The Ruler's Rift

Ancient Clues

Only several more, short audiences to go. In mere days, Nova had proven herself as a competent advisor. Good help only went so far when dealing with a whole universe, however.

The queen slumped back in her throne and huffed like a lazy kitten. She heard the huge doors whistle open, and then the shifting of her guards' armor when they ushered in the next guest.

They must've been a mundane - no magic to speak of. Celeste didn't sense a thing, but she recognized his voice when he addressed her politely and professionally. She'd remember that soft, meek, yet handsome voice anywhere.

Had the mysterious strategist come to mock her? To expose her? He had already seen her less flattering traits back at Chestorran, and had gotten away to tell the tale. She froze.

"Thank you for seeing me, your majesty," he said quietly. His knee hit the floor in a bow. "I have some pretty critical information about the dragon attack."

Celeste couldn't breathe.

"I recovered a fallen scale and, well, it looks like-"

"Guards," Celeste interrupted with a motionless heart. "Leave us, please. This audience is private." She thanked them as they left the throne room. Then, her anxiety turned to determination. If this bastard planned to confront her on her actions, he'd do it alone. She wasn't about to let the last precious thing she had - her reputation - die.

The doors echoed loudly in the wake of the vacating wardens. In the span of a second, the queen's thoughts rushed. Whoever this man was, he had first avoided her mind control and now he, apparently, discovered her secret based on a single Asqura scale. Deity feathers can remain even after the wings are concealed. The dragon's scales must've been similar.
Fears and nerves took a back seat to the burning question of who or what this man was. Was he a deity? No, he had no magic. How could a mundane person pull off such feats? Feats which confused the queen, the daughter of Violet Xavierras, the first Mystearlian born in tens of thousands of years?

Who was he?

"Uh, sorry, can I continue?" He asked with a cute shyness that spat in the face of Celeste's panic.

"Oh, of course." Celeste hummed.

Fabric shifted as he reached into his trench coat. She remembered the strategist vividly - his huge, concealing coat collar and his tattered, spiky slouch hat. All black, much like his hair and the scale he produced from somewhere within his garb. He explained, "It's as I...uh, feared. We had some tension a few months ago but I hope you'll listen to me. That wasn't just any dragon attack."

Celeste tapped her claws. She tilted her head to feign confusion. "I've never seen one so fearsome but a dragon is a dragon, correct?" She asked. "It can be dealt with."

"I don't think so," the strategist said. "That dragon was...I don't even want to say it."

"Do your best," Celeste teased.

"Your majesty," he continued in a tone slightly firmer, "that dragon was the Asqura. Well...an Asqura. I thought there was only one."

Celeste breathed slowly. Perhaps it would be a hard sell that a Mystearlian, the daughter of Violet, with access to the Sages' archives and all of the universe's other knowledge, had never heard of the monster. Many hadn't, but she had no excuse for total ignorance. "Didn't it die along with the rest of my species fifty thousand years ago?" She asked.

"Not just your species," the strategist replied. "Mine, too."

Celeste furrowed her brow.

As if he didn't imply the impossible, the man continued, "The Asqura did die along with the early universe. But this is not the same Asqura. This one is black, and according to properties of this scale, it's female."

Now she was sweating. "...Meaning?" With a brain of broken processors, Celeste had no choice but to go along until she could handle the twisting of everything she thought she knew.

"The original and, until now, only Asqura was male, and he was a white dragon. These aren't the same creature."

Celeste rubbed her head. "And how do you know all of this?" The curiosity burned so hot that it scorched the walls of her skull.

They both paused. "Well," the strategist said with a nervous laugh. "If you're going to trust my information, I guess I can't keep things from you."

With that, he retrieved a handgun from his coat and shot himself in the head.

Celeste lurched forward in her throne, eyes huge. She was no stranger to gore; it was not the remains of his neck stump that shocked her nor was it the strokes of blood that painted the floor behind him. As always, pure confusion clutched her heart.

His gun clattered to the floor, having packed a huge punch for its small size. The man fell onto his back, most of his head blown to pieces. Celeste blinked, lips parted.

Finally, she raised herself from her seat to get a closer look, but she was forced back down by the movement of what she thought was a corpse. He slowly sat up and rubbed the jagged edges of his skull, like the wound was a mere bruise. A chunk of his mouth remained, and with it he said, "Ugh, I hate doing that. You have healers, don't you?"

"...Yes," Celeste answered.

"Oh, good. I was sort of banking on that." He stood up, then retrieved his gun from the floor.

The queen furrowed her eyebrows in nauseating confusion. "What's your name? So I can admit you to the medical mages?" She asked softly amidst the dreamlike scene.

"Casper," answered the man.

"And why? Why did you do that?"

"To prove to you that I'm Boofbamian," Casper answered, massaging his jaw with his hand. "You probably wouldn't believe me otherwise."

She wouldn't have. Celeste stared into the gaping remains of his head, and it answered one of her questions. Among the painting of gore he created, among the blood and bone fragments and muscle scraps, Celeste saw not a single wad of brain tissue. Between her mother's actions and her own, the demon knew well what it looked like.

"Boofbamians...don't have brains?" She whispered more to herself than to Casper.

Still, he replied, "I thought you knew. Sorry about your floor, then..." He wobbled but had no trouble speaking. "We're kind of like jellyfish in that way. Um, I'd be happy to tell you more but maybe take me to the medics first?"

A request that Celeste immediately obliged. She hungered for more information, which he couldn't provide if he bled out. She admitted him to the medical mages' care, and she swore them to secrecy. She didn't even get started on figuring out how a Boofbamian survived the early universe's demise. While she hadn't noticed anything odd about his appearance, she knew little of his ancient species. Whatever else Boofbamians had in store, it would be a surprise to her.

And what of Amber? Did she know of his origins when she hired him as a strategist? Was this a happy accident or was she trying to tell Celeste something from beyond the grave? Did Lucille know?

Celeste pondered all of that and more while awaiting her next meeting with the hauntingly mysterious man. They agreed the situation was urgent, albeit for varying reasons.

Anxiety crept up Celeste's spine and threatened to open her back. She took a deep breath and tried not to shake. All of this from one choice. She had only wanted to cut the gala short. She hadn't wanted to cause harm, and she certainly hadn't desired to spawn a new reason for everyone to breathe down her neck.