The Coronation
The great towers of the Imperial temple loom overhead, four great spears of sand-coloured marble that pierce the Tyrooz skyline and glitter in the afternoon light. A vast line of Kaiderin separate's me from the cheering crowds as we ascend the steps, the nobility stands waiting at the top. The empires traditional rulers stand in their full regalia, the tribes of Astragon come to submit to their new Exalt.
The delegation is attired in all the regal extravagance their nations can muster, leopard-skin cloaks, ermine-trimmed robes and jewel-encrusted crowns and headdresses. Heads covered by feathers, beaded caps and diamond-encrusted coronets bow low as I pass. For even kings and chieftains are insignificant before the ruler of all tribes.
Tatenda and Vimbai walk at my side as Prince Sarakhaid and General Sedhain lead us into the temple. The other rulers bristle ever so subtly as they note the new prestige of Mondabaland, hierarchies and trajectories of power are being rewritten without anyone saying a word. Inside the hall is filled to capacity as the powerful gather to witness my coronation. The empires nobility watch as I pass, they gaze at me with looks that are both fearful and reverent, they are both excited by the prospect of a strong empress and terrified by it.
The hall seems to extend onwards almost eternally, great red stained-glass bathes everything in a crimson hue and pillars of white marble jut from the floor in all directions like the ribs of some long-dead titan. The ceiling above is a cosmos of ancestral heroes and leering demons, the great tales of our land reenacted eternally on etched yellowed marble and jewel-studded mosaic.
Countless tales dance above, Thassad beheads Mashenda and holds his head aloft eternally, the Vekshah are butchered by ancient Hailakaid who stand with bloodied spears, Sakard I stands amongst the wrecks of Na Themba tanks and roars with embellished eyes that glitter like flames. I wonder what future generations will say of my deeds, the moment passes though as the tales of the past give way to the concerns of the present.
The assembled delegations of three continents occupy positions of honour in the great temple, ancient friends, old rivals and new allies alike all come to see the rise of a new Exalt. I greet countless figures as I move towards the waiting triad of priests, pleasantries and oaths are exchanged and promises of support given, the age-old dance of empires runs through its familiar steps.
Finally, the raised Dias is ascended, at its height stand the three great leaders of Astragon’s faithful, the Pope Lucian of the Messarah, Gadol Wabasha of the Shaddaists and Precentor Ohrain of the Kaidainists. The syncretic trinity of Astragon is on full display for the world to see, the faiths of the empire united despite their differences. Being raised by a Kaidainist mother and a Shaddaist father taught me to see god as a being with many faces, I bow respectfully before the representative of each.
‘Sabhrain Nkosha Na Kevsha, daughter of Farhad and Vashah, you stand before God in all his forms, approach and receive his blessing’ The Seneschal of the temple declared in a booming voice
I approach, the faces of the esteemed regard me, Ohrain watches like a judge waiting for any sign of weakness to reveal itself, Gadol Wabasha stares with a look of deep sympathy like a proud grandfather, Lucian looks upon me with a warm gaze, a friend comes to witness a milestone.
Precentor Ohrain steps forward, bronze armour clanking as she moves, she holds a golden tipped spear in a gauntleted hand. She motions me to kneel and taps my shoulders with the flat of the spear blade and whispers ancient blessings in Ubgandian.
‘Sabhrain Na Kevsha, you have been chosen to lead Kaidains faithful, do you swear upon life and soul to govern fairly, provide sustenance and discipline to your subjects and to lead this empire with honour and foresight?’ She asks of me in a stern, imperious tone
‘I swear it!’ I reply earnestly
‘Then rise with Kaidains blessing’ she says as I stand
Gadol Wabasha approaches, he holds a silver-lined scroll in the crook of his arm ‘Sabhrain, we the tribe of Dinah come before you as your flesh and blood, Shaddai has chosen you to lead us, will you do so with mercy and diligence?’ Gadol Wabasha asked in a gentle but firm voice
‘I will so lead us’ I reply sincerely
‘Then I anoint you as heir to the tribe of Dinah and protector of Shaddaism in Astragon’ Gadol Wabasha said with a warm smile
Lucian approaches in white linen robes, he holds a copy of the Messarah holy text in his hands, he smiles and opens the book.
‘When our messiah, Yeshana, who was god's chosen brought us the message of salvation she entrusted its works and miracles to the Exalt. Do you swear in the name of Holy Yeshana and god almighty to lead our people with justice, mercy and piety?’ he said in a soft almost angelic voice
‘I swear it!’ I say
‘Then in the name of God and his child Yeshana I bless your reign in the name of the Messarah church of Astragon’ Lucian replied making the sign of the sacred Y with his hand.
The clergy step back to allow the Seneschal to approach, the crown of Razad rests upon a velvet pillow, the ruby leopard glitters on its metal frame as the great crown is brought before me. The Seneschal lifts the crown from its resting place and holds it above my head. The thousands in the hall below become utterly silent as the ancient blessing is spoken.
‘Sabhrain Nkosha Na Kevsha, daughter of Farhad and Vashah, scion of Kayyvan and House Kevsha, I proclaim you queen of the tribe of Dinah, of Menhe Hailasse and of Quaresha. I anoint you as Exalt Empress of Astragon, Hegemon of iteria and guardian of the faiths of the empire, may your reign be long and just!’ His voice echoes across the great temple, it booms in the dark corners and fills every ear
This is the moment, the point of no return, the crown hangs above my head ready to fall, this is the point of transition, the end of one life and the beginning of another. Everything I have done before this moment will pale when compared to what will come after, this throne was never meant to be mine to sit, but destiny has seen fit to place me upon it all the same. I swear I will honour the trust of fate and those who have died to make this moment possible.
The crown is lowered, the cold metal is heavy upon my head, silence gives way to rapturous cheering. The crowd roars their approval as I stand before them, Empress of all Astragon.
‘I present to you, Sabhrain I of House Kevsha, Long Live the Empress!’ The Seneschal roars
The crowd explodes into wild cheers and chants of ‘Long live the Exalt!’ as the temple echoes with the jubilant sound.
![Midir [Mondari]](/data/avatars/m/5021/5021626.jpg?1538375103){kind=avatar}
