Standing before the thick gold enameled doors to the emperor’s grand hall, the emperor and his two princes heard the bustling revelry of the imperial court. Rohmhelt felt ill, his lunch lurching upward into his throat. Duronaht, however, appeared to swell with confidence. These were his people. Covifaht, for his part, was plainly giddy to make his announcement and eagerly instructed his herald to proclaim the entrance of the emperor. A globular and jolly man, the herald clumsily opened the gilded doors just enough to slip through without revealing the imperial family behind him.

“My lords, please kneel for your most gracious sovereign, the Emperor!” the herald announced in a robust, sonorous voice.

Rohmhelt heard the sound of a cascade of falling knees. Then four Solnahtern pushed the doors open wide, revealing the incomparable splendor of the grand hall. The faceted crystal ceiling filtered the sunlight through as a serene blue hue over the smooth marble floor and the towering emerald stone statues of the first ten emperors of Methrangia ringing the chamber. On either side of the aisle leading to the Emperor’s throne, and the newly installed thrones for his sons, the court’s throngs all knelt in full ceremonial robes.

As the imperial family stepped forward, horns blared on either side with the familiar staccato pattern of the imperial march. Buffeted by these blasts, Rohmhelt closed his eyes on his way up the aisle. He had no desire to even acknowledge the numerous lords who always sniped at him behind his back. One blessing he had not considered until he neared the throne was that being king in Karmand would mean he would be spared having to suffer their gossiping.

Just before Covifaht ascended the stairs, the horns fell silent as a sign of a respect. Rohmhelt stood at the lower throne to the emperor’s right and Duronaht to the left and both looked up deferentially at their father. The emperor’s throne rose almost a full height above theirs and was large enough to sit three men across in its intricate golden frame. Covifaht rarely sat in it, preferring to take all of his audiences standing as he did that day.

“You may stand, my lords,” the emperor boomed. The whole hall rose at once, revealing to Rohmhelt the full range of ceremonial robes and dresses of all colors and styles from the violet plumed hats of the Fevous Peninsula in the south east to the muted grey robes of Iltho to the far northwest. Before he could further examine the attire of the court, his father spoke again. “I have summoned you all here today to make a glorious announcement. For too long we have tried to govern an empire of some seventy four millions from here alone, here in Methrangia. My lords from our far east and west grumble that we cannot know their struggles from the great hall. My lords, I agree.”

Covifaht paused and held his audience at attention for several moments.

“I am announcing today that the governance of this empire shall be divided amongst myself and my two sons, our beloved Rohmhelt and Duronaht, who will rule as kings within the empire. I shall continue to rule here, from Methrangia, over the central regions of the empire directly. Crown Prince Rohmhelt will reign in the west from Karmand and Prince Duronaht will rule from Zarmand over the east,” Covifaht declared. Forced gasps followed by nods of approval came from the court. Rohmhelt knew that few were truly surprised by the declaration, but nonetheless they had to feign shock. “Some of my lords might think that such an action will weaken the empire. No, it will strengthen it by bringing strong imperial rule to lands where our presence feels distant and frail. We will have greater cohesion, greater harmony, and greater strength. We shall be a greater empire.”

Raucous applause and cheers broke out from the lords, some of them tapping their staves and canes against the marble floor. Rohmhelt stood stolidly by as a prince should, though Duronaht joined the court in cheering the emperor. As the cheers continued, Rohmhelt dreaded the fact that it would next fall to him to address the court. He remembered the brief remarks Lohs had written for him and he carefully considered just how to deliver each word. Once the cheering subsided at the emperor’s urging, Covifaht turned toward Rohmhelt and motioned for him to address the court.

Rohmhelt stepped forward, feeling a tight knot in his gut. The hostile eyes of the court all fell upon him under the further burden of crushing silence. He could sense Duronaht’s mischievous glare, but ignored it.

“With the utmost humility, I graciously accept this mighty duty with which the emperor has tasked me,” Rohmhelt managed to strongly declare despite a closing throat. “Though I am a stranger to Karmand and the lands of the west, I will devote my utmost energies to the proper rule of those lands for all of their peoples. Together with the lords of the west, and the good common people of those lands, I trust that we can build a harmonious future together within the empire. I freely and happily offer my service, as your king, under the guidance of the angels.”

When he finished, he was met by initially tepid applause that was soon overwhelmed by the cheers of the more simply dressed western lords. The volume and tenor of the cheers escalated rapidly. He had done well, or, rather, Lohs had done well as he always did. Once the applause subsided, attention turned to Duronaht, who appeared obviously perturbed, but then started laughing.

“My dear elder brother never misses a chance to display his richly deserved humility,” Duronaht guffawed with a broad, toothy grin. Many laughed at his joke. Rohmhelt noted that in fact most did besides the relatively small contingent of the western lords. Gaudy eastern nobles had long been deep admirers and supporters of Duronaht and they always enthusiastically prostrated themselves at his every word. “I also accept the honor with which my father has entrusted me. Be assured that the domains over which I will rule, those storied and magnificent lands of the east, will never go wanting for strong and able leadership. Four centuries ago, our family hailed from those lands, just to the north east of Zarmand…”

Rohmhelt immediately began to drift away from Duronaht’s address. His thoughts wandered elsewhere. He examined the throngs gathered in the court to see if Parlon was already amongst those present. When he did not see the angel, he wondered if he had been so fortunate that Parlon was not actually part of the ceremony after all. When he heard powerful applause from the eastern lords, his attention shifted back to Duronaht, who bowed before the court.

“Father, to mark this occasion, I have asked a great friend of our family, and of all gathered here, to grace us with his presence today,” Duronaht announced, turning toward Covifaht.

Covifaht lightly sighed as his hands tightened their grip on the throne. Rohmhelt knew that his father knew that this was an invitation to Parlon and he further knew that the emperor did not enjoy rival presences in his halls.

“I am honored to have any esteemed guest in my halls. Truly honored! Please, allow your friend to come forth,” Covifaht said.

Duronaht walked toward the center of the chamber before his father and flung his arms toward the sky.

“Your Greatness, we are humbled to have you join us today!” Duronaht shouted out.

Silence came over the hall for a moment. Rohmhelt ran his eyes around the walls. He saw and heard nothing. There was a palpable sense of disappointment among the lords gathered. Duronaht even began to look worried. Then, in an instant, a crackling ring of white light appeared around the top of the dome. A low humming vibration rattled the hall as more rings of different colors appeared down the dome from the ceiling to the floor. The humming slowly escalated in pitch as the rings lifted off the dome and contracted toward the center of the hall, passing harmlessly through many of the lords and ladies. Centering on a spot next to Duronaht, the rings swooshed into a pillar of different hues that shot toward the dome’s center, blinding all who looked at it. When Rohmhelt looked again, Parlon stood at his brother’s side.

Much taller than all present, the patron angel of music was slightly built with golden skin and magnificent flowing white hair dropping down to his shoulders. He wore blindingly beautiful silvery robes encrusted hundreds of gems and jewels arranged in impossibly intricate patterns. He bowed graciously toward the emperor and then toward the throngs behind him. Cheers and applause strongly erupted, to which Rohmhelt reluctantly joined. The rapturous expressions on many of the lords, including his brother, disgusted Rohmhelt and, given his father’s muted reaction, he assumed the emperor must have shared the sentiment.

Parlon slowly raised his hands to quiet his admirers. The angel smiled warmly as he soaked in the adulation.

“Dearest Emperor, I am gladdened to be in your presence again,” the angel began in his lyrical, soothing voice. “For this momentous occasion for you, your family, and your empire, I wish to perform a song, which I have prepared to honor you and your sons for your continued enlightened reign over your empire.”

Covifaht rose from his throne and bowed in Parlon’s direction.

“My Angelic Lord, I am more than happy to hear your beauteous music. It’s always welcome in my halls. Please,” Covifaht managed what sounded to Rohmhelt to be a joyous tone, even if he was truly less than pleased by the angel’s presence.

The light in the room dimmed and took on a violet hue. Parlon placed his hands upon his own chest as he began to sing before fluidly moving them high and low as he changed his pitch. He never sang in words of any language on Vorlanys, nor did it appear to be the tongue of the angels. Rather, his songs always were perfectly constructed melodic sounds, gracefully blending one into the other, never a note out of place. Parlon varied hall’s lighting as he continued, first heavily deeply the chamber to almost total blackness and then filling it with bright warm orange light as his song became a happier, faster tune.

At that stage of his performance, he danced elegantly before the lords before turning his focus toward Covifaht and Rohmhelt. For a moment his attention turned squarely on Rohmhelt, gazing piercingly at the crown prince with his amethyst eyes. When Rohmhelt blinked, he saw Parlon’s hair flying up wildly and the angel’s skin turn a sickly purple. The crown prince jolted in his seat, but with his eyes open saw that nothing had changed. The angel continued to sweetly sing for the Emperor while all in the hall looked on admiringly. When he blinked again, he saw the form of Parlon, deranged and seemingly laughing while standing on a collapsing floor even as Rohmhelt heard the angel’s sweet and lovely music. He kept his eyes shut this time and looked to the rest of the hall. His eyes scanned to see broken crystal rain from the sky and crash on the ground, splintering into innumerable shards. Even with the chaos they showed, the visions made no sounds. Parlon’s enchanting song was all he heard.

He opened his eyes again to see that Parlon had moved back toward the hall’s center as his song quickened yet again into a more frenetic pace. With the increased tempo, a sharp pain shot through the center of Rohmhelt’s head. He closed his eyes again and saw the lords and ladies’ skin melt off their bones like pale wax in a conflagration that swept over them even as they applauded Parlon, whose disturbed appearance became wilder and his laughter escalated. They soon stood as skeletons with heaps of their own flesh at their feet, but still they clapped. Rohmhelt wanted to scream, but was too terrified to speak. A harsh wind raged through the hall and disintegrated their bones. They collapsed into piles of ash that blew up and out of the hall’s shattered ceiling. He looked to the right where he saw his father slumped in his throne, a dagger in his throat, blood gushing out his mouth, and his eyes gouged out, leaving nothing but deep abyssal sockets.

Parlon’s song ended and Rohmhelt opened his eyes again, gasping and drenched in sweat. The hall cheered wildly for Parlon and the angel thanked his generous hosts with a series of swift bows around the room. When he bowed toward Rohmhelt, the crown prince flinched and cautiously applauded.

“Thank you all. You are all very kind,” Parlon smiled.

“You are most welcome, as always!” Duronaht bowed before the angel. The simpering figure of Bolgrelt slithered up alongside him. “Please, stay with us for the festivities.”

“If the Emperor will allow it,” Parlon seemed to fight back a chuckle.

Covifaht nodded at Duronaht and Parlon. Again, the hall cheered and rushed to gather around the angel as gentle tunes from the court’s musicians played in the background and course upon course of fine food were brought out by the servants. Covifaht descended from his throne and looked at Rohmhelt, who clung tightly to his chair.

“I’m not thrilled about this nonsense, either. Look at that,” Covifaht grumbled, gesturing at the throngs gathered around Parlon. “This is my hall and they all come to him for an audience instead of me. I am emperor, but they know I won’t…”

“Father, may I leave for a moment? I don’t feel well,” Rohmhelt whimpered. His sweaty hands slipped off his throne’s arms.

The Emperor sighed and glanced at Parlon again before looking at his elder son.

“Very well. You do look like you could use some air. Get it. Be back soon, though. I don’t want to have to face this torture alone,” Covifaht growled, waving Rohmhelt off.

Rohmhelt wobbled behind the throne toward a small reception chamber to the rear of the hall. His feet struggled to find the floor as his entire body stiffened from his fright. Fighting through his infirmities, he managed to stumble down the short flight of stairs to the chamber. It was a small room used by his father for intimate discussions with dignitaries during grand events in the main hall. That day it provided a refuge for Rohmhelt while he tried to comprehend the visions that danced in his mind. He futilely endeavored to recall them more clearly, but they seemed to escape him like a dream just after awakening, becoming wisps he could not grasp.

Racing thoughts turned to a longstanding fear that his father’s mercurial nature would afflict him. Even worse, the Emperor’s malady was considered modest compared to the afflictions that had befallen so many others in his line. He clutched and clawed at his head fearing that he would become yet another of those innumerable mad royals, consigned to an asylum while the court guffawed at their misfortune. Surely what he had seen was merely a delusion, a demented mind conjuring up obscene and unwelcome visions.

He sat crumpled on one of the room’s plush chairs, clawing at his own skull, trying to vanquish terrors that he would succumb to his mind’s twisted thoughts. His body ran cold, shaking. Making matters worse, sounds of festivities traveled down the stairs and tormented him while he sat alone.

“My prince,” Lohs’s voice came around the corner. Rohmhelt lifted his head to see the old man standing at the door. “A visitor wishes to speak with you.”

“You can tell them I’m indisposed,” he weakly muttered. “Another time.”

Lohs motioned out the door and a man wearing a simple dark green robe stepped in. He was an unremarkable figure, black-haired with a sagging face and a typical build for a man of his apparent age. His eyes were unusual, however, with a metallic texture.

“Please, I appreciate that you want to have an audience, but I’m feeling ill. I hope you can understand,” Rohmhelt pleaded with the man.

“If you saw what I suspect you saw, you have cause to feel unwell,” the man said. A sage-like rasp wrapped around his voice. He sounded even older than he looked. “Tell me, what did you see in the hall?”

Rohmhelt squinted at the man and saw his eyes glimmer. He looked to Lohs, who gently nodded at his prince. Even so, Rohmhelt could not gather the trust to divulge his visions.

“I saw Parlon singing. That was all,” Rohmhelt mumbled.

The man stepped forward and held his hand out over Rohmhelt’s head. Rohmhelt attempted to wiggle away, but phantom restraints held him in place.

“Do not struggle. I will merely show you what it is that I saw. If it is the same vision of flames, simply tell me that it is so,” the man said before plunging his hand down on Rohmhelt’s head.

Rohmhelt’s sight became overwhelmed by the swirling apparitions he had seen earlier, even those he had not been able to precisely recall in the moments after seeing them. Fire, heaps of ash, crashing crystal, the deranged angel, and his father’s gouged-out eyes. It was all the same and then it ended in an instant. He gasped for breath and fell out of his chair, pushing weakly on the smooth stone floor to regain his balance. He shuddered and cried. Every time he blinked he saw that mutilated and ragged corpse, his father’s corpse, and those bottomless pits where eyes once were.

“It’s… Yes,” Rohmhelt sobbed. “It’s the same.”

The man grabbed him and pulled him off the floor. Rohmhelt could not bring himself to look directly into the man’s eyes.

“That we both saw the same thing is not something I can easily explain. Your kind is not meant to have visions such as those. Not many of my own have such glimpses, either,” the man said distantly.

Rohmhelt’s eyes met the man’s odd metallic eyes again. He knew the man meant him no harm, but he could not subdue his trepidations.

“Who are you?” Rohmhelt asked.

The man backed away a few paces and bowed.

“I am Simel,” he said.

Rohmhelt jolted back.

“The… The an…?” he gasped.

“Yes,” Simel replied.

Of the numerous angels, Simel was among the few who had never attended one of the Emperor’s receptions, making his face unfamiliar to Rohmhelt.

“And you put those visions in my head? Why?” Rohmhelt yelled, mainly out of confusion. “What twisted purpose do you have?”

Simel shook his head slowly.

“I did not conjure those images in your mind any more than I created them in my own.”

“You saw them? Is… Is it anything? Is it a warning?” Rohmhelt asked desperately.

Simel’s head shook again.

“No, not a warning. Warnings exist to allow you to change what might occur,” Simel’s tone turned somber. “What you saw will occur. I cannot say when. I cannot say how. I cannot say that you will be there when it happens, but that it will happen is unalterable.”

“It can’t be!” Rohmhelt blurted. “How could it? If you know all of this, tell me! We can stop it! If you know, why can’t you tell me?”

Simel turned to leave. The angel politely bowed at the crown prince and Lohs at the doorway. Rohmhelt’s temper boiled over at Simel not answering.

“You can’t say these things and just leave!” Rohmhelt barked. “Answer me! Why are you not telling me?”

Simel bowed again.

“You assume we have wisdom that we do not have. I do not tell you because I wish you not to know. I do not tell you because I myself do not know. We will speak again soon.”

Before Rohmhelt could say anything more, Simel disappeared in a glaring flash of light. Even as the light dissipated, Rohmhelt’s sight did not recover for some moments. His eyes were overcome with a persistent blur.

“Lohs, what did he tell you?” Rohmhelt called out as he blinked frantically to recover his vision.

A blurry blob that he was sure was Lohs stepped in front of him.

“Nothing more than he told you, but…”

“What?” Rohmhelt snapped. “Please, tell me something!”

“I wish that I could tell you that I understood what happened,” Lohs’s words fell like lead. “If it were anyone other than an angel… especially Simel, I’d tell you that you were in need of an apothecary to look after you. As it is…”

“No! This has got to be some sort of trick,” Rohmhelt yelled with his vision finally becoming clear enough he could see Lohs’s frightened and ashen expression.

“I pray that you’re right,” Lohs said weakly. “If it isn’t, though…”

“Enough,” Rohmhelt barked. “Father will want me in the hall soon for the coronation. That will be soon, won’t it?”

“Yes, I should think when you return. I think that he wants to be done with this,” Lohs mumbled.

Rohmhelt grumbled and stormed out of the reception chamber. He dreaded returning to the hall, especially with the image of his father’s mutilated face returning at every blink. He thought of everything else he could muster, but could not dislodge that mortifying visage. The fear that his vision might even portend the end of that day and not some distant future hour was one he could not shake easily. When he rose from the stairs to see the celebration continuing, his fears abated. His momentary morbid visions must have amounted to nothing. He even dismissed what Simel had said. It was scarcely the first time an angel had made an enigmatic pronouncement.

Covifaht immediately called on the hall to silence, but the court only hushed when Parlon commanded it. Rohmhelt and Duronaht stood at one another’s side while the Emperor took off their princely circlets and instead lowered onto his sons’ heads kingly crowns. The crown of Zarmand was a dark crimson band studded with large sapphires while the crown of Karmand was black iron with ghostly Nulpan gemstones embedded in the metal.

As his father crowned him, Rohmhelt closed his eyes and saw the eyeless visage again. The dagger fell from the Emperor’s throat and let loose a gush of blood, spraying in every direction. He opened his eyes at once to happily see his father’s warm countenance smiling at him.

Rohmhelt fought back tears as he wondered how many times he would see it again.