The sky was dark, as were most of Corco's surroundings. It had been another cloudy day, which had since turned into a starless night.

At least there's no rain, Corco thought.

Still, his position on top of the Moonlight Ziggurat was precarious, in more ways than one. Not only was the low-hanging sky bearing down on him, he was also surrounded by enemies, in the most literal sense. To his left kneeled his bearded middlest brother Amautu, who tried hard to appear as solemn and respectful as possible, while behind him knelt the furia and his sister Prima, whom Corco hadn't seen since the banquet. Corco didn't even have to look to the right to feel the overbearing presence of his uncle Pacha, whose shadow alone managed to blot out what little starlight made it through the thick cover of the clouds. He could just feel the smug look on the bastard's face as, even on his knees, his height towered over his competitors.

Luckily, Corco didn't have to see that. In accordance with tradition, the attendants to the emperor's rites were bathed in pure starlight, which in tonight's case meant almost complete darkness. Not only the imperial family was almost hidden in the shadows of the clouds, but also the collection of lords and officials behind them. They had lined up to give the final honor to Emperor Titu, on his second attempt at the last journey. All estates were represented. Not only would any absence from the event be seen as a slight against the imperial family, today would also decide just who would become emperor. Corco was looking forward to it, for he had prepared a good show. Thus, he continued to stare ahead, towards the only place on top of the Moonlight Ziggurat which was bathed in light.

Some twenty steps in front of the kneeling prince sat three beds of coal, which tinged the altar above and behind them, together with the mortal remains of his father on top, in an eerie glow. Around the altar kneeled twelve warriors under the emperor's command, Chaupic among them. Standing vigil was considered a great honor, reserved for only the closest servants, but in the last corruption scandal and the ensuing cleansing, all of them either died or lost their status, so the priests had to make do with the leftovers. As they kneeled there, the warriors hit silver chimes and gongs, to alert the emperor to their presence and redirect the gaze of the deceased into the land of the living.

Under the racket created by the warriors, the Pachayawna strode forward, his night-blue robe caked in fresh blood. By his feet lay another batch of sacred turtles which had succumbed to their cruel fate, sent along to the underworld together with the dead.

At least they left with some dignity and won't be made into soup, Corco thought.

With great fanfare and sweeping gestures, the old priest strode towards the front of the altar and bowed deeply to the corpse. Once again, the body had been covered with a wetted cloth. There had been a discreet pre-funeral meeting with the priests and princes, to ensure everyone that this time, the emperor had been properly prepared to take on his journey into the depths.

“The mortals greet the emperor,” the head priest shouted in a solemn voice. All the kneeling guests in front of the altar bowed their heads in reply, but remained completely silent. This was the usual style of a Yaku funeral: Solemn, quiet and spiritual. There would be no long eulogies or speeches. Everything the surviving family had to tell the deceased they could be said later, in a private conversation, just like Corco had done when he had first arrived in Arguna.

The old priest looked back up, and his three assistants, high ranking priests themselves, brought over three hammered bowls of pure silver, shimmering like the stars in the lights of the coals.

“This mortal seeks the great spirit of Emperor Titu Caelestis Pluritac! Return and bestow your wisdom onto the unworthy, so they may find the light in the dark.”

While the Pachayawna was busy shouting into the night sky, the priests set the three bowls down in front of the burning coals. They would form the basis of the divination ritual. After, a divine mixture, a secret recipe of the priests, would be dropped into the silver and brought to a boil on hot coal. From within, the priest would attempt to divine the words of the dead. That was the way the procedure had worked for centuries, but one man was determined to make a change.

“Halt!”

A coarse voice from behind the altar had dared to interrupt. As the only men of higher status than the emperor himself, the two elders of the deceased, Caelestis and Viribus, had been seated there in the darkness, elevated above their descendant to watch over the start of his journey. Now however, the ancestor made his way down and, with the support of his walking stick, labored his way in front of the altar and towards the Pachayawna.

“This is a matter of utmost importance. The entire fate of Medala depends upon the words of the emperor and their correct interpretation. As the boy's eldest living family, this elder will ensure there are no careless mistakes. After all, family would know their own kin much better than an outsider, even a priest.”

What followed was an uncomfortable silence. Even the warriors failed to ring their various instruments. In an outrageous power grab, the old man had taken a core duty from the priesthood. Never had an uninitiated been allowed to interpret the words of a deceased during a reading. Corco got himself angry again, especially when he imagined the cocky smirk his giant uncle to his right would have at this moment. He forced himself to look ahead, to make sure he didn't break the bastard's nose on accident. Still, after a few deep breaths he managed to calm himself. Luckily, he himself had made plans no less audacious than the elder. All the old man would do was strengthen the Pachayawna's determination. Now that Viribus had started to take authority from the Pacha faithful, there would be much less scruples from the old priest to betray his own morals.

Corco watched as the Pachayawna struggled for an answer. Superficially, the reasons of the ancestor couldn't be dismissed outright. His words spoke of a selfish arrogance which made it hard to convince others. At the same time, the old man was the great defender of Medala, a figure of legend, and at least for now the real power behind the silver throne. Offending him here would only spell a faster doom for the religion, and to his good fortune, Prince Corco had offered the priest a way out already. The old priest's tensed body relaxed as he made a decision and he answered, still in a strained voice but with polite words.

“As the ancestor wishes.”

There was a short murmur from behind as the old man's power play bore fruit, but owing to the occasion, it proved short-lived. Viribus nodded in understanding and stepped in between the altar and the three beds of coal, ready for the Pachayawna to continue.

“This mortal shall ask of Emperor Titu: Bestow us your wisdom. Let us partake in the knowledge of the life beyond and impart on the mortals: Will the emperor's first-born, Prince Corcopaca Titu Pluritac, make a most suited successor?”

The old man took out a vial from his deep sleeves and poured the powder into the bowl, before the whole contraption was moved onto the coals. He sat on the ground and waited for the contents to turn liquid and bubbling. Only then did he stare into the flickering lights of the reflection with great concentration. The ancestor to his opposite followed suit. Even through the re-established jangle and clang of the instruments, one could feel the tension which entangled the congregation. Many held their breaths as they awaited the answer to the priest's question. Everything, everyone's future hinged on the next few words. Finally, the two old men looked back up to present the emperor's response.

“Thus, the emperor has spoken. This mortal will-”

“This Elder will pronounce the emperor's judgment,” Viribus interrupted in a loud voice, “Prince Corco has spent years outside, overseas, with no account of his whereabouts. Bad rumors of banditry and mercantile endeavors are abound, and within that time, the prince has not seen fit to so much as write a letter to his elders. Thus, for his lack of respect and suspicious origin, Prince Corco will be deemed unfit as successor.”

He could hear a collective breath being loosened behind himself. Its general tone told Corco that, at the very least, most of the lords would be unhappy with the result. Amautu to his left still remained calm. It seemed his clever brother had expected nothing better of their ancestor. Meanwhile, his right ear sent his brain disturbing news of Pacha's annoying snicker, perfected through years of training to let all who would listen reach a level of absolute disgust. Wisely, Corco's brain chose to ignore it. This time, he wouldn't have to wait long for his comeuppance. The Pachayawna was already on the move. Even before the ancestor had finished his hypocritical nonsense, the old priest had pulled a further two vials from within his robes. Before the impression of the unfilial Corco could settle within the heads of the collected company, the priest reopened his conversation with Corco's father.

“Oh Great Emperor, this mortal asks, as Prince Corco is unsuited to succeed, will one of the remaining princes be the better choice? Give us a sign, and tell us of the future under Prince Amautu Titu Pluritac and Pachacutec Titu Pluritac.”

The Pachayawna had spoken quickly, and on the surface his words had no flaws, so the ancestor made no attempt to interrupt the old priest. However, then he did something bold, something the ancestor had not expected. A vial in either hand, he simultaneously poured the contents into the two remaining bowls before he put them both over the coals.

The congregation expected the same picture once again, the two old men hunched over the bowls to divine the reflections. Corco however felt his mouth transform into a grin as he looked forward to his father's very direct answer to the priest's very specific question. He knew that the contents of the other vials were different, but with the distance, angle and darkness, no one had noticed the white powder being piled up on the silver.

Not long after the silver plates had touched the hot coals, the effects of Corco's concoction began to show. First was a subtle blueish glow from within the bowls, infinitely enhanced in the dim lights of the night. Then a shock ran through the crowd, as from both bowls rose entire nests of snakes! Their unhealthy, yellow-skinned bodies kept growing out of the pure silver as they rose into the air, higher and higher. Their stench of sulfur stained the sky itself and the plates from whence their bodies sprang were covered in blue flames. Everyone knew: The silver had connected this world and the next.

Corco relished in the stunned silence around him. Once again, the chimes and gongs had stopped. Of course he was the only one who knew what was going on. It had taken him a lot of time and effort to get the pharaoh's serpent right. A little trick of chemistry, applied at the perfect time. The priest had asked what the future would hold under the two princes, and the emperor had answered with the most dreadful of omens. Blue flames. Snakes. Sulfur. No matter how hard the ancestor would try, there were no two ways to interpret the scene.

Furious as he saw his plans crossed once again, Viribus got back up from his seated position. The lower lighting of the coals and the burning snakes cast an ominous shadow on his face and brought back the fierce man he once had been, as he swung his walking cane with a roar to shatter apart the otherworldly creatures. However, all he achieved was to uncover the absolute blackness within the beasts. Even after being broken, the snakes continued to grow into the sky. The spell of silence which had cast itself over the audience had been broken by the elder, and now the murmurs had started again. This time the dissenters wouldn't die down as easily as before. Viribus clutched his cane, first focused on the snakes and then on the priest in his front, as his fingers tightened ever harder around the gnarly wood. If the old man had had any teeth left, Corco was sure they would have shattered from being clenched so hard.

“Silence!” The ancestor tried to reinstate order and once again force his decision.

The murmurs reduced in volume, but they never died down. Viribus began to frown as he looked over the crowd hidden in the dark. No matter what, he wouldn't get his will today. The old man had been afforded extreme benefits from his age and former prestige, but he had abused his power and strained it beyond its limits. Now that even the divines stood against him, his standing began to slip, and fast. There was no way to make Pacha emperor again, so Corco was curious how the old man would choose. Finally, Viribus spoke up again, in a loud voice that droned over the gossiping crowd.

“It seems the emperor has spoken. All three candidates have been found equally unqualified for succession.”

Corco sneered in response. No one would believe a word the old man said. Not anymore. The best he could do was push back the decision further. Hope for another day. Good. It would give Corco time to make more plans as well. No matter how many times the old man tried to steal his throne, Corco would always find a counter. He had to. He had promised Uncle Sonco, after all.

“Thus, this elder will take the opinion of Prince Corco into account, who has made a compromise to satisfy all parties.”

Corco's head jerked up, his smile frozen on his face. What compromise? Why would he ever compromise with the beasts who were hellbent on usurping power?

“The Empire of Medala will install a triumvirate. The land will be split and all three princes will rule together as kings, and in unison. The ancestral hall will bring the detailed plans forward within the nobles' assembly the day after tomorrow. Let us pray that our attempts at peace will satisfy Emperor Titu and leave him on a safe journey.”

Corco barely heard the last words of the ancestor. Something was wrong. The ancestor wasn't lying. Such a transparent lie would only hurt his reputation, which meant that he thought himself right. However, Corco would never think about making a compromise. He would have died before he would agree to it. Which left only one possible conclusion: One of his own men had betrayed his cause.