The Fisherman’s Assistant sprawled against a majestic spur of granite. His overgrown face was upturned to the bite of the coastal wind, and the dipping sun lit his unkempt hair aglow like a forest canopy in mid-autumn. Murky water lapped at his knees, etching black streaks of mud into the uneven hems of his trousers. One of his arms was propped against a bucket overflowing with fresh mussels. The other rested in a patch of moss flowing from a crevice. The Fisherman’s Assistant had the look of a man who had presided over twenty thousand sunsets, yet who desired nothing more of the world than to bask in the golden light of just one more splendid afternoon.

“Well,” mused the fisherman, whose personal bucket of mussels was only half filled, “not on my watch.”

The fisherman considered himself to be a very sensible person. Therefore, before following his first instinct—namely, abandoning his own work to laze about alongside his Assistant—he assessed the situation from a rational perspective. By his reckoning, it was only a few hours past noon. If a Fisherman’s Assistant had time to lounge around on the rocks, whereas the fisherman himself was still doing honest work under the sun, then the Assistant must need more tasks.

The fisherman prodded his Assistant with a stick, saying, “Up you get, Snapper.”

The Assistant blinked at the fisherman with the same expression of surprise that his namesake might have employed after getting caught in a net. Then, his facial shrubbery split into a sheepish smile, revealing a mouth. The fisherman was abruptly reminded of the time when a half-drowned person appeared in the deep-water nets where only fish ought to have turned up. The Assistant had been a surprise then, but never since. He rose to every tedious task, including this latest one, with a quiet acquiescence that would have put even the most patient of village laborers to shame.

Reaching into the water once more, the Fisherman’s Assistant carefully pried a mussel from its rock. It came loose in his hand. He inspected the smooth blue shell for flaws that would indicate an unhealthy creature. Finding none, he dropped the mussel into the partly empty bucket.

Another day slipped into history without consequence.

The Gold Emperor and his Interior General shared a meal, as they were wont to do every week. More specifically, the Gold Emperor was dining upon the rarest fruits and wines that the kingdom could offer, while the General had scarfed down his far simpler meal of bread and meat over an hour ago. Now, he walked in circles around the throne room, little more useful than a common bodyguard. Peacetime afforded all military commanders with few tasks, and the General had already delegated his own administrative duties to scholars more suited to balancing supply lists than himself.

The Gold Emperor’s two oldest sons were play-fighting with toy swords. The General called out helpful tips on posture and footwork for a good ten minutes, but the princes only laughed at his well-intentioned advice. They were more interested in reenacting the impossible feats of old stories than learning real techniques from the foremost swordsman in the land. The General soon gave it up as a lost cause. He stepped back to the Emperor’s side.

“We’ve had four of these private meetings already, and you do nothing but eat,” said the General. “What are you planning?”

“Perhaps a visit to the hot springs by the Winter Oasis?” The Emperor replied, peering at a large grape as though it held the secrets of the universe. The gold coins of his half-lidded eyes revealed nothing but bliss.

“Not your next vacation,” the General hissed. “What are you planning for our nation? The southern warlords fear our borders. We could annex their territories. Show the uncivilized outlanders the glory of your reign.” Hunger glittered in the General’s gaze, cruel and boundless. “Give the order, and the Grasslands could be yours in a month.”

The Emperor shook his head. The General scowled.

“North, then? We could plunder the vast wealth of the Rainlands. The Crystal Valley never quite recovered from the Sun King’s campaigns. Without their precious Coalition, the mountain passes are open to conquest.”

The Emperor took a dainty sip from his silver goblet of wine. Pure pleasure shaped the curve of his eyes, the smile of his mouth. “Exquisite. You really must try a cup.”

“Focus, your Highness. Surely you must have something in mind, some ambition left beneath your crown and collar. Let our Empire not fall into stasis!”

Golden eyes narrowed. “No need for more war. This nation is more peaceful and prosperous than it has been in centuries.”

“Peaceful?” the General spat. His fist slammed into the surface of the Emperor’s table, rattling the dishes. “Do you know why it’s peaceful? Every town that reports less crime and more productivity—every single one—has rumors of a wandering Scholar in white, a Scholar who somehow muddled the minds of my best trackers.”

“Unfortunate, to be sure, but internal security is your problem.” The Emperor continued to feast without a trace of concern.

“It’s your problem, too!” The General kicked his own chair, rattling the delicately carved wood. “With every town visited, the Cloud pulls more of your subjects from beneath your feet. If you don’t show your strength, foreign warlords will take the opportunity to covet our lands. You’d know this if you had bothered to read my reports from the last three months.”

“The people’s satisfaction only increases the loyalty of Our nation. That which helps Our rule can pose no threat to Us. We control all the fertile lands from the mountains to the desert. What We have is enough,” said the Emperor. He held out a slice of honeyed bread. “Relax, old friend, and enjoy the bounty of peace. We deserve this reward. We have done enough work for a lifetime.”

Disgust flooded the General’s expression. He swatted aside the bread, sending it skittering across the floor. When the Emperor simply reached for another loaf from the dishes spread between them, a frustrated roar tore from the General’s throat. He grabbed the table with both hands, tossing it aside. Rich foods arrayed on fine crockery splattered across the tiles of the throne room. The General raised a hand as though to strike, but his fist paused before colliding with the Emperor’s face.

“How pathetic,” the General spat. “You once spent every waking moment climbing in wealth, fame, and power. Yet now you laze about, content with what is, never thinking of what more could be.”

The Gold Emperor carefully balanced his wine goblet on the arm of his throne. He stared at the remnants of his rich meal, and a hint of dissatisfaction crept onto his face. Then, the moment passed, and his frown vanished beneath yet another vapid smile. “There is nothing else that We require. When fate fulfills Our every desire, to what more can We aspire?”

“Retire, then. Relinquish the wealth and power that have dulled your aspirations. Become a hermit, just like all the great talents of the Northern mountains.” The General’s mocking tone slipped, revealing a trace of desperation. “Even a peasant farmer’s life would suit you better than this. If you had nothing, you would learn to want again.”

“Our crown was hard-won. We will not yield it to another,” the Emperor said. Though the smile remained perfectly cheerful on his face, fists clenched around the golden arm-rests of the throne. The princes squeaked in alarm and scurried from the room, sensing their father’s mood.

“Why not? For you, it would change nothing—what good is a crown if it only adorns your head? What good is a General if he only looks intimidating besides your throne?” The General laughed bitterly. “If you will not give me a worthwhile purpose, then I will find one myself.”

“Tch.” The Emperor’s bliss condensed into icy disdain. He stood from the throne, raising himself to his full height, and looked up a few inches to meet the General’s own frustrated glare. On countless battlefields, the General had faced legendary enemies without faltering, yet now he stepped back before the hostility in the Emperor’s laughing golden eyes.

“Go, then. Leave the bounty of Our service. Seek your purpose while We keep Our dignity. History will forget that you even existed.” Raising his voice, the Emperor summoned the court historian. “Strike the General’s deeds from every roster and history book in the imperial archives.”

The Emperor intended it as a devastating blow, for one as prideful as the General would regard the loss of his image more painful than any physical punishment. Yet the General had grown from the arrogant Swordsman of his youth. In this command, the Emperor and General were of one mind. While the court historian edited the official records, the General tore the cloak of office from his shoulders, casting it before the throne. Armor and other marks of rank followed.

Without status, a mere Shadow of the General he once was, he set out to once again experience the hunger that the Emperor had forgotten. Indeed, the joy of ascent was in the contrasts imparted by the journey, not the stasis of languishing atop a long-sought destination. Bereft of a once-friend’s gifts, the Shadow walked from the throne room, his chin held high. He took only the sword and armaments given to him by those he had called Teacher and Enemy; though friendship in this world be fickle, bonds of blood and steel ran truer by far.

In a cozy inn far from the Capital, an old veteran told the tale of battles long past. His audience crowded close, wide-eyed and breathless, as he recounted a memory that had become legend.

“Born on the same day, students of two sorcerers, the brothers who were ever fated to battle: hear now the tale of the Fire Marshal and the Sage General. Ten feet tall and ten times the strength of an ordinary man—in the North they practiced the Fell Magicks, and in the Old Empire they became peerless weapon-masters. They fought through mountains and valleys, but their last battle took place on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Wielding steel in one hand and fire in the other, the Fire Marshal and the Sage General fought for the supremacy of the Gold Empire.”

“The inferno crowned the Fire Marshal’s helm, while his blade swung as a flash of lightning. All before him quailed, yet the brave Sage General stood undaunted. As the Fire Marshal paused upon the battlefield, assured in his victory, the Sage General raised the royal flag of the Gold Emperor. The Fire Marshal cast his sorcery upon the flag, yet no flames could touch the golden fabric with the blessing of true majesty. So stunned was the Fire Marshal that he fell from the cliffside to the roiling waters below. They say that those waters boil to this very day, heated by a restless ghost who cannot accept defeat.”

One occupied table sat apart from the storyteller and his audience. The Shadow nursed a warm herbal tea as he listened to the tale unfold. A hood covered his head, and his dark eyes were shut. Well he remembered that battle. The Sage of the old veteran’s tale had never been anywhere near the Shadow’s one-on-one fight against the Marshal; during the battle, rumor told that he had dragged a few injured soldiers to the medical tents, including a flag-bearer whose misplaced sense of heroism had earned the Shadow a nasty gash in the leg. Nevertheless, the Sage’s name would be written in legend for all time, and the Shadow’s presence was already forgotten.

Once, the Shadow had wished that people would speak of him with the same high regard that he had held for his heroes. Once, he had dreamed of being named in the same tale as the Marshal of the West. After living through the grim reality of battle, the Shadow understood why, so long ago, the then-Fire Marshal had torched his collection of old legends on the Northern Sages. Believing inflated praise from ignorant commoners had turned the Gold Emperor from a rising star into a useless throne ornament. The Shadow dreaded to imagine what might have become of his own ambitions, had he been as gullible.

A member of the audience, one wearing the striped uniform of a messenger, spotted the Shadow sitting apart from the group. The messenger waved the Shadow over, calling out an invitation.

“Join us, good fellow. Have you heard this tale before?”

The Shadow pushed back his hood, gathered his drink, and took the proffered seat. The people nearby glanced at the Shadow, sizing him up. Many were broader or taller than he, though they lacked the wiry grace that the Shadow had derived from decades of swordsmanship and martial experience.

“Look at those hands. Covered in calluses—a rural farm laborer if I ever saw one. Probably never saw the City Guard in his life, much less studied the military heroes of our time,” one said. The others burst into laughter.

The Shadow’s eyes narrowed, but then he bared all of his teeth.

“You’re right. What could a simple Traveler know of wartime legends? You are the experts here. By all means, enlighten me.”