3. Heavy is the Head

Emperor Giotto stands at the ready.

Written by Ryan Kaufman, VP of Narrative, Jam City

As the first winds of winter danced their way down from the Crossborne Mountains and through the Valley of the Fallen, they carried the scent of ripe zarkberries to tickle the noses of all manner of beasts and men alike. The scent was not lost on the two travelers who were mere steps away from the summit of Mt. Vulcanus, which towered over the grand expanse of Massina City. The promise of that rare, delicious treat made the final steps of their lengthy trek all the more brisk.

As the father and son enjoyed their well-deserved snack, dusk had just begun bleeding away the light of the day and gave way to the soft glow of the great Moon of Massina, which was in its full glory that night. The view of the grand city and all of its surrounding splendor from this vantage was unmatched and, if not for the chorus of howls of the surrounding Fenrir tribes compelled by the Moon’s spirit, all else was silent and calm.

After basking in that moment, the father turned to his son and broke the silence. “It is time for you to learn of what has come before, and what remains. This world’s grandeur was born of great sacrifice and the price of its continued preservation is paid for by our lineage. Tell me, when you look down, what do you see?”

The boy, whose features placed him around the age of ten, gazed out per his father’s request and answered, unsure. “Our City? The Colosseum Eternal?”

At first, the father laughed, but then reassured him. “This is not a trick question, my son. You see it clearly: The Colosseum is the beating heart of our City… our society… our very world! It is the very symbol of our continued strength and the beacon that calls out to the faithful who hail from all corners of this land!”

The boy’s eyes widened as he continued to listen to his father’s words. “Eons ago, the old gods bore their favored children: the Titans, whose unfathomable power forged this world through endless battles with one another. Blow after mighty blow brought forth the seas, the mountains, and all in between. Their fury was pure and true!”

The son asked: “What happened to them? Where are they now?”

“Already, you know the right questions to ask!” bellowed the father. “There was one among them who sought to usurp the balance– not through valor in battle, but through deceit and cowardice. Maiax, the Shadowalker, tricked his brethren and through the perversion of dark magic, took their fury, and trapped them inside the very volcano we stand upon now.”

He continued. “It was a dark time for this world, and Maiax’s unchecked powers distorted and twisted all they touched, seeping treachery in the very souls of all creatures. If not for our great ancestor, Vulcano, the spirit of valor would have been lost entirely! Only he refused the hand of Maiax, and stood against the desecration of the world. His warrior spirit awakened the hearts of the Titans themselves, and they raged and battled from within their mountainous prison!”

“Maiax, who sought to contain and bottle up that fury, realized his mistake too late as the combined might of the Titans’ epic battle royale resulted in the first Cataclysm of the world, in which this volcano erupted, burning all to ash and raining the remnants of the Titans’ eternal Essence upon the world.”

“Everything was destroyed?” asked the boy.

“The Titans’ rage gave way to the new era, and only spared the strongest of spirits, including Vulcano himself. Realizing that the shadow of Maiax could still creep its way back into the world, Vulcano began his grand efforts to build the Colosseum Eternal and establish this empire. He sought not to contain the rage in our hearts, but provide a forum for its glorious strength. The key to our empire’s strength is in that principle, my son. And trial by combat is our absolution against the cowardice of Maiax and those whose hearts are akin to his.”

The boy retorted, with keen perception. “But if Maiax was destroyed in the Cataclysm, why must we continue to stand against him?”

“Your wit is as sharp as your wonderful mother’s. I wish she was here to see the man you are becoming,” said the father with a soft tear forming in his eye. “Maiax may be gone, but his shadowy darkness lives on in every coward’s heart– shifty and resilient. You have already met many who seek power through deceit, treachery, and sycophancy. Although these weak-willed jellyfish will never challenge you on the open sand of the Colosseum, they plot and scheme around us always. Remember this, my son. You must be sharper, stronger, and more ruthless than all of them to prevail.”

And with this, the father plucked the largest laurels within reach from the great evergreen canopy stationed on the peak where they stood. He fastened them to a gilded wire of gold, strewn together by the royal smiths of Massina, and then motioned for his son to bow his head before him.

As he placed the laurel crown upon his son’s head, he boomed: “Look upon your Empire, Giotto, son of Calogero. Look upon it and understand the price you must pay to retain its glory!”

***

Not many sixteen year olds get to spend their birthday being thrashed mercilessly by a haughty Champion, who reveled in his uncanny ability to punish his student’s mistakes with jagged, electrified talons. Master Dagon, the larger-than-life Seris, whose dragonkind features and stout frame would be imposing to even the mightiest combatants of the Arena, used every bit of his physical prowess to dominate his student, the young Emperor-to-be.

“A proper parry is both swift, and strong! Do not overextend it, as you continue to leave your flank open to a fatal return! Dammit, whelp… how many times must we go over this?!?!”

“What’s the matter, old man,” Giotto taunted. “Are you getting tired of zapping me? Maybe I’m just trying to wear you out, gramps.”

“You insolent little…. grraahhh!” The Seris pounced in his anger.

The student quickly spun out of the way of the wild attack as his teacher bounded past him. He then continued to use his momentum to deliver a surprisingly stinging blow with his training club to the soft underbelly of the fuming Seris.

“Well, teacher,” remarked Giotto. “It seems like your shock therapy is actually improving my parry and counters, eh?”

Sucking in an extra moment to catch his breath, the powerful teacher had to clutch his stomach again in pain as he began to laugh. “Happy birthday, you little bastard. I think that’s enough for today. You better get your ass over to Headmaster Zera’s before you’re late. I don’t think she’ll be as easy on you as I was today.”

As Giotto left the training room and headed off to his academic studies, the grizzled Seris couldn’t help but continue to smile through his crackling teeth. As he looked around at the blood and sweat stained walls of the training chambers where he had prepared three generations of the line of Massina to master sword and shield in combat, he mused softly. “Glory to the Empire. This one is special.”

***

It is often misunderstood that those of us who possess great intellects are also excellent students. This fallacy couldn’t be farther from the truth in actuality; and the notion made the task of educating the stronger-minded that much more difficult for Headmaster Zera. In a past life, the Keymaster was a Champion of the Library of the Arcane and wielded its amassed knowledge and mysticism to savage her opponents.

Her last battle, although ending in her victory, also rendered her unable to walk. She remained just a handful of victories shy of an Ascension. Only the continued pursuit of knowledge now kept her righteous and whole, and so her current student’s complete apathy toward any and all studies both enraged and baffled her.

“And what was responsible for the cracking of the crucible during the third age?” she asked Giotto, who was clearly staring off into space and thinking about everything but the tome in front of him.

He stammered. “Uh, it was… Um, it was the combined fury of the Gatekeeper’s conn… er.” His eyes quickly scanned the page in front of him. “The Gatekeeper’s contract!”

She frowned. “Partially correct. But it was the Grand Gatekeeper’s betrayal of the contract that led to the breakage. The remaining Gatekeepers were forced to answer for his deceit and their vigilant penance began with the breakup of their council.”

“It was on the tip of my tongue!” Giotto protested.

His teacher sighed.

“You have to admit, it’s hard to keep up with all of the Gatekeepers’ wars,” he joked.

“You must be quite pleased with yourself, but you’re cheating yourself by not paying full attention to these lessons, Giotto! One day you will need to rule over this empire and only the mistakes of those who have come before you will protect you– and it– from falling to the shadow.”

“I’m sorry, Headmaster. It’s just, it’s my birthday today and I was hoping to have a little fun, but I feel like all I ever do is prepare to be the Emperor. Training, studying, training… Don’t I deserve a break?” Giotto flipped his book shut in frustration, and Headmaster Zera gazed out the window at Massina.

With her back to him, she said: “Your father, Calgero, never gets a break. Nor his father before him. Your lineage is not one who benefits from the luxury of time off. In time, you will realize that your deadliest weapon is not your strength or your swordsmanship… that honor will always reside with your mind. You must continue to sharpen it like you would your finest blade. Now, Jhezz will be here any minute to escort you to your chambers to prepare for the festivities later tonight, so…”

As she turned around to face him and continue, she realized that the boy had quickly slipped away. Cupping her face with her hands, she mumbled, “The blood of the Titans runs rampant though that one. Glory to the Empire.”

***

Night had just crept over the Marketplace, which was already bustling with activity, but was now mixed with the dizzying flurry of the merchants swapping out their “evening merchandise.” The birthday boy knew he only had about an hour before he needed to get back to the palace for the grand celebration. If he lingered too long, Jhezz would be forced to hunt him down and drag him back and he didn’t want to be such a burden to his personal guard. Giotto reminded himself: That guy has a hard enough and thankless job as it is; best to spare him any more hardships.

Darting through the tight, weaving streets, all manner of sights, smells, and sounds assaulted his senses: a waft of charred wobbysnook steaks from Kelbeeen’s barbecue cart, the shimmering light of raw Essence shards piled on an exotic rug, and the chittering squeaks of cramsters stuffing cheese into their bulbous cheeks as gamblers placed bets on which ones would pop first. He glanced around for fresh porrberries, but the Emperor had recently banned all fruit, owing to the bad behavior of a few miscreant rebels at the recent parade.

Giotto caught up with his friend Vitus in their usual meeting spot, the unlit alley behind the Sleeping Karkodon. The two met by fate a few years prior when Giotto stopped a group of overzealous bullies from pounding Vitus into the ground. His training with Dagon sure came in handy that night! To show his appreciation, Vitus treated his new friend to some of the lesser known delicacies of the night market and they had maintained a friendship ever since.

“Hey there, Grondal face!” cracked Vitus when he eyed his buddy.

“Look who’s talking. In this light, you could make an Aos cringe!” Giotto returned.

“Let’s go, man. They got a shell game going around the corner we shouldn’t miss tonight. The guy running it has major skills!” quipped Vitus.

As the pair approached the table, the dealer was quickly shuffling through three harkkor shells as several onlookers’ eyes darted back-n-forth, trying to keep up. A spice vendor named Skam drifted through the crowd, covertly offering samples.

The dealer called out: “Where is the Essence, ladies and gents? Where is the Essence? It’s under one… keep your eye on it! Place your bets and play. Winners get paid, and losers get snapped!”

The dealer showed the small Essence shard under the center harkkor shell, which was hollowed out to allow it to fit. The other two shells had live harkkor snapping crabs in them, so if a player flipped one of those over, they would most definitely receive an unwelcome surprise. Giotto chuckled to himself. I should have known. This is exactly the kind of shit Vitus is always into.

One of the braver gamblers eventually stepped up and placed a bet, selecting the one on the left, which Giotto was also pretty sure had the Essence under it. Wrong!

“AHHHH!!!!” screamed the unlucky guesser and he ran off without his money and a throbbing pinky finger.

“Oh, man!” the dealer said in mock sympathy. “Well, not everyone can be a winner, folks– but some of you can! Keep watching. It’s there. Step up, and place your bets.” The dealer skillfully egged on his audience.

Vitus whispered in Giotto’s ear, “This guy is good, but he’s got a pretty solid tell. Everyone does really, but this guy’s is obvious when you watch him enough.”

“What? What is it?” Giotto asked curiously.

“Every time he stops, his eyes actually focus on the shell where it actually is. Almost like he is second-guessing himself. Let me borrow a few coins and I’ll show you.”

“I think you’re the one running the real shell game on me here,” Giotto grinned.

“GImme the coin,” laughed Vitus. “I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

“Fine, here’s enough to try it out,” Giotto said as he handed his friend some coins. “It’ll be worth it just to see your fingers get snapped!”

After placing the bet, the dealer’s eyes landed right on the center shell and just as he predicted, Vitus chose the middle shell, only to reveal the death Essence shard underneath.

“See, folks, I knew there were some winners out there tonight!” But the dealer grimaced as he made his claim. He handed the death Essence to Vitus with an annoyed reluctance.

As soon as they got a distance away, Vitus allowed himself to gloat. “Ha! Told you, man! Everyone has a tell. And now I have some Essence too!”

“Your Essence? It was my coin, frekke,” scoffed Giotto.

“Payment for a lesson in street games?” Vitus twirled the Essence in his fingers.

Giotto noted the darkening skies. “Shit. I have to get back home soon before I get my ass handed to me. Enjoy the rest of the market’s fanfare. Same time tomorrow night?”

As Vitus flipped the death Essence into a pocket under his cloak, he shot Giotto a wry smile. “You bet, man! These little outings are working out great for me!” He patted his pocket where the Essence was hidden away, and then disappeared into the crowd.

***

Bursting into Giotto’s bedroom, Jhezz demanded: “Giotto, your father will have both our heads if you are not at your celebration dinner this instant! I’ve practically raised you and I still can’t seem to understand what you’re thinking sometimes! Are you even dressed?”

“Way ahead of you, Jhezz!” exclaimed the teenager as he rushed out the door and towards the banquet hall of the palace of Massina.

At the head of the table, seated on a grand throne, was Calogero, the great Emperor of Massina. Beaming with pride, he addressed his subjects, which included all of his son’s trainers and the rest of the royal court. Champions from all of the realms were invited to partake in the celebratory feast of Giotto’s sixteenth birthday.

Calogero stood and raised his glass. “Welcome friends! Tonight we celebrate my son’s birthday, but also pay homage to our great heritage in anticipation of tomorrow’s upcoming championship games! May your valor in battle bless our collective future and light my son’s path to manhood!”

Thunderous applause racked the hall and Calogero looked directly into his son’s eyes, winked, and pressed his glass to his lips. As his boy smiled back at him, Calogero tasted an acrid heat on his tongue. Sharp pain gripped his neck, and he clawed at his burning throat. A bitter poison stabbed its invisible daggers into his heart and his brain, as he fell back into his throne.

Even among the ruckus and commotion of drawn swords and angry accusations, Giotto’s world was suddenly silent, as he watched his father draw his last few breaths. Their eyes met, as if his father were trying to impart some last wisdom, but no words came forth. Only blood, and bubbles of spit. This great man, who managed to lead this empire with bravery and devotion was now slain by the most cowardly act imaginable.

A blur and loss of focus closed in around him, and somehow through it all his attention turned to Jhezz, his bodyguard since he was a boy. Jhezz would protect him. Jhezz would know what to do.

Instead, he saw a smirk on his bodyguard’s face, as his father choked– before he wiped it away and masked it with concern. Giotto had seen this smirk a thousand times before and never thought much of it: whenever Jhezz had won at Darulk Dice, or played a crafty hand of cards. Once when Jhezz had tricked him into eating a live worrell. Then he heard the voice of his friend Vitus echo in his mind: Everyone has a tell.

As the bodyguard turned his attention to the stunned teenager, he spoke convincingly. “Sire, we must get you to safety! Follow me!”

And, for a brief moment, his ruse almost worked. As Giotto drew close, he saw Jhezz draw his knife– but not to protect him. Quickly reacting, Giotto utilized the same maneuver he had masterfully displayed with Dagon earlier in the day, but instead of delivering a slight sting, this time it connected a death blow from his trusty xiphos blade.

As the trusted guard, now turned cowardly assassin, lay clumped on the floor at his feet, all of Giotto’s boyhood dreams and innocence were washed away by the crushing weight of this moment. The laurel crown upon his head seemed to constrict around his temples, reminding him of all his prior lessons and especially the words of his beloved, fallen father. Many teachings helped to craft the new emperor, including this most meaningful one. He now understood his father’s warning of the shadow, realizing that only through the ruthless pursuit of it could it be beaten back.

Without hesitation or formal introduction, Giotto raised his hands and brought silence to the hall. Pointing to the corpse of Jhezz, he shouted: “Behold the fate of traitors and the treacherous!”

The assembled court was dead silent, their eyes on their new Emperor. He continued, his voice even louder now.

“Tomorrow, in my father’s honor, we will hold our grand games as a testament to his ever living legacy! May only the bravest and most glorious of you be granted your place in eternity!”

“Long live the Emperor!” was heard through the hall along with deafening cheers.