Crimsonflame felt tired. The anger and sadness she had felt in the Council meeting had mostly subsided, but in truth, they had just been covering the hole in her heart that her father had left. He had been hard to deal with sometimes, but behind his cold exterior he had truly been loving, something that Crimsonflame now knew. He had been trying to train her to be tough, but at the same time diplomatic. He had been training her to take his place.

That day was supposed to be distant, though. It was supposed to be thousands, if not tens of thousands, of years in the future, and by a delicate ceremony where he would cede his power and become an adviser, not at the hands of a Choggoth who devoured him before her very eyes.

She sighed, and looked out over the garden before her. As was her nature and the nature of her people, it was the organic world that calmed them. That was the world that they were so desperately trying to protect, and the small garden reminded her of that.

She looked out and admired the plants: the rare cycads, taken from climes across all of Panbioa, and the exotic ferns, so narrow and delicate that it seemed a stray breath alone could shatter them. Surrounding them enchanted rivers that bubbled over moss-coated stones, illuminated by the perpetual twilight of the luminescent green-yellow sky. It stretched out into the distance, circling the building in a grand spiral, all of it perfectly maintained by golems produced by Draconan magic, some of whom were mulling about, performing basic chores.

This was a place she truly loved, a slice of a world that she loved even more so. Also, she knew it was a place that she would find neither Arcane Domination nor Goldmist; Arcane Domination hated plants and animals, and Goldmist found anything that was not burning or screaming boring.

Sill, she heard a set of paradoxically quiet footsteps approaching her. Even without looking or casting any kind of perception spell, she knew that Grayrock had come to the garden as well, and she smiled.

“Such a beautiful garden,” he said.

“I know,” said Crimsonflame. “When I was young, when the Trade Council had only just been founded, my father would take me here after the meetings. I loved to play in this place, and the fields beyond. I loved this place. I still do, and now I better understand why my father came here after meetings.”

“How long ago was it that you were young?”

“Hey,” said Crimsonflame, playfully punching the cold surface of Grayrock’s body. “I am barely approaching forty thousand.” She sighed. “For my people, and my position, that means I am barely an adult. And yet I am the only one fit to lead.”

“It is a terrible weight,” said Grayrock. “I am truly sorry that you need to bear it, especially in this era.”

“Perhaps your children’s children will sing of me as a hero. Of both of us.”

“Perhaps.”

Grayrock’s eyes stared out at the landscape. They never focused or changed size, as though they were painted on, but somehow they were exquisitely expressive. Crimsonflame could tell that his sadness was even deeper than hers, and rather than helping, the landscape made it worse.

“When the war is over, we will redirect efforts toward rebuilding Ceroria.”

“No,” said Grayrock, firmly. “I mean, I thank you, but no. You will have enough damage to repair from the Choggoths. My nation is not of your concern. Its problems were caused purely by our people- -or rather, by me.” He smiled, and actually chuckled slightly. “You know, Crimson, it is actually rather ironic. This war, it is the best thing that ever happened to my people.”

“Don’t say that, Stonestrenght.”

“It is true. For ten thousand years, we have been killing each other. There had never been a time in our history where we have not been at war amongst ourselves. I shudder to think what we would have become if we had magic- -but we still did enough. War brought us steel, and gunpowder, engines, electricity, particle weapons…and then it went atomic and we decimated ourselves.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Can I? I was the one that authorized the first strike. I silenced the enemy factions, and took rule of ruins and radioactive dust. Arcane was correct.” He looked down at his hooves. “I cannot wash away this blood.”

“None of us can, Stone. But you must persevere. Your people need you, as mine need me.”

Several creatures emerged from the still, weeping tree-ferns and started to approach the pair. A soft, warm object nudged against Crimsonflame’s leg, and she looked down to see a nervous monohorn nudging her leg, eyes wide with anxiety over the approaching creatures.

“You repaired her leg,” said Grayrock.

“My healing spells are quite strong,” said Crimsonflame, placing her hand on the creature’s head, running her claws through its soft mane. “They have even been known to resurrect the dead at time. Arcane gave these creatures weak bones, I am afraid. It was not hard to repair. I only wish that Arcane would have allowed me to take both.”

“Those gems you spent on that one alone could have fed you for a month.”

“Now is not the time to eat. You would have done the same if you were able.”

Crimsonflame knelt on the stone path, with one hand on the monohorn’s back. She reached into her robe with her free hand, and withdrew a fragment of biscuit. She reached out toward the creatures that approached. They seemed to smell it, and understood. One of them approached. It was a small quadruped, with narrow, elegant legs and wide, soulful violet eyes. The others approached as well, each with their own coat and mane colors. All closely resembled the monohorn, although she was far larger; her size and her horn an aspect of poorly planned accelerated evolution.

The monohorn recoiled and hid in the ends of Crimsonflame’s robes. The other creatures looked concerned, but then smiled. It took the biscuit from Crimsonflame, and divided it. In its delicate mouth, it held out a piece to the monohorn. The monohorn looked up to Crimsonflame, and Crimsonflame smiled and nodded. Then, carefully, the one-horned mare took the treat that was offered to it by the other pony.

The group smiled, and slowly approached her, some even allowing Crimsonflame to place her hand on their backs.

“We may not survive this war,” said Crimsonflame to Grayrock, “our peoples may perish from this world, but the Choggoths bring only destruction. Even if we are destroyed, we must preserve this planet, for those who will inherit us from us.”

“Do you truly believe they are up for the task?”

Crimsonflame chuckled. “My kind was already ancient when yours was no different from these ponies.” Then, more to the ponies than to Grayrock, “perhaps they will succeed where we have failed.”

In a distant, darker part of the Citadel, a different meeting was taking place.

“Domiiiii,” whined Goldmist, stretching himself out over a fine but largely unused red-velvet couch. “I’m so boarrrred. I want to be outside, flying.” He looked at his wings. “Look, look at this! They’re starting to tarnish!”

“Gold does not tarnish,” said Arcane Domination, producing a bottle and pouring a thick red liquid into a pair of crystal glasses.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Blood of a Cerorian mare? Yes it is.”

“But that’s illegal!” cried Goldmist, an expression of shock over his face that rapidly turned into a wide, mechanical smile. “I want some.”

Arcane Domination handed him the glass, and Goldmist took a tremendous gulp. Some of the red liquid ran down his golden chin and dripped onto the cold stone floor below.

“I’ve always wondered,” said Arcane Domination. “Do you even need to eat, or drink?”

“Of course not,” said Goldmist, holding out the glass for a refill, balanced precariously on his golden hoof. Arcane Domination begrudgingly added more to his glass; the blood was expensive, but Goldmist’s hedonistic ways were well known to him long before he had smuggled in the bottle. “We are the people chosen by the gods. Our bodies require no food, nor drink. I suppose in exchange, that is why we are mortal,” he mused, “but I do really like meat, and blood, and wine and, well- -”

“Please, stop,” said Arcane Domination.

“Oh, come now. Did you think I didn’t notice that you gender-biased your creations toward female?”

“How did you know that?” demanded Arcane Domination, nearly spitting out the blood.

“Come now, Domi, just because there’s a war doesn’t mean I can’t afford spies! I might as well tell you, we haven’t had nearly as much success with our chimeric projects. The darn things keep tearing themselves apart. Of course, I think we are doing well for not having magic to utilize.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Arcane, somewhat taken aback.

“Why? Because you have no proof. Accuse me, and I will accuse you of trying to break the alliance. Not that it matters much anymore.” He sighed, and his wings seemed to collapse around him. “I really thought having a new Grand Magus would be more fun…” His metal eyes clicked sideways suddenly, focusing on Arcane Domination. Arcane could not help but wonder if those eyes really did see, or if what people said was true, that the Aurasi were actually pure machines. “Why did you bring me down here? That blood wasn’t drugged, was it?”

“No, I assure you, it was not.”

Goldmist whined. “And I thought we would have some fun!”

“You already know why you are down here, and why we are alone.”

“Because you want to ally yourself with me and use the Choggoths to bring down Draconia and Ceroria.”

“More work of your spies?”

“No, you fool. I can read you like a book. A book that, I hope, starts to get interesting right about now.”

“The Ceroniains are not much of a threat, I know, at least at the moment. But this war has the potential to shift their society completely. For centuries we have spread strife through their land, but if they win this war, we will fail to do that. They are terrifying warriors.”

“I know. But wouldn’t a war with them be more amusing?”

“Do you want a war with the Draconians, too?”

“Good point.”

“This war is our only chance. We can sway battles and tactics, and if we are careful and concerted, we can reduce their strength to a fraction by the time the war ends.”

“And the Shth…Skl…the others?”

“The Sklklekel,” corrected Arcane Domination, pronouncing the name perfectly. It was actually much easier than half the arcane languages he was familiar with. “They are inherently neutral, but they are barely a civilization. More of a living swamp, or piles of moss, or whatever they are. They will surely side with the victor for their own self-preservation.”

“Assuming the Choggoths don’t gobble them up first!” Goldmist gnashed his pointed teeth playfully.

“Of course. You know that your people and my people were destined to rule Panbios. The age of the Draconians has long since passed.”

“Hmm,” said Goldmist, as if considering. “Okay. First, though. More blood.” He held out the glass once again, but retracted it when Arcane reached for the bottle. “Not from there.” Goldmist smiled. “Find that adorable slave of yours. I want it fresh.”