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A black obelisk overlooks a field of rose-pink lotuses. Its obsidian surface reflects the night sky, with roiling bands of color that mimic the aurora against a backdrop of snow-white pinpricks that glitter like the uncountable stars scattered across the heavens. Engraved upon it are pictograms that depict fundamental teachings of a faith that was ancient five millennia past. A faith that has become law throughout a vast empire that makes the works of the Khans and Alexander combined seem tiny and insignificant.
An empire where a billion souls is little more than a rounding error.
An empire stretched across a hundred astronomical units that envelop Holy Sol and Mother Terra.
An empire where the strong rule by force, and the wise submit to the iron hand of the Emperor's Law.
The Empire of the Eclipse.
It is the 4896th year since the Eclipse united the Inner and Outer Solar System under a single banner. The 24th Iteration of Emperor Ozymandias now reigns from the Throneworld of Mars, and he has named the living iteration of Artemis his heir. Many consider his a blessed reign, for the First Iteration of Ozymandias brought about the Eclipse and renewed the Solar System from its weary days of languishing beneath the bootheels of the Inner and Outer Communes. His deeds are what is written upon the obelisk's surface.
How he stole the inner hammer and the outer sickle and forged them anew into a mighty axe.
How he cut out the rot of bureaucracy and propaganda, and threw its perpetrators into Sol's heart to be judged.
How he shattered the lie of equality and restored merit as the sole right to rule.
In the shadow of this blend of history and moral tale, six hundred and sixty six youths stand before a dias and await their instructions. Their ages range from thirteen to sixteen, each of them representing the top graduate this year from each branch of the Academy. Unlike children from the lower schools, the only clothes allowed them are the black-white <span class="mu-i">stola</span> issued to Academy students each year, and upon great spurts of growth. The sash about their waists and rope about one shoulder indicates their growth.
As they have all graduated from the Academy and shall soon know their path chosen for them by the Emperor, they all wear the crimson sash about their waists. Only those who have killed before may wear anything but a white rope over their shoulder.
A blue rope means you have killed a beast in the lab.
A green rope means you have killed a beast on the hunt.
A red rope means you have killed your fellow man.
Precious few youths wear the red rope upon their shoulder, perhaps a dozen at most. You are one of them. A girl among the youngest cohort of the graduates gathered here, a child prodigy in the sciences and the arts martial, musical, and mystic. You vaguely remember having a name given to you by your parents, but the Academy took that from you just like they took the memory of their faces. In its place they gave you a number: 416D616C6961.
An empire where a billion souls is little more than a rounding error.
An empire stretched across a hundred astronomical units that envelop Holy Sol and Mother Terra.
An empire where the strong rule by force, and the wise submit to the iron hand of the Emperor's Law.
The Empire of the Eclipse.
It is the 4896th year since the Eclipse united the Inner and Outer Solar System under a single banner. The 24th Iteration of Emperor Ozymandias now reigns from the Throneworld of Mars, and he has named the living iteration of Artemis his heir. Many consider his a blessed reign, for the First Iteration of Ozymandias brought about the Eclipse and renewed the Solar System from its weary days of languishing beneath the bootheels of the Inner and Outer Communes. His deeds are what is written upon the obelisk's surface.
How he stole the inner hammer and the outer sickle and forged them anew into a mighty axe.
How he cut out the rot of bureaucracy and propaganda, and threw its perpetrators into Sol's heart to be judged.
How he shattered the lie of equality and restored merit as the sole right to rule.
In the shadow of this blend of history and moral tale, six hundred and sixty six youths stand before a dias and await their instructions. Their ages range from thirteen to sixteen, each of them representing the top graduate this year from each branch of the Academy. Unlike children from the lower schools, the only clothes allowed them are the black-white <span class="mu-i">stola</span> issued to Academy students each year, and upon great spurts of growth. The sash about their waists and rope about one shoulder indicates their growth.
As they have all graduated from the Academy and shall soon know their path chosen for them by the Emperor, they all wear the crimson sash about their waists. Only those who have killed before may wear anything but a white rope over their shoulder.
A blue rope means you have killed a beast in the lab.
A green rope means you have killed a beast on the hunt.
A red rope means you have killed your fellow man.
Precious few youths wear the red rope upon their shoulder, perhaps a dozen at most. You are one of them. A girl among the youngest cohort of the graduates gathered here, a child prodigy in the sciences and the arts martial, musical, and mystic. You vaguely remember having a name given to you by your parents, but the Academy took that from you just like they took the memory of their faces. In its place they gave you a number: 416D616C6961.
