Chapter 1464 — A New Play for Winter

As the days wore on into Frostmonth and the constellation of Frost Heaven climbed ever higher in the sky, the long, bitter winter of the northern continent had descended upon the whole Empire—from the eternally frozen mountains of the northern reaches to the Dark Mountains in the south, from the prosperous commercial cities of the west to the Longwind Fortress on the eastern frontier. It was as though a single night of cold wind had hastened everything: the dead leaves had all fallen, and snow had come to many parts of the realm.

In the old age that had passed, the coming of winter had meant the hardest days of the year had arrived—limited food, the exorbitant cost of keeping warm, the wretched conditions of town and country alike... Most folk could do nothing in such a season but huddle at home, carefully counting what grain and firewood remained while they waited for winter to end. There was little entertainment, to say nothing of winter amusements out of doors—those were the privilege of the upper classes.

Yet imperceptibly, such memories had already become things of a bygone age.

Philem stood at the edge of the plaza before the Shadow Theater, wrapped in heavy winter clothes, watching the crowd slowly gathering. His modest attire made it hard, at first glance, to connect him with so splendid a title as "founder of the Shadow Theater"; on a snowy winter street, he looked more like an ordinary young man who happened to have paused here, idly regarding the posters and promotional projections for the new play.

This was the first Shadow Theater in the world, and it was his—his father had been a playwright of some renown in the royal capital, with a troupe of his own, yet even so his father had never possessed a theater he could call his own. That had always been the greatest regret in his heart.

Philem himself had never imagined that his father's lifelong wish would in the end be fulfilled through him, and in such a form.

He drew a soft breath in the cold wind, smiling as he watched the theater staff bustling at the entrance and the audience filing in good order through the gates of the ticket and waiting areas—Philem loved this feeling. Though his station was now far removed from what it had once been, he still made a habit, on the day each new play opened, of putting on plain clothes and hiding himself somewhere near the theater with a good view, simply watching the crowds pour toward the gates.

It meant his heart's labor had been acknowledged—a diversion he never tired of.

The winter wind could not dampen the citizens' enthusiasm; the day a new play opened was always the liveliest hour on this block. When the turn of the seasons no longer governed daily life, cultural amusement became a natural demand of the people—and in this age, the "Shadow Theater" was the undisputed king of entertainment in the Cecil Empire.

A group passed by Philem, and the wind carried the low murmur of their talk; they were discussing the play that had just opened—

"I never would have guessed Mr. Philem's new play would be this sort of... mythological subject. I thought it'd be like all the others—big spectacular war pictures, or stories of the pioneers... Though I suppose mythological material could be interesting too."

"The new play's called Lord of All Arts. They say it's about the Goddess of Magic and the faithful saints... and about the goddess's fall..."

"Honestly, can a subject like that even be made into a Shadow Theater piece? This isn't some 'myth' a bard made up out of thin air—the Goddess of Magic... she was a real deity, you know. My grandfather's neighbor's uncle had a friend who was even a worshipper of the Goddess of Magic... Won't a play like this give offense?"

"I don't see a problem. I was a magic apprentice myself back in the day—I recited the prayers with my mentor a few times, so I suppose I'm half a believer by now. I've seen this play twice already, yesterday and today, and now you lot have dragged me along for a third..."

"You've seen it twice?!" The first speaker could not help staring at his companion in astonishment. "Then... give us a verdict, will you? Never mind the plot—tell us whether it's any good..."

"How could a play overseen by Mr. Philem himself be anything but good," said the twice-seen and soon-to-be-thrice-seen "former half-believer in the Goddess of Magic," lifting his chin—then his expression turned a little awkward and nervous. "And honestly, I thought Miss Miremina in the play... I mean the actress who plays the Goddess Miremina—she's really quite beautiful. The main reason I've seen it twice is to look at her..."

At this, the man beside him exclaimed, half in jest and half in earnest: "You dare let your thoughts run wild even about the form of a god!"

"I said the actress who plays the Goddess Miremina... and anyway, what's so wild about praising a goddess's beauty? Isn't that just ordinary praise—when you pray to the gods, don't you all spend ages extolling them first..."

"...Is that how it can be understood?"

The passersby's voices gradually receded; their scattered chatter and laughter were soon swallowed by the larger, noisier tide of people. Philem's gaze, however, rested thoughtfully on that little group of young people as they walked away, and he did not withdraw it even after they had melted into the crowd. Then his eyes drifted upward, and the enormous poster hung at the theater entrance and the holographic projection floating in the air came little by little into his view.

On that great promotional image, a figure wearing a mysterious veil and a dark gown floated like mist or phantom in the background; her eyes, brimming with mystery and elegant charm, seemed to look down upon the mortal world from deep within the clouds. Eight saints—hastily written in by the screenwriter—were arrayed beneath the apparition of the Goddess of Magic, and sacred relics that had never existed in all of history adorned the lower part of the image, where huge ornamental lettering gleamed bright—

LORD OF ALL ARTS—jointly produced by the Imperial Department of Culture and Propaganda, the Council of Divinity, and Philem Pictures; adapted from authentic historical records; revealing to the world a side of the gods unknown to man.

Beneath that line of large text was a smaller one: the inaugural work of the Gods of the Mortal World series.

Philem narrowed his eyes slightly, and a faint smile rose to his face.

...

At that same moment, far away at the southernmost edge of the continent, in the elven court of the Silver Empire, the Silver Empress Belantia Dawnstar sat quietly in a comfortable chair. Her drink was not yet finished, barely half the fries were gone, and the aether-net terminal before her was scrolling through the credits of the Shadow Theater production—while the expression on the Empress's face was a little blank and stunned.

The faces of the several personal maids attending her and watching along were likewise somewhat dazed.

How long she sat there in that stupor, she could not say, before Belantia finally murmured to herself: "They actually did it... they really can do such a thing..."

She lifted her head and looked at the aether-net terminal, where the credits were still rolling, but unbidden the scenes she had just watched rose in her mind—how a god takes shape from the powerful will of believers; how a god responds to prayer amid the currents of thought and sends down divine power; the god's care for the mortal world, and the mortal world's dependence on the god; and within that gentle, eternal relationship, how the invisible chain was drawn little by little to its limit between two ends that bore no ill will... until at last the Goddess of Magic chose to fall in order to withstand a "magic calamity" invented for the play, and yet before her fall she entrusted the future of the whole world to all living things, and returned her authority to mortals...