The corpulent leader sat up with interest as burly laborers opened the doors at the far end of the reception hall. Working together, they began to drag an enormous, heavy stone. Strong as they were, the workers seemed to have difficulty with such a massive object.

The Mage-Imperator wondered if the scalies might have found a great meteorite buried out in the sands, but when the laborers rotated the giant boulder, he could see that the face had been sheared off to reveal a raw bowl of stone encrusted with beautiful crystals, colored with watery bands of amethyst and aquamarine.

“The most massive geode we have ever uncovered, Liege,” said the scaly representative. “Taller than the largest soldier kithman, a treasure beyond compare. We offer it to your glory.”

The nobles, bureaucrats, and court functionaries gasped and twittered. Even the Mage-Imperator smiled. “I have never seen a natural object so wondrous.”

He raised a plump hand, his face satisfied but humble. It was time now to show his generosity, his paternal benevolence. “I do my task only as well as you do yours, as do all of my Ildirans. A Mage-Imperator is no more responsible for the prosperity of the Empire than is the lowliest servant of any kith.” He nodded to the scaly delegate. “Your offering is appreciated, but your loyalty is a far more valuable treasure to me.”

All the scalies bowed to the throne room floor as if overwhelmed by this reaction. “But truly even I do not deserve such an incomparable gift,” the Mage-Imperator continued. “It is my command that you display this wondrous object in your equatorial zones, for your kithmen, in commemoration of your own prowess. As it dazzles under our seven suns, let it remind all of us of your efforts on behalf of the Ildiran Empire.”

Still kowtowing, the scalies backed up in unison. The Mage-Imperator could feel the warmth in their hearts, the worshipful devotion, and he knew he had made the right decision. Their loyalty was enhanced, and his control was strengthened.

Before he could say another word, though, a horrific tidal wave of pain and despair swept through him. He spasmed in his chrysalis chair. Jolts shot along his links with the thism. He cried out in pain, rocking backward, his enormous soft body twitching.

His personal bodyguard rushed forward, deadly crystal katanas drawn, ready to fight any foe. Bron’n glared at the scaly delegation, as if they had somehow poisoned the Mage-Imperator. The scalies wailed in sudden apprehension.

The Mage-Imperator writhed again. The chattering small-statured attenders fled, shrieking. The Ildirans close to their leader also flinched, thanks to the tenuous thism link, feeling a strong echo of his anguish. He became lost within himself, falling into the tapestry of other lives across his Empire, drawn like a moth to the hot flame of disaster blooming at Qronha 3.