Loading
endbook rogue 5 5 3
Within this flawless order, in a remote corner of Yan, an old man lifts up a torch.
As night descends, the eyes of the people are drawn to that brilliant torchlight. They have seen Yan's past.
They have all read the tales of 'people giving their all for a shared goal': the end of the Hundred Clan Rebellion, the great wild hunt, and the revitalization the True Lung brought.
Now, the light of this flame lights anew things in their hearts that had left them long ago: desire, purpose, doubt.
As the all-powerful True Lung had written everything down, they grew dependent on what they'd been told and no longer questioned anything.
Their ruler had sat in silence for a century, yet even the ridiculousness of this had not stirred any doubts.
But now, this flame spurs the people to reject the silence. They eagerly light their own torches using the old man's, bringing those sparks with them as they walk to Baizao.
Mandarins and soldiers try to stop the flamebearers, but when the fires illuminate their hidden doubts, they allow them to continue onwards.
Thus did long trails of firelight, lifted high, wend their way all across Yan into Baizao. They gather before the palace, trying to use their light to illuminate the final obstacle before them.
The Imperial Guards.
The most loyal defenders of the True Lung, and the ones who have sealed him within.
Over the last hundred years, cohorts after cohorts have guarded the empty heart of Baizao.
The True Lung issued no decrees, the palace showed no activity, but they still watch its gates, allowing none to pass.
The fires reveal their blind obedience, and also begin to rouse doubt in their hearts.
The Guards decide to compromise.
The dust-caked gates are opened, and the people lift high their torches as they enter, searching for any trace of the True Lung.
None attempt to plunder the building, or to damage it. They simply wish to know the truth.
One question runs through the minds of all the flamebearers: Did the True Lung no longer wish to lead his subjects? Or did he actually vanish long ago?
With every room opened, some decide to stay to sweep away the dust and wipe the furniture, allowing grime-ridden time to flow once more.
When the doors to the main hall are opened, and firelight enters for the first time in a century, all that can be seen atop the throne is a gown and a crown.
...
At the summit of the Garden of Grotesqueries, where the rite takes place, a man with a beard reaching the ground plays weiqi with a white-haired elder dressed in black. The board is atop the altar that suppresses Sui, the stone stands where sacred vessels are placed, serving as benches. The two place their stones with ferocious speed, so before long, a victor is decided. It is the younger of the two.
Yet his victory seems to bring him no joy, because it was the elderly man who had cast a stone into the calm waters of Yan, drawing him away from a hundred years of seclusion. Even if the elderly man possessed the same wisdom and ability as him, it would still be insufficient to realize his desire to touch the star. In which case—
'What do you want?'
The elderly man raises his head, one blind eye nearly pure white, the other as black as ink, yet with no luster.
'Your help, Chongyue.'
The man known as Chongyue, who once held the title of True Lung, stands, peering closely at the elderly man. That was the name he used before ascending the throne. By now, none but himself should remember it.
The elderly man picks up the final black stone he placed on the board and gives it to Chongyue. The moment his finger touches it, the land around him smears like an oil painting, leaving only the mountain beneath his feet, and Sui's slumbering body.
His exploits, his rebellion, his exhaustion, were all but insignificant dreams of Sui as It slept.
'Did you never wonder—how could the proxy of a Feranmut whose powers are rooted in evolution resign himself to silence in the midst of change?
'It created you, and erased your future. Within this silence, It has countless ways to hone you into a blade to kill traitorous Yan.
'It formed you from the combined memories of the Sui proxies. As for your appearance, it comes from Its greatest shame. Our eldest brother, the only proxy to grasp rebirth.'
Amid the darkness, the embodiment of ruin flickers in and out. The elderly man looks towards the surging void and begins to speak more quickly.
'It has been evolving for a very long time now. Relying solely on planning will not suffice. There may be countless of you gestating within Its imagination. There may be many tricks I have not foreseen being thought up this very moment.
'But if Sui has prepared you to shatter our resistance, then you can certainly crush Its plot.
'Do you—'
The tide rises, erasing the last speck of reality within this fantasy.
