Night

All was not well.

From atop the Coalition High Command tower, Regrad could see for miles in every direction. Mountain peaks, pale and frigid, stabbed at the sky above while below watery rapids cut zig-zag patterns through the range. The city of Az was distantly visible, spires and skyscrapers nestled around the space port that marked Azguard’s main link to the outside world.

Alone on the windswept observation platform that crowned the tower’s peak, Regrad let his eyes rest upon the distant city, waiting. A few bare columns of artificial light, the swift flashes of starship traffic, this was all that marked Az in the gloom of night. Nevertheless, Regrad focused on it, waiting.

He was waiting for dawn.

Checking his chronometer, Regrad was reminded he might be waiting a while longer.

At length, a loud metal thunk broke the stillness and a trap door a few meters away from Regrad popped open. A scarred and thick-set grey head popped up, squinting its’ yellow eyes at Regrad in the gloom. “Mr. prime minister, what are you doing up here so later - er, early?”

“Stand with me, Yolem,” Regrad replied. Complying, the Azguardian general climbed on to the roof and took up a position next to the prime minister. “I’ve been sleeping less lately. Sleeping less, yet doing less with my days. Inevitably, I’ve run out of things to do. So I wait.”

“The House voting reopens in a few hours, sir.”

“It will be deadlocked again, no doubt.” Regrad sighed. “We have stagnated these last few months, worst of all in the House. Another round of defeated motions and debates won’t change that.”

“You sound troubled, sir,” said Yolem, who shifted uncomfortably. “With respect, is there something you want to talk about?”

“If there was, do you really think I’d have spent so much effort to be alone for a few hours? No, Yolem, I just need some time to watch the horizon, see the sun rise.” With a dejected sigh, Regrad added “If only to remind myself that it still can.”

“The works of Yunos are invigorating to behold,” said Yolem, the conviction in his words causing Regrad to flinch uncomfortably.

A few minutes passed as the two looked out towards the town, the wind gently billowing by causing the flag above them to whip and crack. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted, as always, general. As you should assume.”

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? Things have been... different lately. It’s hard to explain.”

“It’s very easy to explain, Yolem,” Regrad replied with another dejected sigh. “Disillusionment. It is a bitter taste indeed. The best laid plans of gods have failed, or maybe we failed them, or maybe we’re wrong. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.”

“How long has it been since you’ve walked among the people, sir?”

Caught off-guard, Regrad, shot a puzzled glance to his closest compatriot. “What do you mean?”

“The Coalition is different, yes sir, but maybe you haven’t been spending enough time with us. The Azguardians. The great prophecy is still alive in our hearts, sir. To hear you speak of disillusionment and to see you in such melancholy... I think you have begun to confuse the purpose of our people with those of the Coalition. The gods laid down their great proclamations four hundred thousand years ago, do you think all their designs in that time have been dashed by a few months of our work?”

Regrad seemed to consider this, rubbing his chin slowly while looking off towards the city. “I have walked with gods and emperors, Yolem. I have seen ships burn off the orbit of alien worlds, passed through the gates of golden palaces built for rulers of the stars, I have made friend and foe out of billions - no, trillions. Some... detatchment is only natural. Maybe even healthy.”

“Some, maybe,” said Yolem. “But... and I say this with the greatest respect for you, sir, you have become more of the galaxy than of the people who raise you up as their lord, chosen by the gods. When we see you, it’s on viewscreens, standing on alien worlds, making speeches alongside people most Azguardians have never seen before, let alone interacted with or understood.

“The wars are distant crusades only dimly understood. Our enemies and allies are spoken of like mythical demons and angels. The technology of the galaxy is still new and untested. Hell, most of the Azguards who work with us here in the tower are one-brained, have you spoken with two-brainers lately? They’re like children. Children who need guidance, from their gods and their lord.”

“A well rehearesed speech,” said Regrad, with a wry smile. “You’re lucky Viryn has long-since moved out, or I would suspect plagiarism.”

A few moments passed as the two continued to watch the horizon. At last, Yolem saw fit to break the silence. “The sunrise is just as spectacular from the city, or so I’m told.”

“Is it?” said Regrad. “Maybe I should check it out.”

“I’ll take care of business while you’re out,” said Yolem, as the two turned back towards the trap door.

“Just leave it on my desk for when I get back,” Regrad replied with a wave. “I shouldn’t be gone long. A walk would do me good.”

Dawn

The paved road eventually gave way to a rough-cut mountain path. Regrad, bound in a simple white robe and clutching a carved walking stick, followed the dark twists and turns that moved around some of the smaller peaks between the tower and the city.

At last reaching the outskirts of Az, Regrad stopped again to take in the city in the pre-dawn gloom. It looked different this close - he could see the traditional stone-carved Azguardian dwellings crowding around the base of the sparkling new towers. The dark outline of the ancient Pantheatic Temple, its’ surface unadorned with artificial lights, was visible as a black blob granted a place of honour in the heart of Az. Even on the streets he could see individual Azguardians about their business.

Regrad continued his trek, passing under the ancient gate of the city left from the ancient city. He stopped under the arch to glance at the faded bronze plaque, written upon it the same message as was originally carved on the gate during times of forgotten war.

The inscription was quite illegible to the modern Azguardians, but it was still faithfully reinscribed by each subsequent generation, as they had been instructed by the previous one to do so. Regrad smiled and wondered, as so many of his forefathers had done, just what the inscription actually said. It didn’t seem to matter to most - only that it was carefully copied down and replaced as the bronze degraded over time.

Leaving behind this ancient boundary, Regrad approached a modern one. The edge of the city was marked simply as where the city street stopped. Simple dwellings carved from the living rock generations ago lined the street, and though most residents still slept there were a few out and about. Mostly those with business - deliverers of news, workers of the city - but a few citizens were simply early wakers. Perhaps they too liked to see the dawn, Regrad mused.

He reached the road and heard a satisfying thud as his walking stick tapped against it. So too did the citizens in the street, who turned to look his way. Regrad smiled and waved as he passed. Without his robes of state, he was just another traveler.

With no clear plan in mind, Regrad wandered his way down the street, glancing at the simple stone homes to either side. They were squat domes, the glass windows and wooden doors having been replaced many times along with the generations of residents. Faded banners and flags, flaking paintings, carvings worn smooth with time, all these decorated the little houses and showed the mark of countless previous generations.

As his vision rose above these homes to the distant spires of stone and steel, Regrad was once more reminded of how new the ‘modern’ Azguard was. Kilometers of the traditional old town still lay between him and the city center, spread out before him like a beautifully-woven carpet.

It was as he admired these sights that the sound of a distant siren grew louder and louder. Waking from his brief reverie, Regrad hustled down the street towards the disturbance.

Rounding a bend in the twisting cobblestone road, Regrad saw an ambulance speeder lying crooked atop the street, its’ siren and lights breaking the peace of morning. Regrad joined a growing crowd of onlookers who came out of their homes in bed robes, all puzzled at what was going on.

The crowd of Azguardians gathered around the cab of the speeder, where two uniformed paramedics were desperately trying to start the speeder’s repulsorlift. “What’s the problem here?” said Regrad, as he elbowed his way to the front of the crowd.

The driver, who was looking increasingly anxious, looked up from the control panel and blurted out “The repulsor just... stopped!”

“What do you mean stopped?”

“We’re trying to get this woman to a hospital when all of a sudden the speeder just stops and lands, like nothing’s wrong!” said the driver, nervously glancing at the other faces of the crowd. “I tried starting it again, but it’s not working! They didn’t tell me what to do if the speeder breaks down!”

A small panel on the back wall of the ambulance cab opened, and an Azguardian man’s head poked through. “What’s the holdup? My wife’s about to give birth back here!”

“Oooh, congradulations!” said one of the less bright crowd members. Regrad shot him a sideways glance before turning back to the driver.

“Okay, does anyone here know anything about speeders?”

“They fly,” said another crowd member in a painfully helpful voice.

Regrad sighed. “Never mind. Move over, I’ll handle this.”

Pushing the driver over to the passenger seat, Regrad got in and yanked off a panel in the driver’s footwell, where a maze of wires and mechanisms were cradled. “Looks just like the models we used on Krakken IV,” he muttered to himself as he sifted through the wiring before grabbing a loose connection and ramming it into place.

The speeder immediately lifted off, sending the nearby crowd scattering for safety. “Hold on,” Regrad cautioned, as he slammed on the accelerator and sent them hurtling down the street.

A moment later, Regrad remembered that he didn’t actually know where they were going. “Okay, so where’s the nearest hospital?” He glanced over at the driver, who’d seemed to have frozen up with panic. “Focus, man! We don’t have time for this.”

An immediate change seemed to come over the driver, something Regrad recognized from years of leading his people into danger. Becoming calmer and more aware, the driver replied “Take a left up ahead, past three more intersections, then a right until we reach the hospital. Can’t miss it.”

“Good,” Regrad replied, slamming the accelerator again.

A few hard turns later and they were pulling up outside the area hospital. Though the majority of the old town was traditional, the gift of modern medical science had been wisely embraced, and the hospital itself was a modern construction of permacrete and durasteel. Pulling up in front of the emergency wing, a team of Azguardians in smocks rushed to the back of the speeder, unloading the soon-to-be mother and father and rushing them into the ER.

Regrad gave an approving nod to the driver, who returned it. A moment later, the driver seemed to return to normal as his regular self reasserted control, and immediately fainted. Regrad stepped out of the speeder and on to the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the smocked Azguardians, as he approached Regrad. “The doctor taking care of Mr. and Mrs. Fio asked if you could wait to see him once he’s done with their case.”

The horizon was visibly brightening, turning lighter and lighter shades of grey. Having nothing more pressing on the agenda, Regrad nodded, and allowed himself to be guided to the waiting room.

There he sat for a half hour, fidgeting uncomfortably on plastic chairs and glancing with disinterest at the magazines scattered around the table. Azguardians hadn’t really grasped the media of the galaxy too well - even the concept of a periodical took some figuring out, as many concluded that releasing the same book every month was wasteful. As such, the only thing on offer were galactic tabloids and news a good week behind what Regrad already knew.

What he did notice, however, was a Kraz secretary sitting in the little booth. Being smaller than humans, short and stocky Kraz were diminuitive by Azguardian standards. The squat, pale, and hairy humanoid could just barely see over his desk, squinting at Regrad with beady little eyes.

“Can I help you?”

“No, I’m just fine,” said Regrad, who sighed. “You’d think they’d have adjusted your office for the size disparity.”

“You lot aren’t known for your thinking ahead,” the secretary replied with a chuckle. “When’s the last time you’ve seen an Azguardian with the patience to sit still for twelve hours?”

An isolated military lab on the burning desert sands of Kubindi, fending off terrorist drone soldiers. Of course, he didn’t say that. The Kraz had a right and reputation to be a little bold, and he probably had a point. A large number of the actual doctors and technicians he saw walking around were in fact aliens - Azguardians generally made poor doctors.

As if to emphasize this point, the doors to the waiting room opened and a Frozian in a grey lab coat stepped through. “Ah, Mr. prime minister, what an honour. Some people say all Azguardians look alike, but I’d be a fool if I couldn’t recognize you.”

“You’re the first,” said Regrad, getting to his feet and sparing a nod to the shocked secretary. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

“I knew once Mr. and Mrs. Fio figured out who their last-minute rescuer was, they wouldn’t forgive themselves if they didn’t get a chance to thank you.” Gesturing towards the open door, he added. “Go see them yourself.”

“Er...” Slightly taken aback, Regrad paused before the doorway. “You think I should just go say... hello?”

“The man who speaks with emperors afraid to talk to new parents?” teased the doctor, who grinned from ear to ear. “I’m sure they just want to say thanks.”

Regrad stepped through the door into the hallway beyond, where a single room lay open. He approached it by degrees, inching out of the shadows towards the little island of light, where an Azguardian couple sat together, peering at their new offspring.

So engrossed were they by their newborn that Regrad was practically standing next to them before the couple noticed. He smiled as their faces lit up, feeling at least a little less out of place.

Without saying a word, the mother extended the little tightly-wrapped bundle of cloth towards him. With the upmost delicacy, Regrad took the small bundle and looked into the face of the newborn Azguardian. It was small, so small by the standards of a race of giants. His eyes had not yet opened, the only movement being the narrow nostril slits flaring.

It was then that the sunrise chose to finally make an appearance, bathing the room in blinding golden light as the top of the disc pierced the horizon. Regrad squinted into the light, blinking rapidly as his sight slowly returned to him.

It was the dawn of a new day.

Morning

Regrad had finally managed to excuse himself from the young parents, on the condition that he promise to attend the child’s blessing at the Pantheatic Temple later in the day. Stepping out of the hospital, he found himself once more at a loose end, yet feeling refreshed and optimistic as the rising sun peeked tentatively over the horizon.

The distant city center shone in the light like brilliant mirrors, each one a testament to modernity and progress, but for once Regrad found his attention drawn to the humble grey domes that filled the vast space around it. As more Azguardians roused themselves from sleep, the streets began to crowd with labourers on their way to work, priests and dignitaries attending to their constituents, animals and traders leading one another to market, and the children.

Oh, the children. How long it had been since Regrad had seen them.

He watched with a warming heart as a crowd of exuberant youth followed in the wake of a wizened old Azguardian teacher. The procession wound its’ way down the street, children dashing out from their homes to join the growing crowd.

Curiosity piquing his interest, Regrad followed the children and their venerable teacher to a quiet spot in the middle of the town. A gap between two homes lead to a patch of unworked stone, where the natural rocky surface of Azguard had been left untouched save for the patter of generations of youth. From this alone had the circle where the children sat been worn smooth, and the stoop from which the teacher taught been flattened.

None said a word or thought it odd when Regrad took a seat among them, politely squeezing into a gap made by two courteous young pupils. Regrad noticed the other sat cross-legged, and did so likewise, looking up as the aged instructor took his time-worn post.

The teacher’s grey and rubbery skin had dried to the texture of parchment, and his hair - once, perhaps black and spikey - had instead grown pale and limp, wrapped around him like a scarf. His robe was careworn and his walk was assisted by a walking staff carved from rock, but he still carried a heavy text in his free hand, a text he laid upon his lap and promptly opened.

“We will continue with our lesson from the other day, detailing the history of the Azguardian peoples from the year 293,455, to 295,000. As you’ll recall-”

The students let out a collective groan, causing the teacher to look up and smile mischievously. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’ve lost interest in the late third centi-millennia’s agricultural and technological advances? I’ll have you know these millennia feature some of the most striking migrations of fire-worshipping tribes towards the equatorial mountains in the entire half-centi-millenia, maybe even the entire-”

“But it’s so boring,” one young student protested.

The teacher made a big show of rolling his eyes and flipped through the text. “Very well, what story do you want to hear today?”

The students considered the question for a moment before one puzzled pupil asked “What’s the first story in the book?”

With a mighty heave, the teacher flipped the book open to the first page. “Ah yes... the very dawn of Azguardian history. Why not start there? *Ahem*...”

In the beginning, there wasn’t very much at all. Azguard was, and the Azguardians were, but for how long we did not no or care. There were no books, and no buildings, and certainly no teachers.

All this changed with the coming of the gods, falling from the sky like bolts of fire. Our distant ancestors at last looked up and wondered why, seeking where the firebolts had fallen to discover their origin.

“What does orangin mean?” asked one of the students.

“Origin,” the teacher replied. “It means... where they came from.”

The early Azguardians found gods sleeping in the mountains where they had landed. This discovery inspired the Azguardians, and they worshipped their new gods. The gods themselves instructed those Azguardians who had found them in the ways of civilization-

“That means cities and farms and things, Jhol,” said the teacher, glancing up at the most bemused student.

-instructing the Azguardians to build homes, irrigate fields, tame beasts, dig for iron and fresh water. Most importantly, each god taught their followers about what it meant to be a living thing. Now the Azguardians began to count the years, and where before they had never looked up, now they watched the skies, and the rivers, and the deep caves.

In time, the tribes discovered one another, and the gods embraced as brothers. The truth of their origins they shared with no one, but the Azguardians were happy enough with the peace and prosperity the gods had brought. All seemed well, and it is this golden age of the divine we call the ‘Pre-Prophecy Period’.

“Will that be on the test?” asked one student, who was furiously writing away on a scrap of paper.

The teacher didn’t bother looking up from the text. “Nope.”

“Oh, okay then!” the relieved student remarked, before eating the scrap of paper.

Though the Azguardians now counted their years, they would lose count during the war to come, and so the exact year of the coming of the prophecy is unknown. What *is* known, is that not long after the gods were reunited they had visions of war and death, of darkness spreading across the land and of great evils rising up to crush peace.

These concepts were quite alien to the Azguardians, but to the gods they were very familiar. The gods held council and preached to their followers, trying to sway the race towards fighting or supporting this coming darkness. In the end both the gods and the Azguardians were split, and a long and terrible war broke out. The specifics are lost to time, but it was this war that introduced our people to concepts like war, suffering, hate, and despair.

When the war was over, half the gods and a great many Azguardians lay dead. Those that supported joining the darkness were exiled with their followers and left Azguard forever. Those that remained now knew what sort of evil this coming darkness would be, and so they promised to spend every year preparing themselves to face it. To this very day, we keep this promise to be ready for the evil prophesied so long ago. We know it exists, for just an echo of its’ darkness was enough to tear our society apart in the past. The only question is when and where it will appear.

The teacher closed the book with a heavy thud, looking up at the admiring students. “You know I read that story to you every week, yes?” He smiled, and added “Let’s have a ten minute recess. I’ll start reading again soon, and this time we’ll try to get through some more of the third centi-millenia!”

His last few words were lost as the children ran off to play away from the outdoor teaching circle. Regrad remained behind, getting to his feet and walking over to where the teacher sat.

“Very well read,” said Regrad. He extended a hand towards the teacher.

“Thank you, Mr. prime minister.” The teacher shook it firmly. “Corporal Kalastar Knut, Water second infantry, tours on Krakken IV, Hephastus, and a naval tour during the Great War.”

“An honour,” Regrad replied. “I remember hearing that story as a child.”

“It hasn’t changed much in four hundred thousand years,” said the teacher, who began to clean his glasses with the end of his hair.

“A pity, too. It could use a proper ending,” said Regrad.

“We’ve got a solid beginning. You can’t rush a masterpiece.”

“No, I suppose not.” Regrad let out a hearty laugh and patted the teacher on the back. “Hopefully one of these days, we’ll be able to fill in those blank pages at the end of the book.”

Noon

It was the sound of drums that next drew the wandering Regrad along the winding city streets. The rhythms were familiar, even if the memory itself was distant. His feet marched along with the beat, as they once had years ago, before war and suffering.

The beat managed to carry him all the way to the main street that cut through the city. Even here, far from the center of Az, the buildings became more modern and advanced along the side of the great road. The sidewalks were packed with Azguardians young and old, watching as a parade came marching down the street.

Regrad gently made his way through the crowd in order to watch the procession. Dozens of Azguardians marched, huge wooden drums hanging from leather shoulder straps, drums which they beat enthusiastically to create the familiar sounds of an Azguardian war-chant.

After the drummers came the troops - or would-be troops, at least. The crowd cheered as a fresh wave of recruits for the Azguardian Galactic Military made their wobbly way down the street.

Regrad felt his back stiffen as he observed their slovenly ‘parade march’, noting no two Azguardians in step with one another. They had been given the plain robes of a recruit, each in the dull colour of their birth tribe, but most had rolled up the sleeves or tied it off at the waist to spare them the midday heat. Who were these young men and women who would think themselves soldiers?

Near the middle, however, there was one who marched with quick and clean military precision. Despite being the only one doing so, he could somehow march in step with himself. His uniform was so crisp light refracted off of it. He was a White Knight, although Regrad realized he didn’t recognize him - strange, considering he had been on hand to train the first batch of knights.

Still, his disciplined attitude didn’t seem to be rubbing off on the younger soldiers, who followed in his wake as a blob. Most were too busy waving to the crowds of their neighbours and families, drinking in their cheers with a glassy-eyed, dazed expression.

“So young,” Regrad muttered to no one in particular. “Do we send mere children to war these days?”

“The crusade against evil is an honour,” said an old Azguardian standing next to Regrad. The bald and wizened old man beamed with pride as the would-be soldiers strolled by. “If only we could all go forth and fight for the prophecy.”

It was an act of supreme willpower that Regrad didn’t merely reach out and strangle the old fool right then and there. His rage was self-defeating, however, for Regrad knew this was still the common view. Even as he watched, banners with crudely drawn religious iconography were hoisted next to poorly-copied Coalition symbols, waved by the young and old with expressions of naive innocence about the absurdity of their statement.

How far removed was he from his people that he could sit and watch, and rage like this at their unconditional love, their infinite trust? Where was the skepticism, the doubt, the frustration that he had come to expect? That they should, by all rights, have developed?

Watching the people cheer and stomp their feet to the drum beat, Regrad saw no trace of his own misgivings. They cheered as happily as they did the first time their sons and daughters were called off to distant war, and no disaster abroad or defeat in battle seemed to dull their enthusiasm for charging headlong into the meatgrinder that was the galaxy.

Feeling that he could stand and watch no longer, Regrad left the crowd and joined the march, falling in step with the knight at the beginning of the road.

“Good day to you,” said Regrad, extending his hand.

The knight shook it firmly, pulling up the visor of his white helmet. “And good day to you, sir. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“What’s your name, soldier?” Regrad asked, trying hard to remember his face.

“Gorab, sir. I trained under Yakabe.”

Regrad’s eyes widened. “Yakabe? I remember him from the beginning. Odd fellow, tended to blink a lot when he was stressed.”

“Uh... yeah, that’s the guy.” Gorab chuckled a bit. “So I’m in charge of helping to whip these young ‘uns into shape. Not the best crop we’ve ever had, but I’m sure a few months getting to know their inner killer and they’ll be right as rain.”

“Do they even understand what’s being asked of them yet?”

“Does anyone?”

There was a scar running down the middle of Gorab’s face, one Regrad hadn’t noticed before. Gorab noticed Regrad’s examination and flashed a smile. “Pirates off of Loraire. Tried to split my head in two, but his vibroaxe got caught in my neck-guard. Not before he sunk it a good quarter-inch into my face, of course.”

“So you’ve got some experience? Good. Maybe you can knock some sense into these kids.”

“I’ll knock ‘em about all the same, see if it helps.”

The procession was clearing it’s way away from the residential area and towards an open flatland of stone. Built upon the flatland was what looked like a temple, but was really a recruitment center - well, really, it was sort of a temple. Maybe both?

A broad, round structure with sweeping stone spires sat alone on the expanse of ground. Docking supports ringed the top of the building to allow small ships and speeders to latch on, but these were fresh constructions. Instead, the eye was drawn to the symbols of Jarl - dead god of war. Recruits were gathered in their hundreds, perhaps even their thousands, so that they overflowed from the open doors of the center.

To either side stood huge steel figures. They looked like statues, perhaps comemorating war heroes of a forgotten age, but Regrad recognized them as the mechanized combat suits the Azguardians used in war. Each was twenty meters tall and supported enough firepower to destroy a small city, yet here they were, titan-sized beacons that drew awed looks from the new arrivals.

“What now?” asked Regrad, glancing about at the recruits. Slack-jawed probably captured their expressions best.

“Now? A few speeches, some blessings, a bit of organizing, then once they’re properly divided up the barges come down to take them to boot. They can get a little emotional when the barges come down - it’s just to make good time to the training camps, but there’s always a few who think the gods are literally flying them to their destinies.”

Regrad turned back as the group he was with reached the crowd’s periphery, looking towards where the city had ended at the edge of the rocky plain. The city had grown no closer to the old temple out of respect for its’ dead patron, but even the common citizenry did not approach - they watched the young march to war from the edge of their homes, coming no closer.

“Why do they not approach?”

“The temple is seen as a gateway,” Gorab explained. “Only those going to the crusades have any business here.”

From within the temple itself emerged a coterie of Azguardian soldiers - real ones, in thick red and black power armour. They moved with deceptive speed for their size and formed two lines either side of the entrance. Next came several Azguardian officers. Regrad half-recognized some of their faces, but could remember no names. They were part of the high command, the common generals and commanders who made the army work.

The most grizzled and worn of them all took center stage. Half of his face was blown away and his majestic dress robes had fallen into the sort of disrepair allowed only to the truly important.

“Well,” the general growled, his voice carrying over the silence. “You’re a damn sorry lot, but then what’s new? Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen, you have been offered a singular opportunity - a chance to wipe the sleep from your eyes and wake up to the reality around you. Say goodbye to about half your mind and three quarters of your religion, because you’re in the army now.”

He continued to speak, something about how they were a sorry lot and how this was the first day of a great awakening, but Regrad’s attention immediately faded. Nothing the general could say would make sense to the recruits yet, and that was the point. Only in a few years would those who still lived look back and realize how it all made sense.

Instead, the prime minister took one more opportunity to look at the faces of the young Azguardians all around him. They were a sight to turn his mind to dim recollections of past glory, the faint and alien sense of youth and innocence - like the phantom pain of a lost limb.

One had a face as smooth as a sheet, his eyes scrunched up in a tight squint as he tried to see the distant figure of the general.

Another was short for her size, a little sallow-cheeked, her hair falling in limp strands in any direction.

One was grinning, his eyes alight, as though he wanted to punch the air and scream with barely-contained excitement.

One was beautiful, Regrad realized with a start. She was a young woman, at the prime of her life, her eyes wonderfully clear, her hair braided with care and love. How long had it been since he had seen someone and thought of them as beautiful?

All of them, all around him, were each unique, each an individual. Each seemed formed of soft clay, pressed gently into form by delicate hands, each crafted as a unique piece of art yet all being funnelled as he watched towards the same grinding war machine.

Not one was crying, not one shook with fear or seemed to lack resolve. Some squeezed religious icons hanging from their necks, some whispered prayers, most seemed almost impatient to charge ahead and seize their destiny with both hands.

For the first time in quite many days, weeks, months... years, Regrad began to weep. He wept slow, rolling tears as the recruits cheered and rushed past him on either side, accepting the invitation to enter the temple of war. They filled the lobby and crowded the stairs, pressing and pushing to be first in line. In their wake Regrad followed, unwilling to be seen standing alone on a barren plain.

He looked for Gorab, but he was lost in the sea of Azguardians. All that was visible were the monuments and grand memorials that covered the walls and grounds of the temple. The rolls of honour, the names of great battles, engravings of ancient wars sitting next to floating holograms of modern ones.

Finding himself jostled and pushed by the pressing waves of recruits, Regrad at last ended up pinned against the wall leading to the stairs up to the temple roof. Recruits squeezed by in waves, being allowed up fifty at a time or so to board Meteor dropships as they came down to carry them off.

At last coming to a halt, Regrad turned to the Azguardian next to him - a young man with prominent teeth and badly-cut hair. Sheepishly, the young Azguardian tried to smile while also hiding his ridiculous fangs.

“Don’t worry,” said Regrad, putting on a reassuring tone. “None-Azguardians find the fangs intimidating, I’m sure you’ll be thankful for them.”

The youth chuckled a bit before extending a hand into the narrow gap between them. “I’m Dimes.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Regrad, shaking the recruit’s hand. “What brings you to the crusades?”

Dimes’ brow furrowed. “Same as everyone else - to fight evil in support of the prophecy, I guess.”

“You guess?” said Regrad, his teeth set on edge. “You’re going to have to be a lot more sure than that, I can tell you.”

Dimes looked embarrassed, but managed to recover quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“Call me a well-wisher,” Regrad replied. Their conversation paused briefly as everyone inched up the steps. “Alright then, if you don’t know why, what is it you’re doing? What corp are you going into?”

“Infantry. There’s a lot of demand along the Eastern trade routes, I heard.”

“Know a lot about the East?”

Dimes seemed to fade for a moment, Regrad recognizing a significant shift where Dimes’ other half provided him with what he needed to know. “That where that Dragon-god tried to kill all the Mon Calamari, right?”

“Close enough,” said Regrad, who saw another wave of recruits pushing up from below. “Looks like I’m about to lose you here, Dimes. Best of luck.”

He tried to shake the recruit’s hand again, but he was swept away quite suddenly by the press of eager Azguardians. Dimes managed to turn back long enough to wave, before getting lost in the sea and eventually jumping aboard another Meteor.

Regrad tried to wave back, but by then it was pointless, he was already gone. The wave of recruits was thinning out now, and the last few managed to stroll leisurely to their shuttles instead of fighting their way up to be first. Gorab was guiding the last few stragglers towards the ship, pausing long enough to exchange a knowing nod with Regrad before boarding the last outbound vessel.

Regrad watched as the Meteor took off, leaving the landing pad free. The dropships were disappearing quickly in the distant, bright lights lit by their burning thrusters before vanishing into the wild blue yonder.

The temple was now once again mostly deserted except for the odd curator or guard, who wandered out of the great hall towards other business. None bothered to bother an old pilgrim as he wandered back down the steps and towards the door.

With the press of bodies gone, Regrad could see the floor, and noticed it was of a more modern construction. He paused in his descent of the steps in order to look down at the floor of the main hall, and what he saw almost caused his heart to stop.

Some fool, some naive, idealistic fool had replaced the decaying and dilapidated floor work of the original temple with nice fresh steel, finishing with a grand mosaic. There Regrad saw his own face looking in a dignified manner off in no particular direction, while ships and missiles rocketed past and the planet Azguard filled the background.

The symbols of the gods adorned the edges of the picture, and at the bottom of the mosaic so that the words were presented facing those walking into the temple were the words, the horrible, horrible words...

“So I say to you, though we may die, though we may lose, it shall never be said in the history books that the Azguards ever shirked from justice.”

They were, of course, his words. His words from a time of idyllic foolishness, when he thought that winning the war and achieving the prophecy would be a mere matter of marching and belief. Now these same words, spoken by an idiot not yet versed in the ways of the galaxy, stood as the greeting - the welcoming - for every Azguardian in service.

He could have torn the very temple down with his bare hands, but his chronometer began to beep.

The day was getting on. He would be late for church.

Afternoon

With the sun slowly descending from its’ zenith, Regrad wandered his way back to town. The parents he had met earlier in the day had extracted a promise, one he meant to keep, and so Regrad set a course for the tallest building for blocks around - the local temple.

Rising above the squat domed roofs of the local inhabitants, the temple dedicated to the (still living) Azguardian gods lacked ostentation or glamour. It shared the rough, stone edge that defined Azguardian architecture, reaching into the sky in a display that must have been quite impressive before the advent of skyscrapers and space-travel. Framed against the old district, however, it seemed the center of a tiny world.

Regrad picked up the pace as he wove through the now-deserted streets, suddenly concerned he might be late. As he drew closer, he could hear the booming voice of the priest, audible blocks away on the still air. Now quite certain he was late, Regrad picked up his place a little more.

The doors of the temple were always open - mainly because there were no doors. The arched doorway, however, caused Regrad pause. He approached gingerly, as though he might be struck by lightning at any moment for his impudence.

“...Wisdom, passion and peace. With these blessings, the gods may find your child’s rightful place in the great design of things.”

The priest, a wizened old Azguardian wrapped in woolen blue robes, sprinkled a handful of water from a basin over the child before her. To either side stood the parents, pride and happiness openly expressed. Their audience was made up of dozens of locals, other parents and couples, all pressing eagerly forward to watch the ages-old ceremony.

Regrad continued to linger at the entrance, feeling at once the familiarity of the temple and the distance born of recent events. The temple itself was much like any other of Azguardian design, a simple vaunted chamber with wide gaps throughout the walls to give the large structure a decidedly open-air environment.

The people, too, were the same church-goers he had encountered his whole life. True, every Azguardian went to temples and visited priests when they had the need or heard the calling. For the young, though, the Gods were a matter of the past, dusty old histories to be endured. For the old, the Gods were a matter of the future, enacting plans in which they had no part.

These were the adult Azguardians, in their prime years, who felt they were living in the days of the Gods. They followed the crusades closely, though they were too old to enlist, and they studied the past vigorously, though they were too young to have taken part. The middle children of Azguardian history, the true believers unsullied by contact with reality.

The priest, having finished her ministrations, swept up the child in her arms and passed the babe gently to its’ parents. “I will continue my service today with a report on other news concerning the community, a sermon on the status of the galaxy this last week, and close with a reading from the book. Now...”

Regrad quickly tuned out as the priest began to talk about minor local events. He felt a bit more comfortable, the homely and welcoming atmosphere of the small community within the larger city drawing him in to the temple itself. He spotted an empty seat on the first bench and slipped quietly into place.

The Azguardian next to him sidled down to make space, before pausing and furrowing his brow. “Hold on,” he muttered. “You’re Regrad, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but try to keep it to yourself,” the prime minister replied with a grin.

“...and young Comet has recently placed first in the latest draft of the neighbourhood running team, while...”

“No, you don’t get it,” whispered the Azguardian. “I know you! Don’t you remember? It’s me! Clorox! We lived in the same neighbourhood as kids.”

Regrad took a second look at the Azguardian and looked past the thinning hair and face creased by time and smiles. Out of the mists of the past came the flicker of memory, like a thin ray of light banishing obscuring mist. “Gods,” Regrad replied, his mouth hanging open with surprise. “I remember you now - little Clorox, Javax’s kid brother, right? Javax and I were best friends growing up.”

“Yep,” said Clorox, beaming with pride. “Back before you moved away. Over on Dregin’s Peak, in that little chasm that kept the snow and rain out, remember?”

“...whose work to protect the local environment and countryside is applauded by all...”

“Yeah, I remember.” A whole chapter of Regrad’s life that had lain untouched for years suddenly spilled open, and memories began flooding back. “We used to go climbing together on the southern face. Javax was always the fastest, wasn’t he?”

Clorox chuckled and swung an affectionate arm around the prime minister’s shoulders. “Yeah, he was quite the guy. Always getting into trouble though.” Clorox sobered a shade as his mind(s) lingered on the thought. “Shame about the accident...”

[I]“Our thoughts are with his family as they go through this trying time...”

“Mhm...” Regrad mumbled. Had it really been so long that he had forgotten that? No. Not nearly long enough at all.

“Still,” said Clorox, now settling in for a long reminiscence. “Those were the days, huh? Before all this...” he furrowed his brow and left his mouth hanging open for a moment, mouthing unfamiliar words. “...trouble. Things were a lot simpler.”

“...their bodies were never recovered, but the local Kubindi tribesmen have built a memorial on the site of their last known...”

Regrad shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a move that went unnoticed by the enthusiastic Clorox as he continued to drone on. “Of course, we all know what you’ve been up to, Mr. Prime Minister, and we’re all rightfully proud of you back home as well. Did you know Shia married Lembo? No, you must have missed all the local news, huh? Well, let me tell you a bit about how things’ve been around the old neighbourhood...”



Regrad rolled out of bed with a groan. He wiped the sleep from his eyes with one hand and fumbled for his watch with the other. Time to get up. Regrad squinted out the window into the pre-dawn gloom, yawning as he did so. Looked like it was going to be another cloudy day.

“What’s the matter, dear?” his wife mumbled from under the covers, still half-asleep.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Regrad as he stifled another yawn. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later.”

“Have a... nice day at... murglburgl...” She rolled over a bit more and began to snore quietly.

Regrad pulled a fresh robe from the closet. He needed to do the laundry again. He’d meant to yesterday... why hadn’t he? It was difficult to remember. He’d do it today.

He stumbled into the bathroom and washed up quickly. While brushing his teeth, Regrad took a moment to check that he was unobserved and pricked his finger on one. Definetly duller. Or maybe not? They say it came with age, but he wasn’t really that old yet, surely.

They were out of ketchup. That had been on Regrad’s list as well. What had he been doing yesterday? He’d have to remember to put it on today’s list. As it stood, he settled for dry cereal. The house’s main room had a better window view anyway, so Regrad took his bowl and a tall glass of water and got comfortable looking out on the neighbourhood.

The view was nice, albeit clouded and rainy. Grey domed homes like his own, many carved straight into the living rock of the mountain, stretched downwards along the slope of the mountain along the narrow river that was the community’s lifeline. In the distance, on a clear day, he might have seen the nearest city - the fog, however, was insulating the tiny mountain town so that it appeared to be floating in it’s own little bubble.

“The harbour...” Regrad mumbled to himself. That was it. He’d been called out of work half-way through the day because of that accident at the harbour.

Well, it wasn’t actually a harbour - just enough wood planking to tie a small boat to. Azguardians aren’t great woodworkers though, and the mooring ring had popped loose, taking a trader’s boat with it. Everyone had rushed out to pick through the wreckage and try to put the boat back together again, but it was no use. By the time all the excitement was over, it was already dark out.

The trader was staying at the temple, as far as Regrad had heard. He probably didn’t have any ketchup either.

That’s stupid. He lost his whole business, and you’re worried about his breakfast?

Regrad frowned. Was that him? Nope. Was that his other mind? He roused his dormant self long enough to confirm that no, it was not him either. He shrugged and finished his breakfast. His second mind had been quiet for so long that it was almost reassuring to hear another voice in his head.

As Regrad stepped outside he bumped into the town’s deliveryman. “Whoops, excuse me,” he said with a smile, passing Regrad a letter. “Nothing interesting today, just local news. I’m doing a run for Javax to the city this afternoon if you’ve got anything.”

“Nope,” said Regrad, carefully sidestepping around the deliveryman. “Be careful out there, though. It’s a long way to walk in this weather.”

The deliveryman called out a reply as Regrad walked away. The specifics were lost, but it sounded pleasant. His attention was drawn instead to the letter he had been handed. He tore it open and started to read.

Dear son

We’re writing to you from courtyard of the Pantheatic temple! It is a marvel to behold, and we hope that one day you’ll go on the pilgrimage to...

Regrad balled up the letter and threw it behind him as he went.

“...Sinsangese have been criticized on multiple occasions, most notably by the High Lord and his trusted former-Minister Quell...”

Skip ahead a bit, we’re running out of time.

Regrad was a record-keeper, writing down the day’s events and news in great books. The Azguardian’s actual interest in history was fleeting, but they took great store in simply knowing it was recorded, a duty well-respected by the divine. It was meticulous work, but it made Regrad feel good in a way one mind couldn’t understand and the other couldn’t explain.

The hours of the day passed quickly, or else they didn’t pass at all, or something else. At times, when he looked out the window in the city centre, he saw nothing. He tried not to think about it, but that was what was causing the problem.

He managed to complete a whole day of work uninterrupted, and left to finish the errands he’d missed the previous day. Without thinking about it, however, his feet took him directly to the local temple. Regrad blinked as he realized where he was, and looked around. Had the fog closed in? He could see nothing else in any direction, just the temple, whose doors hung open.

The trader was sitting on one of the benches, and offered a quiet smile as Regrad stepped inside. Regrad offered him a curt nod before continuing past him, making his way towards the altar where the local priest busied himself with a stack of books.

“Pardon my intrusion,” said Regrad, as he approached. The priest looked up and smiled. “I just... I was hoping I could seek some guidance.”

The old priest seemed to scrutinize Regrad for a moment, then come to a conclusion. “I think I know what this is about. Okay, Regrad, pull up a seat.”

Regrad sat down on the nearest bench while the priest took a seat opposite. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

“...Sometimes I wonder, preacher. I wonder about life. I’m alone more often these days, my second mind spends so long asleep. I’m not so sure of things as I once was. I read the histories, and I see... sometimes I think that... could I have been someone else? Could we have all been someone else?”

“You’re not alone,” the priest said, giving Regrad a knowing nod. “We all reach an age when we realize the great legends and prophecies - so central to our people - are not about us, personally. Not everyone is born to be the hero of a saga, or to vanquish the night in favour of the day. Thousands of Azguardians have come before you in your line, and each one has had the same realization and had to deal with it in their turn.

“In the end, the one thing we can do, the one thing expected of us, is that we be ever vigilant and ever ready. Don’t waste your time longing for a life you have not lvied, being prepared for a destiny that might never be ours is our greatest duty and heaviest burden. Now is no time to dwell upon a destiny denied you, though...

“Now it’s time to wake up.”



“...Which of course meant we had to spend a whole week fixing the roof. It wasn’t so hard with the imported lumber from Hephastus, though - did you know their trading ships make it all the way across the mountains these days? A lot easier, what with that repulsor stuff I suppose...” Clorox smiled as Regrad’s glazed expression finally shifted. “Sorry, I suppose all this must be pretty boring for the Prime Minister of the Galactic Coalition, huh?”

“No, no,” said Regrad, as he shook himself free of the strange daydream. “It’s, uh... it’s actually quite illuminating. It’s been years since I visited the Peak, I suppose I’m overdue for a checkup.”

“I’m sure everyone’d be proud to see how you turned out,” said Clorox, beaming with pride. “Not that they don’t know already, that is. We started getting that... hollow-net? The hologram stuff, right? Yeah, we just got hooked up to that last year. Amazing stuff.”

Both shared a smile and a pause as their conversation reached a natural end, turning to the preacher as she delivered the last lines of her sermon from the book of tested wisdom.

“...And Yunos bade his followers listen to the rustle of the winds and the ripple of the waters. He told them to listen to the crackle of fire and the crumbling of earth. He had them listen to the bustle of day and the quiet of night, and only then, when they had heard all of these things, could his followers begin to speak of wisdom. Wisdom can only come forth from a foundation of understanding and a willingness to learn. It is no great thing to judge, but it is a far greater challenge to judge fairly, and judge well.”

“So I’m guessing you’ll be heading back up to the office, huh?” said Clorox, as the congregation got to it’s feet and began milling towards the exit.

“Maybe not just yet,” Regrad replied. They stepped out into the sunlight, which was just now beginning to dip towards the horizon. “I think perhaps I need some more fresh air, a chance to get back in touch with everyone, you know? Maybe I will go home again, see how everyone’s doing.”

Was it fair, Regrad wondered, to have thought of his peers as out of touch? Disconnected from reality? All while he himself lived in isolation far from the lives of ordinary citizens? He watched as families and Azguardians of all ages spilled out into the street, going about their business with nary a care or fear - not ignorant of reality, but accepting.

They accepted their place in history, even if it was not glorious, and sufficed themselves to live vicariously through the accomplishments of their fellows. After waiting a thousand generations and more, to miss out on the climax of fate by a few mere decades was a burden Regrad had never taken time to consider.

“I’ll see you again some time soon,” Regrad assured Clorox as he began walking away. “It’s been good seeing you again, old friend. Give my regards to everyone back home.”

“Drop by any time!” Clorox called after him from the steps of the temple. “You’re always welcome.”

Welcome any time, that would make for a change. As Regrad set his sights on the winding street ahead, however, he knew a trip home would have to wait. He had a few more stops to make this day.

Evening

Regrad strode down the busy thoroughfares of the old town, where Azguardians crowded the sidewalk. Vehicles and beasts of burden trundled down the main road, though most were decidedly low-tech. The street was loud and thick with the sound of conversations as citizens called out to one another, shouting greetings and goodbyes, stopping to chat or discuss what was new.

Something else had the prime minister’s attention at the moment, however. With the sun still bathing the streets in warm yellow rays, Regrad’s thirst became too great to ignore. He scanned the squat stone domes lining the street until he spotted one with a cup scrawled on the roof with chalk.

Ah, a familiar sight at last. Not that exact one, perhaps, but the poorly-etched symbol was a universal tip-off for Azguardians everywhere. With a quick hop and step, Regrad moved through the crowd and stooped his way into the bar.

The temperature in the air dropped sharply with every step lower into the earth. A few steps further, and Regrad was in the cellar. There, broad tables filled the length and breadth of the low chamber. A bar top cut from the living rock lined one wall, while moldy banners adorned the others. A small fire crackled in a can in the middle of the room, and two doors either side allowed access to the buildings either side of it - the underground streets that connected the old town.

More notable, however, were the people. Azguardians young and old pulled tables together and enjoyed one another’s raucous company.

There was one old, gnarled Azguardian whose company was more raucous than the rest. In the middle of the room, sitting in a seat of hewn stone he seemed almost fused with, an elder Azguardian held court.

“Another round!” was his command, stone cup held high. This was met with cheers from the patrons and groans from the staff, as they uncorked a pipe hanging over the bar and began to fill the vessels of their customers.

“D’ya have a cup?” the barman asked to Regrad as he approached. “No matter, we’ve a few to spare. Here.” A squat stone bowl was slid towards. “Drink hearty, now.”

Regrad graciously took the drink and settled into a seat near the fire. From this spot he had a commanding view of the cellar bar, as well as the cellar customers.

“So what was I talking about before my powerful thirst overcame me?” asked the elder Azguardian, fresh cup in hand.

“You were telling us about the Crusades!” squeaked a young audience member sitting eagerly at his side.

“Ah yes,” replied the elder. His eyes misted over with reminiscence as he stared off. “Now this was during the early battles of the Furen war. The battle for Krakken IV had taught us a lot about war and technology, but we were still basically just a gang of wide-eyed believers unleashing a little old-timey wrath on the heathens and traitors. I was lucky to have a proper las-rifle and blast armour, when most of the boys under my command were wearing a simple robe uniform.”

His vision remained distant for a few moments, before he broke away to down the contents of his cup. “The Nebulon Frigates - that’s the old box-shaped warship you can see down at the new museum - well, they were hardly spaceworthy, all things considered. We were crammed in them like sardines, because the damn things were built for humans and humans are a good head or two shorter. They weren’t good for much, but they got us from front to front, so I don’t have too many complaints.

“Besides, they were the lap of luxury compared to the landing shuttles.” At this, the elder let out a booming laugh and slammed the table in front of him, startling his enthralled audience. “If the Nebulons were built with humans in mind, the shuttles must have been built for Kraz! I had to hunch up on my hands and knees, shoulder to shoulder with my troops for an hour long drop to the surface of...”

The elder froze, frowning for a minute as he tried to pick the name out of his memory. “S’got lots of furry guys on it, really icy...”

“Hurok?”

“Hurok! That was the place, yeah. Furen troops were dug into cities all over the planet, war factories and staging grounds they were going to use to attack us back after Krakken IV went our way. Gods damn, but it was cold there.”

He proffered his cup to be refilled and drained it once more before continuing. “Anyways, so we start hot-dropping - hah! Hot dropping! - into the middle of a frozen wasteland, with no more orders than ‘march this way, find city, take city.’ Did we worry though? Not a bit. We’d thrashed the Furen on Krakken IV and damn if we weren’t going to bring the holy hellfire down on another bunch of the dark gods’ followers.”

“Were the dark gods there too?” asked one audience member, the sincerity of his question great enough to cause Regrad to wince.

The elder laughed and struck the table again. “No, but there was a victory-class Star Destroyer the enemy had put in orbit of the planet. I’m told it was quite a battle to take it down, but I was in the hold at the time so I never heard tell of the thing.”

“What about Regrad?”

“Aaaaah,” said the elder with a sagely wink. “Now there’s a question. Yes, Regrad was there, leading us into battle. He wasn’t much for strategy though - I saw him at the siege of Dranodod, blasting his way up on to the walls. We had Kraz engineers to help us with those, thank the gods, because besides that our only plan was rushing through the gap their demolition charges blew.

“He was a great hero in the crusades,” replied one audience member, nodding in agreement.

“Hero? I suppose there were enough of those - hah!” Once more the elder struck the table, which began to groan and wobble from the strain. “Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t completely dull. A few soldiers were given special missions to prepare for our advance or take out strategic targets, but victory was a mere matter of marching. They just weren’t ready for us.”

Surprised perhaps at hearing a public hero’s accomplishments belittled so, the one audience member who had spoken said “But what about at the siege of Dranodod? That battle won the war, and it was Regrad’s divine leadership which lead us to-”

The elder struck the table again - but this time, there was a sharp edge to it that there wasn’t before, leaving the table cracked and the old Azguardian glaring“It was... a dark time, in Dranodod,” he eventually muttered. He would say no more until his cup was refilled a third time, and he was given a chance to drink it.

“Now, once the walls were split, the Great Enemy and us had a lot in common - we rushed each other and started hacking and slashing, fang and claw, sword and pistol. What was worse was the blood rages, though. I can still remember it, my eyes glossing over, the world getting so distant and faint... I lost control, and at times it felt like I never wanted it back, like I could stay that way forever, killing and slashing and maiming.”

An unusual quiet descended on the tavern, so that even those at the periphery of the old Azguardian’s story began to lean in to hear him. “It’s a terrible thing, an Azguardian at war. We lose so much, but most of all we lose our ability to explain what’s happened to us - as if we ever had it.

“I lost some men in that battle to the fighting and the blades of the Great Enemy, but I know I lost many more than that when the smoke cleared and some of them were still prowling the streets, swords bared, guns raised, whispering prayers over and over again like they were proof against darkness. It’s a terrible thing when you lose that part of you, that distinct person that remembers the good things in life, that’s happy and carefree, and you’re left with the killer and warrior alone - and I don’t care what blasphemy it is, when the priests say we’re blessed, they lie with the tongues Ishon gave them. We’re a cursed people, especially when swords are drawn.”

The silence deepened, until the cup slipped out of the elder’s hand and rolled under the table. He rested his hands on either side of his great chair and closed his eyes. “Leave me, now. No more stories of crusade and glory tonight. If you want any more old-time religion, ask the priests. They can still see the good in what we do.”

His company reluctantly drifted away, some ascending the stairs while others returning to their own conversations. Now alone, the elder opened one eye to see the hooded stranger sitting at his side.

“Sergeant Amos Castellan, first infantry,” he muttered to Regrad. “I served with you in every war we’ve ever fought, and I’m the only one from the first who can say they’ve done that and lived to retire from it.”

“An honour,” said Regrad, extending a hand, which was brushed away.

“No, not an honour,” Amos grumbled. “The sad truth.”

“I can tell, you know,” said Regrad, as he withdrew his hand into the folds of his robe. “We can sense one another in a room - to regular Azguardians you’re just an odd old fellow, but your manner, your eyes, your words... it is nothing shameful to admit you left a part of yourself behind on that battlefield, along with your fellow soldiers.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Amos replied. “You’ve done a lot for right-braining Azguardians, but I know we still are what we are. Broken. We’re meant to fight until we drop, and most of us do. When I say it’s sad that I’m the last of my men, it’s sad because my grave should have been out there next to them, not this lingering life. It’s sad because I can finally understand what the crusades are being fought for. We’re fighting so that in the future, there won’t be any more Azguardians like us. No one will have to become what we’ve become.”

“I’m sorry I made you do this, made you what you are.”

“You didn’t do this to us, unless you’re claiming to be a god. No, the only ones you need to apologize to are still waiting for you - and they’ll wait forever.”

Regrad nodded. “I understand. In fact, I think there’s one more place I need to go today.”

“One last stop before midnight, eh?” replied Amos as he sunk back into his chair. “I can sympathize. It’ll be the longest one of all.”

Dusk

With the sun setting amidst the distant mountain peaks, Regrad made his way away from the old town and out the other end, avoiding the urbanized downtown entirely. There, at the base of one of the great mountains that hemmed in the city, a series of darkened cave mouths glared balefully out of the grey stone which shone red in the fading light.

The ancient city of Az was settled like most Azguardian cities had been, with the gradual unification of settlements along the fertile banks of rivers that criss-cross the planet’s mountainous surface. This sort of living made each city a natural fortress, where rocky borders defined the city limits. Azguardians didn’t just live in the valleys between mountains, however, they often lived inside them as well.

These caves were home to one of the truly ancient cities.

With his cane clacking loudly against the ground as he went, Regrad continued to scale the heavily-worn path from the town below to the cave mouths above. Countless generations had worn the stone smooth, but none dared handle it with a stonecutter’s care. As such, by the time he managed to scale the cliffs, the light had gone out entirely.

It was in early twilight that Regrad entered the city of the dead for his people, crossing that terrible threshold with a shiver. The entrance, long-ago worked by the followers of Ishon into the visage of a terrible bat’s mouth, lead straight down towards the heart of the mountain.

Regrad shivered and wrapped his pilgrim’s cloak tight. His old bones protested, and he felt the outline of old war-wounds tingle in the chill. As the dim light of the cave mouth behind him faded, he looked up to see shafts cut to the surface piping in the starlight so that he could find his way.

The cave walls fell away into darkness, leaving Regrad to move along a narrow corridor of twilight. Time lost it’s meaning, yet it couldn’t have been any more than moments before at last Regrad emerged into the central burial chamber.

“Gods…” Regrad muttered, as he stepped into the torchlight. “There are… so many.”

It was true. The cavernous chamber, cut through with light shafts and lit with stones that carried the light of the sun god, extended off out of sight. Tombstones, crypts, urns, memorials, all neatly arranged by custom or whimsy alongside maudlin streets inhabited by the dead. Some crumbled with age, their names indecipherable. Many others - too many, in Regrad’s view - held the polish and look of freshly-cut stone.

Though years had passed since his last visit, Regrad walked the worn stone paths with eerie familiarity. In the distance, a grand stone arch separated the first chamber from a chamber beyond. That was his destination.

He passed under the arch, which was decorated with worn stone frescoes displaying the great battles of Azguard’s past. Before him lay tombs far more orderly and uniform than the rest.

Not so much that the rest aren’t important… Regrad brushed his hand against truly ancient stone, the name of the dead soldier interred within wiped away by millenia. Just that the ones buried here had a different way of doing things.

Regrad walked down the narrow ‘street’ lined with ancient warriors. With a numbing unease, however, he saw the obvious cutoff when the tombs went from old and crumbled to fresh and new - and how many fresh, new tombs there were. Reaching the first, he stopped to read the name.

“Private Jhislein Roq, first infantry, first battle of Krakken IV.” Regrad wiped away a thin layer of clinging dust, lingering over the crypt.

“I’m sorry.”

Regrad stepped away and looked down the winding street, whose terminus seemed out of sight. “I’m sorry, I really am. I’m sorry for failing you. I’m sorry for my mistakes, I’m sorry that when I was right, it still meant putting you in harm’s way, asking too much from you all.”

He strode down the path, looking either side as he went, reading the names and the battles. “I’m sorry we are what we are, and I’m sorry I went along with our pigeonholed role in history, our chosen ‘destiny’, without asking ‘why?’ often enough. I should have explored this prophecy, I should have tried to understand where it came from and why we believe in it - it was my responsibility, not yours, to see that it wasn’t being abused, to see that it wasn’t just one big abuse of our people. I’m sorry I didn‘t protect you from it.”

Drefus Tindalos, midshipmen of the Petros, second battle of Mon Calamari. Corporal Harcoor Schmidt, fourth infantry, occupation of Kamino. General Isaia Issk, cleansing of Kiyar.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t as smart as I needed to be, I’m sorry I wasn’t as brave or as strong as I could have been. I’m sorry for Corellia, and I’m sorry for Kiyar, and I’m sorry for Kamino and Onyx and Bilbringi and Tynna and every single wretched slaughter that makes up our history. I’m sorry for acting certain when I wasn’t, for swaggering when I should have been humble, for assuming when I should have investigated.”

Agent Eukrist Sulio, special operations, unknown. Dr. Baus Farnum, TARGET galactic division, recovery of Kubindi. Lieutenant Drotstardy Paulo, second-in-command of the Yunos, Garos IV.

“I’m sorry for making this our legacy. I’m sorry for not living up to my half of the pact between us, for not delivering victory when you gave everything - even your lives, willingly - to make it so. Most of all, I’m sorry another generation of Azguardians is going to take your place, to become what we became and end up where we go. Most of all, I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it end with you - with us.”

The tombs went off in every direction, disappearing into the vanishing darkness that surrounded Regrad on all sides. He stood in a vast ocean of silence, a pool of dim starlight from far above centered on his tiny figure utterly dwarfed by the monuments of the fallen.

He waited, he listened, and he sighed.

“Apology accepted.”

Regrad looked up. From the darkness, he could hear footsteps. At the periphery of shadow Yolem appeared, passing between the rows of tombs. In his wake came a light rustling of footfalls as Azguardians seemed to appear, coming into focus from the distance.

No ghosts were these Azguardians, though Regrad leaned away uneasily all the same. He saw Amos, who wore his old military uniform, standing to one side of Yolem. The others, too - whose numbers seemed to swell with every moment, uncountable in the darkness - wore uniforms, combat armour, robes, symbols of rank. They were soldiers, sailors, pilots, officers, all veteran Azguardians from all walks of service.

“Sorry for the ambush, your honour,” said Amos with a wry grin. “Thought I’d call up some old friends and let them know you’re in town.”

“So what now, sir?” asked Yolem, as he stood to attention before Regrad. “The sun has set.”

“Yes, it has,” said Regrad. He looked to the faces of the Azguardians around him, men and women, young and old. “But it will rise again. No matter how many times it sets, the sun will rise, and we can choose to greet it or we can hide away in the darkness and wait for it to go away.

“For too long now have we retreated into ourselves - and I most of all have failed you in this regard. We can’t run from who we are, regardless of prophecy or politics or fear or death. No matter the cost to ourselves, or even the cost to our people, we can no more give up the fight for justice and freedom than we can regain what we’ve lost already. We are committed, heart, body, and soul, to the liberation of this galaxy from the forces of evil, no matter what form they take and what mask they wear.

“So the time has come for the Azguardians to wake from our lethargy and rediscover ourselves and the galaxy. I will go forwards and meet the people, and see to it that the people meet each other once more, so that we can all go forward together with both eyes open. We can’t afford to lie to ourselves or to our brothers and sisters - we need to be honest and true, even in the bad times. Especially in the bad times, and these are the worst we’ve seen.

“We will return to the galaxy, we will find our friends and allies and remind them of our alliances. We will put the fear of our wrath in the heart of villains and Imperialists, we will make war against evil and shield the righteous. We will rebuild our grand society, restore our prosperity, and bring hope to our disillusioned.

“Here, in this sacred place, amidst the bones of our blood brothers and sisters I swear this oath to you - that I will not fail you again. By every ounce of strength in my body, by every drop of sweat on my brow, I will labour to bring us together again and give us back our dreams. Will you fight with me once more?”

From the crowd came an old Azguardian leaning heavily on a walking stick. As others parted to let him through, Regrad saw that it was the teacher, Kalastar Knut. The elderly man squinted at Regrad, before straightening his back and letting his stick fall away. “You will have my service again, lord, should you want it.”

A white knight stepped forward, pulling up his helm to reveal Gorab. “You have my sword as well, sir.”

“And mine, I suppose!” said Amos, with a grin.

The packed ranks began to roar, punching their fists into the air, shattering the silence of the burial chamber, which echoed the call back so that it sounded as if many times their number were calling out. Voices ethereal and distant seemed to mix and mingle with their cries.

Yolem gave his old friend a thin smile. “We are, as always, yours to command. We will follow you into the pit of oblivion and the teeth of death.”

Regrad put his hand on Yolem’s shoulder. “This time, friend, I will not hesitate to lead us. Come heaven or hell, we will not rest until our destiny - whether set by the stars or woven by our own hands - has been achieved.”