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There’s nothing left to do once Rigour is pinned down but die. Cass lets go of the Apokine’s controls. A single button press, let alone the rage of an old god, is nothing to the overwhelming gravity of a desperately exploding sun. Their hands itch for something to do; they root themselves by grabbing fistfuls of their own clothing, if only to hold onto something.
Rigour’s expression is frozen. A hate-filled snarl dominates their field of vision. Rigour never stops, but even Rigour knows to accept when there is no longer any point to struggling. It could scream, but no one but Cass could hear, and they have long since gone deaf to Rigour’s cries.
Now, they wait. The sun takes over more and more of the space Rigour does not claim. Cass stretches their legs. Calls Aria. Lets regret and acceptance, dyed a shade of melancholy, split a lonely bench in their mind’s eye, each subtly vying for more space but never quite winning out.
They stare at Rigour.
Rigour stares back.
Cass wonders what will be left of them both, after the sun swallows them. Maybe a part of the Apokine will remain. Something small, like a shoulder plate or a speartip that somehow wasn’t melted into oblivion. Just enough that future Apostolosians will see this mech as more than just a fable.
If nothing of Rigour remains, then this will have been worth it.
This should be enough, they hope. Enough sacrifice for a future without Rigour.
Cass wonders how long it’ll take people to forget this war. A thousand seems too short. Ten-thousand may be right. Fifty-thousand is probably better, but anything could happen. Rigour survived millenia as a haunting footnote, hastily redacted from the pages of history by those who wanted to think it would never return. Yet it did.
It’s necessary for Rigour to die. Once it’s dead, maybe it can fully be forgotten.
Maybe Cass will be forgotten along with it. That wouldn’t be so bad, they think. By the time they’re forgotten, everyone they’ve ever known and loved will long since be dead. The universe will have changed so drastically that Cass won’t worry about being remembered. History books can only be so long.
Cass doesn’t care much for the history books. Not anymore. Their friends and family will remember them.
That’s enough.
The Grand Historical Figures of Apostolos
A Joint venture between Stels Nideo and Apostolos
Now open!
Cassander Timeaus Berenice
An Apostolosian war hero of the Golden Era. Dreadfully ambitious, Cassander always coveted the throne and the lofty title of Apostolosian emperor. Yet as the youngest sibling of the royal family, ruling the Empire was only ever a distant possibility. After being denied the throne, Cassander resorted to subterfuge and terrorist actions to forcefully take the throne. These efforts, along with their attempted military coup, failed.
They saw another opportunity to steal the throne in the war waged against the Divine Rigour. They sacrificed their eldest sibling in the war, manipulating them into leading a botched mission against the Divine with no chance of winning.
Cassander was nearly poised to take the throne. The only obstacle was their next-oldest sibling, who still sat on the throne. As Cassander plotted their murder, the war against the Divine Rigour grew worse.
Finally, Cassander understood the cost of taking the throne. Even if they won the throne, Rigour would consume all of the Apolstolosian Empire. So they sacrificed themselves, though not without great hesitance.
By doing so, they cemented themself in Apostolosian history. Now, they serve as a timely reminder: to sacrifice for Apostolos, and for the Divine Principality, is the greatest honor one could ever have.
Clementine Kesh is thirteen years old, and while history is far from her least favorite subject, this teacher is her least favorite teacher. He’s an older man, some tangential member of House Brightline whose identity is so irrelevant that even Gucci Garantine reacted to his name with a shrug and a frown. His name is lost to Clementine. When she needs to ask a question, she only refers to him as “Teacher.” So far, it’s worked out fine.
This month’s unit is on the various noble families of Stel Kesh. Where they come from, their associations to Kesh, and so on. Clementine deeply enjoyed the unit about her own family. She tore through historical Kesh romances and tales of Kesh subterfuge as a young child, so she already came in with a healthy base of knowledge, but learning more about her noble legacy made this class entirely tolerable.
The unit ended far too quickly for her tastes. She tried convincing her mother to step in and adjust the curriculum to a more proper cadence — there was so much they hadn’t covered! — but her mother waved her away and told Clementine she had better things to do.
Now they’re focusing on the minor families of Kesh. Boring. And today’s lesson is on one of her least favorite relatives: House Whitestar.
She thinks of Lucia Whitestar, her egotistical cousin, and frowns. Clementine resolves not to tell her about these lessons the next time they’re forced to share the kids’ table (one that Lucia has definitely aged out of, not that the real adults care) at larger Kesh family dinners.
“Now tell me, does anyone know where House Whitestar got their name?”
The room, though full of obnoxious know-it-alls, is strangely silent. Clementine huffs. Did no one listen to last week’s lesson except for her? The answer was mentioned there.
Gucci doodles something in her notebook. Clementine leans over to look and finds herself looking at a gaudy mecha design. Coattail-like tendrils flow down the mech’s back. In its hand is a thin rapier. Fitting, for Gucci.
“Gucci,” Clementine hisses.
“What?” Gucci whispers back. She stops drawing.
“Answer the question. Otherwise we’ll be here all day.”
Mr. Teacher clears his throat. “Anyone have an answer? Otherwise I’ll need to call names.”
Clementine rolls her eyes. Gucci must see a chance to further slight Clementine, as she returns to her gaudy drawing. Seeing no one else willing to spare her, Clementine sticks her hand into the air.
“Yes, Princess Kesh?”
The only good thing about Mr. Teacher is his insistence on using her title. “House Whitestar takes its name from an ancient Kesh city, known to be one of the first official diplomatic ties between Kesh and Apostolos. A Kesh princess named it.”
Mr. Teacher beams. “Yes! Exactly. And do you know why the specific name was chosen?”
Clementine goes silent. Flushing, she shakes her head. “I… don’t seem to remember.”
“It was named in honor of ancient Kesh Queen Maxine Ming’s first love, the Apostolosian Eidolon and member of the Apostolosian royal family, Cassander Timeaus Berenice. Cassander was known as a deceptive, power-hungry warlord, and was highly unpopular amongst their people. They initially seduced Queen Ming as a way to secure some kind of power, but Queen Ming’s love was so pure that Cassander’s love grew genuine. Unfortunately that love was not meant to last, as the now-redeemed Cassander sacrificed themselves in the war against the ancient Divine Rigour. So Queen Ming founded the city of Whitestar as a tribute to their doomed love, and to the best part of Cassander she knew had to exist. Eventually the leaders of Whitestar adopted the city’s name as their own. While Tooru as a planet has been lost to us due to the scourge of the Branched, we keep its legacy alive through the glory of House Whitestar. Now…”
Mr. Teacher drones on. Clementine looks down at her paper, looks over at Gucci’s, and starts designing her own mech.
She gives it an old Apostolosian style spear. In honor of the old Kesh Queen and her whoever.
Cassander Timeaus Berenice
Records Recovered from the Divine, Arbitrage
An ancient Apostolisian war hero. Apostolosian history has rendered them into a war hero thrice over, though with a legacy often scarred by their power-hungry, backstabbing nature. Now remembered as an Eidolon. Supposedly the GLORY project had led to their reincarnation, but they’re nothing more than genetically modified soldiers playing at legend. The last Cassander they made was nothing more than a farce. Their time may precede even my own, but I suspect the real Cassander was hardly a warrior. They were a medic first and foremost, a strategist second, and a reluctant warrior as a distant third. Not that medics mean anything to Apostolos these days. Better to die in valor than be healed as a disappointment.
The Remaining Records of Curiosity // Reference Code: R-Qu86-42-AP49532A
Broken Spear Tip
Shattered marble. Sharp to the touch. Stained by Divinity. Underneath the char is a lovely white. Blistered alive, or something close to life.
Portion of the narrated memory of the
robotic janitorial unit
synthetic being pirate, Figure A. In the year 1424 of the Perfect Millenium.
Crystal Palace is no longer called Crystal Palace. Exeter Leap told me these days its called the Reflecting Pool. I told him that its true name is not The Divine Past, or The Reflecting Pool, but Crystal Palace. Exeter Leap looked at it, hanging off in the sky, and said huh, he guesses it looks like crystal in this light. He also told me it needs a new name now that the Witch in Glass runs it. Initially he suggested the name Shitty Suckville. Then he withdrew that suggestion on the basis that it is a bad name. I did not think it was a bad name, as the alliteration was quite clever.
We workshopped new names for Crystal Palace together. Exeter Leap did not approve any of the names we brainstormed, but he did laugh after observing that Crystal Palace was the only place big enough to hold Clementine’s massive ego. He said we will continue workshopping new names at a future date.
He asked me what it was like working in Crystal Palace. I responded that before Crystal Palace told me I would shut down, I thought that it was exhilarating. He then asked me what I thought of Crystal Palace now. I found it strange that Crystal Palace no longer looked towards the future and instead chronicled the past. But I suppose over enough time everything that will happen will become everything that has happened. Now, everything that ever did happen to me is simply everything that has ever happened to me.
Shortly after, we boarded Crystal Palace. Exeter Leap had to negotiate payment with Emeline Eccles for his most recent mission, which he left to do incredibly reluctantly. He instructed me to ‘dig up some good dirt’ in the meantime. I took that as permission to explore Crystal Palace in its new shape, as this was one of the first times I had been in it since my reactivation.
Some of Crystal Palace has changed, but what astounded me was how much had remained the same. I was perfectly primed to work here, and even though it was no longer Crystal Palace, it still recognized me and welcomed me back. I asked Crystal Palace what it expected to happen to me next, but Crystal Palace told me that it no longer has any need to predict the future. It exists to capture the past.
It asked me if I would like to become its new elect. The Witch in Glass was not a suitable elect. I declined, as I enjoy my new role as a pirate. Crystal Palace accepted. It asked if there was anything in particular I wanted to access while I was here. I responded that I would like to ‘dig up dirt.’ I read all the dirt it provided.
Exeter Leap asked what dirt I found. I responded that Crystal Palace told me about an old Divine named Rigour, who was the first Divine ever made. Rigour was even older than Crystal Palace itself. Rigour was killed by an Apostolisian Eidolon, but there weren’t enough records within Crystal Palace to reveal the truth of what actually happened. Crystal Palace requested that if we were to discover any of these old records, if we could submit it to Crystal Palace so it could archive it.
Exeter Leap responded with a question. How much was Crystal Palace willing to pay?
I said it would pay nothing, as Crystal Palace does not have money. Exeter Leap shrugged and said it was worth a shot.
Madge pushes a photo into Maxine Ming’s hand with a heavy insistence. She’s only seven, but every move she makes is weighed down with a gravity that will, one day, make her an excellent queen.
“Who is this, grandma?” she asks.
Maxine picks up the photo. The first thing she thinks is simple: Oh. This isn’t real.
It isn’t, but it doesn’t matter. Cass, clad in their September uniform, never draped their arm around Maxine like they were inseparable. Years and years’ worth of study sessions and late-night snacks were built on nothing more than a pretense.
That doesn’t matter. She knows this. It was real to her.
She takes the photo gently. Her finger rests over Cass’s face, forever frozen as a youthful grin. They were adults in this photo — or they would have been had this actually happened — but only with maturity does she see the truth in their eyes. They were hardly adults. Not then. They were kids forced into adult roles and responsibilities, despite not being ready for what that meant.
“That’s an old friend of mine,” she responds.
“What’s their name?”
“Cass.”
“Are you still friends?” asks Madge.
Maxine smiles. “You know how our city is named Whitestar?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, Cass helped me pick that name.”
Madge makes a face, as if trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. She knows the legends. Everyone on Tooru does. “So… Cass isn’t here anymore?”
Maxine nods. “That’s true. Cass isn’t, but that’s okay. We’re still friends.”
Madge studies Maxine’s face. Now she’s the puzzle to solve, though Maxine isn’t quite sure what the right solution should be here. “What is it, Madge?” she asks.
“I heard Cass was a bad person. That’s what they said at school. They did bad things to Apostolos.”
She’s tried so hard to keep the story straight — to immortalize Cass as they were, not as what people wanted them to be — but she’s only a small footnote in this legend. Whitestar will be her legacy. Their legacy. It has to be enough.
“Cass was a good person. People are school are just… confused. That’s all.”
She can’t change history, but at least she can change her granddaughter’s view.
Alear Rizah finds themself, once again, nose-deep in a history book. History has always been Alear’s favorite subject in school, but this is more than just brushing up on their studies in their downtime. This reading session could change the trajectory of their life.
In one month’s time, Alear will choose their favored Eidolon and create a new name for themselves.
This is an important moment for every Apostolosian, but most Apostolosians won’t be immortalized in the history books. Alear has heard rumors. Dahlia is family now. Not just to them, but to the Apokine. And Dahlia, who has already made Alear swear to take a seat at Dahlia’s right hand on the day they’re crowned Princept, is destined to define the new shape of the entire Divine Principality.
Alear has to pick a good Eidolon. But there’s just one problem: Alear knows every name in this book, and none of them are right. Alear doesn’t just want to name themselves after a war hero. They want to be a good friend, a good family member, a trusted confidante. They are so much more than just violence.
Dahlia finds them slumped over their book, face pressed against Vervain’s name as if Vervain could psychically beam a suggestion into their mind across the millenia.
“Still no luck?” Dahlia asks, dropping into the chair next to Alear.
“Nothing feels right,” Alear groans. They pick their head up just enough to look at their sibling. Even here, in the deepest part of the Apokine’s palace where not even the Curtain’s spies can see, they are the picture of refinement: back straight, hands folded neatly in their lap, a small smirk on their face that only Alear could hope to translate to a genuine emotion.
Alear is barely a teenager. Dahlia is not much older, but they carry years within them that they haven’t lived.
“Let me see your book. I can help.”
Alear lifts their head just enough so Dahlia can slide the book off the table. They examine the same names that Alear has poured over for days. Dahlia’s face remains as placid as ever, but Alear still allows themselves to hope. Dahlia is the smartest person they’ve ever met, far smarter than nearly every adult Alear knows. If anyone can find a hidden secret Alear missed, it would be them.
After a few minutes, Dahlia speaks. “What about Cassander? Cas’alear sounds nice, don’t you think?”
Alear makes a face. “Cassander? Isn’t that one of our hundreds of ancient warlords?”
Dahlia sets the book off to the side as they get to their feet. “I learned about them, back in Kesh. Kesh’s Whitestar family takes their name from the ancient city of Whitestar, which an old Kesh queen founded in honor of Cassander. Kesh records state that Cassander seduced her for power, only for her to be so pure-hearted that even the traitorous Cassander fell into genuine love. Then, before they could marry, Cassander fought in a system-wide war and died a hero. But I found similar records in the Apokine’s personal library… and the stories don’t align.”
“What do the Apokine’s books say?”
“That Whitestar was founded on a pact of friendship,” Dahlia says, with no small level of derision. “Probably the last true mark of friendship Kesh and Apostolos have shared since.”
The longer Dahlia stays here, the less love they have for Kesh. It’s such a marked difference from when Dahlia first arrived. That Dahlia was so convinced that Kesh was the greatest Stel of the five. The Princept wasn’t supposed to have favorites, they used to say, but that wasn’t an issue, because it was simply true.
These days, the way they talk is different. Alear wonders what exactly they’re learning in those long private lessons with the Apokine.
“Come with me,” Dahlia says.
“Where to?”
“The eastern library. There’s something I want to show you.”
“I’m not allowed in there,” Alear responds, somewhat nervously.
Dahlia’s gaze is calm and even. Completely unafraid. “You are if I’m there,” they say, with so much confidence that Alear instantly knows that all the rumors they’ve heard are completely correct.
“Okay,” Alear says, knowing this is less of an affirmation and more of an acceptance of an order.
Dahlia leads them past the Apokine’s guards without so much as a nod. Instead, the guards bow to Dahlia as they enter the Apokine’s private quarters. Dahlia moves through the space with complete ease, scanning over books with a speed that only proves to Alear how much time they’ve spent here.
“The Apokine said I could choose an Eidolon of my own, if I wanted,” Dahlia says. “But nothing has felt right.”
They pull out an old book and blow the dust off the top. After giving it a once-over and finding no additional dust (and for this, Alear is grateful; their allergies are bad), they hand it over to Alear. “Read this. I think you’ll find there’s more to Cassander than the legends you know say.”
Alear spends the next three days tearing through the book. It’s not focused on Cassander — rather, it’s a book on the founding of the Golden Demarchy. Their sibling, Sokrates, features far more than Cassander does.
Alear thought they knew the stories from this era well, but everything in this book proves otherwise. The Golden War was not a glorious battle, but a terrible mistake. The Golden Demarchy was not besieged by a jealous sibling; if anything, Cassander had very little to do with it.
Cassander is not the person the legends insisted they were. They served as a medic in the war. They helped people. They cared.
Despite their differences, they loved their family. They loved their friends. They loved their home.
They were more than a war hero.
They were kind.
The more they read, the better Cas’alear sounds.
“Laurel.”
A deep breath, hands gripping the bathroom counter, and then: “My name is Laurel.”
The name slots strangely inside of their mind. The cadence is all off. Laurel is only two syllables. Every time they say their new name, they wait for that third beat — only to be met with silence. Cassander is three syllables, and not even Motion’s blessing can strip the muscle memory formed from years of repeating my name is Cassander .
They are not solely Cassander anymore. They would answer to Cassander if an old GLORY classmate were to see them, but that would be followed by a strict admonishment. Motion blessed them with the name Laurel, and it’s disrespectful to ignore that blessing.
All that is true, but still… It's taking Laurel longer than they would like to get used to this new name. This isn’t a concern they can share with Motion, despite her insistence on overcoming any roadblocks they may encounter together. She is forever moving forward, and Laurel being stuck on the name Cassander is the antithesis of what she stands for.
Laurel looks at their reflection in the mirror. Cassander looked exactly the same. They sigh. Moping in this room is getting themselves nowhere. The rest of their life, all one-hundred years left, are dedicated to serving Motion, and they have to serve her even in moments of solitude like this. Motion is off getting serviced, though they can feel her pulse deep in the back of their mind, pushing them forward.
A walk will do them good, they think. The fresh air will be nice. Tomorrow is filled with official Elect duties. Leading the Black Century is no small feat.
They take off. The air outside is fresh and crisp with the darkness of night, and it fills their lungs eagerly. They let their mind wander as their feet do the same.
Naturally, their thoughts drift back to their name. As Cassander, they enjoyed a good walk outside. They think Laurel will as well, whenever Laurel gets the chance to. Maybe in their past life, thousands and thousands of years ago, they felt the same back then.
“It was nice being Cassander,” they mutter to themselves.
The lights above flicker. From somewhere they can’t see, a voice sounds.
“Cassander?” the voice asks, in complete disbelief.
Laurel freezes. Their hand goes to their waist and grasps empty air. They curse both of their names for not bringing their gun. They can scrape by in hand-to-hand combat, but it was never their strong suit.
“Show yourself,” Laurel commands.
“Show myself? I am showing myself,” the voice says. The streetlamp above them glows a little brighter. “As best I can in this form.”
“Who are you?” Laurel demands.
“Right now, I’m a streetlamp. But I’ve been thousands of things over the years,” the voice replies. The light flickers overhead, as if in a short blink, and things settle into place for Laurel.
“You’re a Divine,” Laurel says.
“For the most part, yes,” the voice replies, almost caustically. Laurel identifies the sound; a speaker hidden in a bush nearby. Probably meant to play ambient music during the day. “Why were you talking about Cassander?”
“Are you on the side of Apostolos in the war?” Laurel asks.
The Divine pauses. “Yes, I suppose Apostolos owns this particular land. Why are you talking about Cassander?”
“I was talking about myself. My old name,” Laurel says.
The Divine goes silent. For a few moments, the night stretches on uncomfortably. Laurel stays still, waiting for an answer, and when that pricks at their skin too much, they tap their foot a couple of times. Anything to keep the blood flowing.
“You almost sound like… but no. That can’t be true. You’re not them.”
“I am Cassander, though,” Laurel insists. “Reincarnated in a new body to serve my Stel in this current era.”
The Divine sputters; the light flickers wildly with the sound. When it settles, the light grows brighter and brighter, nearly unbearably so. Laurel covers their eyes with their hand to shield themselves from the glare. “That can’t be the case. Technology in this era is awful.”
“I am, though,” Laurel says. “I’m exactly the same as I was before.”
“Let me— let me look at you,” the Divine says. Above them, a small camera flicks on. Laurel watches a small green light pulse as the camera whirls around to face them. Laurel does not look away. Maybe before they were chosen by Motion, they would have shown some deference. But now they pilot a Divine. They are as close as equals as a person can be to a Divine.
Laurel squares their shoulders and stares back.
“Cass…” The Divine says softly. “Is it really you?”
“My proper name is Laurel,” they respond. To call them Cass is a complete affront. Ver’Million Blue tried once, back in their school days. She said that they could both have nicknames.
Laurel — Cassander then — berated her for her disrespect. How dare she refer to an Eidolon given new flesh so casually. She should know better, as the new blood of Vervain. She would call them Cassander, or she would not call them anything at all.
Laurel lets the offense slide, if only because this is a Divine. And an old one at that, from the likes of it. Its processors must be rusty, sitting inside that streetlamp for so long.
“Do you remember anything from back then?” The Divine asks.
Leave the memories of your old life behind, so that you can bring glory to your new life. Everything they needed to know would remain within their soul, and everything else they could glean from the history books. It was one of the greatest tenets of Project GLORY.
“I don’t, but I don’t need to. Memories or not, I’m still the same.”
“You don’t remember me,” the Divine says flatly. “Me. The Chime. Any of it.”
“It’s a new era now, Divine,” Laurel says.
There’s another silence. The camera’s light blinks as the streetlamp grows dimmer. “Tell me about yourself. Everything you know from before.”
Laurel didn’t sign up for a history quiz from an old Divine, but they’re willing to play along. They think of their first memories: lessons from GLORY’s institute, designed specifically for them. Traits drilled into their head, to reinforce who they are. “My name is Cassander Timeaus Berenice. I am intuitive, attentive, and authoritative, and I love it when a plan comes together.”
The speaker garbles static. It sounds almost painful, though Laurel dismisses the thought. Speakers can’t feel pain. Divines occasionally can, but they’re unsure about Divines stuck inside streetlamps and cameras and speakers.
“In my old life, I was a warlord. I hungered for a throne that was denied to me. Despite that, I gave my life in an ancient war and sealed my name into history’s pages. It wasn’t the way I expected it to, but it gave me the glory I desired nonetheless.” And finally, the script starts to falter. “In this life, I was chosen as the elect of Motion. I serve her and her Black Century now. It’s a throne in its own way. It’s enough for me.”
The light goes dark. First, the one overhead.
Then, the entire block, plunged into darkness.
“No,” says the Divine. “Absolutely not.”
“What—”
“That’s completely wrong. You’ve got it wrong. I don’t know what nonsense they fed you as a child, but all of that is deeply incorrect. That wasn’t Cass. You’re not Cass.”
“Who are you to tell me what I am—”
“I’ve always respected Apostolos and their dedication to self-determination. The purest thing someone could do is discover who they truly are. But if you’ve determined yourself to be Cass just because you look like them, then I’ve determined you to be a fool.”
“I— you—” Laurel sputters, almost helplessly.
“Cass knew when the retreat from a mission. Cass stuck around at the end, to make sure everyone could get back safely. Cass saw what the others couldn’t and planned to keep them safe. Cass cared about their friends. Cass was kind. And something tells me you’re not any of those things.”
“How dare you,” Laurel hisses.
“Laurel, was it? Yeah, that’s a way better name for you.” The Divine scoffs. “I’ve spent enough time on this stupid rock. It’s time to settle somewhere else.”
The speaker dies. Suddenly, Laurel gets the sense they’re all alone.
They head back to Motion. Her servicing is almost done. She can tell something is off, but she doesn’t ask. It doesn’t matter.
Laurel has not been her Elect for long, but they know her answer already.
“There are no roadblocks we cannot overcome by moving forward, Elect. Remember that.”
Laurel does.
Sometimes, Cass wonders if this is all worth it.
For a moment, they were almost Emperor of all of Apostolos. An entire nation would have lived at their feet.
Now, they have a mercenary group. Kind of. They don’t even have that. If they’re going to assign ownership to someone, then the Chime belongs to Orth. Cass is hardly more than the tactician and the most exhausted of the group.
There’s a small part of Cass that wonders if this will be enough. If this could ever be enough.
But then they see AuDy sitting in the pilot’s seat of The Kingdom Come as if they own it. They see Mako running back and forth across the ship, yelling about some other shenanigan he’s about to get up to. They hear Aria humming her newest track — one that is fully and undeniably her’s — under her breath.
And they know the answer.
Who cares about the history books?
This is more than enough.