Situated at the center of Sarenza City was a wooded strip of green, so lush and leafy that even the locals doubted their eyes. Almost in defiance of the barren desert that surrounded the capital, the well-cultivated district had sparkling lakes and verdure in abundance. Majestic palaces dotted its grounds, purposefully designed to stand out from the architecture of the lesser wards, but one caught the eye more than any other: a masterpiece of pure-white stone with golden engravings, boasting an expansive courtyard under a transparent, hemispherical roof.
The courtyard, easily mistaken for a natural meadow at a glance, was dyed in many hues by the blossoms and trees gathered from faraway lands. A stone patio sat at its center, polished to a brilliant white, and arranged upon it were several people who looked no less extravagant. Their jewel-inlaid clothing made them a more striking sight than even the vibrantly feathered birds kept nearby.
In attendance at the outdoor meeting were the members of House Sarenza, who had a firm grasp on the country’s reins. It was by their family’s hands that Sarenza had made such fantastic advances throughout the course of history. Each person sat elegantly in a custom-built chair, facing a screen mirror—a magical dungeon relic—that gave them an overhead view of a certain city. The looks on their faces were cold and unamused.
“This cannot be real.”
“Ha! Of course not. Who would believe such preposterous nonsense?”
“I saw a similar screen-story not long ago—a new release.”
“So we all agree this is fake?”
On the screen, a man wielding a thick black slab of a weapon tore his way through a horde of primal golems, the very symbols of House Sarenza’s power and authority. The observers, who had not received any sort of explanation as to the strange sight before them, fell into light discussion.
“Honestly... Lord Zaid and his jokes. Again, he seeks to test us—his kin!”
“Hear, hear. It’s an excellent fabrication, I must admit, but it bears all the hallmarks of fiction. Primal golems’ bodies repel even orichalcum spears with ease, let alone mithril blades, and that fellow is using a blunt club. Only the ignorant would fuss over such nonsense.”
Having said his piece, the young member of House Sarenza laughed, entirely dismissive of what the mirror was showing them. The others were just as skeptical.
The recording—brought back by an avian golem—showed the events purported to have taken place near the City Forgotten by Time, a leisure destination run by Zaid’s eldest son, Rashid. It was common practice for entertainment to be unveiled without notice, so the attendees turned their attention elsewhere, taking the opportunity to catch up with their distant kin, many of whom they had not seen in some time.
Despite its dubious authenticity, the recording was strikingly clear. It looped several times before the picture on the screen mirror abruptly changed to show Zaid, patriarch of House Sarenza. A rotund man, he stood on an ornate golden stage outfitted with its own array of recording mirrors, directly beneath his own image on the screen.
“My dear family...” he began. “Thank you for gathering here today. I am well aware how busy all of you are.”
A strict education from a young age had instilled all those watching with a rigid sense of etiquette. As one, they ceased their chatter, relaxed into their chairs, and turned their full attention to the man who spoke for them all.
“Now then,” Zaid continued, “to start, I must apologize for playing such an absurd spectacle without warning. As the wisest of you must already have gathered, it is entirely fictitious. I repeat: There is not a shred of truth to what you have just witnessed. For reasons unknown, such fabrications have spread among the public. I summoned you here today to warn you.”
“I see...” a white-haired old man said with a calm smile. He and everyone else in the courtyard stared intently at the screen mirror. “I must confess, Zaid, the quality was quite astounding.”
The man occupied the seat closest to the patriarch—within conversational distance—marking him as the second-highest authority under Zaid. The rest of the family understood their place and remained silent as they watched the pair speak.
“Footage of that nature has already reached me,” the white-haired man continued. “Are you claiming it was all just forgery?”
“I am, granduncle,” Zaid said. “As anyone can see, it is part of a ploy by some person or organization trying to destabilize us. I suspect the culprit is—”
“The Kingdom of Clays,” the old man finished, his face clouding over. “A most vexing matter, Zaid. Was it not your idea to reopen diplomatic relations with them and end our long-standing no-contact policy?”
“I never dreamed their representatives would act in such a craven, unsophisticated manner. This brings me to the topic of the utterly baseless rumor about my sons Ari and Nhid—that they have lost their allotment of primal golems. It should go without saying that it, too, is a falsehood.”
From atop his stage, Zaid made a quick gesture. Thousands of primal golems lumbered into view—some close, some far—and arranged themselves in neat rows within view of the courtyard. Quiet exclamations of awe rippled through those gathered. Rare was the opportunity to witness one in its full majesty—let alone an entire army.
“Rest assured, everyone,” Zaid proclaimed. “As you can see, we have not lost even one of our precious golems. Sarenza’s public order remains as secure as ever. I swear to you all, I shall make good use of the power you entrusted to me and teach a thorough lesson to those who think they can interfere with our business.”
“Excellent, excellent,” the white-haired man said. “I gave no credence to the rumor, of course, but I am glad to see it disproved.”
“I am glad to have put your mind at ease, granduncle.”