3. No Sacrifice Too Great

Part 1: The Price Of Loyalty

Emperor Giotto

By Johnny Casamassina

“There is just no damned way around it, Zera!” bellowed Lord Dagon, as several crackling arcs of white-hot, golden electricity darted and danced around his extremities to further emphasize his position on the matter at hand. The Life essence embedded in the chest of the imposing Seris was glowing so brilliantly at this point in the discussion that it forced Headmaster Zera to cover her eyes to avoid being stung by the blinding rays. “Giotto must face the Trials of Anointment in the coming days and sanctify his right to rule or he will be challenged!”

They had been arguing over the current situation for several hours already. Realizing that her counterpart’s display of bravado was not anger towards her stance on the matter, but more so to mask his own growing concern over the situation, the arcane Keymaster spoke calmly, “You have prepared him for these trials with the highest degree of honor, great battlemaster. However, I fear that a darker, more insidious danger lurks beyond the formidable challenge they already pose,” she decreed while placing a concerned hand on Dagon’s sword arm.

Recognizing the gesture, the prime eternal made his best effort to calm himself before his anger accidentally damaged any of the priceless relics in the Headmaster’s office. As he sat down to ease himself, his mind became flooded with the same sorrowful, grief-filled thoughts about the recent murder of his former lord, Emperor Calogero, and the responsibility he felt for not thwarting the assasination. As a Seris, his natural instinct was to keep his thoughts and emotions buried deep, just as his people have locked away their wealth and culture within the bowels of Mt. Searstorm. Over the course of his life, Dagon’s electrified blood had healed countless wounds that would have spelled death for any other living thing, but this damage was different and it left a scar that even his godlike abilities could not restore.

“Your grief is not a weakness, old friend… Nor is your rage unwarranted, but the line of Calogero needs our guidance now more than ever,” Zera reassured him.

Keymasters pride themselves on their ability to breach the strongest walls and unlock the deepest kept secrets, but Zera did not need to call upon her powers to understand what ailed her counterpart. Over the last several years, the pair had formed an unspoken bond. It was built upon the common goal of preparing the young Emperor to survive the Trials of Anointment, three unique, deadly challenges designed by the ancient ritualists of the elder houses to ensure only the worthy of the line of Massina would sit on the throne as Emperor.

The successful completion of these trials was required to sanctify the next Emperor in the eyes of the Houses and their imbued champions, thereby preserving and upholding their allegiance. Many elders allege that by surviving the trials, the Emperor’s spirit is imbued with the raw power of the titans, allowing him to transcend his base nature as a human and rule with impunity over the seven houses. They were meant to test all aspects of the candidate’s aptitude to ensure only those who possessed supreme physical prowess, a keen intellect, and an impenetrable spirit could survive and claim the great honor to rule Massina.

Dagon and Zera had spent the last several years sharing the great responsibility of preparing Giotto for this. His success or failure would be seen as a direct reflection of their tutelage, and considering recent events, it also came with the added pressure that Calogero had no other heir, leaving Giotto as the only hope for the line of Vulcanus to live on. Sadly, with the loss of his father, Giotto had no other living relative except his adopted sister, Althaia, whom Calogero took in when she was only a small child.

Dagon offered: “He is the last. Failure is simply not an option.”

“I believe our efforts to prepare him will prove worthy. Even with a head as thick as his, I trust that enough of our lessons took root,” Zera said jokingly as her thoughts fondly drifted back to her sessions with the young Giotto. She added, “In fact, the only time he even seemed to pay attention was when we were discussing the glorious adventures and exploits of our history… The crusades of Vulcanus were easily his favorite.” She recounted the hours spent reviewing the legends of old with her young student, and his fond predisposition towards the tales of his great ancestors.

“But his training is by no means complete,” she admitted. “His father was taken too swiftly.”

“Nevertheless,” said Lord Dagon. “The Trials must be taken by any who would call himself Emperor.”

Each of the trials was fashioned to symbolically recreate an aspect of the crusade of the first Emperor, Vulcanus, which saw him free Massina from the vile grip of Maiax, the Shadowalker. Of course, these events led to the first Cataclysm and the birth of the Empire itself.

“Even though it was so long ago,” Zera lamented. ‘The Reign of the Shadowalker has left a lasting impression on Massina. Most of the lesser beings believed him to be one of the titans, who convinced some of his brethren to join him in the domination of the planet, but you are far more informed on his true nature– considering you are a Seris, and originally not of this world either.”

Lord Dagon nodded slowly. “Aye, it is true that the Shadowalker infected many of my kin in the same way he took the titans of Massina. It was eons ago when our high herald, our equivalent to the elder ritualists of Massina, summoned him to our world from some godforsaken dimension.”

Zera had never really spoken with Dagon about his life before the dragonkind arrived in Massina, seeing it as a bit of a taboo subject. But considering they were already discussing it, she carried on. “Do you miss your homeworld?” she asked.

Dagon sighed. “My memories of that time are all but extinguished. It is sufficient to say that our anger towards the Vitra, who stole from us and fled our world, blinded us to the foolish actions that led to its destruction. We meant to follow them here and retrieve our sacred riches. And to do so, our high herald completed the ritual that summoned… him.”

The old Seris spat in disgust. “And although the Shadowalker did not possess a material form, his power and lies were enough to tempt us, and he convinced us that we could follow our enemies here to Massina, punish them for their actions, and rule over an even richer world.”

He continued. “Through the desire for power and revenge in our hearts, we accepted him as he inhabited the form of our high herald; and together they opened a portal here to carry out his true agenda.”

Zera interjected, almost apologizing for Dagon. “It was natural for your people to want revenge against the Vitra. Maiax was a far more mysterious and powerful being than you or any of your kind could have imagined.”

Dagon agreed, scratching his dragon chun. “And it did not take him long once he reached this world to seduce the strongest titans with his dark powers in the same way, who then assisted in the subjugation of all else, including many of their own brethren, imprisoning them within Mt. Vulcanus.”

“Aye, and since those dark days, many of my kind have found penance in service to our new home, but many others can never trust again.” Dagon reflected on this in silence, and then added: “But, that is why the Trials are so valuable. They are a true measure of worth… Something the vile Shadowalker never could truly offer.”

The Trial of Courage was the first test and was meant to represent Vulcanus’s perilous descent into the great volcano that served as the Titan’s prison. Even after realizing that his chances of surviving the journey were non-existent, the courageous warrior pressed on into the magma drenched chambers and so, the elders fashioned this test to be an evolving gauntlet of perils wrought with death at every turn.

It is said that even the most physically fit and agile would-be Emperors would still find their mettle tested by daunting, seemingly impossible obstacles that only blind faith could overcome. The charred, broken, and shredded corpses of many of the line of Massina were left littered along the path of the course as an added visage to enhance the trial’s primary function… testing courage in the face of despair.

Emperor Tigon, who lost his left eye to this trial centuries ago, transformed his experience into a special event for the Colosseum known as the Bone Grinder, which challenges a group of champions to race their way through a deadly track of perilous instruments of death. It has become a fan favorite since its inception.

Perhaps the second challenge, the Trial of Blood, is the most straightforward of the three. It is hard to argue that the inevitable outcome of all conflict is eventually paid for in blood, and so was Vulcanus’ battle against the dark forces of Maiax. Facing impossible odds, the great warrior led a band of heroes through the volcano, cutting down countless foes on his path towards the throne of the Shadowalker. His valor in battle was said to be so fierce that it awakened many of the Titans out of the enchantment that Maiax held over them.

The Trial of Blood was meant as the ultimate exhibition… A parallel to the Colosseum Eternal itself where the conflict of the world was celebrated and glorified with resolution in battle. The challenge that the Emperor-to-be would face always changed, but was always designed with the same instruction in mind: kill or be killed.

Finally, there was the Trial of Prophecy, which remains a complete mystery to all except the Emperors who have lived through it. Modeled after what is perhaps the greatest achievement of Vulcanus, this trial is meant to challenge the strength of spirit and conviction of the candidate. For Vulcanus, this came in the form of his final rejection of Maiax, who in the moments before his abolishment, attempted to seduce him with promises of ultimate power, influence, and the fulfillment of his every desire. He was shown a dual vision of possible futures.

The first vision cast him as a Sovereign of Shadow, draped in opulence, where his every whim and selfish craving would be catered to– including the resurrection of his family, who were slain during the dark years preceding his crusade. This offer was very much in line with the temptations the Shadowalker found most persuasive, who at this time was simply a slave known as Adrianus, who wanted more than anything to have his family returned to him.

The other outcome portrayed him as a warrior king, who would spend the remainder of his life fighting one battle after the next, under constant threat of death, hands bloodied and dirty as he built the foundation of a new empire, brick by brick.

Each prophecy is unique to its candidate, and on many occasions, these visions have proved to be too much to bear. While the life of an Emperor is thought by many to be privileged, it is often also fraught with impossibly hard choices and impending calamity.

Adrianus, who lived most of his life as a slave, rejected the evil offer of Maiax, and instead dedicated himself to the hardships of building a lasting legacy, for all of Massina, eventually taking on the mantle of Emperor Vulcanus! The Sacred, as he called the imprisoned titans who were so inspired by his furious battle into the volcano, offered him the last drops of the blood of Alteus, which they had somehow managed to keep hidden away from Maiax. The act sanctified his bloodline and allowed him to lead them into the final battle that ended with the eruption of Mt. Vulcanus and the end of the Reign of the Shadowalker. Many titans perished in this battle, but some legends say that a few still remain buried in the bowels of the ancient volcano.

In actuality, the Trials never truly end, serving instead as a constant temptation for its victim to knowingly second-guess the chosen path of his deeds for the remainder of his life. The magic used to craft the Trials was borrowed from the Keymasters themselves, as staring into their foreheads for too long provides the viewer with a glimpse of their best and most fruitful life… a gift that has been known to drive even the most devout to the depths of insanity.

Lord Dagon took a sip of wine, musing on something. “Champions are forbidden to aid the candidate through the trials, are they not? Is that the law?”

“The law is irrelevant,” Zera shook her head. “Only a member of the bloodline of Vulcanus can even pass through the gate at the end of the Trial of Courage. The ancient magical wards enchanted on them will destroy all other living creatures– Champions included.”

“And does the enchantment extend to those of us who are ascended? Surely a Prime Eternal could survive the passage?”

Zera bristled. “This is ancient magic, established by the grand house elders themselves. You would suffer banishment from our world if you attempted to breach it!” Her eyes betrayed pain. “Yes, even you who have ascended.”

Lord Dagon did not mean for his question to demean his trusted friend, but from the tone of her response he realized his mistake. “I did not mean to offend you, Champion Zera. Your valor in the Colosseum deserved to be rewarded with ascension, and if not for the cowardly acts of a heretic, I trust your prowess would still be on display to this day.”

Although she appreciated her counterpart’s respectful amendment, it did not come close to rectifying the injustice that led her to her present state, which had robbed her of her nearly earned immortality and instead, confined her to a push-chair.

She had directly tasted the deceitful blade of an agent of Shadow, a Gatekeeper named Astralath, who had opposed her as an adversary since the end of the Great War of the Third Age. Their rivalry would finally reach its climax in the Colosseum Eternal, where Astralath decided to use unsanctioned magic cast by the acolytes of Shadow against Zera to provide an unfair advantage.

It wasn’t until the killing blow was about to befall her, that the cheat was discovered by the officiating battlemaster, Primo, who promptly halted the exhibition and restrained the offending gatekeeper. Although Astralath was disqualified and sent to the Imperial dungeons for her crimes, the wounds suffered by Zera crippled her lower extremities and marred her path to ascension. Even to this day, the accomplices of Astralath have never been brought to justice.

“The agents of Maiax never act alone, Lord Dagon. Like all shadows, they spread and creep their way over our land, attempting to convert and consume even the strongest of us… As I am acutely familiar with,” Zera said stoically. “They will strike again.”

“And they know Giotto must enter the Trials… alone.” The Seris gritted his sharpened teeth, and breathed a small plume of smoke. “The cowards will take him then.”

“Dagon,” Zera said, her eyes looking up in sudden thought. “The boy cannot be aided by Champions, true… but perhaps he can be protected. Giotto should be escorted to the Trials by a full contingent of your finest Champions by his side.”

“A contingent, yes,” Dagon said, his mind grasping her logic. “Not to aid, but to protect him. Yes. A praetorian guard.” The ancient Seris stood. “Will he allow it?”

“If I know my pupil, he will not accept any unearned advantage,” she smirked, thinking of Giotto’s pride. “But we must convince him. There are those who would go to any lengths to see him fail.”

“And who would seek to prevent my success, dear Headmaster?” Giotto said firmly as he surprised his mentors with his abrupt arrival.

Dagon quickly stood up from where he sat to salute the young Emperor and offered, “Sire, the Headmaster and I have been discussing the details of your journey to the Trials of Appointment. Considering the recent attempt on your life, we feel it would be prudent to…”

Giotto interrupted him with a resentful tone, “I am more than capable to undertake the journey alone– like every Emperor before me. Besides, the protection of your Champions did nothing to shield my father from his fate… Nor did they protect me. For I will remind you that it was my blade that cut down the traitorous Jhezz.”

His words stung Dagon deeply. The playful charm and good natured antics that had once filled these very halls of instruction seemed but a distant memory to the deliberate, grave demeanor displayed by the young Emperor since witnessing the murder of his father.

Although his mentors often found his youthful behavior maddening, it had a magnetic and endearing effect at the same time. It was completely understandable why the man before them now seemed such a distant memory from the boy they had grown to love, but it didn’t make it any easier. Regardless of how quickly he assumed command of the Empire and his father’s duties, his suffering was deep and playing out in real-time. The wise mentors knew that this fragile emotional and mental state was not remotely ideal for someone who was about to undertake the trials.

Zera conceded and addressed him officially. “Lord Emperor, we fear that we must prioritize your safety as you depart for your journey to the grand trials. The enemies of the Empire will surely attempt to strike at you again if they are provided an opportunity.”

“Fear is not an emotion that I will let seep into my decisions, especially now. Both of you taught me this lesson time and time again. Courage in the face of adversity is the path I must traverse,” Giotto stated flatly.

“So, you did listen every once in a while?” The Headmaster risked trying to lighten the mood with the sarcastic quip.

And for a rare moment, since the tragic night of his sixteenth birthday, Giotto laughed alongside his trusted mentors, allowing them all a much needed affirmation of each other’s efforts and worth.

“I have always listened to you both… Well, almost always, but if I am to be accepted as Emperor, I must make my own decisions with confidence.”

“Then listen now. Your enemies lurk in the shadows. We know you do not wish to be coddled, but Emperor… please,” Zera bowed her head.

The young Emperor watched her for a long moment. Then he spoke. “I will agree to be escorted by your chosen brigade,” Giotto said, almost convincingly.

Zera alone noted a ripple of cunning in his eyes. A rebellious streak, all too familiar from their days as teacher and pupil.

Dagon embraced him and proudly affirmed. “You are ready to face the trials, Lord Emperor. You are the most gifted man we have ever had the honor of training. You will succeed in your quest and return as the sole, sanctified ruler of Massina where you will lead this Empire into its glorious future!”

“Lord Dagon will be able to prepare his chosen Champions by the fall of the next moon. Until then, we offer our gratitude for trusting in our council,” Zera carefully added.

As he took his leave, the Headmaster wondered what clever plan the young Emperor had already concocted prior to speaking with them. After years of successfully laid pranks, she could sense when Giotto had a masterfully genius, yet dangerous strategy already locked into place.

— —

That night, Giotto slipped away from his guards at the Palace. It had been many weeks since he had left the confines of the Imperial Palace, but he deftly moved through the market streets and down to that unlit spot behind the Sleeping Karkodon. Given the length of his absence, he wasn’t sure if his longtime friend would have officially written him off by now, but he was willing to give it a shot.

After all, he had already made the decision to forgo his mentor’s insistent offer of assistance, prepared a disguise to leave the palace unnoticed, and make his way to the Trials on his own terms.

A familiar voice cracked, “Well, well, well… Let me guess… from the look of your weird outfit and your depressed, long face my guess is that a lovelorn il’gra swept you off your feet and entangled you in a month-long romantic escapade that inevitably ended in tragedy?”

For a moment, Giotto’s first instinct was to backhand the man responsible for the verbal assault. For the last several weeks, most of his thoughts and actions led to these types of rash actions, lashing out at everyone and anything that challenged or questioned him. Luckily, the jeering from his long time friend, someone who knew nothing about his royal identity, was a welcome offering.

And as he saw Vitus emerge into view, clearly happy to see his friend for the first time in a long while, Giotto knew this was someone who accepted him without an obligation to do so… a true friend. This was someone he could trust, who he could be more like his actual self around without having to play the part of a ruling monarch. He let the formalities and responsibilities of the Palace drop, and the smirk returned to his face.

Giotto clapped back. “Seriously man, where do you come up with this shit? But, I have to say, the effort you put into that one only shows how much you really care. It’s obvious your life has been empty without me around to make things interesting. Have you actually just been waiting around for me in this dank ass alley for the last month? I think you are the lovelorn one.”

This reunion wasn’t without purpose as Giotto agreed with the basis of his mentors’ concerns about his journey to the Trials… chances are he would be attacked. But, as he could not trust a battalion of well armed Champions to safeguard him from the backstab of a covert assassin, his friend Vitus, who was the most crafty and capable person he knew, would make a far better companion.

Giotto realized that this would probably be the most serious conversation they had ever actually had since the fateful night they met. This time though, he was the one who needed aid from an overwhelming threat. As he prepared to fill Vitus in, he couldn’t shake the feeling of that threat beginning to close in on him.

Part 2: Plight of the Pilgrimage

Crocammit first look

By Johnny Casamassina

“The Cauldron of Fire isn’t what I would describe as inconspicuous by any means!” Vitus proclaimed after Giotto told him where they were headed. He added, “If you’re right, and the assassins of The Shadow are looking for you, we’re gonna have to try to take a more discreet route.

Up to this point, Giotto had told Vitus only that he needed to reach the Cauldron, and he had caught the unwanted attention of The Shadow, a murderous cult who followed the ways of Maiax. He concealed his true identity, but made sure to reassure his friend that if they succeeded, there would be a reward– many fresh fire Essence shards waiting for them. He knew Vitus was always eager to get his hands on Essence shards, and saw danger as nothing more than a challenge.

“I won’t ask why you have The Shadow on your ass, but you must’ve really pissed someone off. Let’s get moving and keep an eye out,” Vitus explained.

They chose to head northwest through the market bazaar to circumvent the Colosseum, using its massive size to block out the moon’s light and help them stay out of sight. The tactic was working fairly well, but once they cleared the market area, they noticed a shuffle of motion in the rooftops above.

Giotto said to Vitus, “Did you just see that?” His friend nodded calmly and then picked up his pace.

“They have a good vantage on us,” Vitus said tensely. “We need to get off the street– now.”

Vitus made his move and Giotto followed as they sprinted down the street and the Shadows above gave chase. “Down here!” Vitus yelled to Giotto, and he dove into a small dark hole.

— —

As the old cast iron lid was rotated back into place it produced a low, gravelly sound that reverberated throughout the tight corridor Giotto was now climbing down. The sound was strangely pleasing, as it seemed to conjure feelings of a massive stone tomb door being grinded open only to reveal the endless treasures glowing brilliantly inside. Sadly, for the two friends who were now descending down into the dank, humid underbelly of the city, nothing could have been further from the truth. The sewers of Massina were a dizzying network of interconnected thoroughfares that served to drain away the wastes of the massive city for several millennia, and although they had served their purpose masterfully, the putrid stench that emanated around Giotto and Vitus actually actually seemed to have physical weight to it.

Once Giotto reached the bottom of the ladder, he immediately gagged. “It fucking stinks down here!”

Smiling wryly, Vitus pointed upward and said: “Yeah but the Vitra won’t be so quick to follow us down here. They like the high ground and would find our present surroundings to be a bit too claustrophobic.”

Giotto covered his nose and coughed in agreement, “Well, hopefully, we won’t die from the stench down here either.”

They continued down the main stretch of the tunnel, taking care to avoid stepping in any of the clumps of grotesque matter littered on the path. A stream of green bioluminescent liquid trickled across the cobbled floor stones and winded its way through the whole grid, sofly illuminating their surroundings.

Once they had reached a slightly more stable patch of footing near a large bend, Vitus slowly turned around and said, “We need to keep heading north to get outside the city walls. Keep away from any pools of water down here… The crocammits like to conceal themselves in those, and if one of those grabs you, they aren’t letting go. Especially a fresh piece of royal meat like yourself.”

Royal! Flabbergasted, Giotto reared back and quickly drew his gladius ready to defend himself. In all their years of friendship, he knew that he had never revealed his true identity to Vitus. First, Jhezz and now, Vitus! Clearly, I have been surrounded by spies and assassins my whole life!

Vitus softly raised his hands up and said, “I’ve known for a long time, man. Outside of the fact that you always had a bunch of coin and Essence to throw around– you’re too stiff not to be a royal. So, considering I was the one that just showed my cards instead of knifing you in the back, you can probably sheath that poker.”

Giotto recoiled and returned his sword to scabbard as shame and embarrassment crept its way across his face. He calmly stretched out his arm. “Well,” he said, “I suppose you’ll be expecting some kind of extra reward for your assistance now?”

Vitus smiled. “Why else would I have remained friends with you all these years?” Then the two locked arms, each gripping the other’s at the elbow, in the traditional Massina bond of true friendship.

The gesture of camaraderie distracted them for a moment and they failed to notice the slight rippling of a stagnant pool near their position. A flashing glint of yellow, crescent eyes was the only warning they had right before the creature lunged forward at them with its massive jaws open wide enough to swallow a baby karkadon whole. Giotto, who still had his arm locked around Vitus’, reflexively yanked him out of the way of the crocammit’s forceful bite. Missing its target, the beast smashed head-first into the thick walls of the sewer, stunning itself in the process.

The opening allowed the young Emperor to thrust his blade downward into the craterous spine of the beast. Reeling in pain from the heavy blow, it thrashed violently into a deathroll and as it spun, it managed to dislodge the blade from its hide. Once it was free of the steel, the beast curled back and right-sided itself, slamming its strong tail into the knees of Vitus knocking him backwards onto the disgusting sewer floor.

With its prey in a defenseless position now, the crocammit reared up and prepared for another strike. Without his weapon, Giotto grabbed the beast’s tail and wrenched it with all his might. The desperate maneuver prevented Vitus from being bitten, but it was only a small victory as Giotto’s hand felt like they were being burned in acid and he screamed in agony. The barbed spines of the croccamit sliced into the young Emperor’s hands, injecting a painful venom.

Having a moment to recover thanks to Giotto’s intervention, Vitus sprang up and spun two well-hidden hooked daggers out from his sides. He quickly slammed them both into each of the creature’s exposed eyes and then wrenched them backwards into the deep recesses of its skull.

“We better keep moving…” Vitus remarked as he scraped some bits of brain and eye off his blades and flipped them back around his waist. “The poison in those spines will do a lot more damage if you aren’t treated soon. Luckily, I know someone who will have just what you need.”

— —

After a few more hours of walking through the corkscrew maze of the fetid underbelly of the great city, Giotto’s senses were dulled from the overwhelming onslaught they were facing. They approached what seemed like just another exchange gate at the end of the tunnel, but as they got closer it seemed to get brighter and they could also hear the sound of voices and commotion grow.

As Giotto grew tense, Vitus informed him, “Well, I can promise you this next stop will be something no other Emperor of Massina has ever seen with his own eyes… a part of your Empire that you never even knew you had… welcome to Dross!”

As they walked into the large chamber, Giotto was shocked to see a bustling slum before him, filled with what seemed to be hundreds of inhabitants from all parts of Massina. Humans, Whisperers, Grondals, and exotic races he didn’t even recognize had packed themselves into ramshackle style compartments that were nestled into multi-story scaffolding that stretched high up into the vaulted ceiling of this section of the sewer.

“Probably not the royal procession you were hoping for, eh?” Vitus said. “But, don’t fret, these dregs are harmless enough. Besides, they have no idea who you are. Our exit out of the sewers is at the far end of the hall.”

What Giotto saw was far from the well-orchestrated zoning plan of Massina. It was clear from the disorganized assortment of market stands, domiciles, and other makeshift compartments that Dross had grown organically over a great deal of time. The poison was really starting to have more of an effect on him now and he had trouble keeping pace.

Vitus noticed this, and comforted him, saying, “The pain will be dealt with soon. We just need to go a few more steps.”

As Giotto marched through main drag, his gaze darted around in all directions, taking in the menagerie of sights. On his left, a large Il’gra with soot-caked skin was flipping skewers of rattska on a makeshift grill and grinding the juice out of fermented porberries to make some homemade rot-gut at the same time. On his right, sat a one-eyed, scraggly looking Fenrir who was smoking a large goba-pipe as he leaned slowly back-n-forth in a decrepit rocking chair. He had to swerve around a group of human and Vitra children who were playing tag near the city square.

“How long have they been down here?” Giotto said cautiously to Vitus.

“I don’t really know,” Vitus shrugged. “But some of the older members of this community have been here for centuries. I’d wager that it’s been here as long as there was a prosperous city above it. As you can plainly see, Dross is a haven for the discarded and forgotten… Those souls that cannot find a way forward in the grand Empire.” Vitus gave Giotto a pointed look.

The ceiling shook a bit as they continued, dropping little bits of loose soil down onto the ashen heap of a city. Giotto would have thought it was a small earthquake, but it continued at a regular pace for the next few minutes and he looked up wondering what might be causing the tremors.

“We are directly beneath the training quarter here. Many of the mangled hopefuls who are not found worthy of imbuement make their way down here eventually… their worth as a warrior left wanting, they don’t have much to offer the Empire,” Vitus continued.

“Bah! The city has its own slums already! These people seem industrious enough to manage there. Why would they choose to live in such a squaller laden hell-hole such as this?!?” Giotto rebuked.

“To live on their own terms away from the expectations of the Empire.”

“So they reject all that the Empire has to offer?” Giotto crossed his arms. “Perhaps they deserve to live down here.”

“As you well know, those who do not revel in the glory of battle often come under the accusation of being heretics. I assure you though, you will not find any followers of Maiax here… just simple folk, who want to live out the rest of their days peacefully,” Vitus explained.

“You seem to know a great deal about them,” Giotto said inquisitively.

As the duo approached a mid-size flat strewn together from various sheets of fabric and fibrous thread, Vitus motioned to the humble domicile and gave a dry laugh. “Probably because I grew up here.”

Giotto had to bow his head a bit as he entered the dwelling, which was faintly lit and surprisingly tidy. Once inside, he saw a frail figure whose face and arms were predominantly covered in wrappings. Based on their frame, he determined that it was most likely a human woman, but between the coverings and dim lighting, she could have also been a Keymaster or Gatekeeper. Either way, based on the warm embrace offered to her by Vitus once they entered, Giotto could only assume this was someone close to his ever-more-mysterious friend.

“Mother, this is my friend Giotto. The one who helped me fend off those ruffians a few years ago.” Vitus said. Then he added, “Giotto, this is my mother: Naeemah.”

She bowed slightly and said, “Thank you for what you did for my Vitus. He is no stranger to finding trouble, but it’s nice to know he has a strong friend to help pull him out of it now and again.” Then she noticed his hands, which were heavily inflamed at this point. “Poison from the spines of the croccamit is a serious matter. If left untreated, the poison will almost always result in death. Luckily, I have a decent supply of the antidote on hand as the people of Dross must commonly deal with this nuisance from time to time.”

She gestured for them to sit at a small table in the center of the room, and then retreated to the small apothecary table she had set up at the far end of her home, where she began to pull small vials and jars into view.

After they were seated, Giotto looked at Vitus with disbelief, “Death?! You didn’t say I would die from this!” as he held up his pulsating hands.

Vitus chuckled slightly and said, “Relax, man. You’ll be fine. Naeemah is an experienced healer. She used to work at the Ministry of Bone.”

Checking to make sure she was out of earshot, Giotto leaned in and said, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t excited to talk about his home life. Have you always lived here?”

“More or less,” Vitus answered. “I was abandoned at the Ministry as a baby, like so many others, but unlike them, I was lucky enough to have Naeemah adopt me. She’s never really told me why she chose to take me in and care for me, but I wouldn’t be alive today if she hadn’t. As she grew weaker with age and her duties at the Ministry became difficult for her to perform, we found our way down here and have been so ever since.”

Naeemah returned with a steaming kettle and two mugs for them and said, “Targenroot tea… Excellent for curing the poison of the croccamit, but also has a delightful flavor.” She poured for both Giotto and Vitus.

Giotto stared at the cup suspiciously for a moment, remembering how his father met his fate.

Vitus gave him a look of disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Giotto, but he did not drink.

Vitus leaned in, with a jesting grin. “You’re already poisoned, man. Here, I’ll drink from your cup.” He took a solid gulp, and then sat back, with a smile.

Giotto, taking care to not insult the kind woman any further, raised his cup in the form of a toast and proclaimed, “Well, to Naeemah, then!”

Vitus returned the gesture, tapping his cup to his friend’s. Then he said in a low voice, “At the edge of Dross, there is a secret path that leads up into the courtyard of the Cauldron of Fire on the shelf of the volcano. I’ll take you there but… Do you mind telling me what we’re getting into?”

Feeling comfortable here amongst friends, Giotto decided to let his guard down once again and tell Vitus of the Trials of Anointment. Once he got through the bulk of it, Giotto added, “But the Cauldron is where you must leave me. Only a member of the bloodline of Vulcanus will be admitted past the Barbican: an impenetrable barrier kept by the Guardians of the Sacred Fire. They have sworn their allegiance to the Cauldron and, by proxy, the Empire.”

Vitus laughed and said, “Sounds like some pretty heavy shit. Are you ready for what’s on the other side?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life,” Giotto proclaimed as he drank the last drop of targenroot.

— —

Once they squeezed through Vitus’ secret exit from Dross, they were only a short winding hike away from reaching the courtyard of the Cauldron of Fire. The Cauldron itself was easily one of the most unique marvels in the landscape with its tremendous gaping orifice that bubbled up magma-infused air pockets large enough that when they bursted, would rain fiery death down on the cliffs below.

The pair kept as low a profile as possible as they approached the imposing gate known as the Barbican. Once they were at the base of the giant structure, they scanned up the face of the central bulwark and spotted the guard post which was prominently positioned as a warning for any who would dare attempt to come any closer. Giotto recognized one of the guards as a Gatekeeper, but the other being was strange to him.

“Those are the Guardians,” whispered Giotto to Vitus. “Headmaster Zera says they are not to be fucked with.”

The two Guardians stood stoically atop the ramparts at their station and they seemed to move ever so slightly in a synchronized manner. Giotto and Vitus continued their approach, prompting the strange Guardians to boom: “Halt!”

The Gatekeeper by his side added, “State your business or you will face the full wrath of the Guardians!”

Giotto quickly proclaimed in his official voice. “I am Giotto, son of Calogero, heir of the line of Vulcanus! I have come to face the Trials of Atonement and claim my sanctification within the Labyrinth of Fire!”

“Hold while I verify your claim,” said the strange being. From his rampart, he gazed intently at Giotto, his eyes boring into the young man’s face. Then he took a deep breath and gave a deep bow. “I am Cefaphro the Vigilant. Servant and ally to the Imperial line.”

Giotto nodded. But suddenly the Vigilant took an alarmed stance, and his face became severe with concern as he squinted into the dark. “Lissa– I see many Vitra, Whisperers, and other members of The Shadow out there– blades drawn, closing fast.”

Lissa acknowledged him and then she, too, saw the flashing pings of several outstretched swords in the distance. She yelled down to Giotto and Vitus. “Take cover while we get the gate open! The Shadows close in behind you!”

Vitus and Giotto swirled around and spotted several Vitra circling in towards them as they pulled their weapons loose.

Cepharo and Lissa engaged the massive gearwork used to open the gates and a screeching burst of steam plowed out the exhaust pipes as they went into motion. Once they were locked in, the pair of Guardians turned their attention to the attackers and called forth the defenses of the Barbican.

Again, they seemed to move in a subtle synchronization as their movements called forth the jagged, white hot chains that were wrapped around the gate’s spires. As they motioned forward, the chains whipped out into the courtyard swirling violently, but with deadly accuracy as they entangled the would-be assasins. The searing pain that followed peeled the flesh from their bones as they were effortlessly flung off the side of the mountain itself. The might of the Guardians was on full display here as their movements were akin to that of a great conductor, calling forth a fiery symphony of destruction.

However, more and more attackers took their place and Giotto and Vitus found themselves forced to fight. Steel met steel as they slowly backtracked closer and closer to the gate, which had almost opened.

Lissa again called down. “Once the way is open, you may cross safely, my liege! Your attackers will not survive a step beyond the precipice! The wards will only let the royal line pass safely through!”

“I will not leave my comrade!” Giotto protested as he continued to fend off several attackers.

Even with many of them meeting horrible deaths at the hands of the Gatekeeper’s chains, the agents of Shadow were not deterred and had backed both Vitus and Giotto up to the gate, which had now begun to finally crack open.

“Go, you fool! They’ll kill us both eventually if you don’t head in! Besides, you’re probably just going to die during these insane Trials anyway!” screamed Vitus.

Giotto rebuked him. “No! There is no honor in fleeing!”

In the final moments, with nowhere left to go but through the small opening through the gate, Vitus turned his back on the attackers and shoulder tackled his stubborn friend through the opening. As they both disappeared into the glaring portal of light, their pursuers tried to follow only to be incinerated into ashen heaps at the foot of the Barbican gate at the hands of the Guardians of the Sacred Fire.

***

On the ramparts, the Guardians watched as the last of the Shadows were extinguished. Cefaphro turned to Lissa and asked. “Did you not sense it?”

“Sense what?” she stammered. The attack left her shaken, echoing with memories of another battle at the gate, long ago and bitter with betrayal. “The danger was clear for all to see. The Shadow openly sends its agents against the Cauldron, and the Emperor.”

“Yes, but that’s not what bothered me,” Cepharo puzzled. Lissa looked at him in confusion, as worry crept across his face. “Something about the Emperor’s companion. He is not entirely what he seems– but I’m not sure whether for good or ill.”