“Next year’s going to be my year, man! I just called it!”

“Of course, it will. We got all the time in the world.”

“Light up those fireworks, will you?”

“Alright, alright. But seriously, what do you think they have in store for us in the longest term?”

“I’ll be damned if I know. It’s all Greek to me.”

“I don’t even know what Greek means!”

“That’s the idea, right?”

It was the eve of Dalreida’s “longest term.” The people were celebrating as the old year ends and the new one set to begin. How this year would be different from the ones they already had, it made no big difference.

Whether it was apathy or overconfidence, the nation only had bright prospects for the future. With nine provinces from Carga in the east to Aramathi in the west, Dalreida appeared to the at the top of the world in almost every aspect, if not every one of them. Economic, political, military, name it, they surely had something to be proud about it. Despite the nation’s challenges in the past decades, the euphoria for its recent successes definitely reflected to the general population.

As many went to the streets to welcome the New Year, the republican government’s topmost officials were still working inside the Dictator’s Palace. Discussing in the dimly lighted Conference Room, Lord Piso faced a small audience, all wearing colorful tunics and togas that reflected their extraordinary status in society, seated in a semi-circular arrangement resembling a theater. The dictator that is Piso, an old man crowned by white hair and glorified by a pockmarked face overwhelmed by wrinkles, was seated in the center of the room. But it was far from a comfortable affair.

“It sure took a lot of unnecessary compromise to get this calendar reform going,” Assembly President Nepos commented while noise engulfed the capital city.

This was, of course, a reference to the “longest term.”

As he stroked his golden hair, the calculating Assembly President attempted a last-minute effort to convince the dictator and his allies to reconsider a calendar reform that has never been done before. It had ruined everyone’s timelines for the near future, and definitely, it had ruined his as well.

“Honorable Assemblyman,” said Minister Retini, a man of relatively humbler clothing, as he stood and made some hand gestures, “Much of Dalreida’s history has been founded on wrong timekeeping. This is necessary if our nation shall someday lead the world.”

As the so-called “mastermind” of the calendar reform, he should know. However, Retini was only in charge of the technical details such as the analysis of the days and the stars. He would have not dreamed of conducting such a project without the initiative of his leader Piso.

Nepos replied, “You don’t need to reiterate what is already said in public.”

The assembly president then turned to Piso, “Dictator, what are you really planning?”

As Nepos took his seat, all eyes were on the dictator. The silence was drowned by merrymaking and revelry which can be heard all throughout Dalreida. Even without his pause, the commanding influence he had in the room was sufficient had he just spoke earlier, but Piso availed of the opportunity to somehow change the pace of the conversation.

“Dear Nepos,” Piso then answered with a smile, “you’re starting to sound like the opposition.”

“Of course not,” Nepos defended.

Piso stressed, “What, then, can you say about intelligence reports on you intending to stand for election after the longest year?”

“Dictator, don’t you remember? You made a public pledge to pass on power after this term,” Nepos said, “As the party’s leader, I am the logical choice to run against…”

He was cut off by Piso.

“Who said there will be an election?”

Quiet surprise enveloped the people present.

Retini tried to break the silence, “My lord… are you planning a dynasty?”

“Dear Retini,” Piso replied, “No. A thousand times, no. Our people already rejected that society. But our people aren’t the best judges at this time either. You hear their celebrations outside? It might just be my opinion, but Dalreidans are now too drunk in their power, and they will inevitably elect a government like that of Crespos Milios. Someday…”

Before Piso was elected dictator, Crespos Milios assumed Dalreida’s dictatorship through a bloody counterrevolution. For everyone else in the room, his very name was the representation of dark times the country had to undergo, or at least, it meant dark times for the politicians who the former dictator disenfranchised to grow his personal power.

“Crespos Milios is history! What is now matters! How would you pass power?!”, Nepos demanded as he pointed a finger at Piso, “Or you don’t intend to relinquish it at all?!”

Another assemblyman, Perolus, seconded Nepos, “Dictator! There’s a lot at stake with your proposed gamble! Are all these a play for you?”

Nepos and Perolus seemed to be upstaging each other in their fashion sense, easily trumping that of Retini and the other ministers. Then again, Nepos being the Assembly President just had more symbolisms of his power reflected in his togas. And that reflected the relationship of the two assembly representatives. Perolus was more of an ally to Nepos than he was to Piso, whose seemingly lowly clothing did not even dare compare with anyone else there. Not even Retini’s.

Murmuring reigned in the background as Assemblywoman Metrica, whose elegant, if not pretentious, dress swung around, spoke, “Dictator! Next year would be tough for you with your flip-flop decisions! Are you risking your reputation in our party on the basis of a personal whim?!”

Apparently, she blurted this out without much thought.

“This has gone far enough,” Retini rebutted, “For the longest time, we’ve had 300-day years. Scientific advancement has taught us that we’re grossly mistaken in the past century. By creating a 680-day year to compensate, it will be a treasure for generations to come!”

“Is that all you’ve to say, Retini?! What a weak-willed boyfriend you are,” Metrica snapped at Retini, “No wonder you’re poor in bed!”

“Speaking of beds,” Nepos said as he tried to placate them, “May not the dictator be senile enough to think that you have the nation in your bed until death do you part.”

Contained laughter arose from some who are present. Just then, a knock was heard in the midst of the meeting. One of Piso’s guards, who was hiding in a column inside the room, sprang into action to check the unexpected visitor.

Seconds later, the guard opened the door.

“Uh, Lord Piso…,” the visitor said, “Please forgive my intrusion… But it’s time for bed, my lord?”

The visitor turned out to be one of Piso’s aides. At that point, none of them are amused, except for Piso. His emotionless face pulled up another smile as he took up his cane and stood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my dears,” Piso calmly said after a few claps, “I’m sure you’ve a lot to talk about, but a good night’s rest is also important. As my friend once said, ‘Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow shall worry for itself.’ If you’ll excuse me, I shall take my leave.”

Piso slowly walked out after his aide rushed to cover him with a blanket. The audience he left even heard a few coughs from the hallway. However, instead of leaving immediately, they continued the meeting.

After fixing his golden hair, Nepos then addressed them, “Do we still need Piso as dictator?”

“He’s referring again to his imaginary friend Ieso,” Metrica said, “I say his time is past.”

Retini was about to comment when Metrica put her index finger in front of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Perolus patted Nepos’s back, “Assembly President, I’m here to back you in your campaign, but first, we need to make sure there must be an election.”

For him, Nepos was the strongest contender out there, and solidifying his ties with the Assembly President can make him second best. For now, this was enough to satisfy his ambitions.

“Yes. An election is fine,” the rest of the crowd agreed.

They were all allies there, and buoying Nepos’s confidence was a no-brainer for everybody.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, my friends,” Nepos said after a quick bow, “Let’s rid of that relic of a dictator and restore genuine democracy in this land.”

Retini and some of Piso’s ministers in attendance were witnessing a plot against their aging leader, but the very fact that his allies are welcome to show it to them implies that they were being pushed into a corner. They were left with no other choice but to hop on.

Meanwhile, as Piso has been escorted to his room with his aide, the dictator made some signs with his right hand. The candles lighting the hallways were extinguished as some rustling can be heard.

“My lord,” the aide protested, displacing his golden hair in the process, “Why did you order your elite guard to withdraw?”

Without looking at him, Piso replied, “It’s a holiday. They, too, need some rest.”

“But my lord…”

Piso then pointed his cane forward, “Come, let’s go to the terrace.”

The aide stopped as his master continued walking. When Piso noticed that he was without company, the dictator turned to him.

“My son,” Piso said, “We’re about to miss the fireworks.”

“Y-yes, my lord…,” the aide responded as he ran to Piso’s side.

The Palace was one of the tallest structures in the city. It extends horizontally with its colonnaded passages, and before Piso, it was also one of the most richly decorated. The Palace is right beside the road, with little space to spare on the ground. This meant that its height was more of a compensatory measure to make up for lack of floor space. Meanwhile, the terrace at its height has been richly decorated as an open garden.

Soon, the New Year was welcomed by the whole nation. Lights as many as the stars filled the evening skies. The jolly noises which filled the capital earlier only increased in intensity. It all seemed like optimism for the coming year is high. The two seated in one of the garden’s marble benches.

“My lord,” the aide said with nervousness in his voice, “I hope I didn’t mess your important meeting?”

It was rare for Piso to have a personal chat with his aides, less so with any other person who was in his service. He may be close to the people, but not to the ones in government. These personal conversations may mean one of a few things, but for this aide in particular, he only hoped it did not mean demotion or even unemployment.

Piso looked to the heavens, “Goodness, no! You’re quite right on time there, Alus.”

Alus sighed a relief just as Piso laughed a bit.

“Look around. I stripped this palace of some vain accessories, but still,” Piso continued, “Why do you think they’d give this place to an old man like me?”

“Um... Whatever do you mean, my lord?”, Alus queried with a puzzling look.

A test, perhaps? He has to tread carefully.

“Come on, give me your honest opinion.”

“Hmm… Because you are dictator?”

“Probably so, but do you know this place is even older than I?”

“Huh? I thought this was always the Dictator’s Palace?”

“For Dalreida’s youth, it indeed is. But before I was born, this was the King’s Palace, dubbed as the pride of the world.”

“Dalreida had a king?!”

“Kings, in fact,” Piso said as he lowered his head, “but the republic has been harsh on Dalreida’s past. They’re crazy about the notion of democracy being the end of history. In the end, the republic which my former magistrate founded has become a distorted version of itself.”

“Do you prefer the monarchy, my lord?”

“No. That wretched Crespos Milios tried to recreate it, but his efforts came to nothing.”

“Yes, my lord, and you’re victorious,” Alus proudly declared as he raised his fists up.

Piso shrugged, and then said, “Kings live in palaces, but I’m not one. Besides, look at this place. How do you expect a senior citizen like me to live in this large building? I mean, come on!”

“You don’t like it, my lord?”

“Like it? There’s more roaches here than when I was destined in Aramathi! Very hard to clean, too.”

They both laughed, and this relaxed Alus’s nerves. It was no weird laugh even when it was not really a good joke, but while Alus thought of the magnificent palace and the daily struggle to maintain such a large place, Piso was referring to something else.

As the few laughs subsided, Piso continued, “Have you ever wondered why a nation so crazed about democratic principles prefers living under a dictatorship?”

“My lord, I believe it is allowed by law to elect a dictator in times of emergency.”

During its history as a republic, Dalreida had nine dictators, including Piso. Normally elected by the people to serve for a year, the Assembly may propose the incumbent to be Perpetual Dictator or dictator for life as an extraordinary measure. Otherwise, the Assembly President, elected by the Assembly, acts as Magistrate for a term of two years. Except for the republic’s founder, none of the succeeding magistrates managed to have a second consecutive term, whereas dictators are always reelected.

“Correct. But humanity’s problems are their own doing. We’re at war with Berania and Bereta. We’re guarding our protectorates in Miarza and Cerana. We’re threatening Bayan and Cingis. We’re even creating convincing propaganda through terror attacks perpetrated by this very government. Now tell me, who created that national emergency of ours?”

“I… see…”

“The Assembly, the governors, the military commanders… All those politicians created the dictatorship because it’s easier to blame one man for all our ills than for them to shoulder the burden. Yet, they cling on to power through heavily spending public money on legitimate elections… Even when my magistrate strongly opposed it during his lifetime,” Piso said as he firmly grasped his cane.

When Alus heard this, he began to wonder what Piso really meant with “roaches” in the palace.

“My lord… You’re a great dictator in my book. Not because you’re my master, but because of your inspiring life and leadership. The very happiness of our people reflects your success!”

“Is that so? Heh. You know I can’t give you a raise since you’re in the reserve force. How about you? Don’t you think the very structure we have now is impeding your promotion?”

Alus was currently a lieutenant in the Cavalry Corps. As one of Piso’s attendants, he was designated as a reservist. Of course, he would mind if there were obstacles to his progress.

“No, my lord. That’s not…”

“It’s alright. You know who is really inspiring?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Ieso.”

“F-forgive me, my lord, but there are rumors that Ieso is your… say, imaginary friend.”

“Rumors are just rumors. What do you think?”

“Of what I learned in my studies, Ieso is just a myth who claimed deity.”

Piso patted Alus’s back, but it was so strong that Alus almost tumbled over from his seat.

With a slight grin, Piso remarked, “What are they even teaching in schools during Crespos Milios’s reign? I better talk with Galeni about our education reform.”

“I… I’m sorry, my lord…,” Alus said as he tried to recover.

“Ieso is real. I met him during my service in Aramathi.”

“For real, my lord?”

Piso’s face seemingly showed sadness and happiness at the same time. It may appear troubling for Alus, but for Piso himself, he believed he has attained a peace different from the others.

“Really. As a junior officer, I had a servant who was paralyzed. Not even our medical team can handle the case, and I can’t let my subordinate work under such conditions. So, I personally went to Ieso, and he offered me to come with him. But as for me, knowing how busy Ieso might be, I said that he was undeserving to come. Aramathi’s a large protectorate, after all. Back then, it would take days to travel. I only needed his assurance that he will do it.”

“And he healed your servant?”

“Why, yes! How perceptive of you, my young man. At the same time Ieso said it, my servant was healed instantly. Would you believe it? But before my transfer to Kandara, I met Ieso once more… this time he was in chains.”

Alus was surprised, “He’s convicted?!”

“Of rebellion… The local leaders brought Ieso to the Dalreidan court for judgment, even though we technically can’t be the judge of his case since Aramathi was then our protectorate.”

“Why did you deal with a rebel, my lord?”

“He’s no rebel, Alus. But his case had something to do with local religion. I offered my aid to Ieso. I said, ‘Lord, is there anything I can do?’ I wanted to learn more from him. I felt I have to save him somehow. That I’m in a position of power. We can appeal to my magistrate here in the capital. He refused, saying it was the will of his father. The will of god.”

“God? Which god?”

Dalreida had at least three major gods, namely Genises, Celesiastes, and Tarches. The three gods represent the Dalreidan perspective of history. Genises was the god who creates, Celesiastes was the god who sustains, and Tarches was the god who ravages. All three operated together in this universe.

“Our god,” Piso boldly replied, “The god who created the heavens and the earth. The god who brought Ieso back to life. And at that very prison, along with his parting words for me, I accepted him in my life.”

“But, my lord,” Alus said, “Isn’t your faith in danger to this day? Ieso was branded as a rebel.”

A miscalculation due to being too cozy of a long conversation with someone he rarely talked with personally, Alus soon realized, but Piso let it pass.

“Perhaps, but I have to keep the good fight of faith… I need to see this through.”

“How, my lord?”

Piso tapped Alus’s chest with a finger, “This is where you enter.”

“W-what?! Why me, my lord?”

“Hear me out. As I was praying to god, I learned that Bayan has a legendary secret which helps people to prolong their lives. The reports are quite sparse, but I can confirm this from very reliable sources.”

“Like a fountain of youth?”

“Maybe. Now, I give you this mission to discover Bayan’s longevity secret and bring a sample for me. You’ve to do this Bayan Mission alone. I want this as a top secret mission, and believe me, I am generous in rewarding those who are in my confidence.”

“You seek immortality, my lord? But why not assign your personal guard on this mission?”

“I have lived 96 years in this world. Don’t you think I have seen enough carnage in this life? I do. But I have to see this through. The longest term. It’s my final bid to create the republic better than ever before. My spirit is willing, but my body is weak. Do you understand?”

“It is clear as mud, my lord.”

Piso handed him a small scroll and said, “Hmm. I’d take that as a yes. My marching orders are written in detail here. Take one of our fast chariots and set out early in the morning. Be as discreet as possible, but when needed, show my seal as long as you are within Dalreida. Understood?”

Alus stood up and saluted, “Yes, my lord.”

As his aide was about to depart, Piso hailed him back. Alus immediately returned to his master.

The dictator pointed to the sky, placed his other hand on Alus, and said, “May Ieso keep you.”

Alus gave a quick salute, and then went on his way. As soon as his silhouette has vanished, Piso shifted his gaze to the overlooking view he had from the Palace.

As the celebrations die down in Dalreida, Alus made his preparations at haste for a long journey towards Bayan, one of the great world powers.

Was the secret to long life a reality? What was Piso planning with this secret? What could Dalreida expect as it enters the longest year in its history?