Hyperion Evergrowing

Epilogue

Flavia Vin fidgeted behind her desk as she desperately tried to forget the hills of paperwork, not quite tall enough to be considered mountains, in front of her. She did so in the way she had been taught growing up, without any movements of her body or any nervousness reaching her face.

The kind of fidgeting only possible if you get beaten for appearing to not pay attention to lessons by the family tutor. The kind of fidgeting that involved mentally pushing and pulling small, mostly opaque grey rectangles with gold and red trimmings.

She still remembered the day her older brother had taught her how to customise the windows of information so they wouldn’t be totally bland and grey. Naturally, as a seven year old, she had made the mental interface a garish mix of pink and green.

She tinkered and played, ultimately resulting in making the system appear and disappear with a shower of sparks and flower petals, she even altered the text so it danced and spun. Then Flavia had cried because it had become utterly incomprehensible.

Leif had only been a few years older, and he had panicked due to being unable to help her fix the changes she had made. Then they had both gotten in trouble with their father. The memory was a bitter, if nostalgic distraction from the task before her. Twelve years, twelve years since the death of her brother. Twelve years since she had been forced down the path Leif would have walked, if he had remained with the family.

She sighed, brushing dark bangs out of her eyes, adjusting her posture to work the crick out of her back. Getting older hadn’t been as fun as her younger self would have assumed, time seemed to flow faster and faster with every passing year.

Flavia turned her attention to a report about crop yields and expected taxation of house Vin’s holdings. She used a skill to sharpen her vision, another to take a series of mental notes. Her work wasn’t enjoyable, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing it efficiently.

The door to her office, the office her father had once used, rattled as something pressed against it. Then a series of three sharp knocks rang against stone. By the rhythmic cadence, she knew who it was.

“Enter.” She said, deactivating her perception skill.

A man in servant's clothing entered and dipped into a formal bow. He was tall and spindly, not a trace of muscle or fat could be seen beneath his tailored servants clothing.

“My lady.” He said, producing a letter. “A report from Mekrys, it arrived earlier today via a summoned courier.”

Flavia took the letter and tossed it onto the pile, she would get to it later. The man bowed, then exited as swiftly as he had entered. She returned to the report on crop yields, but something caught her eye.

The most recent letter had a peculiar emblem detailed on the wax seal. It was of a serpentine dragon eating its own tail. That wasn’t the usual seal used by the imperial mail services. It took her a few moments to identify what it was, mentally going through her memorised list of imperial heraldry.

The Academy. She realised, taking a sip of wine from a silver cup. That’s unusual. The powerful imperial institute was like a distant dream. Her homeland was technically a protectorate of the empire, though their interaction with Mekrys' organisations, factions and families was tangential at best.

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The empire let them do what they wanted, in exchange for some minor oaths and tribute. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, the empire had a buffer against attacks to its northern provinces. While Varan and its neighbours had the support of some of humanity's strongest protectors.

Curious, and most certainly not bored out of her mind, Flavia reached for the letter, breaking the seal and reading the opening line.

‘The Pherin Incident.’ It read. She frowned, noticing the recorded date for the incident. Not for the first time Flavia internally grumbled about the delay in news reaching the northern kingdoms. The Mekrys Empire was a huge place, even its smallest territories matched Varan in size.

News would have to travel manually, as far as she was aware there wasn’t a communication construct in existence with the range to reach even a fraction of the way to the imperial capital and her own family's estate.

She took another sip and continued reading. Then her blood ran cold. Undead? Enslavers? The appearance of monsters capable of contending with elites of the empire? An imperial expedition had been forced to abandon their fortified position within the wilderness. There was even mention of an anomaly that had fought alongside the expedition.

From the sounds of things there were forces in play that could crush her homeland with ease. Normally military information like this wouldn’t be included with communications sent between the empire and its allies, but apparently the Academy had an open information policy.

She reread the report, her gut churning as fear began to grip her heart. Flavia stood as she skimmed details about the empire’s planned response to the crisis. There was even a corresponding statement from an Ahle-ho guild, signing off as witness to the events that had taken place.

There was a good chance this information hadn’t yet reached the capital, her father would need to know. She marched to the far wall of her office and reached a finger for the dormant, but turned on device.

The crystal construct rang, the sound was like a hundred wind chimes being struck at once. Someone was trying to contact her, and Flavia knew who it was. Communication constructs only connected to paired devices.

A familiar, deep voice crackled from the polished gemstone, the metallic frame of the construct humming. “Daughter.” It said. “Ill news I’m afraid. The Lord Regent is calling an emergency assembly.”

“I assume we just read the same report from the empire?” She asked, jaw clenched.

There was a pause before her father spoke again. “Indeed. I can only pray this isn’t a repeat of twelve years ago.”

Flavia couldn’t help but agree. The enslavers had rampaged across the north, their legions laying waste to cities and clashing with hastily mustered armies. They exchanged words, her father was the patriarch of house Vin, though Flavia acted as his substitute while he was in the capitol.

The power games and politics of her family seemed tiny and insignificant in the face of what could very well be a catastrophe that washed humanity back across the southern seas.

“Gather our allies and call in every favour.” Her father said, his crackling voice weary and tense.

Flavia agreed, already running the list of things she needed to have done before the day’s conclusion. They said their goodbyes, and the communication construct let out a hissing whistle as the connection was severed.

The device was beginning to wear down, she would need to have it repaired. Flavia collapsed back into her chair, then she reached for her drink. Not her cup, the whole bottle. She drained half of the contents, feeling warmth spread through her chest.

It wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but she had skills to aid in her mental clarity and focus, it wouldn’t affect her. Much.

Feeling numb, Flavia re-read the letter one more time, then she paused, there was a second page. She hadn’t expected the message to continue after the signatories, so she turned the letter revealing a smaller strip of paper that had been attached to the first. There, in penmanship different from the report was a single sentence, followed by a new signature, and the symbol of a sword.

‘Do you know Leif Vin?’ It read.

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