Emperor Magnus Ohavim never received a proper burial or funeral.

  The decision sent an uproar throughout the Division. Rumors of vulnerability and possible infighting within the Division government and its military dramatically raised Republic morale.

  Within the first year of Emperor Atheneum’s reign, the Division suffered major losses.

  Frax was one of the first planets to be taken back, and many soon followed after. Over two billion Division soldiers lost their lives in the course of that year, the highest number of casualties recorded in the war up to that point.

  To many, it seemed that Republic victory was assured.

  Then the year came to an end, and the whole of humanity discovered just how much they had misjudged Emperor Gelmidas Atheneum.

  “I dropped the first spear, myself. I stood on the edge of space, my body being pulled by the void, and I chose to let the weapon fall rather than myself. Write that down. That will be my first quote.”

  The scribe pens it as Gelmidas speaks. He walks with him in the aftermath of the carnage. Their boots trample over the fine pulp that is now unrecognizable as human remains.

  Gelmidas halts at the center of the crater and adjusts his glasses. “On a further note, scribe, write that I said it right here. Here at the end of the universe. Write that I have always walked among ghosts.”

  Gelmidas Atheneum goes on to visit as many battlefields as he can, walking through them once the fighting is done.

  No one quite knows why.

  Some suspect it’s in admiration of his soldiers’ handiwork. Some think he may be mourning the fallen.

  Others have much more fantastical explanations that align with the manufactured religion, stating that he is warding the souls of Division soldiers to the afterlife.

  The real reason does not matter.

  Either way, the battle reporters enjoy having company during their otherwise lonely and monotonous work.

  Gelmidas himself becomes an extremely public figure. Although not in the way Magnus was.

  Gelmidas takes the title of a man of the people, often warmly welcoming visitors to the Division Plaza, walking about the cities with minimal guards, and boldly taking criticism from his own citizens, even going so far as to engage in debate with them. Assassination attempts are only common for the first few months of the Emperor’s return after the bloody year of absence.

  When asked about the last year, Gelmidas laughs, “Well, fixing a government takes time, and I had no real political experience when I became Emperor. Last year was tragic, and every day I pray that those poor souls and wasted days could come back to us, but what did you expect me to do after I killed Magnus for threatening that poor woman? Snatch his crown from his corpse and instantly begin taxing you all?”

  Those who are there to hear his response laugh with him; those who read it laugh harder.

  “He’s not talking yet.” Nadeden worryingly sighs, watching Adamus absent-mindedly clap his tiny hands on a small mat across the room.

  “When should he start talking?”

  “Well, I think my parents told me that I was about two years old when I first spoke.”

  “Really? That old?”

  “What? Is that not normal? How old were you when you started?”

  “No idea, no one ever told me, and I wasn’t exactly a chatterbox.”

  “Oh, my apologies, Ms. Nadeden. Sometimes I just forget and…”

  Nadeden laughs, taking the coffee the maid hands to her.

  “It’s no problem, Helena, really. Besides, how can I be offended by someone who makes coffee this good?”

  Helena blushes at Nadeden’s comment, her cheeks flicker red as she hides a smile. “Thank you, Ms. Nadeden.”

  Helena returns to the kitchen. The light from the sunset strikes her fingertips as she carefully puts away the Coffee beans and maker.

  She walks back to Nadeden, who’s now on the mat with Adamus by the window. She dangles a set of strings over Adamus’s head, his small nubs of fingers paw at the jangling metal sculptures of animals on the ends of the strings as Helena asks, “Have you spoken with the Emperor recently?”

  The mention of Gelmidas sends a shiver of resentment through Nadeden.

  He’s always out and about, parading himself across streets and battlefields, adorned in that gold crown stained with pretentious nobility. That man clearly wants nothing to do with her or her son, so why should she want anything to do with him?

  “Nope, any reason why you’re asking?”

  Helena nervously pulls at the trim of her apron, stumbling on the words that fall from her mouth. “No. No reason.”

  “Helena,” Nadeden sets the strings down, gently picking Adamus off the mat and resting him in her arms. “I don’t serve him,” She states, comforting Helena and moving to stand beside her.

  “I know.” Helena gulps, swallowing her reservations. “I was just wondering because of the rumors that have been circulating.”

  “Rumors?” Nadeden asks, growing back into a certain tone that she hasn’t exhibited for quite some time.

  “Yes, Ms. Nadeden, rumors. My brother repaired a member of the treasury’s ship yesterday. They told him that the Emperor made the request for a large item stored in one of the vaults to be transferred to the Plaza’s basement. The Emperor himself is also yet to put in his usual public appearance for the week.” Helena speaks in a hushed tremble; the weight in her voice betrays her.

  She’s hiding something else.

  “What did he want transferred, Helena?”

  Davon Yemer’s breath escapes into the roar of the wind.

  He lunges his arm out, piercing it.

  His hand hangs directly above the pavement from the roof like a moon resting over a mountain.

  He breathes again.

  A fall from this height is guaranteed to kill him.

  So he won’t fall.

  The skin and bone of his fingers rub together.

  His teeth grind with discomfort.

  I have to want it. At the thought, his fingers snap.

  A jolting sensation flies through his veins. There are sparks of flickering blue, but nothing afterward.

  Davon breathes heavily again; this time, the sigh is out of frustration.

  “Awfully long smoke break.”

  “Shut it, Shanna.” Davon spits while attempting to summon the portal again.

  He snaps his fingers, only to not even produce sparks.

  He steps away from the roof’s ledge. “Besides, I quit smoking.”

  “Did quit? Or trying to quit?” Shanna jokes. The curls of her hair crash against her face in the ferocious air.

  “Well, given my mood, what do you think?” He crosses his arms; his annoyance is palpable.

  “Not sure, maybe give me a hint?” Davon nudges Shanna’s elbow at her attempt at humor, leaning with her against the roof entryway.

  “Hey, that hurt!” She exclaims with no pain in her voice at all.

  Davon ignores her, cutting straight to the point. “Is there a particular reason you’re visiting the chapel, or are you just here to annoy me?”

  “Well, did I ever give you the impression that I was a woman of the Gods?” She coyly asks.

  Davon remains unamused. “No, but I know you enough to recognize when you're avoiding answering questions.”

  Shanna sighs, the strength of the air drawing on her voice. “We’ve been requested by the Emperor. He said he needs the Warbound.”

  Davon pulls himself back to the ledge at the statement. He reaches out his hand once more, wishing to escape this feeling.

  The sting of regret and self-hatred builds in his fingertips. “I want nothing to do with him.”

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  Shanna stays at the door. She rests her arms behind her head to feign comfort. “Neither do I, but don’t you want to stop him from doing something stupid?”

  “He can make his own decisions and live with the consequences. Thinking that I could protect him by controlling him was a mistake. Even holding feelings for him was a mistake. Gerry-” Davon corrects himself. “Gelmidas is his own person, and so am I.” His fingers snap with blue light, summoning a portal right before his eyes. Its oval shape shakes unstably until sustaining itself within reality.

  Shanna steps toward it with a yawn. “Have you told anyone else about that?”

  “No,” Davon states, holding his foot over the ledge and over the portal.

  “It’s a long way down, Davon.” Shanna cautions him, stepping closer.

  Davon prepares to walk forward, placing his hands at his side and bending his knees. “Why did he request us, specifically?”

  “Davon…” she mutters, only paying mind to his distance above the ground.

  “Why, Shanna?” Davon takes his first step, tipping over the ledge.

  “Davon! Don’t jum-”

  Davon walks off the ledge before she can finish.

  The portal closes.

  The light is extinguished with it.

  “Davon?” Shanna looks down at the street below, searching for his body or at least a bloody smear of it.

  Her eyes dart all along the chasm of buildings, her heart sinks.

  She’s so preoccupied with her panic that she nearly screams in shock at the sound of boots landing behind her.

  “Hey! If that was your idea of a joke or something, it wasn’t very funny!”

  “Thought you didn’t get scared.” Davon chuckles.

  The portal he stepped through closes behind him.

  “Now, tell me exactly why we’re being requested before I pull another stunt like that again.”

  “General Orson?”

  “The one and only!” Orson boasts to the guard at the gate of the Plaza, who simply shrugs before letting him through. Orson shakes his head disapprovingly as he steps inside.

  He remembers the times when being recognized meant autographing a poster, exaggerating his exploits to an adoring fan, or his personal favorite, getting the chance to flirt with an energetic woman he would rarely have to put in any real effort to win over.

  He appreciated the promotion to General, sure, but the perks of fame seem to have escaped him and fallen into the lap of a man who wants nothing to do with them.

  This feeling of frustrated nostalgia only increases in Orson as he walks unnoticed through the extravagance of the Plaza, disappearing into the sea of gold and blue military uniforms.

  No one even takes the time to notice that his destination is one unavailable to the public.

  Ever since the Emperor’s office became a tourist destination, meetings like this one have been held in a much more private location. A subtle hand gesture indicates the need for such privacy to the basement’s security. They step aside at the simple sight of the two crossed fingers, and with that, Orson’s sense of self-importance is reignited.

  A smile crawls onto his face. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  He descends the stairs into the unholy light of the unnatural, hallowed-out catacomb.

  The floor is littered with the torn and tattered pages of various seemingly random historical and religious documents, while the wall has been vandalized with attempts to translate the runes of the stone container that lies at the center of it all.

  “Well, isn’t this just one big heartwarming reunion?” Shanna harshly proclaims, leaping off the container. Davon stays transfixed on it as Orson shrugs. “Come on, don’t pretend like you two aren’t happy to see me. I thought we were all friends here.” At that, Davon perks up his head, adding, “And I thought the one who invited us all here would have shown his face by now.”

  Orson tramples on the scattered papers, staining them as he makes his way to the pair.

  “Well, I expected him to be here when I arrived, so it appears all of us were wrong.”

  “Not me.” Chimes Shanna, “I suspected he wouldn’t be here; it’s not like he’s paid much mind to us lately. Gelmidas probably wants to avoid meeting with us as much as possible.”

  “So you believe anxiety to be the reason for all my actions? Perhaps you're on to something, Shanna.”

  A disheveled Gelmidas appears out of the furthest wall.

  He doesn’t even bother to seal the hidden door behind him.

  “Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re all here.” He wheezes, adjusting his glasses, with bags under his eyes.

  The eyes of the Warbound widen at his arrival. The casualness of the stagnant air is replaced with an uneasy tension.

  “Now I know it’s been quite some time since we all last spoke together,” Gelmidas clears his throat as he begins, “but the fact that you three even arrived shows that you are aware of what’s at stake. I hope you all know that this decision wasn’t made lightly, and-”

  A firm hand finds Gelmidas’s shoulder, gripping it tightly from behind.

  “I know what’s at stake, too, Gelmidas. I seem to be the only one who does.”

  The hand pushes itself off of Gelmidas, shoving him gently, but forcefully, away from the container.

  The action sends a clear message, but the presence of the one who delivered it provides a definitive statement.

  The balance of power has shifted.

  “Glad to see Motherhood didn’t make you any less fierce, Nadeden.” Davon cracks his knuckles, sizing up the Scorched Archer who stands in a purple sundress rather unbefitting of her muscular frame.

  “You trying to defend him again, Davon?” Nadeden spits, darting her eyes at Orson and Shanna.

  “Quite the contrary,” Davon huffs, now at the side of the container, “After the whole Magnus incident, I’m the last one who wants to get this thing open. I’m here to stop Gelmidas.”

  Surprised by the statement, Nadeden holds off on taking action against Davon, instead asking Orson and Shanna, “Are you two here to do the same?”

  Gelmidas steadies himself, already sensing the hostility emanating from his two confidants.

  “No.” He sighs, awaiting the inevitable, “No, they aren’t.”

  Shanna draws her sword, leaping toward Nadeden.

  She dodges with a quick roll onto the floor, the flutter of paper obscuring her movements. Orson draws his sword as well, although Davon counters with nothing more than a snap of his fingers, sending Orson through a portal back to the Plaza entrance.

  Shanna lunges at Nadeden again. Nadeden kicks her back, only to find herself caught at sword point by a well-timed thrust. Davon aims his fingers at Shanna. His veins surge with energy as he prepares to snap his fingers.

  “Dear Gods! Are we all still children?” Gelmidas cries; the echo of his voice fills the room.

  “Would you all stop mindlessly jumping to violence for once and open your eyes to see what kind of universe we’re living in! And if you can’t do that, the least you can do is look at me!” He pleads, now defiantly holding himself like an Emperor.

  Shanna reluctantly sheathes her blade but keeps a watchful eye on Nadeden. Davon lowers his arm, yet his fingers remain poised.

  Gelmidas places a hand on his face. “Thank you. I’m just…

  I’m so tired of fighting. I’ve grown sick of watching men, women, and children die while knowing it’s my fault. Despite becoming so accustomed to them in my youth, the images of stripped corpses and rotting flesh have now come to haunt my dreams.

  With each day, I grow increasingly aware of my responsibility to these people.

  I am lying to their faces, smiling for their applause, desperately hoping that they do not learn the ugly truth that I hold so tightly to my chest. The year of blood never ended, and no matter how much I alter the numbers on battle reports or gain the favor of the public, it won’t change the fact that the drums of war are mounting on our doorstep.

  This war is going to end soon, one way or another.”

  “And you think that this thing you don’t even understand is the solution!” Nadeden bites back. “Don’t ask me to look around when you won’t even acknowledge your own madness.

  Look at this room! Look at the lengths you’ve gone to, Gelmidas, you’re neglecting your son and even yourself!

  Are you really forgetting that Magnus nearly killed me in his plan to get that thing open? What about Davon? Have you paid any attention to what it’s done to him? See the power he holds now! The power to decimate an entire army with the snap of his fingers?

  Imagine anyone else having that type of power, imagine your enemies having that type of power, now look me in the eyes and try to tell me that you seriously believe this will be the thing that lowers the body count!”

  “Are you implying that you don’t want this falling into the Republic’s hands, or are you just saying that you don’t want to see your former government lose the war? You do realize it's us or them, right?” Shanna snarls, burning into Nadeden with a hateful grimace.

  Nadeden cuts back, “I’m saying that the solution to blood shouldn’t be more blood. What is it you plan to do? Just toss the entire Republic into a portal and let their bodies drift in space?”

  “That sort of argument is awfully funny coming from you of all people,” Shanna mutters.

  Nadeden is taken aback by the statement, “I’m sorry, do you think I enjoyed killing, or are you trying to project something onto me?”

  “Please, stop.” Gelmidas sighs, exhausted by the argument. “Nadeden, I understand your hesitancy, but Shanna’s right, you have to pick a side. I don’t want to become Magnus, but I’m not doing this to simply obtain power. I need to save the Division, and if I have to become that savior, then so be it.”

  “You say you don’t want to become Magnus, Gerry, but you sound just like him,” Davon glares, maintaining a level head despite the situation. “It took me a year to properly train myself to use this power. If things really are as hopeless as you say, what makes you think we won’t already be dead in that time?”

  “What makes me think that? Are you not a man of faith, Davon? I am putting my faith into this. All of it. I’ve weighed all my options, and it's the only thing I have faith in right now. If it worked to eliminate the dwarves hundreds of years ago, it can work again to eliminate the Republic.” Gelmidas presses his hands onto the container, his fingers trace over the runes.

  “So you have no faith in your son? What kind of universe do you want Adamus to grow up in? How do you suppose he’ll feel about his Father winning a war by committing genocide? If you’re truly sick of war, then this will only make things worse.”

  Nadeden’s final plea leaves Gelmidas burdened by old wounds exposed by the flames of anger.

  “I didn’t expect you to understand. You’ve only ever cared about yourself. The Division is just a stop along the way, isn’t it?

  You’re selfish, Nadeden.

  Don’t pretend like you’ve suddenly become some pillar of virtue just because you chose to raise Adamus instead of doing the humane thing and giving him up. You can’t atone for your past, killing is in your nature, and it’s become part of mine, too. The difference is that I’m accepting it, and you're running away.

  I will burn a thousand planets if it means that even one of the people I rule over gets to live a long, happy life, yet you’ll only burn yourself to see someone only you care for smile.

  If Adamus lives to find out what I did, I’m sure he’ll thank me, just like how he’ll thank you for killing children no older than him.”

  Nadeden tightens her fists. Her mind boils over with the need to take action.

  This isn’t the way it was meant to be.

  This isn’t the same Gerry she once knew.

  He’s been taken.

  Taken by manic imagined desperation and the burden of a crown.

  She should have seen it from the very beginning.

  This is a man who only shows kindness to make things easier for himself.

  He is the real selfish one.

  Nadeden only killed because she had to, right?

  There was no other option.

  But isn’t that the same case here?

  Is this the only option? Is this the decision that needs to be made?

  No.

  It can’t be.

  It’s wrong.

  At least when Nadeden fought, she knew that it was all her.

  Her fists, her arrows, her boots, her war.

  This, however, is inhumane.

  She doesn’t understand it.

  She doesn’t know if it will work, but she knows it has to be stopped.

  She hurtles toward Gelmidas.

  “That proves it,” Davon reaches out, “there’s no reasoning with you.”

  A snap reverberates throughout the room, the hum of a portal overtakes it before it is shut out and replaced.

  With a scream of pain.