-M29. 671. Terra. Imperial Palace. Inner garden-
The inner garden of the Imperial Palace is one of the most luxurious places in the entire Sol System, filled with countless flora and fauna from Old Earth. Psychic and material engineering made the beauty of this place paramount. Golden crystalline walls and warm shimmering light move fluently from above, acting as the miniature sun in the garden. It was one of the Emperor of Mankind's private places, serving as a serene escape from the countless tasks of the Lord of the Imperium.
But now was different because he had a guest to be pleased—the demi-goddess from Falmart. Currently, she sits before him with a ceramic cup in her hand.
"This is pleasant, Milord," Rory says to the Emperor, smiling slightly.
"I'm glad to hear that, Rory Mercury." He smiles at her, causing the Apostle to withdraw her gaze.
The situation became silent as some tense atmosphere reigned supreme around them. No one opened a conversation, but the Emperor maintained his calm demeanor.
"The Imperial Truth," Rory began, "is that truth really our ultimate fate?"
The Emperor of Mankind did not answer immediately. He stared at the Apostle for a moment. The wise man held his chin, studying Rory's countenance.
"That's humanity's ultimate fate according to my design. Humanity's evolution into a psychic race was inevitable. Thus, I provided them with the most suitable way and infrastructure to achieve that," he answered, eyes never leaving the Apostle.
"Speaking of our ascension—beings that we will become—what is your next move when we achieve that height?" She stared back at the Emperor, wanting an answer.
"I will hold that plan for myself. But if ascension comes to hand, humanity would become unchallengeable. Those abominations shall know the true meaning of fear." His words were neither a claim nor a boast but the ideal truth in its truest form.
Rory had witnessed that so-called ideal truth. When her eyes saw it, it made the entire world she had known crumble. The dogma that had taken deep root in her life started to fade away. Also, her vision of her ascension as a goddess changed rapidly.
Rory's will to create her own worship and her dream to grant mortals' desires had turned futile. The truth and destiny offered by the Emperor were not only tantalizing but also the most pragmatic. The unchangeable truth acted as the opposite of the Primordial Truth.
"Your Majesty," Rory said slowly, her face descending to the floor.
"Speak freely, young miss."
Rory did not mind how the Emperor addressed her. The Emperor was far older than her and much wiser than any god she had encountered. This man earned respect more than anything in her life. More so, he was the one who owned the Truth.
"What must I do now? I have nothing left because of your initial revelation." Even though she hid it, Rory's hands trembled. "My entire foundation of life has been destroyed."
The Perpetual took a sip from his cup, turning his head to the garden. His eyes were deep and calculating, as if searching for an answer.
As long as Rory watched the Emperor, she found herself in contradiction. His demeanor, aura, and charisma constantly changed to suit his agenda. This man had many faces and characters to hide the truth of his figure. But there was one thing that had not changed about him: perfection. She could argue that he had flaws, but it might be that those flaws were also intentional to ensure his plan came to fruition.
"I offer you two options, Rory Mercury." The Emperor returned his gaze toward the Apostle, maintaining a neutral expression.
"What would those be, Milord?" Rory raised her head, her face full of hope.
"But I need your heart fully converted into the Imperial Truth," he stated without remorse.
"I don't think I follow, Your Majesty. I have seen the truth." She objected, confusion streaming across her countenance.
"Yes, you have. But your heart says otherwise, Rory Mercury," the Emperor's golden eyes stared into her purple orbs.
"My... heart?" She could not find any doubt left in her heart. Then, something hidden lay behind that sentence.
"Your connection with your goddess. She still has your soul, doesn't she?" The statement made Rory's eyes widen in shock.
When she had become the Apostle of Emroy, her entire soul was bound to her patron. Thus, it limited any of her decisions. Also, there was a possibility that an Apostle could be severed entirely from their patron god, stripping them of their power and immortality.
"I must... sever my connection?" Rory asked, her hand clenching her chest.
The Emperor shook his head in dismissal. "No. I did not ask for such a thing. I want you to consider these two options with your goddess."
The statement allowed the Apostle to take a deep breath of relief. Yet, the distress still lingered on her shoulders.
Even though the choice did not immediately put her in an unfavorable condition, she could not wrap her mind around predicting Emroy's response to her behavior or decision. If the separation of her connection came suddenly, as she had no preparation, it would leave her nearly millennia-old body to crumble and eventually turn into a cloud of dust, forgotten by time. Worse, her legacy would be overwritten by the new Apostle.
Then, she realized something. All her words and activities could be clearly monitored by her goddess. Yet, no warning was given.
"You realize it, don't you?" said the Emperor, smiling at her.
"My connection. Your Majesty, have you blocked it?" Considering the raw power of the Emperor, it would obviously make sense. But blocking the entire connection to her essence without difficulty was an astonishing feat in its own league.
"I only created a separate reality from the conventional material plane. The power of the Immaterium and Materium cannot touch us here, Rory Mercury," the Emperor stated confidently.
The gap became broader and more expansive as the truth unveiled itself. His title, the Emperor of Mankind, was among countless masks that made up his origin. Also, in that revelation, she had witnessed the true form of the sea of madness and its inhabitants. The gods and goddesses of Falmart were only the skin of the true flesh. Even though they still represented concepts of the real world, they remained chaotic in their literal forms.
The Emperor stood as the antithesis of them all.
In that maelstrom of madness—the sea of insanity and ever-changing chaos—the majestic Master of Mankind manifested firmly.
He was the Ideal Truth. The order of the entire universe. A place for those who seek redemption. A safe haven for the sane. The Lord Protector of the universal mandate.
He was Anathema to the entire pantheon of gods.
"Milord, I can't express how much gratitude I owe you." Rory lowered her gaze, smiling, albeit faintly.
"You owe me none, Priestess. But please, talk to your goddess; only then can I utter my offers." The Emperor smiled at her, leaving a profound question lingering in the Priestess's mind.
"Why must I sever my connection to accept those choices, Milord?" Though she did not question the Emperor's judgment, curiosity still got the better of her.
"Because either of those choices will affect Falmart's reality on the most fundamental level." He rose from his seat, walking toward a particular table.
"How is that even possible?" Rory inquired, her eyes trying to steal glances at what the Emperor was searching for on the table.
"Are you aware of the concept of fate or destiny?"
"Fate is a matter that falls under the Oracle's responsibility. As far as I know, it is a form of thread that governs every living being. It tracks their life, acting as their future. Sometimes, it is unchangeable," Rory said, recounting the most basic knowledge about fate and destiny. The fact that the concept of fate itself only existed in an abstract form had led Bards to extend its function in their songs.
The arrival of the Saderan further reinforced the position of this concept. But in her younger days, long before she gained immortality and power, she had witnessed something akin to destiny.
This was also among the many reasons she grew fond of Lelei.
A certain blue-haired girl she had encountered during her time in the priesthood. She often wondered if her descendant was still alive somewhere in Falmart. If she was indeed still alive, nothing would stop Rory from seeking her out.
"I must say, that was a very basic explanation," the Emperor remarked with a hint of amusement.
"My apologies, Milord." Rory lowered her gaze to the table.
"You need not apologize, Rory Mercury." The Emperor returned, holding a red book that immediately drew Rory's attention.
He placed the book on the table. "You can read this. Afterward, I will await your answer."
"Pardon my rudeness, but to read through this entire book, I don't think it will be quick, Your Majesty." Rory took the book and opened it to the first page. The title caught her attention, and she read it aloud. "The String of Threads?"
"In your terms, it might be unfamiliar. But imagine that every action has its own cause and effect. When both occur dynamically, a new world is created. Each of those worlds represents a possibility you either take or do not take. Now, imagine each of those worlds unraveling, creating the Skein. The Skein is formed by the amalgamation of your actions, manifesting infinite branches across space and time."
"In other words, my actions could lead to the creation of another... universe?" Rory attempted to summarize the explanation, digesting the information.
"Indeed." The Emperor sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "But that is the simplest explanation of the Skein's nature. The Skein is also the place where unformed creation resides—a place of suggestions and ideas. It is the realm of overlapping destinies."
Rory's head metaphorically ached from the overwhelming explanation. Her civilization was far from the Imperium's level of understanding. Yet, one big question remained.
"What is the correlation between this... Skein and my choices?" Rory asked, raising an eyebrow. "Please, don't misunderstand me, Your Highness. If the formation of a new world depends on our decisions, then I would have created countless in my lifetime."
"That would be correct, Rory Mercury. But those universes would be separate from yours. Each of my offers would affect not only you directly but all of your counterparts. I fear something beyond my expectations could occur." The Emperor's tone carried genuine care for her.
Rory smiled in return, nodding in understanding. "Very well. I will open this book, then."
The Emperor maintained a neutral expression, his eyes studying the Apostle with pure calculation. His curiosity about the outcome was evident. Rory opened the book, and without warning, a flash of light blinded her.
Slowly, Rory opened her eyes. What she saw was beyond remarkable. Auroras of unmatched beauty hung in the night sky, flowing like tendrils of shimmering fate, overlapping in a manner so stunning that Rory found herself at a loss for words.
Veins of light scattered across the sky, radiating a blissful atmosphere. In contrast to the majestic scenery above, the land beneath stretched endlessly like a boundless sea. It was calm, vibrating only slightly when Rory moved. Upon closer inspection, the countless auroras above were reflected in the water below.
"Interesting," Rory muttered as she decided to follow one of the reflections in the water. After a few minutes of walking, Rory glanced up. The auroras in the sky began to split in various directions. She stared back into the water, choosing to follow the single visible path reflected in its serene surface.
As she ventured further into this mysterious place, she found her fears unfounded. No grim figures emerged to confront her. The deeper she traveled, the more the auroras thinned until only one remained.
The atmosphere shifted drastically, but it was neither malicious nor cold. Instead, it was warm and encompassing. Delightful would be the most fitting description of the experience.
The aurora in the sky began to fade, but the one reflected in the water beneath Rory Mercury remained unbroken, radiating its ethereal brilliance. She followed the vein as the world around her darkened, the sky consumed by shadow, and even the water became invisible.
Her journey was long and arduous. Fatigue gnawed at her, but she pressed onward, her resolve unyielding. At last, she arrived.
Before her loomed a crack in reality, a magnificent golden rift emanating a brilliant light that cut through the oppressive darkness. The aurora she had followed converged at its edge, connecting her to this anomaly. Its radiance swayed not only the shadows but also seemed to pierce directly into her soul.
Rory stepped closer, the warmth of the light growing more intense, enveloping her like a comforting embrace. Finally, she reached out, her fingertips grazing the rift's edge.
A blinding burst of light erupted, swallowing her whole. Streams of energy and knowledge surged through her, overwhelming her senses. Images of alternate selves unfolded before her eyes—different versions of her life, her choices, and her identity. She saw herself as countless incarnations: wearing foreign garments, wielding unfamiliar weapons, and even standing with different parents.
Among these visions, one stood out—a towering figure clad in black and white armor adorned with golden pauldrons. She wielded a gleaming white blade in place of Rory's iconic halberd. Her presence exuded an awe-inspiring mix of life and death, a paradox of purity and lethality.
This version of Rory was regal, her face more mature and devoid of innocence. She was no longer merely an Apostle of Emroy; she was his angel of death, an unrelenting executioner in his name. Yet, the aura of her counterpart radiated something more profound—hope, tempered with wrath.
The other Rory turned, meeting her gaze with a serene smile. Her hand extended, inviting the younger Apostle.
Rory hesitated, confusion swirling within her. "What do you want from me?" she demanded.
The holy Apostle said nothing at first, her expression remaining kind and unwavering. Then, with a voice that resonated like divine command, she spoke.
"You have a brighter future, Rory Mercury. Humanity awaits its avenger. It is your duty to take the mantle."
"Humanity's avenger?" Rory asked, bewildered. "I don't understand."
"The mantle belongs to those who strike down humanity's nightmares. You shall be their savior, remembered as Rory Mercury, the Judicator."
The revelation hit Rory like a hammer, shattering her doubts. Slowly, she reached out and grasped her counterpart's hand. Another burst of light engulfed her, a warm and luminous embrace that seemed to affirm her purpose.
Material reality returned to Rory. She struggled to steady herself, her head spinning uncontrollably. Waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm her as she clutched her mouth, fighting to keep the contents of her stomach at bay.
The Emperor of Mankind stepped forward, his golden aura radiating a quiet warmth. He placed a hand on her forehead, his touch banishing her affliction.
"My apologies for this side effect, Rory Mercury," he said, his voice tinged with regret.
"There is nothing to worry about, Milord." Rory shook her head, dismissing the discomfort with practiced resilience. After steadying herself, she raised her gaze to meet his. "I saw another version of myself—a woman, older and clad in artistic armor. Her attire bore a striking resemblance to your culture, Milord. I seek an answer to this vision."
The Master of Mankind's expression turned inscrutable. He regarded her silently, weighing his response. When he spoke, his tone carried both authority and an enigmatic restraint.
"That woman is you, but from a different path—a warrior who fought for humanity. Unlike you, she despised the gods."
"Why?" Rory's question came quickly, the word laced with confusion.
"That is an answer you must discover on your own," he replied, his golden eyes softening with a warm smile.
"Very well, Milord," Rory acquiesced, sensing that no further questions would yield clarity. She nodded and stepped back, awaiting his next move.
The Emperor turned from her, his flowing golden hair catching the faint light as he approached his desk. With a mere gesture, a holovid materialized above the flawless wooden surface. He studied the glowing display, and his expression shifted sharply.
"I must attend to another matter," he said, his tone brisk. Turning toward her, he added, "My Custodes will escort you back to your quarters. Rest well, Rory Mercury."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Milord," Rory said, bowing deeply before exiting without another word.
As the door sealed behind her, a voice emanated from the holovid. It was smooth and sultry, yet undercut with a stern elegance.
"Long time no see, Neoth."
The Emperor's countenance softened into a faint smile. "Erda. It has been some time."
The holovid revealed a striking woman with vibrant red hair and piercing topaz eyes. Her beauty transcended mortal understanding, surpassing even the genetic perfection of transhumans.
"Is there a reason for this call?" the Emperor asked with quiet curiosity.
"I've completed my task," she replied, inclining her head slightly. "I seek your permission to return to Terra."
"Granted," he said without hesitation, though his brow furrowed slightly. "But why Terra? I assumed you would return to Luna."
"Don't toy with me, Neoth." Her smirk carried both amusement and admonition. "I've heard about the Gate."
The Emperor's faint smile vanished, replaced by the cold seriousness of a warlord. "Yes. The Gate leads to a world called Falmart—an early Feudal World."
"A Feudal World with Roman influences," she interjected knowingly.
"Indeed," he confirmed. "Its origins are… curious. It connects not only to its own reality but to echoes of Old Earth."
Erda hummed thoughtfully before narrowing her gaze. "And the girl—she is warp-touched, isn't she?"
The Emperor nodded. "She is an Apostle of a god within the Falmartian pantheon. A priestess granted immortality."
"Was?" Her tone sharpened. "Don't tell me this pertains to that project."
"It does," he admitted, his voice laden with purpose. The weight of his words thickened the air between them.
Erda's expression turned pensive. "Humanity has reached unprecedented heights of advancement. Why does it need a paragon now?"
"This isn't about survival," he said plainly. "She will play an integral role in the next phase of my plan."
"A saint," Erda mused, her lips curling into a faint smile. "How quaint of you to revive such an archaic concept."
"When it comes to Joan of Arc, I can think of no greater honor."
Erda's smirk grew wider. "Silly of you to invoke my old name."
"As one of the most revered saints of your era, how could I not?" he retorted, tilting his head ever so slightly.
Her gaze softened with rare fondness. "Very well, Neoth. Back to the matter at hand—what will you do next?"
The Emperor's eyes flicked to an ancient book resting on his desk. With a subtle gesture, he summoned it into his grasp. The worn pages revealed a painted figure: a woman holding a holy sigil. His gaze lingered on the image before he closed the tome with deliberate care.
"She must reconcile with her goddess first. However, the seed has already been planted. Time will reveal its fruit," he said, his voice measured.
Erda studied him intently. "You rarely show hesitation. Are you uncertain about this plan, Neoth?"
"On the contrary," he replied, his tone unshakable. "The threads of fate will weave in our favor."
In the hall, Rory is escorted by the Custodes, and unbeknownst to them, Rory's purple eyes turn into gold.
