SPRING 1114 — THIRTY YEARS AGO

  Aurik Metzer’s heels clicked rhythmically against the polished marble as he made the long march across his family manor. His strides were spirited, his gaze unflinching, his mind ablaze with determination. Tonight would be the night.

  He barreled his way across the estate—through the regiment of servants, past the ballroom and the rose garden and the hall of mirrors that shimmered in the moonlight. His focus remained fixated, barely conscious of the walls around him, only noting them briefly as markers pointing towards his destination. Emerging from the lavish labyrinth, he laid his eyes upon the set of double doors imperiously poised at the end of the east wing: ingress to his father’s cloistered study.

  Standing before the doors was a solitary footman, young and draped in dainty frills and brass buttons. He carried on him the general malaise of the working class, simple of mind and easily swayed by a wink and a smile.

  As Aurik approached, he etched a plastic grin onto his face and threw out his hands in spurious salutation. “Ah, Denis!” he declared, his deep, commanding voice reverberating across the imported stone of the hall. “Working late, as always.”

  “Good evening, Master Aurik,” said the footman with a degree of surprise, no doubt having been ripped from whatever frivolous daydream a commoner like him might conjure.

  Metzer approached the footman and struck a practiced tone of congenial curiosity. “How’s the baby?” he asked with a smile.

  “Oh, she’s a handful, sir,” the footman merrily replied. “But we’re managing.”

  “Wonderful news. What is she now, eleven months?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s growing up so fast.” The man let out a wistful sigh. “She just took her first step the other night. I wish I could have seen it.”

  “Ah, such willful strength! Much like her father.” The footman predictably beamed at the flattery. “Speaking of which,” said Aurik, gesturing his eyes at the door. “I would like to see mine.”

  “I’m very sorry, sir, but Master Markus is still recovering,” whimpered the footman. “He doesn’t wish to be disturbed by anyone. I’m afraid that includes you.”

  “Explicitly, I imagine.”

  The footman squirmed in his boots. “Well—”

  “Denis, you are a family man,” said Aurik, his face softening to a wide-eyed melancholy. “Can you not imagine my inconsolable worry? My father, stricken down by his own heart without warning. Who can say what tomorrow might bring? And while I have no doubt he will swiftly recover, of course, I simply could not bear to live with myself if I did not speak to him while I had the chance. Surely you understand.”

  The footman shifted his weight, his mouth contorting in deliberation. “…Yes, sir, Master Aurik,” he finally said, bent by sympathy. “I understand completely.”

  “Splendid. I shall be brief.” Aurik reached for the handle to the door as the footman stepped aside. “Oh, and Denis,” he said, offering the footman a wink. “If he raises a fuss, tell him I threatened you.”

  The footman smiled. “Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”

  With that, Aurik slipped into the room and latched the door behind him. His smile vanished as he rolled his eyes and shook the interaction from his mind, lest it rot his focus. Consorting with the rabble—it always left him so drained.

  “…Not now,” bellowed a bitter, gravelly voice from across the sea of cherry wood and leather-bound books. At the far end of the study, past the roaring hearth and the heirloom rug, was Markus Metzer, his enfeebled father, founder of Verloren Industries—an aged wraith of a man, clothed in a velvet smoking jacket that failed to disguise his meager frame. He sat behind a mammoth writing desk, quill pen in hand and hunched over a dense ledger, blunderingly attempting to rectify this quarter’s staggering losses, unable to see over the walls of the hole he had so negligently dug himself into.

  Standing tall and popping the stiffness from his neck, Aurik strode across his father’s study, his barreled chest thrust forward in a show of confidence. “Father,” he assertively exclaimed. “Should you not be resting?”

  Markus said nothing, choosing instead to continue scrawling in his tome of numbers.

  “Did you receive my care package?” asked Aurik.

  With the flick of his wrist, Markus pointed his pen towards a shelf of boxes and baskets, overstuffed with cards and flowers and all manner of treats. Hidden in the back, three deep behind well-wishes from business partners, dignitaries, members of parliament, and a gift from the eldest prince, was the basket from Aurik. It remained, quite predictably, untouched, its costly confections and the hand-picked bottle of vintage wine still sealed in their packaging.

  Aurik moved towards the basket and removed the wine from its cradle, along with two glass goblets from the cabinet. “Come, father,” he sang. “Lay down your pen. Think of your health.” Taking a seat on the stiff leather chair positioned before his father, he placed the pair of glasses on the desktop. He then pried the cork from the bottle and poured a scarlet sip into his glass. “They say that wine is a remedy for your condition. Will you not join me?”

  Markus did not look up at his son. Instead he lifted his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  “Are you certain?” asked Aurik, placing a stopper into the bottle. “This is a pinu beltza 1096, straight from the ocean coast of New Beladreah. Only the finest for you, father.”

  “…What is it you want?” Markus sighed.

  Aurik swirled the wine in his glass, breathing in its rich aroma. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Can this not wait?”

  “I’m afraid it cannot.”

  “You have no patience, boy,” grumbled Markus, staring at his son with his typical brand of disappointment. “How can you expect to be a fitting leader if you refuse to stand back and listen?”

  Aurik ignored him. “Have you seen the reports?” he asked.

  Markus shook his head. “What reports? What are you talking about?”

  “Pay attention, old man. The reports from the Rezna team.”

  “I needn’t take notice of such things,” groaned Markus. “Thrill-seeking nonsense…”

  Aurik broadly sighed. “I expected as much. Oh father, you are far too predictable,” he said, firmly placing his undrunk glass onto the desk. “As Chief Officer of the Research Division, I have been receiving direct updates from our emissary aboard the Paradise Seeker. Their findings reveal a startling number of avenues for expansion that we are sleeping on. If you had actually read them, then perhaps you would see as I do.”

  Markus looked up from his scribbling. Aurik smirked—he had gotten his attention, if only just. With a soft wheeze, Markus removed his spectacles and placed them onto the ledger beside his pen. He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his bony fingers.

  “Very well. Let’s hear it,” he mumbled.

  “The north has long been ignored to our detriment,” began Aurik with composed passion. “Not only is it overflowing with raw materials, but it has so much more to offer us. According to the reports, there are sources of immeasurable power hidden through these lands. Ancient power. Angelic power. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what the wasteland has to offer. It is all up there, waiting for us to take it. To wield it for ourselves.”

  “What are you requesting?” asked Markus flatly. “A larger budget for you and your misfits to pilfer these… trinkets?”

  “I am requesting that you hear me, Father,” said Aurik. “Forget about landships. About quarterly profits and margins. We’ve been thinking far too small. A third of this planet lies uninhabited, undefended, rich with enough land and resources to usher in a new era. To construct a modern, better empire. Our empire.”

  The rows of cavernous wrinkles dug even deeper into Markus’s forehead. “…What are you saying?” he asked.

  “Do you not see it?” said Aurik. “You may think we have power, but it is an illusion. With the snap of her fingers, the Empress can strip us of all we’re worth. But I have a plan. A plan to liberate ourselves and imprint the Metzer name forever upon the annals of history. It will take years to come to fruition—decades, more accurately—and you yourself are unlikely to see it through. Because, well—” Aurik gestured to Markus’s elderly body.

  His father did not take kindly to such an insinuation, despite its accuracy. The old man scowled in offense.

  “Which is why I ask that you think of the future. Your son’s future,” continued Aurik. “I need further resources, father. We must bolster our expeditionary force. The Metzer family is already among the most influential in all the Empire, why not brandish that power? Acquire the right subsidiaries, squeeze the right people, and in time we can have our own standing army at our command.”

  “An army?” squawked Markus incredulously.

  “Not to worry, it will be a gradual process to avoid inviting suspicion. Which is why we must begin now. With every passing year we shall construct bigger ships, stronger ships, deadlier ships, until at last we have an armada powerful enough to rival the Imperial Army, to contend with whatever the north may throw at us. And when the day comes, we will use our might to carve a path through the Forever Storm and take back the city of Ama-Lasria for ourselves. And from our glorious new capital we will conquer the wasteland and everything in it. Andreny, Dierros—every government in the Southlands will be eating out of our hands.”

  “What of the Unbound?” asked Markus, his curiosity outweighing his obvious bewilderment.

  “A simple matter,” Aurik answered, fully prepared for the question. “We raze their source, end their propagation.” He leaned and gazed deep into his father’s eyes. “We destroy the hallowed Archmother. With the north free of the scourge, the territory will be ours to seize. We can sweep through the wastes before the Empress even realizes what we’ve done, and the Verloren dynasty will become more legendary than the God King himself!” Leaning back in his seat, Aurik threw out his hands before clasping them coolly in his lap. “So, what say you?”

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  Markus stewed for a moment, his eyes shut, his wide mouth cracked agape. After a long beat of silence, he unfurled his fingers and slowly leaned in. “No.”

  Aurik pulled his mouth taut. “I knew you would say that. Very well. Perhaps we sho—”

  “Do you know why I put you in Research?” asked Markus abruptly.

  Aurik cocked his head. “Put me?” he scoffed, appalled at the very notion. “I’ve earned—”

  “It is because research is a dead end,” said Markus, answering himself. “I put you there to stay out of trouble. To watch. To listen.”

  “…A dead end?” growled Aurik, his face growing flush.

  “And this is how you’ve spent my generosity?” rumbled Markus. “By plotting high treason? By threatening to upend everything I have built?! You are a deranged little child, trapped within a preposterous dream!” Markus put his hand on his chest, breathing out sharply. “…I will not dignify your delusions with further words. But for you, son, I will do this one courtesy: banish these thoughts from your mind, never speak of them again, and I will forget that this exchange ever took place.”

  Aurik dug his fingers into his seat, scorn and ire fogging his mind. “You’ve always wished me to fail,” he snarled.

  Markus glared at his son intensely. “I’ve wished you to grow! To see beyond your own rapacious passions. But perhaps I miscalculated. Perhaps I gave you too much, too quickly. Now you lack patience, discipline… basic decency, and I can no longer sanction your behavior. If I must force you to listen, then so be it.” Markus shut his eyes and gently massaged his brow, hissing out a somber sigh. “…You have helped me make up my mind. In the morning I will draft a notice appointing Manager Kobold as Chief Research Officer while you take an extended leave of absence.” A look of severity swelled on his face as he glared at Aurik. “Perhaps then I will finally get through to you.”

  White hot rage seeped into the edges of Aurik’s vision. “You cannot do this to me!” he unleashed, leaning in forcefully. “How dare you deny me what is rightfully mine! Without me this company is doomed to irrelevance!”

  “Enough! It is decided,” Markus said, thrusting his finger at Aurik. “Calm yourself.”

  “You are nothing but a wretched hack! A woeful little man with little ideas!” Aurik screamed, a lifetime of withheld words spitting out of him. “You sit here, a miser of numbers, no vision for what really matters. A pathetic charlatan who stole this company from smarter men than you will ever be! And you thought you didn’t need them? They are out there now, surpassing us, and you are too brainless to see what you have wrought. Verloren Industries is dying, and it is by your hand. You do not deserve to run it!”

  “I will run my company as I see fit!” shouted Markus, shooting to his feet in anger. “And I will not allow your petty ambitions to destroy everything I have built! I—” The old man clutched his chest, winded. He fell backwards into his chair, drawing in deep, sedative breaths. Glaring up at his son, he offered a subtle smirk between gasps of air. “This company is mine. If you wish to run it one day, then I suggest you heed my words.”

  Aurik threw himself back into his seat, seething with unexpected outrage. No matter how thoroughly he girded himself, his father always seemed able to cut through to his core.

  As Markus looked upon his son’s distress, his smirk faded. “This is for your own good, Aurik,” he grumbled ruefully. “One day, you will see that I know best.” He reached for the bottle of wine and a glass. “Come, share a drink with me. Let us not end this night in discord.”

  Aurik looked at the bottle in his fathers hand and spiritlessly smiled. “Yes. Yes, I would like that.” He wrapped his fingers around his own goblet and raised it limply as his father poured himself a glass.

  After taking a moment to breathe in the wine’s bouquet, Markus gently chimed his glass against Aurik’s before raising it to his mouth. He took a small sip, his eyes widening in delight as the drink touched his tongue.

  Aurik sneered. “Only the best for you, father.”

  Licking his parched lips, Markus inelegantly consumed the rest of his glass, topping it off with a crisp, “Ahhh”.

  Aurik looked down into the dark liquid brimming in his goblet. He watched his own reflection, a wide smirk creeping across his jaw. Not keen to taste the wine himself, Aurik placed his glass back onto the desktop before sinking comfortably into his chair.

  “Now, I ask that you leave me,” said Markus, gesturing to the door. “I have much work to do. Perhaps in the morning… we can… We…” The old man’s mouth crinkled. Beads of sweat formed at his brow as his face turned flush and purple. His breathing quickened and grew shallow.

  Aurik leaned in. “Did you enjoy your wine?”

  Markus’s eyes grew wide. He looked towards his goblet, trails dripping down the sides like blood. With a panicked hand he smacked the glass away from him, rolling it across the desk. “You—you didn’t,” he whispered.

  “Did what?” sneered Aurik.

  Before Markus could call out for help, he reeled in terrible pain. Flopping into his seat, clutching his chest in agony, he spat out shallow, frenzied breaths as his body quivered and convulsed.

  “I had hoped there might be a chance you would listen to me for once,” said Aurik, standing from his seat. “But you are far too predictable.”

  “You can’t—” croaked Markus. “The council—They won’t—”

  “Oh, they will,” Aurik dismissed. “I have their full support, I saw to that in your absence. I am to be the new chairman in the event of your untimely passing, it is all but assured.”

  The creases on Markus’s face twitched and morphed, shifting from resentment, to regret, and then finally to a fearful realization. He looked up at Aurik, his eyes swimming with confusion. “S—son… Why?…”

  “I wouldn’t take it too personally if I were you,” said Aurik as he approached Markus’s side. “Yes, you were a horrid father. And yes, and I still blame you for what mother did to herself, do not think that has changed. But this is purely business. My company must begin preparations immediately if I am to see my plans come to fruition within my lifetime, and I simply cannot risk you obstructing my designs. I do not have the time to waste. After all—” Aurik clutched his father’s face in his fingers and stared hatefully into his eyes. “I have no patience.”

  Markus stared back, wide-eyed like a child, lost, afraid. His gasps grew steadily weaker, until finally they vanished, replaced with a deep and croaking rattle.

  Aurik sneered devilishly as he watched the last light of his fathers soul drain from his eyes. “Now, please,” he smiled. “Relax. Enjoy eternity.”

  And with that, Markus Metzer was gone.

  Aurik stared upon his father’s body, an electric thrill crackling within his chest. He had done it. After so many sleepless nights spent picturing this moment, it had finally arrived, more exquisite than he could have possibly imagined. If only he had the time to revel in it.

  Pumping his legs and arms, Aurik ran madly in place, disheveling his clothes and hair and raising his heart rate. Once in a visible state of frenzy, he threw himself on his knees at the base of his father’s corpse and clutched its clammy hands.

  “Denis! DENIS!” screamed Aurik. “DENIS, COME QUICKLY!”

  A few moments later, the doors to the study flung open. “Master Aurik! Master Aurik, wha—?” The footman threw his hand over his horrified mouth. “Master Markus! Dear lords, no!” He rushed across the room in an instant and inspected Markus’s pale, lifeless body. “Master Markus. Master Markus!” He looked to Aurik, anguish on his face. “I—I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “We had an—an argument,” stammered Aurik, choking back performative tears. “He was shouting, and then he just… Oh, Angel’s light, what have I done?!”

  “No, no. No, no, no, it’s not your fault, Master Aurik,” bleated the footman, shuffling around in a panic. “You’ve done nothing wrong. This is just an accident. It will be okay. Everything will be okay. Yes, yes. I—I’ll go call the doctor. Yes, the doctor! You—you just stay with him. I’ll return soon!” He sprinted away at full speed, his limbs flailing as he shot back across the study and down the hall, disappearing from view.

  Alone again, Aurik Metzer smirked. Standing tall, he snatched the bottle of wine and the two glasses from the desktop and traipsed over to the roaring fireplace. With a mighty throw he hurtled the items into the flames, the glass shattering to crystal and the wine transmuting to fumes. Seconds later, any evidence of Aurik’s scheme were all but erased. The people would say that Markus Metzer had suddenly passed away from natural causes—a titan of industry, tragically consumed by his own frail heart. His wealth, his company, they would all go to his only son—the only bearer of the family name, now and for all time.

  Metzer stood before the fire, breathing in his own delicious victory. The path ahead was clear. Well-liked and well-respected by his peers and the public alike, he would be crowned the new chairman of Verloren Industries with much fanfare in the coming days. And from there, he had such marvelous plans. The north, immortality, it called to him. He gazed into the hearth, into his glorious future, the flames dancing in his eyes.

  SPRING 1144 — PRESENT DAY

  “My father was a great man,” Metzer croaked, leaning in towards the microphone and gripping the podium with utter conviction. None around him were close enough to see his true feelings glimmering behind his eyes. “Markus Metzer founded this company with a simple idea; for seventy-five years that idea has stood: ‘Always strive for progress’. In a time when landships were small and crude, my father had the vision to bring together the finest minds, to use the finest materials, in order to revolutionize the way people traverse our very planet.”

  Metzer stood alone on a wide stage built in the center of Bruckhaven’s sprawling public square, the clear morning sun bathing the platform in glorious light, just as he had always imagined. Behind him, towering over the area, was the brass statue of his late father, carefully framed by the stage’s steel construction. The public did love their heroes.

  “In the years since my father’s passing, our family company has grown immeasurably, becoming not just the builders of the finest landships ever to travel this earth, but so much more,” Metzer continued. “Our advancements in military technology have kept our Empire safe, from Dierrosi attacks during the Sky War, to the constant threat of the Unbound scourge. Our expanded Research Division works tirelessly to bring us closer than ever to solving the mysteries of the Sundering.”

  Before Metzer sat a crowd of hundreds, with thousands more spilling out beyond the fringes of the plaza. People from all backgrounds had gathered to hear his words: representatives of the press, besuited investors on the hunt for new ventures, brokers, aristocrats, children costumed as their favorite agents, wide-eyed university students, members of parliament, Angel worshipers, and, most exquisitely, several bitter-looking members of the Expeditioners Union. They all packed themselves in, eyes glued to the stage, eager to confirm the carefully cultivated rumors that Verloren Industries was on the cusp of ushering in a new era for humanity.

  Placed strategically within the crowd were Metzer’s own personnel—from high-ranking officers to the lowliest assistants, padding the numbers and swaying even the most cynical soul with their manufactured enthusiasm. And beyond that, the entirety of the Executive Council had so cordially made the long journey from the capital to grace the conference with their presence. Even Lilith Vogel had agreed to pause her tireless research in order to witness this historic occasion—no doubt a gesture of her deep respect and friendship. The staff, like all the rest, sat attentively, captivated by Metzer’s every word.

  “And now, on this auspicious day, we begin the next step towards the future,” Metzer announced. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to be up here to tell you that today is the first day in a new era. An era of boundless progress.”

  A rush of excitement swept over the crowd. They began to murmur electrically.

  “I am here to announce that we are going north,” said Metzer, his words growing increasingly impassioned. “North, past the Deadlands. North, past the Graven Frontier. North, to the very edge of the world itself. And with the power of our great Verloren Armada, we will break through the Forever Storm, we will open the floodgates of discovery, and we will bring Ama-Lasria back to the world!”

  And there it was. The announcement. After thirty years of planning, after eleven hundred years of waiting, Ama-Lasria would belong to humanity once again, and Aurik Metzer would be forever remembered as the man who gifted it to them, and so much more. The crowd’s simmering excitement finally boiled over. They erupted into sustained, vociferous applause. It was everything Metzer had ever dreamed of.

  “No longer will we cower in the dark, digging for scraps, desperate to piece together who we once were!” Metzer trumpeted, speaking over the thunderous ovation. “No! We will march to the walls of Ama-Lasria, cast off the shackles of ignorance, and reclaim our lost history! We will mend this broken world, and reunite with the Angels once more!”

  The crowd leapt to their feet. A wave of frenzied cheers burst forth that seemed to grow louder with every passing second.

  “Today is the beginning of the future!” Metzer stood up straight and threw out his arms triumphantly. “To Ama-Lasria!”

  An explosion of streamers and confetti sprang out from a cluster of steel drumming lining the sides of the square, showering the area in jubilance. A massive banner unfurled behind Metzer, carefully framing him and prominently displaying the Verloren Industries logo and the meticulously art-directed symbol representing the Ama-Lasria Expedition. The roar of the crowd echoed throughout the city. A flurry of flashes from the reporters’ cameras lit up the air, forever immortalizing the historic announcement.

  Metzer stood immobile—arms outreached, eyes closed, head bowed, a shepherd in front of his flock. He reveled in every last droplet of adulation, a smile slowly creeping onto his lips. This was the beginning. In but a few short weeks, the people would look back upon this moment and remember it as the first day of Aurik Metzer’s new empire.