Legends I – The Harvest Emperor

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It is said that the Harvest Emperor was not born like ordinary men, but distilled from ambition, deprivation, and fear of the end. In his former life, he ruled a realm whose fields were so fertile that even the crows walked to avoid tripping over the ears of grain. But with abundance, doubt always grows, and so the thought gnawed at his heart that with his death, order would crumble. He summoned the last spectromages, those secret guardians of the ancient machinery, to his halls and promised them lands, titles, and soul rights if they created him a vessel that would tolerate neither sickness nor old age. They warned him that eternity is not a cloak, but a maelstrom. But he did not listen, and so they created him a body of hardened bronze, traversed from within by steaming organs, fed by an unquenched ember. He entered as if into a fortress, and as the final bolt fell, his heartbeat fell silent. Many rejoiced, not realizing that with the sound of his pulse, the warmth of his humanity had also faded. From that day forward, the Harvest Emperor never spoke again. He sat on no throne, held no audiences, but strode out into the fields, accompanied by a horse made of joints and butts, whose hooves struck sparks and whose breath smelled of lubricating oil. Wherever he appeared, the stalks lay down like subjects who don't know whether they'll be greeted or trampled upon. Some claim he has come to save the land from inner decay. Others whisper he is merely seeking a reason to burn it. The only thing that is certain is that he judges, but not according to law. A knight who trotted toward him boastfully was not slain, but forgotten. His horse was found at the edge of the forest, grown old and gray overnight, but not a helmet strap remained of his rider. A beggar, however, who closed his eyes in fear, was found unharmed outside his village, clutching a golden stalk of corn that refused to wither. It seems as if the Harvest Emperor is testing not bravery, but silence of the soul. He rarely stays in one place for more than a night. But when he rests, he sets his metal body in the middle of the field and sinks into immobility, as if listening to the soil itself. At such times, no one dares to approach. Once, a boy is said to have crept out from behind a barn at dawn to gaze at the emperor. He was later found unharmed, but he never spoke again. His eyes, however, have shone like freshly polished copper buttons ever since. Many scholars have puzzled over the meaning and purpose of this wandering power. Some interpret it as a curse of wastefulness, others as a warning against idleness.