The Cathedral of the Divine Harbinger,

the oldest cathedral

in the Imperial City of Epux,

was burning furiously,

as though it was angry

at its own demise.

Tall flames leaped up from its

sharp steeple —

a hundred stories tall —

and smoke billowed

out of the ruins

of its stained glass windows,

which the heat had blown out

some hours earlier.

There was a rumble,

a crack,

and the steeple shivered

and collapsed,

spitting embers and dust

into the sky,

as the legendary structure

imploded on itself,

and disintegrated

in conflagration.

Emperor Zineus the 37th

watched the Cathedral

die

from the highest balcony

of his Imperial Palace.

He had been baptised

at the Cathedral of the Divine Harbinger

when he was but an infant,

as had a hundred emperors before him.

The Emperor was the last soul

remaining in the palace.

Almost an hour ago,

the final group of escapees

had departed through a tunnel

beneath the palace,

known only to the royal family,

which opened out

in a forest outside the city.

Included in that party

was the Emperor’s decoy,

who looked exactly like him,

and had been trained to speak

like him.

Once these men reached

the end of the tunnel,

thinking they were breathing

the air of freedom,

they would be set upon

by barbarians

who had been informed of the tunnel

and this escape plan

long ahead. of time.

The barbarians would kill them all,

including the decoy,

cutting off his head,

to present to their leaders.

And, as far as history would be concerned,

Emperor Zineus the 37th,

son of Areopogos the Deaf,

would be dead.

The fires devouring the city

had made the air so hot

it was nauseating.

Emperor Zineus

dabbed at his forehead

with a cold, damp cloth.

His temples were throbbing.

He unrolled a doka leaf,

and placed it under his tongue

to sooth the pain.

As tendrils of numbness

spread down his back,

he told himself

that the time had come,

that he could wait no longer,

that it was over,

that he must

begin.

He sighed loudly.

He had not been this alone

his whole life,

had always been surrounded

by attendants,

bodyguards,

sycophants,

subjects,

slaves.

It made him feel

naked.

Zineus took one last look

at the burning city

of his fathers.

Goodbye,

he thought.

He left the balcony.

Inside,

on a table,

sat his pack

and his photon rifle.

He threw both over his shoulders,

and hurried to the hyper-elevator.

The soundless machine

carried him down

to the ground level

of the palace.

The cavernous halls

were filled

with a serrated emptiness,

a silence

so remorseful

that Zineus’s

courage

almost broke into pieces.

But he took a deep breath,

and followed the path he had rehearsed

a thousand times

in his head.

Zineus pulled open

the double doors

guarding the basement,

and the ancient staircase

he had been dreading

spilled beneath him.

He took his first,

furtive steps down.

He knew what lurked

beneath the palace,

the history buried

beneath layers of the past and present,

the ghosts

trapped in stone.

Down he went,

into the depths

down, down,

into the catacombs and warrens,

down,

further,

his body dizzy with descent,

the weight of the planet above him

squeezing the breath out of his lungs,

the darkness

just barely held at bay

by his science-lantern.

How much further?

He could not remember.

Yes,

he had made this journey under the palace

once before,

when he had been just a boy,

only seven.

One day,

Zineus’s father,

Emperor Areopogos the Deaf,

had dragged him down here

to Zineus’s mirth and

fear.

They had been alone —

except for his father’s Fearwolf,

Star Fang,

who warily sniffed and prowled

the ancient corridors.

Finally,

after endlessly descending underground,

Zineus’s father

had led him to a great steel door.

“This is our most secure vault,”

Emperoro Areopogos had told his son,

his deaf voice

uneven and searching in its melody.

“And inside

is our greatest burden.”

Areopogos unlocked

and heaved open

the heavy vault door,

and the stink of history

invaded their noses.

Areopogos smiled;

even in his soundless world,

the ominous silence of the vault

was intoxicating.

Zineus’s eyes had widened

as he wondered what family treasure

awaited him.

The shadows around them

had crept and slithered

as Areopogos’s movement

swung his science-lantern

back and forth.

Anticipation tingled up

Zineus’s spine.

And there it had been:

a tall, ornately jeweled spear

with intricate narrative carvings

covering its entire

long shaft.

Zineus had gazed at the Emperor

in curiosity.

It was no use asking his father anything —

he would not hear.

“This is

the Spear of Time,”

Areopogos said,

his tuneless voice

somber.

“Should Epux fall

when you are Emperor,

you must take up

this evil weapon

to save the Omniverse.”

Zineus reached out to touch it.

Its metal was cold.

“But,” said Areopogos,

tussling his son’s hair with affection,

“Epux will never fall.”

Back in the now,

Emperor Zineus the 37th

pulled a royal key from his neck,

and unlocked the door

with a clink.

He pulled it open with a creak,

and hideous darkness

spilled out.

He lifted the science-lantern,

and its silver light

floated in angles

into the vault.

There it was.

The Spear of Time.

His true destiny.

Zineus did not hesitate.

He reached out

and took the spear into his hand,

jolting it from its base.

Its stern metal shaft

vibrated coldly in his palm.

The last Emperor of Epux

remembered his father’s words:

“Take the Spear to the Cave of Lies.

Face the World-Dragon

and impale it in the heart

with this cursed weapon.

Then...

the Omniverse will be saved.”

Zineus took a deep breath.

May the All-or-Nothing

bless my quest,

he thought.

to be continued...