Crowds of people wrapped up in animated conversation passed by, while others simply nodded and gestured to each other in silence, as if sharing a conversation only they could hear.
Vir spotted another four-faced Automaton, talking to itself. Each face was attached to the same head, and each appeared to have its own personality.
It was a bizarre sight, though hardly out of place in this fantastical world of wonder.
What could possibly have brought down such an impressive people?
The Gods had simply vanished. Nobody knew of what came before, or what happened in their final days. There were rumors, of course, but nothing substantiated. Whatever it was had happened fast, for there were no records of the event.
“So far as I know, everyone I ever knew is dead,” Ashani said, and Vir had to wonder if mind reading was among her powers as well. “But survivors may very well remain, searching for ways back here.”
“You never found out?” Vir asked, walking beside Ashani through the crowded street. While she passed through the crowd as if they weren’t there, Vir avoided them where he could. They looked so real—he had a hard time just walking into them.
“My place is here, preserving what I can of my home. In case my people return,” she added softly. Vir wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it, but he did.
Will they return, though?
It wasn’t as though pockets of the Prime Imperium still existed—there had never once been a sighting in all of recorded history. Even if they’d hidden themselves, Vir figured some evidence would have existed in all the millennia that had passed.
“We have a lot of stories about your people in the Human Realm, y’know?”
“The… Human Realm?” Ashani asked, straightening her sagging shoulders.
“That’s where I came from,” Vir said.
“Interesting,” Ashani replied, cupping her chin. “My Ash Tears have never shown me such a place. It seems I have much to learn of the outside world. You must tell me everything!”
Vir chuckled. “I’ll try, but prepare to be disappointed. It’s nothing compared to what you’re showing me here.”
“Ashani doesn’t believe you. How can any tale of what is dead and gone compare to that of the now?”
It can when your tale is of literal gods.
Vir couldn’t fathom how these people were so comfortable using prana; it was as if they were born with it. Prana was integrated into practically everything at a fundamental level—their chariots were drawn by beasts of pure prana. Their clothing and their jewelry incorporated it in their design, and they even used it to conjure objects out of thin air.
A woman walked by, her silk dress’ semi-translucent cape floating gently behind. Its color shifted moment to moment, matching its prana signature, which flowed in beautiful patterns.
Vir’s senses were overloaded, and that was ignoring all the sights he didn’t understand. There was the whole slew of oddities Vir couldn’t even begin to unravel, like the floating orbs that followed several people around.
At first glance, Vir thought they were packed with Ash prana. They were—but that was only the start of it. Hundreds, if not thousands, of inscription rings ran around them, crisscrossing. Like those inscribed within human orbs, except miniaturized, and multiplied a thousandfold. There was so much going on inside those orbs, it made Vir dizzy just looking at them.
“Telepathy node amplifiers,” Ashani explained. “In-built nodes suffice for short-range communication, but some of us desired a longer reach. The orbs facilitated communication with the Vidya.”
“Sorry, what? I recognize some of those terms from the… transference thing you did earlier, but I don’t have a clue what you meant.”
“Your society does not possess such technology, does it?”
Ashani’s question was so abrupt that it made him wince. He’d wondered when she’d come to that realization. “No,” he admitted. “No, we don’t. I’m afraid you’ll find the current state of the world quite pathetic.”
Ashani’s expression darkened. “I’d suspected, based on your reactions thus far. I see. Little survived, then…”
“Um, you were talking about those nodes?” Vir prompted, hoping to distract the lady. Sadness seemed to be her natural state, though after spending millennia alone in such a desolate wasteland, he could certainly see why.
“Right, of course. All of us communicated telepathically. That is, we had the option to. Many chose to speak with their vocal cords.”
“Let me guess. For the experience?” Vir asked, moving aside to allow a gilded man with a spiked headdress and an absurdly long cape pass by. The cape, like its wearer, hovered just above the ground, shimmering behind him as he floated by with his eyes closed.
Ashani nodded. “Exactly! Though the telepathy nodes did more than allow for communication. Anything we wished to learn was but a thought or two away, made available by the Vidya—the repository containing all the collective knowledge and wisdom of our people.”
“What do you mean by anything?” Vir asked, following Ashani as she turned onto a less busy side road. If he’d been any less overwhelmed, he might’ve noticed it was the same street he’d been summoned onto by Ashani’s Ash Gate.
“Any skill you wish to learn, you could wield it with the perfection of our greatest masters. Any book knowledge you wished to possess would be yours, with as much clarity and understanding as the sages who wrote it.”
Wouldn’t that make every single person superhuman?
Vir tried to imagine a society where the youngest girl to the oldest man was not only a Balar 5,000 warrior, but the smartest person in the world.
“Wouldn’t everyone be… the same?” he asked. “If everyone had the same skills as everyone else?”
“Indeed. The creation of the Vidya nearly destroyed our society, turning it bare and lifeless.”
“How did they solve it?” Vir asked. The people he saw looked the exact opposite of lifeless.
“Through a rediscovery of the things we once loved, though for different reasons entirely. Self-expression became purpose. People craved—needed—uniqueness. The Vidya forced people to look elsewhere to obtain new experiences. From evolving art beyond the greatest grandmaster who’d come before to engaging in deep social relations and experiencing new emotions, my people found all sorts of innovative ways for culture to thrive.”
Vir craned his neck, looking up at the tall buildings that scraped the sky. Between them, entire sky lanes filled with chariots and magic carpets crisscrossed in all directions. Every one of those people wielded unimaginable power and had a hundred times more knowledge than the entire Known World combined. Thrive was certainly the right word.
“Y’know? I really didn’t think I could get any more impressed. I figured there had to be a limit somewhere.”
“Oh?” Ashani asked with a bemused expression.
“I stand corrected. My people worship you as gods. I admit, I used to as well, when I was little. Then I learned of the Prime Imperium, and I thought ‘maybe they’re not so different, after all.’”
“There are some physiological differences between our people, but not to any great degree, I think,” Ashani replied, appraising Vir.
“Apologies, Lady Ashani, but I disagree. I was wrong. You are gods. The world of today, it’s… It’s a hollow, broken shell. We don’t stay young forever. We don’t have a Vidya repository. Diseases reap lives despite our best efforts. Crime, poverty, all these things exist, and they’re not going away. And we certainly can’t fly on magic carpets or create things out of thin air. Let alone fashion gorgeous Automatons who think and feel and conjure Ash Gates on a whim! I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed by your successors.”