On the morn of the first day of Vestian, in the year four hundred and
ninety-eight of the Holy Celestian Empire, the first and only son of Emperor
Ladantine VI was brought forth into the remains of the First World. Great
celebrations and gaiety blossomed throughout the pearly white streets of the
city of Light on that day. The merian children gallivanted together, running
between the legs of their parents to gawk at the skillful water shows of the
Aquamancers.

Choirs of angels and divas flew singing in triangular formations above the
rooftops, led by the large, brilliant forms of archangels. Cherubs giggled and
flitted among the blue heads of the citizens, dropping small candies into the
outstretched hands of the merian children.

Throughout the day the extravagant congratulations of the Protectorates of the
Empire's cities arrived one by one, often accompanied by a small representation
of their populace. The Alliance of Forest Conclaves, cool as ever towards the
Empire, sent only a single letter of congratulations, via a dutiful, but
overenthusiastic sprite who toppled the Emperor's wine into his lap.

The birth of Prince Ladantine VII was spoken of as a good omen for the Empire.
He will take the Empire far, many said. Everyone within the Empire was joyful,
or at least amused or satisfied. All...except for one man.

He lay within a small shack, east of the grave granite walls of Magnagora. The
floor was bare soil except for the old, soiled blanket on which he was lay. A
small, half-melted candle sat just beside him, a weak, a sickly light emanating
from its weak flame. The man himself was an ancient mugwump. His dry skin was
grey and wrinkled, sagging in places for a lack of something to cling to.
Large, runny eyes stared out into the infinite from his old face. He had long
forgotten his name, being in isolation for so long. He remembered being a
Master Prophet once, but the strength of his visions had made them fearful, so
he had been exiled.

He was Feeling something now, it was obvious from his intense stare into
nothingness. He sat up, his weathered hands moved up and down before him,
caressing the air like he would his lover. Suddenly his eyes screwed shut and
the Voice of Shallamar whispered to him in that grave, irresistible voice that
shook his bones and rattled his teeth. Sweat began to pour from his forehead,
falling in droplets to the earth, dark, wet stains spreading outwards from
their impact. Finally, after what seemed like ages the Vision released him from
his trance and he slumped back upon his sheet, breathing heavily. No, he thought
immediately, it can't be. The Prince could never do that...

He shakily sat up again, a hollow grunt showing what it cost him. A gasp
escaped his wizened lips; his heart was banging painfully against his chest. He
began scratching a message in the dirt, grunting with the effort it took for him
to keep upright. His vision blurred as he laboriously began scratching out the
second word. He never made it. His heart thudded once, wildly, and then he
slumped over, scattering the dust and erasing the first words of his last
message...

*********************************************************************

Prince Ladantine VII's mugwump tutor clenched his jaw and continued writing on
the chalk-board. He still couldn not believe the Empire had hired him to teach
this...this ten-year old infant cosmic physics. Ha! As if this child could even
comprehend the subtle complexities of the Laws of meta-cosmic science! Though,
gold sovereigns were gold sovereigns. He simply pretended he was back at the
Balach Institute of Magic and Science, teaching a class of keen-minded
mugwumps, instead of teaching a single merian child in the Royal Library.

They were in a small alcove among the silvery shelves. Small bubbles and
cherubs often passed overhead, carrying a message or book to a Celestian
somewhere in the vast halls. The Prince sat on the opposite side of the
triangular space and stared at the figures on the board and listened with rapt
attention; he was the perfect student, but the tutor still found him somewhat
irritating. He sat behind a ridiculously large desk, a small, polite blue
figure that took notes and smiled. Not the impish grin of a bored student, mind
you, but the cultivated, sophisticated smile of an adult.

In truth, Ladantine was taking the opportunity to practice his politician's
smile; He had learned the simple stuff Master Wimshwash was trying to teach him
months ago. He was enjoying the assignment Lady Sibil (his etiquette teacher)
had given him. Keep them unbalanced with your smile, Laddy (only she could call
him that) she had said, an unbalanced person is prey for the politician.

Master Wimshwash turned around again, opening his mouth to explain the work on
the board when he caught sight of Prince Ladantine's face. A wide, almost
predator-like smile radiated from his face, making Master Wimshwash severely
uncomfortable.

"Erm..." he said quickly, fidgeting, "I think that's class for today, Your
Graciousness. You may leave."

"Thank you, Master Wimshwash" piped the Prince. He stood up, gathered the small
books on his table and left the alcove. He walked briskly between the
bookshelves of the Royal Library, nodding politely to the many figures in white
robes that he passed. Many persons stood quietly near a bookshelf, intensely
studying an open book or whispering to one another in a polite manner. The
Prince glimpsed an aquamancer in one section, manipulating a sphere of water.

He reached the exit of the Library that looked out into the Immaculate Gardens
where he had his next class, which happened to be with Lady Sibil. The Prince
grinned as he passed below the boughs of the silvery oak trees, his lungs full
of their mossy fragrance. He was eager to report the success of his assignment
to his instructor. He tramped along the cobbled path, towards the small pond at
the eastern section of the gardens. This was where he usually found her and
there she was today, as usual.

She sat on a small, rounded boulder next to the pond. Lady Sibil was an
ancient, frail-looking merian that had an air of polite menace about her. She
could include words such as "Good Sir" or "My dear boy" in her insults, but
still make them sting like a slap on sun burnt flesh. Lady Sibil was capable of
twisting your words in so many different ways and directions that she could make
you have an argument with a dozen different people, at the same time, while each
person is quarrelling about a complete separate issue from another. Lady Sibil
had been around for as long as the entire Palace Staff's collective memory went
back, if not longer, and it was evident she had no intention of going anywhere,
anytime soon.

"You're late, Laddy." she said icily as he approached. She turned her gaze away
from the tranquil waters of the pond and stared him in the eye.

"I apologize, Lady Sibil. Cosmic Physics class went on longer than intended."
They always did this polite dueling before a class. Despite Lady Sibil's cold
nature, Prince Ladantine VII had a strong suspicion that he was her favorite
student.

The etiquette teacher clicked her tongue. "No matter," she said silkily, "Your
father was always late to class." She shook her head sadly, "Today's lesson:
the use of one's naiveties to manipulate one."

Very few persons knew of the dark teachings Lady Sibil passed onto the scions
of the Star Throne.

*********************************************************************

Ladantine walked slowly back towards the palace, his sky-blue robes swishing
gently with his footsteps. He was feeling unusually tranquil, which was always
the aftereffect of his dreamweaving. Along with his tranquility though, was a
mixture of uneasiness and excitement. He often spied among the other nobles, if
not for information, then for something to do when he was not studying.

This time though he had heard something of interest. The Prince's incorporeal
form had floating through the Palace, leaving a slight chill on the skin of
anyone he passed through, but otherwise undetectable. His father had taught him
well. He had been hovering idling in one of the more secluded hallways in the
Star Palace, when he saw Baron Jaimlimen walk hastily across the large hallway,
to one of the maid’s chambers. The revoltingly obese merian noble thought
secretly that he would make a better emperor than his father.

Or at least he thought it was a secret. His 'ambitions' had long come under the
scrutiny of Prince Ladantine VII and Lady Sibil. His father (the trusting man
that he is) had no idea of the hatred the Baron harbored for him within his
sick heart. Ladantine had agreed to keep a firm eye upon the Baron, and that
was why he floating after him, taking joys in sending chill's up the merian's
spine.

The Baron entered the chamber surreptitiously, closing the small wooden door
behind him. The room was simple, a small mattress with cushions, a basin to
wash and a window. Shadows danced upon the wall as the window was only
partially open. Suddenly, out of the shadows stepped a figure.

"Ah," said the Baron, or rather he rumbled it, "I’m glad you could make it."

The figure was a merian of almost the same grith as the Baron. A bloody apron
was stretched over his extended stomach and he wore a jolly expression on his
face. The head chef, it looked like.

"My pleasure," the chef said, "Lord Jaimlimen."

The Prince raised an invisible eyebrow. Lord Jaimlimen? The uneasiness he felt
before now flared into an urgent suspicion. He had a feeling he had stumbled
upon an act of treason in the making.

"Have you got the poison, Lord?" the chef asked. The Prince's eyes narrowed.

The Baron reached dramatically into his robes and pulled out a small, black
bottle. It was traingular in shape and an insignia of a black flame was pasted
upon its sides.

"Of course! Remember, mix it with his dinner wine tomorrow and he won’t
survive the night." The Baron grinned, his many chins wobbling, and handed it
over. "Finally, that upstart will be taken care of."

Although they continued this blasphemous conversation, Ladantine had seen
enough. He focused and his dreambody wavered and the treacherous scene before
him whirled and faded, as well as the two soon-to-be traitors. He opened his
eyes, back in his physical body and got up, heading straight for Lady Sibil's
chambers.

He arrived at her inconspicuous marble doors and knocked lightly three times.

"Come in." answered her muffled voice. He pushed open her door without much
ceremony and walked in, looking around at the very impersonal state of Lady
Sibil's room. There was no furniture that was unnecessary, except for a simple,
wooden chair close to the window. She sat upon the chair now, looking out the
window, towards the sparkling sea that surrounded the Isle of Celest. The sun
was setting and brilliant shards of light were captured upon the water's
surface.

"What is it that you want, Laddy?" She said without turning to look at him. He
stood for a second to catch his breath and then he told her. She was looking at
him now, an expression of morbid amusement on her face.

"I see." She sighed and turned her face back towards the setting sun, "I think
you know what to do. We'll have to get rid of the threat to the Star Throne."

Prince Ladantine nodded solemnly, then turned around and left. He was walking
down the silvery hallway, the twilight of the setting sun bouncing off the
pearly walls all around him, when the evil grin he had been hiding within
finally surfaced upon his face. He was going to enjoy this.

*********************************************************************

The Baron rumbled happily as he climbed into the white sheets of his large four
poster bed. It had been a very, shall we say, productive day. He was looking
forward to tomorrow, he surely was. That skinny bastard, 'Emperor' Ladantine VI
was about to have a nasty surprise. He rumbled once more, then swiped a hand
that caused a breeze that blew out the candle. He lay in the silent darkness
for only a moment, before quickly fading into sleep.

His dreams were strange and frighteningly vivid. He was walking laboriously
through a maelstrom of color, and he was being pummeled on all side by red and
violet winds. He collapsed on the ground, panting for breath. Suddenly the
scene shifted and warped into the Royal Throne room. He sat upon the golden
throne, the body of Emperor Ladantine sprawled at his feet, a trickle of purple
liquid dripping from the body's half-open mouth.

Ahah! He had done it! He was the Emperor of the entire Empire! The soldiers and
other officials knelt and bowed to him. Trumpets blared and cheers went up from
outside the Palace. The ex-Baron, now Emperor, stood up and raised his hands
to...silence.

He looked around. The people around him had frozen. The trumpets were had been
silenced simultaneously in mid-blare. Nothing moved, except for the Emperor's
body. It shuddered and stood up, a wicked grin upon its face. The Baron
screamed out and backed away. It couldn't be! He had drunken the poison! How
could he be alive!? Then, as the body came closer he saw, it wasn't the Emperor
after all, but that brat son of his. For some unexplainable reason, he remained
terrified of the Prince.

"GET AWAY!" he bellowed forcefully as the apparition approached him. It
stopped, its head cocked as it stared him down. The Baron quaked and tried to
back away, his multi-layered stomach trembling. The grin suddenly returned to
the Prince's face and he reached out towards the Baron...he screwed his eyes
shut and screamed...

They found the Baron the next morning still in his bed, his bulbous body a waxy
white and his expression twisted into a horrific grimace. Some goldâ€"robed
officials and white-robed healers stood around his bed, examining his body.
After a fashion, one straightened up and shook his head sadly.

"Poor fellow, his heart just couldn't hold up anymore. Let this be a lesson to
us all against the evils of gluttony and sloth. Blessed be the Light." Then he
reached forward and gently closed the Baron's eyes, hiding his tortured gaze.

The head chef had also mysteriously disappeared, they said. A strange statue of
ice was seen floating away from the Isle early this morning as well. Strange
happenings, they whispered, strange indeed.

*********************************************************************

The death of the Emperor had been a sudden and terrible shock for the Empire.
The Isle of Celest seemed to be mourning all together. No birds flew, no
children laughed or played, and dark, nebulous clouds crowded out the sun,
lending a harrowing grey hue to the world. The waves lapped forlornly against
the shores of the island.

He died peacefully in his bed, they said. They found him lying in his bed, arms
folded over his chest already, his crown placed neatly next to his pillow, and
an eerily pleased expression on his face. Lady Sibil stood to the side of the
crowd, her pale-blue eyes peering emotionlessly at everyone gathered there.
Everything looked unexceptional, up until the moment when Prince Ladantine VII
walked into the room.

Her eyes narrowed as she observed him. Deep-blue bags ringed his eyes and he
dragged his feet behind him. He looked as if he didn't get any sleep at all.
Other people would have assumed it was the grief that had put the Prince in
such a state, but Lady Sibil knew him. She knew he was above such a pitiful
display being caused by any sort of sorrow. Esme Sibil frowned, and her eyes
followed his movements to his father's side, where he slumped over his still
chest and began to sob.

She turned away and left the room, her thoughts roiling. She sat within her own
room, looking thoughtfully at the black waves of the sea and the penumbrous roof
of thick clouds. She wasn't so sure the late Emperor had died of natural causes.
But, for better or worse, Celest had a new ruler, as did the Light.