Cete Chronicles: Of Gods and Empire I (Original)

Centuries after Sondi and the other Gods have ascended, the Cetian Empire endures. Before only a regional power, the city Cete has been thrust into real power, under the influence of six wayward Gods. In the years after the ascension the empire has grown to encompass the continent and the eyes of the council now stare hungrily for more land. But on this second centennial of the city's rising, a wind of change is blowing over and under the floating capital city of Cete.

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(For a history of the rise of Cete, read the prequels: Of Gods and Ends 1/2/3)

The hovering city of Cete was solemn this morning as the column bearing Emperor Ayvare's body proceeded down the central avenue. Ayvare the Knowing, as he'd come to be known, had served as the ruler of this city and the Cetian Empire for two hundred years. Indeed he had been touched by a god, specifically the God of Deceit. His longevity had been a gift from the deity. It was for this reason that his puzzling and sudden death left more than a little unease in the city, especially in the High Council. And with his son Garend away on a campaign, the city held its collective breath.

The City of Cete had risen into the sky when six gods converged here some centuries back, in a meeting that shook the very earth. And once the tale had been retold by the two survivors Ayvare and Cal, the citizens had needed no more to give their devotion to these men and their newfound gods. Sects arose in dedication to each of these Gods, and these orders were as different from each other as the gods themselves. And like the gods themselves, they were often found to be bickering ad nauseam amongst themselves.

For the sake of appearances, on this day the representatives of the council walked behind the procession to see the good emperor to his final rest, quiet yet nodding at their constituency wherever they saw a noble they recognized. Overhead, paper lanterns danced in the sky in honor of the "immortal" emperor, to light his way to the afterlife with the Six who seek. The Cetian Empire mourned this day.

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Sain watched the procession from a rooftop, scanning the crowd for any irregular behaviors while she thumbed the pendant around her neck, the one her Grandfather Cal had given her. It was her sworn responsibility to keep the Emperor and members of the council safe, she was domin; a warrior pledged to protect and serve the interests of the gods through the representatives. She was also the granddaughter of the late High Priest of Truth Cal, a fact that most domin were content to remind her about. That he had also died this year was being called a sign of troubled times by the local mystics, who had taken to burning chicken feathers to ward off evil energy.

The council, the people, me... we're riding uncertain seas, and it's taking its toll.

Below average in height, the sandy haired woman was nonetheless lithe and formidable. Her specific training was in hand-to-hand combat but she was no stranger to ranged weapons. Training to be in service to the gods required peak physical shape, and Sain's body was a testament to the aggressive regimen all recruits were required to complete. Feeling for the tip of the blades hidden in her sleeves calmed her nerves for a moment, but her instinct was aflame.

Protecting the lives of one delegation was enough work for one cadre of domin, but having all the Council out on the avenue was precipitous at best. Thankfully there were dozens of domin patrolling the area, most as discreetly dressed and placed as herself. The funeral line was passing her building, giving her a bird's eye view of the emperor in his casket, and she found herself wondering if her Grandfather would lament the late emperor, were he alive to lament.

It had taken her a moment to notice that the sky had darkened, but in that one moment a blue fireball appeared above the precession.

The form elongated, pulsing with an ethereal glow that was both pale and blue. An indistinct figure could be made out in the bluish aura.

A conjurling!

The being that stretched its wings was not of this plane, that much Sain knew. The only people crazy enough to summon something like... this were those of the order of Desolation. Their God was chaos, and in chaos they thrived. When the summoned creature lashed out an arm to one side, a fire blossomed and flooded a building with gushing flames, explosions popping like corn along the mortar.

Sain could feel her heart racing, the beat a rhythm she thought her own until she looked down to see the pendant radiating a throbbing white light.

Sain, use your blades. The thought had thundered in her consciousness and shot her body into action. She leapt over the edge of her rooftop perch. As she glided through the air, her hand reflexively pulled her knives from where they hid in her sleeves. The ringing steel in either hand thrust out, half in faith and half in blind desperation.

The blades penetrated the conjuring dead center, and a billowing fan of flames erupted out of either side of the apparition. The buildings lit on either side of her, Sain could feel the heat curling her hair up towards her scalp. When the spirit had spent its last energy through fire, Sain was still several feet in the air and fell hard on her side. The world that was now engulfed in flames blinked out of existence as the black of unconsciousness claimed Sain.

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Several hundred yards from the city proper, a hooded man floated off the ground. His hum had a religious cadence, and there was an otherworldly glow about him as he chanted. As the yellow telltale signs of inferno appeared in Cete, the man slowly extended his legs and stepped back onto the earth. Blood dripped from his ears and nose, but the ragged smile that stretched across his face persisted.

My Lord Khyrs, may your Desolation reign over this world and the next

He removed a knife from his belt and sliced a thin line of flesh from his forearm, placing the strip onto a bed of coals that made up the fire of his camp. For the last two centuries, this was the secretly prescribed ritual of thanks to the god of Desolation. The purple pop of the flames told the man that Khyrs, the God of Desolation, was pleased with what he'd done.

There was much yet still to do.

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When Sain woke after several days it had been for mere moments, and it'd be several more until she was fully recovered. One her second day of recovery, one of the council came to visit her. The representative for the God of Memory sat on the edge of her bed, resting a hand on her leg.

"There aren't words sufficient to express the gratitude that the council has for your actions. If not for you we'd all be dead. As it is..." The councilman trailed off for a moment before resuming "...we've lost half the council."

She didn't think it was possible to feel like she was falling while she was in bed, but that's exactly what her world was at that moment. With half the council dead there would be a power vacuum in the city, and danger that no height off the ground could protect Cete from.

"Sain, the Council needs you. Cete needs you. We need you to go get your father."

Cal the Young...father... How can a bitter old retired soldier be of any use?

At the door to her chamber, one of the head Domin silently watched the exchange. He nodded, satisfied that Sain was alive, and flashed the hand signals of the domin that said I'll be back to speak later. It is good you are alive, we need to talk

The pendant her Grandfather had given her, a representation of the Six who Seek, pulsed out of sight beneath her shirt, warming her chest despite the chill in her soul.

Her father may have resigned, but he was still the High Priest of Truth by birth. And the flavor of the magic unleashed the other day had convinced the remaining council to seek out any help they could find. They would still need much more help than even the High Priest of Truth could provide.

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