A thin golden trail was reflected in the emerald eyes as it fell toward the horizon. Wind rose in the forest, and the distant layers of treetops surged like waves, leaves whirling through the air.
The leaves of the March Laurel fell onto the terrace and were blown into the inner palace.
Light streamed into the great hall, illuminating the marble columns until they gleamed.
Ailanta watched all of this in silence, while those on either side quietly watched their Sage. It seemed to herald the end of an era, yet few understood what that meant.
After a brief silence, the former suddenly descended the steps. The hem of her silk robe swept across the marble floor. She turned and said to the two Fanzan popes:
"Your Holinesses, the time has come. The prophecy of the past is unfolding now. Perhaps we will be destroyed, or perhaps the world will be reborn—but at last, mortals have gained the power to decide."
The Sage actually bowed slightly. "I ask both of you to lend me your strength."
"This is our duty," the former pope hurriedly replied with a return bow. "Please rest assured, Sage. The empire will always follow the will of the Sage of Fanzan."
The current pope added, "The envoy is already on the way, Sage." Yet he sounded somewhat worried. "However, I am concerned about the Wind Spirits and the others."
"They will agree. They have a thousand-year-old monarch now." Ailanta smiled gently, as though she had thought of an old friend.
She turned and walked off the terrace. The gale tugged at her robe. Beyond the terrace seemed to be an invisible door. When she stepped through it, her figure gradually faded.
Then she disappeared completely.
In many places across the Wilds of the Four Borders and