Chapter Text
Temperance frowned, wiping dust from the old photograph in his hands.
He didn't know the man in the picture, but he recognized him. It was his own face set into pale gold hair that framed his features in gentle waves, his own face split open by a scar that crossed from cheek to cheek through his nose. If it bothered him though, he didn't show it. His eyes were bright and his smile soft and fond, the corner of one side of his mouth quirked upward as if approaching a laugh.
He looked… happy.
He looked like Temperance.
Temperance ran a hand across the image again. He sat on his knees inside of his closet, a loose floorboard cast aside. Within the hollow space he'd discovered a set of three strange photos.
The resemblance to the man was uncanny. Indisputable. And yet– it didn't make sense.
Temperance’s family was a mystery. Belos had told him that he had been found wandering near the forest in a daze, clothes dirty and eyes glassy. That he'd been in some kind of “fugue state” and that no one had been able to determine his identity. He hadn't known where he'd come from, what job he may have done, who his family may have been– he didn't even remember his own name. But the emperor had given him a new one, and shelter, and purpose. He owed him a great debt.
…and yet…
The photo caught the light and for just a moment he imagined it reflecting his own face back at him.
There was no way this man was not related to him. There was no way.
But Belos had said that no one knew his identity. He had said that it was an ongoing search, but there had been no leads. He had said that he wanted dearly to help his ward.
…So what was this photo doing here? Why was the man in the photograph in the same uniform that he was?
Why hadn't Belos told him about him?
With hesitance and uncertainty, he turned his gaze back to the dusty box he’d found beneath the creaking floorboard. Two more photos, one of a woman with red hair and a sharp smile, and the other of the man and woman together. They looked happy.
None of the pictures looked as if they had been touched in years. Temperance had not lived here long, but the box certainly wasn’t his. It must have been a prior occupant of the room. He should ask Belos about it– Belos must know the man in the Golden Guard uniform.
He picked up the photo of the man again. He looked at his crinkled pink eyes and fond smile.
He put it back into the box along with the others and returned it to where he had found it, dragging a chest over top.
“...And thus, we’ve been unable to establish any trade agreements with the Third Hand,” said Lorem Slura, the newest leader of the Emperor’s Coven. She had taken over only recently when the prior, Mirai Oublier, had retired after her terminal diagnosis of stone sickness. “Their lack of structured leadership makes it difficult to engage in any meaningful dialogue.”
“And so you see the issue with operating as ungoverned heathens,” the Emperor mumbled bitterly, “With no structure, no purpose. It's no wonder that their land is sinking.”
Lorem nodded gravely.
“Disband the diplomatic convoy, then,” Belos instructed with a sigh and a wave of his gauntlet, “Take an employ of coven scouts and try to instate some kind of order. We’ll be doing them a favour.”
Lorem’s ears swiveled up. “Me, sir?” they squeaked.
“Yes, you. Unless you believe you cannot handle it.”
“Of course I can, my liege!” Lorem cried, straightening to attention. They gave a sharp bow. “Thank you, Emperor Belos. I will not disappoint you.”
“I hope not, Lorem. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, Emperor Belos.”
Lorem stood up, chin raised, then swiveled on their heel and marched from the room. There was a moment of silence filled only by the crackle of the torches and the beating of the Titan’s heart.
“Do you think I could be from the Third Hand, sire?” asked Temperance. “That would explain why no one in the Boiling Isles recognizes me.”
Temperance watched the Emperor’s fingers tighten around his arm rest and his mask tilt toward him. He felt like he could almost see his blue eyes burning behind his visor.
“Are you calling me a liar, Temperance?”
Temperance flinched, eyes widening. “No, my lord!”
“Did I not say that all avenues of research into your identity were being pursued?”
“You did, sire, but–”
“But?” Belos scoffed. “But you think me too lazy to have considered our closest neighbors as your origin?”
“No, no, not at all!” Temperance gasped. His hands felt clammy. “No. I'm so sorry, Emperor Belos. I did not mean to question your generosity. I am deeply sorry.”
A long beat of silence. Temperance's heart pounded in his chest.
Belos sighed and turned away. “I know you are, Temperance. It must be very difficult for you. Have faith in me. Have I not proved I want to help you with all that I've given you?”
“You have, sire.”
“I'm glad that you think so.” Belos rose to his feet and stepped forward toward the doors. “Come. We have work to do elsewhere.”
Temperance’s shoulders sagged in relief, before he straightened up again into the posture of the great Golden Guard and he fell into step behind him.
“Yes, Emperor Belos,” he said reverently.
“Visiting hours ended two hours ago,” said the secretary without looking up from her paperwork. “You'll need to come back tomorrow.”
“I'll be going in now.”
The secretary’s pen stopped and she scowled. “Now listen here, sir, who do you think you are, the–” She looked up and froze, eyes widening. “–Golden Guard! Oh my Titan, yes, I'm so sorry, please, let me– who are you here to see? Let me take you to them!” She scrambled to collect her things and get out of her chair.
“Don't worry about it. I know where I'm going.” Temperance breezed past her desk and toward the locked doors to the hall. The secretary slapped the button on her desk to unlock them and he pushed them open before pausing. “Don't put me on the visitor list. As far as you're concerned, I was never here.”
She nodded rapidly. “Of course, sir!”
Temperance nodded and stepped forward, door shutting behind him. He walked down the dark hallway lined by doors, some open and some not. Within those that were, he could see strangers laying in beds surrounded by a variety of machinery and magic equipment. No one paid him any mind.
He stopped in front of a closed door and knocked softly.
“Kira?” said a gravely old voice. “Is that my peach blood?”
“No, ma’am,” said Temperance. “I'm a visitor.”
There was a pause. “You may enter.”
Temperance pushed the door open to reveal the narrowed eyes of an ancient golden lindwyrm. Her branched horns curved upward, one broken halfway through, and old needle-spines laid cracked and dry against her dusty scales. Moonlight fell across her bedsheets and flashed in her single right eye, revealing that it was as sharp and clear as a much younger demon. Stone crawled up her body, leaving her posed awkwardly, likely painfully, her curled shape slowly hardening into a statue. Her tongue flicked curiously.
“Ah, Golden Guard,” the old woman said with a rumble in her throat. “How curious to see you.”
Temperance bowed, held it for a moment and then stood straight. “Hello, Madam Oublier.” He removed his mask and set it beside him on the table beneath the window. “Are you in any pain?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?” she rasped. “Now tell me, child, what brings the Emperor’s devotee to my tomb this evening?”
Temperance pulled the photo of the man from his sleeve and held it out toward her.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Ahhh,” Oublier chuckled. “Yes… him.”
“So you know him?” Temperance prompted.
“Knew.”
“He's dead, then?”
“Quite.”
“Who was he?” Temperance prompted. “What happened to him?”
“Tell-no-lies,” she replied, looking aside as if in memory. “Mm. He let his loyalties forsake him.”
“Tell-no-lies…” he murmured. “What loyalties?”
“A warning, boy,” she hissed, “If you go looking for answers, you may just find them.”
“I want to know. I need to know.” Temperance held the photo out again. “Who is he? Is he family to me? What happened to him?”
He watched as dust shook itself free from her tail and turned in a glowing circle.
A golden mask appeared in his hands. Besides the wear and tear, it was identical to his own.
“Use this as a focus,” Madam Oublier instructed. “You will find what you are looking for.” She blinked her eye and flicked her tongue again. Her wide mouth opened in a hoarse laugh, revealing rows of razor sharp fangs. “Your fate, for once, is in your hands now, child.” Her smile faded and she turned her head away, flicking her tail toward the door. “Now let me die in peace. I don't want to see any of your faces again.”
Temperance frowned and opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that, but her gaze sharpened on him again and he let it shut. He could sense that she would not answer any more of his questions. He glanced back down at the mask he'd been given, then back at his own. He put the new one over his face, turned toward the door, and left.
Temperance held the mask in his hands. It's glimmering gold surface was marred with old wear and tear; scratches, dents, a hairline fracture in the visor. Otherwise, it looked no different than the one he'd had before.
It caught the light from the fading sunset and Temperance looked up through the window and into the world he had no memories of on the other side. Almost as soon as he'd awoken there, confused and disoriented and wandering about in the woods, he'd been whisked away to the castle. He hadn't gotten to interact with it much. He wondered if the world missed him.
A warning, boy. If you go looking for answers, you may just find them.
Temperance swallowed. Did he really have to know?
He set his jaw.
He did.
Temperance put a hand on his staff of artificial magic. He had lost all memory of casting along with everything else, but using the staff came so naturally to him that he almost wondered if he hadn't always been meant to do magic this way. He tightened his fingers and cast a tracking spell with the mask as a focus.
A blood-red light faded into existence before him, bobbing gently in the air. Something about it felt deeply ominous to him. He swallowed.
“Take me to the truth,” he whispered to it, opening the window, “I need to know.”
Temperance landed in front of the Titan’s skull just as the rain began. He placed his mask over his face and drew up his hood, letting the water flow over the heat-warded fabric. The tiny red ball of light he was following bobbed in the air in front of him, waiting patiently. He waited for a long moment, asking himself one last time if he really wanted to do this. If he really wanted to know.
He waved the tracking spell forward and followed after it, cloak billowing behind him.
He crossed a long bridge through a massive cavern that ended in a strange central platform. The spell led him down a curving staircase along the edge of the cliff face. As he descended, the smell of stagnant air and rot became thicker and thicker, clogging his throat. Soon enough the little red tracking spell was the only light guiding his way.
He stepped down to what was apparently the bottom and the spell floated in place for a moment before it vanished and left him in cloying darkness. For a moment he stood alone in the silence, before he waved his staff to light the cavern.
And immediately lurched backwards with a choked gasp. The room began to spin around him as the walls pressed closer.
It was bones. He was surrounded by bones. Hundreds of bones. Thousands of bones. Endless bones, with gold masks that were just as endless scattered in and amongst them. Bits of tattered capes hung like cast-off shrouds over gnarled branches of dead wood.
It made no sense. The Emperor had only been in power a few decades. There shouldn't have been so many Golden Guards. Their bones should not be so old .
They shouldn't be here, in this cold dark pit, desecrating the holiest place in the Isles.
“Oh, Temperance,” sighed a familiar voice. A fireball struck his back and sent him crashing face-first into the floor with a gasp of pain.
Temperance struggled to his knees, clutching his bleeding side. He panted through choked, heaving breaths. He turned to look blearily behind him.
The Emperor stood near the remains of a child-sized skeleton on the ground. “I’d hoped that you would last longer. What a waste of time.”
Temperance’s eyes glanced down to the skeleton at Belos’s feet. HE IS LYING TO YOU was carved into the floor near one of its tiny hands.
“You lied to me,” he croaked.
“Yes,” said Belos, “I lied to you.”
“I don't understand,” said Temperance as he struggled to his feet.
“Of course you don't,” Belos dismissed, “I’ve gone to great lengths to keep all this hidden from you.”
"You know, maybe if you hadn't hidden it, I wouldn't have gone looking for it,” Temperance spat.
“Yes, well. You were always too curious for your own good," Belos said with a sour expression, like he was looking at a dead insect on his plate. "Maybe if you hadn't gone looking you would have lived a little longer."
"If you call that living." Temperance coughed and saw blood splatter across the stone.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Belos scoffed, "Your heart is beating, isn't it?"
"Can I even count on that anymore?!" Temperance burst. "Can I count on anything you told me?!"
Belos chuckled. "No."
Temperance’s blood ran cold as the Emperor raised his staff. Images flickered through his mind– the throne room, the forest, the photo, Madam Oublier’s wide grin and sharp eyes peering into him. She had known. She had known exactly where she was sending him.
Temperance spun and tried to run, somewhere, anywhere. He didn't want to die here. He wasn't ready to die here. He didn't know who his family was yet. He didn't even know who he was yet.
Something struck him in the back, and a cold numbness began to flow through his body along with smooth grey stone. Temperance choked out a panicked sob.
No, no, no. He couldn't die here, his story wasn't over yet, it couldn't end in the middle, that wasn't fair, it wasn't–