The Signs We Missed

Ironhand 5504, The Eternal Palace

Emperor Thazmug had only been crowned Emperor a week ago. He was considered quite young to ascend to the Eternal Throne at only 55 years of age, but his supporters claimed it gave him more time to make an impact. The main events were finally over, and the coronation wasn't to take place until the sandstorms passed, so this left with him with a conundrum.

He had nothing to do.

He had finished the required reading assigned to him by the Voice of Ancestors. He had greeted all the guards of the palace. He spoke to the Head Chef, Head Gardener, and even his servants.

Finding himself wandering the library once again, he stopped to speak with the Head Scribe once more.

"Your Majesty, good to see you again! Is there something I can help you with?" The Scribe asked, bowing.

Thazmug stroked his beard. "Perhaps. I've bit of a problem. With the sandstorm seems I've got nothing but time on my hands."

The scribe looked thoughtful. "There is... one scroll. I had hoped you could have ruled for some time before reading it, but we have some time."

"Oh? What's it about?"

"Neptis. The God of War."

Thazmug was interested but also amused. "The blessed War God? What's it about? Her bawdy tavern songs?"

The scribe's face fell, and he looked grim. "Far from it. First hand accounts of the Second War."

Thazmug's smile faded. "What is it really about, Head Scribe?"

"You better come with me."

They descended the steps to the first floor of the library, and reached a locked door. The scribe inserted his key, and the two men pushed on the heavy stone door until it opened. Following him inside, another set of stairs greeted them.

"Where are we going?" Thazmug asked.

"To the truth, your majesty."

They reached a second door, but instead of a lock there was a slot for a ring.

"Your majesty." The scribe gestured at the door.

While Thazmug was slightly suspicious, they were still inside the palace and so he placed his ring in the slot, turning it.

The door creaked inward with a soft click, as if it weighed nothing. In the centre of the room was a stone desk and two chairs, and on the desk was a thick scroll that looked more like a tree trunk than a scroll.

"What is this?" Thazmug asked in awe.

The scribe walked with him, shutting the door behind them. "A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries, Emperor Thazmug. Every surviving first hand account of the second war."

Thazmug undid the seal on the scroll with reverence, as if handling a divine artifact. At the very top was a very simple phrase that would come to haunt Thazmug for years to come.

He leaned closer, and ran his fingers over the scroll, as if the words might vanish if he blinked. The Signs We Missed. 

"The signs of what?" He asked.

The scribe's expression did not change, but he lowered his voice more, as if the walls themselves might hear him. "You know the War God wears masks."

"Of course. Everyone knows. Laughter, duty, honour. We teach that to children."

The scribe shook his head. "No, that is what they are taught. To prevent fear."

Thazmug's throat went dry. He glanced to the shut door, and wondered if he should leave. Even so, he leaned closer. "Fear of what?"

"The fourth mask. We do not speak of it, not outside of the palace. Even the Generals do not know of it, except in times of war. The 86th Emperor called it the Mask of the Commander. When she donned that mask... she was no longer Neptis. She was not a Goddess. She was war manifest. When she put on that mask."

The scribe stopped to wipe his brow, his hands trembling. His eyes darted around the room, as if expecting her to step out of the shadows.

"That was when we lost the war. We didn't defeat her. We endured her."

Thazmug looked back at the scroll like it might curse him. He nearly dropped it, but then he remembered the words of his father, that every great ruler must endure hardships for the sake of their people. If this was to be his first hardship, then so be it.

Extract from the Testimony of General Sandstone, Imperial Guard, taken in Ironhand 4834

Questioner: "General, you claimed signs were present, long before the Commander fully manifested. What signs?"

Sandstone: "Small things. She laughed less often. When she did it cut like a razormane's tail. Then came the way she talked. It was clipped, joyless, like speaking to Lady Eigengrau. Then it was the battles. She'd tell us exactly what would happen, down to the last. It was like she already knew what was going to happen, and was just giving us the courtesy of informing us.

I should have known then. We all should have known. But we told ourselves polite lies, that of course she's focused, she's the War God."

Questioner: "And when did you stop telling yourself that?"

Sandstone: "When she stopped calling us by name. I became General. Jozbrik became Colonel. By the time we realised, it was nearly too late to escape."

Questioner: "But you did."

Sandstone: "We didn't escape. She did. We woke up one day and she was gone. So was half the damn army. We thought it was a mass desertion at first. But then came the realisation. There were no tracks, no foot prints in the sand, not even any signs of their equipment being taken down. It was like they were never there, [Name Redacted By Order of the 86th Eternal Emperor]."

Questioner: "General, we've searched the sands for a year, and there's still no sign of them. What do you think happened?"

Sandstone: "I think whatever she became... swallowed them up. She left us because she didn't need us anymore. We were rucksacks she didn't need.

Wait... you're censoring this. Even here? Gods above, do what you must, but don't pretend this never happened. The Empire needs to remember what happened, so this doesn't happen again, you hear me?"

Questioner: "Don't worry General. The Emperor himself is collecting it all for a project. The Empire will remember, whether it wants to or not."

Thazmug kept reading. Every account was the same. The War God becoming less than a person, more like an automaton. Disappearances of entire armies. Rival clans simply vanishing overnight. What was this monster the ancestors encountered? He looked up at the Scribe, who was by now seated across from him, and could swear for a second he felt a mile away before coming into focus again.

"Are all of them like this?" Thazmug's voice was shaking with fear.

"No." The scribe leaned forward. "They're worse. Let's take a short break."

The scribe stood, and walked to the wall behind it. Tapping a rune on the wall, a small compartment opened, and it contained a pitcher of water.

Thazmug sighed. "I suppose I am thirsty."

The scribe filled a stone cup and slid it across the desk. "Drink. You won't survive to the end if you don't."

Thazmug lifted the cup, his hands still shaking. "Will I make it if I do?"

The scribe didn't answer.