Some time ago

  Eleon ignored the looks of contempt from the three guards who watched the entrance to the throne room.

  One Committed. One Fluid. One Unfocused. So original. Everything was now done in trios.

  The Old Empire had been home to hundreds of different factions, languages, and religions—a smorgasbord of cultures that had evolved over thousands of years.

  Now, however, the choices were limited to three: becoming a monster all the time, becoming one some of the time, or constantly morphing to suit the circumstances. And they dared to call this evolution.

  “You will wait until you have been summoned, human,” the Fluid said. It looked like a snake from the waist down, no, not a snake, a caterpillar… wait, not that—an octopus, now.

  Who cared? He/She/It was an asshole in any form.

  “You were human too, until two years ago, idiot,” Eleon answered.

  “Your name was Bai, you were short, bald, and had bad breath. I will always remember you like that, no matter how many times you change your form.”

  Eleon could afford to answer back. For all his bravado, Bai knew he was the younger son of Governance, and he would not dare to lay a finger on him.

  Then the door opened, and Eleon was admitted inside.

  The throne room was not as grandiose as one would have imagined. Governance was that rare and appreciated breed, a pragmatic ruler who did not believe in crude ostentation of power.

  Power that needed to show itself was no power.

  Eleon could hardly recognize his father anymore; his figure was still mostly humanoid, but his head had been replaced by an oversized, transparent brain in which thoughts scurried around like random flashes of color.

  He had three pairs of multi-jointed arms now, and was covered in gauzy, almost-velvet-like skin, reading intently from a scroll made of some exotic animal skin.

  He was still his father and his emperor, though, and Eleon did not need to feign respect for him.

  He knelt before Governance, formerly known as Eleal the third, ruler of the Old Empire, now ascended to godhood.

  “Good of you to join us, Eleon, Hierophant of the Record of the Old Empire,” Governance addressed him.

  “I can’t believe it!” Boral exclaimed. He was sitting on the right side of Governance.

  “Are you really going to grant leadership of a faction to this idiot? What hold does he have in our society? Who does he represent? You could count his followers with the fingers of a stupid human hand.”

  “Yes, you could do that,” Eleon admitted, “and you would even have your thumb left so you could stick it down your…”

  “Enough!” Governance barked, his gaze rising from the scroll.

  “Eleon is the representative of a valid path of evolution, that of holding to human values. He will be the Record of what we were, and he will represent those who do not want to evolve.”

  Eleon scanned the room and noticed his older brother, Eleazar, standing stiffly to the left of Governance, as dull as ever. Andara the Evershifting floated nearby in one of her many forms.

  A new, unexpected addition to their group caught his attention: a small humanoid beetle, five feet tall, its gaze lost in the void as it passed a metal sphere from one limb to another. Something was obviously wrong with its mind.

  Governance’s soft but commanding voice cut through the hall.

  “This is the Scroll of Governance,” he said while rolling the vellum and inserting it within a scroll tube.

  “And this is the Scrollbearer,” he said while he hung the tube from the creature’s neck.

  “Eleazar,” he said, turning to his eldest son. “You are now my regent, and will succeed me when I fall.”

  “What are you talking about, father?” Eleazar answered. “You have ascended to godhood, you are immortal now.”

  “I will be dead in three days,” Governance calmly announced.

  The silence could be cut with a knife. Governance was the only social glue holding together the menagerie of monsters the Old Empire had become.

  “An offer will be made to you when I am no longer present. Accepting it will save a portion of our people and allow all of you a second chance at Godhood,” he went on. “You must accept this offer.”

  “And leave our home behind, father?” Eleazar glumly said.

  “This world was lost the moment we ceased to evolve. If we remain here, the dungeons will eventually devour us all. You must seek a new beginning elsewhere,” Governance answered.

  “Why must he be the regent?” Boral asked aggressively. “He is the weakest one of all three, and his support is dwindling.”

  “Because you would never accept Andara as the alternative, and she would never accept you. Your views are too opposed,” Governance explained. He had a way to hit you with truths that could not be denied.

  “Eleazar, protect the Scroll. Never let it leave your side. It can only be used once. Never stray apart from its bearer,” Governance continued.

  “If you do, it will cost you everything. Everything.”

  “When would be the right time to use it, Father?” Eleazar asked Governance.

  Governance spoke cryptically.

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  “There must be three betrayals,” he began. “You will be betrayed by someone you do not trust. You will be betrayed by someone you do trust. And you will betray yourself. Only then will you be able to open the Scroll and read it.”

  Andara scoffed at his words. Her Intent was Understanding, and she couldn’t stand it when Governance spoke in riddles.

  His prophecies had two odious habits: they always came to pass, and they were only understood after the fact.

  “Why don’t you just tell him directly and save us all the effort of trying to decipher what you mean?” Andara had been one of the Empire's leading scholars before her evolution; she valued precision and brevity and could not tolerate Governance’s mystical jargon.

  “Because if I tell him directly, it will never come to pass, Andara.”

  “What makes you think we will obey anything you say when you are no longer around?” Boral asked, trying not to be outdone by Andara.

  “I have already told you,” Governance replied.

  “Obey me, and you will regain your progression bars. You also know that I have never been wrong so far. This meeting is over. Leave.”

  Andara and Boral might have glared if their forms had allowed it.

  Despite their bravado, they would never dare to challenge Governance directly. Governance spoke rarely, but everything he said inevitably came to pass. Because of this, the people had learned blind faith.

  Openly opposing Governance would cause both faction leaders to lose a significant portion of their followers. He was also the Omega. Necessity had elevated him to Godhood when he presented the Icosahedron to the Coven. One does not defy someone with such powerful allies, especially when he is going to die in just three days.

  All four rose and prepared to leave the room.

  “Not you, Eleon. Stay,” Governance calmly added as he was about to leave.

  He sat down respectfully before his father, waiting for him to speak. Governance remained silent for a couple of minutes, as if he were reflecting on something.

  “Do you know what task I set for myself when I first became emperor, Eleon?” he asked his son.

  “No, father,” he replied.

  “I wanted to be the first Emperor to speak and write fluently in the forty-three languages recognized in the Empire. Then Evolution came,” he sighed.

  “Now we communicate by telepathy, pheromones, sonic pulses…No need for languages anymore. All those treasures, lost. Only Old Imperial remains as a common means of communication. All the others have been abandoned. They were no longer useful, and what is not useful does not serve Evolution,” he added, a touch of sadness in his voice.

  He was using Zaro, one of the oldest languages and the first one he taught his children.

  “Your conclusions were valid, Eleon. Progression was not a gift. It was a test. A failed test. The minds that designed it have decided it was a waste of time,” he turned to Eleon.

  “You were right, my son. You were right all the time. This has destroyed us.”

  Eleon was astounded. He would never have imagined those words could come from Governance. “What do you want me to do, father?”

  “There is still a small hope, though,” he added. “Your brother will deliver a death threat to someone in your presence. You must help this person.”

  “Eleazar would never do that,” answered Eleon. “Death threats are not his style.”

  “Oh, he will make an exception with this one,” he added. “She is going to piss him off terribly.” He made a clicking sound with his jaws. Eleon realized his father was laughing.

  “Father, I know you are a prophet and an oracle. You are the only one among our people gifted with the art of divination. Can you provide me with more information?” Eleon asked.

  “No, my son. What I told Andara was true; prophets do not like to behave mysteriously. They know that their words can change the future, generally for the worse. You will have to trust me.”

  “I will do so, Father.”

  “Oh, and Eleon...”

  “Yes, father?”

  “Bring scones. Two filled with cream, one with raspberry jam, two with apple sauce, and three doughnuts.”

  Now

  “Why the hell should we trust you?” Jenna asked between bites.

  “Well,” answered Eleon, “you are eating the scones, for one.”

  “Irrelevant,” she replied, her mouth full, quickly snatching another one of the doughnuts before Bob could do it.

  Eleon couldn’t blame them; after all, he was the invader.

  Playing the innocent, an exception to the warlike race he belonged to, would never convince them. Ironically, it was the truth. He was appalled by the atrocities his people were committing in the name of survival.

  He knew Governance. He would never have supported the survival of the Empire at the cost of the genocidal destruction of another people.

  He could feel Pob's eyes boring into the back of his neck. To Pob, he was one of Vlas' murderers—the Player he had raised as a child and adventured with for decades.

  The Beli was a master at controlling his emotions, revealing nothing.

  After all, he was a professional gambler, and good gamblers gave no tells. He did not doubt that Pob would try to take his life if given half a chance.

  These people will never accept that I act in good faith, and there’s no way I can convince them, Eleon thought. You can trust me because I'm acting on the advice of a sage with a transparent brain who claimed to be a prophet. Even to him, it sounded flimsy.

  A different approach was needed.

  They knew the Empire was divided into factions. As the de facto leader of a nominal one (with his name as its sole member), he could play the role of a political manipulator. He was confident they would have no trouble accepting him in that role.

  “We share common enemies. The only way my faction can survive is by guaranteeing Eleazar’s victory. He is the only one of the three willing to make a truce with the Beli. Andara and Boral will exterminate them if they are victorious. The only thing that has stopped them so far is the fact that all factions are at war,” he explained.

  “Eleazar, the guy who told me he would kill me next time he met me?” asked Jenna.

  “Well, he did it after you stole all the dungeon seeds and started a civil war between the Imperials,” Eleon countered.

  “I also lied to him,” Jenna admitted. “I told him I loved what he had done with the place. In reality, it was tacky and offensive, with all those frescoes depicting Beli being dismembered by Imperials. It looked like the Caligula version of Barbie’s dream house.”

  “Look, all I want is for my faction to survive. We share common enemies. If you want even a slight chance of resolving this without it turning into a bloodbath, we have to work together,” Eleon said as he stood up, trying to convey a sense of urgency. “And frankly, you need some help to shut this down.”

  “Do we?” answered Jenna. “I think we have the upper hand. You can’t create any more progression dungeons. You are limited to the ones you have now.”

  “Do you really believe that, Primordial?” Eleon addressed Jenna by her title.

  “I know you have all fought in big battles. Do you really believe Andara and Boral are not currently working to find a solution? Will they surrender just because they lost the first exchange? Tell me, if you were in their situation, wouldn’t you just change your plans? Would you not be able to find an alternative? Are there none?”

  Jenna’s eyes glazed for a moment, as they did when her brain went into overdrive. She sighed. “Yes, there are. Forty-three of them, as a matter of fact.”

  “We need an inside man, Jenna,” Bob added. “Someone who can provide us with information. We can’t win a mass battle, as we did at Babylon; we just don’t have the numbers. This is going to be a guerrilla war.”

  “Would you be willing to swear an oath not to lie to us, betray us, or hide relevant information?” Bob asked.

  “I will swear any oath you want,” Eleon said.

  “Add bringing scones to that oath, Bob. The raspberry ones,” Jenna added.