Damon Vestigious, the Ghost of Authority, had just made the strongest people in his home nation shit their pants. He felt like taking a nap. Being terrifying suited both his image and goals, but it wasn’t him. None of this was. He wanted to watch his granddaughter grow up into a wonderful woman and have kids of her own. He wanted to see her stand tall in the face of adversity and triumph over it. He wanted to run his school and ignore the rest of the Starry Sea.

But no one was going to let him do that. The burden of power was great, and he felt it every day. Especially now. Especially after the events of the last week. So many of his students dead and his entire country was placed in a precarious position. The Council was slow to realize the problem before them and slower to act. They had grown lazy and conceited with time.

And that was where he must step in. He had taken the proper actions of the last ten years. He had decreased his resistance, allowing the Councilmembers to exert more influence on campus. Then, he had made sure they wouldn’t receive their due reports about the Revolution presence on Academy grounds. That was easy; they hardly read those reports anyway.

All of this was set up to force them into an untenable position once the inevitable Revolution attack happened. They would be more present than ever in his school. And the moment they gained that power, a foreign force, composed of unshrouded no less, would strike. It would be devastating for their position.

And this was where he made his mistake. A grave, grand mistake that nearly cost him everything. The Revolution was much stronger than he ever predicted. All previous attacks had small, low stakes attacks that could only take out the weakest of shrouded. That was what he expected at the Academy. Some students would likely die, but such was life on the Starry Sea. If they were weak enough to die to the Revolution, they would not have survived the coming battles in actual war.

But he was oh so very wrong. The suppression field, the Ethermen, even the massive ethertech weapons. All of it was orders of magnitude more powerful than anything he could have ever predicted. All this time, the Revolution had been holding back by a wide margin. It had cost him staff and students alike. After all, any shrouded would be threatened if their aura was sealed. Even he had been under threat.

So he had erred to a degree he found almost unconscionable. The amount of death now laid on his hands, death of his own students and staff, dwarfed every expectation.

So he was here, flying over the Starry Sea, nearer to the Pillar than most habitable islands. This close, the landmasses more resemble boulders than anything else, and the watery starscape was crystal clear and perfectly still. Here he flew, using one of the many shrouds he had stolen from the ghosts of his dead enemies. To reach the one person whose council he held above all else.

“You always dense up here, dear. Relax. You would know if he had gone.” Aleia, the ghost of his long-dead wife, whispered to him. He felt the impression of her hands resting on his shoulders.

“You’re right, my love.” Damon sighed. “But I fear the time has passed all the same. It will be a dark day indeed when he is gone.”

A hatch of metal poked out of the water before him. A flick of his hand and Damon used the same Wind shroud that kept him flying to twist open the round handle that kept the door sealed. Another gesture pulled the round opening up on silent hinges. This place was a secret to all, but the highest ranked shrouded. Similar structures dotted the Starry Sea from country to country. All for one reason.

Floating down on a cushion of air, Damon passed by the ladder rungs to fly down into the depths. Hundreds of meters passed him by before he reached the home of his intended visit. Music of some kind drifted down the long hallway as he entered the expansive series of rooms. Ether lights that had not been here on his last visit now lit the space. It seemed the owner had done some renovations in the last three hundred years since Damon’s last visit.

The slow, light tune floating through the air evoked both joy and sadness to him, though maybe that was merely a reflection of how he felt every time he came here. The home was expansive and lavishly appointed, though not in a way that seemed artificial. It was a grand abode for a grand man with grand tastes rather than an attempt to appear more important by holding fancy bobbles or rare materials. It had those things but with a personal touch that indicated they were what the inhabitant enjoyed, not what he thought would impress a visitor.

Traveling through several such rooms, Damon finally found the man he was here to see.

“Damon, you haven’t come to pay your respects to this old man in such a long time. I was beginning to fear you’d forgotten about me.” The stooped figure chuckled. Damon was surprised to find him in front of an easel in a room filled with painting supplies. Minimal wisps of white hair poked out of a bald head covered in paint and liver spots. He had not even turned from his work, though Damon could hear the smile on his face.

He’s aged since my last visit. Damon couldn’t help but think. It truly won’t be long now.

“Oh, get those morose thoughts out of your head, boy!” A paint rush pointed over a bony shoulder to flick menacingly at him. “I’m not gone yet! In fact, I’ve picked up a wonderful hobby. These ‘ethertech’ creations are quite amazing for someone in exile, such as myself. These CV shows cover so many topics. There’s an Outworlder with the most flamboyant hair that has a painting show! He makes the subject rather approachable, even for an old fossil like me. Bob something or other. He’s rather talented and more than a little charismatic, I would say.”

“I…wasn’t expecting this,” Damon said honestly.

“Oh, I’m retired! I can enjoy myself a little. Or are you going to tell me I should keep training my shroud down here?” He laughed. “That would be a bit of a waste. My time is coming soon. I wish you’d come visit your old teacher more often, Damon.” He turned on his stool, and Damon looked into the smiling face of his first mentor, the man that had practically raised him after his first century of life. Warick, the Dread Salvation. A legend forgotten in the modern age.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by more often.” That was true. Damon wished he had more time to come out here. But it was a long journey, even for him. The Academy required his attention. “I’m still busy with the school. I wish you could see it. But that’s not why I’m here. This isn’t a social call. I need your advice.”

“Oh, I know.” Warick nodded sagely. “I could tell when you were over a mile out. Come on, what’s bothering you? You’d better ask while you can.”

He chuckled, but Damon couldn’t help but think about the truth as he explained the predicament he’d landed the Central Authority in. Warick was out here for several reasons, none of them good. He’d moved here over three thousand years ago. Back then, he hadn’t looked any older than Damon did. Somewhere around middle-aged for an unshrouded.

No, Warick was here because he held a terrible secret of the shrouded. One that was hidden from everyone for as long as possible. Only the oldest, the strongest, and the most important shrouded learned. They were not truly immortal. Incredibly long-lived, yes. But not immortal.

The problem arose from two factors. First, a shrouded’s shroud would continue to grow in power infinitely, forever. Secondly, a shrouded’s soul would not. Once a shrouded reached True Shroud status, their soul was done growing. They were as mature, as strong as they would ever get. But their shroud’s power would continue to expand.

Eventually, the shroud would grow strong enough to put pressure on the shrouded’s soul. It would push and push until, finally, the soul broke. The shrouded died. Warick’s physical deterioration, the aging he showed, was the damage to his soul leaking back into his body. He was nearing the end of his days.

That point only came after tens of thousands of years, though. Anywhere from 70,000 years to in excess of a 100,000. Usually more than less. Warick himself was pushing 130,000 years of age. The sad part, besides inevitable death, was that the stronger a shrouded was, the faster they died.

No one knew. No other race lived anywhere near as long. The number of shrouded in the CA who made it to this point could be counted on a single hand. Almost all of them died in combat across their very, very long lives. After all, the CA itself was only 50,000 years old. Upheaval on the scale of the birth and death of entire empires was more likely than a shrouded reaching this age.

But that wasn’t the only reason Warick was out here, in the middle of nowhere. The natural death of a shrouded was a violent affair. Their shroud forcefully ripped their body apart when it was at the absolute highest possible peak of its power. The resulting explosion could level multiple islands, spanning tens of thousands of miles. So the oldest, those that neared their end, would enter these lavish underwater bunkers. The place which would be their home to the end of their life, and then their tomb. Under the Starry Sea, their death wouldn’t even be noticed. The anti-shroud properties of the Starry Sea would consume the explosion before it reached the surface.

One day, Damon’s mentor would disappear, swallowed by the Starry Sea. And his advanced age meant that it wouldn’t be long. A few years, likely less. A fact that Damon had become acutely aware of on his last visit. Even knowing that his end had been hundreds of years away back then had been…difficult. Damon was eminently comfortable with confronting his mortality. The ghost of his own wife was with him every day. He knew shrouded died and died often. But confronting the inevitability of it, the idea that, no matter how strong you were, death was truly inevitable, was an uncomfortable feeling.

Of course, Damon was uncomfortably aware of the implications surrounding Hekate’s Soul domain. What it could do for those like Warick. But he was unwilling to reveal such things, placing his granddaughter in that position. No one knew what her domain was outside the Academy. No one. He had interfered in a way he was uncomfortable admitting to make that happen.

“So that’s what’s happened so far.” Damon finished explaining. “I’m unsure how to proceed. Dealing with the Revolution was never a priority until now it is.”

“Hmm,” Warick frowned, running a spindly hand across his chin. “You are certainly in a difficult situation. Are you sure this is something you need to deal with? You’re taking on this responsibility, to stop this ‘Revolution' group. But the ethertech they’ve created is now known and real. It won’t be something that can be contained. Others will take up the technology, even if the current group collapses. This will not stop now. That point has already passed. We are transitioning into a new age, where ethertech holds enough presence to contest the supremacy of shrouds.”

Damon nodded, his head heavy. “I am aware. This must fall to me. The Council is too self-absorbed in themselves to do anything other than abuse the technology instead of controlling it. Our neighbors are encroaching, and they don’t care like they used to. Time has only softened them. None of them wish to get their hands dirty anymore, and this new ethertech plays right into their mentality. They caved so easily when I pressed them to leave the young throne alone. Ten thousand years ago, he would already be dead.”

Damon sighed, running a hand over his pale, pale face. “I know that this has all moved beyond even me. I let this get this far, and it cost my charges, my staff and students, their lives. I am responsible. I must act. There is no alternative.”

A paint-covered brush flicked against his forehead. The motion completely evaded his senses and struck before he could even register the motion. By the time he recognized what had happened, Warick was in the same position, sitting in his painter’s stool, relaxed and calm. Holding a brush.

“Listen to you, you mopey dope.” The old shrouded laughed. His wrinkled face split into a wide grin as he ruefully shook his head. “So dramatic all the time. I swear that wife of yours should have beat it out of you by now.”

“She’s gone.” Damon growled. He received another dash of paint across his face.

“That’s a load of crap! You’ve had her ghost riding with you the whole time! Dying did not make that girl any less intelligent. What did she say?” Warick glared, brush held threateningly.

“...That I was overinvolved,” Damon muttered.

“Exactly! I like that girl; I told you all those millennia ago. She’s a keeper.” Warick sighed. “Look at this mess. You started playing politics, and people got hurt. You’re a teacher at your heart, not a politician. You’ve got a granddaughter now, don’t you? And this young throne. Teach them. Protect them. The greatest failing of shrouded is that we do not die fast enough. Our old men stay old men and don’t pass on the Starry Sea to the next generation in their due time.”

He wrapped his knuckles against his knee. “You’ve made a mess of this by falling to the same level as those Council idiots. And they’ve made just as much a mess all this time for the same reason. You’re a bit too proud of yourself, Damon. You and every last one of us. Don’t think I was any different. When I was your age, I was a preening peacock, so sure of my strength. It’s only my end that has let me see clearly.”

His voice grew serious. “Mark my words. Your time is gone. The Council’s time is gone. Long, long gone. You start making decisions about the future of your students without their input; it can only go wrong. This event will extend past you now to the time beyond even your life. It is time to let the young ones make their own choices. Do not act for them. Guide, teach, train. Protect the children until they can stand on their own. But do not presume to solve problems you no longer control. That is arrogance. You will only hurt them.”

“You truly wish to protect your granddaughter, foster the next generation? Give them the time and room to grow, and they will flourish on their own. Your job now is simply to provide that space.” Warick clapped his hands, flecks of paint flying off. “Understood.”

“Yes, teacher.” Damon bowed formally. “I hear and understand.”

Teach and protect. These were things he could do.

I told you so. His wife’s ghost whispered teasingly. She had. She had told him the same thing several times. He had been arrogant and foolish not to listen.

“Now! You’re here, for once. My disciple, we are going to get drunker than a fresh recruit on his first leave and play some of these interesting new games the young folk created. Come on, your teacher insists!” Warick cheered, wrapping a flimsy-looking bony hand around Damon’s wrist and pulling him back into the lavish undersea home.

That hand may have looked weak, but Damon found himself completely incapable of stopping his mentor from ragging into a room with a massive black panel that lit up as they entered and several shelves holding book-like cases with descriptive covers. Unearth the CV screen was another piece of ethertech, connected to several types of fake-looking musical instruments. Another corner held a very well-stocked bar.

Damon would not be leaving anytime soon. Not if Warick had anything to say about it.