Excerpts from the journal of an Imperial architect who declined to include his name. It was found under a collapsed tower in the eastern section of the Imperial palace, in the year 683 CR.
“I thought it would bring me some measure of fulfillment to study the Imperial palace. I could learn from the ancient masters. Perhaps I could help design some of the new sections, even leave my own mark on the world, something distinctly ‘mine.’
I was horribly mistaken.
The palace is an architect’s nightmare. And an engineer’s nightmare. And a treasurer’s nightmare. In fact, I cannot think of a single person who loves the structure, or who can explain its purpose. Yet we continue to build. Repairing old sections. Adding new sections. It’s as if the palace’s only purpose is to continue to exist.”
Several pages of drawings and sketches come next.
“…The choice of material makes sense on one level and is absurd on another. The basalt was mined locally, and stands up well to time. Logical.
Working with the dark stone is the challenge – it wears iron tools rapidly and takes some measure of skill to craft into workable pieces. Much of the palace is constructed using the natural shapes of the stone. The hexagonal columns are stacked, laid horizontally, and are used in their natural state where possible.
They hand us these materials with the impossible task of making them into something beautiful…”
Several pages of the journal are missing.
“…I feel as though someone is altering my drawings when I am away. A full day spent mapping a wing. Hallways. Rooms. Doors. Everything carefully drawn.
When I return the next day, everything looks wrong. I’d wondered if I’d brought a map belonging to another section.
I did not.
I have them all carefully numbered, organized. Everything clearly marked and referenced.
It did not matter. Either the drawing was changed, or the palace rearranges itself throughout the night. I told the senior surveyor who simply shrugged and told me to start over.
I will, but this is the third time…”
It is unclear what happened, but the handwriting of the remaining entries changes. The words more crudely scrawled, like the author was rushing to put the words to paper.
“…It keeps going!
I thought I’d reached the highest point, then I found one higher. Thought I’d found the deepest tunnel, then found another!
Esmerelda showed me the path down. The placed stone began to look odd, like the caldera walls. At one point it yielded completely to a tunnel through the rock itself, not made by hands. Incredible!…”
The architect’s tone shifts dramatically between the previous passage and the next.
“…I quit.
They don’t listen. Won’t listen. I’ve told them the wood bracing had rotted, and they don’t care.
Nothing here makes sense to me anymore. I am going to the coast. I’ll leave on a ship and go anywhere else.
This place can collapse without me.”