EPISODE 191: FALSE SKY 1
— Theocracy of Jhan, Year: 7292. Season: New Beginning.
Magic is a rare resource—the most abundant yet rarest resource of them all. The gnomes of Ja’Forr City-State power their moving cities using this resource—traveling hundreds of kilometers from fertile land to fertile land. Their cannons blasting four-starred creatures with no regard for wastage.
The elves of Elysium, although small in number, can manipulate the world’s mana like a fifth limb. Their high buildings, a stable representation of their might, expand upwards and outwards at once.
? Yet very few mages are born outside magi-humans and the True Elves. In most states, a child’s potential for magic is checked at age three. Should they have the potential—even if small—then it is a blessing for their family no matter their station. They will be taken, nurtured, and raised to be the backbone of their nation. Their potential will be expanded, and their manipulation of magic will be exceptional. Yet… magic is a rare resource, wanted by all—possessed by few.
—Excerpt from the School of Harknok, written by [Mage] Lorina Loud.
In the winter of 7291, twelve legions left the City of Roma, the capital of the Theocracy of Jhan. Eight of them were new, with men ranging in levels from twenty-five to fifty—their ages were from sixteen to thirty. Some were conscripts who left loving families as they could not afford the price of keeping a son from war. Others were loyal fanatics who believed in the might of their [Chosen] and the changes he brought to their great nation—Bastion of Humanity. The four last legions consisted of well-trained veterans who’d survived several winters of an orcish assault.
These legions were composed of five thousand two hundred men each—with each legion having a support staff excluded from the total of one thousand five hundred personnel. This support staff was composed of [Legion Engineers], [Priestess of Jhan], [Legion Quartermasters], [Legion Clerks], [Whores], and much more that was necessary to keep a legion stable.
It was the fall, the season when color faded, when the [Grand Purifier], Izon Jhan—[Chosen of Jhan], ordered these legions to leave, commanded by [Cardinal of the Beak]—Lionheart. They were tasked with attacking the Orgon Gathering, with orders not to return until the eight new legions consolidated to four. This was the orc’s holiest of days—when they could gather to welcome a new clutch of their kin into the Realm of Genesis.
ìmólè Jhan watched what was once twelve return as two. She looked to the stars, where a six-winged Jhan stood with a large greatsword implanted into the stars beneath her feet.
“Is this what she desires? Does the life of any human—any creature hold weight in her heart,” ìmólè silently questioned. She stood at the height of their home, a pyramid central to the City of Roma. “Well, I won’t stand for it.”
ìmólè’s voice was strong, strong like her twin brother’s, but it lacked the swagger he held. She didn’t possess his power to control a crowd of thousands—millions, and give them the hope of a better future. ìmólè couldn’t walk into the Senate between Prestiges’ who ruled the Theocracy for hundreds, some thousands of years. She was unable to do that, knowing the difference in their strengths and how easily they could crush her where she stood. Izon could —he could… so that is why her task, her role in the Theocracy, had to be elsewhere. She gazed at the notification, a quest specifically assigned to her, and wondered at the implications it would lead to. She’d never asked for anything in all their years, but tomorrow…? That would change.
ìmólè’s role in the Theocracy was to be redefined. Two leaders weren’t needed—two [Chosen of Jhan] could not exist, yet another was born during a time when there should only be one. ìmólè didn’t possess the title; in fact, she didn’t seem to hold the favor of Jhan at all—her life was only kept due to the sacrifice of a slave— daily .
She opened another status sheet, one depicting the {Curse of Jhan}—what would kill her should a life failed to be sacrificed for her own.
She turned away. The stars faded into the night sky. The procession of victorious men received with mass elation as their cheers drowned the cries of mothers who lost their sons and children their fathers.
Izon would be down there. He would celebrate with them and ensure the people followed his will. His predictions never failed, but the outcome was up to those who followed them. Lionheart should have returned with eight legions of men in total—so why was their only two?
The facade they kept over the eyes of the City of Roma could not hide from the eyes of ìmólè. It never could. Something went wrong during the raid, it was terrible enough that the supporting personnel were abandoned, as ìmólè did not spot the usual caravan that would enter after the troops.
A facade was kept—one by the human rulers over their populous… and another by the Gods who kept the sky false.
ìmólè double—triple checked the notification that appeared before her a few weeks into the start of winter. She glanced up at the stars one final time before she retired for the night—knowledge of their fraudulent nature kept only to herself. This secret kept even from her twin.
ìmólè Jhan laughed. The Prime System assigned her a fabled quest—one spoken of in legends—the ones said about Goddess Jhan and the Gods of the continent.
…
What a joke.
…
ìmólè flopped on her bed, her body sinking deep into its soft, luscious embrace. What was a princess trapped in a cage supposed to do about the end of the world?
…
Tell her brother—the one who could solve the problem.
…
So why didn’t she?
…
…
…
Morning came, and with it, a new day of spring weather. The sun shone down on the white and gold city, stated to be purified by the magic of the [Chosen of Jhan]. Whispers traveled through the streets, both in celebration of the return of a few legions the night prior and the death that racked the capital months before.
It wasn’t every day a Prestige—someone who achieved the impossible— died .
Izon Jhan sat upon his chair—just one wing of the two that represented Goddess Jhan. The cardinals sat in their respective thrones, a meeting underway to decide the future of the country.
“Lionheart you disgrace—what have you to say for your failure,” Snake-Eye shouted—fist slamming on the edge of his throne. “The loss of fifty thousand lives is unacceptable. [Grand Purifier] we must punish Lionheart and set an example to those newly assigned that such results are not permitted!”
“Hmph, how would Snake-Eye be the one to talk of results that are not permitted? You have continuously failed to secure the daughter of Zion,” Tiger-Claw growled. There were factions in the Cardinals and she and Lionheart were close allies depending on their interest. Just like the rest of the Cardinals of Jhan. “I’ve heard she’s escaped back into the Warring Beastman Plains—incompetent fool!”
“Ajeeessshi-shi-shi! Ajeeessshi-shi-shi,” Camel-Hump laughed. “Lionheart may have failed his first task, but the results he produced have more than made up for the detriments.”
The Cardinal of the Heart, Hawk, tapped her fingers rhythmically on her throne as she spoke. “There is merit in Camel-Hump’s words, but three trained legions are gone, with a final legion being composed of the remnants—this loss will hurt us far more than what the Jehda Orcs experienced.”
Izon allowed the cardinals to argue—his attention far more focused on his sister than the conversation taking place. Something was up with ìmólè… and her brother knew not what it was.
For the past winter, ìmólè had been distracted by these meetings or events they attended. Her eyes would constantly glance upward toward the sky, her mind elsewhere when he conversed with her.
He’d been patient—not question her change. It would only be a matter of time before she spoke. This wasn’t the first her behavior turned this way… and it wouldn’t be the last.
Lionheart’s golden armor gleamed under the chamber’s harsh light as he finally raised his head. His voice was steady, but filled with elation as he removed an item for all to see. “The loss of excessive life was an unfortunate by product of a greater conquest—through Jhan’s guidance,” Lionheart nodded at Izon, “I’ve achieved an impossible feat and claimed glory for our Theocracy!”
Snake-Eye leaned forward, his piercing gaze boring into Lionheart. “Fifty thousand lives, Lionheart,” he hissed. “Fifty thousand lives—next time, bring slaves along to use as cattle, should you wish for a distraction!”
“Enough, Snake-Eye,” Hawk interrupted, her tone sharp as a blade. “Your theatrics are tiresome. The Daughter of Zion remains free—your task in securing her while away from her home a failure. Do not use Lionheart's inadequacies to gloss over your loss of face.”
Izon allowed them to argue, his thoughts focused on the next steps the Theocracy should take. One plan failed and another produced excellent results—yet it would lead to a total war once it was revealed to the greater orc population. How could Izon manipulate this? Was it time to call on the small kingdoms of men who remained split throughout the Middle Kingdoms?
Tiger-Claw's deep growl rumbled through the chamber, her sharp teeth bared in a mocking grin. “Hawk speaks true, Snake-Eye. While Lionheart at least returns with spoils of war, you return with nothing but excuses. Perhaps you should consider taking your advice and bringing slaves next time to assist in your hunt.”
“Ajeeessshi-shi-shi! Ajeeessshi-shi-shi!” Camel-Hump’s laugh echoed as he slapped the arm of his throne, his shoulders shaking with unrestrained mirth. “Theatrics and failures, one on top of the other! If the Cardinals were judged by results alone, none of us would sit here untouched by shame. Lionheart sacrifices legions for glory, Snake-Eye cannot catch a single girl, and Tiger-Claw—ah, Tiger-Claw! Always growling about strength, yet somehow your legions seem curiously well-supplied—one wonders what quiet alliances make that possible.”
Tiger-Claws eyes held a yellow-amber coloration—right now their deadly stare locked onto Camel-Hump. A snarl formed on her lips, a rebuttal ready to expel when a small voice interrupted them.
“I want to fight.”
Six pairs of eyes turned at the speaker. The growing anger in Tiger-Claw, dissuaded but not forgotten. ìmólè Jhan's voice was small, like a young child who just found the courage to enter a group of peers and voice her opinion. It was small, but carried an undeniable weight as it echoed through the chamber.
“I want to fight.”
…
“I want to fight.”
…
“I want to fight.”
…
They sat there in silence, expressions a mix of disbelief, curiosity, and subtle unease. Camel-Hump’s usual smirk faltered as he observed ìmólè Jhan, his sharp eyes narrowing in quiet calculation. Snake-Eye’s lips twitched, a trace of interest dancing across his face, but it quickly hid as a calculating gaze took over. Hawk’s fingers drummed the armrest of her throne, her stoic gaze flicking between the young woman and the Cardinals, sensing the shift in the room’s dynamic. Tiger-Claw fury burned within her eyes, but they withdrew momentarily as they gazed on ìmólè.
The Grand Purifier of Jhan, Commander of Her Armies, remained quiet. His gaze locked with his twin’s an unspoken conversation held between them. The tension in the room grew thick, each Cardinal unsure whether to challenge or ignore the strange conviction radiating from the young woman. Izon carefully measured his twin, uncertain of the reason behind her words, but certain of the conviction held within her. And… that small voice repeated itself. This time stronger—it took a hit of her brother’s commanding presence when it next sounded. It’s hesitant echo no longer presence under the weight of assurance.
“ I want to fight. ”
The room fell even quieter, every eye upon her, then with a subtle shift their target of focus changed. All he did was shift his weight slightly, yet the command of his presence made all attention focus on him. What he saw in ìmólè’s eyes wasn’t the will of Jhan, but something else—a dangerous spark. He smiled, he knew she had to be different from the rest of them. Izon, sitting tall and composed, broke the silence with a measured response—his voice resonated with as much strength as his twins.
“ Then… let the best of the best train you ,” Izon responded, gesturing to the Cardinals.
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AN: I hope you guys are understanding these characters—especially the twins, but more importantly, the reason behind ìmólè not telling her brother.
