My first act as emperor was to send the Consul into the wasteland. The golden sun would burn away his corrupt form—a fitting symbol for the revolution that was to be my reign.
I wanted a desert of pure white sand to stage my celebration. It took them three days to clear the wasteland of any stone or plant of offending color, but when they were done, it was a perfect canvas for the violet pavilion. We recreated my court in nearly every detail beneath the glinting sun.
The first act of my coronation was to have the Consul kneel at my feet. He was a pathetic figure, stripped of title, rank, and clothing. He would never wield power again, and would beget no heir. I made sure of that personally.
I had only a single word for him: "Run."