The Sun King descended from the Capital to his old home in a great silver carriage, lounging against padded cushions amid the fanfare of trumpets and clinking armor. Many years had passed since he last set eyes upon this city. The Archives he recognized instantly, and the market street looked much the same. As the Sun King’s carriage passed, citizens dropped to their knees like reeds under a heavy wind. Occasionally, familiar faces appeared among the citizens lining the roadside: a baker; a tailor; a neighbor and her family.

The local mayor appeared, kneeling in the dust alongside an entourage of finely dressed nobles, and the Sun King frowned as his carriage swept past the man. What threats had his conquering force spread, that even the wealthy and powerful feared him so? He did not aim to promote fear of new governance, but rather relief in the establishment of a less inherently flawed system.

No one dared address the Sun King, and in exchange he let them be. It was only natural for cityfolk to be more wary of his coming than the rural villagers, for he brought a change in the same status quo that had served them well for centuries, and in times of tumult, those undeserving of their positions at the top had nowhere to go but down. However, those willing to accept this change would soon see that the Sun King’s rule brought true bounty to the realm, a bounty that ought to benefit all, rather than the imbalanced system of the old Empire.

One grey-haired man in a fine silk scribe’s tunic crouched in front of the Archives, trembling visibly. A similarly old woman and four younger scribes knelt at his side. As the carriage approached, the Sun King recognized the master archivist who had once fired him. The Sun King ordered the driver to stop the carriage, and he dispatched a retainer to give the old archivist a small sum of a thousand gold. The Sun King leaned forward in his seat, head inclined in respect.

“Master Archivist, I owe you this gratitude. You opened my eyes to the truth. It is thanks to you that the Empire may be forged anew,” the Sun King said, meaning every word. If not for his excommunication from the Scribes’ Guild, the Sun King might never have recruited his first follower, the Alchemist General of unmatched martial prowess, and thereby achieved dominion over more than half of the Empire’s former lands.

The master archivist turned pale at the Sun King’s words, but trembling hands accepted the gift, and the old man prostrated himself before the Sun King’s carriage. All around him, eyes glanced up as the cityfolk regarded the Sun King with burgeoning hope—the first ingredient to willing hearts and a strong following. The Sun King smiled magnanimously at his new subjects. He was not here to destroy their livelihoods, but rather to give them new opportunities.

The master archivist murmured soft words of gratitude as he edged back into the crowd.

The Sun King’s carriage continued.

At the juncture of two main roads, a disturbance appeared among the crowds of reverent cityfolk. A young woman in the robes of a Clerk waded through the sea of prostrated citizens, standing tall amid those crouching on their knees. She wore pure white, a flash of brilliance among the grey and brown garb of the other citizens. Stepping into the street, she faced the procession head-on. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd muttered and cringed away, anticipating a quick and brutal end to the one who dared show such irreverence.

“You are the very image of—could it be you, Father?” said the Clerk to the carriage. She stood with poise, humble yet not groveling, a point of calm amid the nervous shuffling of the masses; when she spoke, her voice was crisp and educated.

The Sun King leapt upright in his seat, eyes wide.

“What did you say?” he gasped, holding up a hand to the carriage driver. The procession rumbled to a halt. He climbed to the front of the carriage to take a closer look at this fearless Clerk. Her face was pale as paper, indicating a mostly indoor life: the mark of a learned occupation. If the Sun King considered her features carefully, she almost looked familiar.

“Forgive me, Sire. I spoke without thinking. I beg the Sun King’s forgiveness,” said the Clerk. She bowed shallowly in the road before the carriage, still blocking its forward path. The carriage horses whinnied and shied away from her presence.

Intrigued, the Sun King dismissed the offense with a wave. “Rise. Explain yourself.”

“My father was once a lowly scribe of the Archive. Fifteen years have passed since he left this city, yet I never imagined that I would mistake his face for another’s. My singular wish is to see him alive and well. If he has indeed attained greatness, I fear only that he would not remember me.”

The vague familiarity brushing against the Sun King’s mind turned to absolute certainty. Fifteen years ago, he had been a scribe before he left his young daughter. Though he never heard her speak, he knew that she would grow to be an intelligent individual. The Sun King hopped down from his carriage at once, waving his attendants away, and staggered toward the Clerk.

“My dear child, how you have grown,” the Sun King murmured. They embraced there and then, deaf to the surprised murmurs of the townsfolk. He took the Clerk’s arm, and they stood facing one another. Her grey eyes, once identical in shade to his own, had paled to a cloudy white with age. Tears ran down the Sun King’s face as he spoke words that he had never had a chance to say before. “How I regret leaving you behind that night. You must return with me to the Capital; I cannot bear to part with you again.”

The Clerk nodded. “On one condition, my King. You must not speak of our blood relation, lest others try to use me as leverage against you.”

“My daughter has become clever and shrewd as well. The surprises never cease,” said the Sun King. “Very well. If we are not related, then I must have a reason for bringing you back, or the officials will think me mad. What skills do you have?”

“I can read and write. The mayor hired me as an administrative Clerk some months ago. I dare not ask for a higher station.” She turned her face away as though ashamed.

The Sun King scowled. His dear daughter deserved far more than a lifetime serving some petty mayor. “A mere clerk? Preposterous. You shall be my highest court advisor.”

“Though almost twenty years old, I have accomplished little of note. I do not dare accept such a station unproven; your courtiers would accuse you of favoritism at the least, and nepotism if they discover our relation. Instate me as a minor Clerk instead. Their suspicions will not rise, and you shall have my counsel regardless.”

The Sun King accepted the wisdom of the Clerk’s first proposal. During the return journey, the Clerk likewise accepted the offer to ride in the Sun King’s carriage while he borrowed an attendant’s horse. Riding beside the carriage, the Sun King proudly observed that authority suited his daughter well.

They departed together, father and daughter reunited, as it was meant to be.

Though three months had passed since the Alchemist General last set foot in the Sun King’s presence, the palace itself had changed little. Rows of guards in steel armor saluted the Alchemist as he passed. Each guard’s armor was polished to a high gloss, and their upright polearms gleamed like shards of glass. Discipline in the Capital had not suffered during the Alchemist’s time on the front lines.

The corridor leading to the throne room was a grand construct of wood and stone; marble tiles lined the floor, while carved wooden panels cast the walls in intricate patterns of reds and browns. The Alchemist paused before a newer panel: a soldier drawing a bow and arrow painted in gold leaf, with a deep red cloak flaring out behind him. Hundreds of smaller figures in identical archery stances filled the margins of the carved landscape. A general drilling his troops—the Alchemist smiled. Despite his insistence that a soldier needed no recognition, the Sun King had still granted him the honor of a place among the palace decorations.

At the entrance to the throne room, attendants bowed and pushed open the wrought iron doors. Courtiers and minor officials lined the sides of the throne room, silently awaiting their leader’s command. The Sun King sat in the center of the dais at the far end of the hall, splendid in his silver robes of office. A golden crown sat upon his head, catching the sunlight from a strategically placed window. Yellow shards of reflected light danced throughout the room.

“The Alchemist General answers the Sun King’s summons,” the Alchemist announced, kneeling halfway between the door and the dais. At the Sun King’s request, he rose and approached the throne.

“Ah, my old friend the Alchemist. We were just talking about you. Allow me to introduce my long-lost daughter, recently found, now my Clerk and counsel in these trying times.”

The Sun King grandly swept an arm toward a corner of the dais, where a second chair sat in the shadow of the throne. The chair stood slightly behind the throne, and in front of it was a simple desk with a stack of paper and an inkwell. The chair was simple wood, almost offensively plain besides the Sun King’s own elegantly carved seat of black cherry and mahogany. Its occupant looked equally unremarkable.

The Clerk stepped around the table, pausing under a convenient ray of sunlight, and bowed. Straw-colored hair pinned into a tight bun glowed like a halo atop her head. She was small in stature, much like the King himself, but her fair complexion and pure white scholar’s robes stood out like bone against the dark detailing of the throne room.

“It is a pleasure to meet the Imperial Fire Marshal. Tales of your renown circulate throughout the land.” Rising again, the Clerk caught the Alchemist’s suspicious gaze. Her eyes were as wide and pale as those of the blind, but she wore the calm air of one who had seen more than any alive.

“Fire Marshal?” A grin split the Sun King’s somber expression. “Surely that is a civilian rank. Was that your title in the Imperial Army, old friend?”

“Indeed; they named me such to comfort the citizens and strike fear in the hearts of enemies. It is not a title I have heard in many years,” said the Alchemist General. Few knew of his past, and even the most accurate rumors speculated that he had lived in the western wilds before joining the Sun King’s cause. This so-called daughter of the Sun King was indeed perceptive, much like the King himself.

The Sun King chuckled, drawing the Alchemist from his thoughts.

“You, the Fire Marshal. One who starts fires; one who puts out fires. How fitting!” The Sun King laughed again. “In all seriousness, my friend, you are owed a promotion for exemplary service, and a field marshal does outrank a general...”

Behind the Sun King, the Clerk’s thin smile grew as sharp as a paper-cut.

“Alchemist General, I hereby appoint you as Fire Marshal, highest commander of the Sun Army.” The Sun King waved a hand, summoning the court scribe. “Let it be written.”

“The Sun King is indeed generous.” The newly named Fire Marshal knelt again. It was a promotion in name only, but his King had spoken, and thus it would be.