Something about their arrival to Rema seemed quiet. It was late morning and the sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky. In the shadows of Rema’s southern foothill, Captain Yau’s raft finally arrived at the docks of the Numa’nakres capital. Aralim and his friends didn’t speak as Carrak and Yau pushed them the last few hundred feet. They simply watched as the city came into sight: nestled between two of the Yurna Mountains predecessors, the tall houses and wealthy shops gave way to the great estates that surrounded the Iron Palace. Of course, the richest of properties were those built into the sides of the slopes, looking down on Rema as if from the edge of some gargantuan bowl. The Iron Palace itself seemed smaller to Aralim, somehow, though it was likely just due to the inflation of his memories. It’s shining metal columns and slightly slanted roof gleamed silvery-white in the radiant sunshine.
Once they stepped onto the docks, the tone of the day changed completely. They were greeted by a line of guards—the entire waterfront district was patrolled by twice or thrice times the number Aralim had ever before seen here. The Walker had not forgotten how varied their iron armour was, though he heard Nill gasp. Each man and woman on duty looked different—here stood a guard with a boar’s head helmet and there another with two talons rising from her shoulder pauldrons. The heckling of merchants and the hubbub of busy conversation nearly drowned out the exclamations of the river guards upon recognizing Aralim and his own iron-armoured protectors.
“That’s Grendar,” said one of the guards on duty. Aralim’s group was hurriedly greeted by a squad of soldiers. They gave Aralim, Nill, and Devran a wide berth; a few awkwardly bowed to the Ambassador. Aralim, equally as uncomfortable, bade them stand straight in his presence.
They followed Iron Way toward the Palace. Nill marvelled at the vein of iron that marked the centre of the street, while Aralim listened to the noise in the city. There were more shouts than earlier. Once, he thought he heard fighting, but it stopped sooner than he could determine its whereabouts. He was a little surprised that a procession of the Aura had not greeted them at the docks, but he was more surprised that the tone of the city had changed somehow. He recalled Greatfather Athanu’s words, “Rema doesn’t change. Rema is like Tag’na. Un-weathered. Troubled, at times. But it does not change,” and he wondered, Is this the trouble?
“It’s amazing,” Nill said beside him. “I watched the forests pass on the sea and on the river—millions upon millions of trees—and I thought, ‘How can there be a people here?’ Even in Radregar, the cities are built upon the hills or in the fields.”
“But here?”
“The forest just parts to make way for this city,” Nill said. “And the Iron Palace at the center of it all. Placed there by its god.”
Aralim didn’t reply. Not now—there was too much listening to do.
The gates of the Palace grounds were protected by a dozen more guards than usual, but Aralim’s group was not given pause. A dozen men and women in the Aura’s orange robes let the travelled trickle between them like water through spread fingers. Even the Emperor’s Blade—Karmawn, if Aralim could guess at the face behind the serene orange visor—stepped to the side to allow a wider space for their passage.
Nill stared at the crowds that milled about the Palace grounds: the merchants haggling, the mercenaries arguing, the courtesans tempting. She gaped up at the Iron Palace, which stood as tall as her own Tenth Tower home, but spanned fifty times its area, plated completely in iron shingles.
“Aralim!” shrieked a girl’s voice. Miresh darted out from amidst the Aura and the crowds, and threw her arms around Aralim. She had grown a head taller than before, coming up to his chest.
Her lantern staff clapped against his walking stick as he pulled his arms around her and held her tightly as he said, “Hi, little one.”
Miresh had a tattoo on her bare shoulder—the face of a reed cat, in masterfully artistic detail. It struck Aralim with familiarity to the cat he had briefly travelled with nearly a year ago. As she stepped back, Aralim got a better look at her. Miresh’s arms were toned with youthful muscle now—likely from the martial arts she had begun learning—and her sandy brown hair was cut in a Rema fashion, with the sides nearly shaved and the top left long. Between the tattoo, hairstyle, and her height, Miresh seemed a few years older than thirteen, but her dimpled smile and her bright brown eyes showed she was still the same little orphan girl he had met in Lantern Town.
“I want to hear everything,” Aralim said, grinning. “Oh… before I forget, this is Nilless. Nill, this is Miresh.”
Nill lifted the sides of her straight black wrap, making a curtsy to the girl. “I’ve heard a lot,” she said with a smile.
“Me too,” Miresh replied, returning the gesture.
Without a word, Nill blinked and looked at Aralim. Then she smiled awkwardly to Miresh. Aralim supressed a laugh; Nill had a lot to learn about the Emperor’s ears.
There were six members of the Aura standing behind Miresh, along with Narr, who rose over everyone else by a few feet. It was rare to see Narr and Karmawn near each other—the two were drawing looks from the onlooking crowd. Aralim looked at his youngest friend with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like we have business to attend. Are you coming, Miresh?”
“Of course!” she piped. Her orange lantern made her hair look chestnut.
Together, Aralim, his travellers, his guards, and Miresh with her own procession, approached the long staircase to the raised first floor of the Iron Palace. They passed more guards and more orange-robed watchers. In the commotion, Aralim almost lost sight of the man who had been his Aura this past year, but the man stuck with the group and started up the stairs. The escorting Aura led them past the line of citizens awaiting the Second Court, which met at the top of the staircase.
Aralim looked down into the amphitheatre beside the stairs, where the Third Court was meeting. It was busy, as usual, but he managed to catch Hayan’s eye. The Selected and ex-slave raised his hand toward Aralim, and the Ambassador returned the wave.
Then, to the gasping sounds of Nill’s continued amazement, they entered the Iron Palace proper. They walked on the warm iron panels into the shadows of the enormous pillars. The Aura led the way through the columns like it was a maze they knew with perfect clarity. They wove around spaces where dignitaries were meeting or where the lesser rulers of Numa’nakres relaxed.
After a few minutes of confusing navigation, Aralim looked down one aisle to see Greatfather Athanu. The old man sat in a proper armchair, tended to by servants, not the Aura. He bowed his head to Aralim, but then Aralim was past, looking down the next row.
The orange-robed man who had walked with Aralim to Tal’lashar and back took a step away from their group without hesitation. As certainly as he had followed or fought for Aralim, he tread away, to be swallowed by the deep shadows of the Iron Palace.
At last, their escort brought them to their destination. The Eternal Emperor was lounging on a long red couch, surrounded by his Aura. The third member of the Emperor’s Blade—whom Aralim had never seen before—stood behind the couch, stoic and silent. Three braziers lit the areas with a warm metallic light.
Tag’na rose to his feet with a smile. He was dressed as he preferred: shirtless, with a simple burgundy skirt that ran from waist to feet. His hair was clasped behind his head as usual and his simple square earrings glinted dully in the firelight. “Aralim, my friend,” he said with a wink, “I am glad you have safely returned.”
Aralim held back a laugh at the “friend” comment and the wink. He bowed in unison with Grendar and Devran. Nill followed suit belatedly, mimicking their form. Aralim stepped closer to the Emperor and nodded. “It’s good to be home. A lot has changed, although you likely disagree.”
The Emperor bid everyone rise with a curl of his fingers. “Some things have changed. My city—indeed, the world, it seems—boils with conflict and crime. But Rema has burned before…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “Some of the things I have been told about the East are more troubling.”
Something struck Aralim as strange about Tag’na’s appearance, but he could not place it at first. The Emperor looked as he had a year ago. It only dawned on Aralim as he looked at Miresh once more, then back to the Emperor. She had changed a lot, of course, but even if she had done all in her power to look the same, Aralim would have still noticed some differences. Tag’na was lacking of those differences, even the ones that should have been subconscious, too small to be spoken with words. The texture of skin on his cheeks and hands had not weathered any differently, the length of his hair had not changed, and his athletic physique was identical. Suddenly, it was obvious to Aralim; how had he not noticed immediately that Tag’na looked now exactly as he had an entire year earlier.
He was not sure what to make of his realization. It reminded him of the day Ovoe the Keeper had died. Ovoe had stabbed Tag’na, but the day after, Tag’na had born not a single mark on his body. It had been as though he had returned to his state, and now Aralim realized that his state seemed to never change.
The Emperor continued speaking, oblivious to Aralim’s analysis. “I am glad such conflict has not more seriously harmed your home, my Lady of Tal’lashar.”
Nilless bowed again. “My thanks, Your Ascendance.”
She finally gets to speak to a god, and she just says, “Thank you”? Aralim wondered. He smiled and Nill smiled back. She was so nervous; she was still processing everything she had seen so far today. Aralim could remember his own feelings of culture-shock—and he had not even spoken to the Emperor during his first week in Rema.
Next, Tag’na looked to the sergeant. “Grendar, you have regained my favour,” he said simply.
“Your Ascendance,” Grendar said, bowing once more. His voice quivered and Aralim could tell the quiet but dutiful soldier had been moved nearly to tears by the short comment. Aralim tried to conceal his surprise at the strange comment and wondered if Grendar had been tasked as Aralim’s guard as a form of exile.
Lastly, the Emperor turned to Aralim. They had spoken many times, but Aralim’s year of experience made this moment feel different somehow. It was like the quiet before they reached the docks. There was something eerie about their dichotomous experiences—for Aralim, the year had passed slowly; for Tag’na, Aralim had been gone only a moment. But Tag’na’s wisdom, accumulated from 277 years of experience, guided his response to respect Aralim’s side of the coin, to bridge the gap of that year gently, and to speak more formally. “Thank you for your loyalty. Your Path stretches ahead, I am certain.” It was a broad enough statement that Aralim took it as an acknowledgement of the time that had passed. And, of course, Tag’na had already heard all of Aralim’s struggles with the Path of late.
“You are all likely weary after your substantial travel,” the Emperor said, now speaking to the entire group. “Rest well tonight. Tomorrow, join me for my noon meal, so we may discuss your journey in comfort.”
Those that were bowing stood as the Emperor sat, and then the Aura led Aralim’s group away from the circle of firelight and back through the shadows of the Iron Palace. Aralim caught Devran looking at him with an expression of disappointment. The Emperor had not addressed him this time.
In the noisy courtyard outside, Nill paced between Miresh and Aralim with a frenetic excitement. “He’s incredible,” she said. “His words are insightful, and his authority is innate, not airs. It’s… it’s too much to take in.”
Aralim nodded and Miresh laughed. Devran excused himself with a barely audible word, while the guards removed some of their armour in preparation of their evening of rest. Aralim stepped into their midst again and said, “Before you go: I know you could likely use the break from my company, but know that there’s always room at the table for you.”
“And for you, at our table,” Grendar replied, grinning.
As Grendar led his troop away, Lerela turned back to Aralim. “Thank you for everything, Aralim!” she called. She turned back around, and her head lowered into its usual downward gaze. She was doing better, but still struggled.
Nill had emerged from her daze. “Where will I stay?” she asked, abruptly concerned.
Aralim shrugged. “I assume you’ll be staying with Miresh and me, at our estate on West Corid Avenue. I suppose you could stay at Dullah’s place, given that she remained in Tal’lashar.”
Nill brushed a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “I don’t know if Dullah’s husband will be as hospitable as she was, all things considered. If there’s space in your house, I would feel more at ease there.”
“There’s plenty of space!” Miresh piped. “You can sleep in the room next to mine.”
Aralim smiled. “Then it’s decided. Now, let’s see if I can remember the way.” He led them toward the bustling streets of this city he had somehow come to call home.