FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

________________________________________________________________________________

The most immediately consequence of the death of Empress Sayn I was a scramble for continuity of governance, and legitimacy of governance. After all, she had no direct heirs. Historians thus still argue about whether the Beastmaker was indeed replaced by some kind of look-alike during the final month of her reign, or if she went insane from the stresses of her position – she would not be the first, nor the last, if so – forcing her own government, or perhaps even her own Consorts, to step in and end her reign before she did irreversible damage. In the later case, the story of the 'False-Empress' would be a very convenient fiction, allowing for the nullification of many unpopular laws and the reinstatement of her Consorts – without whom there would have been no possible successor for the throne that had even a shred of legitimacy – as well as the removal of a number of public figures among the Elves, Griffons, Deep Sea Merfolk, Thenarians, and the Northern City-States, as 'being complicit in the conspiracy to install the False Empress.' Of course, being influential figures and known critics of the Empire, they might also have represented a threat to the Empire's territorial integrity during a transitory or otherwise weakened period! At the time, the existence of the False-Empress was accepted as fact, not least due to the clear testimony of the Kirin Consort, Korlin – but then, it was also widely accepted as fact that the Beastmaker had 'ascended to the Heavens' to watch over the world from up on high, rather than simply being assassinated or dying from the effects of prolonged torture.

Regardless of the truth of the matter, the result was the same – the reign of the Seraglio-Emperors. These were all children of the original Consorts, with the first to ascend being Atreas I, firstborn son of the Centaur Consort Achidias. Despite obviously not being the biological children of Sayn I, the fact that she had personally acknowledged them as her heirs during her lifetime – ignoring, of course, their banishment during the reign of the 'False-Empress' – lent them very real legitimacy. However, these Emperors and Empresses essentially occupied a purely symbolic and ceremonial role, leaving the actual governance of the Empire to the Seraglio Council, with Korlin the Kirin as First Among Equals. Understandable, really, since this Council was essentially made up of their parents, and a bevvy of honorary aunts and uncles.

Of course, this was always going to be a temporary arrangement. As the original Consorts of the Beastmaker died off and were replaced, the legitimacy of the Seraglio Council as a ruling body diminished in proportion. Likewise, there were only so many children raised in the Imperial Creche during Sayn I's reign. The last Seraglio-Emperor was Taleasin I, son of the Elven Consort Thielwen, who was also the last of the original Consorts to remain part of the Seraglio – with the potentially longer-lived Dragon-Consort Rubicundus having departed by then for his own reasons, while Korlin herself followed suit around the time of Thielwen's demise.

If one sees the Seraglio-Emperors as being merely a transitory period, then the ultimate consequence of Sayn I's death would be the ascendancy of the Church of the Beastmaker, and multiple centuries of effectively theocratic rule. With their Goddess no longer walking among them, the Church had become able to speak for her, without risk of being directly contradicted, allowing their power, wealth and influence to grow steadily throughout the age of the Seraglio-Emperors. During this time, the position of Hortifex had also been established – the 'Gardener' who stood at the head of the Church's Archdeacons, handling all the important yet mundane matters needed to keep the Church running on an administrative level. At the time of Emperor Taleasin I's abdication, the position of Hortifex was held by Advocati Elvorix, a highly-skilled administrator, but also a very ambitious man. Having already managed to expand the power of his position to the point where he was the effective head of the Church, able to dictate on spiritual matters as well as administrative ones, he apparently still wasn't satisfied, and seized the opportunity offered by the ascension of Empress Teronura, an Otterkin who was a direct-line descendant from the original Beastkin Consort, Lutra, but obviously hadn't been born during the reign of the Beastmaker.

Though there is no way to know the exact bargain that was struck, Teronura wound up taking the throne under the name of Sayn II, while the Church of the Beastmaker began to actively support her legitimacy. Most notably, they canonized a previously-apocryphal Testament which suggested that the Beastmaker, in her role as 'The Lover', had 'shared her Divine Essence with the Flowers of her Garden', meaning the Consorts – which both sanctified the Consorts, and made this a quality that could potentially be passed down to their descendants. This obviously added to Sayn II's legitimacy by suggesting that she was, in a sense, a genuine descendant of Sayn I. In return, Hortifex Advocati was named an 'Adviser to the Throne', gaining significant influence over political matters. Especially since, by then, the Seraglio no longer held any of its original residents, leading it to gradually decline in importance until it was nothing more or less than the Emperor or Empress' harem.

The centuries that followed are commonly referred to as The Theocracy. Despite the fact that no Hortifex ever held any position of direct power within the Imperial Government, their influence was overwhelming – by the time Advocati died, the levers of power he'd attached to his title were solidly embedded and quite visible to those in the know, ensuring that his successor was just as ambitious and power-hungry. It was also during this period that The Beastmaker's Palace played host to some of the most unusual monarchs in the Empire's history, with some particularly notable examples being Atreas II, a male Centaur who was known to frequently seek his harem's advice on weighty political matters, much to their distress since they were, as a whole, simple prostitutes hired for that role – his rather simple tastes and the notoriously unrestrained way he otherwise used his harem had made it difficult to hire more well-educated Courtesans for the role – and Sayn III, who chose this name upon ascending the throne despite being a male Griffon. Alchemical sex-change obviously hadn't been invented yet at the time, but he insisted on being referred to as 'she' in both private conversation and official documents, and stocked his – or rather, her – harem exclusively with males. Today, Sayn III is seen as something of a patron saint of the transgender and transsexual community, of course, but at the time she was viewed as rather disturbed… not helped by occasionally having fits where she claimed to be 'possessed by the spirit of the Beastmaker'. Historians, meanwhile, mostly just bemoan the fact that several dresses known to have been worn by Sayn I were destroyed by Sayn III as she attempted to wear them herself, or significantly altered in order to make it actually possible for her to do so…

The Theocracy effectively ended in 729 AA. Up to this point, it had provided an undeniably corrupt but still very effective government for the Empire, with the Church itself being the mortar that kept it all together. Even when the Emperor was caught in the grips of religious hysteria, and the Hortifex wallowing in hedonistic excess, the average citizen of the Empire still enjoyed peace, low crime-rates, a high standard of living, reasonable taxes and tithes, and many public amenities. However, Hortifex Elerius VI changed things. Infamous for his appetites, he started plundering the Imperial Treasury to fund endless, lavish parties, 'advising' the then-Emperor to raise taxes to compensate. More disturbingly, he'd started pressuring adherents to turn over adolescent daughters to the Holy Orders, ostensibly to be raised and educated as future Preachers or Deacons, while actually adding them to an 'order' that existed specifically to 'guard' his bedchamber.

The final result was the Winter of 729. Harsh frost was making food expensive, but Elerius VI carried on his feasts as usual, squeezing the faithful for greater tithes on top of the high taxes. People were starving, and the Hortifex's personal harem is believed to have numbered around two dozen by then, with many members being well below age of majority for their species. Then, one bright winter morning, Elerius was seen racing from the Grand Basilica wearing only his nightshirt, throwing himself to his knees in the middle of the public plaza, before hundreds of surprised onlookers, and loudly confessed to all of his crimes and abuses of power – claiming that the Beastmaker herself had appeared to him in a dream and shown him the grisly fate that awaited if he did not seek to redeem himself. Fast-arriving Constables were only just barely able to stop the crowd from stoning him on the spot, by taking him into custody. Afterwards, amid the scandal, the Church splintered – with several of the spin-offs still being alive and well today, including the dubiously-named First Church of the Beastmaker. None, however, achieved anything like the wealth, power or influence that marked the original Church of the Beastmaker.

With the Church thus no longer a factor, the legitimacy of the Imperial Throne as a whole was suddenly cast into doubt. Many feared a bloody civil war, attempted secession, and so on – but others saw it as an opportunity to revive the ideals of Republicanism that had first emerged in

________________________________________________________________________________

Milla Reeshawn, age 17, lowered the tablet she'd been scribbling on and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was some old city-state that had experimented with a Republican form of government way back before the Beastmaker's Empire, specifically because their king had thrown his whole army at her during her 'walking the earth' phase – and, predictably, lost it – leaving the place ripe for a popular uprising. She distinctly remembered reading about it in one of her history-books, but… what was it called? Grimacing, she put down the tablet and grabbed her copy of Grütwald's Enemies of the Beastmaker, leafing through it briefly before deciding that it hadn't been in that. It only really concerned the period after she'd been crowned Empress. Maybe Marova's The Historic Sayn? Or Prakarov's The Rise and Fall of The Beastmaker? Or The Seraglio at the Center of the World, also by Prakarov… well, probably not that one, she decided with some reluctance – though she'd love an excuse to read it again!

"How's the summer homework coming along?" Her mother's voice made her look up from the pile of books that were spread across her lap and the tray emerging from the seat in front of her, flashing a half grin. "It's… coming!" She declared optimistically, then sighed with a touch of theatrics. "This History-essay is a pain, though." Her mother blinked, leaning in closer from her own seat. "What? But you love history! I mean, you've been positively giddy about this trip ever since we told you about it. Right?" Her mom looked nervous, all of a sudden – as if afraid that she'd just pretended to be excited about their vacation-plans, or something, and Milla quickly waved her hands, trying to clear it up. "No, no, I do love history! It's just… the history-teacher this year is kinda'… opinionated. I gotta make sure everything I write suits his beliefs – or, 'historical facts', as he prefers to call 'em! Otherwise, he'll find some excuse to dock points from my final grade…"

Her mom's face cleared up at that, and she nodded in understanding. "Oh, yes… you'll get teachers like that sometimes, dear. I had a few in my day too! But of course it sucks when it's in a subject you otherwise enjoy. Just how… 'opinionated' are we talking, though?" Milla grinned slightly, glancing at the seats in front of them and leaning in to whisper. "He'd get along great with dad." Prompting a strangled laugh from her mom, and a knowing nod. "Oh, well then. That does indeed sound rough!" The shared laugh had improved her mood a bit, but Milla still couldn't help but sigh as she looked down at her unfinished homework again. "Yeaahh… and to make it even worse, this essay is really badly defined…" she complained. "It's supposed to be about 'the consequences of the Beastmaker's death', but like… when do I stop writing?! The Beastmaker's death led to the Seraglio-Emperors, which led to the Theocracy, which led to the Reformation and the Church splintering, which led to the rise of democracy… heck, her Empire's long gone, but today's League of Democratic Nations grew directly out of it. Everything is a 'consequence' of the Beastmaker's death!"

Her mother tutted sympathetically. She didn't share her daughter's fascination with history – Milla knew that much – but she was always supportive about it, and eager to encourage her studies. This trip was a good example of that, really – there was little doubt that her father had resisted the notion, if only because of how expensive a transoceanic trip would be, but her mother had no doubt pushed the idea through by posing it as a good 'educational opportunity'. "Well, maybe you can get some inspiration for how to end it during the trip!" Her mother suggested, and nodded towards the window. "After all, this is where it all happened – see, I think the coast is coming into view now!"

Immediately, Milla spun around in her seat and leaned against the wall, pressing her face to the window for a better look. She'd been just as eager to grab a window-seat as her little brother – who was currently sitting just in front of her, with their dad beside him. Of course, her li'l bro had mostly just been entranced by the sight of the runes of reinforcement lining the plane's wings, and of course the big, glowing Thaumotechnical Engines attached to it, glowing with arcane power as they channeled the air through their core and thus drove the craft through the skies. He was fascinated with ArcanoTech machines, the bigger the better – an interest that their father was eager to encourage, already suggesting that he'd grow up to become a great Arcanist or Artificer, or maybe a full-on TechSage. Milla herself, though, was rather of the impression that most boys his age simply went through a phase where they obsessed about big machines with glowing bits.

Regardless, Milla herself had largely ignored the window for most of the trip, while all that was visible through it was the aforementioned wing and an endless expanse of blue beneath them. What she'd been waiting for the whole time was this – a dragon's eye view of the Northern Continent, the Old World, the ancestral homeland of humanity as well as many other species! And, sure enough, the coastline was indeed visible now, with nary a cloud in sight to impede her view. Sandy beaches, harsh cliffsides, isolated bays and tiny islands… all dotted with scenic fishing-villages and larger harbor-towns, many of which had probably been there for thousands of years, stolidly living off the sea's bounty while the world changed around them.

Then the beaches gave way to a jewel of natural beauty – great patches of jungle, shot through with wide, muddy rivers. A golden savanna, stretching away to the south, its boundaries out of sight beneath the plane. In the north, disappearing into the mists of the horizon, magnificent emerald forests of evergreen trees, and towering, snow-capped mountains. The Ancestral Lands of the Beastkin. She'd seen lots of pictures before – one of her best friends at school was a Tigerkin, and her family had visited the Ancestral Lands over summer last year, making full use of their ArcanoTech cameras during the trip. So she knew it looked just as breathtaking down at ground-level – a shame there'd be no time to visit that region during this holiday!

Eventually, the natural beauty of the Ancestral Lands gave way to more blue – albeit a brighter shade than the ocean had been. The Great Bay, dotted with the white specs of fishing-boats and pleasure-vehicles, as well as the far more colorful Floating Markets, where land-dwellers could mingle with the famously hospitable Merfolk of the region. They were almost at their target, as confirmed by the soothing voice of the Captain, channeled through the plane by a well-tuned voice-magnification system. "Fellow sapients, we are about to land at Mosvaruch International Skydome in just ten more minutes. The weather is clear and balmy, and there are no reported irregularities at the Skydome, so you should be able to get through customs nice and quick! Now, please fasten your seatbelts if you haven't already, and thank you for using Djibahaad Skyways…"

Milla was having the time of her life. Everywhere around her, she could see and feel the weight of history. Inns and markets that predated the founding of the country she called home. Hospitals and schools adorned with weather-worn plaques hailing the Empress and Goddess-in-Flesh, marking them as part of the Empire's early push for better education and healthcare. A neat, well-planned road-network, all paved over with modern materials by now, but still showcasing the attention to detail that had defined the Empire's attempt to improve trade and ease travel between its provinces. All the things she'd read about, watched movies about, played games about, now felt so close, so real!

The only thing really pulling down the mood was the fact that her dad was being even more grumpy than expected. Of course, she wasn't surprised to see him sneering at all the 'touristy' stuff, the overpriced snacks and souvenirs, arguing against every minor expense – it wasn't as if he was cheap, per se, but he always hated feeling like he was being taken advantage of. "Half this stuff, we could get back home for literally half the price – heck, less!" he frequently, and loudly, complained. Any 'extra' he could talk his way out of, he did – refusing to pay for the admittedly somewhat steep 'Griffonback Aerial Tour of the Old Capital' that she'd harbored a faint hope of talking him into.

However, what she hadn't quite expected was just how much the presence of any kind of 'mythological' aspect to the historical sites and museums would annoy him. Indeed, he'd just outright refused to join the rest of them for the 'Walk of Ascension Tour', ending at the Church of Ascension – meant to retrace the journey of the Beastmaker on the night when the modern calendar had shifted from Before Ascension to After Ascension. Much like her history-teacher, he considered himself a Realist, disdaining myth and legend – as far as he was concerned, there were no Gods, no Scions, no Divine Beasts. Just skilled wizards using illusions and other deceptions to manipulate the uneducated, and simple misunderstandings that had grown in each telling until they got mistaken for fact. Indeed, he prescribed to the idea – which, from what Milla could gather, was halfway between a legitimate historical thesis and an outright conspiracy-theory – that the Kirin had never actually existed. They'd just been an order of Elven Wizards, well ahead of their time in terms of magical sophistication and taking advantage of it to covertly manipulate world politics during an era where Elf-hate ran rampant. The Vanishing – when the Kirin, following the rise of the First Republic, had declared that their 'work was done' and that they would leave this world to rejoin their creator, the Goddess of Life Shigami – had thus been merely a consequence of growing educational standards and magical sophistication making it impossible for them to maintain the ruse. Though at least this conviction meant that he was actually enthusiastic for their planned trip to the ruins of Xangri-Du, later in the week, Milla wryly reflected – hoping, it seemed, to stumble on some previously-missed bit of archaeological evidence to support his conviction.

Still, no amount of grumpy-dad could stop her from feeling elated at their next stop – a tour of the Palace of the Beastmaker, and its grand collection of historical artifacts and artistic masterpieces. Ever since it had stopped being a center of government, it had become perhaps the most significant museum in the world, filled with priceless treasures from before, during and after the Beastmaker's reign. Stepping through those grand gates, flanked by actors in period-accurate replica armor, and seeing the statues and paintings that lined the entrance-hall, she almost felt like she'd… come home. The scent of history was thick here.

Milla's elation lasted until they met up with their tour-guide, and her dad reluctantly declared that they'd like to include the Seraglio Tour, even though it costed extra. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry…" the guide, a perky-looking Ratkin declared, hanging her muzzle. "The Seraglio is currently undergoing some major restoration-work, and is therefore closed to the public. The 'Hunt for the Beastmaker's Workshop' Tour is not available either, for the same reason, I'm sorry to say." Her dad perked up at this – that little inclusion had been a topic of some debate between him and mom the previous night at the hotel, but Milla couldn't prevent an exclamation of disappointment and annoyance from escaping her lips, even as her father assured the guide that this was perfectly all right, and that they'd just do the regular tour then.

Her little brother, all of eight years old, looked from her, to their dad, with that sort of annoyed confusion that kids that age tended to turn on anything that failed to explain itself properly to them. "Whassa Se-ra-gli-o anyway?" He asked, clearly mystified by the different reactions. He didn't care much about history, and had been remarkably unenthusiastic about this whole trip – as far as he was concerned, the real crown of this vacation was trying some new icecream-flavors that weren't available back home. Everybody simultaneously straightened a bit and cleared their throats, not wanting to have to explain the concept of a 'harem' to an eight-year-old, but the guide was clearly used this sort of thing, and quickly distracted him. "Well, it's where most people figure the Beastmaker's Workshop is – or at least was – probably located…" she smoothly declared, distracting him with a pleasant smile. "Have you heard of the Beastmaker's Workshop, hmm?"

The young boy nodded with sudden enthusiasm as the tour began, with the guide pointing out the various art-pieces and historical artifacts on display in the cavernous halls of the Palace as they went. "Yeah! It was in my favorite show, once! They found the workshop in a hidden basement under the Palace, and there was a bunch of gold and stuff there, and a really big Beast, and when the bad guys showed up and tried to steal everything, the Beast came to life and knocked them all out!" The guide laughed, having no doubt heard a similar synopsis before, several times. "That sounds like the Beastmaker's Workshop indeed!" She confirmed, before explaining the actually historical part of that adventure-story staple inbetween showing off the various impressive parts of the Palace Collection.

Milla was, of course, familiar. There were several sources from during the Beastmaker's Reign, making off-hand mention of her 'laboring in Her workshop', crafting or developing new Beasts. These mentions made it fairly clear that this workshop was part of the Palace, and likely located in the Private Wing, or even the Seraglio itself. However, no such workshop had ever been found – and what really lit the imagination of treasure-hunters and adventure-writers alike, was a well-preserved invoice from the Imperial Treasury that seemed to suggest the workshop had been stocked with every material the Empress could possibly desire, from rare types of wood and stone, to leather, hide, bone and feathers from now-extinct species, to precious metals and gems. To make things even more intriguing, a surviving, if highly fragmentary letter, seemed to suggest that the Consorts had sealed up the workshop after Sayn I's ascension – or death, depending on who you asked – 'so that it might stand ready and untouched for her return'.

Thus, it was quite possible that this workshop, which would both be an invaluable historical site and filled with an incredible amount of precious materials, was concealed somehow within this very Palace, and likely within the Seraglio itself. Of course, the fact that the Seraglio was also an invaluable historical site, as well having great religious significance to a decent percentage of the world's population, made it rather difficult to search for it – any kind of destructive or damaging method was out of the question. "Hrmph. More likely, one of the later emperors just plundered the place and converted it into a storage-room or something, on the quiet…" her father declared with a snort, dismissing the whole story.

Mind, he'd probably have preferred it if the guide had simply continued discussing that part-historical, part-mythical room – after all, she seemed to consider it part of her duty to keep the family's youngest, who was singularly uninterested in old paintings and dusty documents, entertained during the tour. And the next topic she broached to hold his attention required their mom to keep a calming hand on their dad's arm to keep him from loudly interjecting with some variety of 'Balderdash!' at every turn. Namely, one of the most famous ghost-stories in the world, 'The Pale Lady'.

"She's been haunting the halls of the Palace since somewhere around the 300's, when the Seraglio-Emperors gave way to the Theocracy…" the guide recounted cheerfully. "Every few years, there's another sighting of her, wandering around the hallways at night, or just standing there, staring at some portrait or statue. A tall, ghostly-pale woman, clad in a black grieving-dress with a veil. There's all kinds of theories about who she was in life, with the most popular being Thielwen, the original Elf-Consort – the earliest sightings do fit with her time of death, but nobody's ever gotten a good enough look at her to tell whether she's got pointy ears."

Milla, despite being largely focused on moping about losing the chance to visit the Seraglio – which she'd been so excited for – still couldn't quite resist listening carefully. Stuff like this didn't usually get mentioned in the serious history-books she read. Her little brother, meanwhile, was clearly mostly concerned with making it clear that he was not the slightest bit scared of ghosts. "I bet she's not really all that scary!" he declared, making the guide smile tolerantly. "Indeed, most who've seen her haven't reported being frightened…" the Ratkin agreed. "We've got written records going back more than five hundred years, of people recounting such encounters and claiming that the sight of her merely filled them with 'a deep sense of grief and regret'. But there are exceptions! Supposedly, there's been a few occasions when she actually approached people – and proceeded to declare them 'unwelcome and unworthy' in no uncertain terms, her voice 'resonating with pure disdain'. We got that account from the testimony of a scribe back in the 600's who'd been helping a senator skim money from the Imperial budget, until such an encounter with the Pale Lady terrified him into turning state evidence. And while there's no real evidence thereof, many like to speculate that the sudden death by heart-attack of Emperor Taleasin II – who was known to be a thoroughly unpleasant fellow to be around – was due to him being confronted by the Pale Lady in his bedchambers one night."

"Pah… there's no evidence of any of that foolishness…" her dad grumbled under his breath, prompting her mom to tighten her grip on his arm further, shooting him a censorious look. Their little boy was clearly enjoying the story, and it was keeping him from getting fussy and complaining about being stuck in a 'boring' museum, so best to let the tour-guide carry on unimpeded – clearly, she knew what she was doing. Milla, meanwhile, refocused on her moping, before grimacing at how silly she was being. The only thing worse than moping, was moping while nobody noticed. She'd dropped back in the procession, walking along with her hands deep in her pockets. Between the tour-guide telling stories to her little brother, and her mom trying to keep her dad from interjecting with his own opinions on those stories, none of them were really paying her any attention.

It wasn't as if she'd stopped admiring all the historical art and artifacts that surrounded them, though. Even the broad hallways of the palace were filled with things worth inspecting, as they made their way from one display-hall to the next. However, as she did so, she spotted something that worsened her mood further – a grand gate made from gilded steel and wood, finely decorated, with a sign beside it reading 'Private Wing and Seraglio Access'. A set of little pylons and ropes blocked it off, along with the expected 'Under Maintenance – NO ACCESS' sign. Yet another reminder that she'd come all the way across the ocean to this place, only to find her main point of interest closed off to her! She'd read so much about that Seraglio – Prakarov hadn't been exaggerating with the title of his book. It really had been the center of the world, during the Beastmaker's reign and the birth of the Empire. To miss her chance to see it for herself rankled like nothing else…

Just as they were passing, though, a group of workmen in dusty, paint-splattered attire emerged from the roped-off gate, chatting amicably with each other as they stepped over the ropes and proceeded down the hallway in the opposite direction. She could hear snippets of their chatter – mentions of lunch. A glance at her wristwatch confirmed that they were drawing close to noon, but only just. Apparently, the stereotype of Old Worlders taking long, leisurely lunch-breaks was fairly spot on! A stray thought made her hesitate, slowing her walk. The rest of her group was getting further and further ahead, and still hadn't noticed her hanging back. Furtively, she looked around. They'd passed several other tour-groups along the way, but there wasn't anyone else in sight, in this particular stretch of corridor. There were probably hidden scrying-spheres somewhere up under the ceiling, but whoever was watching through those would be turning their attention towards lunch right about now too, wouldn't they?

Feeling a sudden surge of elation and adolescent rebelliousness, she turned on her heel, crossed the hallways in swift, silent steps, and jumped the rope-barrier – stepping into the Private Wing without any alarms going off, any guards crying out or rushing to tackle her. The hallway on the other side of the grandiose door had a bunch of maintenance-supplies stacked against the wall – paint-cans, ladders, brushes, and various odd ArcanoTech devices that were probably used for restoration-efforts or something. Several empty plinths and pale squares on the walls suggested that various valuable objects had been removed to somewhere safer during the ongoing work. There was nobody else there, no sounds audible from deeper inside – it really seemed like all the workers had departed together.

Heart beating with excitement, she proceeded further in, feeling suddenly like she was in some kind of heist-movie. Breaking into the Private Wing of the Beastmaker's Palace! A shame she wasn't wearing a slinky black catsuit for the occasion, or something like that. Still, it was probably best not to linger too long – or so she reminded herself, as she forced herself to pass by the doors on the right. She'd glanced at a map of the palace in a brochure when they first entered, and unless her memory was playing tricks, those all led into recreations of the kitchen, dining-room and creche that had existed there during the Beastmaker's reign. At the end of the hallway would be the door to the Imperial Baths, which was supposedly quite a wonder in and of themselves, having survived largely intact through the ages, even when changes were made to the rest of the wing. But the real target was the solitary door on the left…

Stepping through it, Milla felt almost as if she'd walked onto the page of a history-book. A grand garden sat before her, brightly-lit by the noonday sun – surrounded by an octagonal colonnade, offering a shaded path around the broad patch of green. She could hear birdsong and buzzing insects, while the busy sounds of the Old Capital seemed distant and muted. As she stepped into the light, the illusion did somewhat fade – there was scaffolding standing against the sides of the colonnade, and other similar signs of the ongoing work. From the looks of things, it was the artful carvings on the edge of the colonnade roof that they were working to restore – made sense it'd need it, since it was largely exposed to wind and sun! Without some kind of fancy alchemical covering, regularly applied and refreshed, weathering and fading would be a real issue.

Still, once she was out in the garden proper, near the large pond that covered much of one corner, she could ignore all that – it was just a matter of looking in the right direction, ensuring that all that stuff was behind her. Then, she could breathe in the storied air, and imagine herself back in that distant time – as if, at any moment, one of the Consorts could emerge from their chamber to greet her! And yet… even ignoring the scaffolding, something felt off. Maybe it was the benches. They were scattered strategically all over the garden – big slabs of solid stone, polished on the top but often lined with delicate carvings or shot through with crystalline veins along the sides. All surrounded by little rope-circles and signs making it clear that they were not for sitting, being authentic relics from the age of the Beastmaker. One was even shielded by a shimmering force-bubble, protecting it from the weather as well as greasy fingers – its sign proudly proclaiming that this one was believed to have been carved by the Beastmaker's own hand somewhere around 5-6 BA. It seemed… wrong, having them fenced off like that, instead of being in use. And some were definitely in the wrong spots.

A sudden spell of dizziness made Milla stagger. Too hot. The noonday sun was beating right down on her head as she stood in the garden's center. Her head buzzed, seemingly trying to drown out the bugs that were doing the same thing. Why did she think the benches were in the wrong places? Maybe it just didn't look the same as some of the pictures and artwork of the Seraglio she'd seen. But that didn't explain why she suddenly felt like she could suddenly hear a lighthearted, elven laugh and the sound of centaur-hooves on the path behind her, only to spin around and see nothing. She was all alone in this garden – this place, so heavy with history and myth. Maybe that was what was throwing her off. This was not a place where you should be alone. It was a place for love, friendship, pleasure and togetherness…

Or maybe she was just getting heatstroke. Having managed to think that thought, she quickly staggered along the winding paths of the octagonal garden, along the side of the pond, towards the shaded colonnade. The fountain in the middle of the pond looked wrong, too… well, that was just because it was off at the moment, presumably, she reassured herself as she reached the shade and rested her hand on one of the columns, breathing deeply and trying to clear her head. The coolness was helping, but not actually as much as she'd thought. Her head was still buzzing. She felt disoriented… as if her surroundings were familiar, yet alien. Blinking, she realized that she'd unconsciously made her way to a very particular part of the colonnade – she was standing right in front of the door to the Beastmaker's personal chambers.

Annoyed at herself, she smacked her cheeks. This was a unique opportunity! She couldn't just space out. The sharp sound and the resulting pain did help her refocus, fortunately, and with a deep breath, she stepped up to the door, which swung easily inwards at her touch. Inside was a small patch of floor, roped off from the rest, along with signs making it clear that this was a 'look, but don't touch' style display. A loving recreation of the Beastmaker's bedroom, with much of the furniture and several other artifacts being genuine pieces of history.

A grand bed, big enough for a centaur, a griffon, or both at the same time. A vanity with a broad mirror, a selection of dazzling jewelry displayed before it, surrounded by the barely-perceivable shimmering of an anti-theft ward. A huge, ancient wardrobe, standing open to display several antique dresses – with a stand in front of it featuring a rather skimpy selection of cloth-strips and a bejeweled mask, a sign at its foot proudly declaring it to be The Lover's Dress, one of the Three Treasures of the Palace. A desk with a throne-like chair before it, documents stacked atop its surface, while a collection of small figurines lined a shelf above it.

All of it wasn't quite right. Milla felt weirdly certain of that. There shouldn't be so many documents on that desk. That dress shouldn't be there, but stored elsewhere. That chair, that footstool, was in the wrong spot. The curtains on the windows were the wrong color, as were the bedcovers. Dizzy all over again, she stepped over the rope, into the room proper, without thinking. A little voice in the back of her head was rather upset about this, suggesting that there was bound to be some kinda' pressure-sensitive enchantment on the floor, and that her trespass would set off a rather loud alarm somewhere else in the Palace. But she wasn't paying attention – the sense of wrongness, of unreality, was overwhelming.

Almost in a trance, she reached the center of the room – spinning slowly, taking it all in. Recognizing parts, even if others were wrong. Something was bothering her more than the rest. Something was just decidedly off. Her spin stopped, and she staggered with the force of the revelation. It was the wardrobe – that big, old wardrobe that seemed to be a part of the room, bolted to the floor and the wall both. It was in the wrong place. There was supposed to be a door there. Gripped by this realization, she stepped up beside the huge thing – all thick, well-aged wood and carefully-preserved metal hinges – and put her hands on its side, attempting to push it.

The wardrobe slid soundlessly along the wall, as if mounted on well-oiled rails – reaching, moments later, the point where it was supposed to be, and revealing the narrow doorway it'd been hiding. A sense of relief rushed through Milla, even as she tried the door and found it unlocked – she wasn't going crazy. What she was feeling, was real. This door – it could only be one thing. And if she was right, heck, even if Palace Security barged through the door in a minute to tackle her, they'd probably forgive her for crossing those ropes. Still… how had that huge wardrobe moved so easily? Well, magic, obviously, but she couldn't be the first one to have nudged the side of it, in the last thousand years or so. Had… had the wardrobe recognized her, the same way she had recognized it?

Redoubled confusion still couldn't stop her from feeling a rising surge of excitement as the secret door swung open. Behind it, a sharp corner and a narrow staircase – existing entirely inside the wall that separated this room from the chambers of Korlin, the Kirin Consort, next door. As she stepped inside, staring down the dark staircase, several arcane lamps responded to her presence, activating one by one and spreading a warm, orange light that extended all the way down to a door at the bottom. The stairwell felt at once right and wrong, as she carefully descended along it. Or rather… too right, maybe? Part of Milla felt that this hidden space should have been extremely dusty, choked with cobwebs, filled with stale air. Another part noted that the stairs seemed to have been used somewhat regularly, and had no issue with that – instead, it was just noting how worn the steps seemed to be. Neither, thus, were entirely happy with the smoothly-worn, vaguely dusty stone steps, or the handful of small cobwebs visible in the corners.

The door at the bottom of the steps wasn't locked either… or had she actually heard the click of a lock unlatching itself the moment she laid her hand on the doorhandle? She couldn't tell for sure, between the buzzing in her ears and the loud beating of her heart. Passing through, she turned another corner and entered a large, domed room, filling up a space beneath several of the Consort-chambers rather than extending directly underneath the Seraglio garden. Of course, it couldn't have fit under the garden, she immediately concluded – that was where Rubicundus' underground den was located, not to mention the water-filled tunnels that let Aishee get around. Another wave of dizziness washed over her as that thought popped into her mind, but she shook it off and stepped further into this long-hidden space, watching more arcane lamps flicker on to illuminate it for her.

It was, indeed, the Beastmaker's legendary, long-lost workshop. All manner of tools stood ready there, in little groups scattered around the room. A forge and anvil along with a rack of blacksmith-tools. Rope-making equipment and a loom. A woodworker's bench, a jeweler's table with a dusty loupe, a tanning-rack, and yet more obscure tools that she still, somehow, could immediately identify. Presumably due to all her enthusiastic history-studies! And yes, the materials were there too, just as the treasure-hunters had always speculated. Trays of dried bone, stacks of wooden logs, barrels of stones and crystals, crates of ingots, loops of fiber, piles of hides… everything from mundane granite and oakwood to shimmering ingots of gold and platinum, bowls of precious and semi-precious gemstones…

Breathless, Milla let her gaze wander, taking it all in. No mere museum-display, but a genuine piece of history, left untouched through the ages! Here and there, unfinished projects could be seen – strange creatures made from mismatched materials by the Beastmaker's own hands, yet abandoned here for one reason or another, never receiving the gift of life. A large, bricked-over gateway on one side of the room suggested that the finished works hadn't had to climb the narrow stairs behind her to get out, either – until the room had been sealed, shortly after the Night of Ascension. It was all so overwhelming – and yet, the same sense of it all being 'not quite right' that the staircase had given her, remained. The place was dusty, and there were cobwebs – but not a thousand years worth of dust and cobwebs. For that matter, in the case of the arcane lamps that lit the stairs and this room alike – if she remembered her ArcanoTech classes correctly, there was no way they could still have even a sliver of magical charge after so long. Even if they hadn't ever activated, there'd be an ever-so-slight, but constant, passive loss of thaumeons. They'd have lost all their charge within a few centuries at best, never mind a millennium – unless somebody was recharging them. Maintaining them. Dusting.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her spin around. A curtain, rustling and shifting. In a flash, she knew what was behind it – a little sleeping-nook with a simple bed and a few other basic necessities. Great for taking a nap in the middle of some lengthy project, or for those cases where you finish what you've been working on only for fatigue to hit you like a ton of bricks as you realize that it's well into the small hours, leaving you unwilling to face the climb up the narrow stairs to the big, fancy bed above. Now, though, that curtain parted, and a tall, pale-skinned figure, clad in a sorrow-black dress and a long, dark veil that covered face and hair alike, strode into view. A sense of anger radiated from the infamous Pale Lady, and her words were hissed rather than shouted. "You intrude on a sacred place, mortal…"

Reality seemed to slide in and out of focus around Milla. Three different viewpoints seemed to be simultaneously trying to assert themselves, overlapping and grinding against each other in a way that was giving her a steadily-worsening headache. First was the immediate, knee-jerk reaction of frozen terror – she was alone, in this dusty, hidden place, confronted by this strange, pale, clearly pissed-off woman. Even if she wasn't really a ghost – ghosts probably didn't freshen up the lamps or dust for cobwebs – that still put her in a potentially dangerous, even deadly, situation. Especially since, emerging from that curtain behind her as the Pale Lady had, she was between Milla and the stairs…

The second viewpoint, though, was one of bemused detachment. This… had to be a dream, right? Maybe she'd wound up falling asleep in that sun-drenched Seraglio garden, and was now dreaming about the Beastmaker's Workshop and the Pale Lady because she'd just heard that tour-guide talking about them. Or maybe she was still in her bed back in the hotel, and her excitement for tomorrow's trip to the Palace of the Beastmaker had prompted a dream that started out realistic, but then embarked on some increasingly wild swerves. That would also explain the disorientation and dizziness and so on, presumably.

The third reaction, though, seemed to come out of nowhere, and swiftly shove the other two aside. A sense of recognition. The shape of the body under that black dress, the sound of that hissing voice… she knew this woman. A name popped into her head – familiar, if only from the history-books. "…Korlin? Why are you dressed like that?" The words flew out of her mouth before she could fully parse them, and now it was the black-clad woman's turn to freeze in place. A pale hand rose in a sudden burst of movement, grabbing the dark veil and tearing it away. The face underneath was androgynously beautiful, with wide, gray eyes set within the ivory skin, pure-white hair spilling down past her shoulders… a symphony of colorlessness. Yet still, undeniably, familiar.

As Milla stared, those wide eyes shuddered, and a tear formed in one corner – gleaming like a rainbow in the warm glow of the arcane lamps. Korlin's voice, no longer hissing angrily, gasped out a few words. "You… you came back… after all…" The tear fell, and suddenly, it was as if an explosion of colors spread from it. The Kirin's skin regained its customary, golden glow. Her long hair once again pastel-blue with white tips, invoking the image of a sunset over the sea. Her eyes, warm and brown. Her dress, a verdant green decorated with rosy-red heart-motifs. Still she stood frozen, until one final word broke the paralysis, and sent her rushing across the floor like a crashing wave. "Sayn!"

Milla didn't move. Her mind was wrestling with itself, turning and turning, expanding and contracting. The embrace was the final catalyst. Korlin's arm wrapped around her, the oh-so-familiar contours of her body, pressed against her flesh. The smell of her hair, the sound of her voice as she sobbed, clinging to her. The emotions all this awoke… it made it all clear. Memories, flowing back, arranging themselves like soldiers on parade. Another life, in a time now ancient history. A throne, a palace, a Seraglio… friends and enemies, conflicts and victories… and always, her beloved Consorts, and her infinitely precious Korlin, by her side. Then, frayed fragments of an existence too great for a mortal mind to contain. A piece of a star, a Birthday-Gift. The power to leave it all behind, cutting her true self and soul off from the vast majority of her power – and then, to be reborn, reincarnated upon the world in her care. To be used when her work was done, and the world no longer needed a Goddess watching over it.

"Yes… I'm back, my love…" Sayn sighed, enfolding the weeping Kirin in her spindly, seventeen-year-old arms. She still remembered her life as Milla, of course. She hadn't forgotten her parents, or her little brother. Explaining any of this to them would be… challenging. Her dad, in particular, might not be enthused to discover that he was the father of the literal Second Coming of the Beastmaker. But, like it or not, she was Sayn again, with all that entailed. "I can't believe you really waited for me, all this time…" she mumbled, stroking Korlin's hair. "But I'm glad." Then, she kissed her, thoroughly. There was so, so much lost time to make up for…

________________________________________________________________________________

Well above this reunited couple, in one of the Palace's main display-halls, a couple were arguing about exactly whose fault it was that they hadn't noticed their daughter disappearing from behind them. A tour-guide was nervously making a call to security, cursing herself for getting so preoccupied with entertaining the young boy, that she hadn't noticed how perturbed the teen girl was with the news of the Seraglio's closure. Guests weren't supposed to move around the Palace unescorted – with how much old, valuable stuff it was filled with, they could do a lot of damage, entirely by accident!

Said boy, meanwhile, was bored. Everybody was talking about his sister, but she was so big, she could look after herself, surely. For lack of anything better to do, he was inspecting the most impressive-looking display-case in the room. There was a bird inside it – sort of. It was obviously a fake, made from some white stuff, and some shiny stuff… even he had to admit it was really pretty, though. The plaque beneath it was really fancy too, declaring it to be one of 'The Three Treasures of the Palace' – The Silent Songbird. Which didn't make much sense to him – if it was silent, it clearly wasn't a proper songbird, was it?

As he watched, however, the fake bird began to stir. Its wings vibrating, its body shifting. Suddenly, it didn't actually seem very fake at all, even though it didn't have real feathers or anything like that – it was moving like a real, live bird! "Mom, dad! This is really cool!" He called, staring at the bird, now standing up on the little pillow it had been sitting on before, looking around in apparent curiosity. "Not now, honey!" Was the only answer he got, much to his chagrin. The bird, however, had at least noticed him – turning to look up at his face, through the magically-reinforced glass box that covered it. As if in response to his fascinated stare, it spread its wings, lifted its beak, and began to sing. A resonant, joyous anthem, vibrant with delight, celebrating life itself, radiated out from the display-case, turning every head in the large room towards it, astonishment drawn across their faces. An ArchanoTech communicator slipped from the tour-guide's suddenly-limp hand as she, too, saw and heard the no-longer-silent Songbird stretch its wings and voice. She knew all the stories, myths and superstitions that were attached to the museum's many artifacts, but believed in only a few. The idea that the Silent Songbird might one day sing again, and thus herald the Return of the Beastmaker, had not been one of them…

A New Beginning…

...but the Tales of the Beastmaker end here. It is time, I believe, to grant her a measure of privacy. She has earned that much, for all her hard labors, won't you agree?

• Aterxeus