She was tired. The emotional load of her story exhausted her. The tense and oppressive atmosphere on their drive back… another weary hike up in the forest…. her body worn out to the point she collapsed into the bed as soon as they arrived at the village and slept ten hours straight…. having to deal with H, who was still angry at her the next morning, with Margot, who was still angry at her from before….attempting to explain to them about the machines, while seeing disbelief in their eyes, thinking she adjusted the truth in order not to be blamed for her irresponsible behaviour….she couldn’t blame them -- had she not witnessed it by herself she wouldn’t believe it either. And Tengu…he couldn’t wait for them to depart. He gave her no further explanation on anything, saying that those matters didn’t concern her, and appealed to her to focus fully on the mission. He said nothing of his headaches and dismissed them as a consequence of too much stress when she asked him about them. Not one caring word, not one mention of their night walk, not one secret gaze that would tell her he was thinking of that kiss. Because she still was.

She slid over the couch and closed her eye. Just for a moment, she thought, just this one small break, before she continues. The Source won’t mind, he must see how tired she is.

****

The young captain finished his report. Silence descended in the Grand Hall and lingered there like a thick fog over the valley on an early winter morning. A drop of sweat slid down the captain’s right temple and he suddenly wished he had more to say. At least, when he was speaking, the sound of his voice seemed to appease the chill atmosphere always present within the soulless walls of the enormous rib-vaulted hall. Now, in the quietness, the omni-prevalent white color began to creep inside his brain, eroding his nerves little by little. Everywhere he looked - the walls, the stairs, the few pieces of furniture, the floor - was white. Not just white, but spotless white.

Certainly not a friendly place for a human soul, the captain thought, feeling a frozen crust forming around his heart. Kneeling on one knee, he shifted his balance slightly forward, applying more pressure on his right forearm bent over his other, elevated knee. His stare was respectfully lowered towards the white marble floor strewn with sparks. The way he kneeled, the direction of his stare, as well as any other action he might have done, were all determined by the strict codes of behavior inside the palace, which he and everyone else had to comply with. Any deviation from those rules was punished by jail or execution, depending on the severity of the offense. Given the current situation, all the captain could do was wait.

The time seemed to flow at half of its usual speed since he had said his last words and it continued to slow down with each further minute passed. Odd thoughts replaced the echo of his voice and filled his restless mind. He wondered what kind of man the Emperor must be to feel comfortable living in such a place. A very special, unique man, no doubt about it. A kind of man, the young captain never aspired to comprehend, yet he deeply admired and respected. His devotion to the Emperor was absolute and it transcended the love he felt for his parents, his little sister, and even surpassed the bond he shared with his fellow soldiers of the Imperial Guard.

If it wasn’t for the Emperor, his parents taught him since he was a small child, this world as we know it would have not existed. If it wasn’t for the Emperor, the instructors at the Imperial Guard Academy stated repeatedly, humankind would have not survived. If it wasn’t for the Emperor, his squad friends teased him, he would be living in the Settlements. He heard stories of the Emperor’s incredible bravery before and after the Event so many times, he felt he lived through that dreadful period of human history himself, even though he was born a year after it all happened.

The captain bent his head lower, giving his kneeling posture an even humbler appearance. His right hand was shaking as he raised it toward the left shoulder and gently slid his fingers over the pin attached above his heart. The small insignia made of white gold, in a shape of cherry blossom, meant the world to him. He received it from the Emperor, two years ago, when he was accepted to the Imperial Guard, the Emperor’s elite unit.

Despair ripped inside him at the thought of that joyful day, filling his eyes with tears. The pin defined him. Outside the Imperial Guard, he didn’t exist. When the General announced his name as the new captain of the 12th Squad, he was afraid his heart was going to explode from joy and pride. He never expected his secret dream to come true so soon. He could not wait for a mission, just to prove he was worthy of the Emperor’s trust. His eagerness, hard work, and dedication were noticed and his squad got its first task. Simple enough, but very important. And he….he! let the Emperor down.

This sudden realization screamed in his brain and compelled him to do something that under normal circumstances would have never crossed his mind. He raised his head and looked at the Emperor. It was not a presumptuous or defiant stare. It was a stare of hope; hope that perhaps the Emperor understood it was not entirely his fault, hope that he forgave him due to his youth and inexperience, or simply hope that he was not disappointed in him, despite his failure. If that was the case, he needed to know, he needed to see it in his beloved Emperor’s eyes.

A number of steep, white stairs lay between him and the throne, but the captain had an excellent vision and could see well the Emperor even from such a distance. The Emperor was leaning on his right forearm, placed over the large arm of the throne. His left palm was resting on the crease between his hip and leg and his back was, while inclined to the side, very straight. To the young captain, he appeared like a statue. Seating immovable in his white attire he seemed to be one with the cold, white-marble stone the throne was made of. Long, black hair, with few of its front strands neatly tied to the back, framed his pale face, most of which was hidden by the white veil, thin just enough to reveal an elegant bone structure beneath it. Hovering above the veil, were the Emperor’s dark blue eyes, endowed with a cold, unearthly glow, that set him apart and above everyone else. These eyes were seemingly directed at the captain, but in truth, the exact focus of the Emperor’s gaze was undeterminable. As if he was looking at something far away, while at the same time interacting with every minute detail in the Hall. To his disappointment, the captain could not discern any emotion, signal, or anything at all from that stare. It was a stare, which reminded him that he feared the Emperor as much as he admired him.

With a sigh, the captain lowered his eyes to the floor again and smiled within himself. He did not get what he hoped for, but the touch of the Emperor’s gaze was enough to dissolve any insecurity or doubts he had about his imminent fate.

xxx

She opened her eye, moving it left and right. Something was off, the dream she just had was not a usual dream. It felt like she was immersed in the story…no -- in the thoughts of the young captain. She saw everything he saw as if she was looking through his eyes, but at the same time, she was also looking from the outside. She also felt all the intense emotions that he was going through, yet, she was well aware they were his and not hers and thus she could bear them with detached objectivity. Why did her mind conjure up that captain she could not explain. She never saw or met him before, or even anyone like him, so he must be part of her imagination. But why, and how could she do that in such detail? She closed her eye again trying to bring the captain back. Like in a twisted deja-vu she found herself at the same place again -- in the Grand Hall of the White Palace, but this time she was seeing it through other eyes.

xxx

The Emperor stopped listening to the report of the young captain a while ago. Precisely, after he heard the mission went wrong. That was all he needed to know. He didn’t care about the details, what mattered was that Tengu won again. The mere sound of this name afflicted on him a whole spectrum of strong negative feelings, which channelled into an enormous urge to clench his fist. Yet, in the end, his palm remained exactly as it was; open, with fingers spread over the large arm of the throne. In fact, the Emperor didn’t move at all since he sat on the throne. His eyes were fixed on some distant point and his eyelids dropped only at very long intervals. The control he had over his body was almost inhuman. It was an ability he perfected over the years. The more an emotion raged in him, tempting his mind and body to subdue, the sharper became his awareness. The tiny contractions of the muscles in his forearm, the tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers, the increased amount of the air he inhaled and exhaled, the elevated speed of his heartbeat, shorter intervals between blinks, he was aware of them all. And everything that came under the scrutiny of his awareness, he could control. On rare occasions, was he provoked into such a state of agitation. For that alone, the Emperor hated Tengu more than he was willing to admit.

For twenty years nobody dared to question his rule until this malevolent individual appeared out of nowhere. Tengu’s cowardly attacks inside the City brought confusion and shook the faith of the citizens in the order, that he, the Emperor, established to save humankind from anarchy and chaos that spread after the catastrophic events. With inexplicable luck, the demon managed to avoid several attempts of the Imperial Guards to apprehend him, turning what should have been easy routine work for his elite unit, into a series of mishaps and failures on their side, making the Guards, as well as him, look like a fool. To make things worse, Tengu and his despicable followers were largely popular among the common folk in the Settlements. Not that he ever cared much about that wretched folk’s opinion, but their silent contempt for him and hidden joy over Tengu’s actions began to annoy him.

An even stronger urge to clinch his fist and smash it against the arm of the throne came over the Emperor. The satisfaction he would get from the pain of the impact, the feeling of the cold hard stone against his palm bones…just imagining that had a soothing effect. But he controlled himself again, and without moving his eyes he directed his focus to the white walls of the Hall. The white color always calmed him. The pure, unstained whiteness spoke of something higher, something above the banality of this world. Like snow - so perfect when falling from the sky; a kind of blessing sent from the Gods to cover the imperfections and filth of this world, making it look much more beautiful than it actually was. Yes, he liked the snow very much.

A memory resurfaced in his mind, one from long ago. The image of a metallic beast chasing after him over flat, dry land. Cold eastern wind cutting into his face. The horrid feeling of powerlessness, until he finally stopped running and discarded any illusions of hope his surviving instincts pushed into his brain. Fully aware, his eyes wide open and his mind unobstructed by comforting thoughts, he focused singularly on the fact that he was going to die. He gazed at the cyborg’s pale face, its features becoming rapidly more and more distinctive. He always found their faces grotesque. For some perverted reason, the engineers built cyborgs with the ability to mimic human expressions. Unbeknown to emotions, their faces gave all the wrong expressions at the wrong times. Pride and care reflected on the face of the one chasing him. It reminded him of a father running after a child, who just learned how to drive a bicycle and was about to fall. As much as it appalled him that this pale, kind, fatherly face of the cyborg was the last thing he would see, he had to smile at the irony - the insignia on the cyborg’s metallic chest plate matched his own. Another berserker that turned against the army it belonged to. At that very moment, the snow began to fall. He looked up to see the first small snowflakes, which soon thickened into large agglomerations of snow crystals intensively floating down from the sky. The snow caressed his face like straps of the softest cotton. When he lowered his head again, he couldn’t see more than a couple of meters ahead and there was no sign of the cyborg. The thick snowflakes quickly covered the ground. He began walking off in a random direction. After a while, he stopped and saw a bright red trail dragging behind him. He thought how beautiful his blood looked on the freshly covered white surface. He wanted to do a few more steps to make some proper geometrical shape with his bloody trail, but he couldn’t move anymore. His knees gave way and he fell into the bed, the snow was preparing for him. Soft, clean, calming…It had always been his hope to die surrounded by such beauty.

The snowflakes changed back to the solid white wall of the Grand Hall. The memory slacked the Emperor’s focus, leaving him with his eyes closed for slightly longer than he intended. The Hall was quiet and he felt a brief but intense stare from the young captain upon him. He ignored it and turned his attention outward. Three other people were present in the Hall beside him and the captain: two guards, standing completely still by the entrance, and Ando, his faithful general.

The Emperor had known Ando since the time they both served under the same commander during the Seven-year war. In the aftermath of the Event, their paths crossed again and upon discovering their ambitions were complementary, they decided to join forces. Had the Emperor had any friends, Ando would have been the closest candidate.

In accordance with the protocol for a formal reception at the palace, Ando stood on the left front corner of the elevated, square platform, at a 45-degree angle from the throne. His arms were folded across his chest and his thick, black eyebrows were pulled together into a frown, as if he was in the midst of an important contemplation, when in fact - and the Emperor knew that - he was bored out of hell. His physique resembled a small bull - compact, stocky and muscular with a wide neck. He wore a trimmed goatee, which notably slimmed his puffy, round face, and oddly stuck out for its neatness when compared to his short, black, shaggy hair and the rest of his appearance. It would have been, however, a mistake to connect this unkempt, rough image with a more approachable personality. In reality, Ando, the General, was a cunning, experienced, and ruthless man, feared almost as much as the Emperor; a trait obvious and most noticeable in his slanted, piercing black eyes, always on guard and oblivious to any fear.

The lack of action and absence of sound nourished a particular ambiance in the Hall, one of fearful anticipation. Everyone’s eye twitched when the Emperor suddenly rose from the throne. There was something very dignified, almost godly about him. He was tall, with long, slender limbs and fairly broad shoulders, but what really struck the eye was the sophisticated elegance and utmost control, with which he executed his every move, no matter how small and insignificant it was, and he did it, seemingly so, without any effort. In such same manner, adding precision and speed, he drew a katana from Ando’s scabbard, as he walked past him. The sudden removal of his sword caught Ando by surprise and set him off balance. He arched backward, trying his best to straighten the whole body as quickly as possible into a more appropriate posture, but before he managed to do so, the Emperor was already halfway down the stairs, with a naked blade in his left hand. Realizing he barely noticed him or his poor etiquette, Ando stroked his goatee and put on an expression of mild curiosity.

The Emperor’s wide, pleated trousers covered his feet completely, thus creating an illusion of him gliding over the steps rather than walking. His tunic buttoned all the way up, was of a plain and straight design, broken by a wide sash with a bright red pattern tied at the waist. The color and the pattern of the sash as well as the simple golden embroidery at the edges of the tunic distinguished the Emperor’s uniform from those of Ando, the captain, and the two guards. Apart from these minor differences, they all wore exactly the same, white uniform consisting of a knee-length tunic with a round low standing collar, a wide sash tied around the waist, used for tucking in the sword, and pleated trousers, traditionally worn by Eastern warriors. Simplicity and uniformity were important to the Emperor and he tried to implement these principles in every area of life.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, the Emperor had settled his thoughts. True, the young captain could not be all to blame. After all, it was Ando, who prepared the plan, and he himself approved the mission. Fooled by the desire to see that mountain demon finally kneeling before him, he gave the consent to use a technology, they still knew so little about. Despite his deep contempt for any kind of advanced machinery, he succumbed, like the leaders from twenty years ago, to the possibility of quick success. It was a sad misfortune the mission fell under the responsibility of this young, capable man, but a failure like this, could not be overlooked.

The Emperor stopped beside the captain, whose head was now lowered almost till his knee. A distant memory crawled into his mind -- an image of his younger brother, but despite the strong feeling it provoked, he didn’t let it affect the sequence of his actions in any way. He took Ando’s katana in his right hand and closed the fingers around its tilt, to get a better feel of the sword. It was an excellent sword, made in the traditional way by the Aynu swordsmiths, whom he greatly admired.

The blade raised high up, glowed in a cold blue color, almost matching the Emperor’s eyes. A sword like this, swung by an expert hand, delivered a painless death. This was the mercy the Emperor decided to bestow upon the young captain.

The head detached and fell left of the captain’s body, which collapsed forward an instant later. At first, the blood burst out from the neck in splashes but soon began to pour in a more constant, thick flow, which grew into a large red pond on the white marble floor.

The Emperor cast the sword to the side. Drops of blood from the blade spattered over the floor, a few of them landing on his white pleated trousers. His eyes lingered for a moment on those few drops. For some reason, their pattern reminded him of cherry blossom.

----

Ando first approached the body from different angles, before he finally found a good spot to squat down without stepping into the blood. He turned the headless torso around and removed the cherry blossom pin from the tunic colored in red. He held it up for a moment, admiring its glow, then placed it swiftly inside his inner pocket.

By the time the Emperor reached the second floor, the two guards already dragged the body out of the Hall. Not once did he turn to look. An unchanged detached stare persisted in his eyes and he uttered no words. Tengu was the dirt below the snow, the ugly brown stain pushing through and spreading over his beautiful, snowy landscape. He wasn’t going to let that happen. He was going to find the way and remove that stain once and for all.

****

As soon she opened her eye she sat up and eyed the Source with the utmost suspicion. That was no imagination of hers, something happened in her mind, something inexplicable, something probably only the Source could explain. She was still hesitating to ask because there was always the possibility that she was simply losing her mind. Somehow, she witnessed that execution through different persons and was all the different persons while still being herself at the same time. It was a real event that once happened, she had no doubt about it. Could it be that the tube implanted a memory in her mind, a most accurate and detailed recollection of the sad event?

He must see my confusion…Will he say something? she wondered looking at the Source.

“I see your confusion,” he said.

“Do you?” she asked, still uncertain about how much should she reveal.

“It’s a piece of information, which I gave you in order to show you the value of what we can provide. Of course, it is not the information you seek, but if you continue your story, you now know what to expect.”

“So, you did that to…motivate me?”

“Your sad disposition was affecting your ability to narrate.”

“Huh…” She was speechless for a moment. “Are you saying the information I need will be revealed to me in the same way?”

The Source answered with one slow nod.

“Well, that…that is amazing.”