Hanne
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Chapter 153 Una Volta Che Avrai
🕑 Added 2024-06-07 08:44:51 +0000 UTCWest Tiberia, Capital, Beneath the Lake
The funeral of the Ageless One was not a grand event, but a solemn one. It was meticulous, yet far removed from the opulence typically associated with the leaders of the Imperium. There was no intricate burial, yet one could say that the entire underground world served as his mausoleum.
The Third Emperor of the Third Imperium was laid to rest like a village chieftain, with little to indicate his imperial status. It was his belief that nothing should be carried to death. He was placed in a simple wooden coffin made entirely from aromatic wood, a final gift from his daughter and staff.
The Ageless One was dressed only in the silken clothes he wore at the time of his death. The only luxuries buried with him were a few prized rings adorned with inert gemstones and his prostheses that had become one with him.
His coffin was lowered into the deep mounds with the help of the last remaining golems, reserved only for this occasion.
An old man with a walking cane piloted one of the rusted golems and then placed a final wreath of flowers before allowing the daughter and the staff to pay their last respects. After everyone had paid their respects, the golems began filling the mound with their large shovels.
As if to pay their respects, a flock of birds flew overhead in a perfect V formation, offering a poignant spectacle to those mourning below.
"His Highness lived a good life," said the old man as he climbed down from the azure colored golem.
"1414 years old," Sagarius muttered. "Enough time for him to even forget about his regrets."
"Well said, Master," the old man sported a faint smile.
"Do you need time to mourn? If not, let's seal the armory," Sagarius suggested, her tone steady even in her mourning attire.
The man chuckled. "It's the other way around, Master. Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I'll find time to mourn later. My obligations come first," she reassured him.
Under the watchful eyes of the mourning staff, Sagarius and the old man walked toward the armory, accompanied by the three golems. Inside, they observed as the golems entered their maintenance berths for the last time. The armor that had once shielded their power sources had been removed, leaving their vital components exposed.
Sagarius ascended the metal maintenance stairs nimbly, while the old man, hindered by a weak leg, kept pace beside her as best he could. As she began her work, the old man queried, "Master, can't we spare at least this one?"
"Why?" she asked, turning to him with a puzzled expression.
"Well, we've destroyed the factory, and without it, there are no spare parts. There's little risk of misuse, even in your absence. Besides, this one recognizes only my commands, and I won't be around much longer."
"I see you've grown quite attached," she observed, noting his fondness for the machines.
"Well, I can't deny that," he admitted, looking at the hulking azure blue golem that he had maintained since youth.
"I wish I could allow this, but His Highness commanded it," Sagarius' voice was apologetic.
"That's fair. Well, I always wanted to ask, and now I have said it. This way, I'll have no regrets," the old man acknowledged.
Only then did Sagarius let out a smile and suggested, "Let's get back to work." She then proceeded to use a hammer and chisel with special alloy tips, to break part of the rune-imbued gemstone that powered the golem. This action rendered the embedded gemstone inert, transforming the dwarven work of art into worthless pebbles.
After completing her task, the old man instructed the golem to move and flex its arms, allowing it to expend any remaining power. Once its movements ceased, its artificial muscles locked in a state of eternal rigor mortis.
"We don’t need to move these out, right?" he asked as they finished the task.
"Certainly, we can let them stay in their berths," Sagarius confirmed.
"Then that's it," the old man remarked as the last golem failed to raise its arms, indicating it had no more power in its system.
"Then our work here is over," Sagarius declared, fulfilling her father's wishes.
As they were about to leave, she asked, "What about the prosthesis? Is all accounted for?"
The old man turned and furrowed his brow. "Hard to tell, His Highness kept his notes in Elvish."
"Some of the prostheses are quite advanced," Sagarius mulled.
"One of the uncles made some small improvements to the design. It was his lifelong passion to help His Highness. However, only he and some of the older folk knew about it. And they have passed away."
Sagarius nodded, memories of past discussions surfacing. "Then, I'll be heading to the prosthesis workshop."
"But it's going to be dusty. I can ask someone to clean it up first," the old man offered.
"Nah, that's okay," she declined and nimbly jumped down, making her way toward the workshop at the far end of the armory, which was not part of the original structure. As she headed there, she passed rows of sealed stone storage units several stories high, filled with various types of dwarven weapons, all deactivated.
Some were truly made by dwarves in the previous era, while some were made by Grand Progenitors, but most of the so-called dwarven weapons were crude copies made in this subterranean world under the Ageless One's guidance. They never saw actual use before being decommissioned.
As she found the maintenance shaft and entered, Sagarius created an unseen static shield of air around herself, effectively isolating her from any dust or unwanted gases. The place was dark, yet her eyes adjusted with ease.
Inside, prostheses lined a stone rack, displaying significant advancements made by her father and his assistants.
"The homunculus project," she muttered, her gaze tracing the intricate runes her father had inscribed in his younger years. She knew his passion was to remake the lost dwarven technology, and the progress evident in the designs was promising. Some prostheses were even complete bodies, fully equipped with faces and heads. Yet, she saw that it was still far from what the dwarves had achieved.
Coughs were heard from the entrance, and a white light from a gem of light appeared.
"You need not enter," Sagarius called out, her voice muffled by her protective bubble.
"Should I ask anyone for help?" came a reply.
"No, that's not necessary. We're about to seal them anyway, along with the armory," Sagarius responded, stepping out while holding a foot prosthesis. "Don’t you need a foot?" she joked, waving it as she walked out.
"H-how? Do you wish to cut off my leg?" the old man responded, his eyes widening.
Sagarius giggled. "So it's a no?"
The old man sighed. "Gratitude for the offer, but I don't think I have the magic potential to control it."
"What a shame," she said playfully, tossing the foot prosthesis back into the workshop.
...
It was midday when a group of younger staff descended a flight of stairs into the darkness below. Although Sagarius wanted to do it herself, the younger staff intervened just in time.
Armed with a gem of light on their hard hats, they reached the maintenance shaft that connected to the armory's foundation. There, they searched for specially marked structures and broke bottles filled with a chemical concoction onto each.
Despite assurances that there was plenty of time, they climbed out desperately, fearful for their lives.
They emerged running, out of breath; one even had foam in his mouth. The onlooking crowd burst into laughter at the sight.
As expected, the armory remained standing, not due to the concoction’s failure but because it required time to take effect.
Nearby, under the shade of an old tree, Sagarius and the old man overseeing the operation sat and watched. "Do they think the shaft will explode?" she asked, bewildered by the youngsters’ reaction.
"Likely something violent. Those kids don't remember the last time we did this," the old man replied, glancing at Sagarius. "Master, do you think it’ll be dusty like the factory?"
"We’re far enough this time, and the armory isn’t as large as the factory," she replied calmly.
The old man nodded and took a sip from his wooden cup. "It’s been forty years. I still can't believe the work my mother started when I was little is finally finished."
She glanced at the old man with his graying hair and mustache. "Do you think your mother would be proud of her work?"
"She and Father would be. They’d be happy I was alive to see it. Their greatest fear was that the weapons and golems would be used by nobles to solidify their rule."
Sagarius nodded. Everyone shared that view. With dwarven weapons and golems, the nobles could rule with newfound ruthlessness. Naturally, there were debates and arguments, but despite its use as a force multiplier, the risk outweighed the fear.
"I wish we could do the same with the remaining golems and armory in the palace above," the man remarked.
"There’s no armory left," she reassured him. "Even during the Beastmen War, His Highness never took a dwarven weapon from the armory. As for the golems in the palace, they are sealed and dormant, save for the Great Progenitor."
The man gazed at her. "Human-made golems?"
"Yes, the last few that existed. Not even His Highness dared to bring them here. Those don't belong to him."
"Why have I never heard of this before?" he mused aloud.
"Why, are you now wanting to go outside? It's the latest model, you know, an improvement over the dwarven models," she teased.
"Nah," he shook his head weakly. "Even if I survived the trip, you wouldn’t find a way to enter the Imperial Palace. Besides, it would require no less than a Great Progenitor, who was last seen at the beginning of the Third Imperium."
"Fair assessment. Indeed, His Highness' mentor was last seen at the start of his reign," Sagarius leaned back, noticing the ground beneath the armory beginning to shake. "Ah, it has begun."
The staff watched as one side of the armory sank first, followed by the other. Like a child on a slide, the large building complex collapsed into the earth. As it fell—ingeniously designed—the structure tumbled to one side, allowing its top to hit the pit first and destroying everything as several hundred tonnes of dirt piled in from the side.
The resulting dust and smoke billowed up but stayed far from their observation spot. The old man stood for a better view. "Now it’s over."
"Just one more thing," Sagarius remarked, standing and turning to the crowd of staff. "Break the dike."
A group of younger staff hurried to the dike, loosening it to allow water to flow into the canal connected to the large hole where the armory once stood, slowly filling it.
"Why a pond, though?" the old man asked. "I mean, last time you used magic to move rocks to bury the factory?"
"His Highness always hated how the armory looked. He often said he wanted to turn it into a lake."
The old man nodded in understanding, then noticed the crowd approaching. They all bowed their heads in respect to Sagarius and greeted, "Your Highness—"
"Please, stop. I may be the owner of this place, but the title means nothing to me," Sagarius refused the honor.
The crowd bowed respectfully to her decision. "Then what will happen to us?" a woman asked.
"As I promised your fathers and mothers, I’ll allow you to live here as you please. There’s nothing left here that could endanger the rest of the Imperium." Then, with a softer tone, she added, "Alternatively, you can follow me to see the world outside."
The crowd exchanged glances, but no one spoke.
Sagarius noticed their reluctance. "Enough about me." She spotted Yira and asked, "Tell me about you. What is your plan?"
"I have no plans but to do my usual routine," the old woman revealed. "We’re going to nurture this world to the best of our abilities."
"The youths can still follow me outside," Sagarius offered, her white hair fluttering in the wind.
Yira and her adult sons and daughter smiled. "To us, this is home."
"Will I see you again, My Lady?" Yira’s youngest daughter asked.
"Maybe I’ll return when you’re old enough to marry," Sagarius reassured her.
"Then I’ll marry young," the daughter declared, and the crowd came alive with laughter, pleased by the innocent reply.
***
Korimor
With their business in Korimor resolved, and their troops and horses rested, the Lord and Lady prepared to depart for Korelia. As planned, Dietrich, with Roger at his side, would be trusted to hold the city at least through the winter and spring. Sir Michael had recruited a few talents from the populace as advisors.
Under the morning sun, the cavalry escort waited in formation while the baggage train was loaded and secured.
After months of campaigning, the return home was long overdue and highly anticipated.
The Lord and Lady rode in a carriage and were hailed by the people of Korimor, who looked genuinely happy to see them. Lansius waved his hand to the people outside and quipped to Audrey, "Don’t you think it’s funny?"
"What’s funny?" Audrey asked, still wearing a full smile, happy with the warm reception.
"We don’t solve anything, yet they seemed happy to see us," he said while keeping his drawings of airships neatly tucked inside a sturdy leather scroll case at his side.
She turned to him and furrowed her brow, saying, "That’s how commoners react to a good noble."
Lansius chuckled, knowing that it was hard to grasp the irony. For Audrey and others in this age, this was just natural and even expected. "Are we good nobles?"
She stared at him with a surprised look. "You mean, you don’t know?"
Then it was Lansius’ turn to be surprised. "I don’t know what?"
"Lans, we’ve been doing more than good. Feast and festivals in time of little harvest, not to mention generous donations of wine to the city’s taverns."
"I thought it was only normal for lords and nobility to provide food, drink, or other forms of generosity to their subjects," he recalled things he had learned in Toruna a few years back. "Isn’t the idea that lords are expected to care for and protect their people in exchange for service and loyalty?"
"That’s a formal way to explain things," Audrey giggled. "It’s true to a point, however, you forgot that they’ve only been your subjects for less than a season."
"Ah," Lansius muttered in understanding.
She continued, "These Korimor people have yet to show loyalty after surrendering in war. You’re not bound to show them that much generosity."
Lansius nodded and took what she said to heart. He didn’t want to be seen as overly generous, as that could make the populace expect too much and would easily cause resentment when he was unable to meet their expectations.
...
Outside the city, in a field to the east, the airship waited along with its nomadic escorts. More people than expected showed up, eager to witness the giant vessel flying in the skies.
Audrey was ready, even wearing leather goggles with transparent calcite crystals known for their unique optical properties. Lansius had heard about Iceland spar or sunstone, which allowed Vikings to locate the sun on overcast days or during twilight, aiding their navigation even when the sky was unclear.
As it turned out, one of the pioneers of flight in this world had found a similar object and improved upon it, enhancing the visibility of the sun even through clouds.
The sun was getting warmer, but it remained cloudy, and so far this fall, the weather had been merciful—so much so that they didn't need to march at night.
In the field, east of the city, surrounded by temporary fences, lay a cluster of tents erected as maintenance depot and security. Nearby, the castle staff had assembled. It was only natural for them to gather to see the masters of the city depart.
The Lord and Lady had thought of nothing but expected to hear the staff say their goodbyes as part of the formality. However, the head castle maid had another idea. After waiting for the rest to speak, the older woman approached Lady Audrey with a note of caution, her expression marked by years of service and the wisdom that comes with it. "My Lady, if I may."
Audrey paused and turned to her. "What is it?" she said, ignoring her obvious plea for a private conversation.
The head maid bowed her head and said with a gentle yet concerned tone, "My lady, for your own good and the baby you carry in your womb, I would strongly advise against taking to the skies in this new and unproven air vessel."
Audrey’s fur leather coat fluttered in the wind, her face a mixture of surprise and indifference. Lansius remained at her side, using a cane to support himself and calmly observing her. The other high-ranking retinue members, including Sir Harold, Sir Omin, Sir Michael, Sir Hugo, the squires, and also Francisca, did the same.
Everyone knew that Audrey held the head maid in high regard and respected her seniority and care. Thus, she didn't dismiss her outright. The old woman was a figure of importance in House Korimor, and the other servants naturally looked up to her for guidance. Her reaction was also indicative that the Lady had matured in politics. She was no longer just a mere cavalry captain but also a shrewd noble.
The head maid continued, "I have inquired with its coachman, Maester Hans, and I believe the risks are not to be taken lightly."
"And what would you have me do? Riding a carriage to Korelia isn't an option," Audrey responded lightly, turning this into a lighthearted dialogue.
The maid clasped Audrey’s hands warmly. "Please stay, My Lady. This is your city. And certainly, to stay will be the best for the baby."
"We'll take good care of you, My Lady," some of the staff eagerly voiced their support.
Audrey smiled but maintained her composure, showing indifference to their pleas.
The head maid took her chance. "The airship is untested and might prove far less hospitable than the confines of this castle or the safety of our land. In the olden days, it was customary—and indeed, wise—for expectant nobility to refrain from undue exertions. It's only fitting for pregnant ladies to be sequestered to their quarters to safeguard both mother and child."
Audrey shook her head, still smiling. "I appreciate your concern, but what I carry in my womb is a child of my strength and resilience, not a fragile piece of porcelain."
Her answer struck the staff deeply. Audrey continued, "The child will survive. He needs to, as the world is harsh, and I will raise him to be a fighter and a warrior. The lands demand it. He'll be a son of Lowlandia."
Even Lansius smiled at her unexpectedly poignant answer. He glanced around and his retinue offered big approving grins and wide smiles. The ones who looked most pleased were Sir Omin, Carla, and certainly Ingrid.
Meanwhile, the head maid, in turmoil and watching the Lady start to advance toward the ship, could only beg, "Please rethink for the good of the House. This House means not only to the people of Korimor like us but to the entire Lowlandia."
Her last words caught Audrey off guard. She seemed to realize something and turned to Lansius. "Lans..." she called, her face uncertain.
Lansius offered a smile, shifted the strap of his sturdy leather scroll case that contained his drawings, and, without the help of his cane, took Audrey's hand. "Let's go. The sky is waiting."
Audrey's lips formed a gorgeous smile. Meanwhile, the old lady sighed heavily in defeat. To her and the rest of the castle staff, Lansius quoted, "Una volta che avrai spiccato il volo, deciderai."
Everyone gazed at him, surprised at the unknown language. Lansius then translated it as he remembered, "Once you have taken flight, you'll decide. Gaze towards the sky, and you'll know: this is where your heart will feel at home."
***
PS: The picture is Lansius' fantasy drawing about the future of airships. Certainly, he had no technical knowledge, engineering degrees, or know-how to make it, it was just a simple musing. 😆
The quote is from Sogno di Volare ("The Dream of Flight"), Civilization VI soundtrack.
A kind reminder not to forget to rate the book or audio book if you have purchased it. As always, thank you for your great patience and awesome support! 💖
Comments
Hanne
thank you, thank you
micronesia
This needs a next chapter link now.
Demonuss
While I understand their reasoning. Destroying all the tech and engineering over the fear of, instead of preserving and spreading in the hope for. Shows that the elves really didn't understand humanity despite ruling them for centuries.
