With his chambers guarded by Bron’n and four other muscular sentries, the Mage-Imperator sat propped upright in his chair, sorting and assessing all the information the thism delivered to him. He observed the widespread citizens of his empire, looking for clues and reactions to the brewing events, the darkening hydrogue threat. Only by understanding the totality of his race could he comprehend the steps he must take.

Jora’h was his firstborn son, destined to become the next Mage-Imperator, and he would come to understand. If he found out what was to become of the two green priests, the shock would be a painful revelation to him, a more dramatic shift in his life than the eventual ritual castration. But in time he would learn what had happened… and how to live with it.

The Mage-Imperator picked up some of the densely written documents at hand: carefully censored stanzas from the Saga of Seven Suns. These stanzas, lines of grim poetry unfamiliar even to the greatest rememberers, were a hidden piece of history, deemed by a former Mage-Imperator to be too horrendous for the Ildiran people to hear.

When the rediscovery of these events had brought Rememberer Dio’sh to him, the Mage-Imperator had been forced to kill the young historian to keep that information hidden, especially in these dire times. He had easily covered up the young rememberer’s disappearance by saying that Dio’sh had been sent to a distant splinter colony. No Ildiran would doubt the word of the Mage-Imperator.

Now, he reread line after line of the records from so long ago to refresh his memory of the hydrogues. The ancient enemy.

From his perspective of nine decades of rule, the Mage-Imperator understood far more than the frenetic humans did. He realized just how incredible this war would be—a conflict that could shatter the cosmos. If only Jora’h could understand as well.

He wished his eldest son grasped the consequences and interconnections involved in long-term planning, but the Prime Designate remained too naive and optimistic. Not yet prepared to lead an empire. Jora’h’s hands were far too clean—for the moment.

In the forgotten stanzas, the Mage-Imperator searched for a way to turn the situation to Ildira’s advantage. At the very least, this new and escalating war against the hydrogues promised to take up a million lines in the evergrowing Saga of Seven Suns. And, if the struggle could be managed correctly, the Mage-Imperator might bring back a new golden age for his waning empire.

His only hope was to make some form of alliance with the alien enemy. He would have to make the necessary sacrifices, as would many others. But even the simplest negotiations with the hydrogues would be impossible unless the extended Dobro experiments finally came to fruition. The Mage-Imperator could think of only one way to communicate directly with these deep-core creatures, on their own terms.