I am looking for a [???]* man.

- DIOGE(??)S, PHILOSOPHER OF OLD, while walking around carrying a lantern during the day**

*records of the philospher's name have been burned in the notorious Fire of the Library of Alexandria, the only annals left about him were those recounted by human readers' memory; it is obscure to what kind of man he is looking for, but is usually filled in as "honest."

THERE WERE FAR TOO MANY MOTIVATIONS FOR HUMANS TO BECOME IMMORAL THAN PHILOSOPHY OR RELIGION COULD COVER.

Anothen Verses told of how sin corrupted even the most innocent of people, but didn’t exactly recount how to stop it. I was told that the Kato didn’t encourage sin but still acknowledged it, which was one way that the two Beliefs were similar — an observation that would likely get me killed in some circles, but an observation nonetheless.

Then again, the concept of someone being immoral, violating some sort of unspoken rule not to kill, steal, or maim, was inherently wrong.

It wasn’t right, so it was wrong — perhaps the Rhianites would defend it, or those across the Oceanus, the Kason, or the Easterners. But rules usually had to be spoken before they were set, and set before enforced. Everyone had their own set of rules, lines they wouldn’t cross, but whether they would sacrifice them for the sake of glory, whether they would fall to the tempter that was sin, would depend on them, and only them, not preachers or extremists that waved Verses around.

Greed was a sin, and a common one at that. I wasn’t surprised to see it in most eyes of those at the Imperial Court.

“Pay up.”

“Your Majesty, he’s—”

“I said, pay up.”

“Or what? You’ll do what? Your Majesty—”

Greta held up a hand, benevolently showing no signs of an oncoming headache. “Please, Duke Boreas, Marquis Drakos, calm down,” my sister said in a steely tone that brooked no argument. “Duke, please, state your plea.”

The Cardinal looked surprisingly like an intellectual, lean and pale like most Boreans were, but with thin spectacles that hung on his lithe face. He was older, some years either older — or younger — than Greta, frost-streaked robes hanging on his crumpled-metal posture. He was reportedly quiet in social occasions, only deigning to speak to his comrades that were the other Cardinals and duchies, but vocally firm as a politician — I had seen him before, on his visits to Inevita, one of the Duke Marksman’s personal acquaintances and political allies on the Rhianite border front.

The Duke Matthias had hated the Rhianites because they were too peace-loving. The Duke Boreas assumedly hated the Rhianites because they had killed his parents.

You could see very easily who was more justified to be angry.

“Your Majesty, the Marquis Drakos—” the Head of the Anthinon Duchy shot a vapid scowl at the man in question, a scowl that meant that the Duke would probably like nothing better but to call the Marquis what he was — a sleazy con-man with an apparent military backing — “failed to provide his annual support for the branch of the Imperial Army stationed in Anthinon.”

The Marquis frowned from the other side of the Imperial court, the seat of the defendant if the court was fashioned in the way of the law, and was about to interject before the Duke argued, “We’ve seen an increase in Rhianite bandits these past few years — their peace-loving culture can’t keep reining in the heretical criminals that keep pushing our borders.”

The scholarly man shook his head almost startingly calmly, spectacles still on his nose, “They’re becoming more organized, bandit bands turning into criminal rings. If you haven’t seen it with your own eyes, Your Majesty, you wouldn’t believe it.” The Cardinal turned to the Marquis, as he spoke, the accusatory words in contrast with his mild demeanor, “Which is why, funding and resources is all the more important, and Marquis Drakos should hand over the money and weapons he promised.”

The Empress Greta the Great raised a hand. “Are you done, Duke?”

Her vassal nodded his head. “Yes I am, Your Majesty. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Then, it was Timaios’ father who jabbed his finger at the other. “Your Majesty,” said the Marquis, whose attractive features didn’t match his corrupt interior — like an apple with a worm sticking out of it, only when you wanted a full worm, it turned out to be a maggot instead — “I am raising the concern of the safety of the funds after they are allocated. I’m sure you aren’t aware, Your Majesty, but some of us may take the opportunity of a new ruler to relocate some Imperial funds for themselves.”

His shrew-like eyes darted to the Duke. Accusing the Duke of embezzlement while very nearly insulting the Emperor, my Ability observed, but didn’t need it to know that Timmy’s father was toeing a very, very thin line. “As it is,” the Marquis Drakos continued, “I’m sure I’m raising a very valid concern, Your Majesty.”

I nearly snorted from my place beside Greta’s throne. My sister’s lips curled.

“You’re sure, Marquis, are you?” the newly-crowned Empress asked. “Well, since you raise security concerns of some kind of force that even the Cardinals can’t touch stealing your resources, of course it is our duty as the Imperial Family to reassure our vassals.”

Greta’s head tilted and met mine, my Ability sparking. “Sixth Princess Seraphina,” she acknowledged, “I’m sure you’ve recently acquired some free time after the recent ceremony.” Green eyes blinked knowingly. “Please, do accompany the Marquis’ goods on their route to the Borean Army.”

Damianos Drakos’ eyes widened. “Your Majesty—”

I wove my powers through Greta's words, picking the Hints apart as I inclined my head. “I would be honored to, Your Majesty.” I sent a smile towards the Marquis who had offered a bayonet bribe to me just a day ago, the corners of my lips mild but my teeth showing.

I could see the Marquis twitch, just a bit.

“As you can see,” Greta gestured to the Duke, who hadn’t uttered a peep, “Duke Boreas is amicable towards the arrangement. If it makes you feel safer, we can send the Second Prince along with her. What do you think, Sixth Princess Seraphina?”

I tilted my head. “I’m sure he would love to, Your Majesty,” I lied.

The Marquis twitched again.

The other nobles’ eyes glinted with amused calculation — six ducal heads, three marquises, and three counts. The vassals of the rulers of the Empire. It would be too far to say that the people gathered in this room could either topple the Empire or save it, but it wasn’t a conclusion that could be that easily passed off as ludicrous - to keep them in line, Greta had to promise them enough benefits to keep them from rebelling, but enough demerits to get them to know their place.

The ever-precarious balance of carrot and stick wasn’t one that I had to worry about. I was the one building the cart, or keeping the cart driver from falling off, not the cart driver or the donkey; well, maybe at times I was the latter, but it was clear —

This was a power play. What was the saying — a wheel that turned gathered no rust. Age hadn’t dulled the blade of any of the eleven nobles that occupied the Imperial Court; the Marquis was testing the boundaries of Greta’s new reign, attempting to sow seeds of discord and feel out her bond with the Cardinals, and I was being given the opportunity to form a bond of my own.

“Well, then,” Greta said, “that matter is solved. Onto the next.”

The Court steadily brought up matters throughout the four hours it was in session, the period spanning the hour after breakfast and the hour before lunch. Greta’s first morning as Emperor was filled with protests, power plays, and the occasional test of strength — the Republica diplomat situation was brought up, of course.

‘Recompensation must be demanded’ was the general message the nobles were pushing forward. Of course, Greta had to reassure them that an offer for a summit at Notus was sent along with the information that Nikephoros was dead — which I had some but not all idea about, in case I hadn’t made it clear — and it sorted out, sooner or later.

“We're leading an Imperial Procession throughout the Eternal City, right?” I said, breaking the somewhat-silence that was primarily made up of the clinking of silverware, “Has the route been mapped out?” I slid the knife across the brown-red flesh of the slab of meat in front of me, stabbing the lacerated piece with my fork and popping it into my mouth as I looked at my sister. We were, surprisingly, alone — my siblings were busy, although I would have to meet with Orion later—

The Empress waved a flippant hand. “There’s no need to worry about assassins,” she said. “The others are coming along. And we’re passing through all of the Quarters, so there needn’t be a pre-mapped route.”

I blinked. “Including the Lower Quarter?” I asked, trying not to let surprise taint my voice. None of the post-coronation Processions before had passed through the slums — it was a day of apparent joy, at least for the commoners who weren’t quite ‘gutter trash.’ Those that lived in the heart of the Lower Quarter, the actual gutters, usually never saw the supposed light of the Emperor’s palanquin.

“It's an Empire of all.” Greta’s gaze was sharp. “I don't forget my roots.”

A chastisement, a threat, and a promise all in one. I smiled. “'Course, Sister.” I knifed the veal again. “By the way, about the meeting you mentioned, with the Republic? Would it be alright, if you could fill me in on that?” I tried not to let the annoyance that I hadn’t been informed touch my gaze.

Greta arched an eyebrow, graciously ignoring my fairly obvious irritation. “I did send an invitation to both Consuls,” she said. “Their initial appeal for military support'll be accepted, and given in the form of Cyrus, but there will be cracks. And I know when they’ll appear.” A polite way of refusing my help.

“Right,” I agreed, still smiling. I emptied the dish. “What about my trip to Boreas? Do you need me to do anything in particular?” I voiced my Ability’s concerns. “Meet with the Rhianites in your name? Make connections with the Duke?” All possible strategies that could be used to tighten the net.

“No.” Greta waved her fork. “Do what you will.” At my raised eyebrow, she continued, “To the public, we reached a conclusion after a long and harrowing journey. We questioned the military praetor, who was surprisingly found innocent; we rightfully suspected the lecherous diplomat; but it was the one with a clean slate all along that was the culprit! A tale that could become a Tale, a fable that reinforces the moral of never judging a Tome by its cover — ‘who knew the new Imperial Family was capable of such rightful judgement? Such is deserving of the Chosen title!’ is the public sentiment.”

She said the last statement with surety, probably dipping into the spy reserve I knew she had.

I inclined my head. “It's an honor,” I said lightly, “to serve, my sister.”

A ghost of a smile touched my sister’s lips. “Yes, it was quite a well thought-out plan. Almost admirable, really. And I didn’t even give you a single instruction.” The Empress laid down her spoon in her now-empty plate and propped her head on her hand. “I trust you to come up with a strategy to convey my divine will.” The last two words were thick with dry sarcasm.

My Ability veered at the trap — if I didn’t execute her divine will, I would be liable to treason — but my arrogance soared. She couldn’t get rid of me yet — she could — she has use for me — are you willing to be used? —

I shut it down immediately, still grinning from ear to ear. “Of course, since your will's mine!” I said cheerfully. At Greta’s gesture, the plates were cleaned up and the table emptied, and the Empress looked at me with glittering green eyes.

“You’ve figured out the secret of Orion’s family,” she said, after a while. “So you must know that his motives for helping me are...complicated.” My sister intertwined her delicate fingers together, reverting back to casually formal speech. “You're young. Almost too young, to the point where I’d hesitate to trust you with these things. But Rion and I’ve known each other a long time. Twenty-five years, if I’m correct, and he’s much more volatile than you’d think.”

Was she trying to turn me against him?

As my expressions were an open book, Greta shook her head. “No, not anything of the sort. He's — how would you say it? — like a candlewick.” She gestured towards a nearby candelabra ever-so-slowly, the words laced with some kind of deep understanding that eluded me. “He’s close,” she continued with her blank face, almost sadly, “to burning out. In fact, you could argue he already has. He’s clinging to life, finding anyone and anything that captures his interest of the hunt and his Goddess, in some unconscious way.”

The only logical conclusion was— “You want me to take care of him?” I asked, two meanings in one.

“Take care — you could say that,” Greta the Great conceded. For a minute she seemed old, the age of the Duke and Duchess but nowhere near the young woman thrust into a game too young that I saw — a mirror of myself, that she perhaps wanted me to see — “I want you to watch him. He's my brother, our brother, and if he burns out, he will.”

“So you’re purposely sending us both to Boreas,” I guessed, “to either make him feel alive again, or not.”

“You could say that,” my sister repeated evasively, leaning back. Her official Imperial robes — a ceremonial chiton but embroidered with her personal insignia, an ivy wreath of Dionysus — floated over her shoulders, a golden, slightly more informal cloak hanging over the outfit. She chose not to wear a crown, like Nikephoros, which was a funny thing.

I would’ve chosen to wear a crown.

Isn’t that hilarious, a voice in the back of my mind whispered, that your material desires are so fragile — easily weakened, easily strengthened?

But what’s wrong with that? I whispered back.

“When do I leave?” I voiced my Ability again, and my Empress replied, easily:

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

There was little time for goodbyes. I plucked Alyssa and Alia from their work after they finished their more important tasks, placing them in charge of packing my possible Daycycle-spanning mission — I wrote Julian, who was busy, a goodbye letter that was sure to irk the stoic praetor inside him somewhat; I bade my siblings farewell: with Josephine and Arathis, a kiss on their cheeks, with Cyrus, a smile and a slow nod in return; and I was off.

There were nobles with their artificial well wishes, and I saw the Duke and Duchess once more before I boarded the carriage, but it never tainted my good mood.

I sat next to my brother, and across from our other travelling companion, with a bright smile.

“Are you sure, you wouldn’t be more comfortable not sharing a carriage?” the Duke Boreas asked, the words almost kind but the adjustment of his spectacles while speaking them bland and uncomfortable.

“I’m sure,” I returned placidly. “I’ve heard that Your Excellency’s fief includes the Athenaeum, one of the greatest Libraries in the Empire? Could you tell me more?” A jarring change in topic, but it was something I was genuinely curious about.

“My fief spreads across the entire Stronghold of Boreas,” the duke corrected, “but yes. The Athenaeum contains one of the most complete texts and scrolls from Before, and a wide variety of Myths and Tales from the source itself — it is quite a marvellous landmark, even in the supposed treasure trove that is Anthinon.”

Orion tilted his head. “Before texts are rare?” he asked both of us, either feigning ignorance or actually being clueless.

Surprisingly, the Cardinal remained patient, replying before I could open my mouth. “P.Q.C. is measured as the Post-Cage Era,” he explained formally. “Or, after the Queen’s Cage was established under the hands of the Gods and the reign of the First Emperor, who was, technically, the first ‘Chosen.’ Before, refers to the Era before that, from more than a hundred years ago and when the Empire was a mere fledgling state.”

I made a hum of agreement, drawing on my knowledge. “Since the Library of Alexandria in Eurus, the other source of Before records, suffered through a fire that took most of their original Before texts, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the Athenaeum is the center for those gathering to study Before,” I summarized, leaning back.

The window was bright.

The duke inclined his head in agreement. “You are very knowledgeable, Your Highness,” he commented. “But yes, you are correct. We even have the most likely version of the First Emperor’s name — or the least likely, we are not sure, due to that dreadful fire that happened.”

“‘Pandora,’” I recounted. I had always been a good history student. “All-gifted, like the Tale — some say the First Emperor was involved in the case of the Box, or that they were Pandora herself, but there’ve been too many theories about the name to count.”

The Duke Boreas’ attention was now on me. “What do you think?” he asked, more with a scholarly curiosity than a politician’s inquiry.

“My personal thoughts, or my rational thoughts?” I questioned rhetorically, lacing my Ability through the events. “Personally, I think that it’s a believable theory—” arguably, the most believable “-since their Ability remains unknown, but the ‘pan’ of the name, meaning all, seems like an important fragment. Some say the Emperor was made by the Gods, like Pandora, which I opt for, myself.”

I listened to my Ability, interlacing my hands together, and concluded: “On the other hand, rationally, Myths and Tales don’t repeat. Their lessons might, but the people they feature don’t — that can be concluded through years of studying Before. So that Pandora theory is rendered null.”

The scholar’s eyes glinted.

“Yes,” he responded, with a fellow scholar’s reverence, “that’s almost exactly what I think! Your Highness—”

“Please,” I offered to the Cardinal who I was supposed to build connections with, “call me Seraphina.”

“Ah.” The duke adjusted his spectacles for a second, taken aback, before reciprocating: “Please, call me Damokles, then. I suppose it may be a bit strange, given the fact that I’m the age of your father, but—”

Orion interrupted, furrowing his eyebrows to himself, “I still don’t get it.”

We both laughed. Orion’s bowhand twitched.

The three of us got on surprisingly well, as the days passed. Our carriage first took an hour or two to finish the journey from the Palace and the center of the Eternal City to the isle’s rim, where land met Lake Ichor; after hopping a ferry that provided way to shore, we made the other, longer Dayhept journey to the Drakos Marquessate and picked up a concerningly large amount of weapons, then headed directly for the duke’s fief.

The duke and I progressed readily, from strangers to casual acquaintances, all according to plan — which was, of course, a haphazard collection of strategies that were the Wisest and my ‘best’ route, as always — but Damokles was a good travelling companion to the point where my mind was in a pathetic state.

I would be a fool, not to recognize that he was approaching the father-shaped void in my mind. I would be even more of a fool, not to realize how pathetic that was. But that was personal, not the type of cogs in plans, my Ability told me.

I stared out the window.

As the sun and moon exchanged paths — I barely slept if slept at all, as usual, but when I did, I was told Orion guarded my separate carriage quite threateningly. It was interesting, to observe the display of so-called brotherly love, when we had been distant in the three Daycycles I’d been in the Palace, but the Imperial Family was strange, like that.

In the supposedly short time I’d joined the Victors, I’d observed the bonds that joined them together like steel spiderwebs hidden under silk — we tried to kill each other, maim each other, the silk but we ate together, talked together, and even slept in the same house. We acted buddy-buddy mere seconds before we plotted against each other. But it was steel that tied us together, steel that was only formed when killing potential legends. The steel of insanity.

We stopped at several towns, on our way climbing up the continent — but they were fleeting sights of mundane stone and brick, the landscape wilder and more untamed the closer we got to the northern Stronghold. The weather was edging freezing, by the time we reached Anthinon — my ladies-in-waiting had prepared thick clothing, but they hadn’t come along, I could keep myself safe and assisted — and the Dayhept spent was worth it as my eyes spotted crystalline spires peeking from collosal ice barriers.

There it was.

Anthinon, capital of Boreas.

My next target.

The captain of the Winterdeath, also known as the Borean branch of the Imperial Army, or the Borean Army, held the title of Wraith. The current Wraith was a scowling figure, tall in spider-silk and leather, and I was sure I could remember their name if I tried hard enough but, of course, I didn’t bother to.

We were ushered in as honored guests, of course — pheasants were cooked and quails boiled, the famous Anthinon olive oil used in every dish emanating aroma that brushed my nostrils seductively. Damokles and I debated upon the use of hope as symbolism in the Myth of Pandora, and Orion slid in polite military questions to the current Wraith, who joined us at the table. But after the luncheon was cleared away, and the mood had taken a serious enough turn, business was discussed.

The Wraith unrolled a rough map of Boreas and the Rhianite border on the table. I studied it.

I had contingencies for if I couldn’t deal with the Rhianite rogues, but they were, after all, contingencies. If I had been alone, it would’ve been mildly challenging, but there was Orion. I was sure the matter would be resolved within a Dayhept, at longest.

“The Rhiannon continent functions in states,” the captain explained — or was it a capitalized, Captain? No, Wraith was their capitalized title — and cleared their throat. “The closest state to Boreas is the one they call Victoria, where we believe most of the rogues originate from.”

My Ability whirred, confirming the information. “All the states signed a Peace Treaty under the Rhianite High King,” I pointed out casually. “If these rogues are rebelling against it, wouldn’t it call for Rhianite peacekeeping forces to be dispatched?”

Damokles shook his head. “They’ve been plaguing Boreas for the better half of a decade now,” he said. “The previous Emperor did dispatch some forces, but they never quelled the bandits for good — the Rhianites, because they apparently have the right of ‘freedom of action,’ and if it comes down to it, they’ll supposedly defend the bandits’ right, since they haven’t killed anyone, because they’re ‘peacekeepers.’” The last words were laced with surprising venom, and yet again I was reminded that the Cardinal’s parents had been murdered by them.

“But they’ve decreased the amount of fur merchants coming to Anthinon for trade almost drastically, correct?” Orion questioned.

His amber eyes travelled over the parchment and detailed ink almost mechanically, and slid a finger towards a marked trade route from Rhiannon to Anthinon. “Don’t you have some of the Winterdeath guarding the border? So how do enough of the bandits escape to establish organized bases in Visava?” Correct to his observations, there were splotchy ink blots labeled ‘bandit bases’ outside the Stronghold’s barriers.

The captain almost looked embarrassed. “They’ve been slipping bribes to some of the border guards,” they confessed, “to the point where we’ve even tried rotating schedules, but it doesn’t work.”

“A problem of internal corruption and external coordinated forces,” I observed. I turned to the Cardinal, and remarked mildly, “No offence intended, Damokles, but is there any explanation for how you’ve let the situation deteriorate to this point? I’ll need to tell my sister why the problem occurred before we manage to solve it.”

The Cardinal didn’t look angered. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s a chore to manage all the five cities inside the Stronghold, and the capital,” he said. “And perhaps,” he admitted after a while, “it’s some personal oversight on my part. But what I said at the Court was true — they’re growing at an exponential rate, if you look at the beginning and the end of their numbers and not their gradual inclination.”

“So there’s some force at work here, from the Rhianite side,” Orion stated. It was a reasonable conclusion that my Ability agreed with, and I nodded.

“We can’t directly clash with all of them at once, if they’re all part of an organization,” I added, tilting my head. I traced paths all over the map in my mind, and narrowed my eyes at the dots. “Nab the biggest, and make an example out of them? What do you think, older brother?”

Orion shrugged. “It's worth a shot — Damokles, do we get the honors of getting the bandit loot?”

“Confiscating threats to the Empire as a part of the Imperial Treasury,” I corrected, smiling.

My brother shrugged. “Yeah, that.”

The Wraith had varying expressions on their face, but they raised a question. “Do you need any reinforcements? As I know of, Your Highness the Second Prince holds an honorary rank of major — I could arrange for a transfer of command, if you’d like.”

No, military men? That would only delay action if we were to start straight away — and, according to the look on my brother’s face, we were going to start straight away.

“Two people who follow orders well, without question, and to the letter,” I requested, my gaze still on the map. “We won’t need too much support, Damokles — we’ll get every single one of them, as a gift to a friend. Right, Orion?”

Orion’s eyes gleamed in agreement, surprisingly, his hand wandering to his bow as he shouldered it.

Was it overestimation, to think myself capable of rooting out a problem a Cardinal of the Empire couldn’t? Even it was, it was a task Greta asked me to do, and I could see why — if we did get rid of them, there would be contact from the Rhianites, good or bad; Anthinon’s fur trade that the Empire relied on would be restored; and Damokles would be swayed to stay a bit longer by Greta’s side.

What I didn’t see in the near future, however, was any time for sightseeing.

It was a pity, I thought to myself — I really did want to read those Before texts.