Nasition plucks the pen off the door before slouching into his chair, tired and frustrated. What a troublesome target… He stares at his left hand, scarred by a single mark on the palm. “If only magic can solve all the world’s problems… ”

“Nasi, you’ve aged,” a voice whispers.

Startled, Nasition wheels around, finding a familiar face staring gently at him, its body materializing into a tall, gentlemanly figure. No, it can’t be…

“S-Stasibel?” he stutters, his body shaking with fear. He stabs the figure with his pen, but it simply passes through its body, as if he is striking aimlessly at the air.

“Always so eager to kill me, are you?” he smiles, “Fortunately for you, I am a dead man, and I can only interact with you to a certain extent.” His hands, previously just thick balls of smoke, suddenly materialize and grab Nasition’s arm tightly, forcing him to drop his pen. “You should be glad I have become more calm and can control my form more easily since my death.”

“Who gave you this power?” Nasition questions, “How can you control this type of magic when you have never once dabbled in magecraft in your life?”

“How are you so sure?” Stasibel’s smile widens, and a feeling of unease overcomes Nasition, “Is it my duty to report to my former subordinate? Oh, and also, the book you’re reading? It was acquired by me all those years ago.”

“Even so,” Nasition tries to put up a brave front, “Look who is the one in power now. My power may be limited, but eventually, one day, the former Achien Empire will be a complete, united Confederation, with no more corruption or injustice.”

“You may have despised the monarchy, and for good reason too,” Stasibel responds, “but what are you going to do when you finally achieve the peace that you so yearned for? Relinquish your accumulated power and retire to some remote region? Power is addictive, yet we all forget this fact when we have it.”

“Look at the world the empire left behind!” Nasition exclaims, “Poverty is everywhere, the once great highways and cities reduced to ruins. Even the beautiful city of Achien that I’ve adored since I was a child… it has become no more than a husk of its former self. And this is all from the despotism and corruption of the monarchy, holding absolute power over these lands for a whole millennium!”

“So that’s how you saw the rule of the line of Elethien,” Stasibel sighs, a hint of sadness appearing on his face, “If you had allowed me more time to reform the empire, then at least it will be better than the situation right now.”

“Better? The mess that was the dying breath of the Achien Empire was better than the Confederation that I now preside over? Even if you had brought the empire back from the dead as you wanted, what is to guarantee that future monarchs wouldn’t ruin it once more? The instability of a monarchy is far too great of a risk to gamble the fate of the people upon. I would rather give up my power to the people for the benefit of stability and peace.”

“Why then did you go to such lengths to kill the boy? To consolidate your power and prevent any remotely possible challengers?” Stasibel laughs, “How amusing, to think a champion of the people, killing his leader for the purpose of ending the monarchy, would end up becoming another absolute monarch himself.”

“I did not end the empire to make myself a king! I am not like the rebels of the past, attempting to topple the system to fit their own interests. I wish to end the monarchy, not to create another variation of it!”

“Isn’t your attempted killing of the boy eerily similar to the barbarians millennia ago, who tried to wipe out entire rival families, not sparing even the children? How hypocritical!”

“I wouldn’t have cared… had the boy not have a guardian who knew of his origins.”

“Faresoenn was a loyal friend and subordinate till the very end, and I know that he wished for the boy to have a peaceful, mundane life rather than to be involved with the mess known as politics, as he was forced to. It was you who led to this, you are the one who created a potential rival for yourself!”

“Leave me, Stasibel!” Nasition screams, “You are dead, and expect your child to reunite with you and your wife soon after!”

“As you wish, Common Leader,” Stasibel snickers, “Let’s see how long does it take for your self-righteousness to be consumed by power, before your life is abruptly taken by a boy who would’ve never meddled in your affairs had you not so blatantly invited, no, forced him to it.” The environment suddenly changes, the walls, bookshelves, desk, and even the chair that Nasition was sitting on disappears, replaced by the scenery of a lush green field and a bright blue sky, the sparse clouds lazily shuffling about in the air.

Wait, when was I transported here?

“I’ll see you later, Nasition.” As the voice of Stasibel fades away, a great wind begins to spiral around Nasition, and the scenery seems to warp in and out of existence. The field bounces up and down like waves, the clouds ricocheting off each other in the sky, the air itself rapidly forming bubbles, leaving vacuums in between, sucking and tossing him around like a doll. Nasition’s vision slowly blurs, feeling his own body being torn apart, not different from an archaic torture he read about many years ago. Stasibel, why does it feel like I have never understood you?

He slowly opens his eyes, adjusting to the brightness of the room, his cheek still resting on his hand. Well, that was quite the surprise. He wipes off the sweat from his forehead as he again fixates his eyes on the book.

“The art of remote controlling is not an easy task,” he reads, “A first prerequisite is at least a moment of physical contact with the object. It requires great potential and concentration of the user, and often even a slight moment of interruption can break that concentration. Sometimes a supporting tool, such as tools made from Nahera steel, are used to better channel the energy, hence why it is usually used for academic, and not practical, purposes. However, there were some that mastered this art rapidly and were able to use it in combat, such as Forakinaien…”

So this skill is quite useless, even though it will cause a spectacle when used, Nasition thinks, the pen twirling above his hand, To think Stasibel would procure such a book… he suddenly notices some scribbles on the margins, perhaps written in a rush, by a handwriting he knows all too well.

“Untapped potential… idea of remotely controlled weapons… assassination… difficult to counter… anything can become a weapon… dangerously promising…” Somewhere in Nasition’s mind, an idea suddenly clicks. That’s it! He brings up a screen and begins scribbling his own notes, using a holographic pen. The Battalion Elethien all show strong potential to learn the lost art of magecraft. If even a few of them master this skill, they can wipe out entire forts after extensive infiltration. In fact, if used correctly, it can overwhelm even the Anapadeia from a long range. However, his hand abruptly stops as he writes the word “Avalel”, frozen in place, as if a separate consciousness is forcing him to stop.

What if he learns of this power?

The words of Stasibel, said all those years before when the empire was teetering on total collapse, echoes in Nasition’s mind. “When you use a revolutionary weapon, you must also think of the possibility of this weapon falling in the hands of the enemy.”

Back then, it was referring to a suggestion made to weaponize the Shoriri, but what about now? How can I guarantee that the boy won’t learn this skill, especially as he has shown himself to be a powerful monster already?

“Nasi, what do you think of this painting?” Stasibel’s voice seems to penetrate everywhere in his mind, this time taking his memory back to a visit to the Achien art gallery over two decades ago.

“It’s quite a rough one. I don’t know why it is even in this gallery, standing among great classical masterpieces,” Nasition responded critically.

“This painting was allegedly made over the course of one night only, and the creator, of course, is this empire’s founder,” Stasibel beamed, introducing the painting proudly.

“Well, I don’t see anything special with it, other than the fact it was rushed and made by Queen Elethien herself,” he replied dismissively, “These blades are just hovering in mid-air, arranged like wings. What’s even the point of adding them? The two warriors here lack even facial features and their armored bodies are roughly drawn. It seemed like it was made by an amateur artist, if I must say so.”

“Well, you see, here’s the interesting part: it was drawn in a hurry because Elethien, allegedly, had a vision. In this vision, she saw two young warriors fighting to the death, their movements like the wind, graceful yet violent. The many blades you see here are the product of materialization, a lost magic that, according to our archives, temporarily creates objects from energy alone, and soon disappears.”

“How’s this possible?”

“No one knows, but both warriors were extremely skilled, maybe even more so than Elethien herself, as she said.”

“Even more skilled than Elethien?”

“Yes, as she said so. But just as the battle reaches its climax, she noticed one of the warriors seemed to be stunned, dropping his, or her, guard entirely and allowing the other to pierce his or her stomach. And that is what you’re seeing here in this painting.” Through the rough strokes of the artwork, Nasition could make out a bloody blade lodged inside a warrior’s stomach amongst the surrounding floating blades, yet… the warrior’s left hand is stroking the other warrior’s braid, and his right hand is gently touching the forehead of his enemy?

“This doesn’t make sense. If they are enemies, why does it seem like one of the warriors is comforting the other, even though it is him, or her, who is gravely wounded?”

“This was a question Elethien herself noted in the caption of the painting, but it was then when she woke up. There are theories, but no one truly understands what that gesture means. Well, let’s go. We don’t have much leisure time left.”

“Stasibel, what are you trying to prove, showing me this?” Nasition shouts to seemingly nothingness, “That you are far more knowledgeable than me? Attempting to make me regret all that I’ve done?” Still, he is troubled, and he stands up, walking back and forth in the room. What am I even fretting about?

“Even in death, you haunt me, Stasibel,” he mutters before sitting back in his seat, defeated.

Nasition leans back on his chair, carefully controlling his breathing as he closes his eyes, temporarily removing himself from the troubles of reality. Must… calm… myself…

“Common Leader, I have something to report,” a voice says hurriedly, disrupting the silence.

What now? Slightly frustrated, Nasition brings up his palm, and the holographic image of a tall soldier is shown. “Oh, Vorsuen, what is it? If it’s about the kakuruna, I’d suggest you report to the chief engineers. You should know that technology isn’t my area of expertise, especially not revolutionary war machines like these.”

“I’ve already told the other generals of this, but the kakuruna are doing extremely well in all of our fronts,” Vorsuen reports enthusiastically.

“That’s good to hear,” Nasition responds half-heartedly.

“However, the eastern front is especially shaky, with the New Rule ferociously fighting our troops in the Tara River.”

“What do you want?” Nasition glares. Why do you have to mention them at this time?

“I was thinking… ” Vorsuen begins to falter, “Can you allocate more kakuruna to the 7th, 16th, and 23rd armies?”

“Why are you asking me? Isn’t it better to ask your fellow generals? Leave this for another time, I have something to do right now.” I'm not in the mood right now.

“Alright then,” Vorsuen says disappointedly before the image fades out. Alone again, he begins rapping his fingers impatiently on the table, his mind blurred and distracted with emotion.

Can’t my incompetent generals just leave me alone? Nasition thinks, staring at the ceiling, The only competent ones are in the Battalion, but they are only used to operating in small teams, not to mention they are extremely individualistic. Well, what is competence anyway?

He sighs. Norai, what do you think? Uncontrollably, he reaches a hand in front of him, but there is only air. Oh, right. I've forgotten…

How much more will Stasibel take from him, even after his death sixteen years ago? He had thought the toppling of the Achien Empire would be enough, but even after all this time, he cannot find actual peace. His mind is still as troubled as all those years ago.

He reaches inside his pocket and brings out a dented, slightly rusted metal locket. Clicking it open, he stares dearly at the carefully preserved physical photograph inside. We're almost there.

He just can’t forget her. Her beaming smile on his dark world. Her positivity lights up everything around her, bringing them together. Yet her death, her instant departure, broke him. Whatever he did, no amount of retribution can fill in that gaping hole. He only wishes that someday, when he is old, that they may reunite in some afterlife again.