*Elsewhere...*

Thin delicate fingers press upon the ovoid, ivory keys of the table-like instrument, each one connected through wires, bolts and other components of primitive artifice to create a series of sounds, which strung together would form what most intelligent beings in the cosmos would consider as music. A cheery sonata echoes across the bright ebon halls where floating crystals held aloft by anti-gravity fields and shaped in the form of teardrops generated a lavender glow.

Illuminated beneath these lights were dozens of figures, slender of build, pale of skin and dressed in all manners of bright clothing, they moved to and fro like the petals of a flower caught in the wind. To the eyes of an outsider, they would see a chaotic, wild dance of color as these beings moved about in almost complete silence, yet it would be a mistake to think that there was no rhyme or rhythm to this display, for indeed it was a dance but one that relied on instinct as much as careful practice.

Soft laughter and whispers escaped the lips of those nearby not participating in the dance as they quietly watched, observed and criticized their peers. Countless little schemes, plots and intrigues run through the minds of those in attendance as gossip and rumor mongering flowed as freely as the intoxicating libations.

Tales from realms outside and within the borders of their empire were spoken in hushed tones along with storied deeds both the valorous and salacious where many half truths intertwined to create seemingly different versions of what was in actuality the same events. Some boasted of their accomplishments while others crafted cleverly concealed mockeries that would fool lesser minds into thinking that they were compliments.

In another time, one that may be considered entire lifetime by the counting of some lesser beings, such sights and sounds would have delighted the heart of the master of this place but that had been long ago for now he saw it all as of being prosaic. Upon one end of the hall was a great throne of polished black stone and gold of which was cushioned by white silken sheets was the one whose attention was sought after by all in attendance.

Like many of his people, his flesh was pale, the color of alabaster with a mane of jet black hair flowing over his shoulders and crimson pupil eyes gazing out towards the hall before him. Maintaining an impassive expression of polite indifference, he did well to hide to hide his boredom of the whole affair which it seemed his life now revolved around these past years.

"Master" whispered a soft, rumbling voice to his left and his crimson eyes shifted with only the slightest tilt of his gaze. Before him was one of the many slaves bearing a tray of crimson wine, the alien creature bore a form like those of his people but was quite muscular in comparison with skin the color of tanned leather, a round hairless head and a single cyclopean eye that was lowered in accords to their station.

Gently raising his well manicured right hand towards the slave, he declined the offered drink and the creature silently shuffled away to bring it to one of the other guests in attendance. In that brief moment of contact, he had focused his mind upon the slave where he reached out and peered into its thoughts through means which lesser beings might consider as unnatural but to his people was but a trivial act.

In a single moment, he knew all that there was to know of the slave's life, how it had been born in servitude to his people, how it expected to live the remainder of its days as such, including those of its offspring and their descendants afterwards. There were times, he mused that they were not so different for despite his status, despite his position, he too had been born to serve his people but as their ruler.

But what was there to rule he wondered? For the last great enemy that posed a serious threat to their dominion had been so utterly crushed in his youth, that the survivors had either fled into the unknown reaches of the cosmos or placed in chains and their descendants bred to serve, just as the slave who tried served him. Such was his people's knowledge in the sciences, the technologies and the mystical arts known as Weaving that the need for manual labor had been all but eliminated and even the slaves had no need to engage in grueling physical tasks of industry or agriculture.

Theirs was a nation, an empire whose past achievements had paved the way to an age of plenty and extravagance where even the lowest of them could live in grand opulence, with all material needs and desires fulfilled. A people who may live their entire lives, sheltered from harm, from hunger, from mundane insecurities such as one's own income, where they were free to simply be, themselves.

What use he thought was he? A warlord to a people who needed no protection, who saw conflict as a mere game, a pastime to enjoy the visceral pleasures of bloodshed. What use was he? A monarch over a bureaucracy that was so efficiently run that even just a minor delay in clerical works was considered a rare thing.

Tradition and duty he knew was what kept him here, it was what metaphorically chained him to this throne as much as the slaves were bound to the wills of their masters. He was born to lead his people, just as he would die as their leader and so too would be the fate of his heirs once they succeeded into his position.

Am I truly free? Was his private thought as he silently contemplated the hand fate had dealt for him and he wondered if things would have been better if he had been born among the lower Houses or perhaps even as a commoner among his kind. Despite his facade of normalcy and quiet confidence which he projected to those around him, the being who was known as Naranthir of the Morqayn Dynasty, the Lord-Archon of the Myrak-Alfarin and The Gloaming Court, could not help but feel a sense of existential dread...