Ghosts of Lyarra (45 page)

She had brought the best and the most dangerous the Forgotten had to offer and stationed them in a blanket security around the Imperial gardens. They would outnumber the guests three to one, and even the majority of the guests were Guild supporters or members. The only exceptions to this were the J’Karin delegation which had just landed and the absent Council from Terra Sol. Both parties were insignificant in the grand scheme of things; both worlds were on the list of those to be handed over to the darkness when all was said and
done.

Myril admired herself in the mirror and smiled brighter. Her long green hair was set free; falling past her shoulders and over the robes of gold laced with white. It was a stark change from the dark robes of deep blue and black that the priestess’ of the Guild wore daily. For the first time since this all started, she could finally see herself as the
Empress.

Back and forth Myril swayed in the mirror like a child showing off to her mother. The robes flowed with the movements, making it look like they were blowing in the wind. A giggle escaped her lips; thousands of years of futility and frustration melted away as the minutes counted down to glory. Her attention returned to the window outside her chambers to admire the wonderful day that Lyarra had bestowed upon
her.

There was a slight breeze, but barely enough of one to move a hair out of place. Clouds were sparse and the day was warm as could be considering since fall was in mid swing. The Gods were smiling upon her; granting a day like none other to stand before the galaxy and claim her throne. She looked upon the guests who were dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms or in exotic formal wear. None alive had witnessed the last coronation when Iana took the throne, so all in attendance today knew the importance of the history being made. There were close to thirty or so robotic vid-recorders hovering about along with an equal amount of holo-monitors displaying the event from all the different
angles.

One of the monitors faced her now; showing a great shot of the mock Throne of Light that had been made for the event. It was a perfect replica, but the real one could not be moved from the sealed throne room that would only be opened after she had been crowned and the festivities closed. Myril loved the way the throne sparkled in the light, and stared at the video feed aimlessly. Her thoughts were interrupted by the screen having some sort of interference with static; she shook her head thinking what a stupid thing to have fail now. When she looked up however, her feelings of excitement and pride melted away into
fear.

“
I will see you soon
.” It read; flashing between the interference before returning to the shot of the throne upon the
stage.

Myril began to panic; looking around nervously to see if this ghost was lurking behind her somewhere. She reached over to the buzzer to summon her hired help and waited nervously until they arrived. Her eyes darted back to the screen over and over as she waited for yet another sign, but nothing else happened. The room was clear and the screen returned to normal; there was nothing to show her security as they rushed
in.

“I want a full security sweep!” she hollered nervously. “Did you see what that said?” she pointed out the window. “He’s here. Find him, kill him, and make sure nothing disrupts my moment of
glory!”

The assassins looked at one another in confusion, then bowed to their master to do as they were ordered. A feeling of sickness was stuck in her gut as she watched them leave; knowing full well this creature had hidden for this long despite the manhunt for him. It could be anyone beneath the helmet and armor, and that anybody could be sitting amongst the crowd awaiting the
coronation.

The door opened and she jumped back, but it was only the elderly priests of the Guild coming to lead her out. They were a lower caste within the Temple; unaware of her plans and deals with the darkness. An ancient order in their own, they were loyal to the crown no matter who wore it; and now they had come to see her don it on her brow. One by one they filed in and bowed as they entered. One carried the crown upon a silken white pillow while another carried the ancient book of the
Prophets.

“It is time, my child.” One of the hooded priests croaked. “Lyarra calls to you to sit upon the throne in her stead. Do you hear her voice in the
air?”

“I do.” Myril replied; pushing back her fear, down
deep.

“Then let it begin.” The priest called out. “Let us lead you to your
destiny.”

One by one, they bowed again to her and turned to leave the chamber. The priest holding the book lead and was followed by the one with the crown; the others kept their heads bowed and followed closely. Myril clutched her necklaces of gold and silver in her hands and brought up the rear of the procession; her symbols of honor and rank within the Temple would be given as an offering to the Gods in acceptance of the crown once she reached the stage. There was no more time to be scared. The security was tight and strong; no one would dare try and intercede
now.

Myril took a deep breath as they crossed the threshold of the palace and towards the golden doors; exhaling as they exited the building. The sunlight warmed her immediately and calmed her quickly. It relaxed her as she took in the crowd looking on eagerly. Her fate was in the hands of the Gods, and their will was about to be done. Nothing could go wrong now; her dreams were all about to come
true.

—

The J’Karin delegation had taken up the rear of the crowd; nine gigantic Elite in perfectly polished copper armor tightly surrounded a figure in the middle wearing silver armor. Only flashes of the being hidden within could be seen as they stood in a square protective formation. Any overhead view by the cameras floating about were stymied by a sun shade stretched between the lead guard and the trailing one. Rumors had always told of the J’Karin queen being a recluse; rumors that this scene
confirmed.

As the procession of the priests towards the stage began, another separate one began from the landing pad with the ceremonial coffin of Iana led by her former personal guard, Bryx. Behind him, four Ifierin in highly polished armor - a sight none could ever imagine - holding the glittering golden sarcophagus high on their shoulders. They walked slowly, and though they had a shorter path to the ceremony, both processions met at the top of the path leading to the stage in perfect harmony. Bryx bowed slightly to the priests, allowing them to pass on towards the waiting throne. When Myril passed, she shot the J’Karin an evil look, though he remained with his head bowed. Once her procession was past, the Ifierin set the coffin at the mouth of the aisle and stood behind it; Bryx in the center and two soldiers on each side of
him.

When Myril’s feet touched the stone path leading up to the stage, petals and blossoms began to fall from above. It rained blues, reds, and all other colors of the rainbow; the Empress incumbent was greeted by the eyes of her eager and smiling subjects. It was a who’s who of the upper echelon of the Council and Fleet; the rest of the Empire was left to watch from continuous feeds provided by the hovering video spheres fluttering about. Myril beamed as she stopped halfway to the stage and stretched out her arms to enjoy the falling flowers; tears of joy streamed down her
cheeks.

Triumphantly, she sauntered up to the stage which the priests now surrounded but only two had climbed up on. Only the priest with the book and the other with the crown stood above the others; and as she slowly made her way to the throne the priest holding the book of the Prophets began to conduct the
ceremony.

“As the Gods watch us today, we begin a new chapter in the Empire of Light.” He began. “Tragedy called an end to the Queen of Heaven; the Gods called their child back home as Iana’s light was extinguished much too soon. But in the face of tragedy we get to see another rise to the challenge of leadership; one that does not shy away from the enormous task that awaits that who sits upon the
throne.”

“And as we all witness history, the humble order of the Great Temple of the Prophets calls out to their masters. We implore you to join us on this day of wonder and transition; you were there when Iana was passed the mantle of leadership and let it be so that you be here as we crown Myril as the next Empress of the Lyarran
Empire.”

It was deathly silent as everyone waited for an answer. Even Myril had stopped mere feet from the stage; though her eyes remained fixed on the throne which awaited her. The air was calm, the breeze fell away and a static charge rose. There were no grand theatrics, no ship landing to bring them, they just appeared on the stage surrounding the throne where a second ago they were not. Ghostly grey robes with hoods shrouding the head and faces; the Prophets were non-descript figures with little more the shape of an upright man underneath thick robes. None alive had seen their faces, and none here had even lain eyes on them in person until this moment. They simply formed a half moon shape around the throne and waited for the ceremony to continue. All the priests bowed deeply to their masters, and after a few moments of respect the ceremony could
continue.

“The voices of the Gods have blessed us with their presence.” The priest resumed. “We ask that Myril come forward and stand before the Gods themselves as we fill a void we so desperately need to fill. The crown needs a brow on which to sit, and the Throne of Light needs a master once more. Step forward child; destiny is waiting for you
now.”

Myril reached the stairs and mounted the two steps as she glided up to the stage. Pausing as she faced the empty throne, it took a great deal of will for her to turn away from the very object she had obsessed about for so long and face the crowd. With her arms stretched out in a symbolic embrace of those in attendance, Myril bowed her head in thanks of all that had joined. The crowd returned the bow; eyes filled with happiness and anticipation. She felt their silent adulation and revelled in it before turning to the priest of ceremony and allowing him to
continue.

“With this crown comes the weight of a galaxy,” he began. “With this throne comes the power of the Gods. Your voice becomes that of the absolute; your voice carries more on it than just words. Your brow becomes the heavens; the crown of stars will shine upon it for all to wonder at. Your body becomes a temple that upon the throne gives us all a place to worship. Your rule will become that of legend; let it be one of just and
righteousness.”

“Before we bestow upon you the mantle of leadership, we ask the Prophets to bless us with some words of wisdom. Give this day your blessing as we usher in a new age.” He
asked.

“
A day like no other is upon us
.” The Prophets spoke as one. “
Sorrow has filled our hearts as the throne sits without the one chosen for it; though we step towards a new age for the Empire, it is upon all who watch us now to take note of what happens here today. All shall bear witness to the rise of a new power among
us
.”

The ceremonial priest bowed in thanks as well as all in attendance - and Myril - pondered the cryptic word of the ancient scholars. Murmurs rose in the crowd before they were hushed by the priest’s raised hand to ask for
silence.

“Do you accept the weight of the Empire, their hopes and dreams, the expectations and the trials of wearing this crown?” the priest asked Myril. “Do you promise to continue that which Iana had started; to lead the beings among us on in a never ending quest of knowledge and growth? Can you sit on this throne and be the leader this Empire needs and
deserves?”

“I accept this mantle with a heavy heart.” Myril replied. “I accept the hopes and dreams of the Empire and chose to bear the weight of leading them into a new age. From the ashes of our fallen angel, I pick up where Iana left off as I rise to the challenges that await us. I am ready keeper of the crown, let me bear your heavy
burden.”

All eyes turned to the priest holding the white pillow with the crown on it, and as if reacting to her words stating a burden he seemed to struggle holding it up. His legs wobbled and his face showed all kinds of strain. After a few moments of his body fighting the inevitable, he fell to his knees and dropped the pillow on the stage. If this sight wasn’t enough to send a shock through all watching, the sound the pillow made when it hit the floor was. It didn’t land lightly, it didn’t bounce softly, the crown did not move and neither did that which held it as the pillow struck the floor with a dull
thud.

A hush gripped the gardens, and Myril stood with her mouth agape as she simply stared down at the crown which should now be on her head. She stood in shock as another two priests mounted the stairs up to the stage; one to render aide to their friend and the other to retrieve his lost burden. Try as the elderly priest might, the pillow and the crown remained fixed on the ground and would not move. Myril began to fume in frustration as her moment of triumph was coming
undone.

“
He has come for you
.” The Prophets spoke; breaking the hush that gripped the crowd. “
All shall bear witness to his
return
.”

—

From her vantage point, Lyxia watched as the ceremony started. Immediately, she saw the J’Karin guard surrounding their ‘queen’ and then saw the procession leading the faux savior of the Empire to her awaiting crown. She watched as Bryx led the funeral procession of Ifierin and the empty but ceremonial sarcophagus of Iana. Everything was going as drawn up; everyone was in the proper position. Lyxia knew where Iana was - it was rather obvious as she was hiding in plain sight - and Bryx was out in the open, but as her eyes scanned the gardens she could not see where Aen
was.