The Sunswept Messenger

I wrote the following short story to support the release of Saros, a new playable SUPERVIVE character.

In the fifth month of the seventh year of the reign of King Meinos, the herald Saros appeared in our court. 

At that time King Meinos was passing judgment upon the condemned. Sitting atop his holographic throne, flanked by Ur-Attendants fey-enhanced and shocklance-armed, the king presented a sight most imposing. I recall he was considering the case of a farmer who had understated his blueviolet harvest. Saros, striding unarmed ahead of the guards who’d admitted him, interrupted the discussion with a cursory bow and a question verging on a shout:

“Greetings! Are you the ruler of these lands?” 

He was a tall man and handsome, with fiery orange eyes, clad in black armor that coursed with light. 

The court erupted in murmurs. King Meinos, when he’d recovered from his surprise, turned red with fury and displayed upon his royal forehead a number of prominent veins. Had he not made clear that total silence was to be observed while he considered matters of crime and punishment?

The unfortunate blueviolet farmer trembled in his shackles.

“Insolent knave!” cried King Meinos. 

“Prostrate yourself,” urged a minister at the herald’s side. The unfortunate guards who’d brought him in had already flung themselves to the plastisteel, knocking their foreheads on the sigils that held the story of the King’s magnificent rise to power.

“I kneel only for my Queen,” said the herald. “I prostrate myself for no one.”

The Ur-Attendants had begun to advance, shocklances sparking. The herald observed them with curiosity. Court officials wailed and shrank away in fear. But then King Meinos laughed and raised his hand. At once his deadly servants stopped their march.

“Your bravery commands respect,” said King Meinos.

“Those who serve the Sun Incarnate have no need of fear,” said the herald. 

The king grumbled and ran fingers through his knotted beard. His canny eyes fixed on the glowing orb embedded in the herald’s chest.

“Well, have it out,” he said. “What message do you bring?” 

“I am Prince Saros of the Sunswept Dominion,” said the herald. “I come to ask when you will travel to my homeland, so that you may pledge your fealty and join us as a vassal.”  

The king–who had in just the preceding year defeated and slain his three remaining greatest rivals, crushing their armies and adding their territories to his own–laughed for a long time, wiping tears on the sleeve of his gold-embroidered tigerskin robe.

“And… if I decline?” he finally managed.

“I would advise against it,” said Prince Saros. “The world was shattered, and the Sun looked down upon it in despair. So she came to us in flesh. It is according to Her will that we will reunite the world. You can no more stop us than prevent the Sun from rising.” 

“Where lies this so-called Dominion?” asked the king. “Why have I never heard of it?”

“Our borders expand with great rapidity,” said Prince Saros with a smile.

Experienced members of the court could tell that the King’s good graces had now been exhausted, and we once again began to shy away and hold our breath.

“Understand me, herald,” said King Meinos. “I have slain Abyssals, flattened mountains, defeated untold armies. None who oppose me have lived. You clearly wield some rudimentary feytech, and believe yourself invincible–but I tell you now, so that you may take the knowledge to your grave, that there is only one divinely chosen monarch of these shattered realms–and it is me.” 

He gestured to his Ur-Attendants, eight of the most fearsome warriors in the world, an undefeated force in battle. 

“Kill him,” said the king.

The attendants raised their shocklances, but the herald moved first, with tremendous speed, and the first volley flew above his head. Sliding, he fetched the nearest soldier a tremendous kick. That man flew backward as if hurled from a cannon. 

The remaining Ur-Attendants threw aside their lances and drew the deadly fighting-knives for which they were famed. They launched themselves at the herald in a storm of whirling blades, but a flare erupted from his chest, snapping-hot and impossibly bright, and threw them back. 

One attendant sprang up first and lunged for the herald with his blade–but the herald simply caught the knife in a glowing hand and melted it, as fire leaked howling from his orange eyes. 

The attendant screamed. His melted knife was congealing over his hand. Saros took the arm attached to the hand–a powerful arm, coursing with runes and cybernetics–and, almost casually, snapped it. 

Loyal to the death, the other attendants returned to the fray. In the span of a few blinks, Saros had melted their weapons and broken their limbs, each action with such careless grace that he almost seemed bored as he did it. Having satisfied himself that there was no further resistance forthcoming, he turned his fiery gaze upon the king. 

“I find a demonstration often aids in comprehension,” remarked the Prince, brushing molten metal from his palms. 

///

In the sixth month of the seventh year of his most illustrious reign, King Meinos departed with a small retinue for the capital of the Sunswept Dominion, where he swore fealty to Queen Helia, the Sun Incarnate, and accepted a number of counselors who would oversee the transition of his territories to Dominion law. 

Despite our reduced authority in the wake of these events, experienced members of the court remain of the opinion that this move was, in fact, a very good idea.