The Sun King raised an unsteady hand to his face. Reports cascaded from his grasp to the floor, scattering about the throne like fallen leaves. The Advisor’s perfect calligraphy had been seared into his mind’s eye, and black words painted a bitter picture upon fields of snowy white.

“No more, I beg of you,” the Sun King whispered. Both hands cradling his face, he shrank into the grandeur of his throne.

The Advisor gathered the fallen papers into a stack again. Ever composed, even in the face of disaster—how the Sun King admired her practicality. The Sun King’s own composure had long since dissolved under the onslaught of unfortunate reports.

Rebellious theatre performances had appeared in the South, followed by armed riots to the West, flags of the Sun Empire burned in the East, and protests at the borders of his very Capital. The list of problems went on and on. As soon as one issue was solved, ten more took its place. Reports of unrest came in from all corners of the nation, and the Sun King could find only one common thread: these were places focused on leisure and entertainment, those that had prospered the most under the self-centered nature of the last regime, and those that were understandably less prosperous after being bound by the Sun King’s new philosophy of nation-before-self.

“How can I create a better regime if the people do not acknowledge the failings of the old one?” The Sun King’s voice was ragged. He looked at the Advisor, seeking solace in the neutrality of her gaze.

“Change is unwelcome to those who prosper in stasis,” she replied, placing the stack of paper on the simple desk by her own seat. Deft fingers separated one sheet from the pile: a receipt for penalty payments from the suppressed uprisings to the Capital. “Unrest is not a complete loss of our progress. The errors of a few instigators will fund the compliance of thousands.”

The Scholar lowered one hand to the receipt and nodded slowly. Indeed there was a bright side to these problems, however unsavory. Some days, his young daughter seemed to understand the workings of the country in more detail than even he himself. Still, this understanding was far from a relief. Quashing these recent uprisings had brought the Capital significant income from penalty fines. However, the Scholar’s conscience still protested—“A government should not need to fight its people over laws intended for their own good.”

“The rebels select from the options we define; they reap the consequences they have chosen,” was the Advisor’s reply.

“Consequences, consequences,” the Scholar echoed. “Is force truly the only way to restore peace?”

“For military advice, perhaps you should consult those more experienced in such matters than I,” the Advisor demurred.

Acknowledging the wisdom in a second opinion, the Sun King sent for his trusted Marshal of the West. The Marshal barely glanced over the first report when his brow lowered and fists clenched.

“Those ingrates! Can they not see the sacrifices you have made for their sake?” Paper shivered and crumpled in the Marshal’s grasp. Smoke started to rise from his gloved fingertips, although he retained enough restraint that the report did not burst into flames.

“Perhaps the problem is that they see too much,” the Advisor suggested. “The more recent protests are about news of suppression in other provinces. They claim that the Sun King hungers only for war and ruin.”

Fury smoldered in the Alchemist’s eyes, crimson as the color of vanquished enemies. “Had I heard of such insolence before, I would have purged it to the root. Permit me to banish this stain upon your vision, my King. There would be no greater pleasure.”

The Sun King jumped at the Marshal’s shout. Seeing the readiness in the Marshal’s stance, the Sun King waved both hands in a calming manner. “Wait, wait. This was just a hypothetical question. Besides, you already have a project. The Pyrotechnic Institute should be your top priority. No need to take action yourself. The local City Guards have been handling these minor uprisings. I merely wanted to ask you the best way to handle it.”

“Purge the ungrateful,” the Marshal repeated. Noticing the Sun King’s unease with this plan, he bowed his head. “Forgive my bluntness. The City Guard may be effective against arrogant commoners, but they will not fare well against an armed rebellion. Military action would yield a decisive victory, resulting in fewer casualties and less damage to essential infrastructure. Even if you will not send me, the Sun Army should be involved in these suppressions.”

The Sun King thought this over. “The Marshal of the East has been idle of late. He can work with the regional City Guard posts to coordinate peacekeeping efforts.”

After the Marshal left, the Sun King considered the reports again. Sending a stronger military force might frighten the people into compliance, but any reign established through fear would be tenuous at best. If discontent led to rebellion, then the root problem was not rebellion, but the underlying discontent.

“When one city is prosperous, its neighbors protest about paying different tax shares. When we send an army to address their issues, the next city over riots over having a military presence. The more transparent we are about new changes, the more people take issue with. How can we satisfy everyone?” The Sun King buried his face in his hands again.

“What they do not know, they cannot dispute,” was the Advisor’s only reply.

In those few words, the Sun King heard the confidence of an Advisor with a plan. The sound brought him great relief. “If you have an idea, go ahead. Do it. Whatever it takes to calm the people.”

The Advisor nodded.

Not two weeks later, the reports of unrest had almost entirely ceased. The people were pacified, whispers of rebellion no longer curdled in dark taverns, and the Marshal of the East’s workload diminished from militant suppression to the occasional verbal warning. If the average citizen were asked for his thoughts on the state of the nation, he would probably shrug and say that he had only heard good news about the current leadership.

Indeed, at every town message board and communal library, there was only good news about the Sun King’s leadership.

How the Advisor accomplished such a rapid turnabout in public opinion was a mystery to the Sun King, but he could not argue with results. If her methods worked, then they worked, and the Sun King had no reason to doubt her judgement. This achievement was more than enough proof that the Advisor deserved his full trust. Henceforth the Advisor took more and more independent action on national affairs, greatly lessening the Sun King’s burden in civil matters.

The Sun King and his trusted counsel, the Advisor, strolled through the storerooms of the Sun Pyrotechnic Institute on one fine afternoon. These chambers were filled wall-to-wall with ingredients for explosives, and the sharp scents of sulfur and phosphorus permeated the air for miles downwind of the Institute. Inside the armory itself, the stench was almost unbearable. As the Sun King and the Advisor passed, various Institute staff stocked the shelves with completed incendiary devices or retrieved ingredients needed for further production. It was an efficient machine, and the Sun King now stood at its heart.

“Witness all that I have amassed,” said the Sun King. He swept an arm at the shelves, thrice as tall as he and many times as wide. “With each passing day, the nation’s power grows.”

Most of the shelves by the storeroom entrance had been filled with crates of explosives—a most impressive display. However, as the Sun King and the Advisor walked deeper, the shelves became more and more sparsely populated. The Sun King had intended to gesture at a full shelf, but the one he chose only held a sad assembly of empty wooden crates. The effect was rather less impressive than he had hoped.

“For the time being,” the Advisor agreed. “The strength of the Sun Army depends on trade with our northern neighbors in Crystal Valley and the Rainlands beyond. When they tire of our expansion, they may cripple our army in a single blow.”

“What? Explain.”

Now the Advisor pointed two fingers toward the empty shelves. “The means of production matter more than what is already produced. Without reagents, an Alchemist cannot do his tricks. Without explosives, the mighty Sun Army is little better than a horde of peasants wielding sticks. Over three-quarters of our firepower is imported from the Crystal Valley mines. Imagine the consequences if they refused trade for even a single season.”

Alarm crossed the Sun King’s face. He took the Advisor’s arm and gently steered her back toward the entrance of the storeroom, where full shelves awaited.

“Growth is an incremental process.” The Sun King paused at another shelf, this one stocked with the intended contents. “Our power is unequalled in all the world. In time, we shall share our bounty with all across the land. We have no need to worry about foreign affairs in the near future.”

The Advisor gazed upon barrels of oil and blackpowder, sheltered from sun and weather by the sturdy steel-and-stone of the Institute’s architecture. In here sat enough firepower to level the entire Capital, were it ever to ignite aboveground. Fortunately, the designers of the Institute had foreseen such accidents. The storerooms were built as an extension of the city catacombs, and extensive testing had proven that the depth and construction of these walls could protect the dwellers above from any ignition below. The explosives manufactured and stashed here were also under constant guard, and access was only permitted for those of the highest civil ranks, staff of the Institute, and officers in the Sun Army.

“What of domestic ones? The Marshals of West and East have total control over all military affairs. Is it wise to leave such power in the hands of only two people?” the Advisor asked.

“Of course. Their efforts have brought me the whole of the Empire. If they cannot be trusted with our military might, then no one can.” After a moment, however, the Sun King’s resolve wavered. “Well, now that you mention it…”

The Advisor waited.

“The Marshal of the East’s martial skill is truly wondrous to behold—equal to those of my old friend; a more perfect pair of commanders I could not ask for. Yet...” The Sun King hesitated, and a shadow fell across his fond expression. “It sounds paranoid, yet I worry that he harbors disobedience in his heart.”

“Disobedience? Tell me the full story: what did you command? How did the Marshal of the East disobey?”

The Sun King repeated the exact words: an order to terminate a certain band of protestors in a province known for its artistic pursuits. “The Marshal of the East let several rebel sympathizers walk free. He claimed that they were only scholars and could pose no threat,” the Sun King sighed. “Am I not proof that a mere Scholar could overthrow an empire? What if those who escaped later return to avenge their brethren? The job was only half done.”

“He disbanded the rebels but let a few escape, correct?” When the Sun King nodded, the Advisor laughed softly. “A clever loophole. He can subvert your intention and still escape punishment. The rebel band was terminated, as you wished, but you did not specify what to do with each individual rebel. Hence, the decision to eliminate or release the rebels fell to him.”

“A mere technicality,” the Sun King protested. “What use is a soldier who cannot grasp his lord’s intent—or worse yet, one who uses the vagaries of language to pursue his own agendas? If I wish to secure the Marshal of the East’s loyalty, must I only assign him missions that he will agree with?”

The Advisor shook her head. “A leader ought not cater to the whims of his subordinates. You are the Sun King, and the Marshal of the East has sworn to serve you. He has not disobeyed; there is no cause to doubt his faith. As you command, all must obey. His skillset will be essential in our next campaign.”

“Oh?”

The Advisor drew a sheaf of papers from her sleeve. “I have a plan…”