Origin

Indacnius stood up from his throne.  
It was time for his decree to resonate through the kingdom. His boots were of an iron luster, brilliant as the moons. He wore leather with his signature purple cloak.  
His mask was fearless. It was crafted eon past, and carried with it the trials and tribulations of a kingdom deceased.  
He bore this all as he declared to his people, littering the halls, waiting for his words,  
“It is time this kingdom move on into its next phase of rule.”  
The crowd cheered for miles.  
“We have taken on battles thought only to be a fool’s bargain, but look at our victories—grand and opulent!”  
His words echoed across the granite etched in the walls, forged by the labor toiled for in his kingdom, all in Indacnius’ name.  
“I will rise to a new heavenly disc, a mythical land I have seen with my own eyes, and I will take our kingdom with us.  
Previous battles were won with sword and blood, with conquest and ammunition, but today’s battle, and the next one, will be a warfare not known by man since the first river.”  
The crowd cheered for miles.  
Indacnius walked forward, and cast his rugged blade into the stones before him. He pulled off his mask, revealing his brown, rugged hair and dark face, scarred from battles past.  
“None can stop the Talooman conquest today, or the next day, or into eternity!” and then, with but a few more steps, Indacnius ascended.  
He became translucent, like the great discs above, and hovered among the crowds.  
They were silent as they watched, until they all joined him.  
All were hovering upward, all were translucent.  
Thousands upon tens of thousands lifted up, defying space itself.  
The sun began to set.  
The distant orange sky diminished into a faded violet. They were headed towards it.  
But as they rose and ascended, following their king, merely one fragment lay behind in the nature of the world underneath. One artifact fell from Indacnius’ grip, forgotten to him and forgotten to time.  
The kingdom was silent, the halls were vacant, but in front of the throne, and in front of the sword it sat there.  
The ceramic mask, resting upon the kingdom now without a king or people.  
A lone mask rest there, waiting, waiting…