The Emperor's Strings

Power and Deception

Emperor Magnate XLVII reclined in his golden chair, his hair a sparse swirl of yellow candy floss, his skin a crusty layer of pancake makeup in a shade not found in nature, and looked even more grotesque under the chandelier’s bright glow.

His palace—a vulgar display of excess, paid for from the palace’s budget—gleamed with golden pillars, walls of polished marble, and mirrors in every room (to admire his “remarkable” reflection). Outside, the crowd roared as they always did. Whether from love or fear didn’t matter; all that mattered was they were watching and reacting.

Behind Magnate stood Ulrich Zorrick, a tech mogul with sharp silver hair, an eerie calm, and a penchant for whispered commands. He sometimes behaved erratically but always got himself quickly under control. His plans were too important to let juvenile impetuousness spoil them.

Known across the empire as the “Architect,” Zorrick had engineered the empire’s digital infrastructure, its surveillance state, and even its propaganda networks. Magnate’s rise to power had been fueled by Zorrick’s genius and coin, though the Emperor told a different story: it was all due to his brilliance, his charisma, his triumph.

“Ulrich, did you see the crowds? Bigger than last month, huh? The biggest crowds anyone has ever seen, probably.” Magnate smirked, adjusting his signature red tie.

Zorrick’s lips barely twitched. “Yes, Your Imperial Excellency. They cheer because we allow them to. Let’s discus today’s trade policy adjustments. The tariffs—”

“Tariffs, tariffs,” Magnate waved him off. “Boring stuff. I’m thinking we announce the ‘Magnate Tower’ in every city. A little something to remind them who’s boss. Big, shiny, perfect.”

Zorrick leaned in, his voice cold steel.

“You need stability, not monuments. The budget is already bursting at the seams. If we push the tariffs, we can secure better trade alliances with the eastern provinces. They will be afraid to reject whatever proposal we present.”

Magnate frowned, “Trade alliances? Who cares about those little guys? I’ll just tweet that our economy’s the strongest it’s ever been. Prices are low and all citizens are employed. Problem solved!” He laughed, a sound like clattering coins.

But Zorrick wasn’t laughing. For years, he’d tolerated Magnate’s ego, feeding him power like a master feeds a dog scraps from the table. But now, the Emperor’s erratic decisions threatened the delicate web Zorrick had built—a web that kept him in control.

That evening, during a grand banquet, Zorrick made his move. Standing before the nobles, he delivered a subtle jab cloaked in pleasantries. “Our Emperor’s vision is unparalleled. It’s a wonder he finds the time, what with all his…leisure activities.”

Magnate’s face reddened. “Leisure? What are you saying, Ulrich?”

Zorrick didn’t flinch. “I’m saying that vision requires discipline. Delegation. Some of us must do the thinking while others…preen before the mirror and entertain the masses.”

The banquet hall fell silent. Magnate rose, his small delicate hands waving wildly. “Are you saying you run this empire, Zorrick?” Zorrick met his gaze with icy calm.

“Perhaps it’s time the empire knew who truly holds the strings.”

The room erupted in gasps. Magnate, for the first time in years, looked truly cornered. His ego shattered, his power questioned. In a blind rage, he bellowed, “GUARDS! Seize him!” He pointed at Zorrick, but no one moved. Zorrick smirked. He had anticipated this. The guards, like the empire’s governing bodies, were all loyal to him.

“Careful, Magnate,” Zorrick whispered. “Kings can be toppled. Even golden ones.

The Emperor’s face lost its color. Was the empire he had so carefully crafted about to crumble?