5.

"When Belle shared her mission with me, I was furious—terrified for her safety, yes, but livid at her commander. I thought Commodore Soryn had gone mad, sending her after him. It feels petty now, looking back… but you must understand, we'd all cast Mario as this brutal beast. Yet, after meeting him, doubts crept in. Belle described how he wandered the city—not like some warlord, but with a stranger's quiet wonder."

Lucinia Porter-Fontiere, Commandant of Coldvein Academy, interviewed in Voices of the Turning Age, History Archives Broadcast, 1009 SV

Belle Fontiere adjusted her tunic with precise, practiced motions, the fabric settling over her frame as she stood in the confined gloom of her quarters aboard the Vigilant. The chamber was a stark blend of utilitarian steel and dim shadows, the air heavy with the faint hum of the ship's systems. She secured her hair into a tight bun, her fingers betraying a subtle tremor—two weeks of this protracted voyage had worn her patience to a brittle edge. By her calculations, they were nearing Caldera at last. The Vigilant's engines thrummed softly beneath her boots, restrained to a cautious pace at Commodore Soryn's command. No aetheric flare to betray their position, no risk of drawing a Mushroom Kingdom patrol. A swifter return could have been hers days ago, engines roaring, but Soryn's meticulous caution held sway, and it chafed her like a poorly calibrated slate.

With a sharp exhalation, she strode into the corridor, her boots ringing against the metal grating. Mario remained an enigma—a quiet, elusive presence, far from the brazen hero she'd anticipated. Soryn's directive echoed in her mind: Special guest, utmost courtesy. She had fulfilled her role as intermediary, delivering crisp invitations to meet the Commodore, each met with a polite refusal. Mario kept to his quarters, a specter aboard her ship, glimpsed only in fleeting moments: pacing the lower decks, his sharp blue eyes scanning as though charting an unseen course. Unconventional was too mild a term. She longed to be rid of the assignment.

The elevator doors parted with a soft hiss, and Belle stepped inside, her posture easing as she glanced at her wrist slate. Mid-shift—Soryn would be on the bridge, scrutinizing holographic charts with that unyielding focus of his. The car began its ascent, numbers flickering on the display, then halted abruptly. The doors opened, revealing Mario, framed in the entryway, his cap tilted at a rakish angle, blue eyes briefly widening before settling into a measured nod.

"Commander," he greeted, stepping beside her, his tone easy but laced with a subtle undercurrent she couldn't quite place.

Belle's eyes narrowed, her arms folding as the doors sealed them in. "Expected you'd be brooding in your quarters again," she said, her words sharper than intended, the strain of the journey bleeding through.

He gave a casual shrug, hands slipping into his pockets, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Only so long you can stare at bare walls or skim the same Imperial propaganda before your mind rebels," he replied, his gaze flicking to her, a glint of mischief in his eyes beneath the cap's brim. "Got to admit, though—'guest' on an Imperial ship? Not what I imagined. Where's the shackles?"

Her mouth quirked, a grudging smile breaking her reserve. Of course—he'd thwarted the Koopa Empire's schemes, disrupted its machinations, yet here he stood, unbound, sipping tea in their midst. The crew hadn't taken kindly to it—grumbled complaints in the mess, covert glares across the decks. She held his gaze a moment, then glanced at the panel, the numbers ticking downward. "I see," she said, her tone clipped, neutral.

Mario shifted his weight, the silence between them stretching a fraction too long. "Help me understand something, Commander," he said at last, his voice quieter, probing. "You and Soryn—you're not like the Imperials I've crossed blades with. Why serve this regime? All the chaos it's brought to the Mushroom Kingdom—why align yourself with that?"

Belle's smile softened, a wry glint in her eyes as she regarded Mario, the Empire's fabled adversary, now studying her with quiet perplexity. She pivoted to face him fully, arms still crossed, her posture resolute yet unguarded. "Must seem strange from where you stand," she said, her voice steady, a faint undercurrent of conviction tightening her chest. "It's not about reciting Imperial creeds or blind devotion. The Empire's order—imperfect, tangled—holds millions back from collapse, from starvation, from clawing each other to pieces. I've seen the alternative, Mario. Towns reduced to rubble, children sifting through ash for scraps. The Empire's no hero, but it's a framework. You can't rebuild, can't protect, if it's just cartoon villains twirling mustaches."

Mario's brow arched, his blue eyes narrowing with a flicker of amusement. "That mustache jab—wasn't aimed at my whiskers, was it?"

She let out a short, genuine laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Not a chance. That's my girlfriend's line—she's got a gift for skewering the ridiculous. Soryn's echoed the thought, though he's more… pragmatic about it." Her fingers twitched, yearning to slip into her pockets—a reflex the Academy had drilled out of her. Stand tall, stay sharp. She tightened her arms instead. "Speaking of Soryn—any chance you'll meet him before we reach Caldera? Last offer."

Mario blinked, lips pursing briefly before he gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not?" he said simply.

Belle's eyebrows lifted, caught off guard. She'd braced for another refusal, a curt end to the exchange. The elevator doors parted with a soft hiss, and she led Mario down a corridor to a door marked with a double-layered octagon. His gaze bore into her as she rapped her knuckles against the panel. The door slid open, revealing the Commodore's office—a space less like a military command and more like a curated gallery. Belle had grown accustomed to its peculiarity, but Mario's wide-eyed stare, his mouth slightly agape at the shimmering holographic sculptures and intricate light-woven tapestries, was almost comical.

"Ah, Commander," Soryn's measured voice cut through the quiet, precise and resonant. "And Mister Segale as well? This is an unexpected pleasure."

Belle glanced at the Commodore, seated at his desk, his attention shifting from a holographic display that flickered out as he turned. Soryn's luminous eyes fixed on Mario, and Belle wondered briefly if he shared her private reservations about their guest. Yet Mario had spent the entire voyage refraining from so much as scratching the Vigilant's hull. Progress, perhaps? Mario met Soryn's gaze with a steady intensity that matched the Commodore's own.

"So," Mario began, his tone direct, "you've been trying to get me in here the whole trip. What's the angle?"

Soryn's expression remained thoughtful, and he gestured to a chair across from his desk with a graceful motion. Mario crossed the room with a casual stride, though Belle sensed a faint unease in his movements. Soryn, by contrast, wore a subtle smile, the corners of his mouth barely curved. "You may be wondering," he said lightly, sidestepping Mario's question, "where you might have encountered us before."

Mario's frame stiffened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, and Belle suppressed a faint smile. Commodore Soryn's knack for sidestepping trivialities and cutting to the heart of a matter unsettled even the Empire's seasoned officers. It was oddly satisfying to see that precision unsettle someone from the Mushroom Kingdom as well. Seated beside the plumber, she observed as Mario steadied himself, his voice regaining its footing. "Can't say I've ever heard of you before. Seen a few vyrn in my time, but none serving Bowser." He glanced at Belle, a wry edge to his admission. "And while I've crossed paths with plenty of human Imperials, you and I? Never met."

"Indeed, you haven't," Soryn replied, his tone cordial yet measured. "The Commander and I have served the Empire in… other capacities. Our encounter in New Donk City marks our first acquaintance."

Mario nodded, his gaze drifting briefly. "Got to say, you're not like most Imperials I've tangled with," he mused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Soryn's eyebrows lifted, a subtle shift in his otherwise composed demeanor. "In what respect?" he inquired.

Mario gestured toward the shimmering holographic displays that adorned the office, their intricate light patterns casting soft glows across the chamber. "I've boarded my share of Imperial airships, fought through their decks. But this?" His smirk deepened. "An office filled with art? That's new. And frankly, my run-ins with Imperial officers usually involve a lot of chest-pounding, shouting down anyone below their rank."

Belle's brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. The observation wasn't unwarranted. Too many officers in the Empire's modern hierarchy leveraged their stations to bully subordinates, their ranks secured not by merit but by ties to noble houses or industrial magnates. It weakened the whole structure—how many of the Emperor's reckless schemes, like the abductions of Princess Peach, stemmed not just from his obsessions but from spineless officers too timid to challenge him?

Soryn's low chuckle broke the silence, his voice calm yet incisive. "I have always held that results, not posturing, serve the Emperor's aims." He rose, his movements deliberate, and approached a holographic cityscape, its luminous spires pulsing faintly. "As for the artwork… tell me, what do you know of the Empire's nature?"

Mario snorted, his tone sharp with disdain. "The Empire's fixated on swallowing the Mushroom Kingdom whole."

"I see," Soryn replied, his back to Mario, his voice carrying that familiar, probing cadence Belle knew well.

She rolled her eyes, recognizing the tactic—Soryn's subtle way of steering a conversation, one she'd endured countless times. It was almost uncanny watching him use it on another. Mario, undeterred, rose and wandered among the holographic sculptures and smaller light-woven tapestries, his steps measured. He paused beside Soryn, studying the same cityscape. "Fine," he conceded, his voice softer but edged with frustration. "Maybe I don't know much about the Empire. But ever since Bowser claimed the throne, the Mushroom Kingdom's been locked in conflict with you. We've got a ceasefire, sure, but it's been strained—his kidnapping stunts don't help."

Belle's eyebrows shot up. That didn't align with the reports she'd seen. She stepped forward, positioning herself to Mario's left, her curiosity piqued. Soryn, however, pressed on, his tone even. "Very well. Now, tell me: what do you see in this display?" He gestured to the holographic cityscape, its intricate details shimmering in the air.

Was Soryn deliberately ignoring Mario's point? Belle studied the plumber, noting the furrow in his brow as he examined the artwork. She glanced at Soryn, who gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. She nodded in acknowledgment, holding her silence as Mario hummed thoughtfully. "Well… it's impressive, I'll give it that," he began cautiously. "New Donk City, maybe from its early days?"

"Precisely," Soryn confirmed. "The final work of Vincent van Gore, a citizen of Crimino." His emphasis on the Mushroom Kingdom's province was unmistakable, even to Mario. "This piece reveals much about your kingdom. Its focus on alliances and trade—steady exports to neighboring realms—has fostered prosperity. Yet it has also left your military woefully underprepared. Your forces rely on outdated tactics, decentralized command structures, and a patchwork of regional militias. This invites not only the Empire's attention but vulnerabilities to other… external threats." He raised a finger, forestalling any objection. "I offer this not as criticism but as an observation drawn from the art itself. A culture's priorities—its strengths and its oversights—are often laid bare in its creations."

Mario's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing with skepticism. "That's a bold leap from a single hologram," he said, his tone laced with challenge. "What's next? You'll claim you've got artwork of me up there too?"

Soryn's lips curved into a faint, amused smile. "In fact, I have identified three such pieces," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet mirth. "But rest assured, we relied on more… conventional methods to understand you." He inclined his head toward Belle. "The Commander can elaborate."

Belle exhaled softly, her grip tightening on the slate in her hand as she turned to face Mario. "The Commodore's right," she said, her voice steady but tinged with a dry edge. She held up the slate, its screen flickering with data. "This contains everything the Empire has compiled on you. Height, weight, known associates, even your bank statements—every detail we could pull."

Mario let out a sharp snort, his arms crossing. "Well, the Bureau's gonna have a field day with that one," he muttered, then sighed. "So, you tracked me down with that?"

Belle's lips twitched into a smirk. "Preparation and a stroke of luck, Red. We planned to approach you at Luca's—your usual haunt, according to your spending patterns." She noted the faint flush creeping up his cheeks and fought to keep her composure. "Your bank records showed weekly visits, always the same order: pasta pomodoro, extra garlic bread. But you threw us a curveball by showing up at Vesuvio instead. Pure chance we crossed paths there."

Mario's scowl returned, his gaze locking onto hers. "And that's when you two fed me that story at the restaurant?"

Soryn interjected, his tone mild but precise. "The ruse was not intended to endure. But you are correct in essentials."

Mario's expression softened slightly as he shifted his attention to Soryn, though his arms remained crossed. "You said back at Vesuvio you couldn't talk about your mission. Was that just because we were in the Mushroom Kingdom?"

Soryn dipped his head, his luminous eyes steady. "Precisely. And, regrettably, neither the Commander nor I are fully privy to His Majesty's intentions. Our orders were simply to escort you to the Capital."

A voice crackled over the intercom, crisp and urgent. "Commodore, we are crossing the Frontier now. We will reach Caldera within the hour."

Soryn's hand moved to a switch on his desk, his response calm and authoritative. "Thank you, Captain Terrapin. We will join you on the bridge within the half hour."

Mario's eyebrow arched, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his guarded demeanor. "The Frontier…?"

Soryn's chuckle was low and measured, his glowing eyes glinting with subtle amusement. "Indeed, you've never ventured this deep into Imperial territory." He gestured toward a holographic display shimmering to life at the office's edge.

Belle stepped closer, her gaze settling on the vista unfolding before them. The Vigilant glided over a sprawling canopy of vibrant jungles, their emerald hues deceptively serene under the soft light of a clouded sky. To her, the sight was a rare comfort after weeks of sterile corridors and starless voids. "Count yourself fortunate, Red," she said, her voice carrying a grim edge. "The Frontier isn't just Imperial soil—it's a crucible. Some call it the Empire's shield, and for good reason."

Mario's eyes flicked to the display, his skepticism plain as he studied the lush expanse below. "You're telling me this jungle's worse than the Dark Lands? Those are all volcanoes and molten rivers. Hard to buy a bunch of trees being deadlier. Besides, it didn't stop Smithy."

Soryn's head tilted, his tone calm but pointed. "The Invader never breached the homeland's core. True, the Vista Hill Garrison fell, but you and His Majesty halted Smithy's advance."

Belle muttered under her breath, "Vista Hill only fell because no one plans for a giant sword crashing from the sky."

Soryn's indulgent chuckle broke the tension, though Mario's incredulous stare darted between them. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Bowser storms Portobello, snatches the Princess, and never drags her to the homeland?"

"Come now," Soryn replied, his tone gently chiding. "You've been aboard this ship for two weeks, a cooperative guest. Consider the effort His Majesty expended to ensure Her Highness remained secure, unharmed, and unable to escape—or plummet from an airship."

Mario's scowl deepened, and Belle couldn't fault his reaction. The thought of Lucinia in peril twisted her gut too. Yet his expression softened, a contemplative glint in his eyes. "Alright, fine. How's this Frontier worse than the Dark Lands?"

Soryn's voice took on a clinical precision. "Your journeys to Big Island and the Kitchen Isles shape your perspective. Those lands, while perilous, offered reprieves—clean water, edible flora. The Frontier grants no such mercies. Its ecosystem is a predator in itself. The air carries a subtle toxin, imperceptible yet potent, that drives even the smallest creatures—vermin, insects—to view intruders as prey. The flora is worse: vines laced with neurotoxins, flowers that exhale paralytic spores. The water? Tainted with minerals that corrode the gut faster than thirst would kill you. Entire expeditions have vanished into those jungles, lured by its beauty, only to be consumed." He paused, his gaze steady. "This anomaly, mercifully, is confined to the Empire's borders."

Belle watched Mario's skepticism erode into stunned silence, his eyes wide as he processed the Commodore's words. She couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction—how many of his assumptions about the Empire were unraveling in this moment? His brow furrowed as he glanced between her and Soryn. "Alright," he said cautiously, "Bowser's been quiet these past six months. If things are bad enough that he's calling me in, why not let Ludwig step up for a bit?"

Belle's head tilted, a puzzled frown creasing her face. "Why would he?" Did Mario truly not understand the Imperial succession?

Soryn shook his head, his voice calm but firm. "Prince Ludwig is not of royal blood." Mario's confusion confirmed Belle's suspicions. "Ludwig, the other six princes, and the Princess are His Majesty's adopted children. The true Crown Prince is an eight-year-old boy, Prince Bowser, Third of His Name."

Mario plucked at his mustache, his brow knitting tighter. "So, the kid's royal blood makes him the heir?"

Soryn nodded, and Belle cleared her throat, stepping in. "Before the Emperor's son was born, Ludwig held the title of Crown Prince. But when the young Prince arrived, all the Emperor's adopted children swore loyalty to him. The Emperor allowed them to keep their titles but appointed them as Imperial Governors over their chosen provinces."

Mario's lips twitched. "Can't imagine Wendy was thrilled about that."

Belle snorted, her tone dry. "Princess Wendy was one of the first to pledge her fealty."

Mario's frown deepened as he returned to his seat, his gaze distant. Belle's mind drifted to their late-night discussions about the Empire's so-called Flamebreaker, a figure shrouded in myth. Some whispered he was an ifrit bound in human form, a demon of fire and ruin. Yet here was Mario, not scorching the Vigilant's decks but grappling with the Empire's complexities. If he was this shaken by the Frontier's dangers and the line of succession, what would Caldera's realities do to him?

Soryn glanced at his desk slate, its chronometer glowing softly. "Come," he said, rising with purpose. "We must proceed to the bridge."

The crew of the Vigilant defied every expectation Mario had carried aboard. He'd braced for hostility, for the cold suspicion of enemies, and they'd met him with wariness, yes—but nothing like the venom he'd anticipated. In turn, his own caution had softened, though never fully dissolved. The past two weeks had been tranquil, if monotonous, a strange lull in the heart of an Imperial warship. Now, standing on the bridge, watching Commodore Soryn and Lieutenant Commander Fontiere orchestrate the crew with seamless precision, he sensed something distinct about the vyrn. Soryn's command was not the bluster of typical Imperial officers but a quiet, calculated authority, as if every order were a move on an unseen board.

Through the bridge's viewport, the Imperial capital, Caldera, unfolded in breathtaking scope. Towering skyscrapers pierced the sky, their sleek lines and gleaming facades rivaling New Donk City's grandeur. Yet the rooftops, curved and tiled in delicate patterns, evoked the serene elegance of Chai's temples, one of Sarasaland's ancient kingdoms. Sakura trees lined the avenues below, their pale pink blossoms drifting in the breeze, a stark contrast to the city's monolithic ambition. The blend was jarring—marble and steel fused with the grace of transient blooms, as if the Empire sought to anchor its might in fleeting beauty.

Trailing Fontiere and Soryn toward the airship's exit, Mario's curiosity burned. What else lay hidden in this city? Stepping onto the tarmac, he inhaled deeply, the air thick with the pulse of urban life—engine fumes, street food, the faint tang of molten steel. It was New Donk City's chaos, magnified by the weight of a capital's power. Portobello, by comparison, felt quaint, its modesty almost intentional. His gaze lifted to the jagged peaks encircling the city, their slopes dusted with mist.

Fontiere caught his stare. "The Kappa Mountains," she said, answering the question he hadn't voiced. "Long ago, this was a volcano. Its eruption was so cataclysmic it shattered the mountain, leaving this crater."

Mario's eyebrow arched. "And you built your capital inside a volcano's corpse?"

Fontiere's smile was wry, her head shaking. "Not quite. The city wasn't perched atop it." She pointed upward, then curled her finger downward. "We carved Caldera into the crater itself. Emperor Valter envisioned a metropolis of marble and concrete, a testament to Imperial will. He didn't live to see it finished."

Mario's stomach twisted at the thought. "What happens if that volcano wakes up?" he asked, striving to mask the unease creeping into his voice.

Soryn glanced at him, his luminous eyes unreadable. "The volcano is extinct. Its last eruption predates the Empire by centuries. No seismic activity has stirred since."

Extinct or not, Mario couldn't help but marvel at the audacity of it—building a capital in the maw of a dead titan. The trio approached a sleek limousine, its black chassis gleaming under the tarmac lights. Fontiere stepped ahead, opening the door with practiced efficiency. Mario stifled a sigh—etiquette urged him to hold the door for her, but he was the guest here, bound by their protocols. He slid into the vehicle, the rich scent of leather enveloping him as Soryn and Fontiere followed. The engine purred to life, and the limousine glided onto the streets, Caldera's grandeur unfolding through the tinted windows.

"Did Bowser broadcast my arrival?" Mario asked, his tone casual but probing.

Soryn shook his head. "No. The Emperor has kept your presence undisclosed. Though I suspect that will change once you meet him."

Fontiere grinned, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Don't want to spark a panic, do we, Red?"

Mario shot her a frown before settling back, his gaze drifting to the window. Would his presence unsettle the city? The streets buzzed with ordered chaos—citizens in tailored robes, vendors hawking steaming buns beneath sakura-laden arches, holographic billboards flickering with Imperial creeds. As the limousine left the inner city, the skyline gave way to tranquil parks, their manicured lawns dotted with serene lakes that mirrored the distant peaks. The scene was almost pastoral, a stark contrast to the Empire's martial reputation. If he hadn't known better, he could've mistaken this for Ferros or the Waffle Kingdom. How many scholars would give their lives to glimpse this side of Bowser's domain—a city where power and serenity coexisted in uneasy harmony?

"We're approaching Victory Plaza," Soryn announced, his voice cutting through the limousine's quiet hum.

Mario leaned toward the window, his eyes catching a massive roundabout centered by a towering obelisk of dark stone, its peak crowned by a double-layered octagon. His brow furrowed, and he glanced at the vyrn. "What's with the octagon? I figured Bowser'd have his mug stamped on everything."

Fontiere let out a soft scoff. "Really, Red? The Empire's been standing for over six hundred years." Mario's eyes widened slightly, and her expression softened, a flicker of patience in her gaze. "We've had emperors and empresses long before His Majesty. That symbol—the Imperial Shell, not just an octagon—was the crest of the first emperor. Back then, he was merely King of the Koopas."

Mario's frown deepened, pieces clicking into place. "That's why some call Bowser that…"

Fontiere nodded. "King Bowser, First of His Name, founded the Koopa Empire, though he was only crowned Emperor posthumously. His reign sparked what we call the Tortuga Restoration. Victory Plaza was built to honor him."

Mario shook his head, grappling with the weight of that history. He exhaled, turning back to the window, only to freeze as a colossal structure loomed into view. Its immense dome dominated the skyline, its marble facade gleaming under the midday sun, flanked by sakura trees in full bloom. The building's scale was staggering, its curved colonnades and intricate friezes exuding both grandeur and menace. Even from this distance, it radiated an authority that set it apart from any fortress he'd seen in the Dark Lands.

"What the…?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.

Fontiere's face lit up with pride. "That's the Imperial Citadel—or the Imperial Palace, if you prefer. It's the Emperor's residence and where the Imperial Assembly gathers for major addresses from the reigning monarch." She glanced at Soryn. "What was the main hall's capacity, sir? Architect's estimate?"

"One hundred thousand, perhaps more," Soryn replied, his tone even.

Mario snorted, skepticism creeping in. "No way. That many people under a dome? You'd get weather patterns forming inside."

Soryn's lips curved into a faint smile. "Hence the dehumidifiers integrated into the ventilation system—a necessity after workers reported morning mist forming within during construction."

Mario let out a low whistle, his gaze still fixed on the Citadel as the limousine halted at the base of a sweeping marble staircase. The dome towered above, its scale almost dizzying, yet there was an unexpected warmth to its design, softened by the sakura petals drifting across the plaza. He scowled at the thought—welcoming wasn't a word that belonged in the same breath as the Empire. His eyes dropped to the guards stationed at the entrance, their crisp uniforms—dark grey with red accents—lending a stark contrast to the Citadel's elegance. Each bore the Imperial Shell on their insignias, white and red banners fluttering overhead.

Fontiere stepped out first, followed by Soryn, and Mario braced himself as the door opened, half-expecting a sniper's shot. One guard, standing rigid, twitched, his hand tightening on his rifle's grip. Soryn raised a single finger, and the guard froze, reluctantly easing his hold, though his eyes burned with undisguised loathing. Mario met the stare briefly, then looked up at the banners, their Imperial Shells stark against the sky.

"Well," he muttered, "time to meet His Archmagnificency…"

The guards' scowls deepened as he trailed Fontiere and Soryn up the stairs and into the Citadel. Inside, the air shifted, cool and heavy with the scent of polished stone. Seamless white marble floors flowed into rich gold and red carpets, guiding paths to unseen chambers. The walls, crafted of darker marble, bore no imperfections, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of chandeliers shaped like blossoming sakura. Mario placed his hands on his hips, grudgingly impressed. No lava moats, no spiked traps—just an elegance that almost made him forget he was in the heart of Bowser's domain. Almost.

Fontiere's chuckle pulled Mario's attention, her eyes glinting with amusement at his awestruck expression. "Believe me, Red, I was just as floored my first time here. I was only a cadet then, tasked with escorting someone to meet His Majesty."

Soryn's voice carried a trace of mirth. "As I recall, Commander, you were less than pleased about the assignment."

Fontiere shrugged, glancing at Mario. "Can you blame me? I'm from Crestwood—a country girl dropped into the Empire's heart. Nerve-wracking enough without being roped in as a translator. Someone decided I was the perfect fit to shadow the Commodore during our Academy days here."

"Fascinating," Mario muttered, his patience thinning. "But I'd like to get this over with before my blood pressure spikes through the dome."

Trailing them, Mario's breath caught as they entered a vast chamber. The main hall was a monument to Imperial power, its scale both grand and oppressive. Tiered rows of seats, upholstered in black leather with intricate gold filigree, curved in a semicircle, their symmetry unbroken. At the far end, a towering balcony loomed, its marble balustrade carved with sinuous patterns. The space was cavernous, designed for thousands, yet Mario wondered how anyone on that balcony could command a crowd's focus from such a distance.

His gaze dropped to the floor, where a massive brass Imperial Shell gleamed, its double-layered octagon stark against the polished marble. A pang of regret hit him—this craftsmanship belonged to a regime he could never admire. Soryn and Fontiere halted abruptly, and Mario stopped short, narrowly avoiding a collision. His eyes lifted, narrowing at a familiar, unwelcome figure. Clad in flowing blue robes, Kamek shuffled toward them, leaning heavily on a cane. Soryn and Fontiere bowed deeply, but Mario crossed his arms, fixing the old koopa with a hard stare.

"First Minister," Soryn intoned, his voice formal. "We have fulfilled our mission and brought Mario Segale as ordered."

Kamek's eyebrows rose, his gaze settling on Mario with polite curiosity before he offered the officers a warm, almost paternal smile. "Well done, Commodore. I shall recommend commendations for you and the Vigilant's crew."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Fontiere replied, her tone crisp.

Mario's unease deepened. Kamek, the Imperial old koopa who'd once nearly ended him and Luigi, now carried himself like a kindly elder, his demeanor disarming yet unnervingly false. Kamek chuckled softly at Fontiere. "You're most welcome. His Majesty also wishes to express his gratitude for your success. As a reward, the Vigilant has been granted shore leave." He tapped his cane against the marble, the sound sharp in the vast hall. "I'm certain your crew could use the respite after nearly six months deployed." His eyes flicked to Mario. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must escort our guest to His Majesty."

Mario's eyes tracked Soryn and Fontiere as they snapped crisp salutes, their boots clicking in unison before they pivoted and exited the hall, leaving him alone with Kamek. The old koopa stood without his wand, but Mario's guard stayed up—Kamek's power didn't rely on props like lesser Imperial battlemages. He'd seen the koopa unleash devastation with a flick of his claw, and the memory of those clashes with Luigi kept Mario's senses sharp.

"So, what's the game here?" Mario asked, tilting his head, his voice edged with suspicion. "You fed Soryn and Fontiere some story about Bowser needing help, didn't you?"

Kamek's scowl was immediate, his eyes narrowing. "I forget how tiresome you can be," he growled, his tone clipped. "Please. Follow me."

Mario planted his feet, arms crossing tightly. "No. You dragged me here, kept me in the dark. I'm not moving until you give me something real."

To his surprise, Kamek didn't bristle or snap. Instead, the old koopa seemed to sag, pinching the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. His expression—exhausted, almost defeated—caught Mario off guard. Paired with the claim that Bowser himself had requested his aid, it sent a prickle of unease down Mario's spine. Kamek shook his head, his voice softening. "I ask only for a moment's patience. This isn't something I can explain here. It's… better shown."

Mario's curiosity stirred, though his skepticism held firm. He uncrossed his arms, gesturing for Kamek to lead. Something was off—neither Soryn nor Fontiere had offered more than vague hints about Bowser's plea. Soryn had only mentioned that the matter could reshape the continent. Exaggeration? Mario's frown deepened as he followed Kamek, the silence between them heavy. The old koopa pressed an elevator button, and they stepped inside. Kamek selected the third floor, and the quiet stretched, unbroken. Mario studied the koopa, noting the distant look in his eyes, but before he could probe, a soft ding announced their arrival.

The doors parted, revealing a corridor lined with towering portraits. Each canvas depicted a koopa—male and female, adorned in regal garb—their gazes radiating authority. The artistry was meticulous, capturing not just features but an almost tangible presence. Mario's steps slowed, his voice quieter than he intended. "Who… who are they?"

Kamek jolted from his reverie, glancing at a painting before offering a faint chuckle. "These are the Empire's past rulers," he said, his tone warming slightly. "From Emperor Bowser the First to Emperor Valter, Emperor Korvus the Black, Empress Morrigan… each commissioned a portrait. They're lessons—examples of prosperity or warnings for future monarchs."

Mario's eyebrows lifted. He hadn't expected Kamek to answer, let alone with such candor. Warnings for future monarchs? His mind churned, wondering what history would make of the current Bowser. Questions burned on his tongue, but the words wouldn't form. They reached a massive door of polished oak and dark walnut, its surface carved with intricate patterns. Kamek paused, visibly steeling himself before knocking. To Mario's astonishment, the doors slid open silently, revealing the chamber beyond. He followed the old koopa inside, his senses on edge, every instinct screaming that whatever lay ahead would upend everything he thought he knew.

The doors slid shut behind them, sealing the chamber in near-darkness, save for the faint glow of a desk lamp. Mario's gaze locked onto a clawed hand, its grip tight on a pen, scratching across a document with deliberate strokes. The sight stirred memories of his summons to Chanterelle Palace, but this felt different— heavier, shadowed by an unspoken weight. Kamek tapped his cane, the sound sharp in the stillness, and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, our guest is here as you requested."

Mario shot a glance at Kamek, noting the old koopa's thinly veiled disapproval. Guest? The term grated, and Mario's own distrust mirrored the koopa's expression. A low grunt came from the desk, followed by the slow, laborious rise of a massive figure. The rhythmic tap of a cane accompanied heavy footsteps, each step deliberate, strained. As the figure emerged from the shadows, Mario's breath caught, his heart lurching. It was Bowser—but a Bowser unrecognizable from the tyrant he'd clashed with.

The Emperor looked ravaged. His once-vibrant mane of red hair hung limp, streaked with grey that seemed impossible after only six months. Dark circles carved hollows beneath his eyes, yet those eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding alertness. Gone was the hulking armor; instead, he wore a deep red robe trimmed in black, its elegance at odds with his haggard frame. The cane, clutched in one claw, bore his weight with every step. Mario's jaw slackened, shock rooting him in place.

"My apologies," Bowser rasped, his voice a cracked shadow of its former boom. He limped to an empty chair, easing himself down with painful care. "I've been… under the weather, as you can see."

Mario blinked, snapping out of his daze. "Understatement of the century," he muttered, his voice low. "What happened to you?"

Bowser's frame shuddered with a wheezing breath, his claw clutching his chest. The sight was wrong—utterly wrong. The Emperor sighed, his tone bitter. "After we stopped Smithy, I threw myself into the next 'grand' scheme." His lips twisted into a sneer. "I didn't know where to aim. Part of me wanted to storm Star Haven." He paused, a wet, rattling breath escaping him. "Attacking the gods' realm? Madness, even for me. So I turned to science instead…" His words dissolved into a violent coughing fit, his body shaking with the force of it.

Before Mario could react, Kamek darted to Bowser's side, his cane clattering against the floor. Mario's mind flashed to Luigi's speculations—had Kamek raised Bowser from infancy? This frantic concern seemed to confirm it. Bowser, still hacking, waved a claw dismissively, his glare sharp enough to halt Kamek's fussing. The old koopa stepped back, his frown deepening.

Kamek turned to Mario, his voice steady but grim. "We acquired experimental megavitamin samples from Hoo Hoo University in the Beanbean Kingdom. The aim was to synthesize a… super-soldier compound, for lack of a better term." He glanced at Bowser, who gave a curt nod. "We succeeded. But then…"

"…This," Bowser finished, his voice a hoarse rasp. He lifted the claw he'd coughed into, revealing a smear of dark blood across his scales.

Mario hissed, his stomach twisting at the sight. The volume of blood was alarming, far beyond anything he'd witnessed. He recalled Luigi's childhood bout with pneumonia—terrifying coughs, traces of blood, but the doctors had dismissed it as minor esophageal damage. This? This was catastrophic, a visceral warning of something far graver tearing through Bowser's body.

"His Majesty insisted on testing the compound himself," Kamek said, his glare piercing Bowser with barely veiled frustration. "The initial trials were promising—enhanced strength, heightened reflexes. But once his body fully metabolized the megavitamin, the side effects surfaced." The war mage's frown deepened, his voice tightening. "At first, it was typical: migraines that left him reeling, muscle spasms locking his limbs, nausea so severe he couldn't stand. Then… the anomalies began. Scans revealed brain lesions—irregular, aggressive growths that baffled our physicians. Worse, the altered megavitamin began attacking healthy cells, mistaking them for pathogens. His immune system is tearing itself apart." Kamek gestured to Bowser, his claw trembling slightly. "This is five months of relentless deterioration."

Bowser coughed, a shallow, rattling sound, his eyes glinting with grim resolve. "In short, Mario… I'm dying."

Mario's mouth went dry, the words sinking in like lead. Bowser, the indomitable tyrant, dying? It felt like a twisted fantasy straight from King Russet's vengeful dreams. He glanced at Kamek, whose grim expression mirrored the Emperor's. Mario pulled off his cap, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering on his cheek as he grappled with the revelation. "Alright," he said, his voice low, steady. "You're dying. I get it. But I'm not seeing how I fit in. My grandfather was a doctor, sure, but he's long gone. Me?" He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I'm a retired plumber. Unless you need a plunger to fix this, I'm out of my depth."

Bowser's chuckle was faint, strained, but laced with his old, sardonic humor. "Always good for a laugh, Mario…" Another cough wracked him, weaker this time.

Kamek stepped in, his tone patient but heavy with urgency, his eyes flicking to Bowser with evident concern. "His Majesty summoned you for a different purpose. He is currently unable to fulfill his duties as Emperor. The Empire requires a ruler. The Crown Prince is far too young to govern, and his siblings hold no claim to the throne." The old koopa turned to Mario, his gaze steady. "In times of crisis, our monarchs have appointed chancellors to act in the throne's name. It—"

"There's your fix!" Mario cut in, throwing up his hands. "Make Kamek Chancellor and call it a day!" He clapped sarcastically, his voice dripping with exasperation. "Thanks for dragging me across the continent to solve your easy problem!"

Bowser shook his head, slow and deliberate, his expression hardening despite his frailty. "You don't understand, Mario," he said, his voice low, carrying a weight that silenced the room. "Kamek's duties as First Minister of the Assembly will consume him, as will his efforts to reverse this… affliction." Kamek's face darkened, his claws tightening on his cane. "He's capable, no doubt, but I must prepare for the worst." A slow, predatory grin spread across Bowser's face, his eyes locking onto Mario with unsettling intensity. "I brought you here because I need a Chancellor. And that, my portly Pastafarian, is where you come in."

Mario's jaw dropped, his mind reeling. "Wait… what the fuck?!"

Note from the Author:

This chapter is among my proudest achievements. Some may question Mario's ignorance of Bowser Junior, but this stems from the story's timeline, which excludes all games post-Super Mario RPG. The Koopalings as Bowser's adopted children strike a balance between their original portrayal as his offspring in Super Mario Bros. 3 and their later retcon as minions in New Super Mario Bros. Wii.

Caldera City's design initially drew inspiration from the Fire Nation in Avatar: The Last Airbender but evolved to reflect Welthauptstadt Germania, the envisioned capital of an Axis victory in works like The Man in the High Castle and Wolfenstein. The Imperial Citadel, modeled after the Volkshalle—intended to replace the Reichstag—blends Germanic grandeur with Japanese aesthetics, echoing Bowser's Kingdom from Super Mario Odyssey.

The final line thrills me for its unexpected edge, a departure from Mario's typical demeanor.