Sunlight slanted through the stained-glass dome of the council chamber, painting jewel-toned patterns across the marble floor. John sat at the head of the long table, clad now in imperial robes of deep blue silk. Though he had washed and changed after the training yard, a faint bruise lingered on his jaw and his forearm remained wrapped beneath his sleeve – minor badges of the morning's exertion. He noticed the furtive glances a few courtiers gave these marks; let them whisper, he thought. Rumors of the Emperor sparring like a common soldier were likely already racing through the palace.
Arrayed around the table were his key advisors: General Safid, freshly armored and stern; Magister Salim in voluminous indigo robes etched with silver sigils; Master Zafir, the grizzled chief artificer with soot still clinging under his nails; Minister Aru, resplendent in brocade but with a pinched look on his round face; and a handful of provincial governors in town for council, alongside Rashid who stood unobtrusively by a pillar.
They had been discussing routine matters – harvest projections, a minor border skirmish report – but now the topic turned to the Grand Nexus repair, a subject that quickened John's attention.
"The stabilization is nearly complete, Your Majesty," Salim was saying, pride evident in his cultured voice. "By our calculations, the Grand Nexus in the city's heart should be fully functional within three days, barring any unforeseen complications."
Zafir nodded vigorously. "My guild artisans have replaced the cracked conduits and re-inscribed the damaged runes. We conducted a test surge at dawn – the output has risen to 80% of original capacity."
John allowed himself a smile. "Excellent work, both of you. The City of Light will shine at full brilliance again soon."
Master Aru cleared his throat. The heavy-set minister leaned forward, rings glittering on his plump fingers. "Indeed, a commendable feat," he said, voice oily. "However, we must decide on the matter of integration."
John steeled himself; here it comes. "Go on, Minister."
Aru spread his hands as if explaining to a child. "Once the Nexus is fully repaired, we must connect it to the imperial ley-line network – reintegrating the capital's energy grid with that of the broader empire. This city's power should be at the Emperor's disposal centrally, and likewise draw on the empire's reserves in times of need. It's tradition and prudent governance."
Zafir's jaw tightened. The old guildmaster interjected respectfully, "With due respect, Minister Aru, traditionally the Queen-City's Nexus has operated independently even under imperial rule, precisely to ensure local stability. Linking it to the wider network could strain our nodes – or worse, if there's a fluctuation elsewhere, it might cascade."
He adjusted the goggles perched on his forehead and looked to John. "Sire, the guilds recommend keeping the Nexus independent for now, at least until we have several months of stable output data."
Salim sniffed lightly. "Master Zafir's concerns are largely cautionary. Technically, integration is feasible. I oversee the imperial network – the flows can be balanced. And think, Your Majesty: a unified grid would allow you to channel energies from here to fortify distant provinces or vice versa. A symbol of a truly united realm."
John listened, fingers steepled. This was as much political as technical. Integration would mean central control – effectively giving Salim and imperial administrators direct say in this city's magical lifeblood. Independence meant local autonomy maintained by Zafir's guild. Both had merits: unity versus resilience.
He noticed Aru watching him intently, as if trying to gauge which way he'd lean. The minister likely had his own agenda; perhaps integration meant more contracts and imperial funds flowing through his hands, or maybe he just enjoyed overriding the guilds.
John cleared his throat. "We have two well-argued positions. For now, my stance is caution. Let's ensure the Nexus is fully stabilized and functioning solo for a time." He raised a hand to preempt Aru's immediate frown. "This city has just been through a siege and a major repair. We won't rush another drastic change on its heels. In a month or two, when we have data as Master Zafir said, we'll reconvene and evaluate integration with cooler heads."
Zafir bowed his head in gratitude, and some governors murmured approval – they liked the idea of local stability. Salim too did not appear offended; he stroked his beard, accepting the reasoning.
Aru, however, pursed his lips. "As you will, Majesty," he said, a bit tightly. "Though one hopes our enemies won't exploit that delay."
John pinned the corpulent minister with a steady stare. "If any enemy is foolish enough to test this city's strength, integrated grid or not, they will find us ready." There was an edge to his voice that made Aru drop his eyes.
Before the minister could press further, John smoothly changed the subject. "Now, General Safid, any updates on last night's incident?"
They had agreed to keep details sparse. Safid straightened in his chair. "The assassin's accomplice has been dealt with," he reported, which technically was true in that the stable-hand was in custody. "We believe the threat was limited to a small cell. Security has been doubled as a precaution."
One of the provincial governors, a thin man from the west, spoke up, brow furrowed. "I heard unsettling rumors… That the attacker bore a heretical mark."
John shot him a cool look. "You hear many rumors, Governor. The truth is it was a lone infiltrator, likely a disgruntled remnant of the old regime. She paid for her treachery with her life." He kept his tone measured, but final.
That silenced the table for a moment. Salim glanced between John and Safid as if wanting to inquire more, but John gave a subtle shake of his head. Later, his eyes promised.
Aru, however, couldn't resist a last poke. "These disgruntled elements – if they persist, perhaps a public example is needed to deter further plots. In the old days, such traitors' heads would adorn the gates by now…"
Some of the council shifted uncomfortably. That barbaric practice had been used by Arslan's predecessors liberally, but John had shown a more merciful bent so far.
John pinned the corpulent minister with a steady stare. "Thank you for the history lesson, Minister. But I will not govern by terrorizing my own people with gore. Fear breeds resentment, not loyalty."
Aru's jowls quivered. "Of course, sire. I merely meant to ensure our enemies know the price of—"
"They will know," John interrupted, voice quiet but firm. "They will know when their plots fail and they find not a cruel tyrant, but a just ruler who stands unbowed. That will sting worse than any rotting head on a spike."
Safid allowed himself a tight smile at that, and several others around the table nodded in agreement.
Aru flushed, inclining his head. "As you say."
John decided he had given the meddlesome minister enough oxygen for one meeting. He briskly moved on to other agenda items, making it clear the discussion was over. The council continued for a short while – he heard quick reports on treasury balances (healthy enough, thanks to war booty), plans for an upcoming festival to boost morale, and an issue of grain prices which he tabled for now.
Through it all, John felt a degree of confidence. He was learning the rhythm of these councils: let others voice opinions, cut off the nonsense, make a decision with calm authority. It helped that he had both steel and goodwill backing him now – Safid's open support, Salim's growing respect, and the awe of the soldiers.
By meeting's end, John rose and everyone followed. As they bowed and dispersed, Salim approached with a leather-bound folio.
"Your Majesty, before I return to the Nexus site – here are the documents you requested." The magister's dark eyes gleamed with intellectual curiosity as he handed over the folio. "It's my compilation of defensive wards and counter-illusion measures. You had inquired about such measures for palace security, I recall."
John accepted the folio, understanding this was really information he'd subtly asked for via Rashid: general knowledge that could apply to something like, say, infiltrating an enemy's warded hideout. The folio's cover bore a rune of insight. He nodded. "Thank you, Magister. Your thoroughness is appreciated. I will review these."
Salim hesitated, then lowered his voice. "If I may, sire… I have observed you taking a keen interest in Energetics of late. More so than before. If you desire any tutelage or to discuss the finer points, I am at your disposal. It would be a great honor to assist your magical advancement."
John smiled. He had indeed been asking Salim more questions as cover for his independent study. "I will certainly call upon you when needed, Salim. For now, your work on the Nexus is of highest importance."
Salim bowed, looking pleased nonetheless. "As you will. I shall leave you to your afternoon, Emperor." With that, the archmage swept out in a rustle of robes.
Rashid came up to John's side. "Majesty, lunch is prepared in the garden, if it pleases you. And later this afternoon, the Princess of Kartava and her entourage are scheduled for an audience."
John stifled a groan – he had almost forgotten the minor visiting dignitary who likely came to secure trade rights or marriage alliances. Another delicate dance awaited.
But first, lunch in the Garden of Whispers sounded perfect. It was a secluded courtyard with trickling fountains and enchanted climate runes that kept it pleasantly cool despite the summer heat outside. John could use a brief respite, and perhaps he could catch a moment to think about the looming operation against the cult.
"Very well," he said to Rashid. "Lead on."
Moments later, John found himself reclining on plush cushions under a pergola of vines in the palace garden. Sunlight danced through vine leaves, and a gentle breeze – courtesy of subtle air runes carved into the stone benches – kept the heat at bay. The lunch spread was modest by imperial standards: grilled lamb, olives, flatbread, and chilled sherbet flavored with pomegranate.
John ate with a healthy appetite. Across the low table, one of the concubines plucked a gentle melody on a lute, providing soothing ambiance. Another burned sweet incense in a dish. This was custom: the Emperor often dined with select harem companions entertaining him.
Today, Rashid had arranged for Yvara to be present – the red-haired masseuse concubine, along with the lute player. Yvara knelt by John's side, refilling his silver goblet with water infused with mint and lemon. She moved with quiet grace, but John caught her stealing inquisitive glances at him whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
Finally, after he drained the cup and sighed contentedly, John turned to her and smiled. "Thank you, Yvara."
Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled back. "It is my pleasure, my lord." Her voice was low, carrying a lilting coastal accent that John found pleasant.
The lute player excused herself momentarily to retune a string across the garden, leaving John and Yvara in semi-privacy but for a distant guard or two.
Yvara leaned in slightly, eyes on the faint bruise on his jaw. "Majesty… is it true what we hear? That you fought with the soldiers this morning?" There was both concern and fascination in her tone.
John dabbed his mouth with a napkin, considering. The harem was often a hotbed of gossip. He gave a short nod. "I sparred a bit, yes. The men need to know their Emperor is not made of glass."
A flash of admiration lit her green eyes. "We had heard cheering from the barracks even here in the gardens. Word travels fast." She hesitated, then added, "They say you were magnificent, sire."
John chuckled. "They flatter me. It was good sport, nothing more." He studied Yvara's face – she was young, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with delicate features and henna-painted hands. Likely brought to the harem a year or two ago. In Act I, he'd barely exchanged more than a few polite words with her, but he recalled her skilled massage had eased his tense muscles that first day.
Noticing his gaze, Yvara bit her lip, suddenly shy. "Forgive me if I overstep, Majesty… but we – the ladies of the harem – we have been worried for you."
John raised an eyebrow. "Worried? Why?"
She glanced down. "After the… intruder last night, rumors flew. We were kept in our quarters, but some say you were hurt. And you haven't visited us in days, not since that first lunch. Some fear you are displeased, or…" she trailed off.
John felt a pang of guilt. He had been so absorbed in training and intrigue that he'd indeed neglected the harem side of imperial life. Not that he intended to indulge in it, but these women had lives and feelings – and precarious positions dependent on his favor or lack thereof.
He spoke gently, "I apologize if my distance caused worry. It's been… a tumultuous time. But I assure you, I'm well. A small cut on the arm, nothing more. I've simply had many urgent matters to address."
Yvara let out a breath of relief, her shoulders easing. "Thank the light. We—I only wish we could be of more help, my lord. You always seem so burdened of late." She reached out impulsively, then stopped herself before touching him, unsure if she had permission.
John decided to allow some informality. He extended his injured arm slightly. "Actually… your healing hands would be welcome. I'm still sore from sword practice."
Her face brightened. "Of course." She moved behind him on the cushions. With practiced motions, she began to knead the tension in his shoulders and neck through the thin fabric of his robe. Her fingers were cool and deft, finding knots of muscle and working them loose.
John closed his eyes, surprised at how quickly the ache of the morning's workout and the day's stress melted under her touch. In silence she worked, and he let himself enjoy this rare moment of personal comfort.
After a few minutes, Yvara spoke softly, almost to herself, "They say the Emperor has become kinder."
John opened one eye, looking back at her. "Oh? Who says this?"
She smiled slightly. "The servants, the other girls…even the eunuchs. You are still firm and strong, but… gentler than before. More… human."
John felt a curious mix of emotions—on one hand pleased that his efforts at fairness were noted, on the other hand wary, because the difference was literally that he was a different person. He chose his words carefully. "War can harden a man. Perhaps now that peace is at hand, I have room to be gentler."
Yvara nodded, accepting that. She hesitated again, then in a timid voice: "Do you… recall much of before? I mean, of us, Your Majesty?"
John's stomach tensed. The truth was he recalled nothing because he wasn't Arslan. He had thus far avoided personal conversations that might expose gaps. What was she fishing for? Perhaps Arslan had shown her favor or confided in her previously? Or perhaps she sensed something off.
He reached up and lightly touched her hand on his shoulder to still it, a gesture both reassuring and signaling pause. "Yvara, I value you and all who serve in the palace. But I admit my mind has been elsewhere than past pleasures."
It was a delicate dodge; he couldn't confess ignorance of any intimate moments Arslan may have had with her. Instead, he offered a gentle smile. "Give me a bit more time to set the realm in order. Then perhaps we can… get to know each other anew, hmm?"
It wasn't a promise of romance, but it wasn't a dismissal either. Yvara seemed to take it as intended – reassurance. She bowed her head. "Of course, my lord. I did not mean to pry. We will be patient."
John nodded. "Thank you. And thank you for easing my shoulders. You truly have a gift."
Her face lit up at the praise. "Any time, Emperor."
Just then Rashid glided into the garden clearing, clearing his throat tactfully. "Sire, the Kartavan Princess's party will arrive shortly at the reception hall."
Duty called again. John stood, feeling truly refreshed. Yvara quickly helped adjust his robe and offered a final shy smile before stepping back into the retinue of concubines.
Before leaving, John addressed her and the other women present: "Your company was most welcome. We shall do this again soon." A small promise, but one that lit their faces with surprise and delight. Arslan likely hadn't been so gracious often.
Rashid fell in beside him as they departed the garden. Under his breath, the chief eunuch noted, "The ladies seem much heartened, Majesty."
John gave a noncommittal "hm" but couldn't help a wry smile. Balancing imperial obligations extended to soothing domestic ones too, it seemed.
As they walked, Rashid lowered his voice. "General Safid requests a brief word at your convenience regarding the… matter we discussed earlier."
John responded quietly, "Tell him to meet me after the princess's audience, just before dusk, in my study. We'll finalize plans then."
Rashid inclined his head.
John's pulse quickened slightly at the thought. Plans were indeed taking shape – tonight, he and Safid would map out the raid on the Temple of Selhun. They would decide how many men, what strategy, and crucially, how John would participate without exposing himself needlessly.
He felt again the tug of two identities: John Sullivan the Special Forces veteran relishing the chance to conduct a tactical raid, and Emperor Arslan who had to maintain an image and not recklessly endanger himself. Walking that line would be tricky.
A short while later, John sat through the formalities with the Princess of Kartava – a polite exchange of pleasantries and assurances of friendship. He handled it smoothly, channeling Arslan's diplomatic knowledge that Rashid had prepped for him. But half his mind was on the coming operation.
By the time dusk painted the sky in purple and orange, John excused himself from further engagements. In his private study, he changed into a more utilitarian attire: a padded jerkin that could be worn under armor and sturdy trousers. He also strapped a dagger to his belt – an old habit that comforted him.
Safid arrived, entering through a secret side door that only a few trusted knew. The general had also shed formal gear for a dark tunic and a hooded cloak slung over one shoulder, looking more like a ranger than a palace official.
"Majesty," he greeted with a nod.
John motioned him to the broad map table that dominated the study. Unrolling a parchment, Safid revealed a rough map of the hills west of the city. A red X marked the Temple of Selhun's location amid contour lines. Clearly, Safid's scouts had wasted no time confirming the site.
"We scouted at a distance," Safid said, tracing a finger. "The temple is nestled in a limestone crag here, about two hours' ride from the city walls through forested terrain. It's indeed largely abandoned – at least outwardly. No travelers go there; locals avoid it, claiming it's haunted."
John leaned over the map. "Haunted, hm. Convenient for a cult hideout. What do we know of the layout?"
Safid pulled out another sheet – a sketched floor plan drawn from old records and the scout's observations. "It was once a temple to Selhun, the moon goddess of an older age. There's an outer courtyard, partially ruined, and a single large dome structure. Beneath that, our intel says, lies a labyrinthine catacomb. Perhaps old crypts or ritual chambers. Those likely have been repurposed by the cult."
John scanned the sketch. A labyrinth, of course. He felt a mix of excitement and caution. "Entrances?"
"The main gate through the courtyard, likely watched or trapped. Possibly a few crumbled sections in the outer walls where one could slip in. There's also mention of an underground cistern entrance, though our scout didn't confirm it."
John tapped the page. "A two-pronged approach might be wise – one team through the front to draw attention, another slipping in quietly through a side or underground way."
Safid nodded. "I can lead a frontal assault with a small detachment. And a second team could infiltrate via the cistern if we find it."
John looked at him. "I intend to be with that second team."
Safid expected that. He exhaled slowly. "Sire, I strongly advise—"
John raised a hand. "We've been over this. I won't be sitting on a throne while others bleed to solve my assassination plot problem. I have experience in covert operations, Safid. More than you know."
Safid's brow furrowed, likely chalking that claim up to Arslan's mysterious youthful campaigns. He finally inclined his head. "Very well. I've handpicked a dozen of my best – those who can keep their mouths shut. Half will go with me, half with us on the infiltration team. All think this is a night exercise drill under my orders. They won't know you're the Emperor— at least not officially."
That was key. John intended to disguise himself as just another soldier or low-ranking officer. Fewer who knew, the better.
They spent the next half hour hashing out details: signals to coordinate the two groups, what to do if one was discovered, fallback points in the forest, and rules of engagement. John insisted on trying to take at least one cultist alive for intelligence, if possible. Safid agreed but grimly noted zealots rarely allowed themselves to be captured.
John also shared some of Salim's provided insight on wards. "The cult might have magical traps or alarm runes. I've learned a few basic counter-wards." He held up the defensive treatise Salim gave. "Hopefully enough to not get us all blown up."
Safid's mouth twitched in a half-smile. "That's more the magister's realm, but any edge helps."
By the time they finished, darkness had fallen fully. A new moon meant the night would be suitably dark – ironically favorable when attacking a moon cult. They agreed to move the following night; best to give a day for final preparations and for John to secretly move out.
As Safid rolled up the maps, he looked John in the eye. "Tomorrow then. We'll make them pay for ever daring to lay hands on you."
John clenched his fist lightly. "Tomorrow. And Safid – not a word to anyone else, understood? Not Salim, not the other generals."
"On my life," Safid swore.
After the general departed, John was left alone in the dim study with the quiet crackle of a single wall-lantern. He looked down at his hands, which had a slight tremor. From excitement or nerves? Perhaps both.
He was about to lead men in battle, albeit a small covert one, in a magical labyrinth – a far cry from firefights on Earth, yet fundamentally familiar territory: an enemy stronghold to breach, hostiles to neutralize, a mission to accomplish.
John unrolled the map once more, committing it to memory. His eyes lingered on the drawn labyrinth beneath the temple. What dangers waited in those tunnels? He thought of ancient traps and the assassin's rune tattoos. It would not be straightforward.
His gaze shifted to his sheathed lion-headed kilij resting on a stand nearby. The runes on its scabbard slowly faded back to dormancy, the strange surge of power ebbing. He wasn't even sure exactly what happened, but it seemed the blade – or perhaps John's own emergent magic – had saved his skin. A mystery for another time.
"Tomorrow, then," he murmured to himself, echoing Safid's words. Tomorrow he would step into the shadows and strike back at those who thought the Emperor an easy target. He would show them the lion they had provoked.
With a final look at the flickering lantern, John left the study. There was no turning back from the path he'd set. In twenty-four hours, the Daughters of Xesh would either be crushed – or John Sullivan might find himself face-to-face with death once again.
He intended to make sure it was the former.