Part 1
Unified Year 1890, Dragonpost
In the end all good things had to come to an end, Sergei supposed. Still, the Ashen Empire lasted a thousand years. He wasn't surprised by the collapse, only the speed. Finally free of duty, he wondered what he should do with himself. To be the legendary Spymaster General for a thousand years had given him little time to explore.
He had already said his good byes to the final Ashen Emperor, and been thanked for his service, so all that was left was figure out what to do with himself.
He lingered in the alley, leaning against a wall, as the rain continued to fall from above. Watching the endless bustle of Dragonpost, it was obviously how much the world had changed while he kept it together. Carriages without horses, light without flame, towers of glass and rune-iron climbing higher each year. All fascinating in its way, but hardly urgent. For the first time in centuries, nothing was. It was nice, in a way.
Whistling an ancient tune, he reached into his coat and withdrew a flat shard of crystal. Glyphs shimmered across its surface, rearranging into neat script and whispered voices. News, gossip, timetables. The petty sort of chatter he once weaponized. Now, he skimmed it just to find something to do.
One headline caught his eye: "The Legendary Spymaster General: Lecture Tonight at The University."
Sergei raised a brow. "Legendary, is it? How quaint." He slipped the crystal back into his pocket, chuckling. "Well, if they’re going to tell stories about me, I suppose I should attend. Wouldn't want them getting it all wrong. They got enough wrong about Rebecca."
He paused to check the time. Half-seven. The article said it was about to start. With a small smile, he vanished from sight.
He paused at the main gates of The University, and chuckled to himself. Fifteen hundred years and now nobody even dared to use the term anywhere else, for fear of being associated with it. He spotted the anti-vampire warding surrounding the gate and nearly laughed out loud. Ridiculously quaint and no match for the infamous Spymaster.
As he walked through the quad, he spotted the infamous God-Professor Neptis giving one of her sparring lessons to another batch of Blood Mages. Poor bastards, he thought to himself.
"You call that a parry?" Neptis shouted at the man splayed on the ground, as she stood over him, glowering.
Sergei moved on before Neptis could notice him. He thought so, at least. As he slipped into a shadow between buildings, he caught the faintest tilt of a head. Bad luck to get tangled up in Gods, less time he spent here the better.
Spotting the building he was looking for, he quietly ducked in. The hallways were bright and sterile, something he hated about modern architecture. Endless rune-strips hummed along the walls, casting every corner with merciless off-white light. Would it kill them to add some shadows? Whatever happened to atmospheric lighting? A man used to be able to vanish in a hallway with a step, nowadays you need to wear a damn lampshade. Kids these days, he muttered to himself.
When he reached the lecture hall, he was entirely unsurprised to find it standing room only. Guess a thousand years of myth would do that, he figured. Finding a spot at the back, he leaned against the wall, blending against what little shadows there were.
---
Professor Ethan Doyle nervously adjusted the papers on his desk as he finished preparing his notes. He had expected a large turnout for this, but to see students seated in all the rows, more standing at the back, and all the aisle-ways filled with students sitting on the steps, well this was a bit much. He had been lucky to even be given the chance for this lecture, the Headmaster didn't want to allow it at all. Said it was still too soon.
A small chime came from his desk and he coughed. Looks like it was time, he thought to himself. He stood and walked to the lectern, still shuffling his papers.
"I thank you all for coming. As you're no doubt aware, tonight's lecture is a topic that's been shrouded in myth and speculation for centuries. The identity of the so-called Spymaster General has never been confirmed of course, but I'll go over a few proven things about him. According to the Imperial Archives which the last Emperor who still resides in Castle Ashe was generous enough to provide access to, his name was listed as Sergei Ivanov. Of course, this name is likely a pseudonym, as it matches Rusalki names, and we haven't found any-"
Ethan was cut off by his papers suddenly scattering everywhere. Muttering apologies, he quickly darted around gathering them up. At the back, Sergei shook his head.
"Strike one." He muttered, but nobody heard him.
The lecture continued without further incident until Ethan made a second mistake.
"...it's speculated that this Sergei Ivanov was actually a successive line of Spymasters, and merely adopted the name as a way to make the position seem immort-"
The rune lights flicked off for just a second, before turning back on. As if somebody had hit the rune switch. Glancing over, Ethan saw there was nobody even standing near it.
"Well that was weird." Ethan said, nervously chuckling. "I'll speak to maintenance later."
Laughter came from the audience, except from Sergei.
"Strike two."
The lectured lasted two more minutes before Sergei finally lost his patience.
"-of course, the final records were... lost. It's speculated one of the final Emperors had the Spymaster executed for treason-"
"That's quite enough. I won't have you misremembering my history." Sergei called out from the back.
Whispers and murmurs spread as he appeared on the stage with a purple flash. A young teenager wearing a black long coat stared back at them. Digging into his pocket, Sergei tossed his medallion on the lectern, clattering against the wood. It shimmered with an enchantment, but otherwise seemed unremarkable.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then wards hummed to life. Not authentication wards. Defensive wards. A low, thrumming sound filled the air as Imperial script covered the walls. The doors to the lecture hall swung shut with a soft click, and the windows blacked out.
Gasps broke out across the hall. Ethan dropped his pen.
Sergei just smiled. "Seems the University remembers me, at least."
He calmly handed the papers on the lectern to Ethan, and appeared completely unfazed, even as the ceiling began to glow a bright blue.
"Oh do calm down. If they were trying to kill me you'd be dead already. They're just being cautious. Sensible, really."
"W-what is all this?" Ethan stammered, his voice cracking.
Sergei's eyes briefly glanced up. "I am an Imperial General on your premises. Did you think the University's faculty didn't plan for this a long time ago? Really now. At least the old wards remember."
The rune lighting continued to hum, utterly unbothered.
"These are from oh, I don't know, probably late 9th century? They are not hers, if you are wondering. We would be knee deep in blood if they were."
"Why didn't they activate earlier?" A voice shouted out from the audience.
Sergei was impressed, but betrayed no emotion. Someone not easily cowed by theatrics.
"An excellent question, and one I will not be sharing the answer to. Now then. Professor Doyle, while your lecture was most amusing I think I will be taking over for the moment."
His words rang strangely in the air. Every syllable landed like the click of a metronome, his accent sharp and archaic. Perfectly correct, yet nothing like the fluid, softened speech of their own age.
Ethan swallowed hard. "Well, I- I-"
Sergei didn't raise his voice, and simply set his hand on the Medallion. The wards reacted, and glowed even brighter, threatening to overpower the white rune lights. His eyes never left the Professor's.
"Yes." Ethan said, stepping back and clutching his papers tightly against his chest.
Sergei smiled just enough so that his fangs were visible. "Good man."
Sergei turned his attention back to his captive audience. All eyes were on him. Just like the good old days with Rebecca, he supposed. He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the silence, then began.
"My name is Sergei Ivanov, and I was the Imperial Spymaster General for one thousand and eighty seven years. I reported to generations of Emperors, starting from the now legendary Rebecca Ashe all the way to the final one who still lives in her castle. Do not speak lightly of him."
Sergei's voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "He once told me, 'We are just two old men, Sergei. We are all that is left of the Empire.' He was right. And for that honesty, he has my respect."
He paused, letting the silence settle, before his tone sharpened again. "Do not mistake respect for weakness. He was the last Emperor because he was strong enough to endure when all else fell. My name was no pseudonym. The Principality of Novgorod, in the Western Steppes. Check your history books close enough and you will find it."
He began to pace, never taking his eyes off the audience.
"I did not stay out of loyalty."
"Then why?" A voice called out again. The same one from earlier. The only one bold enough to speak twice.
"It was duty. I was loyal once, perhaps. To her. No, the Empire was her dream and I was not going to let it fall apart as soon as she was gone, not as long as I could do something about it. The Empire was brutal, make no mistake."
He let the words hang for just a moment, before continuing.
"But it replaced something far worse."
He stopped for just a moment, and smiled again. "On to the second myth. A line of Spymasters? Laughable. None had the ability to do what I did. None ever will. The throne ruled. I made sure it could continue to rule. Knowledge can be lost. Secrets forgotten. But me? I do not forget, because I was there when it was done."
He fixed his gaze on the student who shouted out twice earlier.
"Would a successor remember the terror of Nautitus, when we deployed a chemical weapon and destroyed the city to stop an invasion? Would they remember seeing citizens melting in their clothes?" He let the question hang, and several students flinched.
"Would a successor catalogue every single betrayal and counter-betrayal, every poisoned dagger in the dark with meticulous precision for a thousand years?" His voice was soft, but struck like steel.
Sergei shook his head. "Of course not."
He could already hear the whispers, the horror at finding out Nautitus wasn't just an ancient legend. Good, let them squirm. The truth is often grim.
"Excuse me?" A hand shot up.
Sergei smiled. "A question? Bold."
"W-what happened to the city then? The crater-"
"It was taken by the Gods." The tone was final, and he stared at them for a long moment.
That's enough doom and gloom, he thought. Time to surprise them.
"I am sure you read many accounts of how I could be seemingly everywhere at once. That I had a network of lookalikes, body doubles, all that kind of nonsense. In a way, it was almost true."
Suddenly, he moved. One moment he was standing in front of the lectern, then before anyone could even blink, he was at the rune-board several feet away. Then he was at the sealed exits. Continuing to shimmer around the room and stage, he resumed speaking.
"It was all me. Displacement magic is a handy tool for a Spymaster. I have had a thousand years to perfect my craft. But I will give you one hint."
The words 'never stop casting' appeared on the rune board behind him. As students stared at that, his signature appeared under it. As they looked around, they suddenly realised he was gone. As if he was never there. Even the wards seemed confused, but after a few seconds of varying levels of humming, began to power off.