“Ahem. Please turn to page twenty-seven in your textbooks as we continue the account of creation… yes, last time we stopped at, ‘and the race of man multiplied and prospered…’ Master Gwuppe trailed off, as if caught between two lines of thought and wondering how to link them together. Finally he continued:

“As it says in Holy Writ, “Six cities there were for the six kings and their offspring, and in the high places thereof there were lamps, one for each city. Maidens there were who tended to the lights…” He briefly raised his eyes from the text to address the seated boys, some studiously taking notes, others assiduously negligent. “Notice that the historian speaks of ‘lights’ rather than ‘flames’. The lamps were fueled by mana, rather than a natural combustible…” His eyes dropped as he trailed off again. “These maidens, or luminals, were charged with keeping the lamps lit…” Another ponderous pause. Even Zephyrin found himself shifting in his seat when the master resumed:

“But there came a day when the sons of light withdrew from the Divine Source. The rulers of the cities grew complacent, and the maidens gave themselves over to lives of pleasure. They let the lamps fail, and He in turn withdrew from them. Whereupon their glory began to dim, and their mana weaken, so that when they sought to uphold their cities with their wonted strength, they found that they could not. And so it happened that their cities fell.”

“The first to fall was Lôst Téren. Her domain the high azure, her caparison the clouds, the sun still shone on her proud brow as her end drew nigh. She plummeted from the heavens, and divided the North; and that terrible crash itself caused the hearts of plains dwellers to sicken, and their hope to fail. With her perished King Èthilian II, his queen, and the seven royal princes.”

“Second to perish was Istys of the Great Ocean, whose raiment was the glittering waves, and around whom were gathered her faithful subjects, the white-hulled vessels from the east and west. Believing themselves secure in the embrace of the Half Moon Harbor, they were instead drawn down to the realm's lightless depths. Queen Èruanna sank with her city, she and her daughter.”

“The third to come to ruin was Èdhra, gleaming subterranean jewel reared in the womb of the earth, and which for ages immemorial had borne the pillars of the world upon her shoulders. But when her powers failed her, she fell apart at the seams, and along with her treasures was cast down into the abyss. King Orestes V was likewise crushed with his city, he and his four sons and daughters.”

“Gashala of Primæva bowed, but was not broken. She was lost only in the disaster’s aftermath, for as the Immutable One withdrew, so did the power of the beast-tamers wane. The dragons changed, rebelled, and ascended over man, and he became a prey unto their flaming maws. It was not long before Gashala and her gardens were reduced to ashes, and her ancient boundaries become the repair of ferocious beasts.”

“Lôst Tiril survived her collapse, yet only to the later desolation of her inhabitants. The mechanical marvels they had ingeniously devised escaped their control, and mana wildly coursed and suffused the city’s bounds, until Lôst Tiril became an island unto herself, one girded by the endlessly shifting sands of a maddened land. Trapped within the seat of their olden glory, King Zares and his subjects greatly cursed their fates and each other, expiring with only blasphemy in their mouths.”

“Cerandor alone survived, she of the lowlands and the least of all her sisters in splendor. Her spires were toppled, her glories shattered, and of the mana-sculpted Great Bridge not a trace remains, but of her inhabitants the greatest number survived, and from them would descend the people of Orbe. Yet fraught with peril were their new existences, for after claiming Primæva, the beasts began to encroach upon Orbe. Wherefore the people slew the last of the unfaithful luminals to expiate their guilt, and appease the demands of justice. King Nomènuë exchanged his crown and mantle for sackcloth and ashes and led the people in a nine day fast, imploring for mercy amidst the wreckage of man’s grandeur.”

“Then did the Divine Moon take pity upon the fallen stars. Interposing Herself between them and the Immutable One, She shielded them from His ardent justice and swayed the tides of His mercy. His All Holy Majesty condescended to heed the request of His Firstformed, lessening our punishment. On that day prodigies were seen in the heavens, the greatest of which was a lunar eclipse lasting three hours, and it became known as the Èleimaseïn, the feast of which is celebrated every year on December 14th.”

“Man’s gift was restored to him for the prolongation of his days, and the endarkened race of man, albeit diminished, began to coruscate once more. Faint reflection of their ancient powers though these new favors were, man at least found himself able to harness mana once more and leave the stamp of his authority upon the world.”

“However, it was not long before the Intervallum gave way to the postdelitescarian Age of Blood. For in their ingratitude, as soon as the dragons were subdued the survivors began to fight amongst themselves for supremacy, putting the gift of mana to evil ends…”

A boy in the next seat over to Zephyrin stifled a yawn half-heartedly. It was remarkable, thought Zephyrin, how Master Gwuppe somehow managed to distill a potent soporific out of humanity’s calamitous fall from the apex of glory. His droning delivery played a part in this, certainly, but there was more to it than that; perhaps it was the incongruous impression given by his uncommonly broad mouth and the way his tongue periodically flitted over his thin lips, like a toad trying to catch an unwary fly; or maybe it was the way his bleary eyes roved this way and that, communicating the impression that the momentous history he was expounding was far from the foremost consideration on his mind.

Whatever the exact reason, it was at least clear that the master did not align well with Zephyrin’s mental image of a bright-eyed, zealous, and exaltedly continent pedagogue, which archetype he had expected to encounter with more regularity, especially in the school’s advanced classes. And yet, even as he was thinking this, Zephyrin caught sight of one boy who was riveted on the master’s lecture. His eyes shining, he listened with elbows on desk and chin in hands, superbly indifferent to what his peers might think of his posture.

That boy… was Roger. Yes, Roger was in his humanities class; they also shared the same advanced rhetoric and arithmetic classes, ran into each other uncommonly often in the hallways, and to cap off the quinary, Zephyrin had learned with a fairly deep stab of disappointment at the school year’s commencement that the northerner had been assigned as his dormitory mate…! He had been paired with an Alérian, but the wrong one, and over the last two weeks hadn’t been able to observe Narcissin dy Aléri-Kyerno outside of mealtimes and the hours of common prayer, let alone speak to him.

But that would change today. Just as Zephyrin had been wracking his brains for a pretext to approach the boy, Roger had solicited him and provided one of his own accord, asking whether Zephyrin might not be willing to help him and Narcissin practice their Gaulyrian. As soon as this seemingly interminable history lesson wound down to its merciful conclusion, he would—finally—be able to speak at length with the man he had once hoped to meet in the next world, but never in one new. For the umpteenth time during the lesson, Zephyrin rehearsed his first conversation with the future Emperor…

“In this manner the age of barbarism, of blood, came to an end. The Kosmæan Church was founded, and the Golden Promise entrusted to her; gradually, men ceased to use their powers to subjugate their fellows, seeking instead to assist them. Now our missionaries traverse the earth to bring men into the Goddess’s maternal embrace; the Age of Blood has been supplanted by the Age of Reconciliation; slowly but surely, man regains his quondam glory…”

Master Gwuppe raised his bloodshot, yellow-tinged eyes from the text. “Now I am sure you are all eagerly waiting to hear what the ‘Golden Promise’ consists of.”

Undaunted by the lack of enthusiasm or simply oblivious to it, the master pursued: “I will disappoint you in saying this, but the answer is that… it is a mystery. Neither the Goddess nor Her Consort have made known to us what their plan is for the consummation of the ages. The restoration of man’s lost faculties seems to be part of it, assuredly; scripture, also, abounds with references to a ‘Seventh City’, one which will possess within herself all the glories of her predecessors, and new ones besides, as she rises from the arid wastes of the Predestined Lands… but theologians are unanimous that there is more to the Promise. What that is, I leave you to speculate during your recreation,” he added, as the solemn intonation of the lyceum’s chapel bell was heard.

Packing away his textbook, Zephyrin rose and filed out with the other boys, before rejoining a cheerily waiting Roger. As they walked toward the courtyard, Zephyrin was conscious that he still had a chance to reconsider his approach; to simply lie low and observe Narcissin, to let the days of his school life run out in relative obscurity...

No. There’s too much at stake.

Zephyrin renewed his resolution. Though he couldn’t reveal his identity to the future Emperor, he would not—could not—allow events to play out the same way. This time, Narcissin would not be betrayed, or fall victim to the same errors; would not prematurely age, nor be crippled by easily avoidable illness… most importantly, he would not outlive his empire. Now, he would have Zephyrin at his side.

It was time to start changing history.