Solborn: The Eternal Kaiser

The world bled into blurs, the colors of Bosch's memory smearing into streaks before Aria's many eyes. One moment, the tree and Rosaline were still; the next, the edges of the world melted and slipped like wet paint dragged by an unseen brush.

Aria's mind reeled. Did Kaiser… know? Did he understand her Origin better than she did? The thought hit with a chill. He had thrown Bosch into the door without hesitation, almost as if he had predicted exactly what would happen.

No, more than predicted. Expected... Planned.

She barely had time to wrestle with that realization before the memory's natural rhythm fractured entirely. Instead of fading to black and ejecting them as it had last time, the vision surged forward in a dizzy rush. Days collapsed into seconds—Bosch eating, Bosch painting, Bosch sleeping beneath strange tapestries. Weeks flickered by in heartbeats. Seasons skipped past in blinding flashes until even her spiders' eyes struggled to track the motion.

And then, stillness.

The background resolved into something new: a staircase of polished gold, each step gleaming with an unnatural luster. The walls were etched with flowing patterns that seemed to writhe in the light, as though the gold itself remembered it had once been molten.

Aria turned instinctively. Behind her, where there should have been a wall, the familiar wooden door had reappeared, embedded into the side of the staircase. Slowly, as if carved by invisible hands, numbers burned themselves across its surface: 621.

Far below, descending the steps, she caught sight of Bosch. He was no longer the boy she had just seen. Now he was a man—taller, shoulders squared with the kind of poise that only years could give. His hair was longer, black as a raven's wing, framing a face sharpened by age into something undeniably striking. Those same golden eyes gleamed behind a pair of large, ornate, sapphire-framed glasses. The cut of his royal blue suit hugged him with effortless elegance, a sapphire brooch glinting at his collar.

Aria's spider-eyes drank in the sight despite herself, a quiet awe threading through her thoughts. But where—

A boom rattled her focus.

Something dark slammed against the door, hard enough to send hairline cracks racing through its surface before it sealed again instantly.

Kaiser.

His silhouette pressed into the door again, this time with a shoulder check that made the golden staircase hum from the force. The impact reverberated up the steps like a drumbeat. Then he stepped back and swung his sword made of ice in a tight, brutal arc, the cold shrieking against the door's unnatural surface. Sparks leapt, fizzing out into the air, but the door remained intact.

"Aria!" His voice cut through the echoing stairwell, taut with strain. "Open it this instant!"

She blinked, startled. 'What?'

The ice blade came down in a vertical smash this time, both hands driving it with enough force that the hilt rang in protest. The door barely rippled. Kaiser ripped the weapon free, pivoted into a horizontal sweep that would have severed stone pillars like reeds, the strike sending a spray of molten-looking fragments from the edge of the doorframe before it healed again in an instant.

"Open it!" he barked again, sharper now, his voice layered with something she rarely heard from him: urgency.

"I— I don't understand, and I can't until it's over!" she shouted back, the spiders twitching in their threads, seemingly producing voice from nowhere.

He didn't slow. He shifted his stance low, using a lunging thrust that buried his sword's tip deep into the seam, grinding it with a twisting motion as if to pry it open by sheer will. Muscles corded beneath his armor, and still, the door refused to yield.

Sweat slicked his temples, his hair sticking to the sides of his face. The next strike came not with his icicle sword, but with his boot, a savage front kick that made the golden staircase shake.

Aria's chest tightened. He looked… tired. Not winded from battle, that she had seen before, but worn thin, almost frayed. It was wrong to see him like that. Wrong in a way that made her hands clench and her mind grasp at meaning she didn't yet have.

"I don't—" she began, but his sword was already coming down again, each strike ringing like a desperate heartbeat against the unyielding wood.

Then, the pressure came without warning.

One moment Kaiser's blade was ringing against the door, his voice sharp with commands Aria didn't understand; the next, it felt as though the air itself had collapsed. It was not simply weight pressing on their shoulders, it was the sensation of a world's gaze, an ancient awareness bearing down upon them. Aria gasped as her knees buckled, her spiders thrashing in confusion on their threads, while even Kaiser staggered, teeth bared, his sword lowered under the sheer force.

And then, light twisted. And they were no longer on the golden stairs.

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The two of them were now at the base of a vast chamber. The floor beneath them stretched outward in a perfect circle, smooth gold shining in the bright light. The chamber's scale was staggering; the ceiling rose so high it seemed to fade into haze, but the true focus was its center.

A platform jutted up from the middle of the room, commanding all space around it. Upon it rested a throne.

It was a structure designed to demand reverence. From below, it loomed, so that any who approached would be forced to crane their necks painfully upward, humbled by the sight of whoever sat there. Yet above, circling the room high on the second floor balcony, the vantage offered no reprieve; even those standing over the platform would be compelled to look downward, their heads naturally bowed toward the throne.

It was perfect symmetry, perfect dominance. A geometry of submission. Whoever sat upon that throne was meant to be acknowledged, no matter where you stood. No... Meant to be obeyed.

And someone was sitting there.

Aria's breath caught in her throat as her spiders strained. The figure was unmistakably human in shape, but where the head should have been, there was only light. A blazing light, flaring with the intensity of a sun. It bled brilliance into every corner of the chamber, searing against the eyes until it was nearly impossible to hold their gaze.

Beside her, Kaiser's ragged breaths stilled. His fury, his relentless hammering at the door, all of it vanished into a silence so sharp it hurt. His crimson eyes locked on the throne, and though his posture did not bend, though his body remained stubbornly upright, his stillness betrayed what he would never admit aloud: he froze.

Neither could move. Neither could speak. They could only exist at the base of that circular abyss of power and feel their own smallness reflected back at them.

Then, a sound behind them came.

The man who had just descended the golden stairs walked past them both without hesitation, the glow of the throne painting his glasses in trembling yellow. His face was calm, composed, even radiant with something like joy.

And when he reached the edge of the circle, Bosch lowered himself into a deep bow.

The words left his lips with quiet certainty, cutting through the silence that had smothered the chamber:

"My Hope…"

The brilliance from the throne burned at the edges of sight, but Bosch did not flinch. The weight of centuries bowed his spine more than any pressure in this chamber, and yet, in the glow of the sun-headed sovereign, he seemed almost lighter.

"Hieronymus Bosch."

The voice rang like struck bronze, steady, vast, and undeniably regal. It was not the speech of a man; it was the decree of a crown that could never be removed. Every syllable resounded through the chamber's stone as though the walls themselves leaned forward to listen.

Bosch's head lowered further, his hands pressed flat to the floor. "My lord," he whispered, golden eyes shimmering against the light.

"You have done well." The Hope's tone was calm, yet it carried the immovable gravity of judgment. "Your service to the Great City of Liberatoria has endured for over five hundred years. Your brush has not only captured its soul but fortified its memory, so that long after you fade, the walls will still remember."

Bosch swallowed, lips trembling faintly. "I only did as I was ordered, my Hope. It was my duty and my honor. Liberatoria… is more beautiful than any city that has ever stood. To serve it was reward enough."

A pause. Light flickered, filling every crevice of the throne room.

"And yet, even stone grows weary of weight." The Hope's voice softened by a shade, though it still bore the same majestic edge. "I heard your plea, Bosch. The whisper you have repeated in silence for decades. A longing not for another canvas, but for rest."

Bosch's breath hitched. His head jerked upward before he caught himself, lowering it again quickly. "My lord, I… forgive my selfishness. I would have continued had you commanded. It is not in me to abandon duty—"

"And yet, you did not falter. You endured until the price was paid. The Royal Gates have been completed." The Hope's radiance pulsed once, brighter, the air trembling in its wake. "Their completion marks the end of your task. By their beauty, your retirement is sealed."

Bosch froze. His lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came. His whole body trembled, half from disbelief, half from the crushing relief that threatened to unmake him.

The Hope raised a hand, or perhaps only suggested the motion, for the light shifted with his will. With a snap, two orbs of pale, crystalline light flared into existence before him. They floated downward, stopping just above Bosch's lowered gaze.

"These are yours."

Bosch's eyes widened, pupils shrinking. "No… that… that can't be—" His voice cracked, breaking against a tide of awe. "Tears of Absolution? My lord—no, there are fewer than five known in the whole world. To— to bestow even one upon me…"

He choked, raising a hand but stopping short of touching them, as though his fingers were unworthy. "This is beyond my worth..." His voice faltered again, breath shallow.

From above came a sound softer than words: a smile made audible.

"The palace grows more beautiful with each passing day, and not only because of my light nor because of my will alone. But because of you, Bosch." The Hope's words bore no hesitation, no flourish. Only truth spoken with the weight of law. "Though I am a creature far beyond your kind, though such bonds are folly… I consider you my friend."

Bosch's eyes snapped shut, the word cutting deeper than any honorific or gift. Friend. From him.

The Hope continued. "These Tears are your farewell gifts. With them, you may purchase true freedom. You may live as a king, if you so wish. Or vanish into quiet obscurity. Whatever you decide, the world shall not deny you."

Bosch shook his head slowly, dark hair spilling loose around his face. His voice broke, stripped of the composure he tried so hard to maintain. "I never… I never desired to be a king, my lord. To be your painter was… to be more than I deserved. If I sought land, it was only to have peace. To close my eyes without another commission weighing on my hands. To grow old as men were meant to. And yet you… you speak to me as—" His throat closed on the words, and he bowed lower, forehead to the floor. "My lord, I am not worthy of being called your friend."

Silence followed... Then the Hope spoke once more.

"Worthy or not, it is the truth. You have given me more than any other man. You painted my city eternal. You gave shape to its dream. For that, Bosch… Hieronymus Bosch… I will remember you."

The orbs pulsed, drifting downward until they rested just above Bosch's hands, daring him to claim them.

Bosch's shoulders shook as tears, mere mortal tears, slipped free and stained the stone beneath him.

And still, the Hope upon the throne blazed, a sun that had chosen, for one fleeting moment, to cast its light on a single man.