Fate weaver’s convergence

The Golden city, older than any that remain, older than any can remember, birthed of the gods, ruled by divine right.

 

“Your eminence.”

 

The voice addressed all that could hear, originating from a single, middle-aged human standing at the center of a large, marbled room, centuries old, gilded in gold and emerald green. The tile floor was a mosaic of white, gray, and green, depicting the first emperor, a harpy, and a variety of an eagle sharing the same name. The human, a man named Caelus Buccio, addressed a council of Lords, Generals, Advisors, and the Emperor and his daughter.

 

“We’ve accumulated what we could for this week's report on the ongoing condition of your lands.”

 

He bowed slightly before straightening himself. Emperor Aulus Burrienus Remus, fifty-one years of age, one-hundred-eleventh of his line. He was accompanied by his daughter, Ceionia Rufria Remus, six years of age, one-hundred-twelfth of their line, his successor, and future Empress.

 

“Be about it, Caelus, while my mind is still about me, and I may ensure my daughter may remind me of my place later.”

 

The emperor shifted uncomfortably in his throne, a joint of his wing rubbing against his temple from the growing pain. A tumor, taking from him his wholeness of mind for most of his waking moments, save a precious few.

 

“And the last-minute reports, I would add?”

 

The Emperor, a harpy eagle variety of the harpy race, lifted one of the talons from his sole, tapping it against the ground at a millennia-old scratch in the tile wrought by his ancestors. It was part of the formal gestures that the culture wrought itself, a way for harpies to gesture to their lessers as if they were waving their hands about as humans, saving their plumage from unneeded wear or dirtying. Caelus bowed once more, then raised his head.

 

“My Aquila, I would first like to stress that this week's news is, while of little difference from our last meeting, one event seems out of the norm for our rising tempo within the army.”

 

Caelus inhaled, clasping his hands behind his back as he recalled the many recited lines he and his contemporaries planned for this meeting. 

 

“Firstly, our continued withdrawal from the Steppe. Our loss of Legio V Lee-mess, some five to six years ago, has yielded some enlightening information as of late, given a majority of its deserters were located, and executed as per your eminences order–”

 

Caelus sought to emphasize the order given by Emperor Aulus during his senile moments

 

“While the eagle standard of Legio Lee-mess has yet to be found, it has been uncovered that a small few of those confidants to the late Legate Lupinus seemed to miraculously materialize in our latest area of focus, Damus.”

 

Caelus counted a thumb along his knuckles, the habit enabling his clear train of thought as he continued.

 

“With the walling off of either side of the Roc mountains, and the naval production at Myr’s gate, we can continue our full efforts to impress on the cities of Damus of their failings to maintain civility. We have reaffirmed our sources from the loyalist state of Morus, that the attack on the lost Legion to the east, Legio IV Tenere, was, in fact, the fault of Damus. The reports are consistent, both from Morus, and from our benefactors still planted within Damus itself. As we have informed you before, the Legio was traversing the mountains and borders, attempting to perform a routine training rotation through Damus’s southern mountains and to Francia. The blame seems to fall squarely upon Brenton, with Krakow and Francia themselves falling short of their ability to hide such treachery.”

 

Emperor Aulus clenched his jowls, the crest of feathers along his neck and head rising ever so slightly as he recounted the reports from before, requiring consistent reaffirmation as they continued to grow their legions in anticipation of the subjugation of the empire's final satellite state.

 

“Caelus, I take it the raising of the Legio VI, VII, VIII, and IX are each progressing on schedule?”

 

Emperor Aulus removed the joint of his wing from his temple. Glowering, he leaned to the side, and Rufria stood from her own seat. The feathers of her plumage were a stark contrast of youth to her father's as she used her forward wing joints to comfort and ground him in the moment. 

 

“Thank you, Rufria.”

 

He whispered, his scowl breaking from Caelus as he shot a glance in her direction, calming ever so subtly. He brought his eyes back to Caelus, his claw talon running weakly along the same age-old scar within the floor. 

 

“Everything is as planned, with the pledge of nearly an entire legion of souls from Morus itself as a volunteer force. With our focus turning back to the east, with an interest towards retaining the peace of civilized men, the citizenry of Marseilles, Corinth, the eastern reach, and our grand empire proper has all seen to exceed past proposals. We may in fact, see a more professional Legio, such as the like as Legio I Aquila. The IX’th legion may fall short, yet that is nothing conscription through commuted sentences will not address your eminence. The grand design stands as it was first constructed. First, laying siege to Francia, forcing a show of loyalty through the raising of a tenth legion for the expansion through the step. Second, the raising of Brenton, as with the tree of old, and the ancient Raka, in Va’ren. Third, and last, the re-establishment of Krakow as the empire's easternmost city and safeguarding the will of the empire throughout Damus.”

 

Caelus continued running his thumb over each knuckle, as he watched the ruffled foliage of his Emperor shrink as the words reached his ears. Rufria, a stark contrast to the usual cold distance of her father, looked between Aulus and Caelus, remembering at her earliest memory when the death sentence was declared within this very sanctum. 

 

“Father, must we still–”

 

Aulus shifted his posture, leaning himself towards his daughter's embrace.

 

“Rufria, we are heralds of civilization.”

 

He steadied himself as he furrowed his barely feathered brow. 

 

“A Legio, four thousand men strong, perished. To let an offense go loose with a simple demand of answers would lead to further fall. This is our burden, and the only reassurance of our course need be from on high.”

 

Aulus looked upward to the dome of the council room. A perch, small, and tucked in between a series of small pillars, visible only from the raised thrones the father and daughter sat upon. It was dark, and two emerald green eyes stared down upon them. The goddess, Myr, showing herself only to the imperial line for five-hundred long years of rule. 

 

“The goddess has spoken with her divinity in times of our misstep. She has not, in the two and a half years since the course was decided, spoken of its fault. With her silent blessing, it is all but yet to be done. As is hers, this is the will of the empire.”

 

Rufria shuddered as she looked up to the eyes, seeing them as cold, plotting, as if something in her adolescent mind told her that this course, while blessed, was misguided. Somehow, she felt a strange falsehood. 

 

“Does she hold her tongue of heart and mind to the empire, father? Or–”

 

Aulus’s plumage rose once more. 

 

“That will be the end of it, Rufria. I will not have the holy lady’s word besmirched. You know better, especially as her new chosen.”

 

Rufria cast her eyes downward, falling them upon Caelus, who seemed disheartened at Aulus’s words himself before dropping them to the tile mosaic centered on the room itself.

 

“Yes, father. I apologize.”

 

As quickly as Aulus’s feathers were ruffled by his daughter's protest, he calmed once more.

 

“Caelus, what is the word of the ‘Rocs-talons?”

 

Caelus raised his head once more. 

 

“Nothing further, your eminence. We scour the last battlefield of the lost Lee-mess day and night. We receive word by wing every fourth day, on a constant rotation of the Aquila corps.”

 

Caelus nodded solemnly.

 

“With the death of Centurio Ilias, we suffered a great blow not of simply the loss of a hero, but the goddesses blessed gift. Continue the search, it is of greater importance than even the eagle standard.”

 

“Yes, your eminence. I carry only one last segment of information to enlighten you of since our last council.”

 

“Say as you will.”

 

“Your eminence, bear in mind that this carries no effect on our current course, the numbers have already been recouped.”

 

Caelus readied himself for the ensuing week of drunken and senile rants that the emperor would no doubt bear absent memory of. He breathed in, then aligned the information in the most efficient way to expel it, with as little misconstrued as he could manage.

 

“Two days after our last council, an armory within the garrison to Mdina, belonging to the Legio II Leo, burned to the ground. It is estimated that the blaze burned so hot that it left not even a trace of bronze, iron, or steel. The stone structure itself seemed to barely withstand the flame, portions of the structure seemed to resemble flowing water as the slag cooled.”

 

Aulus raised a brow. 

 

“The loss to the Legio? And Mdina?”

 

Caelus looked down to the tile beneath him, then back to Aulus. 

 

“Of ordinance? Some three-thousand head of arrow, leaving the Sagittarii to draw from Mdina’s own stores to supplement itself. One hundred sets of metal armor, two hundred sets of leather armor, four hundred spearheads, two hundred gladius, and–”

 

Caelus shook his head at the absurdity, yet the replacements had already been re-cast. Even with the declining quality, with the original means of their design being lost to the ages. The crude molds of each bombard and cannon could yet still produce a hundred replicas before such a vital means of siege breaking were to be lost forever.

 

“Two bombards, and lastly, nine cannons, the ammunition for these having rather blatantly erupted within the blaze.”

 

Caelus looked back to the tile floor.

 

“The losses of life seem to be minimal, thankfully, only some thirty dead, and half a dozen unaccounted for.”

 

He returned his eyes to Aulus, receiving an expression of dispassion, whilst Rufria seemed as if she’d weep for the city’s loss. He averted his gaze once more.

 

“That is all you have left to bear?”

 

Caelus nodded.

 

“Yes, your eminence.”

 

Aulus stood, groaning as he did.

 

“Then this council is adjourned.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Caelus.”

 

The voice of a small girl broke the man from his thoughts as he paced through the halls. He turned to witness the small harpy eagle bounding towards him, her wings parting her from the earth’s grasp for the briefest of moments as if she were a chicken in the most endearing light. 

 

“Princess Rufria, it seems every time you call on my name that your wings find even more air beneath them. Though glad I am to see your progress of flight, you should take care not to hurt yourself in such a confined space.” 

 

He chuckled as he remarked, his hands still locked behind himself as he habitually maintained the same tick of rubbing his knuckles as in the meeting.

 

“Apologies, Caelus. I just had to speak with you.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Caelus muttered to himself, accustomed to the protests of Rufria, following any meeting where she seemed keen on the details of a given meeting. 

 

“Lady Rufria, this is not about Brenton, is it?”

 

The small harpy looked over her shoulder, her gray and white plumage shifting as she checked for her fathers presence. She turned back to Caelus, her claws scratching at the floor as she drew closer.

 

“Could we talk in the garden? Like usual?”

 

Caelus placed a hand over Rufria's shoulder, having treated her to these walks as long as he can remember. He was there when Aulus and her mother were informed of her conception, he was there for Rufria’s egg laying and the passage of her mother, and he was there the day she hatched. In her father's stead, Caelus played the role of her surrogate parent.

 

The two walked to the gardens, lush, filled with every manner of flower and tree present within the borders of the empire, even the faux borders of Va’ren and Damus. The two eventually found themselves alongside a pond, lilly pads and cat tails swaying at its shore.

 

“I’m worried, about papa.”

 

Rufria muttered.

 

“I can feel it, his headaches, the shaking in his wings as he tries to appear strong.”

 

She looked at the water, kneeling as she reached out one of her wings to snag a cat tail within its feathers. 

 

“And his decison of Damus. Are you sure that everything we know is true?”

 

Caelus nodded.

 

“I can only wish to the contrary… Rufria, if I may?”

 

The girl did not speak, waiting for Caelus's words as usual. She was attentive, more so than her age would usually permit. A quality many felt owed to her mother. She looked over her shoulder, and Caelus seated himself on the shore alongside her.

 

“While your father's pain is missed upon no one within his company, we have each–”

 

He held his tongue, thinking over the words.

 

“Some of us have expressed our doubts.”

 

He looked across the pond, marble pillars, and further plant life, with the rest of the imperial city, Rhodanos, providing the horizon.

 

“However, until the goddess sees fit to outwardly protest, then the course is stayed. Brenton will be raised, Francia will be tithed, and Krakow will be reconstructed. When the ruling was given, we had no hope of dissuading your father. The only one who can do that, Is you, should the time come that Lord Aulus–”

 

Caelus stopped himself, lowering his head beneath Rufria’s eye level to give, in a sense, an apology.

 

“I forget myself, ignore my idle thoughts.”

 

The feathered forejoint of Rufria’s opposite wing brushed against Caelus’s chin before beckoning it skyward. Rufria was smiling, softly, holding the cat tail within the small joint hook of her opposite wing.

 

“I am not ready, but I have understood that I have no hope in the regards of papa.”

 

Her eyes glistened for a moment before she rested her eyelids, shielding her from her own tears as they could not well forth.

 

“I will keep the thought in mind, Caelus, and I would beg, should this time come before the subjugation, that our first move be to route our own declaration of war. Agreed?”

 

For a child, Rufria was ahead of herself, meek in the presence of all but Aulus, or Caelus himself. It was at times such as this, that Caelus had to remind himself, that she is of a line one-hundred-ten rulers long. She was bred for the position of Empress, even her father knew such.

 

“Agreed.”

 

He spoke softly. Rufria’s feathers ruffled, revealing her true anxiety in the moment as she looked back to the marbled dome of the council building.

 

“In truth, Caelus, my greater worry is this foreboding feeling. Shouldn't that will of the goddess reassure even me? Why is it that I cannot sense any form of rightness in it all?”

 

Caelus looked on as she did.

 

“Yes, and… I am unsure, Rufria.”