hued-shields and shattering the metallic floor into thousands of pieces. Sparks flew and corpses caught aflame, and then the two Magitek Knights were upon each other, blade against blade, will against will.

Faith against faith.

---

Locke's dull-black dagger rammed into the heavy-set, walking armoury that had attempted to accost him. The soldier collapsed to the ground, his plate armor clattering as the corpse rolled aside.

These men were elite -- he flexed his back, still warm and probably charred from a blast of flame -- and incredibly dangerous! His arm shuddered as he pressed down on the trigger, a bolt embedded squarely between the eyes of the last Guild Member.

Their numbers were unbelievable. Locke never knew so many Magitek Knights existed, much less opposing the Empire and managing to sneak into the Imperial Palace!

"Sherwood!" he exclaimed.

The archer leaned against the wall, his arm a mass of blood. Leather armor had been torn to shreds, shoulder guard ripped aside and a lengthy cut travelling down his bicep.

Locke put his knives aside. "How did you get caught with your pants down?" he asked as he pulled out bandages from his pack.

"Damn grey-robed bastard had a dagger hidden, by magic I guess," Sherwood moaned as he slid down the wall. He could barely sit upright, cursing all the while as Locke tightened the bandages. "Forget me, I'll be fine."

"Shut up, a cut to the arm and you're falling all over yourself. You look like you're dying."

"I can't feel my legs," Sherwood muttered. He groaned again as pressure was applied to his wound. "Dammit Locke, forget it! Just get to the Throne Room. These bastards chased us down so desperately..."

Locke stood. "Fine," he said, knowing his partner was right. "You clean up that wound fast! I need you to watch my back." He waited for the nod and with one last look at his wounded friend, dashed down the hall.

He could hear the explosions coming from the Throne Room. The entire hallway was vibrating from magical combat. Locke's heart pumped as he reloaded his crossbows on the fly. His legs felt like they would give out, they were stiff and he didn't understand why. Sweat ran down his brow as he struggled to keep up his pace.

They were going after Terra again. Locke swore. In the Imperial Palace, of all places! Was there no place in the world where she would be safe? What did he have to do to ensure her security?

This had to be treachery. Someone on the inside had to have let the Maverick and his damned Guild in.

Locke knew he was panicking. His headlong rush was reckless but he couldn't seem to calm himself down. His legs felt like they would stop moving if he gave them the chance, so Locke simply ignored the burning sensation in all his muscles.

The iron doors of the Throne Room were no longer, melted into pools of metal that had already cooled down and hardened. His heart skipped a beat and the phantom wound upon his chest grew painful. Without any regard for his own safety, Locke drew his bow on the fly and jumped through the rubble.

Across the sea of corpses, Terra was by the throne on her knees. His heart jumped, seeing her again for the first time in months. She was mostly unharmed; her tunic was torn near the shoulder, she was covered with blood that could not be hers, yet she still an angelic presence. The anguish on her face made him ache.

Locke felt the pressure lift from his shoulders when his eyes noted the haze of energy protecting her. Bless the designers of the Throne Room! His attention turned to the center of the chamber.

Anson Tilton and some moustached Guild Member tore each other apart, the very ground beneath them breaking apart as they battled. Already the metallic plating had been shorn aside, their footing careless upon steel beams that had once supported the floor. Chaos was their duel; ripples of heat, shockwaves of air, prismatic blasts of light scattering with deadly consequences. Their spells did battle independently as their blades were a blur; the very atmosphere liquefying around them.

"You can't win this, Anson!"

Locke raised his bow. His eyes locked on the Guild Member; waiting, tracking, learning-

"The Gods are with me!"

-predicting.

Anson was losing. Of the two Magitek Knights, he was more injured, more exerted, more desperate. His technique was awkward and he was being steadily overwhelmed by both steel and spell. It was clear that he was untrained with a blade and the only thing that actually kept him alive was his magic. Locke knew he had to get involved before Anson fell behind in the battle of spells.

But the two men were too close to each other for Locke to fire, and many obstacles were between him and the target anyhow. Locke remained patient as blow after blow sent Anson ever closer to the edge. Locke repositioned himself and waited for the perfect moment.

An errant blast of air shattered a stone pillar and with it, a section of the roof collapsed. Anson was caught between it and grey-robes. A chunk of stone slammed into his shoulder.

The Guild Member was already over-extended but thrust with his off-hand anyhow.

"Die," Locke whispered as he let go of the drawstring.

Against all odds, a single, fragile wooden arrow shot through the layers of magic and waves of energy. The Guild Member, though totally off-balance, still twisted aside at the last second, cutlass in one hand and dagger in the other. He teetered forward on one foot, his moustached face staring at Locke in disbelief and horror.

Anson's blade severed his head.

Before the corpse hit the steel girders, two poisoned crossbolts plunged into neck and chest. The dead Guild Member crumpled onto the metal supports and then toppled below.

Locke reloaded his crossbows as he strode across the narrow beams. The fall was not far, perhaps three stories, but still dangerous.

"First Citizen," Locke said, ignoring the numbing sensations throughout his body. His eyes, however, connected with Terra beside the throne.

Anson's chest heaved. He was covered with ash, sweat and blood. He slammed his dual-bladed polearm into the ground and carefully leaned on it, knuckles a ghostly white from the vicious death-grip. "Locke Cole?" he asked with a pained gasp.

With great effort, Locke tore his gaze from Terra. "Yes. Are you alright?" it was worrisome that the man would lean on a double-bladed weapon for support.

"I've been better," Anson groaned. He took a deep breath, arm clutching his chest. "I need you to leave the Throne Room, get to the Marble Square and establish a protective cordon from there."

Locke frowned. "I would think it best-"

"Where are the rest of your men?" Anson interrupted. He cursed when Locke shook his head. "The Sophis is poisoned! I need a medic now! I will not risk moving her across this broken floor."

Locke's legs threatened to give way. "Poison?"

"Hunter's Dreams, a mixture of scutellaria and some sort of antispasmodic; they'll know what it is. Just find me a medic!"

Locke found himself running from the Throne Room without any further questions. He charged towards the Marble Square, his heart beating twice as hard.

Poison?

Damn the Guild!

Never had the Imperial Palace seemed so big; its corridors were endlessly long. He dipped his head and charged mindlessly. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up. Two arrows almost hit him as he skidded to a halt. The red, blood-soaked carpet was deceptively slippery, but his dive to the ground saved him. He felt something solid but invisible pass by his head as he hit his knees. Locke brought his arm up, pulling back his sleeve to ensure a clear shot.

"Hold fire! That's one of mine!"

A sight for sore-eyes, Colonel Norris Ferdinand stormed down the corridor with dozens of Imperial Guardsmen behind. Never had the image of the old Magitek Knight brought such an unrestrained smile to Locke's face, but Norris was bottled rage.

"If you're one of the traitors as well, I swear I'll personally scatter your limbs to the ends of the world!" Norris growled as he advanced menacingly.

"Not a chance Colonel!" Locke stumbled to his feet. "We need a medic! Terra's poisoned!"

The Imperial Guardsmen had formed three rows behind the old Magitek Knight and further back, Locke could see them defending the Marble Square. There were several out of formation along the walls and Locke suddenly realized he had ran all the way back to Sherwood. His friend lay collapsed against one wall; someone was tending to his injury.

"Hostiles?" Norris snapped; his priorities straight.

"None remaining, the First Citizen dealt with the last of the Guild in the Throne Room."

"Anthony!" Norris called for a medic now. He pointed at one of the Imperial Guardsmen. "You five, to the Throne Room!" He looked back at Locke. "What manner of poison?"

"Anson said something about Hunter's and skulleria-"

"Scutellaria. That's not lethal," Norris sighed with relief. "Alright. Locke, take two squads down the eastern wing. I'll command from the Marble Square, but I need someone I can trust to take care of these errant Magitek Knights. I want you to eradicate anyone that even blinks at you the wrong way. I don't care who they claim they are!"

Locke glanced back towards the throne room. His heart ached.

"And find me General Donner!" Norris growled. "If he's not already dead, I swear I'll personally make him answer for every single man we've lost today! The Imperial Palace of all places, dammit all to hell!"

"Colonel!" a familiar voice shouted. Anthony broke through the wall of Imperial Guardsmen.

"Anthony, Terra's been poisoned by scutellaria or something similar -- the First Citizen has the details.Take care of it. We'll need her expertise immediately," Norris ordered.

"Sir," Anthony gestured backwards. "That's not lethal and there's something else."

Locke blinked. Shivers travelled down his spine as he suddenly made the connection. "Anthony, Sherwood-!" he began.

Anthony's eyes snapped towards Locke. "That's the problem."

"He's poisoned, isn't he?" Locke reasoned.

Anthony nodded. "It's a deadly one and he's not alone. There are a number of other cases; nothing as benign as scutellaria. I need to be back-"

"Then get back there!" Norris barked.

"Sir!" Anthony hurried back through the crowd, leaving the Imperial Guardsmen standing escort shifting their feet awkwardly.

Norris turned back to Locke, a dark look on his face. "Locke, get to the east wing now! And if you can, try to keep one of the Guild alive. I want to know what this poison is."

Locke nodded grimly. "He might be hurt though," he warned.

"Just make sure he can still talk."

---

Terra's chest heaved in surprise as Anson strolled up the stairs to the Imperial Throne.

Not only had Locke saved her, but Anson as well!

She blinked away tears, surprised at how quickly her heart was pounding. She wiped her eyes with a bloody glove, willing her body to obey her. Her legs were still numb and standing was beyond her power, but slowly the poison was retreating.

Damn the Guild! So many had paid for her mistaken priorities.

Moments after the poison had destroyed her ability to speak, she had learned to breathe slowly but forcefully. It was the only way to avoid choking herself; hardly any air could get into her lungs. Now she calmed herself again, pushing aside the gallant image of Locke charging through the doors of the Throne Room with his bow out, and waited as patiently as she could.

Anson stepped past the body of an Imperial Guardsman, the other had been burnt to ash but this one fell early and behind the shield. In one hand was his bloody double-bladed dagger, the other was across his chest. He was breathing heavily.

"They are all dead, Sophis," he gasped.

Terra felt shivers run down her back. Something was wrong.

Anson blinked away the sweat collecting above his eyes. "Your friend will be back with a medic. The poison is nothing to fear," he coughed. "The traitor probably managed to sneak it into the palace because it's so common."

There was a strange aura about him. Something was desperately wrong.

Anson stumbled forward, almost pitching into her. She could not move aside, but he caught his balance at the last moment. His dagger clattered to the ground.

Droplets of blood trickled onto it.

Anson!

With both hands stretched out for balance, Terra could clearly see the vicious tear in Anson's leather armor. Something had caught him across the chest and blood poured from the deep wound.

Anson quickly covered his chest again. He stumbled around her and with trembling knees, fell onto the Throne.

Terra's eyes were wild. Her feet moved forward, dragging across the floor as she willed herself to his side. She had to heal him. She had to stop the bleeding. She had to stop him from dying!

Anson rolled onto his back, slouched upon the plush Imperial Throne. He looked up at her, brown eyes staring into the depths of her soul. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "Sophis. I couldn't stop them... from hurting you."

Tears fell down her face as she reached the side of the throne. Her hand clasped his and despite sheer willpower, no magic came to her aid. Energy swirled about her almost teasingly, just outside of her grasp, but she was unable to command it.

She could not heal him.

"Listen closely," Anson whispered as blood began to run down the arm on his chest. "The Guild carried poisoned daggers, ones they wouldn't use in battle because they were specially spelled. I-" he coughed, "-was swiped by the last. You can feel it, can't you?"

Terra closed her eyes. No, she couldn't. She couldn't feel anything.

"Magic..." Anson gasped. His hand fell to the side of the throne.

Terra's eyes snapped open. No! Anson! Hold on! Locke was coming back and with him, Norris. He could heal you. Just hang on!

He glanced back up and stared at her adoringly, reverent even in the end. "I believe in you," Anson's voice was no less than a whisper now. "You are the chosen, a messenger from the Gods. You will bring a peaceful world, free of all the ills..." His voice failed him.

Terra's hand gripped his even harder. Anson, stay with me!

"You will spread kindness, to save us all..."

I don't know what to do!

"-is just a stepping stone, a compromise. Danielle can't lead-" his head drooped to the side as he coughed up blood. "You will lead!" he commanded with redoubled strength.

I don't even know where to start! I've made so many mistakes even with your guidance, how can I do it alone?

"-never did I think I could lead a goddess down her path..." he chuckled at his own joke. His eyes lolled back, his head against the back of the Imperial Throne. Lifeblood ran down the ruling chair of the Empire. His chest heaved deeply; a strong, defiant breath.

"Follow your heart," Anson said. "You must lead us! Promise me that you will never give up for your vision of a beautiful world!" he gripped her hand now. "Please!"

But I can't do it without you!!

Unnumbered tears ran down her face even as she nodded breathlessly. Somehow, she knew that Imperial Guardsmen had arrived. But it was far, far too late. She gazed into his adoring eyes.

I promise, Anson.

Hundreds of corpses laid around a ruined Imperial Throne Room, the palace itself wounded from the vicious attack. A drained, exhausted half-Esper gingerly clutched his hand. Tears flowed freely, falling to the ground and mixing with lifeblood.

With his broken body draped across the Imperial Throne, First Citizen Anson Tilton passed away.