For the first time in Tanhkmet's life, his armor felt heavy on his shoulders, where it had always until then felt weightless. His shield, a burden on his arm.

  Confusion filled him like a poisonous gas, sweeping in through his nostrils into his lungs and then to his blood and brain. He was paralyzed, like all the others, beneath the downpour of realizations that swept over them at the sight of the city's desolation.

  He hadn't the slightest idea as to who could be responsible. Neither, even who would've done such a thing, given the chance. Before that very moment, he would have believed deep in his heart that even the greatest enemies of the empire were above such an act of ultimate evil.

  But such questions and confusion were pointless, however important answers might've been hours ago.

  As captain of the Guard, he had failed. The visual proof of that failure was spread before him across a scene from which he could not avert his gaze. That failure felt tangible, like physical pain, his armor then ever so heavy on his shoulders and chest and arms and legs, like he was sinking through deep water, unable to swim as it weighed him down.

  They had all trusted him with their protection.

  The imperial family, the Diet — all those who protected the realm in spirit, who had in turn trusted him to keep them safe in body — were all surely dead.

  And so too the million citizens of Atum-Ra. Although perhaps less directly aware of his duty to their safety, they had still been under his protection. And seeing the extent of the burnt-black destruction, it seemed that truly the whole of the city had died.

  He thought of Princess Octavia, the heir apparent, who had been his personal friend. Whom he'd known would've made even better an empress than her father, although her father himself had been just. He thought of Rehemqat, her husband, whom he'd not known well beyond what he saw of a devoted husband and father, and a perfect match for his wife.

  He thought of Octavia's brother, the younger Alexandrikon, whom he'd campaigned alongside in the Phraintlands, when they were both younger men. Where he and the prince had not found decisive victory, they had indeed found a camaraderie and mutual respect that never diminished.

  And Tanhkmet thought of Octavia's eldest, Valeria, betrothed to be married later that year. And of her middle child, Argentus, of whom he knew little beyond Octavia's fondness for him, which was enough for Tanhkmet to mourn him, too.

  And he thought of little Aurelia, who had always been his favorite.

  Aurelia, whom Tanhkmet had secretly believed would be awarded the succession when the time came for Octavia to so choose, although such a decision was a long way off. And thoughts of his on such a matter, impertinent.

  He'd spent much time with each of the family in the course of his duty, but where his other charges like Argentus or the old emperor had been often distant or practically unnoticing of his watchful presence — as they were most certainly entitled — Aurelia had always gone out of her way to treat him as present and equal. Often engaging his conversation to break the monotony of his watch, toil which he never resented but the alleviation of which he always appreciated.

  But she was dead, then, and so too were her mother and the emperor, along with the rest of their family throughout all but its most distant cadet-branches.

  He'd no idea how the nearest legal claimants to the succession would react. There would be a terrible crisis, most likely, perhaps even civil war.

  He had failed, utterly and completely, as the captain of the Guard, and the realm was surely to be plunged into chaos.

  It was the most complete failure he could've ever been pressed to imagine, and it was his, then.

  He suddenly imagined ending his own life, a thought which intruded against his will, but which he couldn't help but consider once arrived. Driven by shame and despair, a shame worsened twice over by the brief intimation of pride he'd entertained those last years, pride in what he'd believed to be his success as Guard captain. Undue pride which he was then certain had contributed to the lapse in vigilance that had allowed for such a failure as was before him, then.

  But despair more so, despair as he thought of the prospects of those yet living. With the imperial government decapitated, all royalty with any meaningful relationship to the throne obliterated, the central axis of the realm's governance, economy, and society, simply gone.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Perhaps even the thousand-year civilization first erected by Maxadin the Great would finally collapse, and all Setet would return to a time of warlords and tribes and constant strife.

  All because of what had occurred under his watch.

  The flood of despair was so overpowering that a light within Tanhkmet's soul was in that moment extinguished, a fire that he'd never even before realized had once existed, until it was gone.

  A drive to fulfill his duty, once the passion of his life, the prime expression of his vis, then disappeared. Snuffed out both by contention with his complete failure at that duty, but also because there seemed to be no more duty left to fulfill.

  And Tanhkmet felt that fire within him go out like a punch to his gut, while the leaden weight of his armor pressed down on his back. And he was sinking, his breathing slowed, as shame enveloped him, and his legs and knees were rooted to the earth, cold and heavy.

  For a moment, he was lost to despair entire. All the world meaningless, as if he himself had died in the city, too.

  But he heard then the sound of crying.

  Numbly, he looked for its source. His own wet and blurry vision not easily made clear.

  It wasn't anyone he knew well. The tracking specialist attaché from the Patrol Corps, the rookie second lieutenant, freshly graduated from the academy.

  He heard her crying break the silence next to him, for a moment distracting his despair. She cried seemingly unashamed, tears falling from her face to the cracked-dry earth.

  His thinking shifted, granted momentary reprieve from the deepest depths of oblivion. Skipping on the surface of its bottom, but not yet coming to rest.

  She'd seemed a promising talent. Capable, attentive and eager, if inexperienced, to no fault of her own. She'd reminded him of himself in part, and of Junius and Unjet in others, if more than thirty years younger, when they themselves had first joined as officers of the Corps.

  Her vis, too, was unique and useful, and back in the hamlet before the blast he'd thought it wise to keep an eye on her future career. Perhaps, after not too long, and with a sufficient record under her belt, he even would've offered her a commission in the Guard, which he was sure she would've accepted. He'd spoken with her little, but perhaps from the way she carried herself, or handled herself in danger, or the sensation of her vis, he'd gotten the feeling he'd become fond of her if they'd worked together any further, as he had with many of those subordinates who eventually became his trusted lieutenants.

  And her unrestrained sobbing, then, affected him in a way he didn't quite understand. Through her tears, he saw confusion greater than his own, and fear and grief, and he looked to the rest of his company and saw those emotions again reflected many times over.

  His long-burning flame then extinguished did not reignite. The unavoidable sight of the desolate former cityscape would not permit that. But Tanhkmet realized then that the soldiers of his command still needed him.

  To them, his duty remained.

  And he would not fail another inch of his duty, he decided then, if it was in his power to do so.

  The only greater shame of which he could conceive, beyond the failure he already faced, would be to willingly forsake his final charges. He owed at least that much to the confused and grief-stricken soldiers before him.

  All still numb and dark, his armor so heavy on his shoulders, with excruciating effort Tanhkmet resolved he was going to return to his feet.

  He couldn't feel his legs, but nonetheless lifted one and planted its foot on solid ground, forcing it down hard to assure himself of its balance. Then, with equal effort, nearly faltering, he lifted the other, using his shield to support his weight, and planted it onto the ground upright, as well.

  And he was standing.

  Hollow within, despair threatening at any moment to consume him completely, he mustered as neutral an expression as he could manage and prepared to address his command.

  But seeing the young lieutenant still in tears, he realized what was foremost required. Still regaining feeling, he made his way to the young lieutenant, and embraced her.

  After she'd half-composed herself, he went to those officers whom he knew had family in the city, which was many, and offered similar gestures.

  He then shared a look with Junius, and stood at the fore of the disarrayed company.

  "Listen," he managed.

  His command had lost an edge it had always before maintained without his conscious effort, and he hoped its absence went unnoticed. But his voice still carried far, reaching all those present.

  Most turned towards him, peeling their gazes away from the ruins. The others, he decided not to press.

  "The eastern provinces, and the realm at large, are in grave danger," he began. "The time to mourn will come. At present, time is of extreme importance, and we must do our duties to those yet living."

  He took a deep, steadying breath.

  "The realm has weathered disaster before. It will again, if we do our duty," he said, even as he did not believe it. "There exist protocols for… for even the most terrible of eventualities."

  He realized then he wasn't capable of discussing the event in anything other than euphemism, then.

  "…Protocol dictates we go immediately north, to an underground stronghold designed to be a contingency headquarters, connected to the catacombs beneath the city. If the stronghold… was not sufficiently destroyed, we will organize ourselves there, from which we will launch all efforts to rescue potential survivors. Additionally," he added, "we will use the communications system there to attempt to contact all armed forces from around the eastern provinces, and determine their status in their various locations. We will travel on foot, as fast as possible."

  At that Tanhkmet surveyed the soldiers before him once more. Each was solemn, the young lieutenant still drying her tears. But all were ready and willing to obey, and take comfort in the familiarity of obeying.