Three crowns offered, thrice declined,
Crownless plots with minds aligned.
Mentor now to royal thrones,
Guides the realm through whispered tones.

Once a queen where shadows lie,
Set her crown as night draws nigh.
Wisdom chose and subtle might,
Shunned the sun, in moon’s cold light.

Secret council heeds her voice,
Crownless, yet she holds the reign.
Triumvirates she molds from choice,
To ensure the Mandate’s gain.

– Opening to the Ode to the Crownless, composed in the seventh age.

Creation: The 3rd Month in the 28th Year in the Reign of Golden Harvests

Casselia awoke with a gasp, hacking up water as she broke the surface. Memories of her last death surged—stabbed by an [Assassin] sent by the [Procurator] again. The pain had been searing, a betrayal that burned deeply. Coughing violently, she struggled to her feet. How many times must I endure this? She scowled, already plotting her revenge. I will not let this slide. Not again. This time we will shatter his real Crest and break this seemingly eternal cycle of ours.

She glanced around the stone chamber after she was certain her heaving had expelled all of the liquid from her lungs. How long has it been this time? she wondered. Last time I died, it took over a century to recover and it was taking more each time. What of the others? Have they returned as well?

She spotted an elaborate cotton robe hanging on the sole chair in the room, the robe was gray interwoven with gold thread to give the impression of lightning on a cloudy sky. Her Crest—a small amulet— was placed upon it. A robe in the Malan tradition, I wonder how my crest arrived here. She had left her Crest in Tuvashar, the City of Scholars, before her death and expected to awaken in one of the recovery pools of the Kiel high in the treetops. 

Casselia stood, her legs unsteady as she adjusted to her reborn body. Though her body was the same as it had been for more than a thousand years, each resurrection left her feeling slightly out of sync, like wearing a garment that was just a bit too tight in unfamiliar places. She always felt like she had to spend months readjusting to a body after she returned. It just never felt quite the same. She hated dying outside of Aslavain.

She dressed quickly, slipping the amulet around her neck and hiding the Crest beneath her robe. With a practiced motion, she wove a spell in the air, her fingers moving in familiar patterns, drawing heat from the murky water nearby. The stone wall in front of her became glossy as the surface smoothed and took on a reflective finish. Casselia examined her reflection, her dark skin and black hair complementing the woven gold in her robe. Acceptable. She dismissed the spell and turned as the wall returned to normal. 

Casselia paused before leaving the chamber, her fingers lightly brushing the stone wall as she composed her thoughts. She was going to be greeted by one of the servants and his memories would surely be reviewed by local intelligence. Her return would draw notice and she knew she would need to move quickly. She couldn’t afford to be killed before she had become a sworn mentor for a triumvirate in Aslavain. 

A proper mentor contract would ensure that even if she was killed she had a tether that would allow her to return. Well, not any death. Consumption by the Tul, was the most common true death for one of the [Venerate], that she was certain of. They hadn’t always avoided the lands across the Diontel, they had lived far too long for that to have been possible in the service of the empire, but they hadn’t thrown themselves at the monsters like some of their peers. 

As long as she could reach Aslavain she would be safe from that fate at least. Aslavain, the Realm of the Sul Empire, was the world’s greatest training grounds. Aslavain was an alternate world with unique rules, abilities, and treasures that had been created by the First Empire. It was one of the few treasures of that dead people which had survived the Blood Wars. The Tul, like all of the surviving creations of the Tul-Tul-Tar, were unable to enter Aslavain. It was one of the few Realms to survive the Tenant of Consumption and thank the Sulphen that is the case. 

Stepping out of the chamber, Casselia found herself in a stone hallway lined with identical doors, spaced every dozen feet. A rare sight, she thought, as few cities or sects dedicated multiple rooms to the rebirth of a [Venerate]. The cost of maintenance was exorbitant and could last for decades at a time. 

Rahabia, the City of Games and the capital of the empire was the most likely city she was in, she decided. Saralainn, the City of Growth could have similar facilities but she doubted it, not without even a single plant within sight. The last time she had awoken in Saralainn she had been in a glade in the clearing, surrounded by trees that had been cultivated in a piece of living art. Rahabia indeed. 

She heard the shuffling of someone rushing down the corridor and turned to see a pudgy man in yellow robes and spectacles who looked far more worried than he should. A [Venerate] being reborn was typically a moment of celebration but the man looked as though he was on the verge of panicking. 

“Lady Casselia, I was sent to greet you as soon as the staff realized that you had awoken. I apologize profusely for my delay.” 

The man bowed hastily, his glasses slipping from his nose and clattering to the floor. He froze, shooting her a nervous glance before stooping to retrieve them, his fingers trembling as he fumbled with the frames. What is wrong with him? Casselia wondered. 

“It is of no concern. Have you come to brief me on the state of the empire?” 

“The stories of the Crownless’s grace are true indeed. I have come to bring you to a meeting room and answer any questions you have. Shall we?” He gestured down the hallway, and Casselia nodded, following him in silence, content to think.

As Casselia followed him through the winding corridors, her eyes traced the intricate carvings that adorned the Malan architecture. Mythical beasts and scenes of ancient battles leapt from the walls in exquisite detail, each line and curve a testament to the city’s rich history. The flickering torchlight made the carvings seem to move, shadows dancing as if the ancient stories were coming to life before her eyes.

Ornate sconces, each one a unique work of art, held the torches that bathed the corridors in a warm, golden glow. The air was filled with the faint scent of incense and Casselia took a moment to appreciate the lengths that they had gone to make this area feel worthy of the rebirth of the empire’s greatest heroes. The empire managed to create new [Venerate] a few times a decade if they were lucky, and they often paled in comparison to the heroes of old. It was fitting that they made even the youngest [Venerate] feel a part of something grand, she decided. 

Eventually, they reached an ornate wooden door that swung open of its own accord, revealing a square chamber with a finely crafted wooden table at its center. Definitely Rahabian in style, she thought. For Rahabia to transfer my Crest would have required the imperial intervention of someone at least as powerful as one of the Wardens, maybe even the Imperial Triumvirate itself. As she entered, she hoped the man would be able to provide her answers.

The room was clearly an homage to the Room of Threefold Oaths, with one wall covered in a wooden veneer and its opposite painted in ivory tones reminiscent of bone. Each wall was decorated with intricate carvings of cranes in various forms, where the contract’s language would have been in the real thing. “Welcome to the Crane Room milady; feel free to take a seat.” 

As they took their seats, she noticed his continued nervousness, as though he had news he was reluctant to share. Casselia’s mind raced with possibilities—was the empire in a state of crisis, or was he simply unaccustomed to dealing with one of the [Venerate]? She needed answers.

“My name is Lirien Malinar, and I work with the Guild of Fallen Heroes. I apologize again for any inconvenience for one such as yourself; we were not expecting your return after all this time.”

Casselia’s brow furrowed. “All this time? How long have I been in recovery?”

Each death tended to result in longer and longer recovery periods for the [Venerate], but she didn’t expect her departure would have taken much longer than it had the last time. 

“The summer solstice in three months will mark two hundred and thirty two years since your last death and thirty-six years since your crest was transferred by the order of the North Warden.” That was… unexpected. She had spent more than two centuries in recovery? She had seldom heard of any of the [Venerate] being gone so long. 

“That long?” She asked. “I should have returned over a century ago.”

“We have been experiencing a… slowing of the return lately, milady. There are various theories as to what’s causing the inconvenience but nothing is certain. It’s impacted the oldest of the Venerate the hardest.”

Over a century of lost time on top of her normal period of return was not something minor in the workings of empire. The [Procurator] better not be dead. I can’t shatter his crest and stop him from ever returning if he is in recovery. Even his death isn’t worth the consequences of breaking the Compact of Return. Her thoughts returned to what Lirian had said. A slowing of the recovery for the empire’s greatest heroes? I should have been around to investigate this. I bet they are criminally underusing Krinka. Clearly something is wrong and whoever is investigating is not nearly qualified enough. 

“And what of my companions? Have Krinka or Alsarana recovered yet?”

“The [Archivist] and the [Harbinger] have both awoken. Lord Krinka awoke thirty-seven years ago and Lord Alsarana awoke twenty-three years ago; both have been waiting for your full recovery. It was Lord Krinka who requested your Crest be transferred from Tuvashar to Rahabia with the approval of the Warden.”

Relief washed over Casselia. She despised the waiting game, the agonizing stretch of decades spent anticipating the recovery of her companions. Though she could always find ways to occupy her time, the idle waiting gnawed at her patience, each day a reminder of their incomplete triumvirate. Though she was certain Krinka had loved the extra decades to conduct his research free of her ‘meddling.’

“Are they here now?”

“Lord Krinka is in Haffarah and Lord Alsarana left us notice that he intends to travel to Haffarah to join him as soon as you had recovered. Word has already been sent and he should be on his way.”

Krinka is in the City of History as always; I should have known better than to ask. I have to force him to leave the Archives in the best of times, let alone when one of us is still in recovery.

“And what is the state of the empire, Lirien? Are we at war once again?” Casselia’s voice held a steely edge, bracing for the worst.

“Why no, milady.” He looked taken aback by the question, though he shouldn’t have been. A lot could change in centuries. “The empire has enjoyed peace, save for skirmishes with the Banes of Civilization, ever since the Treaty of Swallows Grace and the integration of the Bal. The House of Lords has even declared this a period of unmatched prosperity.”

His tone was meant to reassure, but Casselia caught the undercurrent of uncertainty in his eyes.

Prosperity… and yet, why do I sense a storm on the horizon? Casselia mused silently. Peace could be as fragile as glass, shattering with the slightest pressure. “And yet, the fact that the Sulphen has called us back suggests there may be more beneath the surface. I trust you’ll keep me informed of any developments, no matter how minor they may seem.”

That explains the longer than expected slumber at least. If there hasn’t been a need for us the Sulphen wouldn’t have called us back. Has it simply been long enough that we were returned anyway, or are we on the verge of some disaster? 

Casselia interrogated Lirien for the better part of an hour about the state of the empire before she was satisfied that she had the information she would need in order to make her way to Haffarah and connect with the rest of her triumvirate. As she thanked him for his time and prepared to go, he interrupted her. 

“Before you leave milady, one of the Arenea left this for you and indicated that it was of the highest priority.” He pulled out a bundle of string and passed it across the table to her. She quickly read the message, sorting through the various strings and deciphering the meaning held within. 

Casselia wanted to resent Nyxol’s audacity to assign her a task before reuniting with her companions, but she knew better than to expect the Queen of Silk to consider her feelings. That spider always thinks she knows something I don’t, she thought. Still, we have almost three months before the cycle starts and they would need to be in Aslavain. 

Two centuries… So much would have changed. She thought of Nyxol’s message, her mind racing with possibilities. Why assign us a new triumvirate rather than letting us pick our own? Is the empire truly at peace, or is there a storm brewing beneath the surface? Her hand instinctively went to the amulet around her neck, her Crest. We’ve been through this before. We’ll adapt, overcome, and if necessary, we’ll forge new paths from the ashes. I won’t let the empire fall into darkness again.

She rose from the seat and after a quick explanation to Lirien about what she would need, he led her through the complex they were housed within to an open hall milling with people. The room was four stories tall with a massive skylight bathing the crowd with sunlight from high above. Lines of people waited in front of the dozens of large gates set into the wall every three dozen feet. 

“The gate to Haffarah is on the third story, about halfway down.” He pointed at a balcony high above as he handed over a scroll with the seal of Rahabia. “That will grant you access to the portal. As one of the [Venerate] you, of course, have full access to the imperial transportation network. As you work to reunite with your companions, this scroll will make that clear to anyone who seeks to give you trouble.” 

“And the gate to Tuvashar? I have business in the City of Scholars to resolve before I travel to Haffarah.”

Lirien pointed to a gate set into a wooden frame and she thanked him for his assistance before leaving, her thoughts focused on her companions. The idea of reuniting with Krinka and Alsarana filled her with a mix of anticipation and unease. We have endured so much together, our bond forged in the crucible of war and tempered by centuries of shared purpose. Yet, time and death have a way of changing people. Will they still be the same? She knew her worries were foolish, unlikely to bear any fruit. Krinka and Als were her closest friends and she knew they would be there for her. Until the empire falls we will stand firm, we swore it all those years ago.

She steeled herself, knowing that whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. The Mandate of Empire had risen from the ashes before, and they would do so again. The Mandate’s motto was ‘Ashes to Edifice,’ and she had a feeling that soon there would be ashes to rebuild from.

She would reach Tuvashar within the hour to settle her affairs before pulling Krinka’s head out of his tomes and Als tail away from whatever group he was tormenting.

---

Creation: The 4th Month in the 28th Year in the Reign of Golden Harvests

Krinka the [Archivist], one of the empire’s most valuable [Venerate] and a companion to the Crownless herself, sat cross-legged before one of thousands of towering shelves brimming with the Sul Empire’s knowledge. He was deeply engrossed in a tome about the historical mating habits of the northern swallows of the Gondarian Marsh, steadfast in his defense of the empire.

Krinka wasn’t an ecologist, and he certainly didn’t approve of the continued existence of any type of bird—a sentiment starkly contrasted by the dozens of tomes about these creatures piled around him. Each book represented hours of meticulous research by those who regarded the birds as airbound menaces.

Two years ago, one of his contacts had informed him of worries about the rise of a new Beast King in the north. After years of dedicated study, Krinka was confident they had been wrong. Not only had a Beast Lord failed to materialize over the past two years—providing ample evidence of a false conclusion—but Krinka’s research also revealed that the region was carefully tended by Bal [Shamans] and Malan [Ecologists], who were providing great service to the empire.

At this point, he was convinced that the birds were locked in a constant battle to impress their potential mates—a struggle that left little energy to concern themselves with the Sulphen and ascend. In his long life, he had discovered that far more issues stemmed from mating habits than anyone would expect.

As much as Krinka hated birds, exterminating yet another species in the name of preemptive defense felt wrong. He closed the tome and stretched, glad that Casselia wasn’t there to comment on his poor posture or bulging stomach pressing against his robe. She always wanted everything he did to be perfect—not that he minded too much. Even in her absence, her influence lingered. He chuckled softly. I suppose that’s why I miss her. Her presence was always a reminder of our potential for greatness.

Casselia had a way of making people feel important—a trait she possessed even before she became the Crownless.

The soft rustle of pages and the scent of old parchment were comforting, yet they were a stark reminder of his self-imposed isolation.  For too long, I’ve buried myself in these tomes, hiding from the world outside. Alsarana and Casselia… they’ve seen so much more. His eyes drifted to the shelves, filled with the weight of history. But can I truly help them out there? I know the theories, the strategies, but reality is unpredictable. Still, if Casselia believes in this, I must stand by her. The empire’s future might very well depend on the knowledge I’ve gathered. It’s time to turn theory into practice.

Krinka hoped she would return soon. It had been far too long since he had awakened and found his companions held within the Sulphen, though Alsarana had visited him almost two decades ago and promised to find Krinka as soon as Casselia returned. He also hoped that the naga hadn’t gotten himself into too much trouble over the decades.

Krinka stood and called upon one of the archives’ Eidolons, requesting the spirit to return the stacks of texts to their appropriate locations. The ghostly form of the Eidolon assured him it would be taken care of. Absently, Krinka wondered if his life would have been better as one of the Eidolons—maintaining and curating the enormous collection bound to the stacks until they were chosen to run one of the trials in Aslavain.

Shaking his head ruefully, he dismissed the thought. If he were an Eidolon, he wouldn’t have been able to leave the archives unless appointed to the Immortal Chambers as an [Administrator] of the empire—a role he had no interest in. Being one of the [Venerate], with the authority to travel through Creation or Aslavain, was far better. Freedom was always preferable.

He still didn’t understand why they were called [Venerate]. He had spent centuries trying to trace the etymological origins of the term and thought he was on the verge of understanding it in an abandoned Domicile rumored to interest the Dion—and, in Casselia’s view, the [Procurator]. They had wasted months on that red herring.

The term [Venerate] seemed to date back to the First Empire, before the rise of the Tul-Tul-Tar. As a historian, how could Krinka not be interested in what life was like before civilization collapsed and the apocalypse broke the world? The First Empire possessed magics and abilities that had yet to be replicated, and Krinka knew there were thousands of abandoned Shrines and Domiciles holding those missing pieces of knowledge—lost in the wilds or locked away from public use.

The [Venerate] weren’t worshiped nowadays, and few gods existed in the Sul Empire. Sure, some ancient cults still claimed their own divinity—the Holy Church of the Three, the Radiant Flame, and the Eternal Weave—but most simply worshiped the Sulphen itself. Krinka would argue that these cults worshiped manifestations of the Sulphen rather than independent divinities.

A hissing voice shattered the silence of the archives, interrupting his wandering thoughts. “So, do the sparrows need extermination this time, or do the birdies get to keep their short, little lives?”

He turned with a rustle of thick cloth as his robes brushed against the nearby shelf, speaking with a calm that concealed his racing excitement. “Alsarana, did you find wandering up to your standards?”

“It was… enlightening this time around. I had never spent time with the UlaanBal before. The goblin warrens are quite a sight to behold.”

Krinka knew that Alsarana wanted him to ask about the goblins and his purpose in the south, but he preferred the naga to volunteer the information after he refused to inquire. It was an old habit, one he understood well, as habits were the glue that held life together. What were friendship or love but the sharing of habits and interests? A repetition of actions and conversations that made each relationship unique. “I take it that Casselia has awakened and is on her way?”

“Yessssss.” The word hissed out, Alsarana’s annoyance palpable in its lengthening. Krinka suppressed a smile as his friend seemed reluctant to mention the goblins again.

The empire had lacked any established greenskin tribes until the Treaty of Swallows Grace, and goblin matrons were notoriously secretive about the inner workings of a warren. He would honestly love to learn more about the local cultures and, even better, goblin-specific skills, but annoying Alsarana took priority for now. He was sure Casselia would ask when she arrived, and Alsarana would never have returned without word that the Crownless was awake.

“Swallows.”

“Swallows?” 

“Earlier, you asked if the sparrows need extermination. I am studying swallows, not sparrows.”

“What’s the difference?”

Krinka wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was, but he wasn’t about to let Alsarana know that. “The wing size, among other things—they are actually very different birds. You should be more up to date on your local ecology, Als.”

“Well, do the swallows need to be exterminated?” 

“No. Too busy finding mates to ascend. All the birds can think about is reproduction and it hampers their ambitions. I have always said that romance is a trap, and the swallows are modern proof.”

“And what about sparrows? Can we exterminate them instead?”

Krinka gave the question the thought it deserved before responding. “Sparrows can stay for now, but if you see any on our travels make sure to pay extra attention.”

Alsarana nodded gravely, “I will keep my eyes out and let you know if I spot any.” Krinka was confident that Alsarana had no idea what a sparrow looked like. He didn’t mind; it’s not as though he could tell most birds apart either, nasty little things that they were. 

“Do you think we should return to the shrine and meet Cass when she arrives?” 

“I just came from the shrine and I left firm orders with the Eidolon manning the gate from Rahabia to let the Crownless know we are in the archive. I didn’t want to hang around the gates longer than necessary. It’s never good to draw too much attention to myself here in the north.”

Now, that was something Krinka could agree with. Alsarana’s serpentine form was a dozen feet long and covered in scales the shade of the night sky without a single star. Not quite black but close enough to be near indistinguishable. A black-scaled naga would draw attention in the best of circumstances, and Alsarana’s missing arms made him even more recognizable than most. 

His lack of arms heightened Alsarana’s snakelike appearance and gave the [Necromancer] an appearance that was memorable. Krinka didn’t blame him for fleeing to the archives. Alsarana was the [Harbinger] and people tended to recognize him eventually if he loitered and that was usually not what they needed before they were back to full strength. 

“Any idea what likely woke Casselia? The local Eidolons have been telling me that the [Venerate] have all been slower to return than they used to be in the last several decades.”

“Is there any working theory for the issues? The goblins don’t have a single [Venerate], and that wasn’t my focus anyway.”

“The most popular theory is that they just aren’t needed. For more than four centuries the empire has been at peace. A Beast King hasn’t awoken since we were last alive. Even the Tul were quiet for decades until the last few cycles. Some of the Malan factions were openly questioning the need to station the majority of our forces in the east to combat the Tul, though those discussions have died down since they were a hair’s breadth away from consuming one of the [Venerate] a handful of years back.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Astalia was their name. One of the newer [Venerate], she formed her crest in the decades following Swallows Grace, apparently.”

“They let a [Venerate] that young, cross the Diontel? That must have drawn every Tul in the region to her like flies to honey. No wonder she was almost taken. Who authorized that?”

“She was leading a triumvirate on its first mission, a simple scouting mission the triumvirate escalated into a conflict. She failed to invoke her right to return and was almost taken.” He shook his head, “They simply don’t teach common sense to the youth these days.”  

“That’s the Krinka that I know, always complaining about those younger than himself.” A woman’s voice came from the corridor outside the library’s aisle the pair had claimed, and Krinka felt a wild grin split his face as he turned. 

“Cass! It has been too long.” He stood and pushed Alsarana backwards as the snake tried to slip past him. “When did you return?”

“Krinka, I see you are neck deep in the tomes like always.” She returned his grin as she stepped into the aisle and took in the menacing naga next to him. “Ahh and Alsarana is here as well, good. Als, I hope you have not created any messes while I have been recovering.”

Alsarana’s tail flicked, a hint of amusement playing in his eyes. “I have just been learning the secrets of a goblin warren, nothing that would cause you issues,” he said, his tone defensive yet laced with a smirk. Casselia’s eyes narrowed, a knowing glint betraying her skepticism. She could always see through his playful deflections.

“Goblins… and you got admittance to the warren how?”

“I merely showed them my power and they were more than willing to welcome me in. Even goblins have enemies, and I provided moral support to their cause.”

Krinka felt his grin widen at the words. “You didn’t form another cult around yourself?”

“I wouldn’t call it a cult.”

Krinka and Casselia made eye contact and spoke in unison over Alsarana. “Definitely a cult.” The naga looked ready to argue before sighing.

“Look, it’s not my fault that I am a [Harbinger]; cults spring up around me without my intervention. The mortals are always looking for a powerful god snake. It’s not my fault.”

After they had spent a few hours catching up on what Casselia had missed Krinka spoke, “I have missed you both,” he said, his tone filled with warmth. “I have enjoyed my time in the archives, but it is long past time for us to make a name for ourselves again. It seems few remember the [Triumvirate of the Broken Crown]. Shall we change that?”

“Do we have our orders, Cass?” Alsarana hissed. “What’s our mission?”

“Nyxol has promised us a triumvirate with potential and requested we train them in Aslavain,” Casselia said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “She suspects the empire is approaching a tipping point and she wants to ensure that heroes, both old and new, are ready for it.” She paused, her gaze distant for a moment. “There’s more to this, I’m sure of it. Nyxol always has layers to her plans. We must be vigilant. The surface peace might be hiding deeper currents of unrest. I fear we’re on the brink of something monumental.”

“Aslavain? It’s been too long since we have been in the Imperial Realm. Where is our entrance point?” Krinka hoped they would remain in the north where he could have access to the Archives of Haffarah in an emergency, but he doubted it would be that easy. Casselia never steered them away from danger. 

“Dornogor.”

“The City of Beasts?” Alsarana asked, confusion evident in his tone. “Dornogor hasn’t been a safe arrival point since the Numen and Sunborn formed the City of Rage and created an unstable zone.  How long ago was that?”

“Tir Na Nog dates back to the fifth age, Alsarana. Regardless, the zone results from the clash of the domains of animate bone, beasts, and revenge,” Krinka added. “Not exactly the most compelling start to our first adventure in centuries. What if the triumvirate gets drawn off course?”

Casselia shrugged, “Then they will have a great opportunity to improve quickly. Nyxol wouldn’t assign us a team without incredible potential. If they can’t survive in Tir Na Nog for the few days or weeks it takes us to find and swear an oath with them then we will find a new team. Its one cycle, we can always try again next year. The prize in Dornogor is worth the risk and the contest is at the first convergence of the moons, only six weeks into the cycle.”

“I approve.” Alsarana announced. “Any opportunity to put the youth in life or death stakes is good enough in my books. This modern empire is too peaceful for anyone’s good.”

“We have two months to reach the City before the solstice. Is there anything that you need to prepare?”