I remember the old days, even if no one else does.

In the wake of the resources, with fertile land and massive herds, with fresh water and fish colored with all the rainbow, with gentle rolling hills and a warm sun, people have forgotten the struggle. The struggle created necessity and purpose to force growth and maturity not only as peoples, but as individuals.

The Ne-Blood tore themselves apart, salting their own country into oblivion, and so became hardy and distasteful for bloody war, newly grown in seeking replacements for conflicts among their factions. They bore the greatest philosophers of the age, the toughest workers and inventors, and their ingenuity with limited resources was unmatched.

The North Ire's ingenuity, as the Ne, was of limited resources. The resource in question being space. A mountainous land, they needed to use what they had to its fullest and organize every space. They were of family, unable to do anything alone with generations living together and bonding together, and despite the difficulty went out of their way to work together as city states into something larger and cohesive. Social graces and community was everything on a micro and macro level, because they knew they could do nothing alone.

The South Ire did not have the same problems as the others as the land was good, but they were forced to share their land with the most peculiar of people, the Soran-Blood. The Soran were rumored to be the strongest and unmerciful by far, but thankfully not territorial and content with themselves when unprovoked, this made a need of respect, understanding, and cooperation from the Ire-Blood for concepts and people's utterly alien cultures. The greatest diplomats were raised there. Raw empathy.

An empathy I wish my blood had shared. The vain Kes-Blood, blessed with everything. We won every skirmish and war in our history since Ref, our rival, collapsed into the sea. This puffed up our hearts. We toyed with lesser powers for our amusement and restrained ourselves from nothing. In our hedonism a humbler came in the form of our own god and brought us low. We should act as a warning, but as I watch, I think the lesson lost.

No one remembers.

"What do you think, tapeworm?" A Ne-Blood asked. I recognized him as among the Empire's generals formlerly. Unfortunately, he recognized me too. He took me by the arm, dragged me over to where a group of them were boasting and drinking.

There was enough barrels of alcohol to erect a play-fort if they were so inclined. In fact they had made a wall out of the barrels and put up a canvas of art on it. The one to drag me here, motioned to the art, and repeated himself, "What do you think, my king Tapeworm?"

In the rush of being dragged I had spilled some of my drink on myself. I cleared my throat, put my goblet down on a stable surface, and examined it loosely.

On the canvas was a great deal of red splattering around the frame of a man confined to a chair. The canvas, unlike most, had distinctive wrinkles that brought the man to life before our eyes. In my eyes, I could see his struggle to live as he bled and was tortured, but was caged to his chair.

One of his companions asked, "Tapeworm?"

"Sure, he is so skinny! See?" To prove his point, he took my hand and waved my arm around roughly. I did not resist him and let him use me as a toy. His friends laughed. "But what do you think, oh kingly of the pigeons?"

A Kes-Blood being referred to by a thief with wings that struts about proudly bobbing its head. Yeah, like I haven't heard that before only a million times.

"He looks more like a sea gull that was too stupid to know you shouldn't take fish from bears. Look at that ugly as sun ear. Wouldn't sell for a fish on the market."

I inserted myself, returning to the original conversation, "This is a piece from the Pain Artist isn't it?"

"Good eye kingly seagull-pigeon! Cost me a pretty tower, I tell you the truth."

The standard currency, in the wake of the Aeterna, were called "Imperial Weight". One side of the coin depicted its weight and therefore value, but the other side was always marked with the standard of the Empire. A circle around the sun that isn't quite complete on three sides with three towers almost touching the sun at the very center. It depicts the three Turris Solis so everyone just calls them 'towers'.

Unlike most coinage I have seen, every tower is marked down to the thousandth of a decimal in its exact weight per coin as measured by the Soran-Blood. A little unnecessary, I think, to go so far, but I have heard positive things about it. The people trust them and the Soran claim it is easy for them.

"Sure you didn't get your towers replaced with some of this counterfeit Irelian knock off?" His friends laughed while others groaned with jealousy.

"You don't like it?"

"Sure it looks better than anything you could ever hope to do, but I think the Pain Artist's material is just not worth it. Costs more to buy a slave than to buy this art. Just today they selling some left over ugly for an onion and you want art worth a mansion! Its not worth its weight in blood."

"Declaration:-" A new monotone voice popped up just behind me so close it caused me to jump. A Soran-Blood stood behind me practically breathing down my neck. He stood at full height with a loose robe around his metal body. "The weight of the canvas with its wood, cloth, and blood if translated into weight of blood would prove the weight of blood to have more economic value if sold to a doctor in need."

The group laughed mockingly while the owner of the art stared at the intruder, confused, and asked, "What?"

"Declaration: The canvas weighs twelve ounces per square yard in cloth with an additional wooden frame at-"

"It was a manner of speech!" The owner exclaimed. The Soran-Blood paused abruptly, was still a moment, then made painfully grating laughing sounds, which contrasted with the increasing laughter of the group. "It wasn't a joke either!"

With their full attention on the metal man, I slinked away from the group and disappeared into the crowd.

Today was a special day for the Empire. It was the new year celebration, the first full year of the Aeterna Empire, everyone celebrated their birthday today together as well as the day of their birth individually, and the Emperor's heralds spread word that he would be coming down for the day to be seen by the people. The Aeterna Emperor had been at the top of the tower for the full year, and seen by no one but a select few. He had passed down laws and changes to be made in forming his fledgling nation, but with no appearance the ministers and governors appointed to rule over various holdings were becoming skeptical.

The regular people were just overjoyed to be among their 'god' and give him thanks for rebirthing the world, as well as ending war and starvation and a great deal of other nonsense as if that was the only constant of the old world. For normal people the hidden spectacle of the man and a short memory of the old ways sparked countless myths and rumors that no one could refute with anyone to know better.

The pavilion in the center, and the stairs leading up to the tower, was the only open space where no one treaded. It was considered holy ground, an idea magnified by the presence of soldiers standing guard still as statues. Nothing was allowed to phase their vigil unless a trespass occurred; then their reaction was swift and decisive. So long as that fine line wasn't crossed, it was acceptable and the crowd took full advantage to turn this floor into the largest celebration I had ever witnessed. There were easily one-hundred thousand people here. Even the pirates of Ref had shown up to pay homage to the him.

Some Soran-Blood and South-Ire were showing off inventions. The inventions included a glass jar that captured a piece of the sun, a box more efficent at cooling temperatures for food preservation than zeer bowls, a liquid stone that turned solid when stirring stopped, and a hand-held tube that released tiny metal spears at incredible speeds. There was a great gathering for the inventions, but one crucial problem presented by each was a lack of fuel. They required certain sources and none of it was able to fill mass production enough for the masses, but this wouldn't stop the wealthy nobles. The exception to this mass production problem was the liquid stone, and this proved to be the most excitable to prospective buyers.

A group of children with their school teacher were singing poems and songs in praise they made for the Aeterna. But they did not lack heart and boldness, things to which drew a crowd of its own accord. Among the songs they told, there was one more practiced than the rest.

The Aeterna eternal crowned with light.

The sun is his refuge, watch his enemy flee.

He stamps out the ten-thousand ten-thousand times.

The Night foe come in his sleep and overtake us.

But laugh and be well as the foe flees at his snores.

The old gods are dead and buried,

The new god is here.

A makeshift zoo was animals gathered from across Dyson was assembled in wooden cages. I was familiar with some of the animals, but only some, and even more were said to have once been extinct before the Long Night. The whole zoo was a gift to the Emperor.

Twenty-four statues were built and erected as a gift to the Aeterna on this floor. Each statue was the same width as the arch supports and same height as the peak of the arches. Each statue was of a different blood without exception among the civilized; and each was of different occupation, but somewhere, inevitably, they all bore the mark of the Empire.

Some kid tried to climb them, made it as far as the head, but despite his rebellious persistence was brought down with nets.

A group of prospects to become Numerenai were assembled and waiting with the promise of becoming the emperor's holy. To my distaste, I saw Senec from the caravan. It was good to see he had made it here before the Long Night, and surely his father must have set up a decent home and shop for them both, but it disturbed me to see the boy follow through with the foolishness.

One significant custom that took time to understand was how the Ne-Blood silently greeted each other in such a way that signified status. They would bow with one hand extended out, their fingers spread. Every major tribe had a differently colored ring tattoo'd into a person's finger. A different color and different design to a different tribe. Being born into the tribe and acknowledged as an adult, gaining nobility, gaining further rank, all warranted a tattoo'd finger. One could have multiple colors across their fingers if more than one tribe acknowledged you as a person of respect or membership. The thumb was excluded from this, as it had different purpose. When you were married, both parties would have the same tattoo done to their thumb, where great effort was made to make each design different from one couple to the next. It was done in the color of the tribe to hold the marriage and marriage feast, and so in this way their children would be given membership to the same tribe. Criminals and slaves were both tattoo'd with a black design to the ends of their fingers in the way of their master, and I suspect slavery is their prison more than any cell. Anyone with removed fingers were considered hardly better and suspected.

Which brings me to the slaves. Not knowing the customs, it took time to recognize them, but I understood shortly before the party. There were many. They were from all civilized bloods, excluding Soran-Blood, and were dressed well enough, but the blank expressions haunted me. 

There were many more things to see and games to play too. Most involved some form of drinking and dancing and socializing in a manner not unlike North Ire customs, only scaled up to a radically high number and including all of the civilized bloods in one massive gathering. However, despite all of this, the wonders and games, the drinking and dancing, I left myself to the shadows of it all, content merely to watch, and to remember.

So I hummed.