“Forgive me, Father. I assumed your objection,” a young man softly speaks to an older, similarly-looking fellow.

They both wear white tunics and stare out from a balcony overlooking an opulent port city of marble. The city partially encloses a saltwater bay illuminated by the faint candlelights of resting trade and fishing vessels that bob gently on the surface.

“My noble son. Your mistaken assumption does not invite my offence. You will inherit this island and the responsibility of safekeeping that comes with. I cannot tell you how you must do this, only that you must. The Assembly will question your motives, but I will not. I know your heart is pure. You think firstly of our people,” the older man tenderly replies.

“Your thoughtfulness humbles me, Father. The First could not have blessed me better. I do not fear what the Assembly will think of my plan. I know what must be done. We cannot just wait here idly, waiting for the Empire to conquer us. I know they are coming, and they will not afford us mercy on behalf of our civility.”

The father turns to his son and fondly puts his hand on his son’s back. Without interrupting his son, the father allows him to continue his thoughts. They both look out at the bay.

“Even if the Assembly objects to my plan, they cannot stop me or arrest those that would follow me. I will return, Father, but not to an island of slaves. Your legacy will continue. The King’s Republic will go on as a free and sovereign state. This is my promise to you and our people. Their prince will not abandon them nor their king.”

The next day, in the early afternoon, men wearing identical white tunics with vivid blue robes atop gather in an aged marble rotunda. Sunbeams glisten past the marble openings and towering columns. The men sit on the rows of stacked benches carved smoothly in marble adjoining the walls. The father and son sit beside each other. There is much lively discussion before the father stands, quieting the chatter.

“Members of the Assembly — from the day of the first sortition, my forefathers have ruled alongside this Assembly. Each generation has commanded, without fail, the respect of our citizenry. Rest assured, this timeless tradition will continue, regardless of my son’s path, Crown Prince Sun King the Second. To relieve further doubt, may I remind the Assembly that in the gravely unfortunate event of my son’s death, my cousin, Grand Duke Frog Hand the Fifth, would succeed my reign,” the father’s voice echoes around the rotunda.

After the father sits down, an assemblyman eagerly stands up and cracks his voice, “Members of the Assembly — with all due respect to His Most Gracious Majesty, His Highness’ path is one of abandonment! It would be unprecedented. With exception to our first king, His Majesty Ocean King, a king or his heir has never left the island. Members of the Assembly, to permit His Highness to leave the island would be intolerably unwise. Should His Highness fall in the Empire’s hands, dare I not ponder the consequences! His Highness must remain, for His Highness’ sake and our people’s!”

Another assemblyman rises after the previous one sat down. He speaks in a conciliatory tone, “Members of the Assembly — the words of Assemblyman Rigid Back the Third contain wisdom but do not properly acknowledge the limits of the Assembly’s authority. As the assemblyman rightfully pointed out, our first king left the island. Surely if the Assembly cannot prevent a king from departing, then a, respectfully, less important crown prince may do so as well. His Majesty Ocean King took great risk exploring the canyons to our east, but it was His Majesty’s risk to take.”

The assemblyman lowers to his seat. Quick whispers fill the rotunda for some time before another assemblyman stands to speak confidently, “Members of the Assembly — both Assemblyman Rigid Back the Third and Assemblyman Good Ear the Eleventh forget, in good faith, that His Majesty Ocean King only left the island before His Majesty’s coronation. His Majesty did not leave after, nor has any king or heir thereafter. Perhaps the Assembly does not have the authority to regulate the travels of His Highness, but for a king or his heir to depart the island would indeed be unprecedented.”

Murmurs echo about. The assemblymen all share glances, nodding in agreement. The father rises alone as the others remain seated. He waits before they all fall silent before articulating, “Very well, members of the Assembly, I call for a—“

The son tries to stand, interrupting his father, but his father prevents him, placing his hand gently in his way. He leans down and whispers to his son, “Grant them faith.” He then returns to addressing the Assembly, “I call for a vote. Before commencing, I invite His Highness to speak for himself.”

The father returns to his seat, allowing his son to stand before the Assembly. The son takes a moment to glance around at the assemblymen and lets out a hushed, deep breath.

“Members of the Assembly — I give thanks to my father, His Majesty Sun King the First, for inviting me to speak before you. Permit me to appeal to tradition. Our civilization was built because a group of men bravely left their homeland in search of the unknown. When they discovered and settled this island, they again departed in search of greater ground, ultimately returning with new friends, who like them, had left their native land. Together, they became who we are now. Today, the world is far less a mystery than it was then. Since before I became a young man, I studied the known geography and recorded history of our world. When—if you permit me to depart, I will not be sailing into darkness. I will leave with the best of our warriors. They will accompany me at all times on my quest. We will travel where countless have before. True, there are risks, but I must think beyond myself. There is greater risk to everyone if I should stay.

“For many, I gather, Heaven’s Empire seems all too distant — regarded as a mere acquaintance for trade. By the time they do feel close enough to home to become a threat, it will be too late to act.

“No obstacle has impeded them. The Empire has conquered vast, inhospitable deserts, cold, rugged mountains, deep forests, and hostile jungles. They are conquering the Grand Savanna as we speak. They have conquered every people they have shared a border with. The badlands west of the Savanna will not pose much of a challenge, nor will the canyons beyond. That leaves only a small stretch of ocean to our island, which, since they regularly sail across the Far Ocean on the other side of the mainland, will have no stopping them. So, you see, my fellow Islanders, they will come and conquer us — unless we stop them first.”

The son lowers to his seat as quiet whispers echo around the rotunda. One of the assemblymen politely requests to delay the vote so that further questions may be addressed to the son, which the father grants. The same assemblyman stands to speak, “Members of the Assembly — many have spoken today — most notably: His Most Gracious Majesty, His Honourable Highness, Wise Beard the Ninth, Good Ear the Eleventh, and Rigid Back the Third. I rarely speak to you. My name is Tall Column the Sixth. I humbly requested a delay so that any of you may ask further questions, but mainly to ask my own. I address this to His Honourable Highness, how do you intend to stop the Empire from conquering us? Surely, we cannot compete in numbers. Our loyal warriors of the Watchmen are well-trained but, respectfully, cannot match the resources and experience of Heaven’s Martials.”

The son takes his turn to respond, “Members of the Assembly — Tall Column the Sixth is correct to ask this question. I thank the other members as well for speaking today. Tall Column is right to say that we cannot defeat Heaven’s Empire, not in any conventional battle. I don’t even propose we try. My intent is not to defeat them—”

Loud whispers interrupt the son before the father raises his hand, rendering silence for his son to continue.

“—it is to divide them. An empire divided will not focus its wars on gaining new territories. It will be too busy trying to hold onto old ones. How can they be divided, you may ask? The Empire is already stretched thin. Their technology outmatches the primitive tribes they have fought. Their strategies demoralize and destroy the cultures they enslave.

“The key weakness is their economy, which relies on slavery. The slave population far outnumbers the free population. If we instigate even one rebellion among those enslaved in the Savanna, unrest will spread. Our warriors can train the slaves. It doesn’t even matter if the first rebellion fails. Word will spread. Slaves across the Empire will learn that they can rebel.

“The Empire’s reach is on a thin thread. With the right amount of tension, it will snap. The slaves will rebel with the right encouragement. They have a choice between working themselves to death for their masters or fighting to the death for their freedom. I wager they will choose to fight.

“Once enough learn of this choice, you will have a divided empire. The slaves will build kingdoms of their own, at least just as bad or maybe even worse than their masters. These kingdoms will fight amongst themselves. The Empire will focus on trying to regain them, likely a futile effort. Meanwhile, we will be ignored or, at best, seen as a distant trade partner. The badlands and canyons are not attractive locations to expand into — at least not for a long while. Our support for rebellion may even grant us favour among the new kingdoms. They will regard each other or the Empire as their enemy.”

After the son finishes, Rigid Back quickly soars to speak, “Members of the Assembly — If His Highness’ plan should fail, that will seal us an enemy of the Empire! Our hopes of more trade will die! They will surely seek to conquer us and destroy us completely!”

The assemblymen share grumbling whispers before Wise Beard stands, adjusting his robes. He speaks calmly and deliberately, “Members of the Assembly — I see wisdom in His Honourable Highness’ plan and the words of Assemblyman Rigid Back the Third, but I must agree more with the latter. It would seem we have a choice. One involves waiting, and the other a bold but risky endeavour that may doom our relations with the world’s most powerful state that Man has ever known. I would rather us wait. And since this debate goes beyond whether we should allow His Honourable Highness to leave the island but also sponsor war with, may I remind the Assembly, a presently peaceful, albeit distant, trade partner — essentially a non-enemy whom we have not declared war upon… It is my view that His Honourable Highness should remain and not be allowed to instigate a conflict that, regardless of His Honourable Highness’ intentions, would directly connect back to us. We must not allow it, and our warriors must be ordered not to accompany him should he attempt to leave the island against our—“

The son suddenly stands, interrupting and shouting down at Wise Beard, “They will not take your order over a grand prince!” His father yanks his son down. The whole rotunda falls silent in shock. The father stands, keeping his hand firmly on his son’s shoulder.

“Members of the Assembly — I apologize on behalf of my son for his outburst. No matter his status, that does not permit him to disrespect an assemblyman. However, debate on this matter has gone far enough. It is now time to vote. Those in favour of prohibiting His Highness Grand Prince Sun King the Second from leaving the island… This would be with, naturally for His Highness’ own protection, an armed escort of some of our finest warriors. Please stand.”

Well over half of the assemblymen stand.

“I’m sorry, Son…” the father whispers softly to his son, who is still fuming in his seat. The father then addresses the assemblymen, “Members of the Assembly — your wishes are clear. His Highness shall not leave the island. I give you my word—“

The son glares up at his father, his face bursting with anger.

“—he will respect your wishes. The Watchmen will be informed of this decision. This concludes this gathering of the Assembly.”

The son storms out of the rotunda as his father watches on and sighs tiredly.